by Cindy Miles
“Steady, boy,” said Godfrey, somewhere behind him.
Just inside the gatehouse, where Emma was out of view, Christian stopped, and waited. Even if he’d not made himself invisible, the shadows amidst the dark stone would have swallowed his form and completely hidden him.
Strangely, with the coming of death, he’d gained a few … tricks. He’d lost his life and earthly body, but had picked up a few choice talents in return. Compensation, he reckoned. Like the uncanny ability to hear the slightest of sounds at great distances. ’Twas most irritating at times, that. But he didn’t have to use the ability now. The crunch-crunch of gravel beneath Emma’s feet sounded all too close, and before Christian could form his next coherent thought, she rounded the corner and stepped into view, directly in front of him.
Emma froze and inhaled sharply.
So did Christian.
At first, he thought she’d seen him. But he vaguely registered the fact that she was staring at the structure of the gatehouse, not him.
He, on the other hand, had all but lost his own ghostly breath—as well as what little bit of bog for a brain he had. His knees turned soggy as she stopped directly beside where he stood, and he could do little else save drink in every inch of her with his eyes. She was no more than a foot or two away. Christian shamelessly ogled, not caring that it might be considered voyeurism by some, or that he was in fact causing himself more pain. He couldn’t bloody help himself. With intensity he studied her, from her boot-covered feet, up the length of her jean-covered legs, farther up the too-big jumper, to the cinnamon color of her straight hair, streaked with lighter shades and presently fastened up in the back. The top of her head just reached his shoulder, and Christian’s throat tightened as memories flooded his brain …
“I love how you rest your chin atop my head,” Emma said. She slipped her arms around Christian’s waist and laid her head against his chest. When he didn’t immediately place his chin where she’d requested, Emma wiggled against him. With a smile, Christian did as she asked.
“There, that’s better,” she said, and snuggled closer.
Christian chuckled and wrapped his arms about his love. He drew in a deep breath, tasting the flowery scent of her skin on his tongue, and he kissed her hair. “Christ, woman, you make me daft …”
The image faded as Emma turned her face directly toward him, head cocked to the side, listening intently. Her chest rose and fell with weighty breaths, and Christian could hear the heavy beating of her heart.
Just then, Emma moved, the slightest of shifts, and the light from the gatehouse entrance illuminated her features clearly. Christian’s mouth went dry as a bone as he studied the inquisitive blue eyes, rimmed with long, dark lashes and the perfectly shaped brows the color of spice. The full lips, which he’d tasted before, could spread into the most brilliant of smiles, but they were now worried between straight white teeth, and he knew without looking that at the ridge of her chin lay a small silver scar. His insides turned ice-cold. All familiar things—things he held so tightly to memory. Things he thought he’d never see again …
Because for the very first time since they’d both died, Emma looked exactly like herself. Like the very same Emma who’d watched him ride off to the Crusades, wiping tears from her eyes and staring after him …
“Please, Chris! I beg you, dunna leave me!” Emma cried. She dragged her hand across her teary eyes. “I fear I shall never see you again.”
Christian squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then swung a leg over his horse’s neck and jumped to the ground. In two strides he was at Emma’s side. He cradled her face with his hands and met her watery gaze. With his thumbs, he wiped away the wetness from her cheeks. “I have to go, love. But I will return to you.” He pressed his lips to hers, kissed each of her eyes, then pulled away. “I vow it, Emm. Wait for me.”
Emma nodded. More tears leaked out. “I will wait forever,” she whispered.
And then, before Emma saw his own tears, he left.
Christ.
With a gusty sigh, Emma walked past him, bringing him out of the past once again. She walked out of the gatehouse and into the bailey. Christian’s heart twisted as he watched her. Aye, ’twas the very same—the way she moved, the way she walked. He fought not to inhale deeply in her wake, knowing he couldn’t actually catch her scent. He knew it was there, though, and very sweet …
Again, his insides knotted. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to push the memories aside. It did no good at all. ’Twould be much harder this time, the losing of her. He could bloody feel it. Mayhap, though, ’twas a sign, her looking the very same, and that it just might be different this time around. The thirteenth time Emma had found Christian. So many years he’d hoped …
Without thinking, Christian let his gaze turn hard. Surely, he was setting himself and Emma up for a great deal of pain by pursuing her as he had in the past. ’Twas a mistake. He could feel it.
Twice, Emma stopped and slowly glanced over her shoulder, seeming to stare directly at him.
With one last, hard look, Christian swore under his breath and completely disappeared.
Emma stopped once more, and this time she swung around.
She could have sworn she’d just heard a man’s deep voice curse. Of course, there was no one else around. She looked skyward. Maybe it’d just been a seabird, or just the wind slipping through the cracks in the stone. Shrugging, she turned back and swept her gaze over the view before her. Her eyes absorbed every detail. Arrick was an astounding place, and the Web site hadn’t done it one bit of true justice. After walking through the dark, yawning mouth of the gatehouse, where, sure enough, she could see just where the jaws of the portcullis used to retract, she stepped out into an open courtyard surrounded by an imposing, aged, gray stone wall. Much of the main building was intact—she’d have to get a flashlight to investigate that. A set of steps was at the far side, climbing to the top of the wall facing the sea. The ominous main building rose at least a hundred feet high. There were even some places where Emma saw the holes where wooden beams held floor planks, probably stretching across the entire structure. While there was some decay, it was surprising just how intact the castle was. It gave her a strange, funny feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.
Fishing her smaller digital out of her pocket, she took a few pictures: one of the gatehouse, from the inside of the courtyard, another over the wall facing the Irish Sea, and still another of the stone steps, covered in ivy. Looking out to sea, she captured the blue-gray water whitecapped with the force of the fierce wind, and the vast stretch of sky rolling endlessly with dark clouds. She paused and turned around once more, expecting to see one of the Ballaster sisters standing behind her. The wind had caught her hair and worked most of it out of the clip. It whipped fiercely about her face, and she pushed it out of her eyes.
Again, no one was there. But the hair rose at the back of her neck, and her skin prickled.
She had the distinct feeling someone stood inches away, staring at her …
After a moment, she blinked, then laughed at herself. Apparently, her imagination was getting the best of her. How Zoë would roll laughing at her and her jumpiness. With a shake of her head and a half smile, she stuffed her digital back in her pocket, wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes, and drew a deep, long breath. The tangy brine of the sea settled on her tongue, and the crisp, biting wind rolled off the ocean and washed over her. It smelled—tasted—incredible.
And it gave her that strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She opened her eyes.
What was that?
Then, her stomach growled—loudly. She certainly knew what that was from. Starvation. While she’d helped herself to tea and a cinnamon cake before heading out to the castle, it apparently hadn’t been enough. The Ballasters had told her of a chippy just a few kilometers south of Arrick. After they explained that a chippy was a fish-and-chips-to-go shop, she’d gotten a craving for some. Maybe she’d walk into the village and check it o
ut.
Just then, it grew a bit darker, and Emma glanced at the sky. The clouds looked angry. A few scattered drops of rain started to fall. The chip shop trip would have to wait.
Shoving her hands deep into her pockets, Emma glanced around at the courtyard once more before heading back to the manor. She had plenty of time for photographing, she supposed.
Just as she ducked into the gatehouse, that strange feeling came over her again, stronger this time. She stopped, glanced around, and absently reached out and touched the wall. An odd tingle went through her hand, and she noticed how the damp stone felt cool beneath her fingertips and the flat of her palm. With a final glance behind her, she pushed her hands back into her pockets and hurried down the lane.
Tonight she’d take a long hot bath, rest, and snitch some more tea and cake from the kitchen. Then she’d settle in with a good book, and get up super early.
She planned on taking a few sunrise pictures from the castle. Maybe something would stir within her—something might just possibly happen that would justify her desperate dash across the Atlantic to visit Arrick-by-the-Sea.
Her heart light, Emma all but jogged back to the manor.
Chapter 3
Emma sank into the plush cushion of the sitting room’s overstuffed chair. Agatha had stoked the fire in the hearth and it now roared to life, the flames spreading warmth across the entire room. After a filling supper of chicken stew and hard rolls, Emma’s belly was stuffed. Finally. And all four Ballaster sisters sat side by side on the sofa, facing Emma. Smiling. Funny little gleams of … something in their eyes.
They simply sat, staring. Grinning. Waiting.
Emma cleared her throat. “You have an amazing place,” she said. “I’d love to know some of the history.”
The sisters beamed. Agatha all but bounced up and down. Maven smothered a squeal and wrung her hands. Millicent patted Willoughby on the knee. “You go ahead, Sister. You’re so verra good at telling the tale.”
Emma could have sworn she saw Willoughby scowl at Millicent. But as fast as the expression was there, it was gone. Willoughby leaned forward, just a bit, and smiled even more broadly. “Well. I must say, ’tis an exciting, romantic history we have here at Arrick. The manor itself was built in the seventeenth century by a young lord named Garrick. But he grew bored with landowning and took to the seas.” She lowered her voice and leaned even farther toward Emma. She lifted a red brow. “ ’Tis rumored he became a ferocious pirate.”
“Aye, ’tis true, indeed,” said Millicent. “Why, there are secret passageways and hidden rooms all throughout the manor.”
“And don’t forget the tunnels,” said Agatha. “Tell her about the tunnels!”
“The tunnels?” Emma said.
“Oh, aye,” replied Willoughby. “A labyrinth of tunnels just here, beneath the manor. Most connect with more tunnels beneath the castle and run straight to the sea.”
“We think Garrick used to secret his booty away via the tunnels,” said Millicent.
Willoughby sighed. “True, indeed. But the entrances have been sealed for more than a century. Dangerous, you know.”
Emma smiled. “I imagine so.”
“Tell her about them,” said Millicent.
Willoughby glanced at Emma.
Emma smiled. “Who?”
“Well,” Willoughby began, “ ’tis really just a legend, if you will. But supposedly, a fierce Welsh warrior was the one who built the castle centuries ago. A big lad, he was, and ’tis said he could lop a man’s head off his shoulders with one swipe of his sword.”
“Clean as a dandelion’s head,” added Millicent happily.
Willoughby frowned at her sister, then continued. “Aye, he indeed was quite fierce. But then, ’tis said he met his true love, and she healed his verra gruff and lonely heart. ’Twas his Intended, you see, and they fell fast and hard in love. They’d planned to wed.” Willoughby’s face grew grim.
A slight sob escaped Agatha.
“His Intended?” Emma asked, completely fascinated. Now she leaned forward.
Willoughby nodded. “Aye. His eternal soul mate.”
Emma’s stomach did that funny little flip. “What happened?”
Willoughby sighed. “No one knows for sure, you see, but ’tis said the young warrior went off to fight in the Crusades.” She sniffed. “And never returned.”
A lump formed in Emma’s throat. “And what of his Intended?”
All four Ballasters met one another’s gaze; then all four turned to Emma. “She died of a broken heart.”
All was quiet in the warm sitting room. For some strange reason, Emma felt a ping of grief. Stronger than a ping, actually. “How very sad.”
Again, Willoughby cleared her throat. “ ’Tis said that the fierce warrior, so in love with his woman, has remained on this earth.” She slid a glance at Emma. “Unable to leave without his Intended.” She continued to stare expectantly at Emma.
Emma thought about that, and then, her eyes widened as she remembered seeing the silhouette on the castle wall, just as she’d turned in the doorway …
No way …
Just then, a hardwood snapped in the fire. Emma jumped and stifled a squeal.
“Is there something wrong, dear?” asked Willoughby, her eyes wide.
Emma met her inquisitive gaze, blinked, then gave the older woman a winsome smile. “No. Nothing at all wrong. It’s … like you said. Very romantic.” She looked at them.
“Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself, love?” asked Maven. “You have such an adorable little accent. Where are you from in the States, exactly?”
“Well—” Emma began, only to be interrupted by Willoughby.
“Let the lamb get some rest, Maven,” the eldest Ballaster said. “Look there, her eyes are drooping as we speak.” She smiled warmly at Emma. “Why don’t you retire to your room and get a good night’s rest, eh? No doubt all that plane riding has worn you out. I’ll have you a nice Welsh breakfast at the ready, first thing in the morn. How’s that sound?”
Emma smiled, grateful for the escape. She very much enjoyed talking to the sisters, but exhaustion had caught up with her and her eyes felt as though they had sand beneath the lids. “That sounds fantastic, actually. Thank you.” She rose, and the sisters followed suit. She smiled at each sister. “Good night.”
“Night,” they all replied in unison.
Millicent gave a little wave.
Emma waved back and made her way to the staircase. How funny the sisters were. They so wholeheartedly believed in their romantic tales. Still, they were sweet and very attentive. She looked forward to chatting more with them in the morning.
At the stairs, Emma glanced back, only to find all four sisters still staring after her. Grinning. She shook her head, unable to help another smile pulling at her own mouth, and began the climb to the third floor.
All was quiet as she hit the landing and started down the long corridor leading to her room. Again, she noticed just how dim the lighting was, the burgundy shades on the lamps casting a soft, pink glow. Once at her door, she let herself in, grabbed a pair of boxers, a T-shirt, and girlie stuff from her still-unpacked suitcase, and headed straight for the en-suite toilet. That seriously cracked her up.
The bathroom was larger than she’d expected, with an oversized claw-foot bathtub perched upon a stone dais. A large, arched window was just above it. No curtains, just a beautiful view of Arrick, and the Irish Sea beyond.
Emma plopped her stuff down on the toilet seat, plugged the drain in the tub, and started the water. She noticed a big bath fizz ball sitting in a small iron rack attached to the lip of the tub. Unwrapping it, she sniffed the heady scent of lavender and vanilla, then dropped the ball into the running water. It began to fizz immediately, white fluffy bubbles rising to the top.
While the tub filled, Emma fixed herself a cup of tea, set her toiletries on the edge of the bath, and then shucked out of her clothes. She eased into the steaming water, tea
cup in hand, and relaxed. The lavender and vanilla aroma nearly put her to sleep, but instead, her thoughts drifted first to the strange feelings she’d experienced at the castle ruins, then to the story of Arrick’s ill-fated couple.
How sad, she thought. To find the one soul meant especially for you and only you, then to lose that soul … forever. She couldn’t imagine how overwrought with grief the poor girl must have felt at losing her warrior.
“It’d be better never to find your Intended at all,” she said sadly.
Just then, a draft of air grazed the wet skin on her neck, making her shiver. And just as suddenly, that odd feeling returned to the pit of her stomach.
That feeling was beginning to get on her last nerve.
Quickly, Emma pulled the drain plug, rose from the water, and stepped out, then grabbed a towel off the heating rack and wrapped it around her. She took another and turban-wrapped her hair. After drying off and rubbing lotion on her legs, she pulled on her nightclothes, dried and wound her hair in a knot and secured it with a band, brushed her teeth, and climbed beneath the heavy down duvet thrown over her bed. With just the table lamp on, she picked up the book she’d brought and began to read. But no sooner had she turned the first page than her eyelids grew heavy, drooped, and the book slowly lowered to her chest as she fell into a deep sleep …
* * *
“What in the bloody hell are you thinkin’, lad?” asked Godfrey. “Have you lost what little wits ye’ve had all along? Ye canna go anywhere. She only just arrived!”
Christian rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t answer.
“Nay, Godfrey, mayhap we have it all wrong,” said Justin Catesby. “Mayhap that’s exactly what needs to happen. Christian should leave Arrick. Go hang out with yon ghosties at Castle Grimm. Aye. Definitely so.”