Thirteen Chances (30 page)

She remembered how he used to watch her, take his calloused finger and trace the line of her jaw, her lips. Not really touching, yet scorching her just the same. God, how she loved him …

Emma had to really concentrate on not letting her secret out, because so many of her old selves started pounding away at her insides. Same soul, thirteen different lives.

She’d encountered Christian twelve times.

This was the thirteenth. And thirteen times, she’d fallen helplessly in love with him.

Now she knew why.

He was her Intended. Her soul mate.
For eternity …

And she couldn’t let him know
she knew.

For almost two full days, she’d put on a façade. She didn’t like it, but her gut told her she’d need to do things differently this time. Before, she’d thrown herself at Christian, so overwhelmed was she by love and joy at remembering. Soon after, an accident would happen. She never remembered anything after the accident, but she could only surmise that she’d died.

Emma crossed the room to the window seat and lowered herself onto the soft cushion. She pressed her cheek to the icy pane of glass and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Grief washed over her, and her throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow. This time, it was grief for what Christian must have endured. Every seventy-two years he’d encounter a brand-new Emma, yet he knew she was the same soul. He’d wait on her, patiently. And each time they’d meet, he’d make her fall in love with him all over again. She’d gain her memory of him and their lives together, and they’d rejoice, she as a mortal, he as a spirit. But for such a short time. That stupid curse would force her to leave him, and God, he’d suffered. She knew he had, because never had a man been so loving and caring as Christian de Gaultiers of Arrick-by-the-Sea. When he loved, he loved with his whole self. His entire being. And she’d been given that love thirteen times …

Tears flooded her eyes, and she allowed the sobs to rack her body. God, how she’d missed him …

Finally, she jumped up, found a tissue, and patted her eyes dry. She stared at herself in the mirror, eyes red. Slowly, she let out a long breath.

It would not happen again.

This time, she wasn’t going to allow it.

So for the remainder of the tournament, Emma would simply remain Emma—the Emma born in 1981. But she hadn’t had to face Christian yet—not up close, anyway.

She would in about forty minutes, at the awards ceremony and banquet, when the warriors had finally finished and could mingle with their maids again.

She prayed Christian wouldn’t see straight through her.

A light knock sounded at her door, and Emma pulled away from the mirror, patted her eyes, took a deep breath, and strode to the door. When she opened it, she found Ellie standing there, grinning. Her gaze studied Emma, and she gave an approving nod.

“That looks way better on you than it does on me,” Ellie said. “It matches your hair perfectly.” She narrowed her gaze. “Why are your eyes so red?”

Emma’s face turned warm, and she shrugged. “It’s nothing, honest. Just having a girl moment.” She smoothed the front of her borrowed, cinnamon-colored cocktail dress and smiled. “But thanks, and you look gorgeous. That black dress is lovely.” She poked her foot out and studied the black strappy heels. “And double thanks for the use of these. I didn’t even bring one nice pair of shoes with me.”

Ellie continued to study her, and then grinned. “They look great, but I think Christian would have adored you even in your Converses.” She inclined her head. “Ready?”

Emma nodded, relieved her host was letting it go. “Let me grab my camera equipment.” She did and then met Ellie back at the door. “Okay, ready.”

She hoped she was, anyway.

As she and Ellie walked to the great hall, Emma thought how odd it felt to be at Grimm. She’d never been to Castle Grimm, but she remembered everyone, save the wives. They’d all come along since Emma’s last return. Gawan was Christian’s best friend since childhood. She’d even met him before he’d left for the Crusades. But she’d met him at Arrick. Yet Grimm
felt
familiar. She didn’t understand.

“You seem to have a lot on your mind these past few days,” commented Ellie. “Everything okay?”

Emma gave her an easy smile. And it was, in fact easy. Ellie was a nice, funny person—a very effortless sort of friend. “Everything’s fine. I really want to thank you for such a great time.” She shook her head. “Certainly a first for me.”

“You’ve been a pleasure to have,” she said. “And lucky us, no cooking or washing dishes! The whole thing’s catered. Gawan’s idea. Good thing, too, because I was just going to make an enormous cauldron of Hamburger Helper.”

“Umm, I love that stuff,” Emma said.

They both laughed.

As they entered the great hall, Emma set her camera equipment on a small table beneath an enormous mirror, just at the foot of the stairs, kept the camera itself, checked the settings, and followed Ellie.

Nicklesby was there, running after the twins, and the wives all had the children corralled, and they all looked fabulous doing it. Amelia had a head full of springy blond curls that looked glorious against the blue dress she wore. Andi had on a pink gauzy dress with the cutest matching strappy heels, and Allie’s amber strapless dress made her wide eyes stand out. All extraordinary women.

All married to extraordinary men.

Emma wasted no time taking photos. The girls with their little ones, Nicklesby running after the Conwyk twins, and that guy Jameson looking all serious and so …
butlerish.
She captured them all.

And it kept her mind off things to come.

Just then, the trumpeter’s blast sounded through the great hall. Ellie grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her to the side as the doors flew open.

A double line of warriors piled in and walked to the front of the hall, before the hearth. A long table had been set up, and several silver goblets of various sizes had been placed in rows. Jameson stood behind the table, nose in the air. He flicked something from his sleeve, glanced casually at his watch, and cast a bored look out at the approaching crowd of men.

Emma covered a smile with her hand.

Then, she saw Christian.

Her heart stopped beating.

He entered the great hall, just behind Gawan, and as soon as he did, his eyes searched for her. He found her. And his expression changed immediately.

It was an expression she hadn’t seen before.
Ever.

Dressed in head-to-toe battle regalia, including a long, black tunic with a silver cross over the left side of his chest, and those lethal double swords secured over each shoulder, Christian carried his helmet under one arm and stared at her as he passed. His eyes assessed her, and Emma thought she’d never been so fully weighed by another person in her entire life. Or, lives.

It was positively sensual, the way he looked at her. And just before he completely passed her, their eyes met. Hunger flamed in the depths of the blue—a hunger Emma hadn’t seen so prominently before. She slowly sucked in a gasp. The corner of his sexy mouth lifted; then he passed by. Then the warriors lined up as Jameson handed out the goblets. Cheers went up for each winner. Tristan, of course, won first place in the mortal joust.

She’d counted on that one.

Gawan had taken first place in the broadsword, and Ethan had taken first place in hand-to-hand combat.

Not so surprisingly, Jason had come in second in all three events.

Christian had taken first place in all events for the ghostly team, much to the mumbled chagrin of Team Donovan. Second and third place winners across time and place accepted their awards. The ghosts who couldn’t physically take the goblet left it to be displayed in Grimm’s armory.

She took as many photos as possible.

Once Jameson had exclaimed, in the drollest voice Emma had ever heard, the tournament’s closing, the warriors all hurried to their maids. The crowd was so thick with mortals and ghosts alike, Emma simply stood, staring through the bodies, waiting for one in particular.

Finally, the throng thinned, and in the center of the hall stood Christian. Slowly, he walked toward her.

She momentarily forgot that she’d known him for centuries.

She’d never known him like
this.

As he walked, his eyes remained locked on to hers. Emma’s mouth went dry, and she felt her skin flush warm. Finally, Christian stopped, no more than a foot away. He stood there, staring, his eyes raking over her from strappy-shoe toe to the top of her head.

“Crist, ach fel ‘n arddun,”
he said in a quiet voice.

“What does that mean?” Emma asked, although she already knew.

“Christ,” he said, his eyes boring into hers, “you are so beautiful.”

Christian had to remind himself that he didn’t actually need bloody air to breathe.

Yet he could hardly draw a decent breath.

If possible, Emma was more beautiful now, this very night, than he’d ever seen in almost nine hundred years.

Her heart raced. He could hear it.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

“Aye,” he returned. He couldn’t help but continue to stare. “Come,” he said, inclining his head to the hearth. “I want to show you something.”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “Okay.”

They started across the great hall, but didn’t make it far before Jason stopped them. The youngest Dragonhawk had an appreciative gleam in his eye that Christian fought hard not to punch out.

“My lady Emma,” he said, taking her by the hand and twirling her in a slow circle. “You are the most beautiful creature in here, I’d warrant.”

Emma blushed furiously. “Thanks, Jason.”

“Jason,” said Christian.

“Aye, Lord Arrick?” he answered.

“Go find your own maid.”

And with that, Christian inclined his head in the direction they’d been going, Emma shrugged and patted Jason on the shoulder, and they continued on their way to the hearth.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Jason grinned from ear to ear.

When they reached the grand table with the silver goblet awards, Christian gave Jameson, who still stood vigilant behind it, a single nod. “Jameson.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jameson answered. Then he moved his hand to the left and hefted the large, first place goblet and held it out to Emma. He blinked.

Emma smiled at Christian. “What’s this?”

“Read it.”

Emma turned back to the goblet and peered at the old-fashioned scroll work.
GRIMM TOURNAMENT, FIRST PLACE IN JOUST, HAND-TO-HAND COMBAT, AND SWORD. FOR EMMA, YOUR CHAMPION ALWAYS, CHRISTIAN OF ARRICK-BY-THE-SEA.

“Oh,” she whispered, reading the words. She looked at him. “For me? You knew you’d win, huh?”

“Aye, for a certainty,” Christian said. “Now, take it from Jameson before he throws it.” He grinned. “I wish I could carry it for you.”

Emma reached over and hefted the big silver goblet from Jameson. “Thank you,” she said.

Jameson gave a single nod. “My pleasure, lady.”

She leaned toward Christian. “I can keep it?”

He grinned. “Aye, it would be an honor.” He cleared his throat. “You can, err, take it home with you. A souvenir of your time here.” He shrugged. “So you won’t forget me.”

Emma’s eyes grew wide. She hastily looked away, and cleared her throat. “As if I could ever forget you.”

Christian smiled. “I am quite memorable, aye?”

His heart sank as he said the words.

“Oh, you certainly are,” she said.

“Are you ready to eat?” he asked.

“Always,” she answered.

He fully believed it.

Christian sat across from Emma during the banquet. It was the first time in centuries he didn’t actually miss consuming food. He was so busy watching her that he nearly forgot everything else around him.

Tonight, after the banquet, he noticed something strikingly different about Emma. He couldn’t put a finger on it.

He thought about it all night while he watched Emma in slumber. He’d hoped to catch her talking out loud again, but she slept like a baby all night. And he hadn’t minded watching every single second.

By the next morning, it was finally time to leave Castle Grimm, and for once, Christian wasn’t too unhappy about it. He was tired of sharing Emma with everyone, ghosts and mortals alike. He wanted her to himself.

He didn’t know how much longer he had to enjoy her.

Good-byes and womanly hugs were passed all around in the great hall, then again at the helicopter pad. Christian rather liked how well Emma had taken to the other wives. They shared something, those maids. A special bond of sorts, he imagined.

Tristan and Gawan had both taken turns pulling Emma into a fierce hug and kissing her cheeks. Ethan had been a bit gentler, but not much. Gabe had kissed her knuckles. Christian had wanted to flatten them all.

Jason, the arrogant pup, had insisted on riding to Arrick, in order to aid Emma with her luggage and such, he’d claimed. The lad had talked her bloody ears off the whole way home, and once they’d landed, Christian had to remind him that he was in fact returning to Grimm. Or Dreadmoor. As long as it wasn’t Arrick.

Jason had laughed, kissed Emma heartily on the mouth, and jumped back into the helicopter. With a wave, he lifted off.

As Christian and Emma stood together in the bailey of Arrick-by-the-Sea, he stared down at her, and she stared back. A grin slowly pulled at Christian’s mouth, and he drew closer to Emma, who held his winning goblet fiercely under one arm.

“We’re home,” he said, and her smile rocked him to the bone.

Emma had it completely and utterly figured out. She’d thought about nothing else for nearly two weeks since returning from Castle Grimm—a hard thing to do, in her mind, seeing as how Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea was such a sexy distraction.

They’d spent nearly every moment together. It still wasn’t enough.

They’d hiked the hills, walked the beaches, and climbed the cliffs. They’d even ferried out to Puffin Island, and taken a tour of Beaumaris Castle. Stark and foreboding, it made for striking black-and-white photos. All in all, a perfect sightseeing trip with the most absolutely perfect sightseeing guide. One of her favorites had been their walk through the Ballasters’ maze. Christian had chased her, she’d hidden from him, and they’d sat for hours, tucked in a secluded grotto of ivy, simply … talking. Talking and looking at one another. When Christian stared at her, it was the single most sensual thing she could ever remember experiencing.