Thirteen Chances (35 page)

“And Jason’s going to build your photography chamber, isn’t he?” asked Willoughby. “He did a marvelous job with Sir Tristan’s and Sir Gawan’s brooding chambers.”

Emma glanced at Jason, who gave her a wicked grin. “Yes, he did. I can hardly wait to see what he does with my studio.”

Emma took a second to glance around the bailey. In the light still cast by thousands of tiny candles and lanterns, she took in all the people she’d come to love—alive and not so alive. How very fortunate she was.

She’d been given a second chance.

Well, actually thirteen, she supposed.

And she’d not waste a second of it.

Christian hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her all night. Every time she looked, his eyes were on her.

It all but made her catch on fire.

“Thank God, we’re finally alone,” he whispered.

And they truly were. The Ballasters had taken up a grand offer to visit Castle Grimm, leaving Christian and Emma the manor to themselves.

Only they weren’t in the manor.

She was wed to a medieval warrior, and medieval warriors liked the outdoors.

Christian, with the help of Gawan and Jason, had created a beautiful wedded grotto in the ruins. Behind a mountain of white gauze, they’d somehow managed to construct a wedding bed against the far bailey wall, complete with an enormous outdoor fireplace.

She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to face whoever had helped her husband do that.

Oh, the humiliation.

“ ’Tis the bewitching hour,” whispered Christian, pulling her close.

Emma rested her head against his chest. “It’s not even October.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She looked up at him. “Will the ghosts leave us alone?”

He grinned. “Justin has personally vowed to make it so.”

Emma stared at him, her heart filled with joy. And something else.

“What’s wrong?” Christian asked, never missing a thing.

She smiled. “I think I’m nervous.”

He pulled her close then, and kissed her so softly she felt his lips shiver against hers. “Do you recall the first time I kissed you, Emm?”

Emma sighed against his mouth. “Good Lord, Chris. How could I ever forget that? You asked my permission. I thought there was nothing sexier.”

Christian chuckled softly. He lifted her face to his. “I’m asking again, Emma. May I kiss you?”

Emma smiled. “Please.”

Christian leaned toward her, settled his mouth over hers, and kissed her lightly.

Emma squirmed. “I’m still nervous.”

“I shall remedy that for you, Lady Arrick. I promise.” He moved his lips to her ear. “Come with me.” He lifted her hand, kissed the finger that now held her wedding ring, and smiled.

Emma shivered with anticipation.

And with the roar of the Irish Sea, Christian slipped his hand down her arm and linked their fingers together. Slowly, he pulled her to the grotto.

The fire blazed in the black iron hearth, and Christian stared down at her, his eyes starved, hungry. Without another word, he pushed her straps aside and placed his warm lips to her shoulder. His big, calloused hands moved over her exposed back, traced her spine, and eased around her waist, and Emma pushed her fingers through that crazy hair—which she’d forbidden him to cut—and pulled his mouth to hers.

From there, they created their own fire …

Christian’s mouth dragged against hers, tasting, suckling, and then he moved to her throat, pressed light kisses against her skin, and moved farther upward.

“I’ve waited so long to have you this way,” he said in a low voice, against the shell of her ear. “Christ, I’m not sure how much longer I can stand it.”

“Then don’t,” she said, and unbuttoned the shirt he’d worn beneath his mail.

It and her dress hit the floor.

Slowly, he lifted her in his arms, she in her slip, he in his wedding trousers, and kissed her as he walked her to the bed. He followed her down into the white softness, and with wonderment in his wide blue eyes, he kissed her everywhere he touched. His hands skimmed every surface of her body, and her heart raced out of control.

When Emma traced his back with her fingertip, and down his spine, he turned to her then, and without words, relieved her of the rest of her clothes. She did the same for him.

It was then she noticed one of the tattoos on his chest. She’d seen it before, had been curious about it. She traced her fingertips over it now. “What did you say this symbol meant?” she asked softly, in between kisses.

He pulled back and stared into her eyes. “ ’Tis your name in Pict, love,” he whispered. “I’ve always carried you with me.”

And with that, with their bodies entwined, just like their hearts, they kissed, and moved, and became one. Emma’s skin burned with every touch, every brush of Christian’s hands, his lips. As they found their release together, he kissed her softly then, long, and deep, and pulled her to his chest.

“I would wait nine more centuries for you,” he whispered, and buried his face in her neck. “I’ve loved you forever, Emma de Gaultiers.”

Emma’s heart soared with joy. She’d found the other half of her soul for the thirteenth time.

And this time, it was for keeps.

“I’ve loved you forever, too, Mr. Arrick.” Then she whispered in his ear. “Thirteen really is a lucky number, aye?”

At that, her husband grinned. Then he kissed the breath from her.

And together, they became one again.

Once again, I send heartfelt thank-yous to the following for making
Thirteen Chances
such a special story for me.

To my agent, Jenny Bent, and my editor, Laura Cifelli. I appreciate all that you do! You both have made my writing so much better! I couldn’t have been teamed up with a better pair of ladies. Thank you!

To my husband, Brian, and fantastic kids, Kyle and Tyler. Thanks for the inspiration and motivation! (And for leaving me blessedly
alone
when I’m on deadline!)

This time I won’t mention all the crazy and silly stuff my friends get into (and coerce me to do too—wink wink!). This time, a true thank-you. I want Kim Lenox, Betsy Kane, Molly Hammond, Eveline Chapman, Allison Bunton, Valerie Morton, Karol Miles, and Rita-Marie Hester to know how very special they are. Their encouragement and enthusiasm throughout the writing of my books are as unforgettable and cherished as their friendships. A girl couldn’t ask for a better group of pals. You will always have the dearest of places in my heart. And I mean it!

For my
whole
family. All of you: Mom, Dad, sisters, brothers, brothers-in-law, cousins, aunts, uncles—I love you all. You’re the best!

For my sweet and crazy Denmark Sisterhood. I love you guys!

The fabulous band Linkin Park got me through hours and hours of writing. I love them! Thanks, guys!

A giant movie poster of Brendan Fraser and Alicia Silverstone, lip-locked in the sweetest kiss, from the film
Blast from the Past,
inspired me through the writing of Christian and Emma. If you’ve ever read my acknowledgments before, you know that Brendan is one of my favorites. Thanks, Brendan!

A final thank-you to my readers. Without you, none of this would be possible. Your e-mails and letters are the most rewarding of all, and I cherish each and every one of them.

Read on for a sneak peek at
“A Christmas Spirit” from
CINDY MILES

Appearing in the upcoming anthology
A Highlander Christmas,
along with novellas
by Dawn Halliday and Sophie Renwick

On sale November 3, 2009

Northwest Highlands
Somewhere near Inverness
December, present day

“Please don’t die, please don’t die,
puh-leeze
don’t die,” crooned Paige MacDonald. Gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, she stared through the swirling snow ahead and held her breath. The little standard-shift rental car sputtered, lurched, but thankfully kept going.

A few minutes passed as Paige crept her way up the snowy lane, and then her heart soared. Up ahead a single light twinkled through the trees. A little farther and she’d be at the Gorloch Inn.

Suddenly the car coughed and pitched, and the engine died. With a heavy sigh, Paige shifted into neutral, coasted to the edge of the lane, and let the car roll to a stop. She yanked up the emergency brake and stared out into the blinding white downfall of snow. The wind whipped furiously, causing the rental car to sway. For as far as she could see, there was nothing but white. Unfolding the map she’d thrown on the passenger seat, she studied the small, threadlike marking that was supposed to be the road to her bed-and-breakfast. No signs, nothing—not even a sign for Gorloch. She frowned. Lost
and
her car had officially bit the big one.
Great.

Glancing at her watch, she silently said a naughty word, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Perhaps a driving tour of the northwest Highlands in December hadn’t been the most thought-through plan she’d ever had. But she’d been desperate to get out of the city, away from her job, her cramped apartment. So she was lost. And her car had croaked. And there was one heck of a storm outside.

At least she wasn’t spending another Christmas home alone.

Grabbing her overnight pack, Paige tugged her hat down over her ears, tightened her scarf, and buttoned her wool coat. Pulling on her gloves, she gave a hefty sigh and uttered a bit of encouragement, then opened the door and jumped out into the cold.

The gray, wintry skies had begun to turn shadowy; before long, night would fall. She certainly didn’t want to be stranded in the woods after dark. She began to move quickly.

Trudging up the snowy lane, Paige made her way to Gorloch’s. With the biting cold and wall of snowflakes, it seemed to take forever. Not a sound in the air except the crunch of ice beneath her boots and the wind rushing through the branches. It felt dreamlike, yet calming at the same time. It looked like a true winter wonderland. The path wended around a copse of trees, and when it straightened, Paige stopped and gasped. Her breath slowly puffed out in front of her like white, billowy smoke.

The lone twinkling light hadn’t come from a regular bed-and-breakfast or from a stone cottage or even from a Highland croft.

It came from a dark, looming castle.

Paige stood still, staring. An ancient stone fortress rose from the frosty mist, uninviting and ominous. Apprehension gripped her, yet her lips were numb and snowflakes caked her eyelashes. She had no choice now but to continue on. Shifting her pack, Paige shoved her hands deep into her pockets and made for the castle doors.

As she neared the entrance, she noticed two things. One, the main castle tower was enormous. Two, unless there was a garage somewhere around back, it didn’t look like a soul was home. With a deep breath, she took the remaining walk to the double doors, lifted her hand, grasped a large, tarnished brass ring, and knocked. She stepped back and waited.

No one answered.

Teeth chattering and her body shivering uncontrollably, Paige knocked again. Loudly. Seconds turned into minutes as she waited.
Oh, gosh—I’m going to freeze to death.

“No vacancy. Go away.”

Paige jumped at the sound of the deep voice and looked around. “Um, c-could I j-just use your phone to c-call a cab? My c-car’s dead,” she said, teeth chattering.

Moments passed, and Paige sighed and turned to leave.

“Come in, but be quick about it.”

Paige looked about, but still saw no one. Should she go in? Why didn’t he open the door himself? Her body quaked with uncontrolled shivers, and she stamped her feet and rubbed her arms vigorously.

“Come in before you bloody freeze to death.”

With hesitancy Paige turned the handle, pushed open the massive door, and stepped inside. The wind caught the heavy oak, pulled it from her fingers, and slammed it shut behind her. She jumped, then looked around. She saw no one. A small table in the foyer contained an open ledger and a pen. A lamp burned low and cast shadows across the narrow space. Paige’s gaze moved slowly and peered into the dim room beyond. “Hello?”

“Jus’ sign in, lass, and sit. I’ll be wi’ you in a moment.”

“So, you do have vacancy?” she asked, thinking she’d heard wrong the first time.

A moment passed, then that deep voice mumbled, “Aye.” The throaty brogue was so thick that she barely understood the man.

“Er, great. Thanks,” said Paige. Grasping the pen, she steadied her shaking hand and signed in.

In the great hall, Gabriel Munro shoved a hand through his hair and paced. He stopped, glanced at the girl, pushed his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets, and cursed. Then he rested his hands on his hips and paced a bit more.

What, by the devil’s cloven hooves, was he to do with
her?
Damn the Craigmires’ arses for leaving him here alone. The old fool and his wife had sworn the weather would keep tourists away.

Gabriel glanced at the girl, who was still shivering in the foyer. Her gaze shifted first left, then right. Then she sat down.

The weather had kept all away, save
that one.
What was she doin’ out in such a storm? And alone, as well?

He’d have let her leave, had she no’ admitted to being stranded. He damn well couldna let her stay out in the snow and freeze. And freeze she surely would have, in such a wee, thin coat and scarf. Even the hat she had pulled nearly to her eyes looked paltry. ’Twas apparent she was no’ from the Highlands. Her accent had been the proof o’ that.

Now he was stuck wi’ her. Alone.

Christ.

He had no choice but to handle things until the girl left. With a final silent curse, Gabriel took a deep breath, readied himself, and stepped into the foyer.

The girl sprang to her feet the moment Gabriel appeared. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, and he prayed mightily that he’d dressed appropriately. Still, she said nothing. She all but gaped.

“You’re wantin’ a room, aye?” said Gabriel.

She nodded, and her cheeks flushed. “I do.”

He gave a curt nod toward the desk. “Chamber thirteen. Grab your key from yon drawer and follow me.”