Thirteen Chances (33 page)

Out of nowhere, four large, cloaked figures emerged from the shadows. They surrounded Jason on both sides and before either he or Emma knew what was happening, they were pulling Jason away from her. Jason pulled viciously against them. He swore, and even at the tournament, Emma had never seen him look so furious. “Damn you, let me go! Emma!”

Emma looked around. “What’s going on? Jason—hey!”

The figures stopped, but didn’t release the young Dragonhawk knight. Emma surmised that they had to be men. No female—even four of them—could have held that fury restrained.

All at once, the banquet full of women moved toward her. The Ballasters were in the lead. Emma gaped, wondering what the seemingly innocent sisters and their cohorts could be up to.

She found out soon enough.

“Bring her to the Stone o’ Gwynneldh,” said Willoughby in her singsong voice. Then a chant began from the whole group. Emma could now easily distinguish that it was Welsh. First, it was only as a hum, and so low, Emma couldn’t make out the words. Just as quickly, the wind kicked up, blowing leaves in crazy swirls—almost like miniature twisters—all over the banquet area. The chanting grew louder—so loud Emma could now only vaguely hear Jason’s curses—and the leafy twisters danced around her. Willoughby, Maven, Millicent, and Agatha surrounded her as they drew close to the stone. All the while, that infuriating
gong
noise kept echoing through the trees. Maven gently pushed her back to the stone. Cold dampness seeped through her coat and clung to her skin. The pungent bite of brine settled on her tongue.

Willoughby stepped close and met her gaze. A copper pot she’d been carrying, tucked beneath her arm, emerged now, and she set it at Emma’s feet. “As Jason said, you must make your wish, Emma Calhoun. You must make it and make it hastily! Make it as many times for as many chances!” she hollered over the increasing wind.

Confused, but feeling in her gut that the Ballasters wouldn’t hurt her, she fought back tears. “What do you mean? What do I wish for? What could help now?” she yelled back.

“Only you know what lies in your heart, gel,” said Willoughby. “Do it. Now!”

“Hurry,” Jason yelled. He’d stopped fighting his restrainers. “Now, before the last stroke of the bewitching hour!”

Willoughby smiled. “Believe, child. You must believe.”

For as many chances? Emma stared hard at Willoughby, drew a deep breath, then slowly let it out. She closed her eyes. She understood.

And she wished thirteen times in a row.

As her senses opened, the wind and leaves and darkness surrounded her, and the sea battered the cliffs, the frosty air clung like small flakes of ice to her skin. And while she repeated her wish over and over, the Ballasters grasped hands and began a new chant, all their own.

No, not a chant. More like a
spell.

“Chan awron a throughout byth, Ddiddyma ‘r bustachedig felltithia chan hoedlau yn ôl. Begone! Erioed adfer! Ad hyn ‘n ddau eneidiau dangnefedd a hundeb!”

When the last stroke sounded, Emma opened her eyes. The chant ended. The wind ceased. The leaves flittered to the ground and lay still.

Everyone’s eyes were on
her.

And just that fast, every ounce of strength in Emma’s body escaped, and her knees crumpled beneath her. The sisters all grasped her, and held her steady. Then Jason was there, holding her up. He pulled her close, her face pressed against the warmth of his chest. The scent of his leather jacket filled her lungs as she breathed deeply.

“I can’t move,” she muttered.

“ ’Tis fine, girl,” he said against her hair. “I shall hold you until you’re able.”

Jason held her as promised. His presence comforted her. Just knowing he was a friend of Christian’s made her feel close to her love.

Just then, the four cloaked figures moved toward them. They reached up and pulled down their cowls. She felt Jason’s body tense as Gawan, Tristan, Ethan, and Aiden stared back at them. The Ballasters crowded around. No one said anything for several moments.

Finally, Emma found the strength to speak. “I … don’t understand.”

Willoughby patted her cheek. “These were the only lads I knew who could hold young Jason here back long enough to get the finality of the spell in motion, love.” She glanced at Gawan. “And I didn’t think it would hurt overmuch to have a once-earthbound angel in our presence.” She smiled at Emma. “We couldn’t have Jason interfere. ’Twas no time left, and everything had to happen at exactly the precise moment. We couldn’t speak of it to him, or anyone, beforehand. Especially to you. ’Twas forbidden. Even our young warrior Christian didn’t know.”

Emma stared long and hard at the older woman. “Who are you?”

Willoughby grasped her sisters’ hands. They met one another’s looks with a smile. “Let’s just say we’ve been working on getting rid of that discombobulated curse of yours for quite some time now.”

“Witches,” muttered Aiden.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Willoughby shrugged.

“Does this mean …” Emma began. She swallowed hard. “Christian will come back to me?”

A somber expression settled onto Willoughby’s weathered features. She reached out and grasped Emma’s hand in hers. “I’m so verra sorry, dear. Our intentions have always been to rescue you from that fatal curse you constructed so many centuries ago.” She flashed a look at the others, then back to Emma. “We had no idea the turn of events would occur at St. Beuno’s. ’Twas something no spell can reverse, I fear.”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “Why not?”

Gawan stepped forward and brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “Fate, lass.”

Emma’s insides hurt. A pain began in the pit of her stomach. A physical pain, as though someone had punched her in the gut. “Oh.”

Gawan lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Whilst my friend is now gone, thanks to the Ballasters, Christian’s soul and yours will one day reunite.” He gave her a mournful smile. “Forever.”

She nearly thought it would be better to at least see him every seventy-two years.

Tristan stepped forward and kissed her cheek. His sapphire eyes blazed in the moonlight. “I vow, ’twill be fine, girl. And we are all your family here, whenever you need us. Just as we always have been.”

Emma gave a slight smile. At least she’d retain her memory of all the people from her past. From Christian’s past. She met the gazes of Gawan, Tristan, Ethan, and Aiden. “Thank you,” she whispered. She gripped Willoughby’s hand. “I couldn’t ask for a better family.” She loved her parents, and her best friend, but these unbelievable people were her link to the man she’d loved for centuries, and whom she would love forever …

Jason hugged her tightly. “What did the sisters’ spell mean?” he whispered in her ear.

Emma smiled at him and translated. “From now and throughout eternity, I annul the bungled curse from lifetimes ago. Begone! Never return! Allow these two souls peace and unity!”

Jason studied her, then smiled. “They’re all right, you know. Everything will be fine. I can feel it. Now, come on, lass,” he said, and chucked her under the chin with a knuckle. “Let’s eat. I hear your tummy growling.”

As Emma accompanied Jason, the knights, and the Ballasters in the feast, her heart sank again. She picked at her food, but for once in her life, hunger had taken a backseat.

She’d believed so hard in the water from St. Beuno’s Well, and by God, it had worked. She hadn’t counted on Christian believing in it, too. It was a relief to know that one day, she’d be reunited with her Intended. But for now, she ached for him so much, it pained her to breathe. She briefly wondered, no matter where Christian was, whether his heart would survive losing her again …

Suddenly she wanted to go home.

Forevermore Photography
Savannah, Georgia
Two months later …

“Emma, these are fantastic!” said Zoë, stretching on tiptoe and peering at one of Emma’s newly framed photographs. “I can’t believe you went to a real-life medieval jousting tournament.” She turned and gave Emma a sly look. “I bet there were some hot guys there, huh?”

Emma smiled. “Yeah, there sure were.”

And her heart still ached for one of them.

“God, who
are
these guys?” Zoë asked, pointing to one of Emma’s favorites of Tristan and Gawan, in the sword-fighting arena.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Emma muttered. She glanced at her palm, the one she’d cut on that small piece of glass. A slight line remained, and although it didn’t hurt, she thought of it each time she flexed her fingers. And then she’d think of how Christian was so mad at her for even picking the stupid thing up. He’d stayed right by her side the whole time …

“You haven’t been the same since you came home,” Zoë said. “I thought I’d be the one down in the dumps, having my wedding postponed.” She took in a deep breath. “But once Jay finishes this last tour in Afghanistan, he’s done.”

Emma smiled at her. “And I’ll be all set to shoot your wedding.”

Zoë walked over and stood before Emma, who was idly cleaning her lens. “It’s closing time. Wanna go grab something to eat?”

Emma hadn’t been able to tell Zoë or her parents about her heartbreak. Who would believe it? Who, in their right mind, would believe she’d fallen crazy in love with a ghost in the matter of a few weeks? And then lost that love?

Well, that actually wasn’t correct.

She’d loved Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea for centuries.

Another thing she couldn’t share with anyone.

Thank God she’d made friends in the UK.

Ellie called frequently, as did the other wives. Jason? On a regular basis, as did Gawan and Justin Catesby, as well. And Godfrey had popped in on her several times. She finally had to shoo him away. Seeing him somehow made it hurt
worse.

Still … life just wasn’t the same …

“Emm, how ’bout it?”

Emma looked up at her friend. Zoë was running ninety-to-nothing lately, and she was glad. She didn’t want her miserable. She gave her friend a weak smile. “I honestly don’t feel like it, Zoë. You go ahead.”

Zoë pulled her into a fierce hug. “If my stomach weren’t screaming at me, I wouldn’t dare go without you.” She looked at her. “Want me to bring you something back?”

Emma smiled. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay.” Zoë trotted down the creaky wooden steps, to the first floor. “See ya in a bit.”

The downstairs door to the studio jingled as Zoë skipped out.

Leaving Emma alone.

Briefly, she glanced up at the photos on her walls. She’d taken so many great pictures at Castle Grimm, of the families, the kids, at the tournament—memories that brought Christian a little closer to her. She had to keep Christian’s winning goblet safe at home. She wasn’t sure she could explain the endearment to Zoë. Besides, she’d take what she could get.

It was all she had left of him. Besides centuries of memories. Thank God she’d been left those.

Just then, the door downstairs jingled again. “Delivery.”

“Do I have to sign for it?” she called down.

No answer.

Hmm.

Pushing from her chair, Emma set aside her lens and cleaning cloth and trotted down the steps to the main hall of the studio. She scanned the room, but the FedEx guy must have just opened the door, set the package inside, and left. She spotted it, across the room, propped by the front door.

Walking to it, she hefted the box, approximately eleven by fourteen in diameter. She fished in her pocket for her knife to open it, then realized she’d left the knife upstairs. She couldn’t imagine what was in the box. The last things she’d ordered were tiny little parts.

Quickly, she hastened upstairs. The waning afternoon light streamed through the window, and she couldn’t help but think about the twinkling gloaming hour at Arrick. The light made her upstairs studio look surreal.

From the worktable, she lifted the knife and cut along the edge of the package.

Just as the bell on the door downstairs jingled. Again.

“Just a minute,” she called out.

She pulled back the brown packing paper, revealing a load of Bubble Wrap.

Slowly, she slipped her knife along the tape and removed that, too.

A frame. A framed photograph.

A note …

Nothing registered at once, yet everything washed over her at the same time. The photograph was of Christian, on the wall at Arrick, in full battle regalia, smiling from ear to ear. In the picture he held a single white rose, almost as if offering it to the viewer of the photo. How on earth had Christian’s image been captured in a photograph?

Across the bottom of the frame, a note. All in big letters. A man’s bold scrawl.

At the same time she read it, she
heard
it.

“Fyddi ‘m gwraig achos byth?”

Will you be my wife for eternity?

Emma nearly dropped the frame as her head snapped up at the unmistakable, deep, strangely accented voice suddenly in her upstairs studio. They’d said the same ancient Welsh words she’d just read out loud.

Slowly, her mind registered the body as it climbed the last stair and stepped into view.

Her hands began to shake, and her breath lodged in her throat. Her heart slammed so hard against her chest, she gasped. It almost ached. Tears filled her eyes.

She looked. She blinked. She made her mouth work. “You can’t be real …”

But striding across her two-hundred-year-old wood-planked floors was eight-hundred-plus-year-old Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea. Same crazy hair, but pulled back at the nape, she imagined, with that sexy silver clasp. A white, long-sleeved cotton buttoned-up shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and boots. His face held one emotion.

Determination.

So stunned that his ghostly spirit had somehow made it back to her, she couldn’t form a single solitary word. She just stood there, her hand gripping the frame, staring at his fast-approaching form.

“Christian?” she finally said softly.

When he reached her, just short of passing through her, he stopped. The scent of soap and freshly washed clothes wafted from him, and that ever-present, weighty stare bore into her, nearly causing her skin to catch on fire.