Song From the Sea

Adam held her gaze for a long, silent moment suspended between them like a finely spun and equally fragile gossamer thread.

Callie knew that a very great deal hung on that thread, and that Adam could choose to break it at any time. In her deepest heart she knew that everything rested on his decision: He could choose the future and move on with his life, or he could choose the past and continue to live with pain and regret.

“Callie …” he said, his voice hoarse. “I think you had better find the strength for both of us and tell me to go before I do something unforgivable.”

“I don't want you to go,” she replied, her breath catching in her throat at the odd, almost desperate look in his eyes. Her heart started pounding again, but this time with a deep, unfamiliar physical excitement that left her trembling.

Adam groaned. “Callie, for God's sake, don't look at me like that or I won't answer for the consequences. I'm a man, not a saint.”

“You're as far from a saint as I can imagine,” she said, finally understanding that there was something more that she could give Adam. She could give him the strength of her body and the embrace of her love to help him remember how to live again. He had spent too long alone in the dark reaches of hell, and it was well past time for him to let the light back in. There was so much that she could give him, and she'd been utterly selfish to hold herself back just because he hadn't said the words she wanted to hear.

Callie didn't think any further. She acted instinctively and with a glad heart, shifting away from him as she pulled her nightdress over her head in one smooth gesture and dropped it on the floor.

He passed a hand over his face as if he couldn't believe his eyes and stared up at the canopy over the bed. “Callie,” he said, his voice cracking, “what do you think you're doing?”

“I'm offering myself to you,” she said.

Lavish praise for Katherine Kingsley's powerfully emotional novels:

Lilies on the Lake

“Warm [and] sensual.”

—
Booklist

“A well-written love story peopled with decent characters and a very tender and spiritually moving romance, capturing all the hallmarks of Ms. Kingsley's works.”

—
Romantic Times

“A well-written, emotional, character-driven novel that is both sensual and inspirational.”

—
Romance Reviews Today

“Fans of historical romances will enjoy Katherine Kingsley's second chance at love tale.”

—
The Midwest Book Review

“A tender tale of love and certainly entertaining.”

—
Reader to Reader Reviews

“A commanding read.”

—
Affaire de Coeur

In the Presence of Angels

“Touching and tender,
In the Presence of Angels
is filled with the strong spirituality that has become a hallmark of Ms. Kingsley's romances. The powerful love story … will certainly take you out of the ordinary.”

—
Romantic Times

“Katherine Kingsley gives Regency romance fans a wonderful character-driven novel that will bring the author much acclaim.
In the Presence of Angels
is a winning tale that will provide much pleasure to readers of historical romance especially those who enjoy the period following Waterloo.”

—
Affaire de Coeur

“An emotionally stirring Regency romance that reaches deep-down inside and touches the reader's soul. The way in which the story gets the title
In the Presence of Angels
had me so emotionally moved I felt my eyes watering and a tightening in my heart-something a mere book seldom does for me. Katherine Kingsley has done it again-this is a definite keeper.”

—
STARDUST “Sprinklings” of Romance

The Sound of Snow

The Sound of Snow
“The Sound of Snow is as lovely a story as its name. It is a timeless tale of the miracle of true love, which conquers all, heals all, and makes all new again. Add interesting characters, unexpected plot twists, and a touch of the supernatural, and the result is a memorable, feel-good read.”

—
All About Romance

“KATHERINE KINGSLEY HAS DONE IT AGAIN.
The Sound of Snow
is a true gem … a sheer delight. I treasured every word.”

—
The BookNook

Call Down the Moon

“Fascinating … an ‘A’ all the way!”

—
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

“Katherine Kingsley's magic touch once more provides an emotional story that combines enchantment and the wonder of love…. A beautiful and uplifting story-the kind that makes readers sigh with pleasure and smile through their tears. Tender, sweet, joyous, sensual and poignant, this novel is simply wonderful.”

—
Romantic Times

Books by Katherine Kingsley

In the Wake of the Wind

Once Upon a Dream

Call Down the Moon

The Sound of Snow

In the Presence of Angels

Lilies on the Lake

Song from the Sea

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to my dear friends Francie Stark and Jan Hiland for careful reading of the manuscript and for general encouragement, always much appreciated. Thanks also to Sierra Raven Wolf for keeping my body (and soul) together so that I could actually
write
the manuscript. Finally, my appreciation to author and lecturer Alan Cohen, from whom I first learned of the African tribal custom of the soul song.

To the readers: I hope you enjoy
Song from the Sea
, for I certainly enjoyed writing it. You can write to me at P.O. Box 37, Wolcott, Colorado 81655, e-mail me at
[email protected]
, or visit my web page at
http://ooourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/kkingsley

F
or winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

—
Atalanta in Calydon

Prologue

October 12, 1817
Villa Kaloroziko
Corfu, Greece

P
apa … Oh, Papa, please don't leave me,” Callie whispered as she watched her father weakening hourly. “I don't know what I'll do without you.” She laid her forehead on her father's chest, trying desperately not to cry. She couldn't believe that his time had come after such a long and valiant struggle, but the tumor in his brain had finally taken its toll and she knew there was nothing more she could do. No medicine in the world that she could concoct would bring him back to health.

Magnus Melbourne opened his eyes and his smile was as sweet as ever. “My little Callie,” he murmured, lifting his hand with an effort and softly smoothing it over her hair. “How I wish I could see you, my beloved daughter. Your mother and I named you aptly: Callista, ‘most beautiful one. ’ You are all of that, inside and out. You have made me so proud.”

Callie choked back a sob. “I am happy to know it, Papa. You have been nothing but the best of fathers. We have had adventures, haven't we?” she said, trying to inject a lighter note into her voice.

“Indeed.” He patted her shoulder. “I doubt there's another young lady on earth who is so thoroughly traveled. You must take what you have learned, my darling, and see that my book is properly finished. It's such a shame that I became ill when I did.” He released a soft sigh. “Never mind that now. I know I can trust my work to your capable hands. More important, I know I can trust you to Harold Carlyle, who will make you a fine husband and give you a good life in England.”

Callie abruptly sat up. Harold Carlyle was her least favorite subject and had been the cause of many sleepless nights. She knew the growing tumor had addled her dear father's thoughts, that he never would have made such a silly arrangement with his old friend Lord Geoffrey to marry their two only children to each other. Her father hadn't even seen Harold since he was a small child, so how could he possibly know what sort of man he'd become?

She and her father had had countless disagreements on the issue, but her father had refused to budge, convinced that his plan was the only way to ensure a safe future for her after he was gone. If she had to go to England at all, she'd far rather have gone to her distant relative, Lord Fellowes, but her father hadn't been in touch with that part of his family for years, so he had refused to consider the possibility. He'd decided that Harold Carlyle was the perfect solution, and that was that, no matter how loudly Callie protested.

But now the time for disagreements was over. She wanted her father to die in peace, and the least she could do was let him believe that she would do his bidding—and she would, insofar as she would journey to England and meet the Carlyles. She owed her father that much, but she simply couldn't go through with a marriage to a complete stranger.

She'd just have to explain exactly that to them. They couldn't force her to marry, after all, and it wasn't as if they needed the money she would bring as a dowry; her father had said the Carlyles were very plump in the pocket, so she didn't think they'd mind not having hers as well. Then, after conducting that piece of unpleasantness, she could return to Corfu and settle back down to life in the villa with Niko, Billiana, Panagiotis, and Sofiya to look after her as they always had.

Her inheritance would give her financial independence, so she needn't ever marry: She welcomed the idea of matrimony about as much as she would welcome a bout of dysentery. As long as she remained a single woman she could control her fortune and her future and that was all she wanted. The idea of some high-handed man ordering her around made her feel positively ill. The only drawback was that she wouldn't have children, for she liked children very much, but she supposed she could always indulge herself with other people's offspring.

“Callie? You didn't answer. I expect you to obey me in this,” her father said, looking agitated, and she could see that the little strength he had was fading.

“I know, Papa. I am sure you know best,” Callie said, trying to reassure him without lying outright.

“Indeed I do, and I am pleased that you have come to understand that. Lord Geoffrey writes glowingly of Harold and is as delighted as I am at the thought of your marriage. This is what your mother would have wanted for you, just as I do.”

Callie brought the back of her father's limp hand to her lips, kissing it and curling her fingers into his. “I know you only want my happiness, Papa.”

“I do. I could wish no greater gift for you than the kind of loving marriage your mother and I had. Harold comes from a fine family, even finer than our own. My father was only the younger son of a baron, but Lord Geoffrey is the younger son of a marquess, you know, and uncle to the current marquess.”

Callie knew only too well. Her father's mind must be drifting again, for he had produced this piece of information more times than she could count, as if it would somehow impress her into wanting to marry Harold. She was neither impressed nor even interested in his bloodlines, since she had no use for the English aristocracy or their silly customs, customs which her father had tried to drum into her head during the last few months with little success.

“I still have to wonder why Harold Carlyle would want to take on a woman who is not only ancient at twenty-five, but who also has so few social graces, no matter how hard you've tried to instill them in me,” she said lightly. “I can easily converse in a variety of languages on the subjects of plants and tribal customs and cures, but when it comes to things that proper young English ladies are
supposed
to speak of, I can't seem to think. I know I horrified poor Miss Margaret Evans when she came to call last Christmas. She couldn't believe that I didn't know the first thing about the latest London fashions, or care.”

His brow furrowed. “I have often thought how selfish I've been, keeping you to myself instead of sending you to a proper school, teaching you subjects such as Greek and Latin and botany when I should have had you instructed in the gentler arts that a young lady needs to know.”

“Oh no, Papa, please—you mustn't think that at all,” Callie said, not able to bear hearing her beloved father berate himself over her unorthodox education, of all things. She gently smoothed his forehead. “I have loved our life together, the way you took me everywhere and never held me back from learning the things I wanted, even if they weren't things that girls were supposed to be interested in. Never for a moment did I ever wish anything to be different.…” She paused, not wanting to lie to him. “Well, I did often wish that Mama hadn't died when I was only eight, but that couldn't be helped.”

“Your dear mother,” he murmured. “Her lungs were always weak. Even though we left England for a warmer climate, in the end nothing could help her. God willing, I shall soon be with her again, for I have missed her every day since she went.”

“I wish you wouldn't go,” she whispered, leaning down and kissing his cheek, dry as parchment. “I shall miss you most dreadfully, every bit as much as you have missed Mama.”

His mouth curved up at the corners. “You mustn't be afraid of death, my little Callie. It is all a part of living and, in the end, just another beginning and a glorious one. Promise me you will remember this when I have gone.”

“I promise,” Callie solemnly swore, although her heart was breaking. Hot tears stung at her eyes and trickled down her cheeks, and she hastened to wipe them away with the side of her hand before her father knew she was crying. She rubbed her wet nose for good measure and stared hard at the dappled sunlight that fell through the half-closed shutters, trying to compose herself.

“And I promise that I will watch over you,” he vowed just as solemnly, but his words faltered and he had to pause. “If you should feel a breeze on your cheek on a still day or hear a lark singing in the night, you will know I am with you,” he finished.

Callie hadn't thought of this. She fervently hoped he wouldn't watch over her
too
carefully or he'd know that she'd failed to honor his last wish, but in all conscience she really couldn't go through with such an absurd plan, even if he did think it was for her own good. “You will always be in my thoughts, Papa. Always and forever until we meet again.”

He squeezed her hand, no more than the lightest of pressure. “I must sleep now, darling girl,” he said, his voice now barely audible. “Sit here with me. I haven't much longer.” He turned his head on the pillow and fell silent.

Two hours later, as dusk fell and the shadows drew deep into the room, her father opened his eyes again. He clasped the hand that still lay in his, his grip suddenly surprisingly strong. “It's time,” he said, his blind eyes filling with a joy she didn't understand. “Sing to me now, Callie. Sing my soul song as I taught you. Sing me into the next life and as you sing, know I love you with all my heart.”

“As I love you, Papa,” Callie said, thinking she couldn't bear the pain that tore at her heart. “Be free. Go into God's arms with a glad heart.” She took a deep breath, said a prayer for his eternal soul, and then began to sing his song in a high clear voice, exactly as he'd taught her, fulfilling the covenant she'd made to him years before.

He died with a smile on his lips.