by Cindy Miles
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.
Chapter 24
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.
“You’ve no idea the strength I muster to keep from trying to touch you,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth once more, then back to her eyes. The very corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
Emma gave a nervous smile. “It’s kind of fast at the moment.”
“So I see.”
He still leaned close to her, and she couldn’t resist lifting a finger and tracing the square of his jaw. She noticed an intake of air, or at least the sound of it.
He’d felt that, too.
Just then, a gust of wind brought with it several droplets of rain. Emma didn’t even turn her face away. She welcomed the tiny barrage of water. Hopefully, it would douse her desire.
She didn’t want to be accused of jumping a ghost in broad daylight.
Instead of jumping Christian, Emma pulled her legs up and huddled against the back of the alcove. Luckily, it was built deep enough to provide shelter, as long as the wind didn’t whip the rain in. She scooched into the corner, legs up, chin on knees, and simply stared at her warrior.
Her warrior.
Wow.
Christian’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. “I’d love to know what exactly is going through that brain of yours, Ms. Calhoun,” he said.
She smiled. “You couldn’t pay me enough to tell you what’s going through my brain right now.”
“Interesting.”
The sexy look on Christian’s face made her heart accelerate. Then, his expression grew serious.
“A large lot of healthy, viable knights will start flooding Grimm’s gates on the morrow,” he said. “I, well …” He glanced away.
“What?” Emma urged.
After a moment, he turned back and gave her a look that made her squirm in her seat. “ ’Tisn’t fair of me to force you into a relationship where the other half isn’t … tangible. If you decide to choose another—”
Emma frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re dead and crazy,” she said. “First, let me assure you that I’m the last person on earth who can be forced into doing something I don’t want to do. Second …” She took in his grave features, the perfect square cut of his jaw, and those full, inviting lips. She started again. “Second, I didn’t come here to play the Dating Game or The Bachelor—or whatever.” She huffed out a breath. “Something did bring me here, Christian. But it wasn’t to find just any old knight, viable, healthy, or anything else in between.” She smiled. “I was sent here to find you. I know it now just as I sit here and breathe. You’re a miracle in itself, mister, and although I know our relationship is way too young to confess any sort of … long-standing feelings, I do know what my heart is telling me.”
The very corner of his mouth tipped up. Not a smile, really. But something else.
“And what is it telling you?”
Emma’s breath came faster, mad, but not mad, her heart pounding quicker. “It’s telling me that you’re the kind of man I’d desire no matter what form you’re in.” She gently swiped her hand through his tattooed arm. “Ghost. Not a ghost.” She shrugged. “Makes no matter to me. I like you just the way you are.”
“Is that so?”
She gave a single, firm nod. “It is.”
Christian seemed to ponder that. Ponder it, albeit with a satisfied grin on his face.
“You realize, though,” he said, looking grim once more, “that I cannot protect you. Not physically, that is. I’m rather worthless in that category.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t the Dark Ages anymore. There’s really not a need for protection, you know.” She held her arm up and flexed it in a show of muscle. “Besides, I took a self-defense class.” She squeezed her puny bicep. “I can take care of myself, Arrick. I always carry pepper spray. And,” she continued, “I haven’t had an enemy since, oh, second grade.”
He chuckled. “I cannot fathom what sort of mischief you could have combined in the second grade to acquire an enemy.”
“Let’s just say I’m not one to be trifled with,” she answered.
“I can barely wait to hear.”
Emma sat back and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Big Marjorie stole my lunch every day for a solid week. My mom made the best chicken salad sandwiches—you know, with little chopped-up pieces of celery? God, they were good. Anyway, Big Marjorie kept on stealing my sandwiches. So one day, I decided to get her back.” She grinned. “She outweighed me by, I don’t know—I was always kind of scrawny—but by a lot. Taller than me, too, and she could beat up most boys in my class. But I’d had enough, and I didn’t want to be a tattletale.”
Christian rubbed his jaw, then wiped his hand across his mouth, no doubt trying to hold in a laugh. “What did you do?”
Emma grinned. “You know, in the South, where I live, we have an abundance of these teeny-tiny marsh snails—no bigger than my pinky nail”—she held out her nail to show—“and I peeled a bunch of them off the marsh grass and stuck them all in my sandwich.” She grinned.
“Crunchy?” Christian asked.
“Very. When she discovered they were in there, after she’d eaten a good three-quarters, she barfed all over the cafeteria.” Emma sat back and smiled smugly. “Big Marjorie didn’t bother me or my sandwiches ever again.”
Christian chuckled, his blue eyes gleaming. “You are indeed a force to be reckoned with, Ms. Calhoun.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, simply being in each other’s company. The gray skies began shifting, turning darker. That familiar time of day settled in, that space of time that was neither daylight nor darkness.
“I love this time of evening,” Emma said, staring at the sky. “It’s … magical.” She looked at him. “You’re proof of that.”
Christian gave a soft laugh. “ ’Tis the gloaming hour,” he said, and returned her stare. “Indeed, ’tis a magical time of day.” He shrugged. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”
“I would say there’s something to it,” said Emma. “There’s two men in the castle whose lives were very different at one time, and another pack of them showing up tomorrow.” She leaned closer to him. “If something magical—something miraculous can happen to them, Christian, it can happen to you, too.”
He looked at her, his gaze fixed and penetrating.
“It can. You have to believe,” she said, then shook her head. “I know I keep saying this, but a couple of weeks ago I wouldn’t have believed any of this,” she said, making a sweep of her hand toward the castle. “You, Jason, Gawan, Justin, Godfrey, the ladies—I would not have believed a single soul, had they approached me to say you existed.” She gave him a warm, hopeful smile. “I believe now.” She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t say for sure why you chose me, but the rest I totally get.”
Christian slowly shook his head. “Mayhap I’m better off with you not realizing how breathtaking you are. Surely, if you knew, you’d pick someone else—mayhap a live someone else—over me.”
Emma stretched and climbed out of the alcove, where she stretched again. The rain had subsided, and the sky had grown dark. She threw him a grin. “Live schmive. It’s highly overrated, methinks.”
Christian threw back his head and laughed.
Together, they walked back to the great hall, allowing the gloaming to surround them. They didn’t speak; they just … existed. It felt comfortable, relaxed.
And somehow, familiar.
Emma wondered about that.
She also couldn’t help but wonder how sudden it all seemed. She’d not been in Wales long, yet it felt as though she’d known Christian her entire life.
Weird.
She slipped a glance at the tall, lumbering warrior beside her. His legs, clad in those medieval britches with medieval boots, were nearly as long as she was tall. Leather straps crossed his chest and back, holding in place the double swords over each shoulder.
He was still shirtless.
Emma’s mouth suddenly went dry.
He ducked his head—something she noticed him doing more than once when with her, probably to accommodate for her lack of height—and grinned. “Will you take photographs of the tournament?” he asked, innocent in that he obviously had no idea what his presence did to her.
Fi
ne with her. For now.
“Absolutely,” she answered. She noticed how his crazy hair swung forward, yet remained shorter in the back. She loved it.
“I fear I won’t show up in any of them,” he added.
“Don’t worry,” Emma said. “When I get home I’m going to see a friend of mine—an artist. She’ll certainly be able to paint a portrait based on my description.” She smiled, happy about that.
Christian, though, now wore a solemn expression. “Indeed,” he said, then coughed and cleared his throat. “Those bloody Dreadmoor knights will no doubt be quite the photo hogs once they realize you’re taking pictures,” he said. “Not to mention you’ll get to hear the story of their return to the living at least a score of times before the tournament’s over.” He grinned. “Arrogant lot, they are.”
Emma smiled. “I’m beginning to think that was the norm for the medieval era.”
Together, they laughed.
As they grew closer to the hall, the shadows stretched and swallowed everything in their path. Emma’s senses soared with the newness of the budding relationship with Christian. As they neared the west wall, she stopped. Christian followed suit.
Together, without words, they simply stared.
“I was wondering,” Emma said, suddenly embarrassed. “I mean, it is still so new—”
Christian must have read her mind, because suddenly, he was there, crowding her against the cool stone wall of Castle Grimm, completely engulfed by shadows. A crisp autumn wind caressed Emma, cooling her skin that she knew was several degrees warmer because of the man who stood so very close, so very intimately. She backed into the wall until she felt both of her shoulder blades cool from the damp stone, and Christian loomed over her, nearly just as real and tangible looking as any man.
The tension between them snapped in the air, and Christian placed his large hands on either side of Emma’s head, and studied her, eyes boring into hers, head tilted. Her heart raced and her breath came faster, and she noticed his chest rose and fell a bit quicker, too. How that was possible, she hadn’t a clue.
She didn’t really care.
