Thirteen Chances (15 page)

Christian looked down at her, grinned, and shrugged. Again, in such a guy fashion, it made Emma smile. “ ’Twas something I did before going off to war so it wouldn’t get tangled … in … my … helm. Emma?” He stopped and looked back at her. “What’s wrong?”

Emma had stopped. A strange feeling in the pit of her stomach had struck her—much like it had when she’d first arrived at Arrick-by-the-Sea. She continued to stare at Christian, even as he drew closer. He bent his head to hers, their eyes locked.

“Emma? Are you ill?”

Emma rubbed her temples with the pads of her forefingers. Something … weird was happening. A flash, like a frame from a movie.

It was so quick; she barely even knew it’d happened.

“Emma?”

That fast, the feeling faded, and she met Christian’s worried gaze. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She laughed, and shook her head. “But I think I just had a mixture of movie flashback and my own creative imagination.”

His brows drew closer, worried. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head again. “This is going to sound weird, but for a split second I saw you, sitting on a hacked-off tree stump, cutting off your long hair with a knife.” She peered at him. “Funny, huh? I must have seen something similar in a movie.”

A muscle flinched at his jaw. “Aye, mayhap so.” He inclined his head. “Ready?”

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

They walked, they talked, but Emma could tell something was bothering Christian. His mood wasn’t quite as light as when they’d left the manor. She wondered why that was. Maybe he was getting tired of all her questions? Maybe she’d said something offensive.

As they continued down the narrow, one-track lane, a few whitewashed cottages began to appear. They’d passed a sign printed in Welsh, with a roaring red dragon painted on it—the country’s symbol, Christian had told her.

They rounded a turn, and then suddenly, there it was. The village of Arrick-by-the-Sea. Emma stopped and took in the view. She’d noticed remnants of an aged stone wall, sometimes stretching for quite a ways, other times not there at all. It now stood prominent, completely encircling the small, medieval village. A walled village. How cool.

A small row of brightly colored storefronts faced the sea, so Emma could really only see it from the side. A few buildings, made of stone, stood taller than the storefronts. It made a nice contrast, she thought.

“Let’s stop right here for a minute,” she said. “I’d like to get a few shots from this angle.”

“Whatever you wish, Emm.”

Emma froze, and she turned her gaze to Christian. A current of …
something
shot through her, and she stared. He stood there, staring right back.
Emm …

Just that fast, the weird feeling was gone again.

She shook her head. “I think I must be needing food soon,” she said.

Christian laughed. “I’m not surprised at all.”

Fishing out her digital and lens, Emma made the lighting adjustments, then took several shots of the quaint medieval town from the lane. She heaved a sigh.

The rest of the afternoon went just as perfectly.

As they walked the cobbled paths of Arrick, Christian pointed out various landmarks that had been there in his day. Most of the buildings were much newer, he’d said, but the somewhat taller, narrow stone building at the point of the crescent used to be and still was Arrick’s kirk—a church, he’d explained.

Not many people were out and about, Emma noticed. That was a good thing. Twice she witnessed firsthand just how quick a six-foot-three-inch warrior could be. Once, an older man and his wife were strolling by, and they thought to stop and ask for directions to a certain set of ancient standing stones. Christian whispered the directions to Emma, and she obliged the older couple. But when they made to leave, they darted straight toward Christian. He had to jump out of the way—out of everyone’s way—to avoid the older couple from passing through him.

If they only knew.

All in all, Emma found Christian to be the perfect tour guide, the perfect gentleman, and the perfect companion. He’d stopped for every photo opportunity she’d wanted, including pictures of several of the villagers. People were her best subject.

Although the female population was scarce, what little was there, young and old alike, couldn’t help but gawk at Christian as he sauntered by. Heads literally poked out of storefronts as they passed. Emma knew. She’d turned around to see.

Christian had seemed completely oblivious to it. Strangely enough, all his attention seemed to be focused on
her.

She’d caught him several times, simply staring.

The big knight’s attention made her a little nervous, but it was impossible not to feel special when Christian turned his sights to her. She simply wasn’t used to being the subject of one’s close scrutiny. It pleased her, though she’d never admit it.

The only thing he’d seemed hesitant about was visiting the church. She’d been able to tell from his expression that he didn’t want to go there. Perhaps it’d held a bad memory for him. She didn’t know, but as wonderful as he’d been the whole of the day, she wasn’t about to pout about not going to the church.

The last stop of the afternoon was at the chippy. Emma’s stomach growled at the delicious aroma of fish-and-chips rolling out of the open doorway. Three stone benches sat just outside. She turned to Christian, smiling.

“I’m going to bring some back for the sisters,” she said. “They’ve been so kind to me.” She held up her injured hand and wiggled it.

Christian inclined his head to the benches out front. “I’ll wait just here.” He glanced inside. “The fit is too tight in there for me, I believe.”

Emma gave a nod. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Try not to get into trouble.” She wiggled her brows. With that, she strode into the shop.

A tall, lanky, friendly man with a shock of black hair and green eyes stood behind the counter. He grinned as she walked through the door. “Hallo, there, miss. What can I help you with?”

Emma smiled. “Five orders of fish-and-chips, please.”

The man cocked his head. “All for you?”

Emma laughed. “Tempting, but no. I’m taking some home.”

He laughed and shook his head, and started on frying the fish. Emma watched, occasionally peeking out of the door to watch Christian.

“From the sound of it, you’re a wee bit far from home, aye?” he asked. “Here on holiday from America, are you?”

Emma nodded. “For a month. I’m staying up at the Ballasters’ B and B.”

He chuckled. “Och, you run into any ghosties of late, then?”

Emma’s eyes darted to Christian, now standing and leaning against the lamppost just outside the shop. She smothered a smile. “Why do you ask?”

The sizzle of frying fish-and-chips in hot oil nearly drowned out his laugh. “The old girls didn’t tell you about the legend?”

They’d told her about a couple, but after meeting Christian, it was sort of hard to concentrate of myths and legends anymore. She smiled. “A few. Why, do you know any?”

He chuckled, shaking the fish, then settled the basket back into the oil. “Oh, aye, for a certainty. Everyone round here knows of the Saracen’s Dread.”

Emma blinked. She’d not heard that one, but it sounded interesting. “Saracen’s Dread?”

The man nodded, wiped his hands on his white apron, and leaned on the counter, facing Emma. His eyes gleamed. “Long ago, a twelfth-century Crusader cut a path of destruction through the Holy Land. So fierce was he that even the knights fighting with him feared his fury.”

“Wow,” Emma said.

He turned, dumped the fried fish out onto a paper-towel-lined flat pan to drain, then lowered a basket of chips into the oil, which sizzled loudly. He turned back to Emma.

“Aye, wow indeed. ’Twas said to be a mighty lad, nearly six and a half feet tall and could hack a man’s head off with one swipe of his blade.”

“Umm,” Emma said, trying not to envision the scene too realistically. “Appetizing.”

The man laughed. “ ’Tis said the warrior carried a lethal pair of swords—one over each shoulder, and could use his right just as well as his left. But simultaneously? Lethal. ’Tis said that’s how he acquired the name Saracen’s Dread. The Saracen warriors even feared him.” He inclined his head to the right. “Up the way a bit you’ll notice the pub, Saracen’s Dread. Named after him, it was.”

Emma watched him, unblinking. “And why should I have heard that at the B and B?” She already knew the answer.

The man lifted the basket of chips out of the oil and dumped them to drain. He turned back, smiling. “Because, lass, ’tis said his restless spirit roams the ruins, looking for heads to hack off.”

Emma glanced out the door where Christian waited for her. She thought she saw his mouth lift in the corner.

“Here you go, then,” the man said, setting a large bag atop the counter. “There’s another tale—this one the lasses seem to like better.”

Emma handed him payment and took the bag. “What is it?”

As the man turned to put the money in the cash register, he started. “ ’Tis said the same warrior lost his true love when he went to the Holy Land. ’Tis rumored that he still haunts, not because of the Holy Wars that took his life, but because he refuses to pass into the next life without his love.”

“That’s,” she started, meeting the man’s gaze, “really something else.”

He nodded, satisfied. “I knew you’d like that one.” He nodded toward her. “Enjoy the fish, and make sure to grab yourself plenty of sauce and vinegar.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Gosh, she had been so caught up in accepting being ushered around by a ghost that she’d forgotten the story of the warrior who’d lost his soul mate.
It was Christian …

Then, before she had time to ponder that thought, several things happened at once.

First, she glanced out the door. When her eyes landed on Christian, who was leaning casually against the post his hands shoved into his pockets, that crazy, weird feeling gripped her again. So powerful was the feeling that it nearly made her drop the bag.

Next, she heard a high-pitched voice—that of a girl—outside the chippy. She heard her holler a name, a man’s name.

After that, Christian turned, presumably looking in the direction of the hollering girl.

And then, before Emma’s eyes, she watched as that same girl hurled her excited self right at Christian. Of course, she fell right through him.

The proceeding blood-curdling scream echoed off every surface in the chippy.

Emma couldn’t reach Christian fast enough.

Christ’s saints alive, the girl had thrown herself at him faster than he’d expected. She must be powerfully sensitive, he thought. And he’d had his mind so intently on Emma that he’d not paid attention. He’d allowed himself to appear.

He stood, dumbfounded. The girl was sprawled on the ground, her face white.

Shrieking.

“Excuse me,” said Emma, out of nowhere, stomping right up to the girl, who looked to be in her mid to late twenties. She helped the girl up. “You should think twice before launching yourself at another woman’s man,” Emma said, her voice sharp. “Some women might get a bit jealous.”

“But,” the girl started, her eyes darting back to him, “I fell—”

“Yes, you did,” said Emma, scowling. “After throwing yourself at my man. Now, let’s just part ways and forget it happened, okay?”

The girl looked befuddled, glancing between him and Emma. Finally, she shook her head and shrugged. “Sorry. Mistook him for someone else.”

Emma gave the girl a short nod, then walked right up to him. “Bend your head toward mine,” she whispered.

Christian lifted a brow. “What?”

“Just do it and then be very still,” said Emma. “Now.”

And so he did.

Emma then rose up on tiptoes, tilted her head just so, and brought her lips as close to his as she could without falling through his form.

She pretended to kiss him.

It nearly knocked him to his knees.

Slowly, she pulled back, her eyes wide, staring hard into his.

He couldn’t take his off her.

Neither one noticed the young girl hastily walk away.

Embarrassment suddenly replaced the look of surprise on Emma’s face, and she looked away. She cleared her throat, then glanced around. “Well, um, I guess my plan worked, huh?” She looked up at him then, suddenly shy. “Sorry about that.”

Bleeding saints, what was he to say to that? What he wanted to say, nay, beg, was for her to do it again. Except make it longer.

Instead, he grinned like the dope he was and inclined his head to her bag of fish-and-chips. “Mayhap we should get those to the manor before I stumble through another soul, aye?”

Emma nodded, and gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.”

Christian often felt idiotic, but he felt more so now than ever. “I wish I could carry some of that for you,” he said, inclining his head to the bags.

Emma’s pace picked up as they climbed the path leading to the one-track lane, out of the village of Arrick. “No problem,” she said. “I’m used to doing things on my own.” She gave him a slight shrug. “It’s the way of the twenty-first century. Not much chivalry left in my world.” She glanced at him and gave him a half grin. “It’s what women are used to these days.”

Again, he hardly knew what to say to that.

Luckily, Emma knew how to change the topic.

“I heard something interesting from the fish guy,” she said, staring straight ahead as they continued their climb to the road.

“Is that so?” Christian said. “Do tell.”

Her laugh was lighter, as though she was glad to distance herself from their sort-of kiss.

He’d not forget it.

She cut her eyes at him. “Heard you had yourself a little nickname.”

Christian laughed, then met her gaze. “I’ve many. Which one did you hear?”

“Saracen’s Dread. Pretty frightening tale, I might add. I seem to remember not all that long ago being on the receiving end of those double swords.” She grinned. “Although I’m pretty sure my experience was a lot less scary than the poor Saracens’.”

Christian again laughed and shook his head. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, walking as close to her as he could without their limbs falling into each other.