Guest post and giveaway: Historical Inspiration with Debra Glass
Today I am so happy to have Debra Glass here to talk about historical inspiration. Debra is a fellow Southern Sister of Steam (our book signing group) and member of the Southern Magic chapter of RWA. Please welcome Debra and make sure to comment for an awesome giveaway :)
Thanks so much for hosting me on your blog today, Kerry!
I’m celebrating the release of my new historical, Lover for Ransom, and giving away a free download to one lucky commenter.
When writing historicals, I’m often inspired by my favorite historical figures. And of course, every good romance has heroes and heroines who clash dramatically. My expertise lies in writing Civil War era stories and for Lover for Ransom, I drew on a historical figure I felt as if I’d known personally. Just a few miles from my home is the birthplace of Helen Keller where Boston native, Annie Sullivan, came South to Reconstruction Era Alabama to teach the handicapped child of former Confederate Cavalry officer, Captain Arthur Keller.
Although Miss Sullivan and Captain Keller’s story was not a romantic one (Keller was married to Kate Keller who was renowned for her beauty, pedigree, and was also several years Captain Keller’s junior), their clashes of will and mutual desire to help deaf, dumb, and blind Helen has inspired plays, movies, and provided encouragement to all who wish to overcome insurmountable odds.
Like Anne Sullivan, my heroine, Cathleen Ryan, is a Boston Yankee and fervent abolitionist, who comes to post-war Tennessee to educate, Jenny, a young girl who’s been rendered blind by an illness. Cathleen’s friends, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony have schooled her well in the feminist rhetoric of the day and Cathleen sees it as her mission to not only teach her young charge, but to educate these poor, oppressed Southern women about the right to vote.
No sooner does she set foot off the train than she meets her pupil’s brother, Ransom Byrne. In spite of his outward, cocky demeanor, Ransom carries devastating heartache and needs rescuing every bit as much as his younger sister. Although he immediately clashes with Cathleen, their encounters are laced with humor and passion, and are fueled by their shared desire to help young Jenny.
Cathleen Ryan is probably the strongest (the least the most hard-headed) heroine I’ve ever written. She’s stubborn and infuriating, but also insightful and extremely big-hearted. Being vulnerable terrifies her, but through his actions, Ransom proves he is someone with whom she can trust her body and her heart.
What qualities do you like to see in a strong heroine? Especially in historicals where it’s difficult for the author to paint a historically accurate yet strong female?
Ransom Byrne has been ravaged by guilt since an illness rendered his little sister blind. The former Confederate cavalry officer has resolved to make amends by hiring a Yankee tutor who’ll hopefully restore order to his sister’s life. Once accomplished, he’ll be free to leave Byrne’s End.
From the moment she steps off the train in Tennessee, Cathleen Ryan makes a startling first impression. With her feminist ideas, the irrepressible Bostonian quickly outrages everyone—especially Ransom. He deems the bespectacled teacher too uptight and prim for his tastes. Appearances, however, are deceiving. She tenders decadent proposals that shock and intrigue him, and sultry nights spent submitting to his every illicit request offer them both love and redemption.
But when her steadfast convictions attract the attention of dangerous men, Cathleen risks losing her chance of becoming more than just a lover for Ransom.
A Romantica® historical erotic romance from
Buy Ebook March 20
An Excerpt From: LOVER FOR RANSOM
Copyright © DEBRA GLASS, 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
“Don’t you ever read anything for pleasure?”
She toyed with the earpieces of her glasses, her mind fixed on the way his velvety drawl had played havoc with the word pleasure. She cleared her throat. “There are far too many important things to read to waste my poor eyesight on frivolities, Mr. Byrne.”
He closed her book, set it on the table and stood. Cathleen flinched as his leg brushed hers when he passed on his way to the bookcase. He opened it and pressed his fingertip to his lips in thought as he perused its contents.
Cathleen studied his casual stance. His weight shifted to one leg and his head cocked to the side. He looked back at her, stared so long it made her insides quiver and then turned back to the collection and removed a slender book from the shelf.
“I shall read to you then,” he said with a smile and he returned to his chair. “To protect your poor eyesight from…frivolities.”
Cathleen gulped as his long fingers opened the book and he thumbed through the pages. It looked like a child’s volume in his hands and she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d chosen.
“Ah, here,” he said, placing his elbow casually on the armrest of his chair to hold the book at a comfortable height. “It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden lived there that you may know by the name of Annabel Lee.”
Edgar Allan Poe. Of course she was familiar with the famed Baltimore author. But she’d read his works in braille, and certainly had never heard them read aloud by a man with such a hauntingly husky voice. This night—this moment, with the clock’s pendulum ticking off the seconds in time with the poem’s meter and the flickering glow of the lamp—seemed to be made for the dark, beautifully macabre poem about a woman who’d died before her time.
“For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee,” Ransom continued.
Cathleen closed her eyes, picturing a pair of young lovers walking hand in hand on a stormy beach. Ransom’s voice transported her and she felt the anguish of the 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 was the other way around. All the married men I know are pretty beholden to their wives.”
“That’s but a puerile joke. We all know that marriage gives husbands rights to a woman’s livelihood and even her body, if he so chooses to claim them. For a woman, marriage is nothing but legalized…rape.”
This time, both his eyebrows shot up. “That’s a mighty strong word.”
“A married man can demand his rights anytime he chooses. Therefore, if a woman is forced into coitus with him, it is legalized rape.” Cathleen lifted her chin, awaiting an argument. It was a strong word. But he needed to know how she felt about subjugation. She needed him to know it.
Instead, he surprised her. “Don’t you ever feel desire?”
Yes, I’m feeling it this very instant.
About Debra Glass
Growing up in the south where the air is thick with stories steeped in legend and truth, Debra came by her love of romance novels honestly. Well...sort of. At an early age, she pilfered from her grandmother's extensive library and has been a fan of the genre since.
A full time freelance writer, Debra especially enjoys combining history,
mystery and a touch of taboo to weave stories with unforgettable, haunted
She lives in Alabama with her sexy real life hero, a couple of smart-aleck ghosts and a diabolical black cat.
Win a copy!
It's easy: leave a comment (and your email address) on this post by 11:59:59pm on Sunday, March 24th, and Debra will pick one commenter at random to win a copy of her new book Lover for Ransom. Good luck!