Thirteen Chances

by Cindy Miles

  They continued on their way, and after a moment, while concealed in the cover of darkness between the manor and the castle, Christian leaned closer. “I find you rather fetching, as well.” When she glanced at him, he grinned. “Scorching.”

  Even in the moonlight, Christian could see the blush stain her cheeks.

  Chapter 18

  Emma stood before the bureau, hair wrapped in a towel, another encasing her body, and stared at her choice of clothes. She wrinkled her nose.

  There were several things she hadn’t factored in for her trip to Wales. The first was the obvious: Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea.

  He thought her scorching.

  That made her skin grow warm again, and a smile touched her lips at the memory of that strange accent of his, mingled with the speech of a modern-day man. The fall of disheveled, knife-shorn hair that always seemed to be in those wide blue eyes, and that square jaw …

  She wouldn’t go into detail again about the full lips.

  Nope. She definitely hadn’t factored in that guy.

  Which meant she would have never factored in a side trip to the north of England via helicopter to visit one of Christian’s mortal friends.

  Emma shook her head. How can all this be real?

  With a gusty sigh, she continued to dig through her very casual wardrobe. She imagined a modern-day lord, living in a renovated castle would be, well, stinking filthy rich. Would probably dress as such, too.

  She eyed the contents of the bureau. Jeans. Sweaters. A couple of turtlenecks. A few T-shirts. Hiking boots. Converse sneakers.

  She should have listened to Zoë and packed a nice dress, or a pair of slacks. She sighed again. At least she’d brought her black leather boots. That might dress up her jeans and sweaters a bit more than the Converse sneakers …

  The north of England would just have to accept Emma Calhoun as she was.

  Plain. Which, truth be told, was totally fine with her.

  Grabbing clean understuff, a pair of dark hipsters that flared just a bit, a thin, black, ribbed turtleneck sweater, and black leather boots, Emma quickly dressed. After blow-drying her straight hair, she added a bit of makeup, lip gloss, and a dab of perfume. Neatly packing the clothes she’d chosen to take on the trip into a large canvas bag Willoughby had loaned her, she stuffed her sneakers in, along with her small case of makeup, and toiletries, and took a deep breath. She was ready to go.

  And she was only a teensy bit nervous. For some reason, she wanted to make a good impression on Christian’s friends.

  How very, very strange it was to have a friendship with a ghost, a being she could easily pass her hand through, who’d died so long ago. He had friends, here on earth. Live ones. And, as she’d already encountered, not-so-live ones, as well.

  What a whole new world Christian had shown her. One she would have never, ever believed really existed. She briefly wondered just how many more roamed the plane of the living.

  “Emma?”

  Christian’s voice sent a thrill down her spine. She glanced around. “Where are you?” She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d sneaked a peek while she dressed. He was, after all, whether dead or alive, still a man.

  His low chuckle sounded from the other side of the door. “In the passageway. Are you ready?”

  Emma almost hated the excitement she felt at hearing his voice. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t acted like this in … well, never. She couldn’t ever remember having such crazy reactions at hearing a man’s voice. She crossed the floor, smoothed her sweater, and opened the door.

  There Christian stood, once again in a pair of faded jeans, boots, and this time, a baggy, cream-colored sweater. It made that gorgeous mahogany hair, which again was pulled back, really stand out. She struggled to keep her jaw from sliding open. “Hi.”

  Christian leaned casually against the door frame, hands shoved into his pockets. His lopsided grin nearly made Emma’s knees buckle.

  But not nearly as much as his assessment of her.

  The grin disappeared from Christian’s face and was replaced by something Emma really couldn’t define. He showed no shame whatsoever in starting at her head, then slowly moving his gaze down until it rested on her feet. He lingered there momentarily, then slowly moved back up to her eyes. His stare rocked her.

  A slow grin crossed his face. “Aye. Scorching.”

  Emma felt her skin turn hot. That only made Christian laugh.

  “You’re crazy,” she mumbled, then turned to grab the canvas bag and her camera equipment. “Okay,” she said, smiling brightly, hoping he’d ignore her flaming blush. She walked back to the door and stopped a foot from him. “I’m ready.”

  Looking down at her, he studied her for a handful of seconds. “So you are.” He pushed off the door frame—or at least it looked like he did—and inclined his head toward the stairs without taking his eyes off her. “After you.”

  Emma moved past him. “Thanks.”

  Christian fell in beside her. “I believe you’ll have many photo opportunities whilst at Grimm. ’Tis a beautiful place, situated much like Arrick, on the sea.”

  Emma nodded. “I can’t imagine it being more spectacular than here.” She glanced at him. “And your friends don’t mind you bringing a guest?”

  Christian laughed. “That’s my second home, lass, and Gawan is like a brother to me. Don’t worry. ’Twill be fine. I promise.” His grin widened. “Actually, the whole castle is anxious to meet you.” He leaned his head close to hers. “I can only imagine the fights that will break out.”

  They reached the stairs, and Emma started down. “Why will fights break out?”

  His lumbering self chuckled. “Over you, of course.”

  Emma highly doubted that.

  Once downstairs, all four Ballasters met them in the foyer. Willoughby rushed forward.

  “Oh dear, you look absolutely stunning. Doesn’t she, girls?” gushed Willoughby.

  The sisters bobbed their heads enthusiastically.

  “How’s your hand feeling?” asked Maven.

  Emma flexed her fingers. She’d left the bandage off once she saw how well it had healed. “Nearly good as new.” She lifted it up and peered at her hand. “I didn’t know you’d used dissolving stitches, Willoughby. I hardly even feel the tug of the wound anymore.”

  Willoughby beamed. “ ’Tis my special ointment, love,” she said. “And before I forget, here’s a change of bandages, in case you need them, and more of the ointment. Just apply it before you go to bed.” She tucked them into Emma’s bag.

  “Thank you,” Emma said. She pushed her hair behind her ears, then gave the sisters a warm smile. “Is everyone as sweet as you four in Wales, or did I just get lucky?”

  All four Ballasters giggled.

  Just then, a loud rumble sounded outside.

  “The Grimm chopper is headed to the courtyard,” said Christian. He gave the sisters a slight nod. “Ladies, I promise to take care of your tenant whilst we are away.” He winked.

  Once more, they all giggled and waved good-bye.

  Outside, Emma and Christian started for the courtyard. The sun had yet to make an appearance, although it was nearly ten in the morning. The ever-present bite of fall slipped through the air, and Emma inhaled the scents of brine from the ocean, and hardwood burning. She inhaled again, a long, deep breath, just for the sheer pleasure of it.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Christian watching her closely. He didn’t say a word.

  Emma simply smiled.

  In the courtyard, the helicopter had landed square in the center, scattering the fallen, multicolored leaves everywhere. A tall, broad-shouldered yet lanky young man, his auburn hair pulled neatly into a ponytail, climbed out. He was wearing a white T-shirt, a brown leather jacket, jeans, and brown hiking boots, and Emma thought him absolutely gorgeous. He looked to be around twenty. As she and Christian grew near, the young man waved enthusiastically.

  “Chris!” he hollered, and jogged to
ward them. His wide smile showed white, even teeth.

  “Pup,” said Christian, hollering back. “You’re looking well.” He inclined his head. “This is Emma Calhoun.”

  The young man turned his full attention to Emma. With a low bow, he then rose and met her gaze with absolute, sincere honesty. His already dazzling smile widened. “ ’Tis wondrous to meet you, lady. I’ve heard much about you. My name is Jason, presently of Dreadmoor. Here, let me take your bags.” He had to yell over the whirring chopper blades as they walked closer to the open helicopter door.

  Emma could barely do anything, save gawk. She glanced at Christian, who merely shrugged and grinned. Before she could respond, though, the handsome young man had relieved her of both bags, shouldered them, and grasped her by the elbow, his fingers warm and strong. “Allow me to give you aid in climbing into the chopper. ’Tis a bit of a step up, I fear.”

  Emma had no choice but to allow Jason, presently of Dreadmoor, to guide her up into the chopper. She’d been in many before, but she’d never tell him that.

  He was so …

  She glanced again at Christian.

  Chivalrous.

  Jason settled Emma into her seat—even strapped her in—then looked at her with a pair of mischievous, light green eyes. “ ’Tis no doubt that yon ghost behind me wishes furiously he could do this himself. But since he cannot, I am more than happy to oblige.”

  Then he winked.

  Christian chuckled.

  Emma merely gulped. “Thank you for … obliging, then.”

  Jason smiled, slammed and locked the door, then strapped himself in beside her.

  Christian appeared in the seat across from her.

  She briefly wondered if the pilot thought any of it weird.

  As the chopper lifted off, Jason reached over, placed a set of headphones on Emma’s ears, and did the same to his own.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Perfect.”

  He gave her another wink.

  She was pretty darn sure she’d never, in all her twenty-eight years, encountered a young man Jason’s age quite so well mannered. Oozing with charm and authentic politeness, he had just about as much chivalry as any of Arthur’s knights, she supposed.

  He was English, after all, if his thick accent meant anything. Perhaps that was it?

  “How go things at Dreadmoor of late?” Christian asked Jason.

  As the two settled into conversation about a place called Dreadmoor, Emma briefly wondered how it was that Christian could establish conversation with the deafening whir of the chopper blades. She guessed it to be one of his tricks, but she’d have to ask him later. She stared out the window and watched the scenery pass beneath her. Large patchworks of green and brown and lighter brown, indicating fields, looked like something out of a picture book. Tiny white dots—sheep, she supposed—flecked the countryside, and many times she noticed the crumbling stone remains of an ancient fortress, or a meandering wall. They passed over a lake or two, and then the chopper went higher, and Emma lost the ability to make out much else. Instead, she settled into her seat and listened to the two handsomest guys she’d ever seen in her life speak in a very similar, strange manner.

  Well, Jason was handsome—charming, even.

  She looked at Christian.

  His gaze was directly on her.

  She gulped. Handsome and charming just didn’t seem to sum him up accurately enough. While he spoke to Jason, he kept that penetrating gaze on her, and Emma absently slipped her finger over the pulse in her wrist.

  It thudded furiously.

  Christian smiled, and it reminded Emma of a wolf who’d cornered its prey. It was almost as though he knew the effect he had on her.

  And he seemed to enjoy it.

  A lot.

  Bravely, she met his gaze with hers. She refused to look away. No, charming definitely didn’t sum up Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea exactly right.

  Painfully breathtaking, perhaps. Yes, it actually hurt to look at him for too long.

  His smile widened.

  Emma resisted the urge to bonk herself on the forehead.

  He knew, all right.

  “So, Lady Emma,” started Jason, breaking the trance between Emma and Christian, “have you ever attended a medieval tournament?”

  Emma looked at Jason. Lady Emma?

  He lifted one auburn brow. His mouth twitched.

  Christian’s laugh filled the helicopter.

  Chapter 19

  “I suppose I’ve not once in my life attended a medieval tournament,” Emma said. “What is it?”

  Jason and Christian exchanged glances before Jason gave her a warm smile. “Oh, you’re in for a vast surprise, lady. Just you wait.”

  She looked at Christian, who merely grinned. “A vast surprise, indeed,” he said.

  Emma wondered if he’d always be so full of surprises. She quirked a brow at Christian. “How is it you can communicate over the chopper blades?” she asked, still wondering.

  “Oh, aye,” Jason answered for him. “He just throws his voice into our heads. ’Tis an easy enough feat, right Chris?”

  Christian simply grinned.

  “There’s Grimm now,” said Jason, pointing.

  Emma leaned over and glanced out the helicopter’s window and her breath caught.

  Wow.

  “Marvelous, aye?” Christian asked.

  “It’s beautiful,” she answered, and took in the view. An enormous, walled fortress sat right at the sea cliffs, just like Arrick. With tall, gray towers at each end, an intact parapet that encircled the whole of the castle, an enormous gatehouse—even a working drawbridge! Emma could easily envision what it might have been like back in Christian’s day. As the helicopter swooped and began its descent, Emma noticed a small lane wound from a small village and up to the castle. Again, similar to Arrick.

  And yet as breathtaking as it was, it didn’t have the same impact on her as the ruins of Arrick-by-the-Sea. Nope, not by far. Perhaps it had something to do with its owner …

  “I shall hold your hand if you fear the descent,” offered Jason. He shot a glance at Christian—one that looked more than mischievous. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, Chris?”

  Christian kept his eyes on Emma. His mouth twitched. “Not at all.”

  Emma smiled, her cheeks warming. “Thanks, err, Jason, but I think I’ll be okay.”

  Jason leaned toward her, his grin stretching across his handsome face. “I had to try, of course,” he whispered. “ ’Tis vastly amusing to try to rile Chris’ feathers, although ’tis not easily done, as you can see.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I can indeed.”

  Christian barked out a laugh.

  As the helicopter descended onto the launch pad below, Emma couldn’t help but watch Christian and wonder—wonder what he’d be like, were he alive in the flesh. He seemed aloof and didn’t let Jason’s flirting bother him in the least. Was that because he didn’t care one way or another? Or was it because Christian didn’t feel Jason was any sort of a threat?

  Or, she thought gloomily, was it because she really didn’t matter all that much to Christian?

  She blinked at her own inner thoughts. Now where had that come from? Sure, she knew she’d started falling for him, but other than friendly flirtation, Christian hadn’t given the first indication that he thought of her in any other way except a … novelty, perhaps. And a safe one at that. She lived thousands of miles away, in another life, and would probably never return to Wales. The safe mortal girl who would soon leave …

  Suddenly, Emma glanced up. Christian’s gaze was fixed to hers, watching her closely. His ghostly blue eyes seemed to see straight through to her thoughts, and she shuddered.

  How could a ghost have such an effect on her? It seemed ludicrous.

  Emma peeked again. His eyes hadn’t left hers, and then a slow, easy smile lifted the corner of his incredibly sexy mouth.

  She suddenly wished she had a B
ig Gulp.

  Perhaps, she entertained, he actually liked her, had he the substance to do anything about it. Unless he was one of those men who flirted with all women …

  Emma mentally slapped herself across the face. Get a grip, Calhoun! You’re acting like an idiot! He’s a ghost; you’re a mortal. He lives here; you live somewhere else. Besides, it’s not as if you could actually have a relationship with him. And that’s that!

  Christian inclined his head. “Ready?”

  Emma allowed a smiling Jason to help her out of the chopper, which had landed inside the walled area, and again, Christian simply showed up beside her as they walked across the landing pad and across an enormous courtyard. Wooden benches perched here and there against the wall, with a large grassy area in between. More tall trees with vivid leaves of oranges, reds, and browns lined the courtyard and beyond. The wind was ice-biting cold, and the gray skies lent a bleak, dreary, gloomy look to the place. It seemed … grim. Grimm.

  “I cannot tell you how often I’ve wished for the uncanny ability to read minds instead of hearing,” Christian whispered close to her ear. “I vow I’d give anything to read yours.”

  Emma flashed him a look, just as Jason grasped her elbow and pulled her along to the main entrance.

  Christian merely smiled.

  “Christian!”

  A pretty, young woman with an infant strapped to her front in a carrier hollered and hurried toward them. By her side was a tall, handsome man, as well as a younger boy, perhaps age ten or so. They all had warm smiles on their faces.

  “Saints, Chris,” said the man, who was just a fraction shorter than Christian and just a fraction less gorgeous. He wore his brown hair pulled into a ponytail. He grinned. “You’re rather fetchin’ in that garb.” He looked down, chocolate eyes warm and kind. “And this lovely creature must be Emma.” He grasped her hand in a gentle shake. “Welcome to Castle Grimm. We are ever so glad to meet you. I’m Gawan.”

  “Yes, we are,” said the woman, smiling. “Christian has told us so much about you.”

  Emma slipped Christian a glance. He merely shrugged.

  Gawan placed an arm around the woman’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “This is Ellie, my wife, and our wee girl, Ensley.” He ruffled the young boy’s hair, standing beside him. “And this strappin’ lad is Davy.”