Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts

Monday, February 8, 2016

Unholy Crossing by Pat McDermott

Who doesn’t love a good ghost story, especially one set in Ireland? A visit to Tubbercurry in County Sligo last summer inspired this one. It all began when my aunt learned I planned to call on my cousin Michael, whom I hadn’t seen for years.
 
“Tell him I want that picture of my grandmother!” she said. “It’s in Grannie’s old trunk! Bridgie told me she put it there.” (Grannie was Michael’s grandmother, my grandmother’s sister.)
 
Years ago, my aunt lent a photo of her grandmother, my great-grandmother, to Michael’s mother Bridgie for inclusion in a historical publication. My great-grandmother was a schoolteacher, and the publishers wanted to feature her in a Who’s Who type section. Sadly, by the time I went over, Bridgie had passed away.
 
Undaunted by family intrigue, Michael gave me a grand tour. We saw the remains of the house where our grandmothers grew up, the ruins of the schoolhouse where our great-grandmother taught, and the cemetery where many family members rest. He knew nothing about the photo, though he knew about the trunk, stored in the ruins of a cottage near his childhood home.
 
“Look all you like,” he said. “But I’m telling you, my father wouldn’t touch that trunk, and neither will I.”
 
Michael has a touch of the Blarney about him, yet he seemed quite serious when we reached the cottage. I'd no sooner opened the trunk when a shrieking flock of crows flew above us. The wind rose and tore off a piece of the old door. I thought it was great fun, but Michael quickly left the place and said he’d wait outside.
 
I never found the photo, and I didn't care. The trunk had captured me. I closed it up and wondered where it came from, how it got there, and what it had seen and heard. And let’s not forget the sound effects. Whether the crows and the wind were a coincidence, or whether Ireland had cast another of its spells, I had a story—if Grannie would let me use her trunk.
 
Apparently, she didn’t mind. Here’s the Blurb and an Excerpt from Unholy Crossing.
 
Blurb
A Spectral Stowaway Opens the Door to Ireland's Pagan Past...
It’s 1912, and America has lost its charm for Noreen Carbury, an educated young lady from Ireland. For five long years, Noreen has looked after the children of Boston’s well-to-do. Homesick and vexed by the gentry’s demeaning views toward immigrants, she schedules a voyage to visit her family in County Sligo.
 
Beneath the clothing and gifts she packs in her steamer trunk, Noreen conceals a wooden box whose grisly contents she’s promised to transport to Ireland. She boards a splendid new steamship expecting a crossing fit for a queen, yet her trunk has somehow harbored a spirit who plagues her during the week-long trip. She believes that once she delivers the box, the phantom will leave her alone. Although she keeps her promise, the visitations grow more sinister, pitting her strict Catholic upbringing against Ireland’s pagan past.
 
To protect the reputation of the man she loves, Noreen says nothing of the mysterious incidents. For decades, she bears the burden alone, until the elderly woman she becomes confesses the spine-chilling tale of the Unholy Crossing.
 
Excerpt
The Laconia sailed east, past the islands in Boston Harbor. Soon she would turn northeast. Toward Ireland.
 
Toward home.
 
I unlocked my cabin door and gasped at the room’s icy temperature. Annoyed that the heater had failed to perform, I eyed the button that summoned the steward. As I crossed the room to push it, I glanced at the photos on the desk and froze.
 
What I’m telling you now is the truth, I swear. As I gazed at the portrait of Ned and me, a golden glow rose from the top of the silver frame. A dark-haired image appeared between us.
 
Had I drunk more wine than I should, you ask? On my word, I did not. The woman was there, in the portrait, staring. Staring at me. Smiling.
* * * * *
Unholy Crossing - A Novella/Novelette Available in Print and eBook from

Thursday, November 20, 2014

New Release: Just in Time for a Highland Christmas -- Read Prologue

I'm very excited to announce the release of my new holiday novella from the Highland Gardens series, Just in Time for a Highland Christmas...

Just in Time for a Highland Christmas
A Highland Gardens Novella
Book #2.5


e-Book available from Amazon
for an introductory 99 pennies
until December 1st.

Can a determined brownie craft a perfect match in time for Christmas?

When the Chief of Clan MacLachlan travels to the stronghold of his feuding neighbors to fetch his betrothed, she is gone. A year later, she is still missing. Making life more vexing, a band of reivers are stealing clan cattle, leaving behind destruction. Archibald MacLachlan determines to capture them and administer harsh punishment.

Though once in love with the man, Isobell Lamont refuses to wed her clan's enemy. After running away, she joins the band of reivers set on revenge.

Can Archibald forgive the raven-haired beauty? Will a journey through time bring them together for a Highland Christmas?

Just in Time for a Highland Christmas, a Scottish historical time travel romance, is 101 pages of Highlanders, scheming faeries, a mischievous brownie, magic, adventure, and romance set in 16th century Scotland and the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.

Read the prologue... 


Fir-wood, Strathlachlan, Scotland, 1511

They weren’t alone on the land. Branches rustled and cracked, the sound amplified by moist Highland air. Archibald signaled the men to silence.

A lone rider broke from an adjacent clump of trees, glanced around, then galloped through the amber grass, leaning low against the stallion's black neck. The slight figure looked over a shoulder once before darting into the wood at the far edge of the meadow and disappearing through autumnal foliage.

Archibald released a loud hiss. The path the fool had taken at risk to both horse and rider was nothing more than a narrow game trail, a dangerous track to approach at such speed.

“Ach, that ragged lad rides well,” the redheaded Duncan exclaimed.

Archibald eased back in the saddle and threw his cousin a sideways glance. "He rides a fine piece of horseflesh, I grant you that. He is likely one of the Campbell's rash, young grandsons."

“Without guards, and on MacLachlan land? Nae Campbell would dress in such tatters.”

Duncan's aghast expression brought a smile along with a forgotten memory to Archibald. As green lads, he and his twin brother Patrick had dressed in servants’ castoff garments and snuck away from Castle Lachlan for a jaunt in the Fir-wood. They later received a memorable scalping when Da caught them roaming about without escort.

“Must be a Campbell lad unaware of the border to our land. I am sure he will feel his father's disfavor across his backside before this day is through. That is, if he avoids breaking his neck first.”

“Aye. For a fact, Chief.” Duncan laughed. A hearty sound that never failed to cheer Archibald.

Poor lad. Duncan braved his temper on this frustrating journey. He'd owe the man a boon upon their return to Castle Lachlan after they fetched Archibald’s bride.

“Let us be on our way, I want my lady ensconced within our keep before winter sets in.”

He reined his horse to the left toward the more traveled trail through the Fir-wood, eager to reach Toward Keep, the stronghold of the Lamonts. Duncan rode at his side as captain while the rest of the Lèine-chneas, his hand chosen guard, followed a short distance behind.

The image of laughing violet eyes urged Archibald to a faster pace. He couldn't wait to hold the raven-haired Isobell in his arms again, inhale her intoxicating scent, caress her ivory skin, and kiss her pouty lips.

* * *

The sun set on the horizon. Crimson colors faded to mauve, a beautiful end to the day after its wet and trying start. Isobell Lamont spurred her horse to greater speed. She would escape the dictates of her overbearing father, even if she might die in so doing.

Her aunt in Glasgow would surely hide her, if Isobell avoided capture. Before she reached the burgh, however, she must cross the land of her unwanted MacLachlan betrothed, the hated Campbells, and other clans she didn't ken. She reveled in the knowledge her journey might be fraught with peril.

She'd always dreamt of doing something truly adventurous.

The doing is never as grand as the dream. With a shake of the head, she ignored the nagging voice admonishing her and rode into the wind, the scent of fir in the air and an invigorating chill on her cheeks.

After risking discovery by crossing yet another open meadow, she eased the reins and sought the wood. Thank the good Lord the weather had cleared. She coaxed Dealanach Dubh into the shelter of a thick cluster of firs and slid from the stallion's massive back.

“Good lad,” she crooned as she patted his sweaty flank, a horsy odor prickling her nose.

Isobell's stomach rumbled. Should have raided the larder before running off in a rage. Dealanach Dubh could graze on the sparse grasses, but what could she eat? Would she never learn to think before reacting to Da in anger?

She'd needed to escape, though, before Archibald MacLachlan arrived to fetch her. She wouldn't marry her clan’s enemy even if she once thought herself in love with the man. It didn’t matter that his once-beloved silver eyes, cleft chin, and chestnut hair still haunted her dreams, or that the thought of his warrior’s body made her feel achy. She squeezed her eyes tight, refusing to shed a tear over a man who wasn’t what she once believed him to be. Grrrr. And Da intended to force her hand. He’d signed the betrothal agreement with the blessing of the king, giving her no choice but to run away. What had changed Da’s mind?

She jerked her eyes open and stared off into the wood. For the past year, he’d raged about the evils perpetrated by Archibald and his clan. She couldn’t wed such a despicable man even if Da changed his mind and thought the match a good one. The men's plans would come to naught. She leaned against a large tree and smiled. Soon she would be in Glasgow, away from their schemes.

Wrapped within the false security of the dense trees, men's voices startled her. Everything within stilled. What have I stumbled upon?

After tying Dealanach Dubh to a branch, she crept closer to the voices, taking care to stay well hidden in the trees. In a wee clearing, a group of ratty men sat around a fire deep in discussion. She worried her bottom lip. Had she inadvertently stumbled into grave danger?

A sudden change in wind direction blew acrid wood smoke into her face. She sniffled, wrinkled her nose, and when she suppressed a sneeze, sagged against a tree in relief.

Gloaming was upon them, and Isobell strained to better see the men. Reprobates all. She started to scoot away— Wait. She recognized a few of them. Lamont warriors who’d left the clan in disgrace and, if rumors were true, taken up with Da’s banished henchman Malcolm Maclay. The warriors must have joined this band of ruffians after Maclay died during a fight with one of Archibald’s men.

She leaned forward to better hear the conversation. Perhaps glean something of import.

Most of their words were spoken in muttered whispers. With a frown, she edged closer, but then had second thoughts. Now would be a good time to leave before they learned of her presence. Too late. One man rose and paced toward her hiding place. Isobell fingered the dirk in her belt, ready to flee, but when he strode back to his cohorts, she held position.

“If we raid the MacLachlan encampment on the northeast border, we can make an escape across the disputed land with at least five head,” the man spoke in a deep voice.

Humph. They were planning—

A large hand gripped her shoulder from behind and yanked her around. She froze, breath stuck in her throat, too shocked by the familiar face to pull free her blade.

"What have we here?"


Just in Time for a Highland Christmas available HERE.


~Dawn Marie

Friday, March 14, 2014

New Release! The Highlander's Reluctant Bride by Cathy MacRae

Hello! It's great to be at the Celtic Rose blog today! I'd like to introduce you to my newest novel. For those who read The Highlander's Accidental Bride,

 The Highlander's Reluctant Bride is Ranald's story.
Available through Amazon from Soul Mate Publishing
March 17, 2014



“Determined to keep the Macrory clan’s holdings out of the clutches of the Lord of the Isles and marauding pirates, King Robert II sends his man, Lord Ranald Scott, to hold Scaurness Castle. There, Laird Macrory lays dying, awaiting word from his son who is missing on the battlefields of France. If the son is not found before the old laird dies, Ranald will take over as laird—and marry Laird Macrory’s headstrong daughter.
Lady Caitriona sees no reason she cannot rule the clan in her brother’s stead, and is bitterly disappointed with the king’s decision to send a man to oversee the castle and people. Not only is Ranald Scott only distantly related to the Macrory clan, but he was her childhood nemesis. She has little trust or like for him.
Her disappointment turns to panic when the king’s plan is completely revealed and she realizes she must wed Ranald. Pirates, treachery, and a 4-year-old girl stand between her and Ranald’s chance at happiness. What will it take for them to learn to trust each other and find the love they both deserve?”

Excerpt:
“So, the king forced Eaden to wed,” she murmured. Her gaze caught Ranald’s. “What will he do to me?”
Ranald noted Riona’s sudden pallor, her gray eyes widening until they were naught but huge silver orbs glowing against her skin. Now was as good a time as any to tell her what King Robert intended for her, but he could not force the words.
“Ye are a laird’s daughter,” he reminded her. “And an heiress. Yer mother’s dower lands north of here are of great value to the king.”
“And I am of little worth, aye?” Riona flared.
“Nae. Ye are of great worth.”
“But a pawn to the king.”
Ranald sighed. This was not going as he planned. “We are all pawns in one way or another, Ree. The king willnae let ye stay on yer own. Ye are a ward of the crown, now.”
“So, he’ll marry me off to some rebellious laird he wants to drag over to his side, using me and my lands to hold him?”
“Nae. No’ so bad as all that.”
“Mayhap to a wealthy laird who’s all but doddering in his cups, hoping I’ll no’ breed an heir before he dies, giving title of the land to the king and my next husband?”
Ranald lifted an eyebrow. The lass was getting worked up over nothing. “Marriage, yes. Doddering auld man, no.”
Riona snapped her head to one side, a glower on her face. “Then, who?”
Ranald swallowed and offered a crooked smile.
“Me.”


Author Bio:
Cathy wrote her first historical manuscript based on a love of all things Scottish. Weaving tales of romance in the Highland mists, her books feature strong heroes and feisty heroines pursuing their happily-ever-afters in medieval Scotland.
                                     
When not writing, Cathy can be found curled in a chair with a book, outside gardening or playing with her Welsh Corgis (who are quite possibly the reason for the need to repair the garden), or any of a number of outside hobbies at the foot of the Arbuckle Mountains.

Cathy is a member of Romance Writers of America and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. She is currently working on another Highland romance novel and planning her next trip to Scotland.
 Visit her on Facebook at Cathy MacRae Author: facebook 
Twitter: @CMacRaeAuthor 


 


Sunday, February 16, 2014

The Band of Roses Trilogy - Adventure and Romance in Ireland

April 23, 2014 marks the 1000-year anniversary of Ireland's bloody Battle of Clontarf. On Good Friday in 1014 A.D., the armies of High King Brian Boru challenged a host of Vikings and their allies on the plains of Clontarf, north of Dublin. Though Brian’s troops were victorious, he was murdered by fleeing Vikings as he prayed in his tent.

Many historians have speculated that Ireland would be a different place today if King Brian had survived the Battle of Clontarf. The Band of Roses Trilogy, a romantic action/adventure series set in modern Ireland, supposes he did survive and established a royal dynasty that still rules the Emerald Isle. The current King Brian upholds ancient traditions, as does his daughter, Crown Princess Talty, though Talty has a knack for landing in trouble. She wishes she were anyone but the heir to her father's throne—and she learns to be careful what she wishes for.

In Book One, A Band of Roses, Talty must hide her identity to outwit assassins, but she can't hide her ingrained training as a warrior sworn to protect her homeland. From Japan to California to an eleventh century Ireland, she finds romance and adventure, yet all she wants is to return to her family and Neil Boru, the adoptive cousin she secretly loves and cannot have—or so she thinks.

In the second book, Fiery Roses, the discovery of offshore gas ensnares the Boru clan in a web of blackmail and murder. When the residents of rural County Mayo object to pipelines on their land, an arsonist tries to change their minds. One of his fires sends newlyweds Talty and Neil to an ancient world at the mercy of a waking volcano, where they must fight not only to survive, but to save their fledgling marriage.

Book Three, Salty Roses, finds the dynamic princess believing her days of adventure are over. Her royal duties seem endless, and a day off with Neil is looking good. The royal couple accepts an invitation for a jaunt aboard a luxury submarine. As they view an eerie shipwreck, an unknown enemy lures them to an ancient tomb and sends them to a world infested with treacherous pirates. Talty takes charge of a pirate ship and its mangy crew, while Neil matches wits with a temptress who
jeopardizes his wedding vows.

In this Excerpt from A Band of Roses, a military assignment teams Talty with her 'Veddy' English commanding officer, Richard Gale, who knows her as Major Christy McKenna. In an experiment gone wrong, they arrive in our world in 1014 A.D., just before the Battle of Clontarf. They've met a lady named Leesha, whose handsome son Gayth has his eye on Talty. In this scene, Gayth is leading his Dalcassian clan to aid King Brian in his fight against the Vikings—but Gayth has more than warfare on his mind.
* * * * *
For three rainy days, the Dalcassians rode two hundred strong. On the third day, Gayth called a stop to rest. Talty and Richard tethered their horses and made their separate camp. While Richard prepared a fire pit, Talty rummaged beneath the shrubbery to find dry wood.

“Can’t we cheat and use matches, Richard? I’m tired of being cold and wet.”

“So am I.” Richard poked through his toolkit until he found the waterproof matchbox. When the fire was burning well, they finished the last of their oatcakes and ale.

“So here I am, the protector of a holy woman. Who knew?”

Talty winced. She regretted agreeing to the deception. Gayth had told the men her presence would protect them. “I wish Leesha hadn’t started this. I’m not some saint who can heal battle wounds with a touch.”

“They don’t know that, darling. We have an edge as long as they think you’re no ordinary woman. Why did she say that, anyway?”

“She was afraid I’d spirit Gayth away to fairyland. She needn’t have worried, though. He seems able to resist me just fine.”

“Perhaps you married too young to learn how devious men can be. Our friend Gayth isn’t finished with you, holy woman.”

Gayth stepped from the darkness. “My kinsmen are grateful for your fire. The furze is too wet to burn. They invite you to join them in a game of spear fishing, Richard. There’s salmon nearby, and we need the food as well as the sport.”

“I’m reluctant to leave Christy alone.”

Talty bristled at Richard’s protectiveness. “You should get to know the men. I’ll be safe enough at my prayers.”

Gayth’s chocolate eyes sparkled in the firelight. “I will stay and protect you while you pray.”

Still smiling, Richard found a spear and went off to fish. Though Talty had encouraged him to go, his abandonment annoyed her. “I’m going to pray beside the pond. It could be a watering hole for game.”

“You hunt game, holy woman?”

“Even holy women must eat.” She left him by the fire and was soon scanning the ground at the edge of the pond. The twilight’s glow revealed animal tracks in the rain-damp soil. She walked toward a dense stand of trees, not quite sorry that Gayth and his sparkling eyes had caught up.

“Did you see any tracks?” he asked.

“Yes. Deer, I think. Smaller game as well, and I’m sure I heard waterfowl a while ago.”

“I like roast goose. Can you pray for some?”

Silently groaning, she studied the sky. “Do we have time to roast meat?”

“The men must eat. Once we’ve rested and refilled our food sacks, we’ll ride again. We should reach Dublin in three, maybe four days’ time.”

“What day is this?”

“Monday of Holy Week. What holy woman wouldn’t know that?”

Barely aware of his teasing tone, she supposed they could reach Dublin by Good Friday, though that would be cutting it close. Yet in this world, the Battle of Clontarf might not take place on Good Friday. Perhaps no battle would occur at all. Perplexed, she stole into the trees.

Gayth followed her.

“This will make a fine blind.” She spoke more to herself than to Gayth.

“You intend to wait here for deer? Praying?”

Ignoring him, she returned to the fire to bank the embers and fetch the Viking bow.

Gayth was right beside her.

She slung the quiver and arrows over her shoulder. Her hooded cloak went on next to protect both her and the bow from the weather.

Her preparations seemed to mystify Gayth. “Why don’t you simply rush the herd and cast a spear when they bolt?”

“This way I’ll get the deer I want, not one who falls behind because it’s old or sick.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I need silence.”

“Yes, I know. To pray. I promise to be quiet.”

They stood in the natural blind together and watched the water’s edge. She didn’t resist when he pulled her against him.

“Lean on me, lady,” he whispered. “Rest a little.”

He wrapped his cloak around her. She leaned against him, breathing in smoke and sweat, banishing all thought until a small herd of deer appeared to investigate the clearing. Though tempted to forget them, she broke away from Gayth and uncovered her bow. Silence was critical now.

He caught her face in his hands and kissed her well. After the briefest pause, she kissed him back, grateful for the fading light that hid her burning cheeks. Then she nudged him away. The deer wouldn’t tarry long.

Kiyoshi’s words flowed back to her: See the target as a reflection of your mind, as a mirror. Your mind will find the target.

Gayth stepped back. Talty fixed on the biggest doe in the herd. She drew without breathing, released, and held her position until the arrow pierced the doe’s side.

Shot clean through, the doe hovered over the ground for the briefest moment before collapsing in a motion so natural, the other deer failed to notice. The arrow’s strange whoosh had alarmed them, however. They scattered into the forest.

Pleased with her success, Talty lowered her bow. The kiss that lingered on her lips unexpectedly angered her. “Why are you here, Gayth? You ran from me before.”

“I ran from a holy woman. Your warrior skills bestir most unholy thoughts in me.”
* * * * *
Thank you for reading!
Pat McDermott
Pat’s Website

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Available Now: Harry McGilloway I Will Sing My Songs For You

I WILL SING MY SONGS FOR YOU
Harry McGilloway
Amazon US, Kindle UK, Smashwords

Visit Harry on the Heart of Fiction blog today for your chance to win a copy of this book!

Young musician, Simon, is the songwriter and front man of the very successful group, Simon and the Heartbeats. He is surrounded by all the trappings of a rock-star life style.

On a song-writing break to rural Inishowen in County Donegal, that borders the troubled province of Northern Ireland, Simon meets and becomes enchanted with the very beautiful Marie-Clare. As their lives being to entwine, can their relationship survive the tragedies and misunderstanding that will invade it? As Simon's fame and fortune climbs to a higher plane, Marie-Clare has her own demons to conquer.

Throughout the intriguing twists and turns, we encounter breaking points and endurance, tenderness and vulnerability, deep sorrow and intense love.

This is an in-depth look at the workings of the music industry machine and portrays the reality behind the popular misconceptions.
• • •
 The evening sun sank slowly on the horizon like a big orange button slipping gently between the seams of where the sky meets the sea. From the harbor, Simon watched until it was gone.

His gaze remained fixed for a few moments longer and then he turned away. Reaching down he picked-up his notepad and pen, a Walkman and some cassette tapes that lay scattered by his feet, and then packed everything into an old leather briefcase he had tucked behind the wall he was sitting on.
He lit another cigarette and gazed some more.

Simon--christened Steven Kelly all but twenty-four years ago by a woman who had neither husband nor a wanting for a child--was a young musician. A controversial poet who sang his expressions for a generation that raged against the system. Tall and handsome with long, wavy black hair, his slim build and swarthy skin gave him that Mediterranean look that was so easy on the eye. Music is his life, his friend and indeed his salvation. If he where not playing music, he would listen to it, sometimes maybe debate on it, but more often than not thinking about it. Tonight was one of those nights he is thinking about it.

Simon had taken time away from his very popular pop/rock band, Simon and the Heartbeats. Feeling the need to explore something different musically, he believed if given enough space he might just come up with something truly amazing.

He took the last drag from his cigarette.The roar of the sea and the chill from the night air made him shudder. Turning his jacket collar up and then reaching for the old leather brief case, he hurried back to his car.

His intention was to get here much earlier in the day, but a misunderstanding at a British army checkpoint, one of the many that guard the disputed border that divides the North from the South of Ireland, had waylaid him. The squadron on duty had become very suspicious of his Dublin registered sports car and they where not at all convinced by his explanation for the visit. The IRA mortar attack on the Derry checkpoint the night before had the squadies still jumpy and they were not taking any chances.

Moving their suspect to an enclosed compound for interrogation, Simon sat alone in a small gray room with only a table and some empty chairs for company. Time passed so slowly. While waiting, the anxiousness of his over-active mind struggled to interpret the raised shouting of angry voices that seeped all the way through the separating walls from the adjoining space.

In there another interrogation took place. Unlike recording studios, these rooms where not built to be sound proof. At some point, the din from the other space suddenly stopped with the sound of a slamming door. The impact from this had heightened Simons awareness to his vulnerability. He cringed at the thought of what was yet to come. Moments of silence then passed as he sat there alone and waited, and just when he least expected it, the door to his space opened in a hurry. Two plain-cloths from Special Branch escorted by two in uniform from the military marched in. The trepidation and terror of their training followed with them as they entered the room.

He had noticed that the two in suits showed signs of sweating when they took to their places across the table from him; the two military took up position at either side of the doorway, securing any escape from this room. As the suits continued with their accusing and hostile questioning, Simon repeated that he was only passing through on a holiday break.

One of the suits from Special Branch, the tall slim one with the mustache, remarked how strange it seemed at this point in these troubled times that a stranger who has neither family or friends living in the province would want to come and visit.

“What really is your business here, me lad,” he whispered up close into Simons face. The warmth from his stale breath was as rank as the cheap suit he wore.

The implication from the Special Branch worried Simon. “I know no one here. I’m a musician on holiday,” he answered awkwardly. Seeing his weakness, they went to great lengths to install fear in Simon and show their authority.

“Music is it. Our agents say that weapons are being smuggled across the border in show-band vans.”

Their intimidating behavior became yet even more argumentative when they showed Simon photographs of known militants who where on the run. It was like good-cop bad-cop. One would ask the questions and show the surveillance pictures while the other studied their preys’ reaction. The smaller more powerfully built one of the suits banged heavy on the table with his fists, and then pointing to the photographs of the wanted, he roared out each of their names in anger, as if it would prompt Simon into remembering one of them. The taller one with the mustache concentrated on Simon’s expression.

“Maybe just a flicker of the eyelids or a nervous twitch from the cheek, just show me the slightest sign of your guilt you Bastard and I will have you,” the suit with the mustache seemed to be thinking. But there was none. Simon knew nothing.

• • •
What the reviewers are saying --

This story will come at you from many angles and test the bounds of vulnerability, endurance, and love. It's always been said to write what you know, and Harry gives us the inner workings of a rockstar lifestyle and the music industry as a whole, no doubt from his experiences in the business and witnessing these things going on around him. These experiences has made for a gripping backstory . . . Up front, we have a man who dreams of doing something big with his music. It was the time when dozens of singers and bands were coming out of Ireland and making it big in front of a worldwide audience. Simon wants a piece of that! And he gets pulled into the seedier side of the business. The reader can't help but be pulled in with Simon. We stand beside him through it all, and feel for the life he wants with Marie-Clair . . . Harry's unique voice in telling this story means the reader shouldn't try rushing through the book. While you may finish the story in a night, not wanting to put it down, the words should be read methodically to capture the unique inflection of an accent from such a beautiful part of Ireland. It does seep through! And it will enrich the story tenfold. ~ Heart of Fiction blog

• • •

On the 18th of March 1954, Harry Mc Gilloway was born into a city steeped in culture. Growing up in Derry City, Northern Ireland—it is also known as the City of Song—was a great education for a youngster like Harry. It is a wonderful city where it seems like everyone either sings, dances, plays instruments, or tells stories.

If Ireland is the land of saints and scholars, then Derry City is the place of imagination and dreams. Though history claims a religiously divided community in this city, this is only partly true. When it comes to performing, arts, music, poetry, song, and dance are the common grounds that bind all of the tribes together.

'Its the music that is there in the Derry air,' a comment that was once spoken by another great son of Derry, the famous composer, Phil Coulter.

In the early years, Harry's first paid work came as a drummer in small pick-up bands and in time this developed into touring as a professional musician. Over the years, his profession took many turns.

Booking agent, events promoter, tour manager, bar owner—to name just a few of Harry’s occupations. He now resides in Moville, Co. Donegal along with his son—the youngest of his four children—who is also a musician; performer and composer with the band Follow My Lead. His son’s style of music is different to that of his fathers, as was Harry’s was different to those who went before.

What’s really important is that the music still plays on.

Find Harry Online --

Where to buy -- Amazon US, Kindle UK, Smashwords



Sunday, December 1, 2013

New release by Sarah Hoss



This year’s delightful collection of Christmas short stories features a multitude of romantic genres all with one common theme: during the holiday season, nothing’s better than spending it with the one you love.

Twenty talented Soul Mate authors have put together an anthology that’s sure to please any reader who enjoys their romance with a splash of Christmas cheer:
A time-traveling Highlander brings comfort and joy to a young woman grieving her lost family . . .
Best friends, both widowed, suddenly see each other through new eyes during a snowed-in Christmas Eve;
A royal prince and a commoner fall in love despite their differences and a handful of untruths, thanks to a wreath that grants wishes . . .
An alien race understands the simple reward of giving, when their human captive does not . . .


Just to name a few! If you are looking for something new to read this holiday season, please try out this book!.

BUY LINK

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Salty Roses Rounds Off the Band of Roses Trilogy

Pat McDermott here, announcing that Salty Roses, Book Three in the Band of Roses Trilogy, has just been released in print. That means the entire trilogy is available in paperback!

The Band of Roses Trilogy, a series of romantic action/adventures set in a modern Ireland that might have been, supposes that High King Brian Boru survived the Battle of Clontarf in 1014 A.D. and established a royal dynasty that rules Ireland to this day. As head of state, the current King Brian upholds ancient traditions, as does his daughter, Crown Princess Talty, though Talty has a knack for landing in trouble.

Book One, A Band of Roses - The indomitable princess must hide her identity to outwit assassins, but she can't hide her ingrained training as a warrior sworn to protect her homeland. From Japan to California to an eleventh century Ireland, she finds romance and adventure, yet all she wants is to return to her family and Neil Boru, the adoptive cousin she secretly loves and cannot have—or so she thinks.

In Book Two, Fiery Roses, a major discovery of offshore gas ensnares the Boru clan in a web of blackmail and murder. When the residents of rural County Mayo object to plans to run pipelines over their pristine bogs, an arsonist tries to change their minds. One of his fires sends newlyweds Talty and Neil to an ancient world at the mercy of a waking volcano. While they struggle to outwit a tyrant with a shocking secret, King Brian locks horns with ruthless oilmen. The resulting conflict proves fatal for the Boru clan, whose members once again close ranks to thwart the latest threat to the kingdom they are sworn to protect.

Book Three, Salty Roses, finds the dynamic heir to the Irish throne thinking her days of exotic adventure are all done and dusted, yet Talty's royal duties seem endless, and a day off with handsome husband Neil is looking good. Former naval officer Talty eagerly accepts an eccentric billionaire’s invitation to sail aboard his luxury submarine, but as she and Neil dive beneath the waves to view an eerie shipwreck, a sinister plot unfolds. An unknown enemy lures them to an ancient tomb and sends them to a world infested with treacherous pirates. Talty takes charge of a pirate ship and its mangy crew, while Neil matches wits with a steamy temptress who jeopardizes his wedding vows. As he and Talty fight to save their marriage, they learn that the door to parallel worlds swings both ways.

An Excerpt from Salty Roses:
The wind fills the rigging and whips my hair. Salt spray dampens my face. The men at the oars propel my galley over the sea to capture the foolish merchant ship that dared to invade my waters. She sits low in the waves, weighed down with gold and silver, packed with silk and spices from the Far East. She’s mine.

"Man the cannons!” I shout from the gun deck. “Prepare to board her!”


“Your Highness? We have here a model of Granuaile’s galley. Not an exact reproduction, but assembled as closely as possible from the descriptions in the existing records.”

The droning words seeped into Talty’s fantasy like ink drops clouding a pool of water. The bracing tang of briny air gave way to the scent of new wood and fresh paint. She was back in the Grace O’Malley museum in Louisburg, Mayo.

You’ll walk the plank for this, me bucko!

Though miffed that the curator’s ongoing narrative had spoiled her imagined adventure, she smiled graciously at the gangly, white-haired man. “The ship looks quite authentic, Mr. Gavin.”

The raisin-like eyes behind his glasses squinted back at her. “Grania had several galleys under her command.” Gavin walked on, babbling away about tribal warfare in sixteenth century Ireland.

Talty knew the story of Granuaile, also known as Pirate Queen Grania “Grace” O’Malley, yet she listened politely, ambling along after Gavin to the next display. Neil stopped beside her, biting his lip the way he did when trying not to laugh. The merry gleam in his eye said he’d caught her daydreaming.

She stepped on his foot. “I understand Grania divorced one of her husbands and locked him out of his castle.”

Gavin didn’t miss a beat. “Richard Bourke. Sometimes known as Iron Dick.”

Neil’s polite cough barely muffled a snort of laughter. “The fella possessed exceptional marital skills, did he?”

Talty stepped harder on his foot, somehow managing to keep her public smile in place. “Isn’t the name from the armor he wore?”

Gavin’s unsmiling face betrayed no awareness of their playful interaction. His attention seemed riveted on the exhibit before him. He clasped his hands behind his back. “That’s one theory. The name may have referred to an ironworks on his property. Unfortunately, we have more folklore than fact about the history of this time. It’s folklore that tells us how Grania herself became known as Granuaile. ‘Gráinne Mhaol’ means ‘Bald Grace’ in Irish. Legend has it she cut her hair after her father refused to take her along on his voyages. He claimed her hair was so long, it would get caught in the rigging.”

Neil tugged Talty’s shoulder length hair. “Obviously he let her sail with him after that.”

“Obviously. This ends the tour, ma’am. If you’re ready, we’ll officially open the museum.” Gavin started for the door.

Talty followed, recalling one of her favorite stories about Grace O’Malley. Only hours after the Pirate Queen gave birth to a son in her cabin, foreign pirates attacked her galley. Grace appeared on deck clad only in a blanket. She shot the pirate captain with her blunderbuss pistol and led her men to victory. Having recently experienced childbirth herself, Talty found her admiration of the legendary woman turning to awe.

The wax figures of Granuaile and her husbands, sons, and enemies positioned throughout the room appeared ready to step down and strike up a conversation. Colorful murals on the walls portrayed seascapes and sixteenth century sailing vessels, adding to the fanciful mood.

This morning’s formalities would be modest compared to the afternoon gala at the Marine Foundation, yet Talty suspected she would spend the most enjoyable part of her day here in Mayo. The Marine Foundation was important, yes, but the reception following its opening ceremony was “by invitation only.” She dreaded facing the fawning, praise-seeking politicians who’d have the run of the place, and she didn’t care a whit if she ever met the billionaire tycoon, Roxy what’s-his-name.

The Granuaile event was open to the public. Talty looked forward to her allotted forty-five minutes of shaking hands and chatting with the people before the Morrigan whisked her south to Galway. Silently rehearsing her short speech, she walked between Neil and Gavin to the Granuaile Center’s humble lobby. The standing crowd enthusiastically applauded her entry.

Despite the warm welcome, Barry and Rory stood guard on either side of the packed little room. Their eagle-eyed vigilance was more than adequate for this quiet corner of Mayo. Security at the Marine Foundation would be tighter than a goatskin on a drum.

Her public smile firmly in place, Talty cordially greeted the well-wishers, who had no way of knowing she was already back on her pirate ship, shouting orders to man the cannons and prepare to board.
* * * * *
About Pat McDermott:
Boston native Pat McDermott writes romantic action/adventure stories set in Ireland. Glancing Through the Glimmer and its sequel, Autumn Glimmer, are young adult paranormal adventures starring Ireland’s mischievous fairies and an Irish royal family that might have been. Both books are “prequels” to her popular Band of Roses Trilogy: A Band of Roses, Fiery Roses, and Salty Roses. Her first contemporary romance, The Rosewood Whistle, features Ireland’s music and myths.

Pat’s favorite non-writing activities include cooking, reading, music, hiking, music, and traveling, especially to Ireland. She is a member of the New Hampshire Writers’ Project, Romance Writers of America, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. She lives and writes in New Hampshire, USA.
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 for more information.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Fiery Roses, Book Two in the Band of Roses Trilogy - Now in Print!

Pat McDermott here, visiting The Celtic Rose today with an excerpt from Fiery Roses. I'm happy to announce that a year after making its e-debut, the book is finally out in print. I enjoyed revisiting memories of north Mayo while I revised and updated the story, my classic "Middle Child," often overlooked but a gem in its own right.

The "Roses" books are romantic action/adventures set in a modern Ireland that might have been. The "what if" premise supposes that High King Brian Boru survived the Battle of Clontarf in 1014 AD and established a royal dynasty still in existence. As head of state, the current King Brian upholds ancient traditions, as does his daughter, Crown Princess Talty, though Talty has a knack for landing in trouble.

In the first book, A Band of Roses, Talty must hide her identity to outwit assassins, but she can't hide her ingrained training as a warrior sworn to protect her homeland. From Japan to California to an eleventh century Ireland, she finds romance and adventure, yet all she wants is to return to her family and Neil Boru, the adoptive cousin she secretly loves and cannot have—or so she thinks.

In Fiery Roses, a major discovery of offshore gas ensnares the Boru clan in a web of blackmail and murder. When the residents of rural County Mayo object to plans to run pipelines over their pristine bogs, an arsonist tries to change their minds. One of his fires sends Talty and Neil to an ancient world beset by a waking volcano, and the residents believe she is the Goddess Pele, come to save them. As they struggle to outwit a tyrant with a shocking secret and find their way back to Ireland, King Brian locks horns with ruthless oilmen trying to bully their way over the bogs.

Fiery Roses wasn’t supposed to be a sequel. When I started writing the book, I researched arsonists and developed a character sketch of an arsonist. Meanwhile, I monitored the Irish news online, vicariously living in Ireland, the country with which I’d fallen in love during my first visit in 2004. I noted rumblings concerning plans to harvest the natural gas discovered off the northwest coast of County Mayo in 1996.

My arsonist began to merge with the cast from A Band of Roses. With the indomitable Princess Talty and her spirited kin still fresh in my mind, I wondered how the Boru clan would deal with the situation in north Mayo.

Cut Turf Drying on a Bog
My husband and I decided to visit the Mayo bogs. We passed through some scenic country, the Atlantic Ocean to our left, the Nephin Mountains to our right. The bogs might have been rolling meadows, but the blankets of green weren’t grass. They were scraw, the layer of tough fibrous sod that covered the peat, or turf, as it’s called in Ireland. Masses of white bog cotton and yellow buttercups painted the scraw. Cows and sheep roamed everywhere.

We soon saw men in hard hats working behind a chain link fence, large sections of blue pipe awaiting installation, and protesters sitting in parked cars. Surrounding them were hand-painted signs that said things like, "We are Irish citizens, not Shell subjects."

The next morning, we learned that Royal Dutch Shell had sought and obtained a court order for the arrest of five Mayo men who refused the company access to their land. The men spent ninety-four days in prison.

As I worked on Fiery Roses, a story filled with fictitious villains and heroes, I followed the Irish news, waiting for some resolution to the increasing hostility in north Mayo. I spent three years writing the book and tidying up all the imaginary plot twists. Sadly, the real situation in north Mayo remains unresolved.
* * * * *
EXCERPT from Fiery Roses - A Little Lost:
From his window seat in one of Casa Verro’s largest guest suites, Neil opened the shutters and caught the scent of the sea. Beneath him, a patchwork of planted fields and pastures stretched for mile after emerald mile. Yet the realization that the land sat on a waking volcano spoiled the idyllic scene. That and knowing the verdant panorama wasn’t Ireland.

The air currents shifted. Tantalizing whiffs of roasting pork and baking bread made his mouth water, yet they couldn’t subdue his growing dread that he’d never see Ireland again, never fly again, or zoom off in his Jaguar. His family, his friends, and his precious Talty would all be lost to him if the Peregrine Portal left him behind when it called the others home.

The fervent "Ooh!" behind him was a sound he knew well: Talty had found something to wear to the feast for the Meddiss. Neil turned his head just as Renen raised the top of a shimmering white gown over the pink-tipped breasts that perfectly fit the palms of his hands.

For over an hour, Talty had been trying on the late Danella’s gowns. Renen had come to help. Her shocked gasp when she’d first seen the scars on Talty’s chest had nearly caused Neil to send the woman away. Talty had said nothing, and Renen, a servant unaccustomed to questioning her betters, had recovered well.

"This is lovely, Renen," Talty said.

"It is the finest silk." The fussing servant pinned the shoulder straps with matching broaches.

The dress fell in graceful folds, the cloth so fine it seemed transparent. Gold threads woven through the material shimmered with Talty’s slightest move. The gathered waist flattered her slender form—too slender in her view, it seemed.

"It fits well enough," she said with a downward glance, "but the top is too big."

"Your mamms do look a little lost in there," Neil called from the window.

The women’s heads jerked. As he’d suspected, they’d forgotten he was there.

Talty raised her chin and glared. "You never seem to have any trouble finding them!"

Renen grinned at the playful repartee. "The baroness stretched the dress more, yes, but you, Lady, are well formed and lovely. We will show them. We only have to fix the pins." She gathered the material tighter and reset the broaches.

When she finished, Talty’s eyes widened, silently asking Neil’s opinion.

"You look more grippable now, darlin’." He made squeezing gestures and laughed at her openmouthed gasp. "Really, Tal, you look fine. No goddess could be more beautiful."

"This one can," said Renen. "We will add perfume and jewels, though even the baroness had no rings as fine as yours, Lady."

Talty extended her hand and gazed at the rings Neil had placed there. She smiled lovingly at him as she answered Renen. "I feel strange wearing Danella’s things, but I suppose I have no choice."

"No," Neil muttered. "The airline lost our luggage."

* * * * *
About Pat McDermott:
Boston, Massachusetts native Pat McDermott writes romantic action/adventure stories set in an Ireland that might have been. Glancing Through the Glimmer and its sequel, Autumn Glimmer, are young adult paranormal adventures featuring Ireland’s mischievous fairies. Both books are “prequels” to her popular Band of Roses Trilogy: A Band of Roses, Fiery Roses, and Salty Roses. Her first adult contemporary romance, The Rosewood Whistle, was released in June, 2013.
 
Pat is a member of the New Hampshire Writers’ Project, Romance Writers of America, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. Her favorite non-writing activities include cooking, hiking, reading, and traveling, especially to Ireland. She lives and writes in New Hampshire, USA.
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To Learn More About Pat and Her Books, Visit Her

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

DREAMS OF THE HIGHLANDER

Dreams of the Highlander is the second book out by Sarah Hoss.




BLURB
Haunted by a recurring dream, Marlana Crawford ventures to Scotland in search of answers. But a careless wish lands her in the 17th century and the arms of Alexander Macpherson—a handsome, brooding, Highlander, who after losing his wife and babe during childbirth, vowed never to love again.

Surprised to find a mysterious, brown-haired beauty in his home, Alexander fights the undeniable attraction between them and is determined to figure out a way to send her packing without losing his head or his heart.

When Marlana has a chance encounter with his enemy, it changes the stakes, and Alexander is forced to face two battles, one to win Marlana’s affection, the other to save her life.




EXCERPT

Newtonmore Scotland, 1701

“Mairi,” he whispered.

“I love ye with all of my heart.” The evidence of that love clung to her soft voice.

Alexander swallowed the lump of fear that rose in his throat. “I love ye, too.” He lowered his gaze to their beautiful son nestled in his arms. Brown hair dusted the little head and he gently ran his hands over the silky forehead as he fought back tears.

“I want ye to be happy, Alexander.” A blanket of confusion covered him as she turned away in sadness to stare out the window.

“What are ye saying, Mairi? Ye’re going to be fine.” He said it with as much conviction as he could muster. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb slowly brushing strokes back and forth.

Alexander readjusted himself on the bed. She turned then, to stare back into his eyes, her hand grasping his. The sadness had left and in its place, determination settled in.

“No, I won’t and we both know it.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Promise me, Alexander. Promise me ye willna grieve for me forever.” He watched, stunned, as her hand dropped from his.

Alexander heard his mother sobbing in the background as he sat there with his stillborn son held tightly in his arms and watched his wife slip peacefully from this world.




AUTHOR BIO:
Sarah Hoss grew up believing she could try anything and if she set her mind to it, she would succeed. Sixteen years of dance lessons, Cheerleading, and school plays proved to her that her parent’s words rang true. Writing was no exception. Reading the Outlander series made her fall in love with time travels and the historical places books could take her. Always a child with a vivid imagination, she realized as an adult, she could put her imagination to good use and began writing. Marrying her very own hero, they live in Indiana in the town where she grew up. They have three beautiful children and one hyper dog. When Sarah isn’t writing, she enjoys gardening, camping, and watching her kids’ play sports.




Where to find Sarah-



Twitter- @SarahHoss1


How to purchase Dreams of the Highlander-


**Dreams of the Highlander is a Top selling book at Amazon! 5 STAR reviews! **

Friday, December 7, 2012

Salty Roses: Book Three in the Band of Roses Trilogy

Hi, Pat McDermott here, announcing the arrival of Salty Roses, a rollicking pirate adventure. Arrrrr...

The Band of Roses Trilogy, a series of romantic action/adventures set in modern Ireland, supposes that High King Brian Boru survived the Battle of Clontarf in 1014 AD and established a royal dynasty the rules Ireland to this day. As head of state, the current King Brian upholds ancient traditions, as does his daughter, Crown Princess Talty, though Talty has a knack for landing in trouble.

In Book One, A Band of Roses, the indomitable warrior princess finds romance and adventure from Ireland to Japan to an eleventh century Ireland, yet all she wants is to return to her family and Neil Boru, the adoptive cousin she secretly loves and cannot have—or so she thinks.

In Fiery Roses, the residents of rural County Mayo object to plans to run gas pipelines over their pristine bogs. An arsonist tries to change their minds. One of his fires sends newlyweds Talty and Neil to an ancient, Roman-like world beset by a waking volcano.

Book Three, Salty Roses, finds Talty a wife and a mother at last. The dynamic heir to the Irish throne believes her days of exotic adventure are all done and dusted, yet her royal duties seem endless, and a day off with handsome husband Neil is looking good. Former naval officer Talty eagerly accepts an eccentric billionaire’s invitation for a jaunt aboard his luxury submarine, but as she and Neil dive beneath the waves to view an eerie shipwreck, a sinister plot unfolds. An unknown enemy lures them to a megalithic tomb in Brittany and sends them to a world infested with treacherous pirates. Talty takes charge of a pirate ship and its mangy crew, while Neil matches wits with a steamy temptress who jeopardizes his wedding vows. As he and Talty fight to save their marriage, they learn that the door to parallel worlds swings both ways.

Excerpt - Neil visits Talty in her Tara Hall office—an office she suspects is haunted.
Muffled thuds whacked the wall on the other side of the door to Talty’s office. Neil cringed at the sound. "How long has she been at it this time, Denis?"
"Not long, sir. Go right in. You’ll be safe enough if you don’t distract her. Shall I call the kitchen for tea?" From his chair behind his paper-strewn desk, Talty’s ever-smiling assistant spoke cheerfully, as if the strange activity on the other side of the door was the most natural thing in the world.

Neil supposed it was, for Talty. "Tea for three, coffee for one, please. Colonel Gale and Major Tomasi are on their way up."

Neil twisted the bronze doorknob and stole into the room. Talty stood on the far side of her office, her back to him, her right arm rocking, her fingers gripping the glinting blade of a throwing knife. The round red bull’s eye on the wall before her looked like a numberless clock with three black-handled knives set at three, six, and nine. A heart-stopping blur later, a fourth juddering knife neatly filled the twelve o’clock spot.

Neil could throw a blade well enough, had learned it as part of his Fian training. Talty had mastered the skill, and many other martial arts, during her Japanese sojourn several years before. He was proud of her, and more than a little in awe of her Shurikendo proficiency.

These knives, a set of four ten-inch carbon steel blades, had been a Christmas gift from her samurai mentor. She claimed that throwing them not only kept her eye keen and relieved stress, it had also helped her regain her sleek, thoroughbred, pre-baby shape.

"So," she said, still facing the target. "Are you enjoying the show?"

"Always, darlin’."

She turned so fast he nearly ducked. "Neil! I didn’t…I’m…How are you?"

If she hadn’t known he was there, to whom had she been speaking? He crossed the room and kissed her. "Having a tough day, love?"

"Tough? Of course not." She plucked the knives from the target, set them on the table, and prepared to throw them again. "I thought my father being back would help lighten my schedule. So I can see my son before he—" Thwack! The first knife pierced the target dead center. "—forgets who I am. And where is my father? In his office with his tailor, looking over swatches of material for new suits. ‘We’re still on vacation, Tal,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t stand that hot sun anymore,’ he says. ‘So I’m taking your mother—’" Thwack! "‘—to Scotland for a week!’" Thwack! Thwack! The knives quivered on the target in a neat vertical row.

Neil stared in admiration. He knew from stolen ISF reports that Talty’s deadly aim had saved more than one life. "Did you tell Uncle-Dad about our submarine outing next Wednesday?"

Again, she pulled the knives from the target, this time carrying them to the wall safe where she kept them. "Yes. He said it was a great idea. Said it’s about time I learned to manage my schedule."

"He’s right."

She stopped. "What? You know very well this isn’t my normal schedule!" Her tone was indignant, her face flushed.

Quickly closing the gap between them, Neil caressed her soft auburn hair. "Tal, what if, God forbid, something happened to your father and it was your normal schedule?"

She met his gaze and sighed. "Then I’d make some serious adjustments. But I’m thinking, Neily. We shouldn’t go on this submarine cruise Wednesday. We should spend the day with the baby."

"We’ve already agreed to go. It’s only for a few hours. Donal is perfectly safe with Nanny Maude."

"He’ll think Maude is his mother. He won’t remember me!"

"Hell, you’re so busy, I don’t even remember you." He’d said it to make her laugh, but she looked as if she’d either start crying or tossing those knives at him. Hustling to derail either development, he squeezed her shoulders and kissed her. "We both grew up with nannies, Tal. It did us no harm, and we both love our parents."

In true Boru fashion, her tiny pout curved into a spectacular smile. She placed the weapons in the wall safe. As she shut the hinged portrait of some medieval Boru prince over the safe, she spoke to the oil painting: "What are you looking at?"

"Tal, are you all right? How long have you been tossing knives?"

Still smiling, she turned from the portrait. "For years, Neily."

"I know that! I meant today. You’re talking to people who aren’t here, darlin’."

"Am I?" She returned to the bull’s eye and closed the small double doors that concealed it. When she’d first found the old dartboard hidden in the paneling, Neil had helped her transform the secret recess into a training target. Besides himself and Talty, only Denis knew her elegant office housed the setup.

"I’ve been practicing about fifteen minutes," she said. "Not long enough." She approached him with one side of her mouth turned up in a provocative smile he knew well. "Did you have some substitute activity in mind?"

His arms slid around her, and hers around him. Her thigh-pressing hug left him struggling to remember why he’d come to see her. "And they call us poor fellas rascals."