Into Thin Air (37 page)

"Eleanor, I'd like you to meet someone," Andi said, grasping her arm and giving a tug. "Come on, he's really cute."

Eleanor was so captivated by the tapestry that it was several seconds before she allowed Andi to pull her away.

"Eleanor, this is—" Andi looked around. "Where'd he go?"

Eleanor looked around, as well, and really couldn't see a thing except the enormous guys from Andi's castle, and that cute butler, Nicklesby, who seemed to be at her elbow at all times. And Jason, of course, who seemed to want to go everywhere she did.

Ever at the ready.

She wondered briefly why the guys didn't have dates.

"I'll be right back," Andi said. "Don't wander off. Tristan!" she called, then eased into the crowd.

Eleanor moved back to the tapestry.

" 'Tis wondrous. Aye?" Jason stepped up beside her. "Quite fierce, that one," he said, pointing at the one warrior without armor.

"Either fierce or crazy." But Eleanor thought him rather fascinating. After a few moments of studying the tapestry, she clutched her small black purse beneath her arm, excused herself from Jason's company, and headed off to find a bathroom. After worrying her lips on the ride over, she'd eaten off all of her lipstick.

Moving through the crowd, she made her way to the giant staircase, just off the main entrance. She had to admit, the castle was beyond gorgeous. Modern, yet plainly medieval, its breathtaking interior matched the striking exterior. Before she left, she'd have to catch an outside view of the sea.

As she made her way to the staircase, she passed by a wall mirror, just inside a small alcove by the main entrance. As her foot touched the first step, she froze. Her skin broke out into goose bumps, and as she turned and glanced at her reflection in the mirror, she felt herself turn around and walk over to it.

At first, she just stared. Too short to see into the mirror from the floor, as it was hung a bit higher on the wall, she sat in the straight-backed chair below it. Thinking better of
that,
she turned and, with hardly any thought at all, kicked off her shoes, turned around, and stepped up onto the chair.

Staring at her reflection, she stood there, dumbstruck. What was she doing, standing on someone's chair, looking at herself? Lipstick? That was it. She just wanted to apply a bit more lipstick.

I love you ...

Eleanor's skin turned cold. She turned, but no one was behind her. No one seemed to be paying her a bit of attention.

I want you. Now.

This time, she couldn't turn around. Mesmerized by her crazy inner voice, she simply stared into the mirror. She stared for so long, her vision blurred. She blinked to clear it. And when it did clear, she gasped.

In the mirror's reflection, a man stood on the staircase behind her, staring back, their gazes locked.

Gawan stood, frozen to the very last step, and stared at the beauty whose gaze he couldn't tear away from. Their eyes were fastened within the mirror's reflection, and they stayed that way for a score of seconds or minutes. He knew not which.

Suddenly, it hurt to breathe, and every muscle burned as his body tensed. Unable to move, he simply stood. And stared.

Before he knew what was happening, his lips began to move—at first a whisper. A stunned, coarse whisper. The ancient Welsh verse barely reached his own ears.

Not once did his gaze leave hers.

"I mewn hon buchedd a I mewn 'r 'n gyfnesaf—"
he began, his voice breaking like that of a lad of sixteen.

"Adduneda 'm cam atat forever 'n ddarpar ..."
she finished on a whisper.

In this life and into the next, I vow my love to you, forever Intended ...

Gawan's throat closed, his heart slammed into his ribs, and a tidal wave of memories crashed over him, yet his feet, thank the saints, began to move him closer to the woman standing barefoot upon his straight-backed chair, staring into his oval mirror.
His
woman.

His
Intended.

It was then he noticed a tear sliding down her cheek, her body trembling. A small black purse she'd been clutching slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.

When he reached her, he grasped her around the waist and set her on the floor. Slowly, he turned her around.

Her eyes shut tightly, tears trailing out of them and down her cheeks.

With a ragged breath, Gawan lifted her chin and fought the crushing urge to pull her into a ferocious embrace she'd not be able to tear free of. Saints, he wasn't even sure he could manage another bloody word, much less a score of them.
Christ, he remembered.

"Ellie, open your eyes," he said. "Now."

Her body shook beneath his hands, and he squeezed a bit tighter, just in case she started to slip to the floor. Her breathing, like his own, became labored, as though she'd been running for her very life.

Slowly, her lids cracked open, and the most beautiful, tear-soaked blue-green eyes stared back at him. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

Gawan bent his head closer.

And then he quickly realized no words were needed.

Ellie threw her arms around Gawan's neck and pulled his head down. Their lips met, settled, and simply melded.

Wrapping his arms tightly about her, he lifted her off the floor and allowed memory after memory to assail him. He reveled in the familiar feeling of his Intended's lips against his, the taste of her on his tongue, her soft body, made just for him, pressed against him.

Then her mouth began to move against his, and he pulled back, reluctantly so, just to hear her sweet words.

"You found me," she said, in between a series of wet, soppy kisses. "Gawan of Conwyk." She bit his lower lip. "Junior Warlord." She dragged a slow kiss across his mouth.
"Angel Extraordinaire."

After a long, sensual kiss that nearly made him shout, she whispered against his lips, "My
Intended."

A thunderous bellow echoed across the great hall, followed by several more, and as Gawan and Ellie turned around, they found the entire Dreadmoor garrison, along with every ghostie within a hundred kilometers, standing behind them, cheering.

Ellie laughed and buried heir face in Gawan's neck. He held her close and drew in a long, delicious breath tinged with the scent of her hair, her skin,
her.
"My Ellie of Aquitaine."

And then he had no choice but to let his Intended down, for there was an entire garrison of knights who wished to hug her—the Dragonhawk himself included, not to mention one special young knight in particular.

"Jason!" she exclaimed happily, and launched at the lad with more spirit than a fierce Welsh
Wode
maiden in battle.

To the lad's credit, he apparently had been awaiting her memory to return from the moment she left England. He caught her in full leap and squeezed her thusly.

"My lady Ellie! I've missed you!" he said, and quickly found he'd have to muse over fond memories at a later date.

Not only was there many a fierce knight about the great hall who stood rather impatiently to welcome Ellie home, but a skittish Nicklesby, who all but hopped about from one foot to the other, anxiously trying to worm his way into the crowd.

She spotted the wiry man and made a beeline for the him. "Nicklesby! Oh, Nicklesby! Can you believe it?" she asked as she all but snapped the skinny man's neck in twain with her fierce hug.

Nicklesby hugged her back, unashamed as tears welled up in his eyes. " 'Tis a wondrous miracle, aye," he said. "I'm powerfully glad to see you home."

"Move there, yon bothersome Grimm steward, and let me 'ave a word with the lass!"

Ellie turned from Nicklesby's embrace and Gawan thought he'd never get used to seeing such a beautiful smile light upon her face. "Sir Godfrey! Ladies!" she said as the three Grimm spirits floated toward her.

"Lady! What about me?"

Through the crowd burst young Davy. To the dismay of several knights, the lad plowed through to get to Ellie. "I'm here!"

Ellie laughed and bent over at the waist. "Are you ready for another game of knucklebones?"

"Most assuredly, aye!" he said, just as a barking Cotswald shoved through the crowd, Nicklesby chasing after him.

Gawan's heart swelled as he watched his people embrace his woman. They'd fast learned to love her as an In-Betwinxt spirit.

They loved her more as a very much alive and breathing woman.
His
woman.

And as Gawan moved through the throng of people, he pushed Jason aside and peeled Ellie from Tristan de Barre's arms. Gawan drew her close, and over the top of her head clashed gazes with three of the most wily beings ever to set foot in his hall.

Elgan, Fergus, and Aizeene gave a short nod, their broad, knowing smiles most satisfying, indeed.

They'd acquired their own retirement, after all. He couldn't wait to introduce them properly to Ellie.

Indeed, that would wait.

Moving his mouth to Ellie's ear, he first kissed the soft shell, felt her shiver, and then whispered,

"Forgive me, girl, but this cannot wait." He kissed her lobe, and then whispered again, "Wed me, Ell. I vow you'll not regret it."

Ellie slowly lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

The entire hall grew deathly silent.

Gawan's heart ceased beating.

Then a wide smile split her face in twain. "Yes!"

As Gawan pressed his mouth against Ellie's, their teeth clacked together as each one smiled. They laughed, but their laughter was quickly drowned out by the raucous cheering of the knights, ex-Angels, and ghosts filling Grimm's great hall.

Overcome with happiness and love, Gawan took his wife-to-be even tighter within his arms and kissed her good, well, and true.

Aye. He'd found her.

He glanced at Elgan, Fergus, and Aizeene, now joined by Nicklesby. They stood, grinning like fools. He owed them much.

With a bit of help, he'd found his Intended.

And bleeding priests and saints above, he'd not let her go again.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Northeastern England

A Midsummer's Eve

Present Day, Castle Grimm

"Eleanor Jane, stop laughing!"

Ellie tried. Honest, she did. After Rick Morgan scolded her for the third time—and they hadn't even walked down the steps yet—she drew in a long, deep breath, let it slowly out through pursed lips, and—

Started shaking again.

Giggling.

Good Lord, she couldn't help her stupid self.

It was her
wedding day.

It'd taken only a few short weeks to plan it—with Andi's help, that was. Ellie's family had flown from home to join them in England, and while their memories from before the accident didn't return, they warmed up quite fast to Gawan and the rest. Rick Morgan and Gawan had discussed at length just what he thought his daughter deserved, and none of it had to do with wealth. Her father was all about propriety when it came to his girls. He'd settle for no less in a son-in-law.

God, she loved her dad.

Bailey and Andi had indeed had a ball planning the Big Day, although Bailey was a little confused as to why Ellie wanted a medieval gown. Bailey supposed, she'd said, it had to do with being in a castle and all.

Ellie smiled and let her baby sister keep on right on thinking it. As chummy as she and Jason had become, Ellie had a feeling Bailey would learn she'd just been married into a rather unusual family.

Ellie glanced down at her gown and smiled. It was the most breathtaking thing she'd ever seen: burgundy silk covered by a fine cream lace overlay, or kirtle, medieval in style, with the front of the lace parted just beneath her breasts to reveal a large flat of burgundy, and a corset beneath the gown that pushed her already-heaving boobs
way
up.

She loved it.

Bailey's and Andi's were similar in style, both a soft blush silk that looked beautiful on them.

"Come on, girl, they're ready," her father whispered. "And for God's sake, stop all that giggling."

Another deep breath, and Ellie was ready.

And down the steps they started.

It was an evening service. Candles lit the entire great hall, lending it a warm glow. Garlands of white roses and pine boughs draped the staircase, the mantel, and every flat surface.

In the corner, a dashing ghost in a top hat played a lovely old Victorian tune.

Ellie's family hadn't regained their previous memories, but they'd made new ones kind of after being reintroduced to Godfrey and the ladies. Not that they weren't still unsettled about it. But what could you do when the proof was right before your very eyes? Once Godfrey had eased his ruffled self in and out of the wall several times, another Grimm Fiasco had occurred. Afterward, the Morgan family had
sort of
accepted the fact that there was a lot more to Castle Grimm than met the eye.

As a burst of nerves hit Ellie once again, another giggle seeped out. Her father didn't say anything this time, but squeezed her arm.

At the bottom of the stairs, just as she took the last step, Ellie caught her reflection in the big oval mirror—the very one in which she first practiced saying
I love you
to Gawan, and the same mirror that somehow dragged back their memories of one another ... with the help of a trio of very persistent Higher-Ups. She smiled at herself. How happy Gawan of Conwyk made her.

When she stepped down and turned, her heart stood still. Gawan stood off to the side, at the head of two long lines of guests. Her breath escaped her, and her heart slammed hard against her breastbone.

Her Intended was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. He was dressed in his original chain mail and battle tunic—black, with a large silver cross stitched into the center—his sword polished, gleaming, and strapped to his side. She all but stopped breathing at the sight of him. While her family thought it was just a medieval theme, Ellie knew differently.

And he was
all
hers.

Tristan, that devil, stood beside him, dressed in his own battle gear—as were every one of the Dreadmoor knights. Christian de Gaultiers stood next to him, and he winked at her. To know who they actually were, and
when
they came from—it astounded her. Humbled her.