Thirteen Chances (12 page)

Damn.

“Mr. Arrick?”

Focusing his gaze back on his beloved, he gave a short nod. “Aye, it seems for now I’ve given up trying to oust you from Arrick.” What other choice did he have? He couldn’t force her to leave, and damn—she was just too infectious for his weak self to refuse. He still had hopes that she could escape the fate that always awaited her at Arrick and live out the rest of her life in peace. Mayhap she’d just remain curious this time, and he would refrain from wooing her. Finally, she’d leave, go home convinced her mission to Wales had been to discover spirits actually walk the very same plane of existence as the living and nothing more. Her heart would remain intact and safe. He leaned forward and pasted a false scowl to his face. “And stop calling me Mr. Arrick. ’Tis silly.”

She smiled. “Really? I’m not getting ousted?”

He kept his eyes on hers. “Really.”

They watched each other silently. Emma bit her lip, mayhap out of nerves, and his eyes were drawn to the small mark in the corner of her mouth, the ever-so-slight curve that was a fierce reminder that no matter what year, what lifetime, she was his alone. ’Twas a mark only he could see. ’Twas the mark of his heart’s Intended, his soul mate, and that she belonged exclusively to him.

Belonged to him, yet would remain out of his grasp for eternity.

Every seventy-two years, she came back to him. He’d woo her, and just as her memory of their original love rushed back, she’d—something would happen to take Emma from him. An accident of sorts. Once, she’d fallen from a horse. Another, she’d fallen down the steps. The very last time, she’d been in Wales as a nurse during the War. He pushed those painful memories away. Just as hurtful was that he hadn’t touched her, physically touched her, since the day he rode off to the cursed Crusades.

He had indeed dreamed of touching her aplenty. Craved it.

“Hey,” she said. “What’s next?”

He cleared his throat, grateful for the interruption of his thoughts. “Are you overly tired?”

“Not a bit,” she said.

He inclined his head. “And the hand?”

Emma held the wrapped and injured hand up and gave it a wave. “I barely know the cut is even there.”

Christian rose from his chair and nodded in the direction of the door. “Would you care for a walk, then? The moon is high this eve.”

Emma’s eyes sparkled. “Absolutely. Let me run upstairs and get my coat.”

And with that she hurried out of the dining hall.

No sooner had she disappeared through the door than Justin Catesby appeared. He leaned casually against the wall.

Christian glanced at him. “What?”

“So, she’s staying?” Justin said.

With a gusty sigh, Christian gave a nod. “Aye. It appears so.” He looked at his friend. “Now that the amusing part of her arrival and subsequent fright of finding me a specter has passed, why don’t you run along back to Sealladh na Mara? I am fairly sure young Gabe MacGowan is wondering where his friend is of late.”

Justin shook his head, and an uncharacteristic dark look flashed over his usually jubilant features. “Nay, he’s too busy with his new bride.”

Christian remembered that Justin had sort of fancied young MacGowan’s American, whom MacGowan had hired to oust Justin and his lot of ghosts from Odin’s Thumb Pub and Inn. A lovely, energetic lass with a head full of blond curls had strolled into the seaside village and stolen everyone’s heart—including Gabe’s. The lad had thought to leave Sealladh na Mara, but instead had found himself a wife. From what Justin had told him, things had turned out rather well. But he didn’t wish to ponder that, so he moved on. “What of Godfrey? Where’d he carry himself off to?”

“Grimm.” Justin pushed off the wall. “I think I shall join him there. If you need me—”

Christian thumped his old friend on the back. “Aye, I’ll know where to fetch you.” He looked in the direction Emma had gone. “Tell Gawan and Ellie I just may bring a friend over.”

Justin grinned. “Indeed.”

Christian nodded. “At least that would keep her occupied. I’m trying not to woo her, you know.”

With a gleam in his eye that had won him many a fist against the jaw, Justin Catesby gave a short nod. “Good luck with that, Arrick.”

And then he disappeared.

Christian made his way to the stairs. He could hear Emma thumping down them two at a time.

Aye, he thought grimly. He’d certainly need luck.

Luck, indeed.

Emma hurried down the steps, coat in hand, camera bag on shoulder. This time, she’d remember to take a few photos. She’d been sort of preoccupied before, what with having her first official meeting with a spirit. She thought of what was waiting for her at the bottom.

Rather,
who.

She shook her head as she took the second-floor steps two at a time. It was beyond ridiculous to get all giddyup over the spirit of a man—knight, rather—who’d died more than eight hundred and fifty years before. The time difference nearly made her gasp.

More than eight hundred and fifty years …

Okay—plenty of reason to be all giddy. But why the butterflies?

Because he’s freaking hot, that’s why. Dreamy-sexy hot. Der.

As Emma pounded down the last flight of steps, she gave herself a mental shake. Certainly she wasn’t so shallow that, after meeting an actual ghost, someone from
the other side,
the one thing she couldn’t get over was his hotness?

At the bottom of the steps, Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea stood in the pale light of the lamp, casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, that perpetual look fixed and boring into hers. It was as though he knew the exact moment and the exact place she’d emerge.

Emma gulped. Her heart pumped harder.
Yep.
She indeed was that shallow.

How very strange for her …

Flashing a wide grin in hopes he couldn’t read minds, Emma hurried to Christian’s side and looked up at him. “Hi.”

The corner of his mouth pulled. “Hi back.” He inclined his head toward her shoulder. “Do you plan on photographing at night?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re ready, then?”

The intense blue gaze and buttery, deep voice nearly made her run back up the steps. She’d been around good-looking guys before, but they were all relatively safe. They were the bridegrooms of the weddings she photographed. Other than that, she’d really not dated much at all. Nothing serious, really, and nothing runway model good-looking.

Then, she stopped and looked at Christian.
Really
looked at him.

Sure, he was by far the most absolutely gorgeous guy she’d ever seen in her entire life. Talk about
safe?
How much safer could one get than an eight-hundred-plus-year-old ghost?

Her smile, along with her confidence, grew. “Ready!”

Emma continued to stand there, jubilant, waiting. Smiling.

Christian just continued to watch her. Finally, he cocked his head toward the door.

“Oh!” cried Emma. “Sorry.” She quickly opened the door and bounded outside. Christian followed, chuckling.

The crisp night air stung her cheeks and reminded her that it was the first of October already. She thought she liked the breathless feeling the chill air brought. Together, she and Christian walked up the lane. A crescent moon hung behind them, having risen to just above the tree line in the craggy forest of Arrick. It threw a silvery blanket over the ground, making Arrick’s stones nearly shimmer with moonshine. Slipping her camera out, she adjusted the settings and took a few photos. When she slipped a glance at the impossibly tall warrior beside her, she was surprised to find him just a little bit less tangible than during the day. She wanted badly to reach her hand out and brush his. She knew it’d go straight through, but she wanted to
feel
it go straight through.

Emma refrained, in case that was considered bad manners in the ghost world.

Still, she wondered what it would feel like …

“Deep in thoughts tonight?”

She laughed. “It’s all still just a bit much to take in,” she said. She gave him a quick glance. “You in particular.” She shook her head. “Very, very weird.”

Christian chuckled. “I’m weird then, aye?”

“No! Not you, exactly,” Emma explained. “Your … ghostiness.”

That made him laugh. She thought she’d do and say more silly things to make him do it more often.

As they passed through the darkened gatehouse, Emma shivered.

“You’re not scared, are you?” asked Christian.

Emma chuckled. “Not hardly. Even though it is incredibly dark in here.”

“It used to not be,” he said. “Just there, at the foot of those small spiraling steps, a torch was continuously lit.” He nodded to the opposite side. “And there, as well. If you look closely in the daytime, you can still see where the stone was charred. ’Twould be the gatehouse sentry’s duty to keep the torches well coated and replaced when they no longer burned properly.”

“That is so interesting,” Emma murmured, peering at the places Christian pointed out. How fascinating it was to hear of how life carried on at Arrick more than eight hundred years ago.

The courtyard looked surreal bathed in moonlight, and Emma’s critical photographer’s eye scanned the area, looking for the best place to shoot it from. She grinned when she found it. “Let’s head over there,” she said.

“Whatever you wish,” Christian said, his voice washing over her just as smoothly as the light of the moon.

Emma gave a light laugh. “That’s a dangerous suggestion to give a woman, you know.”

“Mayhap. I’m bold that way.”

Emma laughed harder. “Here we go,” she said as they reached the ivy-covered steps. “Let’s go up there.” She pointed to the top. When she glanced up at Christian, his blue gaze locked on to hers. It was strange how much more ghostly he looked at night—almost as though an eerie light, or aura, vaguely surrounded him. She had no difficulty seeing his features clearly.

A single mahogany brow rose and disappeared into the windswept bangs hanging in his face. One corner of his mouth lifted into a boyish grin. “No dangling?”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat. Christian was so substantial standing there. She could hardly believe he wasn’t alive.

She smiled in spite of her pounding heart. “No dangling.” She held up her injured hand. “I can’t dangle with only one hand.” She winked. “Not for long, anyway.”

Christian shook his head and chuckled. “I’ll go up first, and you step where I step, aye?” He looked down and gave her a fierce glare. “And for the saints’ sake, be careful. I cannot save you if you fall.”

“I promise to be careful,” she answered. How strange it felt, she thought, to have not only a total stranger but a
dead
total stranger actually care whether or not she fell.

She found she liked it. As a matter of fact, she found she liked a
lot
of things about Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea.

She smothered a sigh as she watched his backside climb the steps in front of her.

A man who’d once lived, long ago. A knight. A warrior. He was charming, handsome, and he completely fascinated her. It made her heart ache that they’d never be anything more than acquaintances …

Christian reached the top and stepped onto the parapet. He could have just materialized there, but he wanted to try to maintain what small scrap of normalcy there was between him and Emma. He glanced down at her now. True to her word, she was being very careful. Her good hand clung to the wall as she climbed the steps.

Once she stepped onto the parapet, she stood without hesitation and glanced out across the silvery sea. “Wow. This is truly amazing.”

He looked at her and his insides twisted. “Truly.”

Thank the bloody saints, Emma had kept her attention trained to the sea. He was an idiot, in truth. How could he maintain a mere friendship if he continued to allow such ridiculous things to fall from his mouth?

So they spent the next hour making conversation while Emma took photographs. ’Twas vastly astounding. After she took the picture, she’d press a button and turn the camera toward him. He could see the image right away.

They were sitting on the parapet now, he with his legs over the edge, Emma with her legs folded crosswise over each other. She’d just finished snapping several shots.

She leaned toward him. “How’s this?” she asked.

Christian knew Emma didn’t realize how close they were sitting. He, on the other hand, was painfully aware. He tried to ignore it—that feeling in the pit of his gut, the feeling that he wanted to lean closer still, and put his lips as close to hers as possible.

Instead, he leaned away from her. He peered at the small screen on the camera, then looked at Emma. “You have a gift, lass.”

Her lovely mouth stretched into a wide smile. “Thanks. I mostly take photos of people, though.” And before he knew it, she’d lifted her camera, faced it directly at him, and snapped a shot. With a shrug, she glanced out over the courtyard. “You never know what may end up on the picture.”

Christian was sure she’d find it fairly void of him, anyway.

The wind had picked up—not that he could feel it, but he noticed Emma’s hair had begun to toss about. He clinched his hands into fists to keep from trying to push a long strand out of her eyes.

Thankfully, she did it herself.

“I was thinking something,” she said.

“And what is that?” Christian answered. Her voice sounded hesitant.

Emma gave a light laugh, shook her head, and continued to stare down at his hand. “You’re going to think I’m a complete weirdo, but …” She shook her head again. “Never mind.”

“Go ahead, ask,” Christian encouraged. He suddenly discovered he wanted to know everything there was to know about
this
Emma. Emma Calhoun. She seemed to have so many fascinating sides of her personality that, well, the others had somehow lacked. Mayhap it had to do with the century?

“I’m embarrassed,” she said, looking down at her hands.

Christian swallowed, cursed himself for tempting himself the way he was about to tempt himself, and leaned closer to her. “Do not be, Emma.”