The full review can be read at: https://www.paranormalromanceguild.com/review-sinbad-sails-again-toni-v-sweeney/
Sinbad Sails Again is available in paperback exclusively from the publisher's website: www.classactbooks.com.
and from Amazon:
Friday, June 30, 2017
5-Star Review for SINBAD SAILS AGAIN
Thanks to the Paranormal Romance Guild for the 5-star review of SINBAD SAILS AGAIN.
The full review can be read at: https://www.paranormalromanceguild.com/review-sinbad-sails-again-toni-v-sweeney/
Sinbad Sails Again is available in paperback exclusively from the publisher's website: www.classactbooks.com.
and from Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Sinbad-Sails-Again-Adventures-Book-ebook/dp/B072N6XCFL/
The full review can be read at: https://www.paranormalromanceguild.com/review-sinbad-sails-again-toni-v-sweeney/
Sinbad Sails Again is available in paperback exclusively from the publisher's website: www.classactbooks.com.
and from Amazon:
NEW RELEASE: THE CHRONICLES OF ALCINIA
Available for the first time as an e-book bundle, the
award-winning historical fantasy series The Chronicles of Alcinia weaves
a tale of war, history, passion and romance.
In Book I, The King’s Daughter, Tarabenthia of Alcinia should
grow to inherit her father’s throne by the rocky cliffs of the sea. When invaders seize her land, what will she
sacrifice in the name of love? In Book
II, Heart of the Earth, the Northern Prince who has always wanted Tia
saves her life. But will the price of
his protection be too high? And finally
in Book III, Ice Maiden, readers who wondered about the fate of Tia’s
oldest son have their answer. Sometimes
heart-wrenching, always powerful, this is a tale of heroes and the women who
loved them.
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.
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Saturday, October 29, 2016
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Monday, February 8, 2016
Unholy Crossing by Pat McDermott
“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...
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
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