Into Thin Air (38 page)

Made her tremble, even.

At least I'm not laughing now ...

Rick Morgan took Ellie's hand and placed it in Gawan's hand. "My daughter is now yours." Her father said his practiced lines carefully. Then with a wink at Gawan, he whispered, "Good luck."

Ellie resisted the urge to elbow him.

Tristan, on the other side of Gawan, chuckled.

She almost chuckled, too, but then Gawan leaned down, and with his mail creaking, he kissed her lips and whispered against them, "You are the most fetching maid I've laid eyes in my entire thousand years' existence." His eyes darkened as he looked at her, lighting up especially when they clapped onto her heaving bosoms. The smile he gave her barely tipped the corners of his mouth, and it was
wicked.
"Try to cease your laughter, wench, whilst we say our vows, for I promise," he said, pulling her close and brushing another whisper against her ear, "you won't be laughing afterward."

Ellie gulped.

Gawan laughed.

As they walked on a scattering of white rose petals between the two lines of guests, Ellie eyed each guest and gave a smile of gratitude. The ladies Follywolle and Beauchamp, of course, were bawling into their hankies, Bailey was frowning at Ellie for her giggles, and Andi just smiled a knowing smile.

The line of guests trailed out the entrance and across the bailey to the cliffs facing the sea. The last of the guests, six on one side, seven on the other, in full medieval regalia, had their swords drawn and lifted to an arc. Ellie and Gawan walked beneath the blades, and each set of knightly eyes she met winked.

And it was there, standing in the brisk July evening air, facing a sea that had seen many goings-on at Castle Grimm over the last several centuries, where Gawan turned her toward him. And before the priest and Morgans and Dreadmoors and Grimms, and all their inhabitants, worldly or otherworldly, he said the words, first in ancient Welsh, then in English, and in his sexier-than-sexy accent. Ellie would carry them in her heart and memory forever.

"In this life and into the next, I vow my love to you, Eleanor Jane Morgan." His chocolate eyes darkened as he held her gaze. "Forever Intended."

Thank God, the laughing had stopped.

Now she cried.

And in between her tear-cracked words, Ellie repeated the same verse, first in his native medieval Welsh, for she had indeed memorized it when she was In-Betwinxt, and then in English. "In this life and into the next, I vow my love to you, Gawan of Conwyk." She gave him a smile. "Forever Intended."

Tristan stepped forward and handed Gawan a beautiful garnet-and-silver ring, which he slipped over Ellie's finger. He brought his lips to hers and whispered,
"Blyth 'n ddarpar,
wife," he said and kissed her. "Eternally Intended."

From her own thumb, she pulled free the ring she'd had made for Gawan. A solid band of silver, and later, she'd show him the inscriptive pair of Angel wings and the words
Blythe 'n ddarpar
on the inside, along with their entwined initials.

As Ellie slipped the band over Gawan's finger, she whispered the same words back to him, against his lips, on an exhaled whisper,
"Blyth 'n ddarpar
to you, too, mister," she said, then felt his mouth smile against hers.

Just as Gawan moved a hand to her jaw, no doubt for a kiss that would knock her medieval slippers off, the priest cleared his throat.

"Sign here, first!" he announced, and produced a legal and very old-looking piece of parchment—their marriage certificate.

Everyone laughed.

Once Gawan signed, then held the paper for Ellie to sign, he handed the legalities back to the priest, who announced, "Now you may kiss her, lad!" And to everyone's delight, he did in fact do just that.

And amidst the hollers and battle cries and whistles that echoed across the bailey and out to the North Sea, Gawan stepped up, slid his hand behind her head, and kissed her
good.

Epilogue

Northeastern England

A Midsummer's Eve

Later that evening

"Why isn't Davy around?" Ellie asked as she danced with her husband. "I didn't notice him during the ceremony."

Gawan looked down at her, his strong hand firmly pressed against her lower back. He bent his head and whispered in her ear, "I wanted to wait until after the ceremony to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

He smiled down at her. "Come."

Ellie's stomach did a flip-flop as Gawan led her to a window seat in the far corner of the great hall.

He gently pushed her to the cushion.

She lifted a brow. "What's going on?"

A smile tipped Gawan's mouth. "I couldn't have told you sooner, love. This occurred just before the ceremony began, and I didn't know myself until after the nuptials." He pulled out a slip of paper from his tux coat pocket. " 'Tis your first surprise, lady."

Ellie blinked, then took the paper and read it.

It was certified, from Tristan's solicitor.

"Read it, love," he said.

It was then she noticed Grimm's hall of guests had gathered around her.
What is going on?
So she read the letter.

Pertaining to the true Christian surname of Phineas J. Addler, it is hereby found to be on the date of
June 28, 1912, Cornelius and Katherine Crispin, along with their young son, Phineas, filed for an
official, legitimate name change, to that being of Addler.

Ellie looked up. "Crispin?"

Gawan's gaze was steady. "Read on, love. The next is in narrative, but the official documents are being held by Constable Hurley."

Ellie's heart beat faster as she read. "Oh my God." She cleared her throat.

It has been found to be well and true that one younger offspring of Cornelius and Katherine, sibling
to Phineas, had gone missing and was never found. Only after studying in thorough detail the
ledger of one Phineas Addler, and the notes of one Eleanor Jane Morgan, that certain leads found
by Ms. Morgan were to reveal the name of the younger brother, and his unfortunate demise, as well
as name the murderer.

Her heart leapt to her throat.

After thoroughly investigating one Avery Langston, now ninety-nine years of age, it, is revealed that
due to a family row over titles and monies, the younger Crispin brother, unfortunately, witnessed
the death of the older Langston boy by the hand of the younger one, both now deceased—all
witnessed by Avery Langston. In turn, the Crispin youth indeed was murdered, his body thrown into
the North Sea, to spare the Langston family name. This confession given by one Avery Langston.

Ellie's hands were shaking now, and Gawan took the paper from her, sat beside her and pulled her close. Emotions choked her. "Young Davy?"

"Your great-uncle," Gawan said.

"Holy-moly."

Gawan kissed her temple. "Holy-moly is right."

Rick Morgan moved forward and lifted Ellie's chin with his knuckles. "Your mom would be proud,"

he said. "A fine bit of research you did, honey. It took guts to come here alone."

Ellie smiled and squeezed his hand. "Thanks, Dad."

Gawan cleared his throat. "Er, wife, there's something else."

Ellie looked at him. "I'm not sure I can handle it."

A round of knightly chuckles went through the hall.

Gawan tapped her nose. "I vow you can." He cleared his throat. "No sooner did the constable call with the news, and the fax came through, than a visitor arrived at our front gates."

"A visitor?"

Gawan nodded. "I had no choice but to say him aye when he asked to come through."

Ellie stared at Gawan. "Have you been drinking?"

A round of laughter filled the hall.

With his hand, Gawan gently grasped Ellie's chin and turned it away from him, toward the crowd of merry wedding guests.

That crowd parted.

Nicklesby stood, along with Elgan, Fergus, and Aizeene. Grinning.

Then
they
parted.

A young boy stood there, hands in pockets. White billowy shirt. Black knickers, black suspenders.

Black stockings, scruffy brown ankle boots. Soft hat, cocked to one side.

He broke into a wide, ear-to-ear grin.

Just before he broke into a run.

"Lady!"

Ellie jumped up from her seat and stood, staring at the very real figure running at top speed toward her. Her breath lodged in her throat, so she couldn't speak.

Young Davy Crispin skidded to a halt, just before stumbling into her. He blinked, smiled wider, and then threw his arms around her waist.

Tears streamed down Ellie's eyes as she hugged a very much alive Davy Crispin tightly, and the hall roared with cheers.

"It's all right if I live here, aye?" Davy asked, his voice muffled against Ellie's gown. He lifted his head and looked at her. "Sir Gawan says he didn't think you'd mind overmuch."

Ellie sniffed, glanced at her beaming husband, and kissed Davy on the cheek. "Do you think I'd turn down the chance for a professional knuckleboner to live in my home?" She hugged him. "Not in a million years." She grinned at him. "Don't think for a second that I'm going to call you great-uncle."

"I wouldn't think of it, lady."

Laughter filled the hall, and Davy was pulled from Ellie's embrace and shuffled around amongst the knights.

Ellie glanced at her husband, whose chocolate eyes glinted with mischief. And love.

How many more miracles could she possibly handle in one lifetime?

"They're going to hear the chopper blades," Ellie said, as Gawan held the train of her gown while she climbed into that chopper.

"Aye, but if you think there's any way in bloody hell I'm going to spend my wedding night with a lot of meddlesome medieval ghosties and knights, you're daft." He climbed in beside her and yanked the door closed. "Nosy lot, they are."

Before sitting, he leaned over and whispered to the pilot, who then nodded and started hitting all sorts of buttons and levers before the blades began to turn.

"Where are we going?" Ellie asked, peering out of the window. "Don't you think it's rude to leave our guests?"

Gawan pulled her to him, lifted her hand, and kissed her fingers. "There's plenty of merriment to be had this eve at my hall." He smiled a slow, sexy smile. "They'll not miss us."

As the chopper lifted, Ellie looked out. "I told you they'd hear. Look at Tristan." She squinted against the waning light. "I think he just flipped us the bird."

Gawan laughed. "If he did, 'tis only because he didn't think of something so witty as whisking away his bride."

Ellie looked at Gawan, who was staring at her with the look of a starved man. She smiled. "We're married."

He did not smile. Just stared, while his eyes smoldered. "Aye, I know that."

And she studied every little detail of his handsome face: the lines at the corners of his eyes, the long lashes any girl would kill to have, and the two nicely formed brows over the sexiest brown eyes she ever looked into. And, God, those lips ...

Nice teeth, too.

They were out over the sea now, still flying close to the coast, when the helicopter headed toward a very small island off the mainland. On it, a lighthouse; beside it, a white keeper's cottage.

Ellie looked at Gawan, and he merely smiled.

When they landed, and there really wasn't much room for
that,
the chopper lifted and flew off, leaving them on the small lighthouse island, completely alone.

With the wind blowing fiercely, Gawan, who'd shed his chain mail back at Grimm but still wore his knight's tunic and hose, and of course, his sword, led her to the cottage door, where he lifted an arm, reached over the lip of the door, and produced a key. Silently, he opened the door, then swept Ellie into his arms and stepped over the threshold.

He kicked the door shut with a booted foot.

Still in his arms, she looked at him. "You must have pull."

He grinned. "Let's just say I
know
people, and they owed me a favor." Before he set her down, he pulled her closer and kissed her, soft at first, and then his tongue swept over hers and it turned into a long, heated kiss.

He pulled back, and she could feel his heart pounding.

"We've got a bit of climbing to do," he said, and set her down.

As if she could bloody walk
now.

He took her by the hand and led her across the one-room cottage, to a door on the side. "This way."

Through the door they went, and stepped into the shell of the lighthouse, a long, spiraling black iron stairway leading to the top.

When they did reach the top, Ellie was proud that she didn't keel over from the exertion. All that running after the accident must have done her good.

"That's the one thing I truly miss," Gawan said as he looked down at her. "Reading your thoughts."

Ellie smiled as she took the last step. "Yeah, well, shame on you for doing that, you naughty ..."

Her words died on her lips as she reached the top and stepped into the lighthouse loft. "Oh my," she said, breathless.

The loft encircled the light tower in the center. The oil-burning lamp and all the gears still intact sat unused, untouched by time.

In the circular room, windows replaced what had once been a wide-open deck that circled the light.

Gawan walked over and threw open one of the full-sized windows. Ellie saw nothing but the North Sea, heard nothing but the crashing waves against the base of the island rock, felt nothing but the pounding of her own heart.

"It's beautiful," she said, and when she turned to Gawan, the feral look in his eyes robbed her of breath.

And they stared.

Gawan, she noticed rather fast, had not spared one single detail. He'd known he wanted to take her here, and by golly, he'd done it
right.
On the floor, a big pallet of down coverlets and pillows, surrounded by fat pillared candles, served as their honeymoon suite. Nearby, a bucket of ice and two bottles of
something
inside.

"Don't worry," he said, moving closer. "I've a fridge in yon corner filled with food." He circled behind her, pulled her against him, and moved his warm mouth over her neck. "Because, Eleanor of Conwyk, I vow by the time we come up for air, you'll be vastly starved."