It started in 1846, with Legacy of Hunger. Valentia left her home in the United States to travel to Ireland. She traveled in search of her grandmother's family and a mystical brooch she'd heard tales of since childhood. A brooch which haunted her dreams....
Then, in 1800, Esme and Eithne were twins, ripped from their childhood home. Esme chose to stay in Ireland when her parents emigrated to America, and lived with her Traveler husband, Sean. Eithne married a local land-owner, but that would never be enough for her... see the rest in Legacy of Truth.
In 1746, Eamonn and Katy fell in love, but she was forced to marry a man not of her choosing. Her father sold her to a horse trader, and she had to come up with clever ways to escape brutality. Read their love story in Legacy of Luck.
Going back to the 12th century, Orlagh is a Seer to her chief in Misfortune of Vision, and has been for over forty years. However, when her visions only show death and war, he refuses to believe her prophecies, forcing her into a quest in the middle of winter to prove herself.
When Orlagh was a young girl in Misfortune of Song, she fell madly in love with a charming bard, but her grandfather, Maelan, is displeased with her choice of a man with no honor. She defies him and escapes, only to find her lover isn't what she imagined.
Maelan's childhood was full of pain and danger, as his grandmother, Etain, tried to shield her husband's abuses. Instead, she must escape in Misfortune of Time, finding a place of safety for herself and abandoning Maelan.
In the 6th century, Conall had vowed to his father to take care of Lainn, his little sister. Her studies with the druids and ability to sing to the birds made her a delightful child. But when their step-father grew cruel, they had to escape to another world in Age of Saints.
In Age of Secrets, Fingin had no friends or family, but when he rescued a half-drowned wolfhound from the river, Bran became his closest friend. Together they embarked on a quest for a mysterious woman into the land of Faerie.
Now, in the final installment of this epic family saga, Cliodhna must make a decision between her own family and her duties in another realm. Age of Druids, and the revelation of the origin of the Druid's Brooch, is due out later this year.
An excerpt from Age of Druids:
Clíodhna’s baby’s screech stabbed through her skull, making her want to abandon Aileran and escape into blessed silence. She wished to be somewhere in the forest, on a hill, surrounded by buzzing bees and yellow flowers. Perhaps flying over the rolling hills with a flock of starlings.
Her brief idyll crashed when another scream broke through. She sighed and picked him up, rocking him against her shoulder while stirring the iron pot. She cast an eye for her middle child, Donn, who helped a lot, but tended to wander off and get into trouble. She found no sign of him, but someone yelled at the horses outside. He must be doing farm chores.
Aileran cuddled into her shoulder, let out a wet burp, and promptly fell asleep, a warm weight against her neck. His hand curled around a hank of her black hair, pulling just enough to make her wince. At the same time, his adorable smile invoked her own. Despite her frustration, she loved her baby boy. It had been a dozen winters since her womb had quickened, but she’d been glad of the new child after so many winters, especially after losing one daughter at birth.
Clíodhna glanced out the window of the large roundhouse. She glimpsed Donn, unharnessing the plow with practiced hands. Though he counted but fourteen winters, he needed to be the man of the house since his father disappeared.
The baby fussed again, whimpering in his sleep. She rocked him, still stirring the stew in the pot. They’d only a few meals of dried lamb left from the autumn harvest, but still had plenty of onions and turnips, as well as chives and garlic. At least Oisinne left them a workable farm before he disappeared. She used to sell small wooden carvings she’d made, but who found time for such frivolity now?
The odor of char caught her attention, and she cursed as she tried to swivel the pot off the fire. She needed to add more water before it scorched. Baby still in hand, she bent to the bucket, trying to lift it without waking the child. She failed.
His screams shot right through her ears, a physical pain that made her drop the bucket. The water splashed on the flagstone floor.
“Son of a diseased donkey!”
“Clíodhna! Such language!”
She whirled to see Ita, a blond woman from the village, standing in the doorway, her hand upon her heart.
“Sorry, Ita. Can you help me for a moment? I need about five extra hands.”
“I can see that. Here, let me take the wee one.” She reached out to take Aileran, who yanked on Clíodhna’s hair so hard it brought tears to her eyes.
She tried to be patient with her son. “Let go, Aileran, there’s a good babe.”
A crash outside made her whimper.
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