Into Thin Air (27 page)

"He had a rough night last night," Ellie said, inclining her head toward her zonked-out guardsman.

"He stayed up with me quite a while." She cocked her brow and studied Gawan's handsome yet haggard features. "Didn't get much rest either?"

Although the glance he gave her was a quickie, because the roads were slippery with ice and snow, it still gave Ellie a clear picture of how little sleep Gawan actually had. Without a word, he slid a hand over to hers, linked his big, rough fingers between her own, and gave a slight squeeze.

"Naught that I cannot manage," he said in that sexy voice of his. And then he was quiet.

And until they turned onto the lane that took them through the gatehouse, and to the great double oak doors of Castle Grimm, so was Ellie.

Somehow, having her hand held by a medieval warlord gave her a warm, comforting feeling that reached way beyond her bones and muscles.

It reached clear to her soul.

The Rover hadn't even pulled to a stop before the doors to Grimm were thrown open, and Nicklesby, God bless him, hurried out, his gangly arms and legs adorably rushing down the steps to greet them.

"Young Conwyk! Lady Ellie! By the crow's tail, do hurry and come in out of this bluster!" he said, coming straight for Ellie and helping her out of the Rover. "Jason of Dreadmoor, is that you, lad?

Unfold yourself and climb from the Rover thusly."

"Nicklesby, man, settle yourself down," Gawan said with a chuckle. "We've only been gone for two nights." He walked around to the back of the Rover to help Jason with his belongings.

Nicklesby, meanwhile, hurried Ellie up the steps. "Aye, well, there's been a bit of a—oh, dear. Just hurry inside and see for yourself."

As Ellie stepped into the great hall, she grabbed Nicklesby's skinny yet sturdy arm to keep herself from tripping out of sheer surprise. "What the—"

"Bloody hell is going on here?" Gawan finished, stepping in behind her. He set Jason's bag down, and Jason, who'd walked in behind him, closed the door and whistled.

"By the saints," Jason said, shifting the bag he had strapped over one shoulder. " 'Tis more spirits than I've seen in me whole life."

Ellie scanned the room with disbelief. Not because of the ghosts that filled the great hall. That had somehow stopped being startling. More so because of the many new ones that had come in, all in the short while they'd been at Tristan's.

And they were all looking
dead
at her.

Sir Godfrey bustled through the crowd of ghosts. "By the by, boy," he said to Gawan, " 'tis bloody well time you came home. What with Arrick gone back to his own pile of leaking rocks, 'tis been naught but myself and yon Nicklesby there to keep this mob settled!" He gave a nod to Ellie. "Lady, I'm afeared you're the cause of the fuss."

"Me?" she asked. "Why am I the cause?" She glanced at the assembled ghosts. They all seemed to be staring directly at her.

"They've come to see your mark," Sir Godrey said, pointing to that same place on his mouth where Gawan said Ellie had a mark.

Gawan took Ellie by the hand, pulled her away from Nicklesby's grasp, and led her across the hall.

"You good folks, move there, and allow the lady to have a bit of reprieve before you stare her down."

All at once, the ghosts scattered, leaving a wide path for Gawan to drag Ellie up the stairway.

"Oh, I think I see it!" exclaimed one lady ghost, her hair piled high. She was holding a pair of opera glasses up to her face.

" 'Tis wondrous, my good lord Grimm!" shouted another, who reminded Ellie a lot of Mary Poppins. "Might I have a moment with you?"

Gawan stopped halfway up the stairwell and turned to face the crowd of spirits who'd gathered at the bottom. "I do thank you all for your interest. You're more than welcome to take your reprieve at Castle Grimm."

He pulled Ellie close to him. "But the girl's had a taxing day and needs her rest."

Several ghostly groans filled the hall.

Gawan held up a hand. "In truth, she'll be more than happy to regale you of our meeting later this eve. But until then, she needs her rest."

"I will?" Ellie whispered, and Gawan squeezed her hand, then inclined his head toward Jason.

"Now, standing at yon doorway, looking rather befuddled, is one of the finest knights in all the land.

One of the Dragonhawk's knights."

Several oohs and ahhhs erupted from the crowd as the spirits turned their attention to poor Jason.

Jason gave Gawan a look of despair.

"Sir," Nicklesby said, at the foot of the steps, "shall I bring you tea?"

"Aye, Nicklesby." Gawan glanced at Ellie, and the heat in his eyes made her shiver. "But later."

Nicklesby, that old Nickle, gave a lopsided grin and a quick nod. "As you wish."

Again, Ellie found herself all but dragged up the steps.

They'd almost made it to Gawan's chamber when a small figure burst through the stone wall. Young Davy skidded to a halt.

"Blimey, I'm ever so glad you've returned!" he said, looking first at Gawan, then at Ellie. "All these ladies runnin' about, makin' a fuss an' pinchin' me cheeks," he said, rubbing those accosted cheeks.

He looked at Ellie. "Will you play me a game later?" He smiled a conniving gap-toothed grin. "No one plays me near as good as you do, lady."

What a con. Sweet, but definitely a con.

Ellie gave him a grin. "Of course I'll play you. Let me catch my breath for a little while and talk with Gawan. then I'll meet you later." She looked around, then leaned over and whispered, "You'll have to find a good place to go, as the hall looks a bit crowded these days."

He grinned back. "For a certainty."

And with that, he scampered down the passageway and disappeared.

"That boy has taken a liking to you that he's not taken with another," Gawan said. He pulled her onward. "Come on, whilst the others are occupied with Jason."

"That was really rotten, throwing Jason to the ghostly wolves, by the way," Ellie said, chugging up the stairs behind him.

He gave her a grin. "I know. 'Twill keep his chivalrous arse out of my way for a spell."

Ellie gulped at the thought of Gawan wanting to keep her personal guardsman
out of the way.

They rounded the bend in the passageway, Gawan threw open the door to his chamber, yanked Ellie inside, and then kicked the door shut with his booted foot. He wasted no time throwing the lock, either.

They stared at each other, both breathing a bit hard from the exerted dash from the great hall, Ellie with expectancy, and Gawan with something else entirely. A while ago, in the Rover, he'd hardly said a word. Now he was all of a sudden in a gigantic hurry to get her alone, yet just standing there.

And Ellie noticed, as Gawan scratched his chin, rubbed his eyes, then tugged on his ear, that he looked
nervous.

"Gawan, what?"

"Saints, girl," he said, then started to pace, at the same time unbuttoning his black wool coat and tossing it across the foot of his bed. "I've something to tell you," he said. "I should have told you sooner."

Ellie's heart plummeted to her stomach. Later, she'd remember that there wasn't a whole lot of stuff you could tell a woman who was already mostly dead, her live body lost, and her memory a collage of naughty adolescent experiences and head thumpings in church that would really, reeeally upset her.

But for now, a ton of scary thoughts—none making a lick of sense—ran through her head.

"What is it?" she managed, peeling out of her own coat.

Rubbing a hand over his jaw—a habit Gawan had that Ellie found extremely sexy—he stopped, took in a deep breath, and just stared.

"Bleedin' priests," he said, his accent thicker than usual. "I'd rather be facin' a half dozen berserkers in battle with me bare hands than to have to stand here and tell you this."

Now she wanted to throw up, and she wasn't even sure what a berserker was.

"What?"
she asked, and slid down into the straight-backed chair near the wall.

He raked a hand through that boyish long hair, closed his eyes, and then opened them. He drew in a long breath, exhaled. "I stole your mark."

The pounding of her heart felt like a drum against her rib cage. Ellie blinked. "Excuse me?"

He began to pace again, and he waved his hand in the air as he attempted to explain. "Your Intended's mark, in the corner of your mouth—I stole it."

It took everything Ellie had not to snort out loud. Obviously, it was something that stressed Gawan out big-time. But she didn't quite get it. She stood, and walked toward him.

"Gawan, I don't—" She grabbed his arm. "Would you stop pacing and stand still for a minute?" He did, but did not turn to face her.

The feel of his muscles flinching beneath her touch only made her want to touch him even more.

She did, too. Sliding her fingers through his, she tugged on him. "If you don't kiss me right now, Gawan of Conwyk, I'm going to scream."

With a fierceness she didn't expect, that was exactly what Gawan of Conwyk did—kiss her.

And, she noted, kissed her good and truly well.

Chapter Twenty-Three

At first, they just
breathed.
He studied her, slowly and intently, and not just that crazy mark on her mouth, either, nor with just his eyes. In the funniest of places, he touched her—the bones in her wrists, the shell of her ear, the scar under her bottom lip. Ellie all but squirmed while he fascinated over every little thing, until she thought she would melt straight into a big, gooey puddle.

And then, thank God, he lowered his head. Expecting a forceful pillaging of the mouth, she almost fainted at the sensation of Gawan's lips simply settling over hers. He didn't cup her face, or the back of her head, or anything. He just
leaned
into her. But she could feel his body almost shaking, as if it took every ounce of strength he had
not
to go crazy on her.

One hand, finally, slid around her waist and pulled her gently but tightly against him, his hips pressing into her, her thighs pressing against him, and then his other hand moved to her jaw, his knuckles scraping across the tender skin of her throat, and then to gently touch that special corner of her mouth she never even knew she had.

And then he urged her mouth open with his, and as they tasted each other—the slowest, most erotic, sensual tasting she'd ever experienced—Ellie wound her fingers through his long curls and held on.

It could have lasted an hour, or a minute. She couldn't tell. All she knew was that she didn't want it to stop.

Everything, to her dismay, did exactly that. It suddenly stopped.

Including Gawan's exploration of her mouth.

With a soft peck to her lips, he rested his forehead against hers and held her close. "Ell," he said, his already raspy voice heavy, his accent thick, "I've got to finish telling you"—he pulled back and looked her in the eye—"and if you disappear on me, girl, I vow, 'twill be my end."

She gave him a smile that felt drunken. "You expect me to comprehend anything you say after a kiss like that?" The way he called her
gel
was just too darn sexy.

A solemn smile tipped the corner of his mouth up. "Aye, I do, and I hope to the saints above I won't trip over me bloody tongue saying it. And I pray you won't hate me after the telling of it."

Oops, there went her stomach again.

His mouth opened to, of course, speak and spill the dreaded Telling of Whatever, and Ellie pressed two fingers over his lips, shushing him. "Do not tell me to sit, because I won't. And stop beating around the bush, Gawan, and spit out whatever it is you want to say." She smiled. "Besides, I couldn't hate you if I wanted to, so don't ever say that again."

Gawan met her gaze with those sinful chocolate eyes, drew a deep breath, and then proceeded to
spit it out.

"We will not remember each other, Ell," he said quietly, and then stayed quiet.

She cocked her head and resisted the urge to clean out her ear with a finger. "What do you mean, we won't remember each other?" She couldn't help it this time—she snorted. "That's ridiculous. As
if
I could forget you."

His steady gaze held hers. "Aye, you will. Because you are my charge, in truth. And I vowed to get your life back." He took another deep breath, as though he wasn't entirely satisfied by how his words were coming out. "Once I've completed a mission with a charge, both of our memories are stricken." He moved away from her. " 'Tis the Order's way, and has been for centuries. I don't recall any of my charges." He turned and stood, hands in pockets, looking at her with that painfully honest look. "I won't recall you, Ell. Nor will you recall me. Ever."

A ton of bricks dropped on her head wouldn't have hit her any harder than that tidbit. "What about Nicklesby, Sir Godfrey, or the ladies?"

"Nay, Ellie. They're not
my charges."
He rubbed the spot between his eyes, pushed the bed curtains back, and sat on the end of the bed. "But
you are."
He looked up. "There's more."

Her legs wobbled, and she thought it'd be nice if the chair she'd slinked into earlier was right behind her. Instead, she stiffened and braced herself. "Tell me."

"Once your life has been restored," he said, and Ellie loved his confidence that her life would in fact be restored, "you will not recall any of this." He pinned her with a stare that wasn't all too gentle.

Quite ferocious, actually. "Nor will you recall any of
us.
'Twill be something akin to déjà vu, or a nagging thought, mayhap, a twinge of something familiar, but no full memory." He sighed, a heavy, heavy sigh. " 'Twill all be lost."

Now Ellie
did
find that chair. She backed up, toward the wall, until her knees caught the back of the seat; then she lowered herself.

It seemed weird to her that any of this would matter after so short a time. But it did. Probably had something to do with that whole Intended business. She wasn't Welsh. Why did it matter so much to her?

Just then Gawan, who'd moved so quietly that she hadn't heard him, squatted down beside her and took her hand. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low. "Were I able to change things, Christ knows I would."