Into Thin Air (6 page)

Drawing in the icy air, he wondered briefly if Ellie had a family. A husband? Children? If so, where were they? Had she been in England alone?

A spear of guilt nagged him. Here he was, ogling the poor girl, and she may very well have a man whom she loved dearly, mayhap babes, even.

That didn't sit as well with him as it should.

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, just before he heard her voice.

"It's quite breathtaking."

He turned, and the object of his thoughts stood no more than two paces away. 'Twould be a bold lie not to admit that a feeling of relief shook him, but he'd keep those womanly thoughts to himself.

"Aye, 'tis a fine enough view." He looked her over. Same faded blue hose—jeans, they were called

—same oversized brownish tunic, and a pair of worn leather boots. Fine boots, he'd wager. At least now she appeared dry.

Gawan lifted his gaze to meet hers and his knees nearly gave way. Her eyes were the most fetching shade of blue-green.

"Why do you have a sword strapped to your back?" she asked, slipping her hands into her pockets and inclining her head toward his weapon.

"Just a bit of training," he answered, giving her a smile he hoped would keep her beside him. "How do you fare this morn?"

Ellie moved around him, slowly, as if taking in every inch of his person; then she stepped up beside him and turned her gaze toward the sea. "Am I dead?"

How to answer such? He kept his head out of her thoughts and studied her profile as she stared out across the water. Strong jaw and chin, a nose just the right size for her face, adorned with a splatter of tiny freckles. Very long eyelashes and high-arched brows the color of her hair—reddish brown and in varying lengths, it dropped to the middle of her back.

Aye. Fetching, indeed.

"Am I?" she asked.

Gawan cleared his throat. "Nay, not exactly."

Several seconds passed. "If you see ghosts, then that's what I must be. A dead, lifeless, floating spirit."

Gawan stifled a chuckle. "I see the living, as well. And don't forget Nicklesby. He sees you and he is very much alive." The fact that Nicklesby, as well as himself, had been born centuries before and had served the Higher-Ups certainly didn't need to be brought up just now. He'd reserve that information for later.

She turned and faced him full-on. "Then what's wrong with me? Why can't I remember anything?

Where do I go when I go? I mean, you'd think I'd recall boarding a plane and flying to England, but I can't. And trust me, I've tried."

Bleeding saints. Did her voice just quaver? Comforting the dead, or guarding the life of a charge proved to be a much easier task than comforting a weeping In-Betwinxt woman.

Any
woman, for that matter.

"Those people in the castle—that man dressed in old clothes and the woman with a bird on her head. Oh, and that kid—I ran right through him." She wrapped her fingers around his forearm.

"Ghosts?"

"Aye. Ghosts."

"And yet I can touch you, and you can touch me." Ellie's hand dropped and she returned her stare to the sea. "Good Lord."

Gawan moved to touch her again—just on the elbow—but he retracted his hand. An overwhelming urge to wrap her completely within his arms came over him, but he pushed it aside. "I fear you're In-Betwinxt the living and the unliving, Ellie. I cannot explain it fully, but you seem to be teetering."

"On death?" she asked without looking at him.

"Or life." The fact that he was more than just a spirit-seer was something he didn't think she could handle just yet, so he left that bit out, as well.

She chuckled and rubbed her arms. "Well, it sounds crazy. But I guess I really have no choice but to believe you." After a moment, she turned to him. "Can the others—the ghosts—can they hurt me?"

"Nay, nor would they even if it were possible. They're a rather likable lot."

Ellie nodded and turned to the castle, giving it a long, hard stare. She toed the ground with her boot, much as young Davy did. "What is a
gwarcheidiol?"
she asked.

Saint's priests.

Gawan drew in a breath. " 'Tis like a Guardian, of sorts. Like I said before." He swiftly averted the subject and gave her a nod. "I will do my best to help you, girl."

"Promise?"

Crossing himself, he grinned. "Upon pain of death, I vow it."

Thankfully, that seemed to satisfy her questions. Without another word, they both started for the keep. Across the bailey and through the courtyard, they approached the great doors in silence.

Just as they mounted the stairs, Ellie hesitated. "Why did the man Godfrey tell you to show me your wings?"

Gawan cleared his throat. "Er, you must have misunderstood. You know, his speech is rather ancient. Well over six hundred years or more."

She nodded and inclined her head toward the keep. "Maybe you're right. So, what about the others?

What will they think of me?"

"Not to worry. I'll wager they're clambering at the windows at this very moment for first position to greet you properly."

Ellie smiled, studying him as she walked. "You've got a funny way of saying things. Funnier than just Welsh." She continued her bold stare. "I can't put my finger on it, but I like it. Are you sure
you're
not almost six hundred years old?"

Gawan couldn't help but smile. Not only were twenty-first-century women most comely, but they were, of a certainty, bolder of tongue. Gawan rather fancied it.

"I can assure you, girl, I am for a certainty not six hundred years old."

"Hmm."

More closely to a thousand, but who's counting?
he mused.

Inside the great hall, Nicklesby greeted them.

"How do you fair, young Ellie?" he asked, hovering about her like a peahen. "It distressed me so, your last leaving. Worried me something awful, I'd say."

She smiled, and Gawan thought it to be rather beautiful, although he glimpsed it just from the side.

"I promise from here on out to not freak out too much, Nicklesby. Okay?"

Nicklesby inclined his head. "No freaking out, indeed. And I shall endeavor to aid you in that lofty goal, young lady."

Gawan rolled his eyes at Nicklesby's theatrics, then placed his hand on Ellie's lower back. "Come, then. We'll see if you can last long enough to break your fast."

"I'll see her to the larder, master," Nicklesby said with a frown. "You, sir, need to bathe."

Gawan resisted the urge to sniff himself. "I'll bathe once we've had speech. There's no telling when Ellie may disappear again." He glanced at her and gave her an apologetic nod. "No offense, of course."

"None taken."

He smiled. "Besides, I'd not make you face the Grimm ghosts alone."

"Thanks."

The look of relief on her face was proof he'd made the right decision. "Come, then, before Nicklesby fair drags you to the larder."

As they crossed the hall to the kitchens, Gawan couldn't help but take a peek into Ellie's thoughts.

'Twas one of his most useful abilities, and she just might
think
something she otherwise wouldn't say. Something that could lead to her true identity. Having no idea when the girl was going to next disappear, the notion to peek immediately appealed to him. So, he peeked.

Larder? Break my fast? Where the heck am I? On the set of a King Arthur movie? Sweet mother, if
anyone could play a decent Arthur, it would definitely be this guy. He even has a sword.

Gawan fought a grin. Not a bad start.

Okay, think, girl, think. Gawan's going to ask more questions, and it'd be nice if you had something
to say other than "Derr, I don't know." Did I mention you're in a castle filled with ghosts? Did I
mention you are almost one yourself?

This time, Gawan didn't fight it. He grinned. Damn him, he couldn't help it. Ellie was beyond charming. She had wit. Scores of it.

He couldn't keep his eyes off her.

"Why are you smiling?" Ellie asked.

Gawan cleared his throat, glanced down at her and shrugged. "I thought I had to sneeze."

She studied him for a second or two, as if deciding whether to believe him. She gave a nod as they entered the kitchens. "Okay. I think I'm ready."

Ellie sat down at the table, folded her hands in her lap, and waited. Gawan unsheathed his sword, propped it against one of the chairs, and sat across from Ellie.

"Have you remembered anything else?" he asked.

That spot between her brows knitted together, and then her eyes widened. "Actually, yes. I do remember being dragged against the pebbles and sand. I think my head knocked against a rock."

She lifted a hand to a spot on the back of her head and rubbed. "I can't really feel anything, though."

She shrugged. "I could have dreamed it."

Gawan rubbed his chin. "I doubt it. You seem to recall bits and pieces of things directly before you were hit." He studied her. "Nothing clear as to what happened
before
you were in the water the first time?"

With both hands, Ellie pushed against her temples. "No." She glanced at him. "Nothing."

"May we come in now, Sir Gawan?"

Young Davy and Lady Bella stood just inside the doorway. Davy's eyes were wide, staring at Ellie.

Lady Bella waved.

With an approving nod, Gawan allowed it, and the pair hesitantly came toward the table.

"Ellie, this young pup is Davy Crispin, and this lovely woman beside him is Lady Bella Beauchamp."

Ellie gave a wan smile. "Hi."

Nicklesby hurried about the kitchen, preparing porridge and tea and toast. He stopped and glared at Gawan. "Sir, I beg you. Go bathe before my porridge curdles."

After glaring at Nicklesby, Gawan met Ellie's stare. "Do you mind overmuch if I leave you for just a moment?"

She shook her head. "I'll be fine with Davy and Lady Bella. And Nicklesby."

Gawan gave a short nod. "I shall be gone but for a moment."

Again, she smiled, although hesitantly, and not yet a full-blown smile. "Okay."

Gawan hurried upstairs. Just as he reached his chamber, an amused grumble sounded from a shadowy alcove behind him. As he looked, a fiery ember burned at the end of a cigar as the inhaler pulled a smoke. At least, that was what the illusion was.

Gawan scrubbed the back of his neck. "Aye, Sir Godfrey, what do you want?"

With much bluster, Sir Godfrey illuminated only his ghostly shadowy features. "You fancy the wench, aye?" He chuckled. "Ye might be able to fool some, boy, but not me."

"No doubt," Gawan said. "I'm here to help her. Make retirement. Gain my mortality. Nothing more."

"Even if said wench was beyond pleasing to the eye?" Godfrey added.

With a nod, Gawan smiled. "Aye, even there's that. And I don't need your meddlesome old self giving aide. Now, she awaits, and with Nicklesby, Davy, and Lady Bella, no less." He gave Godfrey a pointed look. "You and the others be gentle with her. She's a modern maid and is having a difficult time coming to terms with things." He waved a hand. "Don't all of you cluster about her so. And do not mention my wings again. If I can accomplish the task without her seeing them, 'twill be better."

A wide, wicked smile stretched across Godfrey's weathered face. "Oh, aye. The poor maid hasn't a clue what a
gwarcheidiol
is, does she?"

Gawan blew out a breath and shoved a hand through his hair. "I told her it was a Guardian of sorts.

And that is how it will remain, Godfrey."

The old ghost chuckled. "As you say, boy. But methinks you'll need every trick you can muster, including those fetching wings of yours. And don't fret. We most assuredly will not cluster."

Godfrey disappeared with another deep-throated chuckle.

Gawan narrowed his eyes at the empty shadowed space in the wall and turned to his chamber door.

No telling what that old busybody knight was up to. But truly, Gawan could do nothing more than pray Ellie was strong enough to withstand it. The ladies, he knew, would be kind, even if a bit overwhelming. But Godfrey? The saints only knew.

In truth, 'twas best that Ellie knew as little as possible about who he was, or his origins. 'Twas bad enough, he thought, that should he save her life, which he fully intended to do, she'd always have a nagging memory of her time spent at Grimm. Not quite a realistic or corporeal memory, of course, but enough of a nuisance to make her occasionally pause and scratch her head.

Thankfully, once he gained his retirement, he'd have no memory of her whatsoever. Which, he thought, didn't sit very well with him, as he already found himself rather enamored with her. But

'twas the unavoidable way of it. 'Twas the requirement of being a
gwarcheidiol.
An Earthbound Guardian.

Rather, an
Angel.

With that somewhat gloomy thought in mind, he hurried through his washing, anxious to get down to the kitchens before Ellie was overcome by Grimm's resident ghouls. Or disappeared again.

After a thorough brushing of teeth, Gawan pulled on jeans, a warm tunic, socks, and boots. He hastened downstairs to the kitchens, and just as he stepped through the wide arch, he stopped and blinked.

He shouldn't have been oversurprised.

There, at the long table, sat Ellie. And around her, beside her, and atop every flat surface in the larder perched more spirits than even he'd seen over the past fortnight.

So much for not clustering.

As he watched, he had no choice but to admire the manner in which Ellie handled herself. While her face looked more than a bit pasty, she sat with her hands folded, making somewhat of an attempt to answer the deluge of questions being thrown her way.

"What's it truly like, young lady, to be In-Betwinxt?" asked Lady Follywolle, the beak of her coiffed swan nearly impaling Ellie's eye.

He couldn't help himself. He
listened.
Again.

What's it feel like? Are you insane? It feels like crap!
she said in her thoughts, a thin smile stretching over her very lovely white teeth.

"Does it hurt overmuch?" asked Davy.

Hurt? Nooo, of course not. I feel just fine, sport!
The smile widened.