He made an impatient little noise, and the smile faded for a moment. “So we’re to be formal today, madam?” He bowed from the waist, an exaggerated court bow that was as mocking as it was polished. “And may I be so bold as to inquire into madam’s health?”
She laughed a little. “Oh, that’s enough, that’s enough. How are you, Derry? It’s been a long time.”
“An age,” he agreed, coming closer, and her heart beat faster.
This was the man who’d first seduced her when she was seventeen, the man from whom she’d fled East Bay. She wet her lips and stepped closer to the stone as though for strength.
“How are you, Mary?”
“I’m fine,” she answered. “I’ve been having tea with the new occupant of Pond House. Have you met her?” She was puzzled by the look that darkened his face. “What’s wrong? Don’t you approve?”
To her surprise, he gave a harsh laugh, and turned away, shaking his head. “I’ve seen her.”
“She’s quite a nice person, I think. The house seems to like her, too. Why don’t you?” Mary watched him closely. The fabric of his shirt stretched across his shoulders and the dark breeches clung to his hips. As always, his feet were bare.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like her.”
“Well, what it is, then? You can’t hide from me, Derry o’Riordan. I know you much too well.”
He turned back to face her, hands on his hips. “Oh, you know more about me than anyone else, I’ll grant you that. But that woman—” he broke off and stared into space. “I cannot quite believe my eyes.”
“What is it?” She sank to the mossy ground, patting it with her hand. “Come on, we’re old friends after all that’s gone between us. Tell me.”
He raised one eyebrow, hesitated, and then settled himself on the ground, folding his long frame against an opposite stone. “She’s the image of Caitlin.”
“Caitlin.” Mary cocked her head, and an unexpected pang went through her. “The woman you lost?”
Derry stared into space and didn’t answer. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Finally he said, “Yes. You know what she meant to me—still means to me, even after two hundred years. And that woman—Katherine—”
“Katie Coyle. That’s the name she uses.”
He waved an impatient hand. “Whatever—whoever she is. Her face is nearly Caitlin’s. I can never forget it.”
Mary watched him closely. “And what it is you’re thinking?”
Derry rose to his feet and paced restlessly around the perimeter of the inner ring of stones. “Don’t you see? Surely you of all people—with all your talk of balance and energies and flow—surely you can see this cannot be an accident. Her coming here must mean something. She’s even interested in Irish history—”
“She’s a professor at East Bay. Irish history is what she teaches.”
“And you think that’s an accident?” He stopped in midstride and pinned her with his gaze.
Mary wrapped her arms around her folded legs and leaned her chin on her knees. “Well,” she said slowly. “I suppose I see your point. What do you think it means?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied. He looked down at the ground. “It could mean that after all these years, maybe there’s a way for me to break away from the energy that’s held me here. Maybe there’s a way for me to find my way to Caitlin—or maybe it means that she is Caitlin and she’s found her way to me, at last. But whatever it means, I must get closer to her. I must get to know her—must get to find a way to—”
“Meet her?” Mary squinted up at him through the long shaft of sunlight that suddenly fell across the circle of stones. It was getting late.
“Yes,” he said. “And I want you to help me.”
“How?”
“I want you to help me pretend to be alive.”
Mary stared in shock. The sunlight seemed to glow, and the air within the Stones seemed to pulsate with latent energy. “Derry,” she managed at last. “I know you’re very real—I know the Stones enable you to manifest physically within a limited circumference. But—” She stopped and began again. “How on earth do you think you’ll ever do that? How on earth can you even begin to believe that she’ll—”
“Because at least it’s a way to get through to her. I’ll tell her the truth soon enough. But she can’t be afraid of me—”
“You’ve already got her freaked out. Between Pond House itself and a few of your antics—what on earth were you thinking?”
He shrugged and gave her that boyish grin, which still had the effect of melting her heart. “I was curious, that’s all.”
Mary shook her head. “I can’t begin to imagine…what if I do some reading? Let me look some things up—maybe there’s a way to break out of this energy field and release you…”
Faster than she would’ve thought possible, he was beside her, reaching for her hand, raising her up so that they stood very close, with less than a foot of space between them. She knew her heart beat faster, and her hands trembled. Damn the man. He wasn’t even a man—damn the ghost. How could he still have this effect on her? And what had he been like in life, if even in death he could make her feel like this? She wasn’t some untried girl of seventeen anymore. Hadn’t she learned anything in thirty years?
“Mary.” He said her name softly, with that same caressing lilt. “You know I’m so sorry—”
She held her hand up even as she felt her throat thicken and the tears prick her eyes. “Stop it. Don’t say any more. What we did was more than thirty years ago now. There’s been a lot of water over the dam, you know? I’ve changed, even if you haven’t.”
She threw back her head and forced herself to smile up at him. “That’s the trouble, you know. I’ve changed but you haven’t.”
He looked sad. “You’re right.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “Please, Mary, say you’ll help me. I’ll tell her the truth, as soon as I can, I swear to you. Maybe it won’t even be necessary. Maybe there’s something she knows—something she can tell me, and I’ll find a way to be at rest. Mary, don’t I deserve to move on, whatever that means for me?”
She dropped her eyes, unable to meet the force of his bright blue gaze. “All right, Derry. I’ll help you. I don’t like the idea of deception. But I agree you should be free of this place. And I’ll do some checking myself. I might be able to discover a way to lift this field, or at least interrupt it long enough for you to move on to a higher plane. You’ve been trapped here long enough.” Even if I don’t want you to go, she finished silently.
He raised her hand slowly to his lips and pressed a kiss onto the back. “Thank you, Mary. I wish I could say I’d find a way to repay you, but all I have to offer—” He broke off and grinned.
She blinked back tears and shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. “You’re much too handsome for your own good, Derry me lad.” she said. “I hope the next time around you come back looking like a mere mortal.”
“So maybe I’ll get to die in my bed?” he asked.
“So you won’t break so many hearts before you do,” she replied. She gently drew her hand from his. “I’ll think about this. In the meantime, you behave, do you hear? No more tricks. Promise?”
He stepped back and made her an even more exaggerated bow. “I am madam’s most humble and obedient servant. “
“Sure you are,” she said dryly. “I’ll bring you some clothes tomorrow, all right? You can’t introduce yourself looking like a refugee from a costume ball. You’ll make the rest of us eccentrics look sane.” She brushed off the back of her tunic.
“I await madam’s return with bated breath,” he said as he stepped back behind the stones.
“Until tomorrow,” she called. The odor of bay rum accompanied her all the way to the beach.
• • •
Sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees. Katie lay on her back in the middle of the stones, staring up. The leafy covering was like green lace, the blue sky peeking through.
Beneath her back the ground felt soft and springy, the moss thick as carpet and warm in the sun. The stones rose all around her, protectively. Within their circle, she felt safe, welcomed. Nothing bad could touch her.
She turned on her side, into the arms of a man whose face was shadowy and indistinct. He had dark hair, though, dark hair that curled down the nape of his neck and spilled over his shoulders. His chest was bare and he slipped his hands up and under her shirt, kneading her breasts with smooth, callused fingertips. She arched against him, feeling as though she floated in a warm green sea, her body aching pleasantly with need. It had been so long, years and years at least, since she’d felt this urgency, this pleasure. She pressed her mouth onto his, and his tongue gently circled her lips, teasing and caressing. Moisture trickled down her thighs and she spread her legs, willing him to cover her with his body.
Desire sparked through every fiber of her body, running down every nerve from the base of her spine to the tips of her toes. She gasped as he suckled one nipple, pulling the pointed tip deep into his mouth. She drew him closer, cradling his body in the shallow bowl of her hips. He raised his head. She saw at once his eyes were blue—bluer than any sky she had ever imagined, deeper than the depths of the ocean. He held up his wrists, and she saw they were chained together, the skin raw and bleeding. He gazed down at her with blue, blue eyes, and spoke, his voice deep and distinct and familiar.
“Help me,” he said. “Please. Help me. “
Katie bolted awake, her book tumbling from her chest to the floor beside the couch, landing in a splayed heap.
There was no mistaking that voice. It was the same one she’d heard the first night at Pond House, the same one she’d dreamed called out for her in the mist. As she stared around the room in dazed bewilderment, the now familiar fragrance of bay rum settled around her like a cloak.
The shrill sound of the telephone’s ring startled her. She stumbled off the couch, her limbs heavy and clumsy. “Hello?”
“Kate? It’s Alistair Proser. How’s the unpacking coming?”
“Oh…” Surprised to hear his voice, she automatically smoothed her unruly curls. “Fine, thanks. It’s coming along—I nearly have myself all organized.”
“Well, that’s great. Do you suppose you have yourself organized enough to have dinner with me tomorrow night? There’s a new place in town that advertises authentic French cuisine.” He said the last in an exaggerated accent. “Would you care to try it with me?”
“Why, sure.” She looked around the room. It didn’t seem possible that someone of Alistair Proser’s stature would actually want to have dinner with her, but why not? “I’d love to, actually.”
“That’s great, then. How about seven?”
“Seven’s fine.”
“I’d come out to pick you up but my car’s on the fritz. Could I possibly ask you to meet me there?”
“Certainly. That’s not a problem at all.”
“Well, great, then. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven at Chez Yvette.”
They chatted a moment longer and Katie jotted down his garbled instructions. As she hung up, she realized she’d have to call the place herself tomorrow and get better ones. But it was just as well. It would give her an opportunity to get to know the town better. The few glimpses she’d had of it, it had seemed like a pleasant enough little place, especially in the summer. She was curious to know how many of the shops stayed open throughout the year.
She glanced down at the floor where her book had fallen. It lay in a heap beside the couch. She picked it up. This was no way to start a semester, she thought. How was she supposed to make the material interesting for her students if she couldn’t even stay awake herself?
With a sigh, she picked up the book. No more reading on the couch, she decided. She placed the book on the battered coffee table, carefully marking her place. As she crossed the room to retrieve another notebook, she noticed that the scent of bay rum had completely dissipated.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Katie drove slowly down the narrow Main Street, peering right to left, watching carefully for landmarks. She’d already passed the post office on her left. The library—”flagpole in the front”—was just ahead, according to the hostess at the restaurant. Chez Yvette was across the street from the library, tucked into a little storefront. She checked the clock on the dash. She was early, but she was glad to have a little time to explore the town. She’d park the car in the restaurant lot—the hostess had assured her there was parking behind the building—and walk down Main Street.
East Bay was one of those quaint New England seashore towns that had two primary industries: tourism and the university. Without both, it wouldn’t have been awarded much more than a dot on the map. In the summertime, the population swelled to nearly four times the size it was in the winter, and in the winter the college students ensured that the local restaurants and shops were able to stay afloat.
She caught sight of the brick library, an American flag waving proudly in the brisk breeze, its base surrounded by a hedge of pink-and-white-striped impatiens. She looked across the street. A peach-colored awning had the words “Chez Yvette” imprinted in dark green. Through the windows, she could dimly make out palm fronds.
“That’s it,” she said aloud. She turned the corner and parked in the tiny lot behind the building, narrowly escaping scraping the side of her car against that of another patron.
She strolled around to the front of the block and peered at her watch. Six thirty-five. She glanced up at the library. The doors were propped wide open. She looked right and left down the quiet street. A few pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks. It seemed like an ideal time to check out the library.
Inside the cool high-ceilinged structure, she paused in front of the desk. The librarian was nowhere to be seen. Katie read the sign posted on the front of the librarian’s check-out station. The library was open until eight o’clock in the evening until the end of September. In the fall and winter, it closed at six.
She walked a short distance into the stacks, peering right and left at the high shelves full of books.
“May I help you?”
Katie jumped. She had to stop being so nervous, she thought immediately. She turned. “Hello. My name’s Katie Coyle and I’m teaching at East Bay this year. I thought I’d stop in.”
The librarian was a stocky white-haired woman who eyed Katie suspiciously. Unconsciously Katie smoothed the skirt of her flowered cotton dress. The librarian looked down at her open-toed sandals with something like disdain and then back up at Katie. Finally, she nodded with what seemed like approval. “A new face at East Bay? About time—some of those old fossils have been there since year one. I’m Daphne Hughes, and I can say that, since I’m one of those old fossils.” She laughed, much more loudly than Katie would’ve expected, and the sound echoed through the open spaces of the building. “Would you like a quick tour?”
“Sure!” said Katie, amused by the woman’s assessing stare.
“Come along, then. I just have a few more books to shelve.” The woman beckoned. Katie followed her broad back down the aisles. “This section is all alphabetized fiction. Our reference and nonfiction sections are arranged according to the Library of Congress system, just like the library at the college. You’re familiar with that, I assume?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Katie, practically scampering to keep up. For such a large woman, Daphne Hughes was unexpectedly light on her feet.
They reached the bottom of a flight of worn steps. With a little shake of her head, Daphne said, “Upstairs are the archives. The town records go all the way back to the seventeenth century. We don’t let too many people in to see them, but we have an arrangement with the college. All the faculty have access. May I ask what you will be teaching?”
“Irish Studies,” answered Katie as she peered up the staircase. “So you’d have all the information about the history of the town up there?”
“Oh, yes.” The pride in Daphne Hughes’s voi
ce was audible. “Several years ago, one of the archivists from the college came here and arranged all the records. He made sure they were stored properly, as well. It was a huge project, as you can imagine. Took months.”
“So, you’d have information about Pond House up there? The original owners and all?”
“Pond House?” Daphne Hughes gave Katie a measuring look. “Of course. You must be living out there.”
“Yes, I am. Do you know the place?”
“It’s been years since I set foot on the property. But it’s a very interesting piece of land, I must say that. Beautiful gardens and stonework. Old Ronan Monahan left quite a legacy. What are you specifically interested in?”
“Well,” said Katie slowly, “I guess I’m not sure. I’ve always been interested in history—I suppose I’d just like to know more.”
“Of course.” There was a short silence, as if Daphne was waiting for her to elaborate. When Katie said nothing more, Daphne went on: “Would you like to see the archives? It’s quiet right now—just let me put the bell on the desk so I can hear if anyone comes looking for me.”
She swished away on her rubber-soled shoes, still talking. “I only have two rules: clean hands, and you put everything back exactly the way you found it. Order is heaven’s first rule, and you’d think tenured professors would’ve learned it by now. But some of them are worse than first graders. Dirtier hands, too.”
Katie held up her hands, palms out. “I washed. I promise.”
Daphne raised her brows and peered down her nose. “Hmm. You’ll do. Come along.” She hoisted her ponderous bulk up the steps. “You wouldn’t believe some of the ones who come in here. And you surely wouldn’t believe the dirt they leave around the light switches. I’m forever going up there with a rag and cleaner. Of course, I send John Sneed up there all the time, too—he’s the janitor; you’ll see him around—but he’s only one man and how much can he do?”
The Ghost and Katie Coyle Page 6
