No one. In their right mind, that is.
“Riley, the scathe?” Gawan asks.
I look at him. “I’ve been told you might can guide me to a good place to look. I’ll need your help.”
He grabs me by the shoulder and squeezes. “I pray you’ll ready yourself in something other than a gown?”
That’s all it took. One little touch from Gawan.
And I’m there. . . .
Gawan stood, frozen to the very last step, and stared at the beauty whose gaze he couldn’t tear away from. Their eyes were fastened within the mirror’s reflection, and they stayed that way for a score of seconds or minutes. He knew not which.
Suddenly, it hurt to breathe, and every muscle burned as his body tensed. Unable to move, he simply stood. And stared.
Before he knew what was happening, his lips began to move—at first a whisper. A stunned, coarse whisper. The ancient Welsh verse barely reached his own ears.
Not once did his gaze leave hers.
“I mewn hon buchedd a I mewn ’r ’n gyfnesaf—” he began, his voice breaking like a lad of sixteen.
“Adduneda ’m cara atat forever ’n ddarpar . . .” she finished on a whisper.
In this life and into the next, I vow my love to you, forever, Intended . . .
Gawan’s throat closed, his heart slammed into his ribs, and a tidal wave of memories crashed over him, yet his feet, thank the saints, began to move, closer to the woman standing barefoot upon his straight-backed chair, staring into his oval mirror. His woman.
His Intended.
It was then he noticed a tear sliding down her cheek, her body trembling. A small black purse she’d been clutching slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.
When he reached her, he grasped her around the waist and set her on the floor. Slowly, he turned her around.
Her eyes were squinched tightly shut, tears trailing out of them and down her cheeks.
With a ragged breath, Gawan lifted her chin, and fought the crushing urge to pull her into a ferocious embrace she’d not be able to tear free of. Saints, he wasn’t even sure he could manage another bloody word, much less a score of them. Christ, he remembered.
“Ellie, open your eyes,” he said. “Now.”
Her body shook beneath his hands, and he squeezed a bit tighter, just in case she started to slip to the floor. Her breathing, like his own, became labored, as though she’d been running for her very life.
Slowly her lids cracked open, and the most beautiful, tear-soaked, blue-green eyes stared back at him. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
Gawan bent his head closer.
And then, he quickly realized, no words were needed.
Ellie threw her arms around Gawan’s neck and pulled his head down. Their lips met, settled, and simply melded.
Wrapping his arms tightly about her, he lifted her off the floor and allowed memory after memory to assail him, reveled in the familiar feeling of his Intended’s lips against his, the taste of her on his tongue, her soft body, made just for him, pressed against him.
Then her mouth began to move against his, and he pulled back, reluctantly so, just to hear her sweet words.
“You found me,” she said, in between a series of wet, sloppy kisses. “Gawan of Conwyk.” She bit his lower lip. “Junior warlord.” She dragged a slow kiss across his mouth. “Angel extraordinaire.” After a long, sensual kiss that nearly made him shout, she whispered against his lips, “My Intended.”
A thunderous bellow echoed across the great hall, followed by several more, and as Gawan and Ellie turned around, they found the entire Dreadmoor garrison, along with every ghostie within a hundred kilometers, standing behind them, cheering.
Ellie laughed and buried her face into Gawan’s neck. He held her close, and he drew in a long, delicious breath tinged with the scent of her hair, her skin, her. “My Ellie of Aquitaine.”
And then he had no choice but to let his Intended down, for there was an entire garrison of knights who wished to hug her—the Dragonhawk himself, included, not to mention one special young knight in particular.
“Jason!” she exclaimed happily, and launched at the lad with more spirit than a fierce Welsh Wode maiden in battle.
To the lad’s credit, he apparently had been awaiting her memory to return from the moment she left England. He caught her in full leap, and squeezed her thusly.
“My lady Ellie! I’ve missed you!” he said, and quickly found he’d have to muse over fond memories at a later date.
Not only were there many a fierce knight about the great hall who stood rather impatiently to welcome Ellie home, but a skittish Nicklesby, who all but hopped about from one foot to the other, anxiously trying to worm his way into the crowd.
She spotted him and made a beeline for the wiry man. “Nicklesby! Oh, Nicklesby! Can you believe it?” she asked as she all but snapped the skinny man’s neck in twain with her fierce hug.
Nicklesby hugged her back, unashamed tears welling up in his eyes. “’Tis a wondrous miracle, aye,” he said. “I’m powerfully glad to see you home.”
“Move there, yon bothersome Grimm steward, and let me ’ave a word with the lass!”
Ellie turned from Nicklesby’s embrace and Gawan thought he’d never get used to seeing such a beautiful smile light upon her face. “Sir Godfrey! Ladies!” she said, as the three Grimm spirits floated toward her.
“Lady! What about me?”
Through the crowd burst young Davy. To the dismay of several knights, the lad plowed through to get to Ellie. “I’m here!”
Ellie laughed and bent over at the waist. “Are you ready for another game of knucklebones?”
“Most assuredly, aye!” he said, just as a barking Cotswold shoved through the crowd, Nicklesby chasing after him.
Gawan’s heart swelled as he watched his people embrace his woman. They’d fast learned to love her as an In Betwixt spirit.
They loved her more as a very much alive and breathing woman. His woman.
And as Gawan moved through the throng of people, he pushed Jason aside and peeled Ellie from Tristan de Barre’s arms. Gawan drew her close, and over the top of her head clashed gazes with three of the most wily beings ever to set foot in his hall.
Elgan, Fergus, and Aizeene gave a short nod, their broad, knowing smiles most satisfying indeed. They’d acquired their own retirement, after all. He couldn’t wait to properly introduce them to Ellie. Indeed, that would wait.
Moving his mouth to Ellie’s ear, he first kissed the soft shell, felt her shiver, and then whispered, “Forgive me, girl, but this cannot wait.” He kissed her lobe, and then whispered again, “Wed me, Ell. I vow, you’ll not regret it.”
Ellie slowly lifted her head and stared into his eyes.
The entire hall grew deathly silent.
Gawan’s heart ceased beating.
Then a wide smile split her face in twain. “Yes!”
As Gawan pressed his mouth against Ellie’s, their teeth clacked together as each one smiled. They laughed, but their laughter was quickly drowned out by the raucous cheering of the knights, ex-angels, and ghosts filling Grimm’s great hall.
Overcome with happiness and love, Gawan took his wife-to-be even tighter within his arms and kissed her good, well, and true.
Aye. He’d found her.
He glanced at Elgan, Fergus, Aizeene, now joined by Nicklesby. They stood grinning like fools. He owed them much.
With a bit of help, he’d found his Intended.
And bleeding priests and saints above, he’d not let her go again.
“Wow,” I smile at Gawan. “I gotta admit. You medieval warlords make for some seriously romantic guys.” I elbow him. “Slick move in the mirror.”
Gawan grins. “’Twasna planned, my lady. ’Twas fate.”
I nod. “I believe in that now,” I say. “And it’s why I need you to walk me through what to do again if I find myself going after . . . an Earthbound, or anyone else who may be bein
g held hostage in that otherworld.”
Gawan looks at me and his eyes twinkle. “Very well.” He rubs his chin. “’Tisna here, in Edinburgh, though,” he admits. “’Tis farther north. In the Highlands. St. Bueno’s Well. Young Jason mentioned it to you before, aye? With the holy water. I was wondering when you’d get around tae askin’ me about it.”
I search his brown eyes. “You just point me in the right direction, Grimm. I’ll take it from there.”
Back at the Crescent, I’m packing my stuff. I pack up Eli’s, too, and my eyes sting with tears. I sincerely don’t believe he’s dead. Not anymore. Vic either. But it’s going to be Hell—literally—to save them both. I’ll die trying.
Just then, a slight movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. Slowly, I turn. It’s Lily. She’s standing against the wall. Staring at me with those black fathomless orbs.
I smile at her. “I’ve got the scathe all packed and ready,” I say to her. “I’m going to find Eli. And Victorian.” I study her little ghostly figure. “Thank you.”
The corner of her mouth tips up.
Grabbing my bags, I shoulder them, then reach into one. I withdraw the pouch of hoodoo herbs for protection and set it on the dresser. I smile at Lily. “For you. Just in case you need it.”
Lily turns her head and stares at it.
“Ready?”
I turn my head to find Noah at the door. When I look back at Lily, she’s gone.
So is the bag of herbs.
How she pulled that off I’ll never know. But I’m glad as hell she decided to show herself to me.
* * *
I stare out the window as the plane ascends, leaving Edinburgh behind. Beneath. Whatever.
It’s more than leaving Edinburgh. I feel as though I’m leaving Eli behind, too. And Vic.
And I guess I am. Sort of. But not really, according to Gawan.
Leaning my forehead against the double-paned glass, I stare into the clouds. What’s real anymore? What’s really out there? Do any of us know for sure? And how in the holy Hell do I get my head back in the game without Eli?
Strong fingers slip through my hair and squeeze my neck.
“You’ll make it through this,” Noah says, mercury eyes sincere. His lips tip in a solemn smile. “I make it my solemn vow to see you make it through this.”
I give a slight smile. “Thanks, Noah.”
“Besides,” he says, and pulls me close. “We’re in a plane with two werewolves, four immortal druids, and another vampire besides myself. We’re heading into a were-war. We need you, Riley.” He looks at me hard. “I need you.”
I meet his stare and it comforts me. “I know. I’m here, Noah. I’m not going anywhere.” I glance out over the jagged cliffs that peer through the misty clouds. We’re headed to the Highlands. Inverness, and into wolf country.
Werewolf country.
And, yeah, there’s a war raging between the clans, and it ain’t purty. Only I won’t be joining them. Not right away, that is. I’ve got a mystical well to visit first. St. Bueno’s. I pray it holds the answers I’m looking for, so once we land in Inverness, I’ll be taking off. Alone.
Eli would want me to be strong, stay safe.
I’ll do my very best.
Just as my eyes drift shut, a voice interrupts my thoughts. It’s familiar, achingly so.
Your men may still be alive, but you’ll have to go after them. I canna promise they are there. Riley Poe. Be careful . . .
My eyes dart around the plane, and I search all faces. No one else has a voice like that besides Athios.
Who was supposed to die with the Seiagh.
What the?
Where? I ask.
You’re headed in the right direction. You’ll know it when you see it. Hallowed ground, oldest in Scotia. Tell no one. You’ve got to do this alone. . . .
Elle Jasper, Black Fallen
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