Into Thin Air (31 page)

Two people designed for each other, who matched perfectly in every way, even though one had been born in the twelfth century, the other in the twentieth. Who would have ever thought?

Later, she'd think about how unfair the whole thing was, but for now she'd concentrate on the way Gawan of Conwyk's body crowded against hers, seeking hers, the way the tendons in his neck stood taut as she grazed the skin there, fingering his Adam's apple as he kissed, threading her fingers through his hair. The way he savored her lips, her tongue, in a slow, sensual melding of mouths, and how his other hand left the wall beside her head and moved to her hip, where it lingered for a moment before it slipped upward, brushing first her ribs, then the outside of her breast, which, God help her, made her moan against his mouth—

"Ahem."

Yep, they were truly Intended. They kept right on kissing.

Ellie wished with all her might that it was more. A lot more.

"Go away, Jason," Ellie heard herself say in a mumble, just before Gawan captured her lips with his.

"Beg pardon, lady, but nay, I won't. But I'll be just there, up the hall,
with my sword,
should things in this alcove become any—"

"Go away, Jason," Ellie and Gawan said in unison.

"Boy, don't you think I'd have more chivalry than to take my Intended against a bloody wall?"

Gawan ground out, his breathing ragged.

"A wall's fine with me," Ellie whispered, and Gawan covered her mouth with his hand.

"Aye, sir, I should hope so. But I'll be just over there, by the by."

Jason, bless his knightly, vow-swearing soul, walked off, to
just over there,
which wasn't very far at all.

Gawan removed his hand from Ellie's mouth, and traced the lips he'd just hungrily kissed. "I vow, woman, you've no propriety." He kissed her neck, just below her ear. "Fine, fetching quality you have, methinks."

Ellie squirmed, giggled, and then bent her neck to the side for Gawan to claim. He did claim it, and claimed it good, and she wondered if a thousand-year-old Angel would know how to give a hickey.

God knew she hadn't had one in years.

Not for the first time since they'd been in their Alcove of Passion, Gawan's ... um ...
joy
in touching her pressed heavily against her hip. The thought of just how well endowed a twelfth-century warlord could be made her light-headed. She tried to angle away from the waist down, not that she succeeded, but she should get points for trying.

Gawan moved his hands back to the wall, one on either side of Ellie's head, and he nudged her mouth open with his and whispered those same ancient Welsh words from before, and then he kissed her.

"Have mercy upon me, girl," he said finally, his medieval accent thicker than ever, "and let's be away from this seductive place before you well and truly get your wall wish." He gave her mouth a quick assault, quick yet extremely effective, she noted. Then he grabbed her by the hand and pulled.

"Come."

She fanned herself because she almost
had.

When they reached the great hall, they found the candles were still lit, the hearth stoked to a roaring blaze, and the wall sconces glimmered. The ceiling-high Victorian-style Christmas tree twinkled with hundreds of tiny candles, bows, and glass ornaments, and somewhere a tinny old-fashioned melody played. And there, into the wee hours of the night, with a ghostly audience, Gawan pulled Ellie close, and held her tight.

And they danced.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Gawan didn't yet open his eyes, because he knew when he did, the night would be over. So he kept his eyes shut, and his breathing as regular as could be managed.

His head rested upon the most comfortable pillow, and that pillow had a hand with fingers, and those fingers were gently stroking his hairline.

He accidentally sighed.

"I know you're awake, Conwyk," the pillow said. "I've been watching your eyelids move."

"Damn," he said, cracked open one eye, then the other, and grinned. "Are you sure you're not a constable instead of a researcher? You're a rather shrewd wench."

Ellie giggled. "Shrewd. Hmm." She flicked his ear. "I like the sound of that." She stroked his temple, and then slid her fingers through his hair.

"So you've sat here since I nodded off, keeping watch over my sleeping self all night?" he asked, wishing like hell he hadn't fallen asleep, but 'twas one of the conditions of an Earthbound Angel: live like a mortal.

"Don't be so conceited, Gawan of Conwyk," she said with a grin, and he knew this because she'd leaned way over and looked at him. "I was thinking, too, you know. Not just gazing at your beauty."

He chuckled. "Ah, but you did do at least some gazing, aye?"

She traced his nose. "Of course, silly."

It could have been a dream, but Gawan then thought he'd remembered Ellie whispering to him, whilst he wasn't quite asleep nor awake. "Did I fall asleep when you were talking?"

"No." She took his jaw and lifted it, forcing him to look at her. "What were those words you whispered to me? Last night?"

He hadn't thought she'd noticed overmuch. "Words of endearment, love," he said, taking her hand in his. "Why?"

"Just wondering, is all." She squeezed her fingers around his.

"Methinks 'twould be a fine gesture, indeed, if you took the lady to the tower and watched the sunrise. 'Tis clear enough this morn."

Both Gawan and Ellie jumped as Sir Godfrey appeared through the wall. He grinned and gave a bow. "A fine morn to you, lady."

"Thanks, Sir Godfrey," Ellie said.

Gawan rose and pulled Ellie up with him. "Aye, Godfrey, a fine idea, that."

It was then that Ellie's fingers grew light within his. She kept her eyes trained on him, and she gave a slight yet reluctant smile, just as she disappeared.

Gawan watched the remnants of her solid self vanish, and he swore.

And then he stood still, in the hopes that she'd come right back, as she had the night before.

"Boy, I fear 'tis time," Sir Godfrey said.

The larder door swung open, and across the great hall walked Nicklesby, followed closely by Jason and Davy.

"Has she gone again, sir?" Jason asked, looking around.

"Aye." Gawan swiped a hand over his jaw, then looked at Jason. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes, lad."

Jason gave a nod and headed for the stairs.

"Nicklesby," Gawan said, following Jason, "Mr. Morgan may call whilst I'm out. You realize I've not told him everything."

"Most certainly, sir," Nicklesby said, tightening the sash on his robe. "Shall I go with you?"

Gawan stopped at the stairs. "I can use your skills best here, my friend."

"And mine, too?" asked Davy. The curious lad stood wide-eyed, his soft hat cocked over one brow, as always.

"Aye, boy. Yours, too."

"Breakfast at all?" Nicklesby asked.

"Nay." Gawan took the stairs by two. "If the constable rings, tell him I'm on my way."

'Twas nearly two hours later, when Gawan and Jason, accompanied by Constable Hurley, stood before the man in charge of safe-deposit boxes at the bank.

Mr. Delwaney—so said a name tag pinned to the front of his too tight jacket—a plump, bespectacled balding man of average height rose from his chair behind the desk. He gave a short glance to Hurley, then turned to Gawan. "Name?"

"Eleanor Morgan," Gawan said.

Mr. Delwaney asked, "And you are?"

"We're in Ms. Morgan's stead, Stanley. Can you tell us if she has a box leased?" Hurley asked.

Stanley Delwaney shook his head. "You know better than that, Constable. Unless you have a warrant?"

Damnation, Gawan didn't have time for this. As much as he wished things could be different for him and Ellie, they simply could not be. But by the bleeding priests and saints above, he would make sure Ellie didn't suffer for it.

He leaned forward, looked down at Stanley Delwaney, and pinned him with a glare. "We need no warrant." Then, with his mind, he spoke clearly to Delwaney.
Does Eleanor Jane Morgan have a
safe-deposit box here, and if so, get it. Now.

Wordlessly, Stanley turned to his computer, typed in Ellie's name, and pulled up her information. He went to a large steel door in the back, next to the safe, opened the door and retrieved a thin metal box. He handed it to Gawan through the sliding bulletproof window.

"What the bloody hell?" whispered Hurley. Then he looked at Gawan and wiped a brow. "I won't even ask."

Withdrawing the key from his pocket, Gawan opened the box. Inside was an old leather-bound ledger. "Ellie mentioned a ledger in one of her visions," he said. Turning to Stanely, who stood completely still, he handed him the empty box and key.
Put this away, and delete all information
regarding Eleanor Jane Morgan from your files. You won't remember our visit here, nor will you
recall Eleanor Jane Morgan.
"Good morn," Gawan said out loud, and then they left.

"What did you do?" Hurley said as they stepped out into the biting cold. "Bloody brainwash him?"

Gawan stared at the ledger. "Something like that." He turned the pages and skimmed the old faded words penned against parchment now yellow with age.

"What do you make of it?" Jason asked, leaning forward and reading alongside Gawan.

"I'm not certain," he said. " 'Tis more personal notes—findings of a sort, dates." He shook his head.

"Maybe Ellie will know. She obviously thought it important enough to place it under lock and key."

He turned to Hurley. "Constable, have you come up with anything regarding the fingerprints at the Dreadmoor rental?"

"Nothing for certain, as there seem to be several sets of prints about the place. You say her father and siblings are flying over from America?" He took a small pad of paper and a pen from his pocket. "Their names?"

Gawan gave him Ellie's father's full name.

"So you've discovered why she was here, then?" Hurley asked.

"Somewhat vaguely, aye. Her father claims she's a family researcher—a genealogist—and supposedly, she came here on personal business."

Hurley pulled his overcoat collar up and turned his back against the chilled wind. "He has no idea who, in particular, she was researching?"

"Her mother's family," Gawan said, and then a thought struck him at the same time. "By the saints, she didn't tell me her mother's maiden name."

"Addler." Ellie appeared at Gawan's side and leaned over the ledger. "Oh my God, that's the ledger from my vision—only it really happened, I think." She blinked, looking all too confused and pale.

"It's my great-grandfather's—my mom's grandfather. Grandpa Phin. I found it in an old bureau that belonged to him." She looked up at Gawan. "His family changed their name to Addler when they came to America."

"Saints," Jason said. "Then what brought you here?"

"I obviously found the familial link." She looked up. "But I don't remember what it is. I sort of remember the research—just not the link."

Constable Hurley paled. "She's here now, isn't she? Your Ellie?"

Gawan glanced at
his
Ellie, who was not looking at all as vibrant as she had earlier that morn. "Aye, and she gives her regards and begs you to lose that pasty complexion. She doesn't bloody bite."

Hurley looked around, then gave a nod and a sigh. "Aye. Sorry, then."

Gawan rubbed his chin. "Knowing why Ellie was here—better yet, the link she found—would certainly help matters." He glanced at his Intended, who gave him a wan smile. "But we've not the time for it." He looked at Hurley. "If you could make a few phone calls, mayhap someone could look into a database of sorts to see about a family changing their name to Addler and leaving for the Americas at the turn of the century. Meanwhile"—he glanced at Jason—"we need to find her." He'd had a building of anxiety about that, well, ever since he'd met her, but especially since this morning, when she'd disappeared and reappeared so quickly. And now she looked so fragile. Standing in that fetching black gown, looking so bloody fragile.
By the saints ...

"Gawan, don't," Ellie said, her cool fingers slipping through his. "I'm fine."

He squeezed her hand, wishing he could bind her to him forever ...

A brisk sea wind whistled through the buildings, and the clouds overhead swirled gray. "I've already contacted Dreadmoor and his men. They'll be here any moment, but a few more could only speed matters along, if you have any to spare, Constable."

Hurley nodded. "I'll make some calls. But I can't gather any warrants to search homes or establishments. Not without just cause. Location?"

Gawan gave him a thirty-kilometer radius in all directions from Tristan's cottage. "I don't even bloody know what it is we're searching for. She's heard a male voice and a female voice speak over her, and she's smelled wet stone, hay, and clover. Otherwise, 'tis been nothing but darkness."

"Damn," Hurley said, scratching his head. "She could be in a field or a cave for all we bloody well know."

Gawan nodded. "Aye. I do know, not to mention the farmsteads and crofters stretched about the coastline. The more men we have searching, the better." He pressed his eyes with his knuckles.

"Here's Sir Tristan now," Jason said.

"Damn me, it looks like a bloody circus," Hurley said. "Are you positive you need my men?"

Gawan wondered, indeed, as four vehicles and two motorbikes pulled up the street walk. Andi drove one vehicle, holding three knights. Tristan drove another, also with three knights. Kail, Tristan's captain, drove yet another, with four knights, and two more were on their motorbikes.

A circus, indeed. And one Gawan was ever so grateful for.

Tristan unfolded himself from his car and walked straight over to Ellie. "How do you feel, lady?" he asked.

She smiled and leaned into Gawan. "Super, thanks. Are you here to search for
me?"

He gave her a short nod. "In truth, while it sounds passing odd, I can assure you, I've seen odder."

He slapped Gawan on the arm. "Finally, this uncanny snow and mist have lifted, although it's bloody freezing out here. I don't much recall it being this cold in our day."