Into Thin Air (16 page)

"Sir Gawan! I've been wondering when you'd come round! 'Tis wondrous, about Sir Tristan and the rest of us, aye?"

Gawan turned and watched the tall, lanky form of Tristan's youngest knight hurry across the great hall. Clad in modern garb in the form of a wool tunic, denims, and boots, Jason of Corwick-by-the-Sea hastily scampered across the hall's oak plank flooring, with his sword slapping heartily against his thigh. When the lad stopped, he grasped Gawan's hand in a firm shake, a wide grin splitting his face in twain.

"Wondrous it is, lad." Gawan studied him. "Methinks you've grown a bit, boy. Being a mortal seems to suit you rather well."

Jason glanced down at himself, then lifted a gaze full of mischief. "Aye, in more ways than one, sir.

How long are you here for?"

Tristan clapped Jason on the shoulder. "At least long enough to have a go at the blades, lad. I daresay Conwyk needs a good flesh-and-blood bit of swordplay, aye?"

The grin on Jason's face grew wider. "Most assuredly, aye."

Andi groaned. "Like I said, House of Testosterone. Jameson!" She turned and walked off. "I'm starving over here!"

All three men watched the lady Dragonhawk saunter across the hall and disappear into the larder.

Gawan grinned. "House of Testosterone it may well be, but I daresay yon maid there has the running of this hall firmly in her wee grasp."

"If you only knew the half of it," Tristan muttered. But, Gawan noticed, he muttered with the utmost respect and love.

Just then a thunderous stomping of booted feet sounded at the stairs, and four big knights, all garbed in modern clothes like Jason, yet none without their blades, hurried down and across the great hall.

With much jostling, backslapping, and handshaking, greetings were passed all around.

Aye, 'twas more than wondrous, as Jason had said. 'Twas a bloody miracle, these lives restored with Dragonhawk and his once-doomed knights.

Gawan thought it couldn't have happened to a more deserving lot of lads.

"Oy, Conwyk," said Tristan's captain, Kail, a bloody giant to Gawan's notion. He stroked his chin. "

'Twas just the other day, as a matter of fact, that the lads and I were pondering when you'd come calling for a bit of
live
sport."

Sir Richard elbowed Sir Christopher and winked. "Was wondering, even, if ye was a bit, oh, I dunno,
scared?"

"Not that your mate Arrick-by-the-Sea isn't a damn fine bit of spirited sport," Sir Christopher said.

"A mighty warrior, indeed, whilst still a ghost. Although 'tis a bit more, er, challenging, when fighting one of the flesh."

Gareth, a rather large lad from the Highlands, leaned toward Gawan. "We've just installed new floodlights in the lists, Conwyk." A broad smile split his face as he palmed the hilt of his sword.

One dark eyebrow lifted. "What say you?"

Gawan couldn't help the surge of excitement that rushed through him. "Aye, little lad, and 'twill be your blade I'll send sailing through the air first—
umph!"

"Damnation!" All of Dreadmoor's knights cried out scores of various curses at once.

As they scattered.

Just as Ellie, once again, literally dropped out of nowhere to land unceremoniously atop Gawan's unsuspecting self. Although his body jerked in an attempt to brace himself against her weight, it failed to keep either of them upright. Instead, Gawan found himself with an armload of soft, flailing woman as both he and Ellie tumbled to the floor.

When Ellie opened her eyes, she met the intense and surprised stare of Gawan. Nose-to-nose and clearly sprawled all over him, she passed a quick thank-you to the Lord for her having chosen Nicklesby's trousers and Gawan's sweater to wear instead of a skirt. God knew what a sight that would have made.

Heat seared her lower back, where Gawan's large hands had a firm grip. They were pressed breasts to chest, which was quite an interesting position.

They were on the floor, her atop him.
Again.

A slow frown pulled at the corner of Gawan's mouth.

And then, quite suddenly, Ellie had a
feeling
creep across her. Forget the fact that she was lying on top of the most absolutely drop-dead-gorgeous guy she'd ever seen. Forget that the same guy had a chivalrous, charming characteristic about him that she was beginning to seriously adore. No, no, that was something altogether separate. Ooh, and there was that annoying half-dead, amnesia thing that was becoming all too normal lately. This was something
else.
Slowly, without moving her head, she slid her gaze first to the left, then to the right.

Gawan and she were surrounded by several pairs of big, worn, leather boots.

Someone above them chuckled.

Although he was still frowning and Ellie couldn't figure out why, Gawan's gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, which made her stomach do a flip. Then his eyes moved back up. His jaw tensed.

"Could one of you lads give us a hand?"

"By the saints, girl, forgive me," she heard Tristan say, just before his strong hands grasped her around the waist and hefted her none too gently off Gawan.

"There now," Tristan said, giving her a firm, awkward pat on the shoulder. He inclined his head.

"Er. lads, this is Ellie Aquitaine, Gawan's lady, although I daresay neither will admit the like." He grinned. "Lady, the knights of Dreadmoor. Well, some of them, for the most part."

Gawan knelt and then rose to stand beside her, just as she turned her head in a half-circle to meet the gaze of the four big boot wearers. They all had hair to their shoulders, or at least it would have been, if they'd worn it loose, and while they were dressed in normal clothes, they each had a
sword
strapped to their hips? As she studied each one, they either gave a short nod, smiled, or lifted an amused eyebrow. One, who looked the youngest, winked. Tristan simply stood, legs braced wide apart, arms crossed over his chest.
Smirking.

"Um, hi, guys," she said. Leaning closer to Gawan, she tugged on his arm, and when he lowered his head, she rose on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Where the heck are we?" She knew they weren't at Castle Grimm, and she'd have definitely remembered meeting all these guys. It was one thing to encounter Gawan, for God's sake. But now there were four more? She briefly wondered why they didn't seem too fazed by the fact that she'd just dropped out of thin air.

Gawan's eyes met hers. "We're at Dreadmoor, lady. Tristan's hall." He gave a nod in the direction of the other guys. "And these lads are some of his men."

Before Ellie could address
that,
the sound of scurrying drew her attention across the room, and when she looked, she found an older man dressed in a proper black suit, with perfectly combed gray hair and a slight scowl on his face, hurrying toward them. Beside him was a pretty young woman.

They almost seemed to be
racing
toward her.

"What in Heavens is all the fuss about?" the older man said. "My dear girl, are you quite all right?

You lads, there, give her a bit of room."

Ellie smiled, although she didn't think she'd ever be quite all right for the rest of her life. "I'm fine, really."

"Hi, I'm Andi, Tristan's wife, and this is Jameson," the young woman said, smiling and grasping Ellie's hand in hers. "Would you like me to rescue you from these overgrown brutes?"

Before Ellie could happily accept, the front door slammed open, sending in a blast of frosty air. She blinked. Several more overgrown brutes filed in. All with long hair, some tied back, some worn wild around the shoulders. All wearing
chain mail?
And all carrying swords. And they all stared at
her.

Good
Lord.

Ellie glanced at Andi. "Do you have your own football team?"

Andi laughed, as did several of the others. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? You should see the grocery bill around here." She tugged on Ellie's arm, which had somehow become firmly attached to Gawan's. "Come on. We could use some help in the kitchen." Andi glanced at the older man.

"Right,
Jameson?"

Jameson, who had a bored look upon his weathered features, heaved a small sigh. "If you insist, my lady. Let's hurry, then, before the stew becomes lumpy."

As Ellie started to follow Andi, Gawan tugged her to a halt. He leaned forward and brought his lips to her ear. " 'Twill be fine, girl. Go with the lady. I'll be along, posthaste, after I've had speech with Tristan."

They stared for a moment, before she allowed Tristan's wife, who seemed to think the whole situation all too typical, to pull her away. Certainly, Andi didn't realize she was In-Betwinxt?

And it was only then that Ellie realized that yet another mortal—when had she started thinking of people as mortal or immortal?—was able to touch her.

Hurrying across Tristan's great hall, being pulled by Tristan's wife, and surrounded by a bunch of guys who carried swords, Ellie decided right then and there that even if she couldn't remember anything, she could still sense that these people knew something she didn't.

And she wasn't going to leave Dreadmoor Castle until she found out just what that something was.

Chapter Thirteen

"So the lass recalls naught?"

Gawan rubbed his chin. "Not her namesake, her sire, nor her family—just a few random memories."

Including one memory involving the improper fondling of a certain naked statue. "I've checked with each infirmary between Northumberland and London. They all said their nay."

"Did you use your"—Tristan tapped a forefinger to his temple—"Angel mind-control thing that you do—"

"Whisst,"
Gawan hissed. "Keep your voice down. She knows naught of my skills. But aye, of course, I used it. They wouldn't gain me information otherwise."

"Surely you jest," Sir Robyn, a tall, sandy-haired knight said. "You've not told her?"

"Damn, Conwyk," Sir Richard said, scratching his head. "Methinks 'tis a powerful important detail to leave out of one's artillery of need-to-know things."

Several ayes and grumbles rounded the circle of knights gathered before the great hall hearth.

"Now, lads," Tristan said, "there's more to this sordid tale, to be sure." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She's Conwyk's bloody Intended."

Several manly gasps filled the air at once.

"Mean you," Kail said, dabbing his large, clumsy fingertip to the corner of his mouth, "she has that wee mark, just here?"

"But your retirement grows ever so near, sir," Jason said. "I thought 'twas the absolute rule that all memory of those charges you've given aid to be stricken from you?"

Gawan's skull throbbed. Nay, it slammed against whatever useless bit of matter that lay within.

"Aye. 'Tis so."

More gasps, even more manly than before.

Sir Stephen paced before the hearth, hand on sword hilt. "We could make sure the two of you are reunited, aye?" He rubbed his chin as he pondered. "If she's your Intended, then no matter that you can't recall these past events. She's still yours. You'd grow again to love her."

When, by the saints, had these thickheaded fools decided that he already loved Ellie?

Not that it mattered if he did.

Gawan stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I thank ye for your efforts, Stephen, but nay,

'twould not work. Because the girl nearly died, and is In-Betwinxt, and
I
found her. She became my charge, in truth, right then. That changes everything."

"Methinks that bloody law of yours is passing overrated," Stephen said. "By the by, there's one thing even
They"
—with an index finger, he pointed upward, whilst whispering the word
They

—"cannot control, and that's a fierce desire between a warrior and his maid. 'Twould be naught but a simple thing, to reintroduce the two of you."

Jason scratched an ear. "Aye, that certainly is a wondrous plan, sir. 'Tis more than obvious that you two are most mad about each other."

A low rumble of grunts of agreement sounded.

"Lads, you sound like a gaggle of peahens. There's much more to this than desire. Her bloody life is at stake here, and so far I've been fair useless as a Guardian. She crossed many miles to come here, and I cannot even find out
why,
no matter how many thoughts I read, nor how many minds I coerce.

Useless powers, they are, unless I find the right person. Or persons."

How, he wondered, could something such as his desire for Ellie be so bloody obvious to a garrison of medieval knights? They knew of swords and bloodshed and battle and fisticuffs, not of matters of the heart. He shoved a hand through his hair and sighed. "Christ, 'tis maddening."

"Does she know?" Sir Christopher asked, jabbing a poker into the blazing hearth. "That she's your Intended?"

Gawan pushed out a gusty sigh, then swore in Welsh. "Nay. She does not."

Tristan, who'd risen and come to stand beside Gawan, placed a hand on his shoulder. "All this secrecy may be for naught, my friend."

Gawan met Tristan's gaze. "What mean you?"

"Have you ever thought to allow the girl to make up her own mind regarding your position as a nearly retired Angel Guardian
and
her Intended?"

Gawan gave a short, incredulous laugh. "You jest, aye? The girl is addled. She barely comprehends her own state of being, not to mention the fact that my hall is filled with a pushy lot of meddlesome specters." He met Tristan eye to eye. "Are you suggesting I burden her with all of this, as well?"

Tristan's smile was annoyingly cocksure. "Aye, man. 'Tis exactly what I'm suggesting."

"Aye, Conwyk," said Kail. "You're no' God Himself, for Christ's sake. You're merely one of His Guardians, and not for too much longer at that. 'Tis not your decision, the keeping of such matters of import to yourself. The lass has a bloody right to know."

"Or did you forget the Code you swore by?" said Robyn. He waved a hand in the air, big, cocky oaf that he was. "I recall one verse in particular—er, what is it, lads? Help me out."

"Never lie" was grumbled in unison by all knights.