by Cindy Miles
“If it works at all,” said Agatha, ever the pessimist. “I will be crushed if it does not.”
Willoughby stared at the small stone dish in the center of their potion table. So far they’d not had trouble collecting the ingredients. Emma’s blood came as a surprise, although she wouldn’t have been opposed to getting it by another means. It did save steps, after all, not to mention she’d already had all the required doses of cardipherous amphibicus phosphate.
“Our Emma has completed step one, aye?” asked Millicent.
“Aye, indeed she has,” answered Willoughby. “The girl can certainly eat, and the ingredients hide quite nicely in the cinnamon cakes.” She shook her head. “I don’t know where that wee girl packs all the food. She’s narrow as a reed but eats like a horse.”
“Methinks the whole thing is taking a harsh toll on young Christian,” said Agatha. “Did you notice his sorrowful features?” She sniffed. “Makes me want to burst into tears at the way he looks so longingly at her.”
“It’s got to be the worst sort of pain,” said Millicent. “Such a shame.”
Willoughby’s expressions tightened. “That’s why this will work, sisters. It must.” She clapped. “Now come along. This has to ferment whilst we prepare for step two.”
They flipped off the lights and hustled out …
Emma’s eyes slowly opened. She blinked several times, her vision focusing in the dimmed light of her room. As she lifted her hand, it looked as though she had on a boxing glove. The cut …
Her eyes flashed to the far wall. Christian was there, leaning casually back with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his eyes fixed on her. She grinned. “You stayed.” Somehow, the fact that he’d stayed made her feel happier than it probably should have.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
Emma thought about it. She flexed her hand a time or two, and blinked. “The grogginess is gone, and my hand stings only a little bit.” She looked at him and grinned. “I’m sorry I passed out on you.” She looked down at her bandaged hand, and she remembered what she’d said to Christian before she passed out. She hadn’t meant to, really. It had just … slipped out. Easing her gaze, she smiled sheepishly. “Err, sorry about before. I’m not usually so bold.”
“Is that so?” Christian rose from the chair he’d so patiently sat in while she rested. He walked slowly over, and when he reached the bed where she now sat propped up, he bent over at the waist, studying her fiercely. His eyes peered out from behind the disheveled hang of bangs, and a slow grin started that nearly knocked Emma from the bed. Not a big grin, mind you—she hadn’t witnessed that yet. But this grin? It gave her butterflies in her stomach.
That or the way his eyes seemed to stare all the way to her bones.
“You, lady, are vastly amusing whilst you slumber.” His eyes suddenly dropped to her lips, and Emma’s breath caught. When he looked back at her, the usual bright blue seemed … stormier. Then he rose. “And that’s all I shall say about that.”
Emma closed her eyes and bonked herself against the forehead with her good fist. “Ugh, that means I spilled the beans.” She looked at him. She wondered briefly if she’d said something else. “What were the beans? What’d I say?”
Christian simply turned around and walked toward the door. “I shall forever keep that”—he glanced over his big, sword-toting shoulder—“happily to myself. I’ll wait downstairs for you.”
“Wait!” Emma cried.
His chuckle sounded in the room even after he’d disappeared through the door.
“Ooh!” she said, and slapped the mattress with her uninjured hand. “There’s no telling what else I said. I’m mortified.”
Christian’s laugh sounded even louder.
Perhaps, Emma thought, she shouldn’t say so many things out loud …
With that she eased out from beneath the duvet, fished for a fresh change of clothes, and headed to the bathroom. A smile touched her lips.
Ghosts. Who would have ever thought ghosts were responsible for her mad dash across the Atlantic? Or that you could interact with them on a somewhat normal plane?
And to think she still had more than three weeks before she had to return home …
Chapter 11
By now the sun had dropped completely, and the sisters had turned on just about every lamp on the bottom floor of the manor. The enticing scent of beef and baked bread filled the air, and Emma’s stomach rumbled as soon as she inhaled. But she found that more than to eating, she looked forward to her table company.
She couldn’t wait to see Christian again.
So many questions tumbled around in her brain. She wanted to know all about him, his life before he died, what had occupied his time all these years.
He was born in 1110 …
Holy ho-ho.
Emma found herself hurrying through the manor.
The high-pitched peals of the Ballasters’ laughter, along with more than one male’s deep pitch, trailed through the manor, leading Emma to the glassed-in dining room. Gently, she pushed the door open and peeked in.
The Ballasters were seated at two tables pulled together, and the other two ghosts, Justin and Godfrey, sat with them. Christian sat across from one empty chair.
He was looking at her.
Suddenly, those wacky butterflies were back, wreaking havoc in her belly. What was that all about, anyway? A dead guy caused her stomach to flip? She couldn’t even remember the last time a live man turned her head.
Insane.
Emma started into the room. The intensity of his thoughtful gaze unnerved her, but she remembered to keep breathing and smiled.
“Oh, there you are, love,” said Willoughby. “How’s the hand feeling?”
“Much better, thank you,” Emma answered. She glanced at Justin and Godfrey. Godfrey blushed.
Justin stroked his roguish goatee and grinned as if he’d planned on having her for dinner.
She gave a tentative smile in return, then slid into the seat across from Christian. His eyes hadn’t left her since she’d poked her head in the door.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he said in return. No smile, just that weighty stare.
She squirmed.
His lip twitched.
“Here you are, then,” said Maven, plopping a large bowl of beef stew before her. Millicent followed with a covered basket of hot bread.
“Um, smells great,” Emma said, and smiled. “Thanks.”
“There’s more, of course,” said Willoughby, and pointed to a large silver pot at the far end of the table. “Just there.”
She smiled again. “Thanks.”
“Right! Let’s get the kitchen cleaned up, sisters, and let these young folk have a chat,” said Willoughby.
All four bustled out of the room, giggling and waving.
Leaving Emma alone with three ghosts.
“I’ll make them leave if you wish it,” said Christian.
Emma glanced at Justin and Godfrey and smiled. “I don’t mind if they stay.” She considered Justin Catesby. He definitely looked like a pirate, what with his long leather coat, his high leather boots, and the pistols hanging off both hips. Not to mention the cutlass. His sun-streaked hair was pulled back into a ponytail. When she looked up, his grin became even more wolfish. She smiled and shook her head.
Godfrey, on the other hand … she couldn’t figure him out. Just a nice old guy, she thought, with a big, funny hat. A large ostrich plume, or some sort of feather, bounced off one side. He grinned, too.
“Chris tells us you’re from America,” said Justin.
Emma took a sip of iced tea. “That’s right.”
Justin nodded. “I know a few lads there, from Charleston.”
She smiled. She was sure lads meant spirits. “Is that so?”
Justin grinned. “You’ve a charming accent. Reminds me of another lass I know.”
“Enough. You two leave now,” said Christian.
Ju
stin gave Christian an irritated look. “We’ve only just started here.”
Christian’s look didn’t falter. “Perhaps the lass won’t mind your visiting tomorrow? ’Tis late and you’re keeping her from eating.”
Justin flashed a grin at her. “My pardon, lass. On the morrow, then?”
Godfrey nodded.
Emma smiled. “Absolutely.”
Justin rose then, and came to stand beside her. He lowered his head to her ear. “You know you can ask him anything and he’ll have to tell you the truth.”
She glanced up at the pirate.
“He’s a knight. He won’t lie.”
Godfrey chuckled.
Christian growled.
And with that, the pair disappeared.
She calculated the space they’d just occupied, blinking. “That’s … interesting.” She shook her head. “It’s still so unbelievable.”
“Eat.”
“Yes sir.” She grinned, absolutely loving her new tidbit of information, and dug in. The savory beef stew had chunks of carrot, potato, celery, and onion, and made her mouth water before the first spoonful even hit her taste buds.
“I see you’re not one of those fickle gels who get embarrassed eating in front of people.”
She wiped her mouth. “Nothing stands between me and my food.”
“So I see.”
Spooning in a few more bites, Emma studied Christian just as intently as he continued to study her. Not an easy task, simply because she had to struggle to keep her stare fixed on his. Never had anyone affected her like he did. Again, she wiped her mouth and cocked her head. “You’re a knight.”
Christian gave a single nod.
Finished, she pushed the empty bowl aside and sat back. “That would explain the big swords.”
His mouth twitched. “It would.”
Folding her hands, Emma leaned forward. “What else did I say in my sleep?”
Now Christian grinned. “I refuse to say.”
“But you cannot lie.”
He shrugged. “I am not lying. I’m refusing to tell you the information you ask.”
Emma shook her head. “No, I’m not asking. I’m begging. Please tell me what I said.” She batted her lashes. “Purty please?”
Then, he did something she thought she would never in her life forget. Prayed she’d never forget.
He laughed. Out loud, white teeth showing, head thrown back—the works.
It was beyond beautiful; it made her breath catch.
However, instead of showing him how much he affected her, she scowled. “Well, I’m thrilled you find it so amusing. I suppose I’ve learned my lesson by asking you to stay in my room and then falling asleep.”
He continued to smile, and the stare was back. She decided to give up trying to force the info out of him. He was tight-lipped and wasn’t giving it up.
Instead, she changed directions in the conversation. “So, I’m assuming that since you’re sitting with me here while I eat dinner, you’ve introduced me to your friends, and you sat with me while I slept after getting my hand stitched up, that you’ve given up on the idea of trying to make me leave?”
Christian studied Emma without answering. Christ, he couldn’t imagine the girl getting more breathtaking, but he could barely keep his eyes off her. The indigo jumper she wore brought out the very bluest hues in her eyes, and her cinnamon-spiced hair was swept up into a clasp at the back of her head, making several wisps poke up here and there and bounce with each step and movement. ’Twas the first time he’d known her as a modern lass and the casual, worn-out, and faded jeans she chose looked indeed most comfortable—even with the small tears at the knees. They slung low on her hips and hugged her backside in ways that made his mouth go dry.
Damn.
“Mr. Arrick?”
Focusing his gaze back on his beloved, he gave a short nod. “Aye, it seems for now I’ve given up trying to oust you from Arrick.” What other choice did he have? He couldn’t force her to leave, and damn—she was just too infectious for his weak self to refuse. He still had hopes that she could escape the fate that always awaited her at Arrick and live out the rest of her life in peace. Mayhap she’d just remain curious this time, and he would refrain from wooing her. Finally, she’d leave, go home convinced her mission to Wales had been to discover spirits actually walk the very same plane of existence as the living and nothing more. Her heart would remain intact and safe. He leaned forward and pasted a false scowl to his face. “And stop calling me Mr. Arrick. ’Tis silly.”
She smiled. “Really? I’m not getting ousted?”
He kept his eyes on hers. “Really.”
They watched each other silently. Emma bit her lip, mayhap out of nerves, and his eyes were drawn to the small mark in the corner of her mouth, the ever-so-slight curve that was a fierce reminder that no matter what year, what lifetime, she was his alone. ’Twas a mark only he could see. ’Twas the mark of his heart’s Intended, his soul mate, and that she belonged exclusively to him.
Belonged to him, yet would remain out of his grasp for eternity.
Every seventy-two years, she came back to him. He’d woo her, and just as her memory of their original love rushed back, she’d—something would happen to take Emma from him. An accident of sorts. Once, she’d fallen from a horse. Another, she’d fallen down the steps. The very last time, she’d been in Wales as a nurse during the War. He pushed those painful memories away. Just as hurtful was that he hadn’t touched her, physically touched her, since the day he rode off to the cursed Crusades.
He had indeed dreamed of touching her aplenty. Craved it.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s next?”
He cleared his throat, grateful for the interruption of his thoughts. “Are you overly tired?”
“Not a bit,” she said.
He inclined his head. “And the hand?”
Emma held the wrapped and injured hand up and gave it a wave. “I barely know the cut is even there.”
Christian rose from his chair and nodded in the direction of the door. “Would you care for a walk, then? The moon is high this eve.”
Emma’s eyes sparkled. “Absolutely. Let me run upstairs and get my coat.”
And with that she hurried out of the dining hall.
No sooner had she disappeared through the door than Justin Catesby appeared. He leaned casually against the wall.
Christian glanced at him. “What?”
“So, she’s staying?” Justin said.
With a gusty sigh, Christian gave a nod. “Aye. It appears so.” He looked at his friend. “Now that the amusing part of her arrival and subsequent fright of finding me a specter has passed, why don’t you run along back to Sealladh na Mara? I am fairly sure young Gabe MacGowan is wondering where his friend is of late.”
Justin shook his head, and an uncharacteristic dark look flashed over his usually jubilant features. “Nay, he’s too busy with his new bride.”
Christian remembered that Justin had sort of fancied young MacGowan’s American, whom MacGowan had hired to oust Justin and his lot of ghosts from Odin’s Thumb Pub and Inn. A lovely, energetic lass with a head full of blond curls had strolled into the seaside village and stolen everyone’s heart—including Gabe’s. The lad had thought to leave Sealladh na Mara, but instead had found himself a wife. From what Justin had told him, things had turned out rather well. But he didn’t wish to ponder that, so he moved on. “What of Godfrey? Where’d he carry himself off to?”
“Grimm.” Justin pushed off the wall. “I think I shall join him there. If you need me—”
Christian thumped his old friend on the back. “Aye, I’ll know where to fetch you.” He looked in the direction Emma had gone. “Tell Gawan and Ellie I just may bring a friend over.”
Justin grinned. “Indeed.”
Christian nodded. “At least that would keep her occupied. I’m trying not to woo her, you know.”
With a gleam in his eye that had won him many a fist ag
ainst the jaw, Justin Catesby gave a short nod. “Good luck with that, Arrick.”
And then he disappeared.
Christian made his way to the stairs. He could hear Emma thumping down them two at a time.
Aye, he thought grimly. He’d certainly need luck.
Luck, indeed.
Chapter 12
Emma hurried down the steps, coat in hand, camera bag on shoulder. This time, she’d remember to take a few photos. She’d been sort of preoccupied before, what with having her first official meeting with a spirit. She thought of what was waiting for her at the bottom.
Rather, who.
She shook her head as she took the second-floor steps two at a time. It was beyond ridiculous to get all giddyup over the spirit of a man—knight, rather—who’d died more than eight hundred and fifty years before. The time difference nearly made her gasp.
More than eight hundred and fifty years …
Okay—plenty of reason to be all giddy. But why the butterflies?
Because he’s freaking hot, that’s why. Dreamy-sexy hot. Der.
As Emma pounded down the last flight of steps, she gave herself a mental shake. Certainly she wasn’t so shallow that, after meeting an actual ghost, someone from the other side, the one thing she couldn’t get over was his hotness?
At the bottom of the steps, Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea stood in the pale light of the lamp, casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, that perpetual look fixed and boring into hers. It was as though he knew the exact moment and the exact place she’d emerge.
Emma gulped. Her heart pumped harder. Yep. She indeed was that shallow.
How very strange for her …
Flashing a wide grin in hopes he couldn’t read minds, Emma hurried to Christian’s side and looked up at him. “Hi.”
The corner of his mouth pulled. “Hi back.” He inclined his head toward her shoulder. “Do you plan on photographing at night?”
“Absolutely.”