Thirteen Chances (24 page)

“You’ve already done that?” Gawan asked. He whistled low. “Always has baffled me how you do it, exactly.”

“Well, I bloody well won’t show you.”

Gawan laughed. “Thank God.”

They continued walking the parapet along the north wall. They’d done it in life, and now, centuries later, they continued.

Gawan stopped, gripped the wall, and stared out across the wood. “Mayhap all these changes mean something,” he said. “A sign of sorts? Mayhap ’twas fate’s will to bring you to the present before something miraculous happens?”

Christian nodded, and leaned a hip against the wall. “You may be right. But how fair would it be of me to allow her feelings to grow, only to latch herself with a bloody spirit for the whole of her life?” He shook his head. “Bloody selfish of me, I’d say.”

Gawan smiled. “You cannot be the judge of her feelings, Chris, no more than you can be the judge of yours. ’Tis a woman you’ve loved for nearly nine hundred years, man, and fate keeps sending her back to you. She’s fallen in love with you, what? Thirteen times now? There’s something to that, don’t you think?”

He looked at his friend. “I dare to hope it.”

Gawan pushed from the wall and stood, staring directly at Christian. “You’re not asking for my advice, but I’m giving it all the same. Tell her. Eventually. Mayhap not right now, but eventually. If she doesn’t remember, that is. Don’t keep it from her, Chris. She deserves to know.”

Christ, he knew it. Knew it all too well. In the past, he didn’t have to tell her. She remembered on her own. But in the past, she remembered a lot faster than now.

As it was, she didn’t even give an inkling that she remembered.

He looked at Gawan. “Because you had connections from the higher-ups, I’ll listen to your advice. But I’ll give her a bit of time. Now is too soon.”

“Don’t wait,” Gawan said. “Not too long, anyway. Remember how I tried to not tell Ellie everything?” He visibly shuddered. “ ’Twas a grave mistake—one that nearly turned disastrous. I don’t want my best friend making the same error.”

Christian grinned. “That almost sounds as though you love me, Conwyk.”

Gawan smiled. “God knows I do, brother. Now, let’s get to supper. I’m starved.”

Me, too,
he thought. Starved to see his Emma again.

The great hall was thumping with activity. Emma thought she’d never seen anything like it—and probably wouldn’t ever see anything to compare. Between Nicklesby, that charming … she couldn’t figure out what he was. More than a nanny, more than a butler—she couldn’t put her finger on it. The Conwyks adored the wiry, funny man with enormous ears, regardless.

Nicklesby was running around, chasing after the twins. Godfrey and Davy were playing some sort of game in one corner, with Godfrey bursting out with a hearty
Bloody good move, lad!
every five minutes or so. And the ladies Follywolle and Beauchamp leaned over little Ensley’s playpen, close to the hearth, goo-gooing and gah-gahing at each sweet little noise the infant made.

Lady Follywolle and that bird hair—it had to be the most hilarious thing Emma had ever seen. Every time she moved, nodded, shook her head, her hair looked as if it were about to take flight.

Stepping off the final stair, Emma caught sight of Lady Conwyk, rushing in and out of the kitchen. She made a beeline for her, to help with the meal. Just as she managed to cross halfway to the kitchen doors, she was intercepted by a young knight.

“Emma!” said Jason, rushing to walk with her. He grinned down at her. “How are you?”

Emma laughed. “You mean since the last time you saw me, oh, about a couple of hours ago?” She patted his arm. “I’m fine. Finer than fine, actually.”

His eyes lit up, and a soft expression touched his face. “As I said before, that Christian is a lucky whoreson.”

Emma shook her head. “I think you must have lost a few screws in your transformation from ghostism to mortalism,” she said. With her forefinger, she made a swirly motion next to her temple.

He chuckled. “And why do you say that?”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Because. You consider him so darn lucky and I don’t understand why.”

Suddenly, Emma noticed she was walking alone. She stopped, and turned around. Jason had stopped in the center of the hall, a look of bafflement on his face. For some reason, it made Emma laugh. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Jason slowly walked up to her. He looked down, his light green eyes soft. “Are you daft, girl?” He slowly shook his head. “You have no idea how fetching you are, do you?”

Heat rose to Emma’s cheeks. “That’s silly. Very kind of you, but silly.”

Jason’s grin spread from ear to ear. “See? That makes you just that more fetching.” He shook his head. “Lucky, lucky whoreson, indeed.”

Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed Jason by the arm and tugged. “Come on, smooth talker. Escort me to the kitchen, handsome, so I can give Ellie a hand.”

“Anytime,” he answered with a laugh.

They entered the kitchen and Ellie turned, a smile splitting her face. “Hey guys!”

Emma smiled in return. “Need some help?”

“I’d love some. Nicklesby and I changed jobs today, and he’s so much better at cooking than I am. He usually does the supper and I chase the twins.” She grinned.

“But they love their uncle Nicklesby so much that they wanted him instead of me tonight.” She blew a strand of hair from her eyes.

Emma could do nothing but laugh. “Well, I’m not sure how good I am at cooking, but I love to eat.” She pushed up the sleeves to her turtleneck. “Point me in the right direction and tell me what to do.”

Jason cleared his throat. “I think I shall go help Nicklesby chase the twins.”

“Bye,” Emma and Ellie said in unison.

Jason chuckled as he left the kitchen.

“Okay, so what are we making?” asked Emma, glancing around the kitchen. There were double sinks by a small window, a hearth, a pantry, and a long wooden table off to one side. A long, red-tiled island sat in the center, complete with a sink and stove top. Pots and pans hung from a rack above. A large oven had been installed above the hearth, and a monstrous, double-sided stainless steel refrigerator stood against the opposite wall.

Impressive appliances for a twelfth-century castle.

“I have two thawed-out chickens, a bag of potatoes, and a bunch of other stuff,” Ellie said. “I’ve Americanized the pantry a bit. Any ideas?”

Emma looked through the pantry, the refrigerator, then turned to Ellie and grinned. “I’ve got it. Let’s get that bird cut up.”

They worked together cutting the chicken, laying it into two large casserole pans, and covering the pieces with cream of chicken soup. Once that was baking, they started peeling the potatoes.

“So. What’s it like being in love with a ghost?”

Emma turned to see Ellie steadily chopping up a potato. A grin lifted her mouth.

“Well,” Emma answered, feeling her cheeks grow warm, “I can’t say for a fact that I’m in love with him yet. I’ve only just met him.”

Ellie glanced sideways at her. “Really?”

Emma smiled. “I … seriously am crazy about him.”

“I see.” Ellie continued her chopping. “Have you thought yourself crazy yet?”

Emma laughed. “I thought I was crazy right off the bat. At first I felt eyes on me while I walked around Arrick’s ruins. Creeped me out at first, and then … he appeared.” She lifted a brow. “Not so nice at first, though. I think he was trying to scare me off.”

Ellie smiled. “Good thing it didn’t work, huh?” She shook her head and began peeling another potato. “I’d have to say that medieval men are pigheaded when they want to be.” She winked. “Until, that is, they meet one of us modern girls head-on.” She held up her pinky and wiggled it. “After that, we got ’em wrapped.”

“Wrapped, eh?”

Both girls squealed at Gawan’s raspy voice in the doorway.

Christian stood, leaning against the opposite frame.

Both warriors had smirks on their faces.

Oh God! How long have they been standing there?

“Emma, I pray you’re a better cook than my beloved,” Gawan said.

The look in his eyes did not match the words. Never had Emma seen so much love in a man’s eyes.

She shyly shifted her gaze to Christian.

His looked the same, with that reflective stare, and something … different in the depth of his eyes.

Holy ho-ho.

“Oh, you two get out if you’re going to make fun,” teased Ellie. “You’re going to love this dish. And if you don’t? Err, it was Emma’s idea. Pulled it right out of a Betty Crocker cookbook.”

Emma grinned at Gawan and shrugged.

They all erupted into laughter.

“I am jesting,” said Gawan, giving Emma a short nod.

“It smells heavenly.” He moved to his wife, slipped his arm around her waist, and pulled her close. He leaned his head to her ear, obviously whispering something sweet, because Ellie’s almond-shaped blue-green eyes turned soft. He kissed her cheek, she pulled his hair that he’d secured in the back of his neck with a silver clip, and then she swatted his backside.

Emma nearly blushed again, being witness to such intimate play between Gawan and Ellie.

She chanced a peek at Christian.

His grin was absolutely predatory.

He made his way to her, and dropped his head to her ear. “I’ll see you at supper,” he said, the sensation of his ghostly mouth close to her neck causing her to shudder. “After, though, you’re all mine.”

Emma gulped.

Christian laughed.

She could hardly wait.

The buzz all around the supper table revolved around the big Grimm Tournament.

Apparently, it was a pretty big deal amongst the dead, the previously dead but recently revived, and all that falls in between.

Christian’s focus, though, seemed not to be on the tournament. You’d think a medieval guy would be all hyped up about competing in an extreme sporting event, with sharp blades and horses and fighting and pointy poles to jab and poke at one another.

Nope, not so much.

That weighty, sexy stare of his stayed glued on
her
nearly the entire meal.

Emma did a lot of squirming at the dinner table.

Only a few times did someone steal his attention, and half the time he’d answer whoever was speaking to him without removing his gaze from her. It was unnerving, yet … strangely erotic. Sensual.

She wasn’t positive she could handle that one-hundred-percent, hot-blooded medieval male, were he alive.

She could barely handle him
now.

“Emma?”

Jumping at the voice interrupting her thoughts, Emma turned to Ellie. “I’m sorry?”

A few chuckles rounded the table, and she felt her face heat up. Christian, of course, simply grinned that mischievous grin.

She’d come to realize how naughty he really was.

Ellie hid a smile with her hand. “Tell us about your profession. I’ve always been interested in photography. What’s the name of your studio?”

Emma smiled nervously, not only feeling Christian’s gaze but now that of everyone in the room. She cleared her throat. “Forevermore Photography. It’s a small studio on the riverfront, and I mostly shoot engagements and weddings. Also a few private sessions, like for families, college grads, high school grads, that sort of thing.” She smiled with genuine excitement. “I thought it’d be fun to shoot the tournament.” She glanced at the sweet little girl in the swing next to Ellie, and the crazy little twins on either side of Gawan. “And the kids, families. If you don’t mind?”

Ellie beamed. “Are you kidding? That’d be bleeping fantastic!”

Emma grinned.

Gawan gave her a warm smile. “Your talents will greatly be appreciated, lady,” he said with a half nod. Then his grin turned mischievous. “I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with the Dreadmoor lot. Isn’t that right. Jason?”

Jason nodded; he finished chewing a mouthful of chicken, then wiped his mouth. He looked at Emma. “You’ve no idea. Mayhap your most challenging subjects.”

Emma sipped her tea. “The more challenging, the more fun.”

“Aye, but there’s a daft lot coming in from Ireland,” said Godfrey. “Ghosties, all of them, but I wouldn’t put it past them to try to get in a few of your pictures.”

Everyone laughed.

Just then, a barking started up. Far away at first, it quickly grew louder and louder. Everyone casually looked up, and Nicklesby groaned. “Cotswold! Good heavens, here he comes!”

Suddenly a big, shaggy,
ghostly
dog ran straight through a wall and skidded up to the table, wagging his big tail and lolling his big tongue.

Emma felt her jaw drop.

Davy scooted from his chair, grinning, then stopped and looked at Ellie. “May I be excused?”

Ellie smiled. “Yes, and take Cotswold with you. He needs a good run.”

With that, Davy ran from the table. “Cotswold! Come on, boy!”

The pair ran up the stairs and out of sight.

Emma simply blinked. “I guess I’d never considered a ghost dog before.”

Everyone laughed.

Ellie quickly explained a rather difficult-to-grasp tale of how she’d once been in-betwixt, not quite dead but not quite alive, either. She’d slipped in and out of a coma, crossing the boundaries of the living and the dead. She also explained how Gawan, who’d once been a nearly thousand-year-old angel close to retirement, had given up that retirement by sacrificing his life force to save Ellie. The Fates had been kind, had seen to the pair reuniting in what Emma thought to be the most absolutely romantic thing
ever.
Then, Ellie explained about how Davy, who’d been a ghost himself when she first met him, was actually her
great-uncle.

That
story had Emma’s mouth hanging open.

Apparently, the young boy had been given a second chance at life after his first chance had been so horribly taken away, after witnessing his brother’s—Ellie’s grandfather’s—murder. Little Davy’s chance came after Ellie, a genealogist, had solved the case. Emma couldn’t help but consider all the ghosts she’d met—Justin Catesby, Godfrey, the ladies—why hadn’t they been given a second chance, yet the others had? Was it because Gawan had had an in with the higher-ups? Or was it because it simply wasn’t their turn yet?