by Cindy Miles
He could barely wait to proposition her …
Emma finished the fish-and-chips with a satisfied smile. Cod fillets batter-fried to a golden brown, they were, possibly, the absolute best she’d ever eaten. She didn’t exactly know what the brown sauce was, but it was mouthwatering, along with a sprinkle of vinegar.
Had the sisters not cleaned their plates, she’d have begged for leftovers.
Then, the dessert. Warm, crusty butterscotch and walnut pie with vanilla ice cream. Emma thought she’d died and gone to heaven. When she stood up to help clear away the dishes, Willoughby shooed her aside.
“Love, go for a stroll, or read your book. We will have this cleaned up in no time,” Willoughby said. “Now go.”
“Okay. Thank you so much,” she told Willoughby. “For everything.” She glanced out at the ruins. “I think I will go for a walk before it gets too dark.”
“Good, good,” said Willoughby. “Just be careful, aye? Without young Christian here to protect you, you know.”
“I’ll watch my step,” Emma promised, then realized that, even though he was a spirit and not a man of substance, she felt … safe with Christian.
She also realized she missed him in the few hours he’d been gone.
With that thought, she hurried upstairs, brushed her teeth, and grabbed her jacket and hat. She bounded back down the three flights of stairs, anxious to walk off some of the cod, potatoes, and pie she’d consumed. Zoë always told her that going to bed on such a full stomach would give her nightmares.
Emma knew it to be an absolutely true wives’ tale.
Outside, the sky had turned an ethereal sort of lavender. Fitting, she thought, since she was, in fact, at a haunted castle. The wind had chilled and picked up a notch or two, and Emma zipped her jacket to the throat. Snuggling her hat down over her ears, she started for the ruins.
The trees—beech, sweet chestnut, walnut, and oak, according to Christian—had a myriad of autumn leaves. A good portion had been jostled down to the ground by the wind, making a scattered blanket of reds, browns, and yellows. Inhaling, Emma took in the mixed scent of sweet clover, the brine of the sea, and the wood burning in the Ballasters’ fireplace. She didn’t think she’d ever forget how it smelled at Arrick.
Or who resided at Arrick, for that matter.
Absently, she leaned over, picked a large yellow leaf from the ground, and continued on, twirling it in her fingers. How on earth had she come to be here? Why, out of the twenty-eight years she’d been walking the earth, did she finally find someone she really, truly liked, who was not only charming, chivalrous, funny, and heart-stoppingly handsome, but … dead.
Oh my God, he’s actually dead.
As in not alive, a ghost, through and through.
Only she, Emma Calhoun, could manage such a feat.
Only Emma Calhoun could have the total hots for a spirit.
Figures.
She kicked a rock, watched it hop up the lane ahead of her and roll to a stop, just before she reached the gatehouse.
The waning light outside had cast the inside of the gatehouse pitch-black in shadows. Still, Emma lingered. She ran her fingertips over the charred places where Christian had told her the torches used to be—
Emma gasped, closing her eyes against the dizziness that washed over her. She leaned against the cool, damp stone and drew in long, deep breaths. Another vision flashed before her, sudden, hazy, and then, suddenly … very, very clear.
Right in front of her, so close she had to back up, a man held and kissed a woman. His back was to Emma, and his body shielded whomever he kissed, but when he lifted his head, she saw his profile, just before the vision faded. A profile such as she’d never forget: square jaw, straight nose, full lips stretched into a wide smile, and that fall of tousled hair …
Her stomach knotted. The weird feeling washed over her. It was Christian, plain as day.
Moving forward, she ran her uninjured hand over the stone wall where she’d just witnessed the kiss. Nothing happened. It was just a blank, dark wall of stone.
Rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, she sighed; then she hurried out of the gatehouse and into the barely lit courtyard.
She laughed out loud. What in the world was wrong with her? Why was she seeing images of Christian, and why were those visions giving her such strange feelings in her gut?
More than that, why did it bother her to see him kissing someone?
With that, Emma nearly snorted out loud.
How much more ridiculous could she be? Of course he’d kissed women. Looking like he did, she was positive he did a lot more than that.
Shaking her head, Emma continued on across the courtyard, to the Dangling Steps, as she now referred to them, and climbed up. The waning lavender hues now looked gray, but she could still view a bit of the sea, and the sounds of it smashing into Arrick’s base gave her a sense of peace. She found a good sitting spot on the ledge—parapet, Christian had corrected her—and sat down, back against a small section of higher wall that still remained. Pulling her legs up, she hooked her arms around her knees, careful with her injured hand, and stared out to sea. One thought occupied her mind. She groaned out loud.
She was falling for a twelfth-century ghost.
Chapter 17
“I’m surprised I didn’t find you dangling again.”
Emma jumped, and there stood Christian, just a few feet away, back in his twelfth-century lethal-wear, his pre-going-to-war shorn hair loose and disheveled, and looking exceptionally …
… heart-stopping.
His strange accent, smooth and exactly the right depth of pitch, washed over her, made her heart thump quicker.
Dang it.
Wrapping her arms more tightly around her pulled-up legs, Emma cocked her head and grinned—hoping he couldn’t pick up on her newly discovered attraction. “I reserve dangling for the most serious and drastic of times.”
Even in the near-darkness, Emma could see Christian’s blue eyes studying her. She briefly wondered what he thought of her, staring at her as he did all the time.
Christian moved a bit closer, then eased down beside her, hands resting on his thighs, legs sprawled. “I’m beginning to wonder whether you have any fear at all. Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be up here?”
Emma peeked around her knees, right through the missing stones of a section of wall, and directly out to the sea. She glanced at him. “Only if I were running up and down the parapet and throwing my arms in the air, would it be dangerous, Christian.” She threw him a wide smile. “But I’m all huddled up against the wall, nice and safe. See?”
His profound gaze remained on her for several moments. “I do indeed.”
Emma wanted to squirm. Instead, she glanced back out to the sea. “It’s beautiful out here. I would love to have my studio right here.” She swept the area with her hand. “Gosh”—she looked back at him—“I don’t think I’d ever want to leave the office.”
In the fading light, the softest of expressions crossed his chiseled, surreal face.
“What?” she asked, unable to help herself, almost embarrassed. “Why do you look at me like that?”
He didn’t even deny that he’d been staring. After a moment, Christian smiled. “ ’Tis hard to look away, I suppose.”
Emma didn’t exactly know what to think of that. She gave a nervous laugh. “I bet you say that to all the mortal girls.”
Christian merely smiled. “Hardly.”
Emma’s stomach did a funny little flip. They were silent for a few moments, then she cleared her throat.
At the very same time, Christian started. “I—”
They both stopped and chuckled.
Emma inclined her head. “You go first.”
Christian nodded. “I thought, mayhap, you’d be interested in a small journey. To a friend’s home.”
In the twilight, Emma blinked. “Seriously?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Indeed.”
She thought she could watch that devilish smile all night. She took in his profile, the muscles in his jaw, his Adam’s apple and how it bobbed when he spoke.
“Why do you look at me like that?”
Heat flushed Emma’s cheeks as he repeated her very question to him, and she was grateful for the waning light. “It’s just really strange,” she started. “You look so absolutely real.” Her eyes went to his throat. “Just watching your body movements, gestures—you even look as though you’re breathing.” She lifted her eyes to his. “It’s hard to grasp the fact that you were born centuries ago, and it’s even harder for me to wrap my brain around the fact that actually you’re not sitting here beside me.”
She reached out tentatively, and ran her fingertips just above Christian’s knuckles.
He lifted his opposite hand and lingered over hers. “I am sitting here beside you, Emma,” he said quietly. “I’m just not as solid as I’d like to be.”
Try as she might, Emma couldn’t peel her eyes from his. So close was his voice, his … presence, that it made her shudder inside. The tension in the air was palpable, like the heavy, healthy thrum of a heartbeat in a silent room.
He didn’t exactly look away, either.
Actually, his gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered there. He was so close, close enough to touch, and she was surprised to find herself wanting desperately to do just that. That fall of long, unruly bangs made him even sexier than he already was.
Suddenly, though, he gave a slight smile and glanced out over the sea.
They both drew deep breaths. It had to be the single most intense moment of Emma’s entire life.
“So you’re interested, then?” he asked.
Emma’s eyes widened. Certainly he wasn’t asking … “Excuse me?”
A very slow grin came across Christian’s face. “The journey to my friend’s home. Are you interested?”
If heat didn’t stop rushing to her neck and face, she was sure to self-combust.
What a ding-dong she was.
“Oh,” she said, giving an embarrassed laugh. She hoped he hadn’t picked up on her accidental insinuation, but by the wolfish grin on his face, she doubted it. “Absolutely,” she said. Then she cocked her head. “Are they … dead or alive?”
Christian studied her for a moment. Then, his shoulders began to shake. He threw back his head and laughed.
Emma couldn’t help but laugh, too.
“I fear you’ll find some of each at Grimm,” he answered. “Quite a unique tale to be told there—several tales, in fact.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really.”
Nodding her head, Emma smiled. “Sounds exciting. I’d love to go.” A gust of wind blew off the ocean, and she tugged her hat down lower. “Where’s Grimm?” Strange name, she thought.
Then again, what wasn’t strange here?
“ ’Tis on the northeastern side of England. A grand castle, much like Arrick but fully intact.” He grinned. “I think you’ll find it to your liking.”
Emma looked at him. “How will we … travel? I could take the train and meet you there.” It sounded strange to her ears. She was hooking up with the ghost of a medieval warrior and traveling over to the northeastern side of England to meet his friends.
Zoë would definitely have her committed.
Christian chuckled. “No need. Gawan is sending the helicopter. It’ll be here tomorrow morning at ten.”
Emma blinked. He spoke of sending helicopters as though it were an everyday thing. “You’re very hip for a guy more than eight hundred and fifty years old.”
He shrugged. “I get around.” He winked. “And I watch the BBC every chance I get.”
Emma laughed, and raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure of yourself too, huh?” She narrowed her eyes. “What makes you so sure I’d say yes, anyway?”
He lifted one brow and said nothing.
“Your confidence is phenomenal,” she said dryly.
They both laughed.
Christian then turned his stare to the sea for several seconds, as though pondering something heavy on his mind. “Why did you come here, Emma?” He turned to her. “Out of all the fortresses in Wales, why Arrick?”
Emma rested her chin against her up-pulled knees, her back pressed into the stone wall of the parapet. That multicolored hat barely covered her ears, and those ridiculous shoes—Converse, she’d claimed—were on her feet, which she had crossed at the ankles.
He’d known Emma through twelve previous lifetimes and incarnations. Each time he’d fallen in love with the woman she had been before and the woman she had become. But this Emma was a blend of all that she’d been, plus something new, something he’d seen glimpses of in the past but which was full and fresh in this Emma. Mayhap ’twas her boldness, or her determination? Her confidence? The modern Emma before him now had become … absolutely and breathtakingly perfect.
Christian watched her response. He knew, of course, what had driven her here. But each time, each century, led to a new response. He wanted more than anything to hear his modern Emma’s method of finding Arrick.
Of finding him.
She shrugged. “You’ll think I’m a lunatic.”
Christian heaved a gusty sigh. “Aye, you’re right. I’m sure anything you say will sound far crazier than anything I’ve ever encountered.”
She looked at him. He grinned.
Emma laughed. “I guess you’re right. I honestly can’t say how I chose Arrick. I’d started having these strange dreams. Not dreams, really, but more like … feelings.” She shook her head. “I’ve tried to explain it to my friend Zoë. She doesn’t get it.”
He indeed got it.
“It’s weird, really. I’ve had these feelings before, just not as compelling as now. Lately, I’ve bordered on obsessive. I felt it was a place I was looking for, so I started just searching the Internet.” She leaned forward. “You know the Internet?”
Christian laughed. “I do indeed.”
She laughed lightly. “That’s so strange. A twelfth-century warrior who knows the Internet. Anyway, the more my feelings solidified, the more clearly I knew what to look for. Months later, I ended up on a Web site for Welsh castles—was there for hours and hours until finally, I saw it.” She smiled at him. “I saw the most stunning picture I’d ever seen. And it was of Arrick-by-the-Sea.” Glancing up, she studied the sea. “I was immediately drawn to it, and … I don’t know, I felt I had to come.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile when she looked at him. “Little did I know what I’d find here, though. Pretty kooky, huh?”
Christ, how he wanted to draw closer to her. Just sitting as they were now made his insides weak. He wondered what she smelled like. “Not so kooky, I’d warrant.” He watched her. “What of your family? You’ve not mentioned them at all.” He asked, so not to seem rude, although he knew fully well of her family. ’Twas the same each time her soul returned. Her parents would be dead, and she’d be on her own.
Emma sighed. “My mom has greater faith in me than my father does,” she said. “He constantly worries about everything, and I’ve been on my own since college.” She shook her head. “He nearly had a heart attack when he found out I was coming here, alone. Actually came over to my house and forcibly stashed three cans of pepper spray in my luggage. I had to wait for him to leave before removing them from the suitcase. Airport security would surely have busted me for having that.”
Christian blinked, surprised. “Your parents are alive?”
“Of course,” Emma said slowly. “Why?”
“No reason,” he said. “I just assumed.” He shrugged, then sighed. “The elderly didn’t have a long life in my day.”
“Oh.”
He studied Emma’s profile. She shivered, and Christian rose. “Come along, lass,” he said. “Your lips are turning blue and your cheeks are going to be wind blistered if you don’t seek warmth soon.”
Although he had to admit he found her m
ost adorable, pulled up into a ball as she was, perched upon his parapet, with that crazily-colored hat pulled down to her ears.
Quite adorable, indeed.
Without question, she stood, and moved toward the steps. “Christ, woman, will you please hold on to the wall?”
She grinned, and held lightly to the wall with her hand. “You’re as bad as my dad.”
Once on the ground, they walked side by side across the courtyard. After a moment, Emma looked up at him.
“I have a hard time believing you never had a wife. Aren’t you sort of … old?”
He scowled.
She laughed. “I mean, old to be wifeless in the twelfth century. I thought you guys married off at age seventeen back then.”
“Sixteen.” His gaze moved to hers, and he couldn’t help but stare a fraction lower, to her mouth. He wondered if it would taste as sweet as it had all those centuries ago. “And I suppose I never found anyone who suited me well enough to wed.”
“I can see that,” she muttered.
Christian lifted a brow. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugged. “Not to make your ego any larger than it probably already is, but I’m fairly sure a guy like you would have a difficult time finding a good … match.”
They ducked into the gatehouse, and Christian stopped. Emma stopped with him.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
She grinned. “You’re pretty dang hot, Mr. Arrick.”
At first, Christian just stood there, shocked she’d just admitted such to him. But her features, brushed by moonlight streaming in through the mouth of the gatehouse, made him catch his breath. Her grin turned into a full-blown smile, and her eyes danced.
It all but turned him to mush.
Instead, he returned the grin. “You, Ms. Calhoun, have a bold way of blurting out what’s on your mind.” He eyed her, pleased that she found his person to her liking. “Not shy, are you?”
Her eyes met his, and he noticed how intently she studied his face. “One of my gleaming characteristics, I’ve been told.”
“No doubt,” he returned.