Showing posts with label The Claddagh Series. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Claddagh Series. Show all posts

Thursday, April 13, 2017

A New Claddagh Story!



Good morning, Miriam, and to all your readers! I’m pleased to be back at the Celtic Rose, and I’m thrilled to be talking about Wishes of the Heart, Book 7 of my Claddagh Series.

Wishes of the Heart is my Cinderella-with-an-Irish-twist story, and it’s filled with Irish mist and magic and superstitions. It’s set in Ballycashel, home of the O’Brien family, a wind-swept village on the Galway coast.

There’s a legend in the village of Ballycashel. The Big House is built upon the ruins of the castle of the ancient king, Sean Donnelly, and it’s said that his ghost appears on the estate to forewarn of danger or disaster or death.

Now I’ve never seen the ghost, but on a dark night, when the wind is sighing through the yew trees and the mist is blowing in off Ballycashel Bay…

A thick curtain of mist descended from nowhere, surrounding her, ensnaring her in cloying fingers. She blinked water from her streaming eyes and caught her breath in a strangled gasp, staring at the murky form standing before her.

‘Twas the spirit of Himself. Neave didn’t know how she knew, but know it she did. The spirit of the old Celtic chieftain, Sean Donnelly, had come to warn her. She knew that too.

She raised a trembling hand to bless herself. Her entire body shook with chills as the Heavens emptied their contents upon her and the wind gusted about her. She tried to speak, tried to swallow, but she was rooted to the spot. She couldn’t have run if the spirit had raised his mighty fist to strike off her head.

But he didn’t. He stood before her, his ankle-length linen shirt white against the black night. His red cloak fluttered around him, its brightly-colored embroidery and gold braiding shimmering like a halo and fastened by an elaborate silver brooch of Celtic knotwork and Connemara marble.

He looked as he must have looked as a young warrior, when he’d led the Donnellys to victory against the invading D’Arcy tribe.

His eyes glowed pale blue, and his face looked grim. But not menacing, as she’d have thought. Instead he looked sad. Neave’s heart lurched into her throat.

Something terrible was going to happen tonight.

“Oh, holy Mary, Mother of God. ‘Tis yourself.” Her voice refused to rise above a whisper, but somehow she knew he heard and understood her, despite the howling wind. “’Tis you, Sean Donnelly. You’ve come to warn the people of Ballycashel, haven’t you?”

Still the spirit didn’t speak. He raised his hands in a gesture that encompassed all of Ballycashel, then dropped them to his sides and shook his head. Was it death or destruction he’d come to predict? Whose death? Whose destruction?
But she knew she couldn’t ask. Neave felt no fear as the Donnelly stared at her with tormented eyes. She pitied him, condemned as he was to roam the earth. She raised her trembling hand and made a slow sign of the cross before him.

“You’ve done your job well, Sean Donnelly. You’ve given your warning. Now ‘tis time for us to listen.” The spirit began to waver before her. Slowly, she made another sign of the cross to him. “Wander no more, Donnelly. Go home now, in the name of God, and may His grace go with you.” She blessed herself once more, and the image vanished.

Neave’s legs shook so hard she almost collapsed on the sodden ground. She gasped for breath, shivering uncontrollably.

Had she really seen the spirit of Sean Donnelly?

Oh, sweet Saint Brigid, what did it mean? Who was in danger? Rory O’Brien? Thomas? And why had the spirit chosen to show himself to Neave? She wasn’t a member of the O’Brien family.

Should she go back to the Big House, warn them? But who would believe her? No one trusted the village witch. A clap of thunder rolled across the little clearing, and she raced down the boreen to the blessed sanctity of her cottage. Broken branches and bits of thatch from the roofs of nearby homes flew through the air as if on the wings of some satanic bird. Dead leaves swirled up and around her skirts.

Blessed Brigid protect me.

The cottage shone like a beacon in the howling night. She flung open the door. Smoke blew down the chimney, fogging the room and momentarily blinding her to the little lantern she’d left burning by the door. From somewhere high above, she heard Bron squawking and chittering.  She fought the wind until finally she pushed the door closed.

Then she threw herself in front of the smoldering fire and prayed.
About the Book:
He’ll never be the true heir…
Tom O’Brien is trapped in the distant shadow of his rebel brother. Heir apparent to Ballycashel, his hands are bound by the fetters of the past and his father’s reluctance to take the estate into the future it so desperately needs.
She lived under a cloud of suspicion…
A wise woman suspected of witchcraft, Neave Devereux spent most of her life scorned by the superstitious village folk. Alone in her tiny cottage, she yearns for acceptance, friendship…and love.
Can Tom and Neave unite to save their village from ruin? Or will superstition and old enemies destroy Ballycashel forever?

About Cynthia:

I believe I was destined to be interested in history. One of my distant ancestors, Thomas Aubert, reportedly sailed up the St. Lawrence River to discover Canada some 26 years before Jacques Cartier’s 1534 voyage. Another relative was a 17thCentury “King’s Girl,” one of a group of young unmarried girls sent to New France (now the province of  Quebec) as brides for the habitants (settlers) there.

My passion for reading made me long to write books like the ones I enjoyed, and I tried penning sequels to my favorite Nancy Drew mysteries. Later, fancying myself a female version of Andrew Lloyd Weber, I drafted a musical set in Paris during WWII.

A former journalist and lifelong Celtophile, I enjoyed a previous career as a reporter/editor for a small chain of community newspapers before returning to my first love, romantic fiction. My stories usually include an Irish setting, hero or heroine, and sometimes all three.

I’m the author of The Claddagh Series, historical romances set in Ireland and beyond, and The Wild Geese Series, in which five Irish heroes return from the American Civil War to find love and adventure.

I’m a member of the Romance Writers of America, Hearts Through History Romance Writers, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. A lifelong resident of Montreal, Canada, I still live there with my own Celtic hero and our two teenaged children.


Wednesday, July 1, 2015

A Sneak Peek at Reluctant Betrayer!











Hi Miriam and all Celtic Rose blog fans. I'm thrilled to report that Reluctant Betrayer, Book V of the Claddagh Series, is now available! I hope this story of love, betrayal and treachery will touch your heart and soothe your soul.

Blurb: 

Sweet deception and hidden passion…


Trasnavan…a west-of-Ireland village bursting with charm, intrigue and treachery.
Aidan Collins grew up in the shadow of his heroic older brother. The steady one, the responsible one, he burns with anger against the landlord and vows to change the desperate straits of the village folk.

Raised in a family of rebels, Maura Riordan is horrified when she learns the man she loves has committed the ultimate act of treason.

But Aidan has his own reasons for taking the position of landlord’s agent. Will those reasons destroy him? Will Maura’s deception tear them apart?

Can their love survive the lies they’ve both told?



Excerpt:

Pity stirred Maura’s heart. “She was my bosom friend, Neil, even before she was yer intended.” She touched a tentative finger to his iron-hard jaw. “I loved her too.”
“Then how can ye even think o’ a man like Aidan Collins? Sure, he’s serving the enemy!”
“Can f-feelings just w-wither and die because you w-will them?” Her voice rang with defiance.
He caught her wrists in his hands, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Ye’ll no’ see him again, Maura.”
“I love him, Neil. And—and I know he loves m-me.”
His eyes widened, his mouth became a snarl. “And how are ye knowing that?”
“Because we’ve an understanding between us!” The words burst from her, and she clapped her hands to her mouth. Oh, why had she told him now, like this?
“Without me knowin’ about it?”
“‘Twas nothing s-sordid, Neil.” She stared appealingly up at him, her heart shrinking in her chest as she saw his unyielding anger. “‘Twas a few walks in the woods when we were going the same way, a stroll by the strand...”
“Ye’ll no’ be seeing him again.” He caught her shoulders, shook her roughly. “He’s one o’ them now. And if he were to learn of...”
“Of what?” Caught by the sudden tension in her brother’s voice, Maura stared at him, horror chilling the blood in her veins. “Neil, wh-what are you k-keeping from me?”
“Nothing. Ne’er ye mind. Just remember, ye’re no’ to see Aidan Collins again.”
“No, ‘tis not nothing.” A terrible conviction swept over her, weakening her knees and scalding her throat. She knew. “Dear God, Neil, no! You’re not—oh, Mary Mother of God, tell me you’re not involved in—in—you’re not m-mixing with a secret s-society, are you?”
“Don’t ask me that, Maura, fer ye know I can’t be tellin’ ye. I’ll no’ be putting ye in danger, love.”
“Dear sweet God!”
He shook her again, until her rich auburn hair tumbled from its pins and bounced around her shoulders. “I’ll no’ be tellin’ ye again, Maura Brigid Eileen Riordan. Ye’re no’ to see Aidan Collins again. D’ye understand me now?”
“And if I d-disobey you?”
Neil stilled, his blue eyes, the exact same shade as her own, boring into her. Angry. Passionate.
Deadly.

“If you see him again, Maura, then I’ll have to kill him.”



Amazon         Barnes & Noble         Smashwords

I'm having a contest on my website! You can win an autographed print copy of In Sunshine or in Shadow, Book 1 of the Claddagh Series, or an autographed flat of the gorgeous cover Highland Press created for Reluctant Betrayer!

******************************************************************




I believe I was destined to be interested in history. One of my distant ancestors, Thomas Aubert, reportedly sailed up the St. Lawrence River to discover Canada some 26 years before Jacques Cartier’s 1534 voyage. Another relative was a 17thCentury “King’s Girl,” one of a group of young unmarried girls sent to New France (now the province of Quebec) as brides for the habitants (settlers) there.



My passion for reading made me long to write books like the ones I enjoyed, and I tried penning sequels to my favorite Nancy Drew mysteries. Later, fancying myself a female version of Andrew Lloyd Weber, I drafted a musical set in Paris during WWII.



A former journalist and lifelong Celtophile, I enjoyed a previous career as a reporter/editor for a small chain of community newspapers before returning to my first love, romantic fiction. My stories usually include an Irish setting, hero or heroine, and sometimes all three.



I’m the author of The Claddagh Series, historical romances set in Ireland and beyond, and The Wild Geese Series, in which five Irish heroes return from the American Civil War to find love and adventure.



I’m a member of the Romance Writers of America, Hearts Through History Romance Writers, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. A lifelong resident of Montreal, Canada, I still live there with my own Celtic hero and our two teenaged children.




Website     Facebook     Twitter    Google+     Amazon Author Page




Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Return To Ballycashel...

Hi Miriam, and a special greeting to all lovers of Celtic romance! It's so lovely to be back at the Celtic Rose. And I'm so thrilled to announce the publication of Everlasting, Book IV of the Claddagh Series!


Everlasting is Shannon Flynn's story, and it's set once again in that tiny, wind-swept west-of-Ireland village of Ballycashel that was the setting for the first two books of the Claddagh Series. Ballycashel, and all of its residents, are very dear to my heart, and when Shannon Flynn visited my dreams one night, whispering her story to me, I could hardly refuse to write it.

Everlasting is a story of revenge and redemption, of fathers and daughters and the love that draws them together...and tears them apart.

Blurb:

Where does justice end and retribution begin?
She was driven by anger
When her fiancĂ© died trying to feed his family, Shannon Flynn vowed to punish those responsible…even if it alienated her from her family, even if it put her—and them—in danger.

He returned to exact revenge
Eight years after he was forced to flee his beloved Ireland, Liam Collins returns to Ballycashel to find his family devastated and the person he holds responsible for his exile dead.

Can these two wounded spirits come together to battle a common enemy? Or will anger and pride destroy them both?

Excerpt:


Ballycashel, Ireland, Off Galway Bay
January, 1874

“I see them! Sweet Mary be praised, they’re safe!”
Shannon Flynn gripped her mother’s hand so tight she felt the bones crack. On Ma’s other side, her sister Peggy let out a harsh sob. Little Fiona stood a few feet away, white-faced, hands pressed to her mouth in silent horror.
Icy needles of rain slashed Shannon’s face, and though they stood well away from the waves, she could still feel the sting of the sea, taste its sharp, briny tang. She blinked hard against the cloying mist. Was that really the Noreen, Da’s currach? That tiny craft bobbing over those vicious waves, helpless as a cork?
She flinched as the little fishing boat disappeared from view.
“They’ll be fine.” Nora Flynn’s voice rang out, stern and bracing even as she kept her gaze riveted on the storm-tossed sea. “Sure, yer da knows these waters better than anyone. He’s been through many a storm worse than this. He’ll be fine.” Her voice teetered on the edge of despair as wind and rain scored them with merciless claws.
He’s never had Mike with him.
The boat reappeared, teetered at the crest of a towering wave and tumbled sideways. Nora cried out once, pressed her fist to her mouth. The anguished sound echoed in Shannon’s heart. Before she could react, Nora drew a deep breath and set her shoulders. “Come ye, now. They’ll be needin’ us.” She threw a sharp gaze to her two younger daughters. “Peg, look after Fiona. Shannon, come with me.”
Hand in hand, they raced into the sea.
Shannon’s breath gushed from her lungs in painful gasps as icy water clawed up her legs and tangled in her long skirts. Had the sea ever been so vicious and cold? The waves so high? Oh, where was Da? Was he safe?
Was Mike safe?
She clung to her mother’s firm, strong hand as she slipped and almost fell on the sea-drenched shingle and sand. Thick strands of seaweed twined about her legs. Ma pulled her to a stop, her hoarse cry snatched away by the shrieking wind. Could Da and Mike triumph over the furious sea?
Sweet Mary protect them. Keep them safe. Bring them home.
Two heads, one dark and the other fair, burst from the waves, went under, surfaced again. Oh, God, was it possible? Could they really be farther out? The sea clawed greedily at them, pulling them under, down and down. Away from her. The wind tore her hair from beneath her red headscarf, and she lost sight of them for a moment. She swiped the flying strands away, staring harder through a stinging mixture of rain and fog and tears.
Dear sweet Lord, where are they?
“I see them! There’s Da!” Fiona appeared beside them, fighting to stay on her feet as a wave broke over her shoulders. She pointed a trembling finger. “Look, there’s Da!”
“Fiona, get back!” Shannon fought to make herself heard over the crashing waves and the devil’s howl of the wind.
“But I see him, Shannon! I see Da!”
Mike can’t swim! Even as icy realization swept over her, Shannon knew her father would fight to the death to save him.
To the death
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears.
“They’ll be all right.” Peggy clasped her hand, swaying against the fierce current. “Please God, they’ll both be all right.”
Please God…
“Tom, look out!” Her mother’s scream reached above the greedy fingers of sea foam just as a mighty wave knocked Da under once again.
Please God… Please God…keep him safe. Keep them both safe.
Moments, hours, days later, Shannon stood frozen under the leaden skies. Da stumbled into the shallows and fell into Ma’s waiting arms.
Da stared into Ma’s eyes, touched her cheek. “Noreen. Ah, Noreen. The currach’s torn to pieces, so it is, but sure, we’re all right now.”
“Ye are, thank God.”
“Da?” Her own eyes wide and dry and burning with salt, Shannon searched her father’s beloved face, saw his anguish.
Fissures shot through her heart.
“Mike?” Shannon scanned the beach in desperation. The gray sea roared and frothed wildly. The broken currach lay on the strand like an exhausted shark. Rain and tears blurred her vision. “Da? Where is he? Where’s Mike?”
Her father’s dark eyes filled with sorrow. “He’s gone, love.” Tom Flynn blinked away tears. “The sea took him.”
“Gone? No!” Her heart ceased to beat. Something was strangling her. Ice held her feet frozen to the beach even as she swayed drunkenly.
“I’m sorry, a storĂ­n, so sorry, my dearest. I did everything I could.” Dimly, she saw her father release her mother, move toward her. “But I couldn’t save him for ye.”
He reached for her, his big hands open, his face etched with grief. She flung up her hands, shook her head. Denying. Denying. No. No!
Nonononono!
Then she spun away, ran from her father to mourn alone the loss of the man she loved more than life itself.


I hope everyone enjoys reading Everlasting as much as I enjoyed writing it!

You can buy Everlasting at Barnes & Noble