The Ghost and Katie Coyle

by Anne Kelleher

  “What do you mean?” Mary sipped her tea, watching Katie closely.

  “I know you aren’t going to believe this. But…‌but Derry…‌it’s the way I feel—” She broke off. How could she confide to anyone that she felt herself falling in love with a ghost?

  “How does he make you feel, Katie?” asked Mary softly.

  “He makes me feel as though I’m the most special woman in the world.” She took another sip of tea. “I can only imagine how crazy that sounds. But there’s something about the man—if that’s what you can call him. There’s something about him that draws me to him—I dream about him, I find myself thinking about him during the day. I know that it’s not going to be easy to help him find the information he’s looking for, but I don’t care. It’s like—”

  “It’s like you’re the most important woman in the world. And only you can help him.” Mary was looking at her with sympathy.

  “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  Mary sighed. “Katie, just be careful. I know how attractive he is. And I understand how incredibly vulnerable he can seem. He is vulnerable, after all. Stuck in that place for the last two hundred years—believe me. I can sympathize, too. But the fact of the matter is that he’s a ghost. He’s not a living, breathing human being. You can’t have a future with him—he doesn’t have a future. All he’s got is this everlasting present. He doesn’t change, he doesn’t age. He’s exactly the way he was when he died two hundred years ago. You’ve got to keep that in mind.”

  “I know.” Katie plucked listlessly at the embroidery on the napkin. “And that’s the other thing. Right now, if I go ahead and try to help Derry, I’m putting myself in a potentially—well—politically sensitive position at East Bay.”

  “What do you mean?” Mary frowned.

  “Reg Proser’s son, Alistair, is applying for a grant—same one I’m applying for, as a matter of fact. Guess what his topic is?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “The Missing Earl. Diarmuid O’Riordan. Derry.”

  “Well, wouldn’t his research be a help to you? Couldn’t you go to him and ask him to tell you what he knows?”

  “I introduced him to Derry one day when Alistair happened to drop by unexpectedly. And, well, let’s just say it didn’t go that well. Obviously he doesn’t know what happened, and his theory doesn’t exactly paint Derry in a flattering light. Derry called him a liar and an idiotic popinjay.”

  Mary burst out laughing. “To his face?”

  “No, thank goodness. But it wouldn’t have taken much, I could see that. The thing of it is, if Alistair happens to catch wind that I’m researching his topic, he’s likely to try and make things very nasty with his father for me. He strikes me as the type to play academic hardball. “

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Well, who says he has to know? Don’t tell him. Just try and find out all you can from him, and make sure you get the full story from Derry. Alistair can’t have the information too wrong, can he?”

  Katie hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what information he has or where he got it, or what his sources are.”

  “But you don’t trust it?”

  Katie raised her head and met Mary’s eyes. “No,” she said finally. “Let’s just say that I think a healthy dose of skepticism is good for all avenues of academic inquiry.”

  “There’s something you aren’t telling me, Katie,” Mary said quietly. She waited a moment, then waved an airy hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t pry. But if you feel that by helping Derry you are possibly setting up a rivalry with Alistair Proser, my advice is to tread very carefully indeed. Reginald Proser is a very big fish in a very little pond.”

  “And I’m a very little fish in that same pond.”

  “And the last thing you need to do is get on the wrong side of Reginald Proser. Trust me. I know.” Mary paused and stared out the window.

  “But on the other hand,” Katie said, “1 don’t want to let it get in the way of finding out what I can to help Derry.”

  Mary pressed a hand over Katie’s and when she spoke, her voice was soft. “Just be careful, Katie. Be discreet with the Prosers and don’t let Derry steal your heart. Keep it up here”—she pointed to her head—“and not here”—she pointed to her chest. “Know what I mean?”

  Silently Katie nodded.

  “There’s something else I think you should know, though, Katie. There may be a way to release Derry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s trapped there, you know that? I’ve been doing some reading. I know you may think this sounds crazy, or unbelievable, but I think there’s a possibility that the energy flow could be halted, or at least redirected long enough to allow Derry to move on.”

  Katie drew a deep breath. “I suppose that would be the best for him, wouldn’t it?” She managed a smile. “It would be best for all of us, Katie. You, Derry, even me. You understand what I mean?”

  Katie nodded and slowly sighed. Of course she knew what Mary meant. The real question was, how would she ever manage to live with it?

  • • •

  “She’s falling in love with you.” Mary crossed her arms and watched Derry pace the perimeter of the Stones with a scowl on his face.

  “And what if she is?” he demanded.

  “How you can say that? Have you forgotten your—uh—circumstances, shall we call them? Is it fair to her? She’s about to risk her career helping you, did you know that? She could antagonize some very powerful people if she steps on the wrong sets of toes. Or didn’t you ever consider that your innocent request just might have ramifications for someone other than yourself?”

  Derry paused in his pacing and narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “The head of her department—Reginald Proser—do you remember what he did to me? Well, he doesn’t like her at all, for some reason, and his son—the one you call the idiotic popinjay, I believe—well, the son is researching your very person for an article or a scholarship or something—the same thing that Katie’s going for. And if she steps on either set of toes—the father’s or the son’s—it isn’t going to be very easy for her at East Bay. Do you understand?”

  He gave her a stormy look. “No. I don’t, really.”

  Mary shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I’m not saying you should know. But now that I’m telling you—” she broke off impatiently. “Derry, don’t you see how unfair it is to let Katie fall in love with you? She’s only going to get hurt. What can you possibly offer her?”

  He raised his face and stared into the trees beyond the Stones. “And how do you think I feel, Mary?”

  “Oh, come. Are you telling me you love her?”

  “She isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “She isn’t your Caitlin, either.”

  “She looks so much like her.”

  “But she isn’t. She’s not some eighteenth-century rebel; she’s a twentieth-century woman—a very well-educated woman who seems to attract the wrong sort of man.”

  “And what does that mean?” His head reared up and he glared at her with the full intensity of his fury.

  “You aren’t really a man at all, Derry. You have to accept that. You can’t think it’s fair that she falls in love with you. You can’t let that happen.”

  “And I ask you again, Mary. What about mc? And how I feel?”

  “I can’t believe you love her. You only think you do. You only love an image—a resemblance. It’s not fair to either one of you.”

  Derry pulled himself up and met her eyes squarely. “I appreciate your concern, Mary. I’ll keep what you say in mind. And I’ll be careful to caution Katie about undue enthusiasm. But I think it’s best left to the two of us to decide what’s fair and what’s not. At least where it’s only the two of us concerned.”

  “As you wish, Derry.” Mary turned to leave, then hesitated. “I’ve heard from my friend, Catherine Armstrong. She’s the woman I mentioned to you the other day—the one—
”

  “One of your witch-women friends?” He made a derisive sound then shook his head. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  “It was uncalled for,” Mary said. “I’m only trying to help you. Catherine says she thinks she may be able to redirect the energy field long enough to release you. Do you want me to invite her here to perform the ritual?”

  “What kind of question is that? Do I want you to invite some stranger here to willingly tear myself from the woman I love?” He raised his hands, then dropped them in frustration. “Surely you see I don’t know what to do.”

  “I see that, Derry. Think about it, why don’t you? And let me know what you decide. Just remember, it isn’t just you that’s affected by all this. Not any more, at least. You have a human being to think about, too.” This time she took a few steps down the path, and turned back only when she heard him call after her.

  “You think I’m being selfish, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Derry, after all this time, I think you’re very confused about what you want. And I think you’re very confused about how to get it. That’s all.” He let her go, then, and she made her way home with a troubled heart.

  • • •

  Katie stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. You look like you’re in love, Katie Coyle. What would Meg say? What would her parents say? She shook her head at her reflection. Her family would probably have her committed to a nice quiet institution.

  She could feel Derry waiting in the woods. Almost involuntarily, she walked to the wide front window and peered out across the pond. There he was—waiting under the trees, just on the perimeter of the forest. He raised his arm and beckoned.

  She pressed her lips together in a little smile. I’m coming, she thought. She grabbed a pen and a notebook and with as much decorum as her anticipation would allow, hastened out the door and across the footbridge to where he waited.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, by way of greeting.

  She felt the color rise in her cheeks. Slowly, Katie, slowly, she cautioned herself. Remember that he’s not what he appears to be. “I need to ask you a few things.” She held up the notepad. “If I’m going to try to discover what really happened to your brother or his family, I need more details. How much do you think you can remember?”

  “I remember everything,” he said. He spoke through a tightened jaw, and his eyes were far away.

  Katie felt a pang. “I’m sorry to dredge up painful things.” Hesitantly she touched his arm and he turned to look down at her, his eyes full of raw pain.

  “But it’s the only way, isn’t it?” He covered her hand with his, and brought it to his mouth. A thrill ran down her spine, and deep inside her, that low feeling of heat he kindled in her flared hotter. He took her face in his hands, and she saw that his eyes blazed with an intensity that took her breath away. “I want you to know, Katie Coyle, that I appreciate everything you do for me. There isn’t much I can give you but my gratitude.”

  “I—I told you before,” she said, trying not to gasp. “I don’t want anything from you, Derry. Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” he whispered. Before she could reply, he swept her up in his arms and started off through the forest.

  She laid her head against his chest and heard, to her surprise, the beating of his heart. “Where are we going?”

  “To a place where time stands still,” he answered, smiling down at her. “To the circle of Stones.”

  She nestled her head against his chest and twined her fingers in the soft cotton of his shirt. A scent rose from him—bay rum and saltwater—and she realized that his clothes smelled of the sea.

  Within the shelter of the Stones, he set her gently on her feet and tipped her chin up to his. “Now,” he murmured against her ear, his warm breath sending a ripple of delight all the way down to her toes, “tell me—are you sure there’s nothing?”

  “Nothing but this,” she replied, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and eagerly turned her mouth to his.

  He crushed her to him, and his lips were hard and hot and demanding. Need coursed through her veins, as urgent as his mouth.

  Her knees weakened and his arms tightened around her. Gently he eased her to the ground. He raised his face and traced her features with the tip of one finger. He smiled into her eyes and slid his hand up under her sweater. “You don’t wear that—that contraption that binds your breasts?”

  “Not—not when I think this might happen,” she answered with a grin.

  “You’re a hussy, Katie Coyle. A shameless hussy, who’s no better than she should be, aren’t you?”

  “That’s how you make me feel.” She caught his hand in hers and pressed it over her breast. He closed his fingers on the rounded mound, and at his touch, her nipple hardened into a pebbled peak. He pushed the sweater out of his way, and bent his head. He licked the rosy pink tip with a soft, feathery touch, and she groaned and writhed beneath him. He opened his mouth and took the whole nipple in it, drawing it deep, sucking deliciously, until she thought she would go mad with pleasure.

  He teased and sucked and stroked both breasts, pausing now and again to shower soft kisses on her lips and throat and face. His hands roamed lower, over her taut belly to the buttons on her jeans. Deftly he opened them, one at a time, and she wriggled her hips as he eased her clothes off.

  He drew back long enough to discard his own ragged clothes. She lay on her back, staring at the puffy clouds that floated overhead. A butterfly danced across her field of vision and she raised her arms above her head as a breeze blew softly overhead, raising gooseflesh.

  “You’re cold,” he said as he lowered his body over hers, making her gasp with desire. “Let me show you how I can warm you.”

  She gasped again as his bare chest settled on hers and spread her legs, inviting him, tantalizing him with the warm, wet flesh between her thighs. “Show me,” she demanded. “Show me now.”

  In answer he plunged into her and she cried out as her body responded with a downpour of fiery sensation. Nothing she’d ever experienced had felt like this. She clutched him close, twining her fingers in his hair, exploring the hollows of his back, as again and again he brought her to the very brink of ecstasy. Her body shuddered of its own accord, and she moaned as wave after wave of pleasure crested through her, flooding her body with delight, melting her bones in a hot tide of passion so complete she sighed in the deepest satisfaction she had ever felt.

  A little while later he raised his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “What was it you wanted to ask me about?”

  She looked at him, puzzled, and then burst out laughing. “You know very well what it was, Derry. You made me drop my pen and paper, and everything.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered in her ear in mock contrition. “Can you forgive me?”

  “If you help me look for my notebook and pen, sure.” She took his face in her hands. “I need the information if I’m going to be able to find out anything that might help you.”

  He turned his head and kissed each hand in turn. “I know you do. Come, we’ll get dressed and I’ll help you look. And then I’ll bare my soul to you, Katie Coyle,” he finished lightly.

  “It’s only fair,” she said, reaching for her clothes. “You seem to see right through to mine.”

  He gave her a long look, and pulled his breeches up. “If only it were so simple, Katie Coyle. If only it could be that easy.”

  • • •

  “Catherine says it must be done during the dark of the next moon.” Mary trained her flashlight onto Derry’s face and shivered as a cold wind blew through the trees.

  “What?” Derry stared at Mary as if she’d entirely taken leave of her senses. “What moon-ridden madness is that?”

  Mary wet her lips and mentally counted to ten. He was upset, she could see that, and she wondered at herself for pushing this at him. Was she just the tiniest bit jealous of Katie?, she wondered. Brutal h
onesty forced her to admit that that might be the case. But she remembered how devastated she’d been when the implications of Derry’s existence had been made clear to her. What sort of life could Katie have with him? What kind of life did he have with anyone? “Look,” she said slowly. “I’m only trying to help you. If you don’t want my help, I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.” She turned away.

  “No, wait, Mary.” He sank to the ground, his back against one of the Stones, and shut his eyes. “You just have no idea how difficult this is. Every time I see her, I feel as if I know her—have always known her. She’s becoming dearer and dearer to me—surely you can understand that?”

  “I do understand that, Derry. Believe me, I do. If you don’t want to go through with the ritual, I understand. Only Catherine says it must be done soon.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you want me to explain every detail to you? There’s something about this time of year, when the boundaries between the worlds grow thin, and during the dark of the moon, the energies that flow beneath and through the earth aren’t as strong as they can be at other times—say, for example, during a full moon. Catherine feels that this would be the most beneficial time to attempt this kind of thing. Or at least the time when it would be most likely to have some chance at success.”

  “What must she do?”

  “We’ll call a meeting of our friends—”

  “Your witch-women friends?”

  “If that’s how you choose to characterize us, Derry,” Mary sighed, “so be it.”

  There was a long silence and finally he turned away. “Give me another few days to think about this, all right?”

  “All right. But if you wait too long, the opportunity won’t present itself for another year.”

  “I understand.” Without another word he vanished from her sight, leaving her alone in the cold, dark night, with only the Stones rising all around her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Katie paused just inside the door. Through the open archway of the Prosers’ huge colonial home she could see from the foyer all the way into the living room and beyond to a screened porch. The guests all seemed to be gathered there, and she glimpsed a white-shirted and black-bow-tied bartender. A woman dressed in a black maid’s uniform entered the living room carrying a tray and disappeared under another arch, presumably on her way to the kitchen. Reginald Proser and his wife were nowhere to be seen.