Thirteen Chances (22 page)

Christian’s, though, were larger, more intricate, and he had one on the right side of his chest, a large one on his back, and a wide band encircling each bicep. She couldn’t tell from where she sat what the designs were, but she’d be certain to find that out as soon as possible.

She sincerely hoped that would be sooner rather than later.

Christian and Gawan circled one another, legs clad in leather boots and pants that had straps crossing up their thighs. They crouched, swords raised menacingly, the muscles in their backs, stomachs, shoulders, and arms pulled taut. Their biceps bulged from the weight of their weapons, and Emma noticed veins on both of Christian’s arms that traveled upward and fanned out over his chest. He looked so
real.

And those
had
to be foul words coming from their mouths. Neither of their faces looked friendly at all.

“How is this possible?” she asked, mostly to herself.

Jason leaned closely. “They used to train all the time when Gawan was still earthbound. Trained for centuries. It’s really just a play of illusion, sound included. For whatever reason, they maintained the ability, even after Gawan’s retirement.”

The strike of steel against steel filled the bailey as Gawan and Christian came at each other, Christian swinging dual swords, Gawan swinging his one giant one. Sweat plastered their hair to their skulls, and they both looked ferocious enough to hack the other’s head off in the blink of an eye.

Emma shuddered at the thought.

The pair suddenly called a halt, and both men stabbed the ground with their swords and leaned their weight against the hilts, breathing heavily.

As she stared, her vision blurred, colors became more vivid, and it made her head feel light. That familiar feeling in her stomach twinged, and she gasped.

“Emma, are you unwell?” asked Jason.

Emma blinked, and her vision cleared. What
was
that? She smiled. “No, I’m perfectly fine.” Again, her eyes lighted on the warriors. They leaned over their swords, breathing hard. She was positive Christian’s was for show. Could he get winded? She didn’t see how.

There was so much of his world she didn’t understand.

But she found herself wanting to more and more.

Actually, as her eyes locked with Christian’s, and he yanked the one sword out of the ground and started walking toward her, she discovered she wanted to know
everything
about him …

Christian couldn’t take his bloody eyes off Emma. She sat, eyes wide as they stared back at him, her mouth slightly open. Her reddish brown hair hung straight to her shoulders, parted slightly off to one side and tucked neatly behind each ear. Her hair stood out in stark contrast to the black, form-fitting jumper she wore, and her faded, holed-at-the-knees jeans hung low on her hips, snug in just the right places. Her skin, pale and flawless as alabaster, set off her wide blue eyes.

She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

Once again he found this time, this thirteenth chance, vastly different from their previous lives together. ’Twas the same loving soul—he recognized that much—but many of the characteristics that carried from one life to the next were absent, replaced by this modern Emma’s own uniqueness, which Christian found intriguing. The Emma he’d met long ago had been painfully shy. This modern version could blush furiously, yet still be bold enough to say exactly what was on her mind. He rather fancied it. And he dared to hope things might end up favorably this time round …

As he drew closer, a smile lifted each corner of Emma’s lush mouth, making his lifeless self shudder on the inside like a lad of ten and three meeting his first girl.

Bloody hell, he was suddenly
nervous.

Finally, Christian reached her. She’d stood and was staring, a look of wonder etched in her lovely face.

Slowly, she shook her head. “You … are amazing.” Her breathy voice washed over him, and he couldn’t help but smile with pride.

“ ’Twas nothing, lass. Just a bit of knightly swordplay.” He gave her a slight nod. “But I am enormously glad you enjoyed it.”

A giggle erupted beside her. Christian shot Lady Follywolle a mock glare, but it hushed her up, so that made him happy.

Lady Follywolle stuck her tongue out.

“Chris, you old smooth talker,” said Ellie, suddenly beside them. Ensley lay asleep in the little pouch swing against Ellie’s chest. “You know, watching that entire sword fighting stuff—especially for the first time—can make a girl swoon.”

Ellie winked at Emma, who tried to smother a grin.

Ellie and Gawan’s twins ran up then, jumping all around, smiles stretched across their little faces. “Unc Cwiss! Unc Cwiss!” they yelled. “Me! Me!”

He found he never grew weary of hearing it.

“Boys, get back,” said Ellie sweetly. They hugged her, one on each leg, and continued to grin at him.

He’d always wanted a score of babes. Good thing Gawan and Ellie were of the same mind-set. At least he got to be Uncle Chris.

Gawan joined them, along with Davy, Gawan’s arm draped over the lad’s shoulder. The others stood, Justin, Godfrey, and the ladies, and that ever-present, smug Jason, lately forever at Emma’s side.

Not that he could blame the pup.

“Well,” Ellie said, patting little Ensley’s bottom through the carrier, “I’m headed in to start baths and feedings.” She looked at Emma. “Will Chris’ company be okay while I get the kids all ready for bed?”

Emma’s cheeks turned red.

“Would you like me to help?” Emma asked.

Ellie’s gaze flashed to Christian, and for an instant he thought she’d take Emma up on her offer. Gawan’s wife lifted one mischievous brow, then shook her head.

“From the look on Christian’s face, Emma, you’d best appease him and hang out until supper.” She grinned. “Besides, I have a junior warlord who is very good at handling the twins in their bath.”

Lady Follywolle giggled. “Come, come, ladies, gentlemen. Let’s convene in my solar for a game of Knucklebones whilst the young ones have their time.” She batted her lashes at Christian. “Behave, Lord Arrick.”

Justin Catesby grinned; then he, along with the ladies, disappeared.

Godfrey looked at young Davy. “You comin’, boy?”

“Oh, aye!” hollered Davy, who in turn looked at Jason. “And you, sir?” he asked.

Jason shot a glance at Emma, who gave him a tender smile. Jason shrugged, and both lads took off running toward the side entrance of the hall.

Gawan gave him a look, grinned, then stared at Emma. “Lass, are you sure this whoreson’s company is worthy?”

Emma blinked, and glanced from Christian to Gawan. “Um, yes. Perfectly.”

He gave a short nod. “Well done. We shall see you two at supper, then.” He placed an arm around his wife’s shoulder, then corralled the twins in one arm and lifted them, squealing.

Ellie turned and grinned over her shoulder, and mouthed the word
Bye
to Emma.

Efficiently leaving him and Emma completely alone.

Christian knew that wouldn’t last for long.

Then, he looked down, and noticed Emma had eased closer, and was now intently studying him, or more specifically, his markings. He stood still, allowing her perusal, until finally, she stopped and looked at him. She said nothing.

He squirmed.

A smile tipped her mouth. “Got any more interesting things to show me?”

Christian gaped.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Around Grimm, you perv.”

He grinned. “Mayhap.” They started walking, and he sheathed both swords. He noticed Emma kept slipping a glance at him. Somehow, that made him walk a bit taller.

They crossed the bailey, then went through the iron gate and into the courtyard. Her head barely reached his shoulder. Small though she was, he knew she could hold her own in most any situation and certainly with the crowd coming tomorrow. Modern lasses had more … reserves than medieval ones. It fascinated him, yet made him desire nothing more than to hold open an iron gate whilst she passed through it.

Something he’d never be able to do.

A brief thought struck him, and struck him hard. What if Emma did know just how long he’d known her? Would she be angry? ’Twas a mighty secret, in truth. Only God knew how things would turn out this time. Mayhap, since so many things were different, the ending would be as well?

He could only hope.

Absently, Christian led Emma to the cliff side, where Gawan had installed several stone alcoves for sitting and viewing the sea—at Ellie’s insistence, of course. There wasn’t a thing Ellie wished for that Gawan didn’t try to make happen.

“I know I sound like a groupie, but”—she looked up at him briefly—“I just can’t seem to get over … everything. Mainly, you, I suppose.” She shook her head. “To know you fought in wars centuries ago, and with
those,”
she said, gesturing toward his blades. “It’s really, really hard to take in.” She smiled up at him. “It fascinates me. Actually, you fascinate me, Christian.”

He’d die three more times, just to hear her say his name like that.

The wind whipped fiercely off the sea, tossing Emma’s hair about her. She seemed not to mind overmuch, turning her face to it and closing her eyes. She smiled, then looked at him.

“The sun doesn’t seem to show itself here much,” she said. “Funny—I live where the sun shines constantly; it’s hot, humid, sticky. I don’t mind this so much.”

He smiled at that. “How do you keep your skin from becoming scorched?” he asked, just as they reached the man-made alcove.

Emma slid into the stone retreat and shrugged. “Lots of sunscreen, I imagine.” She looked at him as he moved in beside her. “Do your markings have a meaning?”

Christian glanced down at his chest and his arms. Embedded in the one on his chest was Emma’s name, in Pictish symbols. He couldn’t very bloody well tell her
that.
A long time ago, she knew …

Emma’s soft fingertip traced the Pictish marking scorched into his chest. The sensation of her skin against his nearly drove him daft. She rose up on her toes to study the symbols more closely. Then she grinned. “What does this one mean, Chris?”

Christian wrapped his arms about her tightly, reveling in the feel of her soft body pressed against his. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. “ ’Tis your name, love.” He kissed her.

“That means I shall always be with you,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Aye, it does indeed,” he said. “I shall love you forever …”

“Christian?”

Back in the present, he smiled. “ ’Tis markings of a Pictish warrior.” He pointed to several symbols on his arms. “This is a bolt of lightning, meaning speed. This here,” he said, pointing to a sickle, “represents the swiftness of my blade, and a blessing to use it viciously against my rival.”

She tentatively reached a hand out, her finger directly pointing to the symbols of her name. “And this?”

Bloody hell.

“ ’Tis a symbol that means close to my heart,” he said. And ’twasn’t a lie.

“Oh,” she said softly, and leaned her head against the back of the alcove. She looked at him, studying him closely. They were quiet for several moments, and finally, she sighed. “I believe you’re the reason I came to Arrick-by-the-Sea,” she said. “It’s so very strange, but I can’t think of any other good, logical reason.” She gave a soft laugh, and pushed her fallen hair behind her ear. “I worry my confidence comes from your state of unliving,” she said shyly, “but I’m going with it.” Her gaze was direct, earnest, profound. “Why me?”

He stared at her. Had she lost her mind? Even had she not been the soul he’d been in love with for nearly nine hundred years, he’d still have fallen for her. Everything that made up her character appealed to him.

With his forefinger, he gently grazed the line of her cheek, keeping just enough space between his essence and hers to keep from passing through. Her eyes widened at the sensation he knew she felt.

He felt it, too. It made his stomach do funny things.

Leaning forward, he drew his face close to hers. “You have no idea just how beautiful you are, do you, Emma Calhoun?” he asked. He simply drank her features in, from the arch of her brows, to the roundness of her eyes, to the small, straight angle of her nose, and to the curve of her lush lips.

And, especially that unique mark, just at the corner.

So close, they were naught but a whisper apart. Emma’s lips were slightly parted, and for once, she was speechless. Christ, he’d never wanted to kiss her so badly in all the centuries he’d experienced time with her.

This thirteenth chance was proving to be the most challenging.

“What would it feel like?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you tried to kiss me, I mean?”

Christian looked at her, long, hard, and thorough. She stared up at him, her head still resting back. He leaned closer still, placing his hand beside her head against the wall.

“You tell me,” he said. “Close your eyes.”

Slowly, she exhaled, then did.

And then he lowered his head.

Emma’s heart pounded hard against its cage, so hard she felt as though it jolted her with each thud. She kept her eyes closed, just as Christian had asked.

She wanted to open them. Badly.

She didn’t dare.

Then, a tingling started at her mouth, first on her lower lip, then the corner, then the top. The sensation was so distinguishing, it made her gasp, and while she tried not to, she couldn’t help it. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Christian’s head was bent to hers, ever so slightly turned to one side, so very close that she knew without being able to see that their lines of definition blurred. His eyes were closed, and he was all but melded to her, his lips gently parted and resting against hers. The air lodged in her lungs, she was so fearful that, if she breathed, she’d lose the sensation altogether. Finally, on an exhale that she could not help, she said his name.

“Christian,” she said softly, lifting her hands to rest idly by his jaw.

Christian pulled back, just a fraction, and the sensation lingered a moment, then disappeared. The intensity of his gaze burned through her.