Thirteen Chances (13 page)

Slowly, she turned her face toward his. They weren’t so very close—not nearly as close as Christian would have liked. But closer than they had been. Emma’s eyes widened as she locked on to his gaze, and a brief smile touched her lips.

Then her gaze dropped to his mouth.

Quickly, she brought it back to his eyes. She smiled. “I, err … want to touch you.”

Christian all but choked. On what, he hadn’t a clue. He had no spit, air couldn’t get caught, and God knows he hadn’t had food in more than eight centuries.

’Twas fear, he realized. He was bloody choking on
fear.

Emma suddenly chuckled. “You perv. I want to touch your
hand.”
She shook her head. “Jeesh. I’m not that kind of girl.”

Christian steadied his gaze onto her blue ones, which seemed glassy in the darkness. “Too bad.” He held out his hand. “Go ahead.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at Christian, then turned her full attention to his outstretched hand. It hovered between them, and she inspected it mightily before moving.

She hesitated and looked up. “Are you sure?”

“Aye.” He wasn’t. Not really. This would only make it tougher on him. But if she wanted to, he’d not deny her.

Moving her hand closer to his, Emma suddenly stopped. She again looked up at him, their faces not all too much apart. “Will it hurt?”

Christian couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Nay. It will hot hurt, Emma.”

“Okay.” With a quick smile, she glanced back down at their hands. With painful slowness, she brushed hers through his. He hid his reaction well, he thought. But he’d braced himself for it.

She gasped, then yanked her hand back at the sensation Christian knew she immediately felt.

Then Emma slowly swiped her hand through his once more. With wide eyes, she searched his.
“What
is
that?”
she asked in a whisper.

What he wanted to tell her was that the feeling only occurred between two souls destined to belong to one another. Intendeds. He couldn’t. He could not bring himself to tell her. Not now. Not
ever.
He’d done it twelve times in the past. And twelve times she’d grown to love him.

Twelve times he’d lost her.

He’d not lose her again.

As long as he knew Emma was alive and happy, living somewhere in her world with a husband, mayhap several children, he’d be satisfied. He’d deal with his pain, his loss, and he’d do it his bloody way.

So he did the one thing that went against all things he’d vowed so long ago, to a king who’d convinced him that war in the Holy Land was the right thing—the Christian thing to do.

He
lied.

“ ’Tis merely the sensation of your bodily matter passing through what little remains of mine,” he said, then shrugged. “Nothing more.”

Her face immediately fell. “Oh.”

Quickly, he removed his hand and stood. “Are you ready to head back, then?”

Emma stood, too, and swung down to the steps. “Sure.”

Inside, Christian cringed. Her mood had changed from light to hurtful, and ’twas because of his stupid, flippant remark that it was so.

As he watched Emma clamor down the stone steps, he briefly applauded himself.

He’d not lied fully. He hadn’t completely broken his knightly vow not to lie.

’Twas in fact a tingle caused by the passing of their bodily matters that Emma had felt. She simply didn’t realize the impact it’d had on him.

Or that he was saving her from the same wretched heartache he’d now endure.

As they walked back to the manor in silence, Christian silently cursed fate.

Emma all but stomped back to the manor. She had no idea why, but, well, dang it—she felt like stomping.

She glanced to her left. Christian kept up with her. Silently, but he kept up.

Why had she felt so hurt all of a sudden, when he’d brushed the feeling of their hands passing off as nothing out of the ordinary? She’d thought it was extraordinary.

Perhaps he’d felt it many times before?

Ooh. She hadn’t thought of that. Then another thought bonked her on the brain. Man, she must be full of herself for not thinking of this before.

Maybe, just maybe, Christian had experienced that tingly, phenomenal, electric feeling with …
someone else?

Sheesh.

She was an idiot. He’d lived on the earthly plane for more than eight centuries. How had she not thought it possible that he’d … encountered someone, another
female
someone—one he might have possibly had feelings for?

Okay—had someone openly discussed this with her a week ago, she would have immediately urged them to see a doctor. A shrink. A voodoo priestess.
Anything.
She would have thought it completely and utterly insane. But now she was experiencing it herself, it didn’t sound so insane.

Emma knew ghosts existed now.

Her life was changed forever. She glanced at Christian and sighed.

She’d just acted like a horse’s ass.

Pouting.
Pouting
of all things!

Time to reevaluate her attitude. In the time it took them to finish walking up the lane, she’d given herself an attitude adjustment.

At the manor, Emma turned to Christian, looked up at him, and smiled. “Thank you.” She meant it, too.

The expression on his face looked puzzled. He cocked his head. “For what?”

“For … I don’t know,” she stammered. “For opening my eyes, for one. You’ve shown me a whole new world I never believed existed.” She looked down. “And for not making me leave after all.”

Christian was quiet for so long, Emma finally looked up at him. His eyes flashed in the moonlight, and bored profoundly into hers.

“You’re welcome,” was all he said.

It made her shudder in her boots.

Pretending he didn’t affect her, she grinned. “How obvious would it look if you went into the village with me tomorrow?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Why do you want to go there?”

His smile was infectious. “To photograph, of course, and to go to the chippy. The sisters told me how fabulous it was.”

“Ahh,” he began, and leaned against the stone wall beside the door frame. “ ’Tis your belly you seek to satisfy.” He shrugged. “We can make it look … not so obvious, if you wish.”

Emma narrowed her eyes playfully. “What do you mean by that?”

His grin widened. It actually looked more … devious. “You’ll see,” he said. He stared at her for several seconds. Then he pushed off the wall. “Now off to bed with you. You’ll get dark circles beneath your eyes if you don’t get enough rest.”

Emma smiled. “Okay.” Gosh, she almost felt as though this were a date. She immediately envisioned Willoughby flickering the porch lights on and off as a warning. She stifled a giggle at that thought. “Will you be at breakfast?”

He grinned. “I will if you wish me there.”

“I do wish it.” She opened the door and stepped inside. “Good night.”

Christian’s gaze lingered on hers for some time. Then he gave her a short bow. “Until.”

And then he disappeared.

Emma fought the urge to throw her back against the door and heave a heavy, hearty sigh. Obviously, she’d watched too many movies. She refrained and kept the excitement of spending time with the most gorgeous creature she’d ever met all to herself.

She wouldn’t let anyone—including the gorgeous creature himself—know just how he made her feel. It’d do no one the first bit of good.

In less than a month, she’d be gone.

As she crept up the three flights of stairs to her chamber, Emma considered just how much that seemed to bother her. The leaving, anyway. Of course, she had to leave. Her life, her job—her business was back in Savannah. She loved her work. It’s what she lived for, really.

At her door, she let herself inside, dropped the camera bag onto the bed, and kicked off her boots. Gently, so she wouldn’t jostle her sore hand, she pulled her sweater over her head and laid it across the back of the chair.

The same chair Christian had sat in the entire time she rested …

“Okay!” she grumbled at herself. “Seriously, Calhoun.” She growled low in her throat, much like Christian did. “Seriously.”

Now that she had a plan in motion (she wouldn’t call it a date out loud), excitement made her steps a bit quicker, her mood much lighter, her attitude thoroughly adjusted. Quickly, she jumped in the shower, washed and shaved as fast as she could without skinning herself alive, towel-dried her hair, lotioned her legs, brushed her teeth, and yanked on her pajamas. Wrapping her hair into a knot, she secured it with a scrunchie, flicked off the lights, and dove into bed.

Reaching over, she turned off the lamp, then settled back into the fluffy comfort of the down mattress topper, pillows, and duvet. It felt as though she were floating on a cloud.

Her thoughts strayed to the twelfth-century warrior who was now her friend.

How she’d give anything to have him as more than just a friend.

Emma resisted the urge to slap herself against the forehead.

She sounded like a dorky ole greeting card.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and the lines between conscious and awake blurred, and Emma heard her own voice whisper out loud. “Christian, are you there?”

Just as she slipped into slumber, she heard him reply. “Aye. Now go to sleep.”

Smiling, she did.

At seven a.m. the alarm on Emma’s watch sent out a series of shrill beeps, dragging her from sleep. When her eyes fluttered open, she was surprised to find the palest of light streaming in through the picture window in her room. Kicking out from beneath the duvet, she flew to the window and peered out.

While a far cry from sunny, it wasn’t overcast and rainy, either. The mist had risen, as well, and Emma could clearly see Arrick’s ruins, and the Irish Sea beyond. The treetops bent ever so slightly, so she figured the wind wasn’t too bad. Leaning her face against the glass, she was surprised to find it cool, but not freezing as it had been.

She smiled. It was going to be a perfect day. If the light remained as it was, photography conditions would be her most favorite—light, with no shadows, no flash needed. Perfecto.

At the bureau—she’d finally managed to put all of her clothes in a somewhat organized manner out of her suitcase—Emma chose a favorite pair of faded jeans, a long-sleeved tie-dyed tee, and another long-sleeved tee, this one in black. On the sleeve of her right arm and left chest was her business’ logo: two Celtic knots entwined, with
FOREVERMORE PHOTOGRAPHY
in a fine scrawl over and beneath the knots, in cream and emerald green. She’d created the design herself. Digging through the drawers, she fished out a comfy bra and a pair of socks.

Just as she had her pajama top lifted halfway up her stomach, she froze, yanked her top back down, and cleared her throat. “Christian?”

A few seconds passed, and she grasped the hem of her top again.

“Aye?”

Heat flooded Emma’s face. “Please tell me you’re not in here watching me skin out of my jammies.”

Christian’s voice chuckled. It did sound a bit … muffled.

“Nay, girl,” he said. “I’m in the dining hall, waiting for you.”

Emma glanced around the room. “Then why can I hear you?”

Another chuckle. “ ’Tis one of the few tricks I possess. Now hurry up. Your porridge is looking a bit … dodgy.”

“Okay.” Shaking her head, Emma threw on her clothes, all the while thinking how completely insane the entire ghost experience was. She wondered briefly whether, once home, she would look back on her trip and think it all a crazy dream. Would it still seem real to her?

Would Christian?

She laughed. Of course he’d still seem real to her. Why wouldn’t he?

Hurrying to the bathroom, Emma pulled her hair into a fast pair of braids, brushed her teeth, applied all the girlie stuff she normally applied, a teensy bit of makeup, and decided on footwear. Since they weren’t hiking today, and it seemed relatively dry outside, she chose her favorite old pair of comfy Converse sneakers. Since she had to come back up and brush her teeth anyway, she left her camera bag and hat on the bed, and hurried downstairs.

As soon as she stepped into the first sitting room off the stairs, Willoughby greeted her. She wore a pair of navy blue sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. Her red hair matched her lipstick.

Emma thought she was absolutely delightful.

“Good morning, love! How was your sleep?” Willoughby glanced down. “And your hand? How’s it feeling this morn?”

Emma smiled, then wiggled her fingers. “It feels a little stiff, but okay. Thanks.”

“Well,” Willoughby said, “after breakfast I’ll check the wound, clean it up a bit, and re-dress it before you and Christian head out, aye?”

Emma nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Well, run along.” Willoughby shooed her toward the dining room. “Your breakfast and … your handsome escort for the day await you.”

With a giggle, Willoughby Ballaster hurried off.

Emma watched her go, shook her head, and then continued on to breakfast. The air in the manor carried the pungent scent of citrus, and she couldn’t help but hope the sisters had cooked up something else tasty and very … Welshy. Oooh, boy, maybe they’d made a lemon tart. She thought she could eat a whole one.

A handful of seconds later Emma reached the dining room. She opened the door and poked her head inside. Her eyes found Christian right away, seated at the same little table she’d sat at each morning. It had a perfect view of the castle.

Smiling, Emma stepped in and started across the room. Christian stood.

“Good morn to you,” he said.

Emma stopped in midstride. Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked, resisting rubbing her eyes. Somehow, her feet continued to carry her to the table.

She swallowed once, then once more. She cleared her throat as she took in the sight of him, head to toe. She blinked again. “How … did you manage to do
that?”
she asked.

A grin slowly slashed across Christian’s face. He gave a casual shrug. “You wanted inconspicuous, aye?”

Emma thought she nodded. She could have possibly said aye. Her mouth went dry.