Thirteen Chances (32 page)

The rope prevented her from going farther.

“Oh, crapola,” she growled, and untied the rope from her waist. She let it dangle there, and scooted inside a hole in the cliff she was positive no one had seen the inside of in centuries.

“Are you okay, lass?” hollered Justin. “I’m coming in there wi’ you.”

“Yes! I’m fine, and no—if you came in here with me, we’d merge. It’s too tight a fit,” she said, turning and inching slowly down on her belly, feet first.

Suddenly, she heard a cracking noise, slow at first, then faster, louder. The earth beneath her shifted, and in the next second, the surface gave way. Emma yelped in surprise, then screamed as her body flailed, and she spiraled down, down …

“Chris, you’ve got to come
now,”
said Justin.

Christian turned from the group of warriors hell-bent on setting up home and hearth directly in the great hall. He didn’t like the urgency in his friend’s voice. “What is it?”

“Emma.”

“Och,
Crist,”
said Gawan under his breath.

Christian turned to Gawan and stared. “What
is
it?” he said, louder this time.

“No time to explain,” said Justin. “Christian, you follow me. Gawan, take your helicopter to the cliff known to be the area of St. Beuno’s. You know the one?”

“Aye, I do.”

Christian simply stared at both of them. “Are you two mad? What is going on?” he thundered.

“Chris, now,” urged Justin, and disappeared.

Christian glared at Gawan, then followed his friend, as only ghosts do.

They emerged at the cliff together. Rain poured, and the wind whipped ferociously. Christian glared at Justin. “Please tell me she did not come here,” he bellowed. Then, he spied a length of rope, tied off to the rowan next to the edge.

“Christ’s blood!” he roared, and hurried to the edge. He whirled on Justin.
“Where is she?”

“Down below,” Justin yelled. “Over the edge and into the cliff itself.”

Christian didn’t wait for an answer, or an explanation. He leaned over the edge and willed himself into the same mortal space Emma was presently in. No sooner had his mind envisioned it than he was there, beside her.

“Oh, Christ, Emm,” he breathed, taking in her form. “Emma?” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he leaned his head to her ear. “Emma? Can you hear me?”

It was then Christian realized just where they were. A small cave—a cavern, really, no bigger round than a large cistern. A natural cistern, not man-made. The light from the hole Emma had created shot through, casting a dim glow over the grotto.

And in the center, where Emma lay and where he now knelt, was a very, very small body of shimmering, crystal clear water.

Emma groaned, and his eyes were immediately on her. “Emma?” he called again. “Hold on, love. Help’s coming.”

Emma’s eyes fluttered open, and she glanced around. “Oops,” she said softly.

Christian stared down at her. “Oops is right,” he said. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, then held out her hand.

He hadn’t noticed she was clutching something. It was a vial, or a bottle.

“Here.” She slowly reached up with her other hand and unscrewed the small blue lid.

“What is this?” he asked.

She coughed, and a pained look came across her face. “It’s St. Beuno’s mystical healing water, Chris,” she said softly. She gently shook the vial. “For you.”

Christian fought back anger. “Why, love? Nothing can be done for me. I’ve already
died.”

She looked at him, and the pleading in her eyes all but cracked his heart in half. “Please?” she begged, and that nearly undid him. “Humor me,” she said. “Love.”

His heart jumped to his throat at her word of endearment. Neither had confessed their love to the other yet, and for good reason.

Every time in the past they’d done so, disaster had soon followed.

“Chris?” said Justin. “There’s no room for me in there. Is she all right?”

“Aye,” Christian said, knowing he was probably lying. “Watch for Gawan.”

“Don’t be mad at them,” Emma said. “I beseeched them both.”

Christian gave her a forced smile. “So you did.”

She held the vial up again. “Please. Just … try it? Even if it splashes right through you, try drinking it. Bring your head closer and open your mouth.”

“Only because I cannot refuse you,” Christian said, and he lowered his head and parted his lips.

Weakly, she lifted the vial and poured the mystical water in.

It, of course, leaked right out.

Her face fell. “I’m so … sorry …”

“Emma,” he breathed.

Her eyes closed, and she drew in a long, ragged breath. Her arm dropped, her hand fell open, her fingers barely grasping the vial of water.

“Emma!” he yelled.

Then, his body jerked. Pain shot through his limbs, his vessels—as if someone had the end of one of his nerves and was yanking fiercely on it. He doubled over, grasping his stomach. “What—
Emma!”
He looked at her, unmoving, still as death. “No! I will not lose you! Not again!
Not this time!”

Amidst the writhing spasms of pain, Justin’s shouting, and the whirring of Gawan’s helicopter blades above St. Beuno’s, Christian willed his hand to reach toward Emma’s, and somehow, curled his fingers around the vial she so desperately held on to. His hand turned to fire at the strength in which he conjured to heft the small container to Emma’s lips. Breathing hard, he tipped the remaining contents into her parted lips. When the last drop seeped out, he dropped the vial.

And then he covered Emma’s mouth with his, and whispered the words he prayed she’d hear. She’d already heard them once. He now said them a final time.

“Cara ‘ch hwchwaneg awron na ‘r ‘n flaen amsera Adfeiliasis i mewn cara chennych,”
he whispered for her ears only.
“Fi would braidd cerdd ‘n dragwyddol, fel bwci at ‘ch ochra, na heboch o gwbl.”

“I love you more now than the first time I fell in love with you,” he whispered in English. “And I would rather walk eternally, as a ghost by your side, than without you at all.”

As pitch-blackness forced its way behind his eyes, and shards of glass pricked his skin, he slowly, slowly slipped farther away. “Live, Emma,” he whispered. “Christ, please.”

And then a wall of darkness crashed over him …

“Emma? Lass, open your eyes.”

Emma heard Gawan’s voice. Far away at first, it became annoyingly loud. Difficult, since he had such a cute voice to begin with.

Just then, she forced her eyes to open. She blinked several times, and looked around.

She was in her rented bedroom, at Arrick.

“Christian?” she said, looking around. She blinked several more times to clear her blurry vision. “Chris?”

“Emma, lie still,” said Gawan, moving to sit beside her on the bed. “How do you feel?”

“What happened?” she asked, ignoring his question. She tried to push herself up on her elbows, but his big hands held her back.

Suddenly, Jason was on her other side.

“Sit back, Emma,” the young knight said. “Stop trying to move so.”

“Will everyone stop trying to tell me not to move,” she grumbled. “Where is Christian?”

Just then, Jason wrapped his big, warm hands around hers and threaded their fingers together. He stared at her, his light green eyes boring into hers gravely. “He saved you, lady,” he said, his voice cracking. “Somehow, he mustered the mortal strength and saved your life. I am ever so glad.”

Emma frowned. “Saved
my
life?” She turned to Gawan. “No, that’s not right. I saved
his
life. I made him drink the vial of mystical water.” She glanced around the room. Justin stood against the wall, a somber look upon his face. Godfrey was there, as were all four Ballaster sisters.

Emma looked first at Jason, then at Gawan. “I … found the well. It’s real,” she insisted. “And Christian drank the water I’d collected.”

“Aye,” said Gawan quietly. “And in doing so you gave him just enough mortal strength to heft that same vial from your hands and pour the rest of the water into your mouth.” He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “The fall killed you, Emma. You … died.” He bent his head down to her ear, for words meant for her alone. “He gave you his newly acquired life force, Emma. He gave it back to you, so you could live.”

Emma’s throat constricted, so much that she couldn’t swallow or breathe. She pushed herself up, against Gawan’s restrictive hand. “You mean … he’s
gone?”
Her voice cracked.

The look on Gawan’s face spoke the truth.

Waves of pain crashed over Emma, her breath sharp and catching in her throat. “No,” she said quietly. “Please, no.”

“I’m so verra sorry, girl,” said Gawan, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. “ ’Tis a mighty love he had for you.” He grasped her hand with his and moved it over her heart. “He will always be here, Emma.”

Jason grasped her hand tighter.

And Emma closed her eyes tightly as the ache of losing Christian engulfed her.

Sometime later, Emma woke up. She didn’t want to, really, but her body had said,
Enough.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Long shadows stretched across the bed and floorboards, and a lone shaft of waning light lit the person’s face that still ferociously held on to her hand.

“You’re awake,” Jason said, his smooth, accented voice somewhat soothing her.

“I guess so,” she said. “How long have I been sleeping?”

Jason shifted in his chair to face her. “A score of hours.” He brushed her hair from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Emma.”

Emma fought back another wash of tears. She’d cried herself to sleep, and thought she’d cried out her last one. Apparently, she’d built up a new store of them. “I know,” she said. “Thank you for staying. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did,” he said. “Christian would have boxed my ears otherwise.”

She gave a wan smile. “You’re right.”

They were quiet for a spell; then Jason spoke. “St. Beuno’s water really is mystical,” he said. “You believed.”

“Christian did, too,” she answered.

“Will you leave?” he said quietly.

With a heavy sigh, she gave a single nod. “Yes.”

“When?” he said, his voice cracking.

“As soon as possible.” She didn’t know how much longer she could be at Arrick without Christian by her side.

“Stay at least through tomorrow,” Jason said. “He would have wanted you to attend the All Hallows’ Eve banquet. And the sisters are so looking forward to your presence, as well. Go with me. Please?”

Emma looked into his eyes, and she knew right away she couldn’t refuse him. “Okay,” she said. “I couldn’t say no to you if I tried.”

He smiled. “One of my better qualities.” He grinned. “Thank you.”

Emma prayed she could manage one more day at Arrick-by-the-Sea.

“He would have liked this, you know,” said Willoughby. Then she blew her nose into a white handkerchief. “Oh, Emma! We’re so sorry!”

Emma fought back another round of tears and patted Willoughby’s back as she hugged her. “I know, and I wouldn’t dream of missing the occasion—especially if it was something Christian would have wanted.”

Can you grieve someone’s passing if they’d died more than eight hundred years in the past?

Answer:
Yes.
And it hurt twice as much.

“Your bracelet looks exquisite on you,” commented Willoughby.

Emma glanced down at it. It was so lightweight, she’d forgotten she even had it on. “Thank you. It was a very nice thing for you to do.”

“Emma, you look lovely,” said Jason, walking into the sitting room. “As always.” He moved toward her, kissed her cheek, and held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Emma slipped her hand into the crook of Jason’s leather-jacket-clad muscular arm and forced a smile on her lips. “Yes, and thank you.”

How he thought she looked lovely, she hadn’t a clue. She wore her same old comfy jeans, and a big bulky brown sweater. Her eyes were swollen despite the cold wash and makeup.

“Sort of funny, having a banquet at midnight,” she commented. She glanced at Willoughby and her sisters, who were accompanying them. “This is an annual thing, huh?”

Willoughby’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, aye. ’Tis, indeed.” They left the manor together, she and Jason in the lead.

“Will you take me to the airport tomorrow?” asked Emma. She hated good-byes, and she knew she’d really hate one to Jason. A little more time with one of Christian’s pals comforted her, somehow.

“Aye, I wouldn’t think of allowing anyone else the task,” he said. He leaned his head to hers. “I shall miss you, Emma Calhoun,” he whispered. “Think you I could come for a visit sometime?”

She smiled at him. “I’d be mad if you didn’t.”

Minutes later, surprisingly, they were packed into Jason’s Rover and the Ballasters’ truck, and headed to the banquet. When they pulled onto an inclining dirt lane, Emma was surprised to find the gathering at the site of an ancient circle of standing stones. A breeze wafted through the copse of trees, and dead leaves flitted to the ground. Somewhere close by, a field of dried corn crackled as the brisk autumn wind slipped between the stalks. Above, a harvest moon, large, full, and bright, shone through the canopy of birch and oak, bathing everything it touched in glowing silver. Several bonfires flickered with orange flame. Tables were set out with covered dishes of food.

“You know,” whispered Jason in her ear, “ ’tis said that if a wish is made here at the stones, on the stroke of the bewitching hour, it might just come true.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Emma forced a smile. “I don’t think my wish could come true.”

He lifted a brow. “And here I thought you were fearless, Ms. Calhoun.”

Emma stared at Jason for a long moment, then glanced about at the people gathered. She’d not really noticed before, but most were women. No,
all
were women. Funny, she thought. She wondered if the Ballasters belonged to a women’s club of sorts.

Then, somewhere close by, a big
gong
echoed through the night air.

And so many things happened at once, Emma found it difficult to keep all of the events in order.