LoverforRansom by Debra Glass Page B

author who’d lost his love only to find himself
frequented by her ghost.
    “And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side, of my
darling—my darling—my life and my bride, in the sepulcher there by the sea, in
her tomb by the sounding sea.”
    Eyes still closed, Cathleen sat in the stillness, absorbing
the song contained in the words. When her lashes fluttered open, she was
surprised at the tear that traced down her cheek. Blushing, she swept it away.
“Very nice, Mr. Byrne.”
    He raised his eyebrows in mock warning.
    She giggled. She actually giggled. Closing her eyes
for a split second, she struggled to compose herself. She was acting like a
bashful schoolgirl. “Ransom,” she corrected, her voice but a breath.
    In that instant, something had suddenly changed between them
and she was at a loss to decipher it.
    Staring, he inhaled. “With your hair loose, you reminded me
of the woman in that poem.”
    Her eyes widened. “Dead?”
    He chuckled without mirth. “No. Wild and windswept.”
    This time, Cathleen did begin to smooth her hair down.
    “No,” he said. “No. Don’t touch it. It’s perfect the way it
is.” He must have realized he’d said too much. “I mean, it’s only you and me.
There’s no need for pretense.”
    Cathleen nodded. Her gaze fell to the brown leather covered
book in his hand. “Do you believe such love exists?”
    He snorted and closed the book. “This was the fancy of a man
who imbibed too much and who thought too much. Love like that is for the young
and foolish—for people who haven’t experienced the things I have.”
    Cathleen gnawed her bottom lip. “Are you referring to your
time during the war?”
    He suddenly looked uncomfortable. His big and masculine
exterior seemed incongruous with his sudden unease. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I saw
and did things no living human being should ever have to see or do. Things
that’ll make you hate yourself.”
    Cathleen didn’t know how to respond. Newspapers told of the
hardships and combat. She’d seen soldiers boarding trains to join the fighting.
She’d watched neighbors don their widow’s weeds. She herself had received a
telegram informing her that her brother had been killed. But even when the war
had come into her very home, it had always seemed a distant thing. But these
Tennesseans had lived the war. This man had fought it. Federal troops
had occupied their home. While on the train, she’d overheard tales about
frightening guerilla raids from both sides, about men who didn’t live by any
code of decency, who took what they wanted and killed indiscriminately. These
families had lived day to day, wondering if their hard-earned food stores,
their homes or even their very lives would be taken from them.
    “No,” Ransom continued. “The war was anything but glory.”
    Still, Cathleen remained uncharacteristically silent. While
she pitied the plight of these people, in her eyes, the war had been a
necessary evil, a vehicle through which an entire race had broken the bonds of
slavery and declared themselves free. And yet, she didn’t feel free to admit
her thoughts on the matter to Ransom Byrne. Not tonight.
    “What about you, Cathleen ?” he asked, his gaze
finding and holding hers, daring her to correct him. “Do you believe in that
kind of love?” His tone was almost mocking.
    Realizing he’d shifted the conversation back to the poem,
she let out a laugh. “Of course not. In fact, I don’t agree with marriage at
all and I shall never marry.”
    “How did you come to this conclusion?”
    “Contrary to what you might think, I haven’t chosen a life
of spinsterhood because I am bookish and outspoken, not to mention plain.” She
straightened, confused at the way a belief she’d always maintained with pride,
now hurt. “No. I simply do not accept as true that a woman should have to marry
and live out her days in subjugation.”
    “Subjugation?” he asked and then laughed. “I’ve always
thought that