Into Thin Air (29 page)
"Cara 'ch,"
he said, and then kissed the place he'd just whispered against. His mouth lingered there, barely moving yet tasting at the same time, and the intimacy of it was almost more than she could stand. She didn't even know what the words meant, yet they touched somewhere deep inside that Ellie felt fairly sure hadn't been touched before.
"What does that mean?" she asked, surprised her tongue could form words at all. "Car, er." She sighed as he kissed her jaw.
"Cara 'ch,"
she imitated. Barely.
He turned her around, and kept one hand resting against her hip. The other one skimmed her bare arm—God, he loved the dress she had on, low, scooped back and thin straps at the shoulders—until his knuckle brushed her jaw, then lifted her chin. "Saints, girl, open your eyes now," he said. "I want you looking at me when I tell you."
She gulped. And then she did slowly open her eyes.
And stared into the ancient eyes of a once-medieval Welsh warlord turned Guardian Angel. Her Guardian Angel.
" 'Tis an endearment from the old language," Gawan said, grazing her lower lip with his thumb. He stared at her for what seemed like forever, and then his face grew serious, the muscles in his jaws tensed, and his brows pulled forward. "It means
I love you,
girl," he said, his voice decidedly much more raspier. "And by God's teeth, I do," he said, just as his mouth brushed across hers, a breath of a kiss that sent her knees to wobbling. "Say it," he said, the words coming out in a rush against her lips. "No' in the mirror this time, girl." He pulled back, his dark brown eyes searching hers. "To me." He touched both of her eyelids. "And wi' your eyes full open."
How it had happened, she couldn't quite understand. Or why, for that matter.
Now,
even. Now that she knew they'd neither one remember the other? And under such weird conditions, with her being In-Betwinxt and all. How unfair was all that? But, she said to her self, drawing in a breath for her knees' sake, she'd made the decision not to dwell on
that,
once she'd decided to tell Gawan what she was about to tell him. Face-to-face. In person.
Not
to a mirror.
As she looked into his eyes—those dreamy, seductive brown pools—a calmness stole over her. She couldn't explain it, exactly, and wouldn't give it a second thought until much, much later, but either way, she
felt
it.
And it felt right.
And so, she said it.
"Cara 'ch,"
she said, mimicking his ancient language, then, "I love you, Gawan of Conwyk," in her own. She smiled. "In truth."
It was fun, really, to see the stern, intense look from his handsome features ease into such a different expression. Almost like pulling the shades down in slow motion. His brows lifted, slowly, and the muscles stopped ticking in his jaw. His mouth—God, what a great mouth—softened and lifted at the corners into a roguish grin, until that grin became a full-blown,
beautiful
smile—with teeth.
And in the next breath, that beautiful smile crashed down on hers, and Gawan kissed her with a fervor that made her heart sing, made her insides tingle.
And oooh, yeah, baby—she kissed him back.
What normal, sane girl wouldn't?
Well, she thought, as his arm pulled her closer, his hand pressing her lower back against him, his other cupping the back of her head while he kissed the daylights out of her, she wouldn't call herself
normal,
exactly.
All Ellie could think of was Gawan's hands sliding over her, nothing between his skin and hers except a very thin piece of silky material, his muscles bunching beneath her touch, the way his dampened curls, which she'd worked loose from that leather thing he wore, felt between her fingers, and his mouth moving hungrily over hers. He held her jaw just so, tilting her mouth to fit the slant of his, and God, his tongue sent shivers all over her.
The loud clearing of a throat slowed them down. Didn't stop them, but slowed them down.
Before they both wound up nekkid on the great hall floor.
"This is daft," Gawan said, his breathing ragged against her neck. "What are you doing to me, girl?"
His hands moved over her bare back, he crowded her with his big body, and she bit back a squeal.
Come on, girl, make it last! Stop acting like you're going to a fire!
an inner voice said. She was pretty sure it was her voice, but even more sure her dad had been the one to say it to her. A lot.
"Whoa, there big fella," she managed, gasping for air and untangling her fingers from Gawan's hair and placing her palms flat against his chest. "We've got—well, there are things I want to accomplish tonight."
His eyes darkened. "Aye, me, too."
Gulp.
He pulled her tightly and lowered his head to nibble the tender skin on her neck, his still-damp locks falling against her cheek.
"Um, wow," she mumbled, then cleared her throat and pushed him back again. "Is that your sword or are you happy to see me?" she snorted. "Just kidding. Don't answer that—Gawan!"
He lifted his head, a wolfish grin on his face. "Aye?"
She glared at him. The best she could, anyway.
He cleared his throat and loosened his hold on her, just a bit. "Aye, love, what is it?"
Love?
Oh, yeah, she could hear that come from those gorgeous lips all day long and not get tired of it. "Well, I didn't get all dressed up just for you to grope me and make out with me."
He quirked a brow. "You didn't?"
She slapped his arm. "No, I didn't." She raised one brow. "Well, not
only
that." She smiled. "I want to talk. To you." She inclined her head to the corner. "Over there."
Gawan followed her inclining head gesture to the corner, although he kept a fierce hold on her.
"Where did you get that Yuletide tree, girl?"
Ellie smiled, and pulled him in that direction. "It's a fake—and not as in artificial fake, as in
not
really there
fake. Lady Follywolle and a few of her friends conjured it up for us. Cool, huh?"
He stopped her, his fingers sliding between hers. "You are the most charming girl I've ever encountered, Ellie of Aquitaine."
Ellie grinned. "Well, coming from someone who actually
knew
the real Ellie of Aquitaine, that's really something." She glanced behind her, to the tree, then back up at Gawan. "I don't know how much longer I have with you," she said, trying her very best not to tear up, because she
swore
to herself she wouldn't cry, "and I can't remember everything about myself, but for some reason, I feel Christmas—Yuletide—is important to me. It makes me happy." She lifted her hand and touched the very sexy bottom lip of Gawan of Conwyk. "And I want to spend my first and last one with you now, in case I don't—"
Gawan's mouth stopped the rest of the words from escaping. His kiss was strong, intense—almost desperate—and when he lifted his head and Ellie looked into his moist eyes, she knew, then, that she didn't need to explain another thing to him.
With his mouth against hers, he whispered, " 'Twill be a wondrous Yuletide, then," he said, and kissed her deeply.
"I love you," Ellie mumbled, between gasping breaths, against his mouth. "I won't forget you.
Never."
" 'M aggre ydy eiddo, 'n dragwyddol 'n ddarpar,"
he whispered back, fiercely, and then kissed her long. He lifted his head and stared straight into her soul.
"Blyth 'n ddarpar."
Just as Ellie was about to ask what the heck those delicious-sounding medieval words meant, Nicklesby popped his head out of the larder where, apparently,
everyone
—spirits included—was hiding.
"Sorry, sir, a phone call," Nicklesby said.
Gawan didn't even break eye contact with Ellie. "Take a message."
"Er, sir," Nicklesby said, clearing his throat, "You'll want to take this. 'Tis a Rick Morgan. An American. He claims you have information he wants and later just won't do."
Gawan's body stiffened, and Ellie's skin tingled. They both stared at each other, and while Gawan acknowledged Nicklesby, he didn't let Ellie go.
"I'll take it in the library, Nicklesby," Gawan said.
And he pulled Ellie along, barefoot, wearing a long black dress, and still quaking from his last kiss.
Holy bleeping saints in robes—or whatever it was that Gawan said.
It was her father.
"I'll put him on speakerphone," Gawan said. "Here." He dragged a chair close to the desk. "Sit down, and"—he dropped a kiss across her brow—"don't shout out. More likely than not, he won't be able to hear you."
"Okay," Ellie said. She eased into the chair and waited.
Gawan met her gaze. 'Twas that of anticipation and, more likely than not, fear. He couldn't blame her, by any such means.
Moving around to his chair, he pushed the all speak button. "Conwyk here."
A male voice, deep, gruff, and American, sounded on the other end of the line. "Rick Morgan. You left about a dozen messages on my daughter's voice mail. If I hadn't stopped by, I would've never heard any of them. What's going on?"
"That's my dad," Ellie whispered, and Gawan could see the excitement in her face. She gripped the edge of his desk and leaned forward. "I know him."
"Aye, Mr. Morgan, 'twas I who left the messages. I hoped someone would happen by there, as I've not had any other contacts for her."
"Where's my daughter?" Rick Morgan said. "Everything else can wait. Is she alive?"
Gawan knew what he had to say would sound more than absurd to Rick Morgan. The man's voice shook with fear—Gawan could hear it. He wasn't a father, but by the saints, he could well imagine what it would be like, thinking the worse.
"She's missing," Gawan said, knowing he could not lie. "But I have a fair assumption that, aye, she is still alive."
"Jesus Christ," Rick Morgan said, and his voice faltered. "Who the hell are you? A cop?"
"Nay, I am not," Gawan said. He glanced at Ellie, whose lovely face was drawn into a look of despair. Bleeding saints, her eyes had filled with tears, and he could see the strained pull of her mouth. "But I've the constable here looking into matters. Your daughter leased a holiday cottage from a friend of mine, and I'm afraid she did not give her true identity on the lease, else I would have contacted you immediately." Gawan continued when Ellie's father remained silent. "She left only the number I called."
A heavy sigh sounded from Rick Morgan. "Hardheaded girl. I told her I didn't like the idea of her going over there alone. She wouldn't listen."
"Daddy," Ellie said, "can you hear me?"
Rick Morgan remained silent.
Gawan pried Ellie's fingers from the desk's edge and threaded them through his. They were cold, and her hand shook.
And the whole bloody mess was killing him.
"Why was she here?" Gawan asked.
Another sigh, mayhap a curse, and then Rick Morgan cleared his throat. "She'd been doing some personal research on her mom's side of the family. That's what she does, you know—genealogy research." He swore under his breath. "No, I guess you didn't know. Christ, I didn't want her to go there.
Damn
hard-ass head."
Gawan moved his gaze to Ellie's, and she gave a slight shrug. So that was what his girl was: a damn hard-ass-head family researcher, for the saint's sake. She was nosy, opinionated—aye, it suited her.
"Mr. Morgan, can you tell me a few more things?" Gawan asked.
"What else do you need to know?"
Gawan kept his eyes on Ellie. "Her name, for one."
A shuddering breath preceded his answer. "Eleanor Jane Morgan. We call her—well, we call her several things: Janie, Nor-Jane. Mostly just Nor."
Gawan blinked and so did Ellie. Her name was really Eleanor.
"Her mother? Siblings?"
"Her mother passed away several years ago. Car accident. She's got two brothers and a sister. And excuse me for being blunt, but how's this helping you find her?"
Ellie's tears fell freely now, and silently, blessedly, for Gawan knew he couldn't bear hearing her sob out loud.
" 'Tis useful, believe me," Gawan assured Rick Morgan as he looked into the man's daughter's face.
"Sir, when could you and your lads and daughter leave?"
The line was quiet a moment before Rick Morgan spoke. "It'll take a day at least to settle with clients," he said. "We own a family business—contracting—and my younger daughter is in school.
I'll have to get her home. Me and my older son are the only ones with passports, though."
"Can you get the others expedited?"
"If I can't, then it'll just be me and Kyle." With a deep breath, Rick Morgan's gruff voice broke. "Am I coming to plan my baby's funeral?"
The question shook Gawan clear to the bone, and Ellie's face had gone so ashen that he tightened his grip on her hand. Or mayhap he'd tightened it just to try to anchor her where she was, which was with him. "Not if I can help it."
Silence again.
Gawan cleared his throat. "I'll arrange your flights—"
"We can arrange them. Just tell me which airport."
Gawan clearly saw where Ellie acquired her tenacity. "London-Heathrow. Ring me with the flight information and a helicopter will be there waiting to bring you here."
"Will do. And thank you. For your help."
And then they disconnected.
Gawan let Ellie alone for a few seconds to gather her thoughts—or memories. Then he lifted her chin with a forefinger. "What's going on in that head of yours?" He could look himself, but he wanted her to tell him.
She stared at their linked hands, and with one slim finger from her other hand, she touched Gawan's knuckles. "It's weird. Sort of like talking about two different people. The me
now
and"—she drew a deep breath and looked at him—
"their
me." She went back to drawing circles over his hand. "I remember them. My dad, my sister, Bailey, and my brothers, Kyle and Kelly." She shook her head and smiled. "I remember my mom. Anna. She was a great mom."
Gawan studied every line and every curve of Ellie of Aquitaine's sweet face. And aye, no matter that he knew her full true name now, she'd always be Ellie of Aquitaine to him.
