Thirteen Chances (31 page)

“Here you go, love,” said Willoughby, bustling into the breakfast room. “A nice pot of tea to warm your toes this fine chilly morn.” She set the white porcelain pot on the table beside Emma. She grinned, batting her red lashes that matched her red hair.

She’d felt the sisters were up to something from the time she’d returned to Arrick. She just couldn’t decide
what.

“Thanks, Willoughby,” she said, deciding that it really didn’t matter what they were up to. She, Emma Calhoun, had a plan. And by God, it would work.

Nearly everything was in place.

Emma had one call to make, and she’d make it while Christian was in the bailey training with Justin Catesby.

As planned.

She’d be eternally grateful to Justin for his cooperation. Emma had all but begged the young, handsome Scottish pirate to help distract Christian for an hour or two. She’d told Justin minimal information—enough that he knew exactly what was going on. Well, almost, anyway. She couldn’t let him know everything. Though fond were her memories of Justin, she also recalled him being painfully faithful to Christian. If Justin thought she was doing anything dangerous, he’d rat her out to Christian in a heartbeat.

It was her last
please
that did him in. Apparently, Captain Justin Catesby had an affliction to saying no to beseeching women. Thank goodness. She’d be sure to beseech more often.

Finishing her breakfast with haste, Emma excused herself from the sisters’ company, grabbed the cordless, and ran upstairs to her room.

She quickly dialed Castle Grimm.

Nicklesby answered. “Conwyk residence.”

“Hi, Nicklesby. This is Emma. May I speak to Gawan?”

“Aye,” he said. “He’s just in from training. Just a moment.”

Emma waited for several minutes, then Gawan’s deep, accented voice came on the line. “Aye? Emma? Is all well?”

Emma sighed. “Well, I hope this time it will be.”

Gawan was silent for several seconds; then he let out a heavy breath. “You remember.”

Emma’s heart jumped. “Yes. I remember. And I need your help.”

Quickly, she told Gawan her plan.

“Nay, Emma, ’tisn’t safe at all. You
know
what has happened to you in the past.”

“Yes,” whispered Emma, glancing out the window to make sure Justin still kept Christian busy. “I do. And I’m telling you, Gawan, this time is different. Something’s changed. I can
feel
it.”

He sighed. “You know ’tis only legend, Emma. A handful of ancient old men made it up. You could get hurt.”

“Fate, Gawan. Remember fate? You should. Now, please. I’m begging you. Do this thing for me.
Please.
As an old friend?”

Several more seconds passed as Gawan decided. “Okay, girl. I’ll do it. I cannot say I fully believe in it, but I shall do it. For the sake of you and Chris.”

“Thank you,” she whispered furtively. “I owe you big-time.”

“You owe me nothing, save keeping your hardheaded self alive,” he answered with a grumble. “If Chris were to lose you again, I’m not sure he’d survive. He loves you fiercely, you know. Now go. I’ll send someone right away.”

With a smile, her heart in her throat, Emma hung up. And
waited.

Yeah, she knew Christian loved her fiercely.

But not nearly as fiercely as she loved him back.

“He needs you, lad,” said Godfrey. “He said to tell you he wouldn’t ask it of you, knowing you’ve … company.” He glanced at Emma. “But it seems there are several spirits who are causing quite the ruckus and have decided not to leave Grimm. Lady Ellie is most upset, you see.”

Christian rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Aye, I see. Fine, fine.” Christian turned to Emma. “I have to go.”

She smiled. “Time to flex your ghostly muscles, huh?” she asked.

“Aye,” he replied. “For no one else, save Gawan and Ellie, would I do this.” He looked at her gravely. “The last thing I want to do is leave you.”

Emma met his gaze. She prayed fervently it wasn’t the last time she saw him. Pasting on a big grin, which she hoped looked sincere, she sighed. “Don’t worry, Chris. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He blinked. “What did you say?”

She cocked her head. “I’ll … be waiting for you?”

Christian shook his head. “Very well. I shall return as soon as I can settle those feisty souls at Grimm.” He stepped closer, and ducked his head. “Godfrey? If you don’t mind?” he said, not taking his eyes off Emma.

“Err, right,” said Godfrey, turning his head.

Christian slid his mouth close to Emma’s, until that familiar tingling joined their essence together. He moved his lips to her ear. “I’ll be right back.”

Her heart skipped a few beats. “Okay,” she said, breathless. “Be careful.”

Christian pulled back, lifted an eyebrow, and grinned.

Then promptly disappeared.

Emma wasted no time. She took off for the manor house. Inside, she found Willoughby, who was baking something absolutely delicious smelling. She could almost taste a hint of apricot in the air.

“Willoughby, I have a huge favor to ask of you,” Emma said.

“Anything, dear,” said the older woman. She glanced at her sisters, then back to Emma. “What is it?”

Emma squirmed. “Can I borrow your truck? I promise to drive really slow and careful. And I’ll fill it up with fuel before I return.”

The sisters glanced at one another again. Willoughby smiled. “Och, of course you can, girl. Where are you off to?”

Emma’s heart leaped. “It’s a surprise for Christian.”

“Well then,” said Willoughby, beaming, “you run right along.”

“Um, if he returns, don’t tell him, okay?” Emma asked.

Willoughby beamed. “And ruin the surprise? I wouldn’t dream of it!”

With that, she pulled the truck keys off the peg on the wall and tossed them to Emma. Emma caught them and grinned. “Thanks!”

“Don’t forget our All Hallows’ Eve banquet tomorrow night,” called Willoughby. “ ’Tis quite the event here in Arrick.”

“I won’t!” said Emma. Quickly, she ran upstairs, freshened up, grabbed her bag and jacket, and flew back down.

Willoughby was waiting at the foot of the stairs for her. She smiled and reached her hand out. “I wanted to give you this, love. ’Tis a gift. From my sisters and me.”

Emma grasped a small, thin circle of … something from Willoughby’s hands. She held it up and inspected it. “It’s … beautiful. What is it?”

“ ’Tis a thread of braided rowan bark,” Willoughby said. “Just an old Welsh legend that it brings safety and good luck to the wearer.” She smiled. “So wear it.”

Emma smiled, slipped it over her wrist, and hugged her host. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Now shoo,” said Willoughby. “And behave yourself!”

She hadn’t gone five miles when she reached into her bag and pulled out the map she’d hand-drawn—with the help of a ninth-century Pict warrior. Just as she unfolded it, and looked ahead at the next road sign, a voice scattered her thoughts.

And nearly made her run off the road.

“An’ just where are you goin’, lass?”

Emma screamed and gripped the wheel. “Justin! Oh, you! I nearly wrecked!” She glanced at him, sitting smugly in the passenger side of the Ballasters’ truck. “What are you doing here?” She kept her eyes on the narrow road ahead of her, and waited.

“I might have a soft spot for beseechin’ lasses, lass, but I’m no’ daft. I knew you were up to somethin’. Now. Where are you goin’?” he said.

Emma glared at him, then directed her eyes back to the road. A light sprinkle had started. She turned on the windshield wipers. “St. Beuno’s Well,” she muttered. She knew it’d do no good to fib to the sea captain.

Justin said several things she didn’t understand. Swear words, in Gaelic she supposed. She’d heard Ethan mutter a few, as well. They sounded very naughty.

Justin turned to her when he’d finished. “Why are you goin’ there, girl? Are ye daft? ’Tisna for real, Beuno’s. ’Tis nothin’ more than a myth. Me own granddaddy used to tell me tales of its magical water when I was a wee lad.” He shook his head. “Daft girl. Chris will be powerfully angry when he finds out.”

“You had
better
not tell him, Justin Catesby,” growled Emma. “I mean it. Promise me.” She glanced at him. “Please?”

A frown pulled Justin’s dark brows down. He glared at Emma. “Not playin’ fair, Emma.” He studied her, said a few more Gaelic swears, then sighed. “Only if I stay wi’ you. I’ll no’ have you goin’ off alone and gettin’ yourself hurt. Chris would have my hide.”

Emma glared right back. “Fine. Just stop trying to talk me out of it. A reliably good source told me St. Beuno’s is a true place, and it isn’t a legend only.”

Justin snorted. “Who? That untamed, painted heathen from the tournament? Aye, I saw you talkin’ to him.”

Justin shook his dark head. “He’s crazy, you know. Been hangin’ round for centuries tellin’ that tale.” He glanced at Emma. “Just be safe. Dunna do anythin’ stupid.”

Emma growled and sped up. She ignored him for several miles.

“Come on, Emma, I’m sorry,” he finally said. “Dunna be mad.”

She glanced at him.

He gave her that roguish grin he was so famous for.

“Fine,” she mumbled. Then she smiled, because he’d leaned back against the seat and crossed his arms smugly over his chest.

It was nearly two hours later when Emma saw the road leading to the cliffs the Pict had directed her to. She slowed, pulled the truck as far into the dirt lane as she could, then stopped. She put the truck in park, set the emergency brake, grabbed her bag, and hopped out.

Just as it started to rain harder.

The wind coming off the Irish Sea whipped furiously, blowing icy cold air laced with brine all over Emma. She pulled her hoodie up and tucked her hair back.

“You’re as crazy as the Pict, lass,” Justin muttered. “Think about this, Emma,” he said, following her up the dirt lane. “You’ve only been to Arrick in the past a handful o’ times at best. You dunno know the area, save that wee silly map drawn with a crayon.”

“Jake lent it to me and it was the only thing I had,” she commented, walking faster. “And yes, I do remember the area. Somewhat. Now stop pestering me, Justin. You promised.”

“Och, fine, fine,” he said. “At least you wore your boots instead of those girlie sneakers you wear. Those flat rubbery soles would have landed you square on your arse.”

Emma glared up at him and kept on walking. She wished now that she’d asked the big Pict to accompany her. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

At the end of the incline stood a flat, grassy minimeadow. No bigger than half an acre, perhaps, it stretched all the way to the edge of a fifty-foot drop-off to the ocean. The roar of the sea crashing against the base was so deafening, that had Justin not had the capability of talking right into her head, she’d not be able to hear him at all.

Which might have been a good thing. He was awfully naggy.

Emma pulled out the map and studied it. The Pict had urged her to make marks with her red crayon, little marks that crossed the minimeadow and all the way to the edge. He’d then done a little loop with his finger, and it’d taken her several times to figure out just what he was asking her to draw. All this, mind you, in the space of a handful of minutes. She’d drawn it while Christian had been busy talking to Tristan about the joust.

She crossed the field, but when she neared the edge. Justin stopped her.

“Nay, lass. No farther. ’Tis dangerous.”

“Justin,” she hollered against the wind and rain, “I know what I’m doing.
Trust me.”

Emma gave him one last stare, then tossed her bag down and knelt on the spongy grass. She pulled out her empty makeup remover container and shoved it into her pocket, along with a length of rope she’d snitched from the sisters’ garden house. Close to the edge of the cliff was a rowan bush—just as the Pict had told her there would be. She quickly tied off the rope, then looped it around her waist.

“Oh, no. Oh
hell,
no!” hollered Justin. “Emma Calhoun, you cannot do this!”

With fierce determination, Emma met Justin’s fearful, angry gaze. “Watch me.”

And with not as much fear as she’d expected, she eased herself over the edge.

Emma’s heart was in her throat. For all her false courage, that was exactly what it was. False.

She was scared out of her gourd.

But she was more scared of losing Christian, so this attempt to change their fate was
nothing
compared to a lifetime without him.

Besides,
she tried to console herself,
you are a master dangler, don’t forget.

She took a long, deep, calming breath. “Okay. You are oh-kay.”

“Emma?”

Slowly, she looked up. Justin’s head peered over the edge at her. His face was wrought with worry, then relief. “Christ, woman, if I were no’ already dead, you’d be killin’ me about now.” He looked below her. “Are you tryin’ to tell me Beuno’s Well is in the
cliff side?”

Emma smiled. “So says that crazy Pict. Now,” she said, looking below herself to the sea and rocks, “I’m a bit busy dangling here, Justin, and I have to admit, it’s not the
coziest
of places. Can you let me find what I’m looking for and then interrogate me?”

Justin frowned. “Just hurry. You’re makin’ me bloody nervous.”

“Well, you’re making me bloody nervous by talking so much. Now shush,” Emma continued, feeling the rock face with her boot toe. The Pict had indicated she’d feel a foothold, and once she did, she’d have to kick it—
hard.
It took several minutes, and by the time her toe found
something,
she was drenched. Her lips chattered, but she didn’t care.

Justin’s face hovered over the edge.

“I think this is
it!”
she hollered, kicking the place with all her might. She felt it give, and she reared her foot back and kicked it again. Three times later and she felt the hard-packed earth give way. Rock and dirt tumbled to the sea below. She felt a
whoosh
of air escape the hole she’d just created. It was just big enough for her to shimmy inside. She shoved first her feet inside, then her bottom.