Thirteen Chances (17 page)

Zoë would definitely have her committed.

Christian chuckled. “No need. Gawan is sending the helicopter. It’ll be here tomorrow morning at ten.”

Emma blinked. He spoke of sending helicopters as though it were an everyday thing. “You’re very hip for a guy more than eight hundred and fifty years old.”

He shrugged. “I get around.” He winked. “And I watch the BBC every chance I get.”

Emma laughed, and raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure of yourself too, huh?” She narrowed her eyes. “What makes you so sure I’d say yes, anyway?”

He lifted one brow and said nothing.

“Your confidence is phenomenal,” she said dryly.

They both laughed.

Christian then turned his stare to the sea for several seconds, as though pondering something heavy on his mind. “Why did you come here, Emma?” He turned to her. “Out of all the fortresses in Wales, why Arrick?”

Emma rested her chin against her up-pulled knees, her back pressed into the stone wall of the parapet. That multicolored hat barely covered her ears, and those ridiculous shoes—Converse, she’d claimed—were on her feet, which she had crossed at the ankles.

He’d known Emma through twelve previous lifetimes and incarnations. Each time he’d fallen in love with the woman she had been before and the woman she had become. But this Emma was a blend of all that she’d been, plus something new, something he’d seen glimpses of in the past but which was full and fresh in this Emma. Mayhap ’twas her boldness, or her determination? Her confidence? The modern Emma before him now had become … absolutely and breathtakingly perfect.

Christian watched her response. He
knew,
of course, what had driven her here. But each time, each century, led to a new response. He wanted more than anything to hear his modern Emma’s method of finding Arrick.

Of finding
him.

She shrugged. “You’ll think I’m a lunatic.”

Christian heaved a gusty sigh. “Aye, you’re right. I’m sure anything you say will sound far crazier than anything I’ve ever encountered.”

She looked at him. He grinned.

Emma laughed. “I guess you’re right. I honestly can’t say how I chose Arrick. I’d started having these strange dreams. Not dreams, really, but more like … feelings.” She shook her head. “I’ve tried to explain it to my friend Zoë. She doesn’t get it.”

He indeed got it.

“It’s weird, really. I’ve had these feelings before, just not as compelling as now. Lately, I’ve bordered on obsessive. I felt it was a place I was looking for, so I started just searching the Internet.” She leaned forward. “You know the Internet?”

Christian laughed. “I do indeed.”

She laughed lightly. “That’s so strange. A twelfth-century warrior who knows the Internet. Anyway, the more my feelings solidified, the more clearly I knew what to look for. Months later, I ended up on a Web site for Welsh castles—was there for hours and hours until finally, I saw it.” She smiled at him. “I saw the most stunning picture I’d ever seen. And it was of Arrick-by-the-Sea.” Glancing up, she studied the sea. “I was immediately drawn to it, and … I don’t know, I felt I had to come.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile when she looked at him. “Little did I know what I’d find here, though. Pretty kooky, huh?”

Christ, how he wanted to draw closer to her. Just sitting as they were now made his insides weak. He wondered what she smelled like. “Not so kooky, I’d warrant.” He watched her. “What of your family? You’ve not mentioned them at all.” He asked, so not to seem rude, although he knew fully well of her family. ’Twas the same each time her soul returned. Her parents would be dead, and she’d be on her own.

Emma sighed. “My mom has greater faith in me than my father does,” she said. “He constantly worries about everything, and I’ve been on my own since college.” She shook her head. “He nearly had a heart attack when he found out I was coming here, alone. Actually came over to my house and forcibly stashed three cans of pepper spray in my luggage. I had to wait for him to leave before removing them from the suitcase. Airport security would surely have busted me for having that.”

Christian blinked, surprised. “Your parents are alive?”

“Of course,” Emma said slowly. “Why?”

“No reason,” he said. “I just assumed.” He shrugged, then sighed. “The elderly didn’t have a long life in my day.”

“Oh.”

He studied Emma’s profile. She shivered, and Christian rose. “Come along, lass,” he said. “Your lips are turning blue and your cheeks are going to be wind blistered if you don’t seek warmth soon.”

Although he had to admit he found her most adorable, pulled up into a ball as she was, perched upon his parapet, with that crazily-colored hat pulled down to her ears.

Quite adorable, indeed.

Without question, she stood, and moved toward the steps. “Christ, woman, will you please hold on to the wall?”

She grinned, and held lightly to the wall with her hand. “You’re as bad as my dad.”

Once on the ground, they walked side by side across the courtyard. After a moment, Emma looked up at him.

“I have a hard time believing you never had a wife. Aren’t you sort of … old?”

He scowled.

She laughed. “I mean, old to be wifeless in the twelfth century. I thought you guys married off at age seventeen back then.”

“Sixteen.” His gaze moved to hers, and he couldn’t help but stare a fraction lower, to her mouth. He wondered if it would taste as sweet as it had all those centuries ago. “And I suppose I never found anyone who suited me well enough to wed.”

“I can see that,” she muttered.

Christian lifted a brow. “Why do you say that?”

She shrugged. “Not to make your ego any larger than it probably already is, but I’m fairly sure a guy like you would have a difficult time finding a good … match.”

They ducked into the gatehouse, and Christian stopped. Emma stopped with him.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

She grinned. “You’re pretty dang hot, Mr. Arrick.”

At first, Christian just stood there, shocked she’d just admitted such to him. But her features, brushed by moonlight streaming in through the mouth of the gatehouse, made him catch his breath. Her grin turned into a full-blown smile, and her eyes danced.

It all but turned him to mush.

Instead, he returned the grin. “You, Ms. Calhoun, have a bold way of blurting out what’s on your mind.” He eyed her, pleased that she found his person to her liking. “Not shy, are you?”

Her eyes met his, and he noticed how intently she studied his face. “One of my gleaming characteristics, I’ve been told.”

“No doubt,” he returned.

They continued on their way, and after a moment, while concealed in the cover of darkness between the manor and the castle, Christian leaned closer. “I find you rather fetching, as well.” When she glanced at him, he grinned. “Scorching.”

Even in the moonlight, Christian could see the blush stain her cheeks.

Emma stood before the bureau, hair wrapped in a towel, another encasing her body, and stared at her choice of clothes. She wrinkled her nose.

There were several things she hadn’t factored in for her trip to Wales. The first was the obvious: Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea.

He thought her
scorching.

That made her skin grow warm again, and a smile touched her lips at the memory of that strange accent of his, mingled with the speech of a modern-day man. The fall of disheveled, knife-shorn hair that always seemed to be in those wide blue eyes, and that square jaw …

She wouldn’t go into detail again about the full lips.

Nope. She definitely hadn’t factored in
that
guy.

Which meant she would have never factored in a side trip to the north of England via helicopter to visit one of Christian’s mortal friends.

Emma shook her head.
How can all this be real?

With a gusty sigh, she continued to dig through her very casual wardrobe. She imagined a modern-day lord, living in a renovated castle would be, well, stinking filthy rich. Would probably dress as such, too.

She eyed the contents of the bureau. Jeans. Sweaters. A couple of turtlenecks. A few T-shirts. Hiking boots. Converse sneakers.

She should have listened to Zoë and packed a nice dress, or a pair of slacks. She sighed again. At least she’d brought her black leather boots. That might dress up her jeans and sweaters a bit more than the Converse sneakers …

The north of England would just have to accept Emma Calhoun as she was.

Plain. Which, truth be told, was totally fine with her.

Grabbing clean understuff, a pair of dark hipsters that flared just a bit, a thin, black, ribbed turtleneck sweater, and black leather boots, Emma quickly dressed. After blow-drying her straight hair, she added a bit of makeup, lip gloss, and a dab of perfume. Neatly packing the clothes she’d chosen to take on the trip into a large canvas bag Willoughby had loaned her, she stuffed her sneakers in, along with her small case of makeup, and toiletries, and took a deep breath. She was ready to go.

And she was only a
teensy
bit nervous. For some reason, she wanted to make a good impression on Christian’s friends.

How very, very strange it was to have a friendship with a ghost, a being she could easily pass her hand through, who’d died so long ago. He had friends, here on earth. Live ones. And, as she’d already encountered, not-so-live ones, as well.

What a whole new world Christian had shown her. One she would have never, ever believed really existed. She briefly wondered just how many more roamed the plane of the living.

“Emma?”

Christian’s voice sent a thrill down her spine. She glanced around. “Where are you?” She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d sneaked a peek while she dressed. He was, after all, whether dead or alive, still a man.

His low chuckle sounded from the other side of the door. “In the passageway. Are you ready?”

Emma almost hated the excitement she felt at hearing his voice. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t acted like this in … well, never. She couldn’t
ever
remember having such crazy reactions at hearing a man’s voice. She crossed the floor, smoothed her sweater, and opened the door.

There Christian stood, once again in a pair of faded jeans, boots, and this time, a baggy, cream-colored sweater. It made that gorgeous mahogany hair, which again was pulled back, really stand out. She struggled to keep her jaw from sliding open. “Hi.”

Christian leaned casually against the door frame, hands shoved into his pockets. His lopsided grin nearly made Emma’s knees buckle.

But not nearly as much as his assessment of
her.

The grin disappeared from Christian’s face and was replaced by something Emma really couldn’t define. He showed no shame whatsoever in starting at her head, then slowly moving his gaze down until it rested on her feet. He lingered there momentarily, then slowly moved back up to her eyes. His stare rocked her.

A slow grin crossed his face. “Aye. Scorching.”

Emma felt her skin turn hot. That only made Christian laugh.

“You’re crazy,” she mumbled, then turned to grab the canvas bag and her camera equipment. “Okay,” she said, smiling brightly, hoping he’d ignore her flaming blush. She walked back to the door and stopped a foot from him. “I’m ready.”

Looking down at her, he studied her for a handful of seconds. “So you are.” He pushed off the door frame—or at least it looked like he did—and inclined his head toward the stairs without taking his eyes off her. “After you.”

Emma moved past him. “Thanks.”

Christian fell in beside her. “I believe you’ll have many photo opportunities whilst at Grimm. ’Tis a beautiful place, situated much like Arrick, on the sea.”

Emma nodded. “I can’t imagine it being more spectacular than here.” She glanced at him. “And your friends don’t mind you bringing a guest?”

Christian laughed. “That’s my second home, lass, and Gawan is like a brother to me. Don’t worry. ’Twill be fine. I promise.” His grin widened. “Actually, the whole castle is anxious to meet you.” He leaned his head close to hers. “I can only imagine the fights that will break out.”

They reached the stairs, and Emma started down. “Why will fights break out?”

His lumbering self chuckled. “Over you, of course.”

Emma highly doubted that.

Once downstairs, all four Ballasters met them in the foyer. Willoughby rushed forward.

“Oh dear, you look absolutely stunning. Doesn’t she, girls?” gushed Willoughby.

The sisters bobbed their heads enthusiastically.

“How’s your hand feeling?” asked Maven.

Emma flexed her fingers. She’d left the bandage off once she saw how well it had healed. “Nearly good as new.” She lifted it up and peered at her hand. “I didn’t know you’d used dissolving stitches, Willoughby. I hardly even feel the tug of the wound anymore.”

Willoughby beamed. “ ’Tis my special ointment, love,” she said. “And before I forget, here’s a change of bandages, in case you need them, and more of the ointment. Just apply it before you go to bed.” She tucked them into Emma’s bag.

“Thank you,” Emma said. She pushed her hair behind her ears, then gave the sisters a warm smile. “Is everyone as sweet as you four in Wales, or did I just get lucky?”

All four Ballasters giggled.

Just then, a loud rumble sounded outside.

“The Grimm chopper is headed to the courtyard,” said Christian. He gave the sisters a slight nod. “Ladies, I promise to take care of your tenant whilst we are away.” He winked.

Once more, they all giggled and waved good-bye.

Outside, Emma and Christian started for the courtyard. The sun had yet to make an appearance, although it was nearly ten in the morning. The ever-present bite of fall slipped through the air, and Emma inhaled the scents of brine from the ocean, and hardwood burning. She inhaled again, a long, deep breath, just for the sheer pleasure of it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Christian watching her closely. He didn’t say a word.

Emma simply smiled.

In the courtyard, the helicopter had landed square in the center, scattering the fallen, multicolored leaves everywhere. A tall, broad-shouldered yet lanky young man, his auburn hair pulled neatly into a ponytail, climbed out. He was wearing a white T-shirt, a brown leather jacket, jeans, and brown hiking boots, and Emma thought him absolutely gorgeous. He looked to be around twenty. As she and Christian grew near, the young man waved enthusiastically.