by Cindy Miles
He blinked. “What did you say?”
She cocked her head. “I’ll … be waiting for you?”
Christian shook his head. “Very well. I shall return as soon as I can settle those feisty souls at Grimm.” He stepped closer, and ducked his head. “Godfrey? If you don’t mind?” he said, not taking his eyes off Emma.
“Err, right,” said Godfrey, turning his head.
Christian slid his mouth close to Emma’s, until that familiar tingling joined their essence together. He moved his lips to her ear. “I’ll be right back.”
Her heart skipped a few beats. “Okay,” she said, breathless. “Be careful.”
Christian pulled back, lifted an eyebrow, and grinned.
Then promptly disappeared.
Emma wasted no time. She took off for the manor house. Inside, she found Willoughby, who was baking something absolutely delicious smelling. She could almost taste a hint of apricot in the air.
“Willoughby, I have a huge favor to ask of you,” Emma said.
“Anything, dear,” said the older woman. She glanced at her sisters, then back to Emma. “What is it?”
Emma squirmed. “Can I borrow your truck? I promise to drive really slow and careful. And I’ll fill it up with fuel before I return.”
The sisters glanced at one another again. Willoughby smiled. “Och, of course you can, girl. Where are you off to?”
Emma’s heart leaped. “It’s a surprise for Christian.”
“Well then,” said Willoughby, beaming, “you run right along.”
“Um, if he returns, don’t tell him, okay?” Emma asked.
Willoughby beamed. “And ruin the surprise? I wouldn’t dream of it!”
With that, she pulled the truck keys off the peg on the wall and tossed them to Emma. Emma caught them and grinned. “Thanks!”
“Don’t forget our All Hallows’ Eve banquet tomorrow night,” called Willoughby. “ ’Tis quite the event here in Arrick.”
“I won’t!” said Emma. Quickly, she ran upstairs, freshened up, grabbed her bag and jacket, and flew back down.
Willoughby was waiting at the foot of the stairs for her. She smiled and reached her hand out. “I wanted to give you this, love. ’Tis a gift. From my sisters and me.”
Emma grasped a small, thin circle of … something from Willoughby’s hands. She held it up and inspected it. “It’s … beautiful. What is it?”
“ ’Tis a thread of braided rowan bark,” Willoughby said. “Just an old Welsh legend that it brings safety and good luck to the wearer.” She smiled. “So wear it.”
Emma smiled, slipped it over her wrist, and hugged her host. “Thank you. I love it.”
“Now shoo,” said Willoughby. “And behave yourself!”
She hadn’t gone five miles when she reached into her bag and pulled out the map she’d hand-drawn—with the help of a ninth-century Pict warrior. Just as she unfolded it, and looked ahead at the next road sign, a voice scattered her thoughts.
And nearly made her run off the road.
“An’ just where are you goin’, lass?”
Emma screamed and gripped the wheel. “Justin! Oh, you! I nearly wrecked!” She glanced at him, sitting smugly in the passenger side of the Ballasters’ truck. “What are you doing here?” She kept her eyes on the narrow road ahead of her, and waited.
“I might have a soft spot for beseechin’ lasses, lass, but I’m no’ daft. I knew you were up to somethin’. Now. Where are you goin’?” he said.
Emma glared at him, then directed her eyes back to the road. A light sprinkle had started. She turned on the windshield wipers. “St. Beuno’s Well,” she muttered. She knew it’d do no good to fib to the sea captain.
Justin said several things she didn’t understand. Swear words, in Gaelic she supposed. She’d heard Ethan mutter a few, as well. They sounded very naughty.
Justin turned to her when he’d finished. “Why are you goin’ there, girl? Are ye daft? ’Tisna for real, Beuno’s. ’Tis nothin’ more than a myth. Me own granddaddy used to tell me tales of its magical water when I was a wee lad.” He shook his head. “Daft girl. Chris will be powerfully angry when he finds out.”
“You had better not tell him, Justin Catesby,” growled Emma. “I mean it. Promise me.” She glanced at him. “Please?”
A frown pulled Justin’s dark brows down. He glared at Emma. “Not playin’ fair, Emma.” He studied her, said a few more Gaelic swears, then sighed. “Only if I stay wi’ you. I’ll no’ have you goin’ off alone and gettin’ yourself hurt. Chris would have my hide.”
Emma glared right back. “Fine. Just stop trying to talk me out of it. A reliably good source told me St. Beuno’s is a true place, and it isn’t a legend only.”
Justin snorted. “Who? That untamed, painted heathen from the tournament? Aye, I saw you talkin’ to him.”
Justin shook his dark head. “He’s crazy, you know. Been hangin’ round for centuries tellin’ that tale.” He glanced at Emma. “Just be safe. Dunna do anythin’ stupid.”
Emma growled and sped up. She ignored him for several miles.
“Come on, Emma, I’m sorry,” he finally said. “Dunna be mad.”
She glanced at him.
He gave her that roguish grin he was so famous for.
“Fine,” she mumbled. Then she smiled, because he’d leaned back against the seat and crossed his arms smugly over his chest.
It was nearly two hours later when Emma saw the road leading to the cliffs the Pict had directed her to. She slowed, pulled the truck as far into the dirt lane as she could, then stopped. She put the truck in park, set the emergency brake, grabbed her bag, and hopped out.
Just as it started to rain harder.
The wind coming off the Irish Sea whipped furiously, blowing icy cold air laced with brine all over Emma. She pulled her hoodie up and tucked her hair back.
“You’re as crazy as the Pict, lass,” Justin muttered. “Think about this, Emma,” he said, following her up the dirt lane. “You’ve only been to Arrick in the past a handful o’ times at best. You dunno know the area, save that wee silly map drawn with a crayon.”
“Jake lent it to me and it was the only thing I had,” she commented, walking faster. “And yes, I do remember the area. Somewhat. Now stop pestering me, Justin. You promised.”
“Och, fine, fine,” he said. “At least you wore your boots instead of those girlie sneakers you wear. Those flat rubbery soles would have landed you square on your arse.”
Emma glared up at him and kept on walking. She wished now that she’d asked the big Pict to accompany her. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
At the end of the incline stood a flat, grassy minimeadow. No bigger than half an acre, perhaps, it stretched all the way to the edge of a fifty-foot drop-off to the ocean. The roar of the sea crashing against the base was so deafening, that had Justin not had the capability of talking right into her head, she’d not be able to hear him at all.
Which might have been a good thing. He was awfully naggy.
Emma pulled out the map and studied it. The Pict had urged her to make marks with her red crayon, little marks that crossed the minimeadow and all the way to the edge. He’d then done a little loop with his finger, and it’d taken her several times to figure out just what he was asking her to draw. All this, mind you, in the space of a handful of minutes. She’d drawn it while Christian had been busy talking to Tristan about the joust.
She crossed the field, but when she neared the edge. Justin stopped her.
“Nay, lass. No farther. ’Tis dangerous.”
“Justin,” she hollered against the wind and rain, “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”
Emma gave him one last stare, then tossed her bag down and knelt on the spongy grass. She pulled out her empty makeup remover container and shoved it into her pocket, along with a length of rope she’d snitched from the sisters’ garden house. Close to the edge of the cliff was a rowan bush—just as the Pict had told her there would be. She qu
ickly tied off the rope, then looped it around her waist.
“Oh, no. Oh hell, no!” hollered Justin. “Emma Calhoun, you cannot do this!”
With fierce determination, Emma met Justin’s fearful, angry gaze. “Watch me.”
And with not as much fear as she’d expected, she eased herself over the edge.
Chapter 34
Emma’s heart was in her throat. For all her false courage, that was exactly what it was. False.
She was scared out of her gourd.
But she was more scared of losing Christian, so this attempt to change their fate was nothing compared to a lifetime without him.
Besides, she tried to console herself, you are a master dangler, don’t forget.
She took a long, deep, calming breath. “Okay. You are oh-kay.”
“Emma?”
Slowly, she looked up. Justin’s head peered over the edge at her. His face was wrought with worry, then relief. “Christ, woman, if I were no’ already dead, you’d be killin’ me about now.” He looked below her. “Are you tryin’ to tell me Beuno’s Well is in the cliff side?”
Emma smiled. “So says that crazy Pict. Now,” she said, looking below herself to the sea and rocks, “I’m a bit busy dangling here, Justin, and I have to admit, it’s not the coziest of places. Can you let me find what I’m looking for and then interrogate me?”
Justin frowned. “Just hurry. You’re makin’ me bloody nervous.”
“Well, you’re making me bloody nervous by talking so much. Now shush,” Emma continued, feeling the rock face with her boot toe. The Pict had indicated she’d feel a foothold, and once she did, she’d have to kick it—hard. It took several minutes, and by the time her toe found something, she was drenched. Her lips chattered, but she didn’t care.
Justin’s face hovered over the edge.
“I think this is it!” she hollered, kicking the place with all her might. She felt it give, and she reared her foot back and kicked it again. Three times later and she felt the hard-packed earth give way. Rock and dirt tumbled to the sea below. She felt a whoosh of air escape the hole she’d just created. It was just big enough for her to shimmy inside. She shoved first her feet inside, then her bottom.
The rope prevented her from going farther.
“Oh, crapola,” she growled, and untied the rope from her waist. She let it dangle there, and scooted inside a hole in the cliff she was positive no one had seen the inside of in centuries.
“Are you okay, lass?” hollered Justin. “I’m coming in there wi’ you.”
“Yes! I’m fine, and no—if you came in here with me, we’d merge. It’s too tight a fit,” she said, turning and inching slowly down on her belly, feet first.
Suddenly, she heard a cracking noise, slow at first, then faster, louder. The earth beneath her shifted, and in the next second, the surface gave way. Emma yelped in surprise, then screamed as her body flailed, and she spiraled down, down …
“Chris, you’ve got to come now,” said Justin.
Christian turned from the group of warriors hell-bent on setting up home and hearth directly in the great hall. He didn’t like the urgency in his friend’s voice. “What is it?”
“Emma.”
“Och, Crist,” said Gawan under his breath.
Christian turned to Gawan and stared. “What is it?” he said, louder this time.
“No time to explain,” said Justin. “Christian, you follow me. Gawan, take your helicopter to the cliff known to be the area of St. Beuno’s. You know the one?”
“Aye, I do.”
Christian simply stared at both of them. “Are you two mad? What is going on?” he thundered.
“Chris, now,” urged Justin, and disappeared.
Christian glared at Gawan, then followed his friend, as only ghosts do.
They emerged at the cliff together. Rain poured, and the wind whipped ferociously. Christian glared at Justin. “Please tell me she did not come here,” he bellowed. Then, he spied a length of rope, tied off to the rowan next to the edge.
“Christ’s blood!” he roared, and hurried to the edge. He whirled on Justin. “Where is she?”
“Down below,” Justin yelled. “Over the edge and into the cliff itself.”
Christian didn’t wait for an answer, or an explanation. He leaned over the edge and willed himself into the same mortal space Emma was presently in. No sooner had his mind envisioned it than he was there, beside her.
“Oh, Christ, Emm,” he breathed, taking in her form. “Emma?” he said, and when she didn’t respond, he leaned his head to her ear. “Emma? Can you hear me?”
It was then Christian realized just where they were. A small cave—a cavern, really, no bigger round than a large cistern. A natural cistern, not man-made. The light from the hole Emma had created shot through, casting a dim glow over the grotto.
And in the center, where Emma lay and where he now knelt, was a very, very small body of shimmering, crystal clear water.
Emma groaned, and his eyes were immediately on her. “Emma?” he called again. “Hold on, love. Help’s coming.”
Emma’s eyes fluttered open, and she glanced around. “Oops,” she said softly.
Christian stared down at her. “Oops is right,” he said. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, then held out her hand.
He hadn’t noticed she was clutching something. It was a vial, or a bottle.
“Here.” She slowly reached up with her other hand and unscrewed the small blue lid.
“What is this?” he asked.
She coughed, and a pained look came across her face. “It’s St. Beuno’s mystical healing water, Chris,” she said softly. She gently shook the vial. “For you.”
Christian fought back anger. “Why, love? Nothing can be done for me. I’ve already died.”
She looked at him, and the pleading in her eyes all but cracked his heart in half. “Please?” she begged, and that nearly undid him. “Humor me,” she said. “Love.”
His heart jumped to his throat at her word of endearment. Neither had confessed their love to the other yet, and for good reason.
Every time in the past they’d done so, disaster had soon followed.
“Chris?” said Justin. “There’s no room for me in there. Is she all right?”
“Aye,” Christian said, knowing he was probably lying. “Watch for Gawan.”
“Don’t be mad at them,” Emma said. “I beseeched them both.”
Christian gave her a forced smile. “So you did.”
She held the vial up again. “Please. Just … try it? Even if it splashes right through you, try drinking it. Bring your head closer and open your mouth.”
“Only because I cannot refuse you,” Christian said, and he lowered his head and parted his lips.
Weakly, she lifted the vial and poured the mystical water in.
It, of course, leaked right out.
Her face fell. “I’m so … sorry …”
“Emma,” he breathed.
Her eyes closed, and she drew in a long, ragged breath. Her arm dropped, her hand fell open, her fingers barely grasping the vial of water.
“Emma!” he yelled.
Then, his body jerked. Pain shot through his limbs, his vessels—as if someone had the end of one of his nerves and was yanking fiercely on it. He doubled over, grasping his stomach. “What—Emma!” He looked at her, unmoving, still as death. “No! I will not lose you! Not again! Not this time!”
Amidst the writhing spasms of pain, Justin’s shouting, and the whirring of Gawan’s helicopter blades above St. Beuno’s, Christian willed his hand to reach toward Emma’s, and somehow, curled his fingers around the vial she so desperately held on to. His hand turned to fire at the strength in which he conjured to heft the small container to Emma’s lips. Breathing hard, he tipped the remaining contents into her parted lips. When the last drop seeped out, he dropped the vial.
And then he covered Emma’s mouth with his, and whispe
red the words he prayed she’d hear. She’d already heard them once. He now said them a final time.
“Cara ‘ch hwchwaneg awron na ‘r ‘n flaen amsera Adfeiliasis i mewn cara chennych,” he whispered for her ears only. “Fi would braidd cerdd ‘n dragwyddol, fel bwci at ‘ch ochra, na heboch o gwbl.”
“I love you more now than the first time I fell in love with you,” he whispered in English. “And I would rather walk eternally, as a ghost by your side, than without you at all.”
As pitch-blackness forced its way behind his eyes, and shards of glass pricked his skin, he slowly, slowly slipped farther away. “Live, Emma,” he whispered. “Christ, please.”
And then a wall of darkness crashed over him …
“Emma? Lass, open your eyes.”
Emma heard Gawan’s voice. Far away at first, it became annoyingly loud. Difficult, since he had such a cute voice to begin with.
Just then, she forced her eyes to open. She blinked several times, and looked around.
She was in her rented bedroom, at Arrick.
“Christian?” she said, looking around. She blinked several more times to clear her blurry vision. “Chris?”
“Emma, lie still,” said Gawan, moving to sit beside her on the bed. “How do you feel?”
“What happened?” she asked, ignoring his question. She tried to push herself up on her elbows, but his big hands held her back.
Suddenly, Jason was on her other side.
“Sit back, Emma,” the young knight said. “Stop trying to move so.”
“Will everyone stop trying to tell me not to move,” she grumbled. “Where is Christian?”
Just then, Jason wrapped his big, warm hands around hers and threaded their fingers together. He stared at her, his light green eyes boring into hers gravely. “He saved you, lady,” he said, his voice cracking. “Somehow, he mustered the mortal strength and saved your life. I am ever so glad.”
Emma frowned. “Saved my life?” She turned to Gawan. “No, that’s not right. I saved his life. I made him drink the vial of mystical water.” She glanced around the room. Justin stood against the wall, a somber look upon his face. Godfrey was there, as were all four Ballaster sisters.