Intertwine (House of Oak Book 1)

by Nichole Van

  The stables were thankfully empty. With a nod of appreciation, she walked to the tack room and grabbed a saddle—a real one, not a side saddle. She contemplated saddling the mare she usually rode, but she wanted more out of her mount today. So instead, she headed straight for Luther’s stall. He pranced slightly as she saddled him.

  Leading him out into the yard, Emme shoved her earbuds in and plugged into her phone. Scrolling through her music until she found something suitably loud and angry to match her confused emotions, she pushed her phone back into her stays and swung onto Luther’s back. He danced sideways slightly but quickly recognized her skilled hands on the reins.

  With a kick, they went flying out of the stables and into the fields beyond. Music and blood pounding in her ears. Drowning out the conflicting wants of her heart.

  James had experienced a puzzling twenty-four hours. Things had started well. He had enjoyed chatting with Emma in his study, but then Linwood had come and provided James with an infuriating hour-long conversation. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, when he emerged from the drawing room, he discovered that Emma had run off somewhere to be alone. And then, after causing him several hours worry about her whereabouts, she had turned up in her room, pleading a headache.

  He had replayed their discussion over and over, trying to recall if he had said anything amiss. Had she had been upset over something? He thought everything had been going well.

  It made no sense whatsoever.

  And so this morning, dressed casually in a shirt, breeches and long overcoat, he was determined to have a bruising ride, burn off all his excess energy and then chat with Emma.

  But as he walked toward the stables, he saw a lad go tearing out of the yard on Luther, riding hard toward the nearest fence, something pink wrapped around his neck.

  What the hell? Who was riding his horse?

  Shocked, James shouted and ran toward the stable, only to realize, it wasn’t some strange boy riding Luther, but Emma herself. Blinking in surprise, he watched her take the first fence with practiced grace and ease. She really had spent time riding astride.

  Swearing, he turned toward the stables and rushed to saddle Arthur’s horse.

  Emma had some explaining to do.

  Ten minutes later, James wondered if he was going to be able to catch her. Luther was tireless in general and Emma weighed less than James. But eventually he caught sight of her, slowing as she wound through a field. He shouted her name, clearly loud enough for her to hear, but Emma pretended not to heed him, continuing on her way without a backward glance.

  What the devil was she up to? And why was she suddenly ignoring him?

  Urging his mount faster, he raced toward her. Finally after another five minutes of chasing, he managed to pull up beside her, shouting at her to stop. She still refused to acknowledge him, looking straight ahead.

  Frustrated, James lightly tapped her knee with his riding crop, forcing her to turn to him. Gasping in surprise, she instantly pulled up, slowing Luther to a stop, her eyes wide above the coat and shirt she wore.

  Without thinking, James spun his horse around and dismounted, scowling as he stalked toward Emma and Luther. Eyes still surprised, Emma dismounted too, meeting him halfway to stand panting in front of him.

  In his anger, he refused to notice how absurdly darling she looked in one of his old coats and breeches, the sleeves just a little too long, dark curly hair tousled from her galloping ride.

  With a flick of her hands, she popped something pink out of both her ears to rest around her neck.

  “What is going on? Why are you ignoring me?” James realized he was yelling. How had they come to this?

  She merely blinked at him. Looking so lost and forlorn. Her eyes drinking him in.

  As if seeing him for the first time. As if he were everything she had ever wanted. As if she had finally found that one vital thing that had been lost for so very long.

  “Sorry,” she said between breaths without breaking his gaze. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Didn’t hear me? How is that possible? I’m pretty sure that they heard me two counties over! What’s wrong?”

  Emma blinked again. And then, with a shake of her head, she did the last thing he expected her to do in that moment.

  She took the remaining two steps to him, grasped his coat lapels with both hands, pulled him to her.

  And kissed him.

  A kiss that was hot and hungry and needing. A kiss that said she had been thirsty for far too long.

  A kiss unlike any he had ever experienced.

  Her hands slid up his coat and into his hair and she held him tight, demanding that he return everything she gave.

  Moaning, James wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Reveling in the shocking sweetness of her. In the rightness of her in his arms.

  Their kiss went on endlessly, aching, longing, until James pulled back slightly, gasping her name.

  “Emma!”

  Breathing heavily, she held his head firm, refusing to let him move his lips more than a few inches from hers.

  James found himself liking this newfound side of her.

  “Emry,” she whispered.

  And then she kissed him again. The same starved need coursing through her. Through him.

  “What?!” James exclaimed, realizing what she had said, pushing her away slightly. “What did you just say?”

  She seemed to be struggling to focus on anything other than his mouth. Grabbing her chin, he forced her eyes up to his.

  “What did you just say?” he repeated quietly.

  She swallowed, her eyes suddenly wary.

  “Emry,” she whispered again, moving a hand from his hair to softly caress his cheek. Her eyes devouring him, still full of stunned awe.

  “My name isn’t Emma. It’s Emry. Emry Wilde.”

  They both froze and James felt the shock of her words sink in. Words said in the most American of accents.

  “Emry,” he whispered, trying her name.

  With amazement, he moved his finger from her chin to stroke her cheek.

  Swallowed.

  “Well, Emry Wilde, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  James dipped his head closer to hers. “At last.”

  He closed the distance, claiming her mouth in another kiss. This one sweet and yearning.

  “My family and friends call me Emme,” she murmured against his mouth with a soft sigh.

  “Emme,” he breathed, leaning to brush her cheek with his lips. He moved his mouth toward her ear, nibbling along the way.

  “Am I to understand from the fact that you are kissing me that there is no Mr. Wilde?” James felt her tense slightly.

  “Well,” she began, “there is a Mr. Wilde, . . .”

  His blood chilled. He instantly stilled but then realized there was laughter in her voice.

  “. . . a Mr. Marc Wilde, my older brother. But there is no one else. No other man in my life. No one with a claim on my heart.” She pulled back to drink him in. “Other than you.”

  James was sure his confusion showed on his face, because she laughed suddenly and hugged him fiercely.

  “I don’t understand. If you are not angry, then why were you ignoring me? While riding?”

  He thought he understood Emma. But this new Emme, with the American accent and extra-assertive personality, was a bit of a stranger.

  She laughed against his ear, as if his question were particularly funny. James struggled to see the humor.

  “I honestly couldn’t hear you, my love,” she said, pulling back to look into his eyes. “It’s a long tale. Or at least, a rather unbelievable one. Do you have a morning to listen to my story?”

  Chapter 26

  Yes, Emme realized, she probably should have waited longer before seeing James.

  Maybe a couple years without seeing him would have tempered the kicked-through-the-gut jolt that swept her as he dismounted and came striding angrily forward. His hair windblown a
nd sunkissed. Overcoat snapping in the wind. His shirt slightly open at the collar. Blue-eyes bright and alive.

  He had looked insanely delectable. Like a scene from every woman’s fantasy.

  Well, . . . hers at least.

  This was James.

  James!

  The man from her locket. The person she had spent years wondering over and obsessing over and trying to get over.

  And now he was really here. Standing in front of her.

  And then holding her and kissing her. Emme buried her face in his neck, hugging him fiercely. With a sigh, she pulled away, taking his hand.

  “So, do you have a morning to listen to my story?” she repeated.

  “Of course.” A wide smile split his face, delighted and amazed.

  James gathered the reins of both their horses and led Emme to sit under a large tree, where he tethered the horses. Emme sat crosslegged on the ground, leaning against the tree trunk. James settled next to her, reaching out to twine his fingers through hers.

  “Come. I want to hear everything about you. Slowly and from the beginning. Every possible detail.” He practically glowed as he looked at her. Emme found herself staring back, still thrumming from the wonder of him.

  Smiling, she squeezed his hand, moving her fingers along his. “Where to begin?” She paused. “First of all, let me say I am nothing that Linwood assumed. Not even remotely close.”

  James released a quick hiss. “Well, for your sake, I’m glad then. Though as I have said, it would have made no difference to me.”

  “You might want to save statements like that until after I’ve told the rest of my story.” Emme gave a little knowing laugh.

  James answered with a decidedly wicked grin. “That good, eh?”

  “You have no idea. Trust me.” Emme shook her head. “And surprisingly, everything makes sense.”

  His grin even wider, James leaned back into the tree, rubbing his thumb in absent circles across the back of her hand. “I can’t wait. You are American then? I hear it in your voice.”

  “Yes. Well, I’m both actually. My mother is American, my father British. I spent time with my British grandmother growing up. She insisted that I learn how to be a proper lady, because we are Cavendishes on my great-grandfather’s side of the family, third cousins of the Duke of Devonshire, you know.” She said that last bit in her best upper-crust, old-lady voice.

  “Impressive. I always knew you were respectable.”

  Emme laughed, settling her palm further into his, loving how his larger hand engulfed her smaller one.

  “And no husband? No betrothed either?”

  “No, no one. You seem concerned about it.”

  “Well, it has caused me much worry over the past weeks.” He reached over to her with his opposite hand and wrapped a stray curl behind her ear. He seemed excessively fond of that curl. “I don’t want there to be any impediments to our being together.”

  “Impediments. . . .” Emme let out a puff of air and glanced away from him. “In some ways, a husband or fiance would be easier than the actual truth. Our reality is much more complicated, I fear.”

  “Really? Are there obstacles then?”

  Staring out over the lush Herefordshire countryside, Emme said quietly, “No, not precisely. Just pain, I guess. Compromise.”

  “Compromise,” James said thoughtfully. Slowly. “I can accept that. So, who is the mysterious Mr. F?”

  “Oh, goodness.” Emme gave a small laugh. “The locket . . . the locket is part of this whole odd tale.” She exhaled. “I’m not sure you will believe me.”

  “Not believe you? Why wouldn’t I believe you?” James looked puzzled, a slight smile playing around his lips.

  “It’s quite the fantastic story. If I didn’t have the memories in my head and some other items to prove it, I don’t think I would believe it either.”

  “Does it involve these?” He released her hand and plucked at the pink earbuds still dangling around her shoulders. “Because I’m not sure they will become all the rage. Though the color is certainly . . . eye catching.”

  With a wry face, Emme unwrapped the headphones from her neck, staring at them for a moment. Hot pink and shockingly anachronistic.

  “Yes, actually it does.”

  She paused, absently pulling the pink cord through her fingers. How do you tell someone you come from the future?

  “Are you from the West Indies after all then?”

  “Not exactly. Though I have visited there. Jamaica. The Mexican Riviera. I actually attended a cousin’s wedding in the Bahamas.”

  James merely looked at her, one eyebrow cocked, encouraging her to continue.

  When she didn’t, he said, “It sounds exotic and wonderful. Come now. Why do you hesitate? It’s not that bad, is it?”

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “Nothing at all like we feared. Just shocking. Surprising.”

  “Well? You are teasing me with the agony of this suspense. It’s hardly kind of you.”

  Emme wrapped the earphones around her hand, studying them. There was no easy way to do this.

  “I was born in the United States,” she said, raising her eyes to meet his. “In Colorado. In a town just outside Denver.”

  James stilled, a quizzical look on his face. He tilted his head. “I don’t think I have ever heard of a place called Colorado. Where is it exactly?”

  Emme grimaced. “That’s the problem, actually. Currently, it’s at the edge of what Americans call the Louisiana Purchase. There is probably not a single person in all of Britain who has been there.”

  “I always thought you were a taste of adventure.”

  “More than you ever anticipated, I think,” Emme smiled faintly.

  She just needed to get it over with. Untangling the earbuds from her fingers, Emme reached into her stays and pulled out her phone. James gazed questioningly at it in her hand.

  Shaking her head, Emme looked into his eyes. “Things have felt off to me from the beginning. I would know things that seemed impossibly contradictory. And the simplest things would feel foreign while other things would be familiar. . . . The problem, it turns out, is not where I’m from, . . . but when. . . .”

  She allowed her last word to sink in. James instantly stilled. Emme caught and held his blue eyes with her own.

  “James, I was born in 1983,” she continued, staring intently. “I left Britain in the year 2012. It seems the old oak tree really is a portal after all, just not to the netherworld.” She paused. “It’s a portal through time.”

  Emme could feel his shock. Palpable. A gut-punched widening of his eyes, a hissing inhalation through his teeth.

  James swallowed. Ran a suddenly shaking hand through his hair. Looked out over the fields and then after a moment turned his gaze back to her.

  “You are serious, aren’t you,” he murmured, stretching out his hand to trace her jaw with one finger. “You are not teasing me.”

  “No,” she whispered, her gaze pleading for understanding. For him to believe her. “I wouldn’t tease about this.”

  James nodded slowly, his eyes glassy and unseeing as he grasped at the concept.

  “I . . . I . . . You have actually managed to render me speechless. . . . I cannot remember the last time that happened.” A small smile touched his lips. James continued to run a finger along her jaw and then cupped her cheek with his entire hand. All the while, looking intently into her eyes. Finally, with another noisy swallow, he continued.

  “Truly, 2012, you say? Two hundred years? That’s . . . astounding. . . . No, no, more like stunning, utterly astonishing,” he finished with another tentative grin.

  “Mind-blowing? A bombshell?” Emme offered. And then with a teasing smile and a cocked eyebrow, “Totally cray-cray?” That one earned her a gentle laugh.

  She wrapped her fingers through his on her cheek and turned her head, pressing a kiss into his palm. Grasping his hand, Emme pulled it from her face and held it loosely in her lap, tucking her p
alm into his. James stared at her for a long moment, considering, thinking.

  “What caused your memory to return?” he asked at last.

  “It was the purse on your desk. The one you pulled out yesterday morning. It was my purse. I remember having it with me right before I . . . before I came through the portal, I guess. How did you come to have it?”

  “I found it. In the wreckage of the oak tree, just lying on the ground.”

  Emme nodded in understanding. “Yes, well, that makes sense then.”

  He glanced down at the phone.

  “Is that one of the items from the bag? May I see it?”

  “Of course.” Emme disconnected the earbuds, tucking them into her coat pocket and handed him the phone. She watched as he felt the weight of it in his hand, ran his fingers over its glossy surface.

  “It’s heavy. Heavier than it looks.” James hefted it slightly. “I take it this is some oddity from the future? Is it made of glass?”

  “The case is made of glass. It’s called a telephone. A smart phone, actually. And it . . . well, it does a ridiculous number of amazing things.”

  “Really?” He looked at the phone and then back at her in disbelief. “I would have thought something from the future would look . . . more . . . future-ish. This seems decidedly anti-climactic. It’s just a lump of glass.”

  Emme laughed. “Yes, I guess it could seem somewhat bland, but trust me, it’s pretty awesome.”

  “Awesome?”

  “Oh yeah.” Emme winked at him and reached over and pushed the home button, bringing the phone’s lockscreen to life. James inhaled sharply and started a little, glancing at her in surprise. She smiled lightly and slid closer to him, their arms touching.

  “Without an internet connection, the phone is somewhat limited, but it seriously does just about everything.”

  Emme swiped her finger to unlock it, typing in her passcode. James eye’s widened as the screen lit up with apps and folders.

  “Good heavens,” he murmured. “What is all this then?”