Gawan repeated her name over and over, but his voice seemed far off, muffled, as though he were in another part of the castle. Then she couldn't hear him at all.
Another vision, this one of a young girl, thirteen or fourteen, standing at the foot of a hospital bed.
In the bed lay the old man, now with a shock of white hair, his face weary. Placing a large, veined hand atop her head, he comforted her with a few pats. She looked into his eyes. They were clear and blue-green, just like her own. His lips moved, speaking to Ellie, but no sound came forth. For some reason, her heart ached.
"Ellie?" Gawan's voice broke through the haze, far away at first but growing closer. "Ellie, look at me."
Ellie blinked and the vision disappeared completely. Once more, she stood before Gawan. His brow was furrowed, his eyes intense. His handsome face was very close to hers.
"Are you well?" he asked. "Another vision?"
Nodding, Ellie rubbed her forehead. "It was me, with the same old grandpa man, this time he was in a hospital bed. He was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. His lips were moving but no sound came out. And I felt very sad."
Gawan steadied her with both hands on her shoulders, and her skin grew warm beneath his touch.
"We'll figure out this riddle, Ellie. It will all come together. I vow it." He turned her toward the door.
"Let's start with a visit to the beach, then a few questions at the village."
Driving down the lane, Gawan watched Ellie from the corner of his eye. Just as before, she sat rigid, hand clutching the door handle as though ready to open it and fling herself out.
The need to tell Ellie about who he really was nearly choked him. Never before had he wanted to tell another—especially a modern mortal—of his past and oddly bizarre present. He did, though, with Ellie. A strong desire to purge every last sordid detail, good and bad. The bad, he feared, outweighed the good by far. And what bothered him so much was, why her? Why did he feel the need to tell this bewildered, quirky American who was almost a ghost?
A slight movement from Ellie drew Gawan from his thoughts. A swipe of the back of her knuckles across her eyes. Christ, she was weeping. But before he could say a word, she spoke.
"It's close to Christmas, isn't it?" she said, sniffing.
Gawan needed not to ponder that, as his retirement officially ended at midnight on Christmas Eve.
"Aye, Y Nadolig, so it is. 'Tis less than a pair of fortnights away."
A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "Y Nadolig. That sounds nice. I love Christmas. I think." Then she continued to stare out the window. "Less than a pair of fortnights?"
Gawan smiled. "Less than a month."
"Oh."
Christmas. Or the Yuletide, as he'd once called it.
Strange to think of it now. Joy. Merriment. Mulled wine. The season of giving, of love. Family.
His thoughts traveled back to a less merry time, when he'd been battle-weary and bleeding, the dead of winter surrounding him as he stitched his own wounds in the bowels of a freezing cave on the Yuletide eve. No wonder his bloody bones creaked so. How vastly different things were now.
The guardrail loomed ahead, and Gawan pulled the Rover off to the side of the lane. He turned off the ignition and faced Ellie.
"This is where I found you. Are you sure you're up to exploring?" he asked.
She nodded. "Absolutely. Let's go."
Together they got out, squatted near the guardrail, and inspected the ground beside it. The rain had already flattened the area where Ellie had been sitting.
She ran her fingers over the brown grass, picked up a small stone, studied it, then tossed it back down. Standing, she peered over the rail. "Let's try down there."
Before Gawan could give her a steadying hand, Ellie straddled the rail and was on the other side. He followed her down the slight slope of dead winter grass, stopping here and there to study a bit of something along the way.
'Twas impossible, of course, not to stare at the
Another vision, this one of a young girl, thirteen or fourteen, standing at the foot of a hospital bed.
In the bed lay the old man, now with a shock of white hair, his face weary. Placing a large, veined hand atop her head, he comforted her with a few pats. She looked into his eyes. They were clear and blue-green, just like her own. His lips moved, speaking to Ellie, but no sound came forth. For some reason, her heart ached.
"Ellie?" Gawan's voice broke through the haze, far away at first but growing closer. "Ellie, look at me."
Ellie blinked and the vision disappeared completely. Once more, she stood before Gawan. His brow was furrowed, his eyes intense. His handsome face was very close to hers.
"Are you well?" he asked. "Another vision?"
Nodding, Ellie rubbed her forehead. "It was me, with the same old grandpa man, this time he was in a hospital bed. He was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. His lips were moving but no sound came out. And I felt very sad."
Gawan steadied her with both hands on her shoulders, and her skin grew warm beneath his touch.
"We'll figure out this riddle, Ellie. It will all come together. I vow it." He turned her toward the door.
"Let's start with a visit to the beach, then a few questions at the village."
Driving down the lane, Gawan watched Ellie from the corner of his eye. Just as before, she sat rigid, hand clutching the door handle as though ready to open it and fling herself out.
The need to tell Ellie about who he really was nearly choked him. Never before had he wanted to tell another—especially a modern mortal—of his past and oddly bizarre present. He did, though, with Ellie. A strong desire to purge every last sordid detail, good and bad. The bad, he feared, outweighed the good by far. And what bothered him so much was, why her? Why did he feel the need to tell this bewildered, quirky American who was almost a ghost?
A slight movement from Ellie drew Gawan from his thoughts. A swipe of the back of her knuckles across her eyes. Christ, she was weeping. But before he could say a word, she spoke.
"It's close to Christmas, isn't it?" she said, sniffing.
Gawan needed not to ponder that, as his retirement officially ended at midnight on Christmas Eve.
"Aye, Y Nadolig, so it is. 'Tis less than a pair of fortnights away."
A heavy sigh escaped her lips. "Y Nadolig. That sounds nice. I love Christmas. I think." Then she continued to stare out the window. "Less than a pair of fortnights?"
Gawan smiled. "Less than a month."
"Oh."
Christmas. Or the Yuletide, as he'd once called it.
Strange to think of it now. Joy. Merriment. Mulled wine. The season of giving, of love. Family.
His thoughts traveled back to a less merry time, when he'd been battle-weary and bleeding, the dead of winter surrounding him as he stitched his own wounds in the bowels of a freezing cave on the Yuletide eve. No wonder his bloody bones creaked so. How vastly different things were now.
The guardrail loomed ahead, and Gawan pulled the Rover off to the side of the lane. He turned off the ignition and faced Ellie.
"This is where I found you. Are you sure you're up to exploring?" he asked.
She nodded. "Absolutely. Let's go."
Together they got out, squatted near the guardrail, and inspected the ground beside it. The rain had already flattened the area where Ellie had been sitting.
She ran her fingers over the brown grass, picked up a small stone, studied it, then tossed it back down. Standing, she peered over the rail. "Let's try down there."
Before Gawan could give her a steadying hand, Ellie straddled the rail and was on the other side. He followed her down the slight slope of dead winter grass, stopping here and there to study a bit of something along the way.
'Twas impossible, of course, not to stare at the
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