Thirteen Chances Read Free

way, like meeting someone for the verra first time all over again.
    Except that he
knew
who she was.
    And that he already loved her fiercely.
    Christian ran a hand through his hair. ’Twas enough to make a man bloody daft.
    “Pull your head out of your arse, lad, stop sulkin’, and tell me your plan. Do you know much about her this time?” asked Godfrey. “What she looks like, that sort of thing?”
    Christian glanced at Godfrey. “I think you enjoy this way too much, old man.”
    Godfrey stroked his chin. “I confess, ’tis most entertaining, even if it does occur only every seventy-two years.” He chuckled. “I especially like when you show yourself to her for the very first time.” He shook his head. “Huge sport, it is. Everyone’s talkin’ about it, you know. Even o’er at Grimm. Although I don’t fancy the ending overmuch.” He looked at Christian. “Think you this time will be different?”
    Christian shrugged and blew out a hefty sigh. “I truly hope so.” He glanced behind him, down the way toward the sisters’ manor. “I think the old girls are up to something. They said this time will be of utmost import, and that I should take extreme care in my wooing.”
    “You always take extreme care in your wooing,” said Godfrey. He glanced in the direction of the manor. “Passing odd, those old lasses.”
    Christian rubbed the back of his neck and stared out across the black water. Mayhap this time he wouldn’t take such care in the bloody wooing. “Knowing how it will end nearly makes me want to not try at all,” Christian said. And in truth, he’d given that a lot of thought. Mayhap the best thing would be to avoid her
completely
…
    “You’ve lopped off many a heads in your day, lad. You’re as lethal a warrior as they come. I’ve no doubt you can handle the meeting of your beloved again,” said Godfrey. He smoothed the big plume poking out from the side of his hat. “When does the lass arrive?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    A smile stretched across Godfrey’s face. “We could go to the airport and take a wee look for ourselves?”
    Christian shook his head. He’d confessed his situation to the Ballaster sisters years before, after he’d lost Emma the last time. “Willoughby has already asked that I remain here.”
    A loud, boisterous bellow erupted from Godfrey. “My God, boy.” He shook his head. “My God, you indeed have it bad, aye? And I thought young Gawan’s case was somethin’ else.” He shook his head. “Well, she didn’t ask me to remain here. I shall leave first thing in the morn. Young Catesby said he’d go with me.” He gave Christian a half-cocked smile. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine here. Pacing. Scrubbing your neck and such. Worrying.”
    Christian grunted. Justin Catesby, another spirit—although one much more irritating—would no doubt soon join Godfrey in the sport of poking fun at Christian. Justin was a rogue and an arrogant pup. He’d also been, like Godfrey, a close friend for centuries.
    “But until then,” said Godfrey, “what say you to a game or two of Knucklebones?”
    Christian thought about his days of warring. Spears, swords, arrows, blood—his hand tightly wrapped around the hilt of his blade. Familiar, sweaty,
manly
things. But when it came to his true love? Would he really have the strength to avoid her?
Christ, she’d be here on the morrow …
    Butterflies flapped mercilessly in his stomach, and his mouth went dry. He pushed his fingers through his hair.
    Aye. He’d indeed turned into a spineless twit.
    “Arrick! Knucklebones, boy!” hollered Battersby.
    Christian took a deep breath and joined his old friend for an even older game that he really didn’t feel much like playing at all. He blew out a sigh. Godfrey of Battersby laughed.
    It’d be the longest bloody night of Christian’s life.
    The very next day …
    Emma held her breath and dug her fingers deep into the old car’s seat cushion, and her feet pushed heavily on