Thirteen Chances (8 page)

Emma’s eyes flicked open. The cold, damp floor seeped into her sweater, and she shivered.

Then everything rushed back. Surprisingly, she was
angry.

So, there really was a ghost.

And he was a
jackass!

Hurriedly, she pushed herself from the floor and checked her camera bag. She growled as she gently pulled out the contents and checked the lens and moving parts. “You’d better be glad nothing’s broken,” she mumbled. Satisfied that nothing had been damaged, she stood.

It made her even angrier when she glanced around and found herself alone.

“Hell-
ooo!”
she hollered. “Hey! Angry guy with swords! Come back here!” She walked to the center of the keep, looked in every corner, the roof, and turned in a circle.
“Ex-cuse
me? What’s your problem?” She waited, but, as she expected, nothing happened.

So this is what her months-long obsession and night-filled dreams sent her packing to Wales for? To be bullied by a dead guy in need of an anger management class?

Precious.

She cupped her hands and shouted into the air. “I’m not leaving, Mr. Arrick. Do you hear me? I’m not scared of you or your stupid fake swords!” She glared at the ceiling, since there really wasn’t anything left to glare at, shouldered her camera bag, and stomped out of the keep. Mumbling naughty words. Honestly, she couldn’t help it. She was furious.

In the courtyard, Emma stopped, her mind flashing ideas of just what to do next. Should she really leave? Sure, she shouted at the sword-ghost that she wouldn’t, but why would she stay? What little scenery she’d witnessed in the last few days was in fact gorgeous—and she’d barely scratched the surface with her photography. Or should she tell the sisters? They obviously knew the brute existed. In their defense, they
did
try to tell her. Maybe they had pull with the bully-ghost and could at least tell him to back off while she salvaged something of her insane overseas trip.

Why was she so mad? Was it because she’d had some ridiculous idea about finding something … life-altering at Arrick-by-the-Sea? Well, she had—she discovered that ghosts really did exist. But in all honesty, that was sort of a letdown.

She’d expected … more.

Then, those treacherous, ivy-covered steps caught Emma’s eye. Not really so treacherous—only when you slipped and dangled could they pose a slight threat …

As if a light had switched on in her brain, Emma thought of exactly what she needed to do. Hurrying over to a bench that sat with its back against the wall, she set her camera bag down, pulled her sweater down over her hips, and marched over to the ivy-covered steps.

Glancing up, Emma noticed just how gray and dark it’d grown outside. Willoughby had warned her of a storm brewing, but she figured when it started raining, she’d just head back to the manor until the rain cleared up.

She never imagined she’d be busy getting PO’ed at a spirit.

Reaching the steps, Emma drew a deep breath and recklessly took them two at a time. When she reached the top, she quickly said a prayer of thanks for not having a fear of heights, then turned and hollered over the courtyard. “You can show yourself at any time now, Arrick. Seriously. I’ve got all day. I’ll just be right here.”

And with that, Emma eased over the edge of the steps, fingers digging into the stone ridge, just as she’d inadvertently done before when the thermos had fallen.
Dangling,
twenty feet above the hard ground.

She didn’t have to dangle long.

“Are you witless? Pull yourself over!”
the voice thundered.

Emma smiled.

“I’m not moving until you show yourself,” she said. She swung her feet a bit, and she could have sworn she heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Not doing it,” she said again, wiggling. She closed her eyes.

She was awarded with a growl.

“Are you daft? Get your stubborn arse back over here!”

Emma’s eyes cracked open, the voice closer, clearer. Sure enough, there knelt the helmeted warrior guy, not two feet away. His stare was fixed on her face.

Arse?

“I’ll pull myself up once you take off that ridiculous helmet,” she said.

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the helmet disappeared. A pair of brilliant blue eyes glowered at her through a fall of tousled, long bangs. “Now get up here.”

Emma pondered. Her arms were starting to ache and her fingers had grown numb. She narrowed her eyes at the ghost. “If you disappear, I’ll go back over and dangle some more.” She really
did
want to get back up now.

“Just get up here.”

With ease—only because she knew where the footholds were this time—Emma grasped on to the damp rock and pulled herself back to the steps. Quickly rolling to her backside, she sat. The ghost had kept his promise. He’d not disappeared.

He stood a few feet away, staring down at her. He was … massive. Perhaps not bulky-massive, like those World’s Strongest Man guys who have trouble walking with their thighs reasonably close. This guy—
ghost
—just looked like he could kick the phooey out of anyone he wanted. With his eyes glaring and his face drawn tight, he looked so … furious.

Why did he seem so angry at her? She couldn’t possibly have done anything to make him so mad. She’d been here a week, not nearly long enough to tick someone off. During high season dozens and dozens of tourists crawled around Arrick’s ruins. What was it about her that bothered him so much?

Suddenly, he muttered something under his breath, then turned and headed down the steps.

And just as suddenly, it hit Emma square in the nose: she was interacting with a spirit, the ghost of someone
dead.
That guy with the chiseled face and gorgeous eyes had lived, and had
died.
And he was muttering, angry at her.

Why?

Quickly, she followed.

“Hey, wait,” she called, trotting after him. When he didn’t stop, she hollered,
“Please!”

The warrior froze, and waited.

Emma, her heart pounding a bit faster now, cleared her throat. “Please turn around.”

Several seconds passed as the warrior-ghost considered her request. Emma stared at his back while she waited. His hair, a deep mahogany color, had been cut, no,
shorn
short in the back, and she already knew it was a bit longer in the front. As she studied him, she noticed a tattoo on the back of his neck—a symbol of some kind. And through the straps of his leather forearm protector thing, she noticed another symbol—larger and more prominent, a band, maybe—she really couldn’t tell what it was beneath all that leather.

The warrior then exhaled and slowly turned.

Emma stood frozen still as their eyes locked. Never had she been weighed and measured so … thoroughly. He had to be all of six feet and three, maybe four inches, and it was a little bit perplexing to have something that large irate at her. His brows slashed down angrily, and those blue eyes blazed furiously through that tangled mahogany hair. The mouth that had such lush lips pulled into a tight, angry frown. The muscle at the hinge of his jaw flinched, and the thick tendons on either side of his neck tightened. Yet his eyes never lifted from hers. She fought not to squirm.

She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t explode.

God, he looked so real …

“Do you have another name besides Arrick?” she asked. Her voice didn’t sound quite as confident as it had when she was dangling.

A flash of … something crossed his face. Sorrow? Pain, maybe? It had happened so fast, Emma couldn’t tell. The mean face was back now, though.

“Christian,” he ground out.

She nodded, noticing how his r’s rolled. She liked it. Funny name, though, for someone with such violence pent up inside. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you so mad at me?”

“Because,” he said, nearly in a growl, “you’ve no fear.”

Emma’s eyes left his long enough to glance at the sword hilts poking up over each of his shoulders. She drew her gaze back. “Sort of hard to be scared of something that can’t actually hurt you.”

Christian’s brows drew even closer together, and he took a step toward Emma. He lowered his head and stared profoundly into her eyes. She fought the urge not to retreat.

“You believe I cannot hurt you, aye?” he said, his voice dangerously low and smooth. He pulled closer still, his lips curved into a cynical smile. He glared a bit longer, eyes flashing. “Don’t be so sure.”

And with that, he disappeared. Just … evaporated, like smoke clearing.

It was only then that Emma drew in a decent breath. She blinked, staring into the space Christian had occupied seconds before. No trace of him remained now.

Wow.

It took a moment, really, to gain her composure. That, and the ability to walk on legs not made of rubber. It was as though he’d sapped the strength right out of her body, just by giving her the Stink Eye.

Emma turned, and walked across the courtyard to the bench where she’d left her camera equipment. Slowly, she shrugged the bag over her shoulder. Then she looked—really looked—at the ruins in which she stood. She turned in a circle, staring at the walls, the buildings, the tall, imposing keep, the dark, yawning mouth of the menacing gatehouse. A fierce sea breeze washed over the wall and blew against Emma, tousling her braid and making her draw in a deep breath. Brine. Clover. Clean.

Familiar …

No, not familiar. That would be impossible. It probably felt familiar because she, too, lived close to the ocean. The pungent bite of the sea was a scent one rarely forgot. Some thought it to be stinky. She loved it.

As she continued to inspect Arrick, a thousand thoughts ripped through her mind. Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea had once lived within the castle walls. He’d eaten, drunk, slept—and she could imagine, as she stared at the open apartments, wondering which one might have been his, that he’d had a fight or two, probably something
else,
as well. She glanced around, trying to envision what it may have looked like in his day, complete, no holes, no decay.

Whenever that was …

A heavy drop of rain splatted against her cheek, and Emma just then noticed the furious clouds swirling overhead. The air had grown colder, and the drops were coming a bit faster. She started for the gatehouse, her walk brisk. She was on a mission now, and it included having a little chat with four sweet, seemingly innocent B and B owners. They knew a lot more than they’d let on; she was willing to bet money on it. And Emma wanted to know a lot more about the ghost roaming the lands of Arrick other than that he was incredibly grumpy, an incredible bully, and … incredibly sexy.

Once inside the gatehouse, she turned to look at the courtyard. Gray and bleak, yet somehow … utterly striking.

Sort of like the original owner, she imagined.

“Meanie,” she said out loud as she left the gatehouse and made for the manor.

As soon as Emma was out of sight, Christian emerged in the courtyard.

Things were not working out as planned.

“Well,” said Godfrey, who materialized beside him, “ ’twas rather interesting.”

Christian grunted.

“I,” said Justin, appearing between them, “especially liked the sword-stabbing part.” He elbowed Christian in the ribs. “Quite effective ghost trickery, aye? You big meanie.”

“I must say, ’twas a first, indeed,” added Godfrey, chuckling. “I flinched.”

Justin laughed, placing his hands on his hips. “Damn me, but did you see how she dangled purposely from the steps?” He shook his head. “Clever girl, if you ask me.”

Christian glared at both of them. “If I weren’t already dead, I’d throw myself off the seawall, just to escape you.” He moved from between them before he clunked their heads together.

Godfrey and Justin merely laughed.

Christian shook his head and began to walk.

“Where are you going now?” asked Godfrey. “You’re not going to try and strangle her, are you?”

“ ’Tis plain to see she’s no’ goin’ to frighten, Chris,” called Justin.

Christian stopped, staring straight ahead. “Suggestions?”

Godfrey and Justin caught up to him. Justin slung an arm over his shoulder. “Aye. Stop harassin’ the poor lass. You canna change fate’s design, boy.” He gave Christian a shake. “You just can’t.”

Godfrey approached. “You’ve only a fortnight, lad, and some of those days have already passed. Use the rest of your time together wisely.” He gave a grim smile. “Enjoy her.”

Christian sighed. “I thought you’d say that.” He turned and met his friends’ gaze. “But I fear I’m compelled to try it my way.” With that, he continued to walk.

“Well, dunna try pokin’ her with your blades again, lad,” said Justin. “She’ll only laugh next time.”

Christian continued to walk until he could no longer hear his idiotic friends’ laughter.

And as he disappeared into the mist gathered at the gatehouse, he knew without a shred of doubt that they were absolutely right.

Just as Emma laid her stuff down by the bench in the foyer, Willoughby’s melodic voice rang out.

“In here, love!” she called from the kitchen. “Just in time for tea and a fresh batch of cakes!”

Emma scowled at the kitchen door. She knew all the little tea-brewing, cake-baking conspirators would be in there.

Conspiring.

But before Emma could approach and interrogate, the phone rang. One of the sisters answered, then called, “Emma, dear! ’Tis for you!”

Just then, Millicent came bustling out of the kitchen, waving the cordless in front of her. “Here you go!” she said happily.

Emma took the phone and grinned through her teeth. “Thank you.”

“Right!” she said, r’s rolling, and then darted back into the kitchen.

Emma lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“So. How is it?”

“Zoë! What are you doing calling here?”

“I don’t know. I have a few minutes before I meet with the cake lady and thought I’d check in on you.” She lowered her voice. “Find anything interesting there?”