A Song of the Sidhe received an encore performance at Liquid Silver Books
with a beautiful cover by April Martinez, new performers and arrangement and an additional chorus or two.
BLURB:
with a beautiful cover by April Martinez, new performers and arrangement and an additional chorus or two.
BLURB:
The place: Ireland, a long, long time ago when the Sidhe walked among mortals.
Donal Bawn was the most handsome man in all of Tipperary with a voice that could lure the birds from the trees. But that all changed when he angered Ogma, High King of the Tipperary Sidhe. Doomed to wander as a hunchback with a voice as thin as a reed, Donal keeps to the forests away from human companionship until one day he hears a melodious female voice singing a fragmented tune over and over.
Ceoleen, a beautiful female of the Galway Sidhe has also been cursed for her vanity and foolhardiness. Blinded and exiled to a fairy ring deep in the woods, she can only repeat a broken phrase of music until that fated day when Donal finishes the song for her.
But their curses are only partially broken. It will take a great deal more than music to decide their fate.
Will their love be strong enough to finally free them?
SET UP: Ceoleen yearns to return to her home with the sidhe and convinces Donal to take her back even though their curses haven't been fully broken.
EXCERPT:
The cottage was as if she had just left it. A brass-bound trunk rested at the foot of her bed. An elegantly carved open cupboard held bowls, jugs and plates. Chairs with woven rush seats and cleverly incised backs sat around a table polished so that you could see your face in the smooth ash wood. Donal described it all to her, so that she knew ’twas so.
And all the items were carved, engraved, gilded, studded with jewels.
He gawked at the display. The beauty and wealth that Ceoleen possessed boggled his mind.
She cocked her head. “Well, then, what do you think of my home?”
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. ’Tis glorious.” He sighed. “I could ne’er approach the skill of the craftsman who created your things.”
Ceoleen smiled. “Ah, but they use magic as the finishing touch. You use your love of the craft, do you not?”
He drew her into his arms, resting his chin atop her head. “How would you be knowing this? I’ve not put hammer to nail in all the months we’ve been together.”
Ceoleen snuggled closer to Donal. “Because of the care and love you gave me. ’Twould make sense that you do everything else with the same loving touch.”
“There’s no doubt that I love to touch you, a stóirín.” He raised her head and kissed her. “Tell me where to put our gear, and then I’ll show you just how much I love touching you.”
Ceoleen giggled. “’Twill have to wait. ’Tis almost time for the High Court to gather. We’ll be needing to dress in our finest to present a good image.” She smiled. “Now that I’m home, I can whisk you an outfit fit for a prince, fíorghrá.”
Before he could demur, Ceoleen made a pass with her hand. Draped over the chair lay a silky shirt, blue as the waters of Lough Derg, breeches of the softest suede and knee-high boots of shiny black leather. A gold chain, at the end of which dangled a large ruby, lay on the table.
“For you, a ghrá geal. And you’ve no need to worry about the fit. ’Twill stretch where needed.” She stepped toward him and ran her hands down his front until she found his shaft and stroked it. “And I think you’ll be needing some here.”
Donal picked up the garments Ceoleen had created for him. Shucking off his worn, travel-stained clothing, he held the new ones against him. They were a perfect fit. For the moment.
A basin and pitcher of water popped out on top of the table.
“Freshen up, a ghrá. ’Twill have to do for now.”
With a good deal of trepidation in his heart, he complied. After splashing water on his body, he donned the new clothing. They clung to him like a lover’s grip, outlining his masculinity. The boots molded to his calves with ample room for his toes. He clasped the chain around his neck, the ruby falling to his collarbone. The open neck of his shirt framed the jewel and revealed the fine hair on his chest.
He seemed the very image of royalty.
He felt like a fool.
While he was dressing, Ceoleen had neatened up her appearance. Using her Sidhe skills, she fashioned a gown that took away Donal’s breath.
It was made of some gleaming gold material that shaped itself to her luscious form. Every curve, every line was displayed for all to see. Her hair was curled in intricate swirls and whorls atop her head. She twirled around, and he saw that the back of the gown dipped way down to the base of her spine. She moved back and forth across the room, her hips swaying to some unheard melody.
He wanted to rip the dress from her body, throw her onto the floor, and have his way with her.
He wanted to fuck her until her voice was hoarse from screaming with ecstasy.
And he was damned if he’d let her appear before a group of slavering fir-Sidhe in an outfit like that.
“You’ll be taking that off right now.”
She undulated to him, a sultry look on her face. Leaning into him, she raised her hand to his face. “Later, mo laoch. After the court.”
He gripped her hand. “Nay, I’ll not have some lecherous male see you in that dress. They’ll be undressing you with their eyes.”
She chuckled. “The very effect I wanted. I want all of them to see what they’re missing. And wish I was theirs.”
“And I’ll be needing to beat them off with a stick.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “You are a little demon. And all there will be wondering how one such as I could have your affection.”
She shook her head. “I cannot understand why you insist on diminishing yourself. You’ll see. All will be well. Now hold to me, fíorghrá, and we’ll away to the court.”
"A Song of the Sidhe" and "The Shimmering Flame"Available at: http://tinyurl.com/JeannesLSBwork
Donal Bawn was the most handsome man in all of Tipperary with a voice that could lure the birds from the trees. But that all changed when he angered Ogma, High King of the Tipperary Sidhe. Doomed to wander as a hunchback with a voice as thin as a reed, Donal keeps to the forests away from human companionship until one day he hears a melodious female voice singing a fragmented tune over and over.
Ceoleen, a beautiful female of the Galway Sidhe has also been cursed for her vanity and foolhardiness. Blinded and exiled to a fairy ring deep in the woods, she can only repeat a broken phrase of music until that fated day when Donal finishes the song for her.
But their curses are only partially broken. It will take a great deal more than music to decide their fate.
Will their love be strong enough to finally free them?
SET UP: Ceoleen yearns to return to her home with the sidhe and convinces Donal to take her back even though their curses haven't been fully broken.
EXCERPT:
The cottage was as if she had just left it. A brass-bound trunk rested at the foot of her bed. An elegantly carved open cupboard held bowls, jugs and plates. Chairs with woven rush seats and cleverly incised backs sat around a table polished so that you could see your face in the smooth ash wood. Donal described it all to her, so that she knew ’twas so.
And all the items were carved, engraved, gilded, studded with jewels.
He gawked at the display. The beauty and wealth that Ceoleen possessed boggled his mind.
She cocked her head. “Well, then, what do you think of my home?”
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. ’Tis glorious.” He sighed. “I could ne’er approach the skill of the craftsman who created your things.”
Ceoleen smiled. “Ah, but they use magic as the finishing touch. You use your love of the craft, do you not?”
He drew her into his arms, resting his chin atop her head. “How would you be knowing this? I’ve not put hammer to nail in all the months we’ve been together.”
Ceoleen snuggled closer to Donal. “Because of the care and love you gave me. ’Twould make sense that you do everything else with the same loving touch.”
“There’s no doubt that I love to touch you, a stóirín.” He raised her head and kissed her. “Tell me where to put our gear, and then I’ll show you just how much I love touching you.”
Ceoleen giggled. “’Twill have to wait. ’Tis almost time for the High Court to gather. We’ll be needing to dress in our finest to present a good image.” She smiled. “Now that I’m home, I can whisk you an outfit fit for a prince, fíorghrá.”
Before he could demur, Ceoleen made a pass with her hand. Draped over the chair lay a silky shirt, blue as the waters of Lough Derg, breeches of the softest suede and knee-high boots of shiny black leather. A gold chain, at the end of which dangled a large ruby, lay on the table.
“For you, a ghrá geal. And you’ve no need to worry about the fit. ’Twill stretch where needed.” She stepped toward him and ran her hands down his front until she found his shaft and stroked it. “And I think you’ll be needing some here.”
Donal picked up the garments Ceoleen had created for him. Shucking off his worn, travel-stained clothing, he held the new ones against him. They were a perfect fit. For the moment.
A basin and pitcher of water popped out on top of the table.
“Freshen up, a ghrá. ’Twill have to do for now.”
With a good deal of trepidation in his heart, he complied. After splashing water on his body, he donned the new clothing. They clung to him like a lover’s grip, outlining his masculinity. The boots molded to his calves with ample room for his toes. He clasped the chain around his neck, the ruby falling to his collarbone. The open neck of his shirt framed the jewel and revealed the fine hair on his chest.
He seemed the very image of royalty.
He felt like a fool.
While he was dressing, Ceoleen had neatened up her appearance. Using her Sidhe skills, she fashioned a gown that took away Donal’s breath.
It was made of some gleaming gold material that shaped itself to her luscious form. Every curve, every line was displayed for all to see. Her hair was curled in intricate swirls and whorls atop her head. She twirled around, and he saw that the back of the gown dipped way down to the base of her spine. She moved back and forth across the room, her hips swaying to some unheard melody.
He wanted to rip the dress from her body, throw her onto the floor, and have his way with her.
He wanted to fuck her until her voice was hoarse from screaming with ecstasy.
And he was damned if he’d let her appear before a group of slavering fir-Sidhe in an outfit like that.
“You’ll be taking that off right now.”
She undulated to him, a sultry look on her face. Leaning into him, she raised her hand to his face. “Later, mo laoch. After the court.”
He gripped her hand. “Nay, I’ll not have some lecherous male see you in that dress. They’ll be undressing you with their eyes.”
She chuckled. “The very effect I wanted. I want all of them to see what they’re missing. And wish I was theirs.”
“And I’ll be needing to beat them off with a stick.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “You are a little demon. And all there will be wondering how one such as I could have your affection.”
She shook her head. “I cannot understand why you insist on diminishing yourself. You’ll see. All will be well. Now hold to me, fíorghrá, and we’ll away to the court.”
"A Song of the Sidhe" and "The Shimmering Flame"Available at: http://tinyurl.com/JeannesLSBwork
"The Sweet Flag" and Jeanne's Loose Id titlesAvailable at: http://tinyurl.com/JeannesLIwork
3 comments:
I am into reading old Irish setting novels at the moment and this sounds interesting so I will see if I can find it.
I think the Irish setting makes a nice difference form English Regency and Scottish Highland.
Jeanne Barrack is a talented writer. I highly recommend her work. I have enjoyed everything of hers I have read.
Sounds interesting!
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