Cynthia OwensRomance Writer
Discover the Healing Power of Love
I hope your temperatures are rising, your grass is greening, and your flowers blooming!
It’s been a year of ups and downs, with no end in sight!
Some of you may have been looking for one of my older books, only to find them “Currently Unavailable.” There’s a reason for that, and I’d like to let my readers know what’s happening.
The short story is that my publisher, Highland Press, has ceased operations.
I’d known there were problems with the company, so it didn’t come as any surprise. But my writing career is ver y important to me, and I was concerned about what my future might hold if this happened. That’s why I took matters into my own hands and released Journey to Tomorrow, the final book of the Wild Geese Series, under my new imprint, Claddagh Publications.
I’ve since released updated editions of the first two books in the series, Deceptive Hearts and Keeper of the Light, and I plan to continue re-releasing the rest in the near future. Book 3, My Dark Rose, will be released next year, and I’m putting together an anthology of my three previously-published Christmas novellas, to be released this holiday season under the title Mistletoe and Shamrocks. I also hope to release a boxed set of the first three books in the Claddagh Series sometime next year.
That’s the old. Now for the new!
I’m hard at work finishing He Moved Thro’ the Fair. It’s the first book in my new Children of the Swan series, set in “Ireland in the mists of time,” and I’m really excited about it!
Set in an enchanted Irish kingdom, He Moved Thro’ the Fair is the story of Tristan and Breegeen, lovers cruelly torn apart by the forces of greed and evil. Three years after, Tristan returns to claim his love…only to find her in the midst of her handfasting to another!
Here’s a wee snippet to whet your appetite:
The anguished cry rent the air, startling a thousand birds from the circle of towering oaks. Breegeen turned, a startled gasp tearing from her throat. A man in filthy, ragged shirt and breeches glared from her to Harald and back again. The gold-hilted sword in his hand glittered malevolently in the emerging sun.
“This marriage is blasphemy!” Her heart began to pound, her limbs turned to water. The man approached, balancing on the balls of his feet, silent as death, menacing as a wolf of old. A muffled scream rang out as he halted, inches away from Breegeen. His blazing eyes bored into hers, held her captive. He swung to glare at the Priestess. “The union must be undone. This woman is betrothed to another.”
With a feral growl, he raised his sword. Breegeen froze as he whipped it downward in one swift slice.
Stay tuned for more news as the release date approaches!
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Keeper of the Light
Queenstown Harbor, Ireland, “Black ‘47”
“Cathal, lad, look at me. Look at me now, and tell me why ye’re here.”
Cathal Donnelly’s soul shrank as the priest grasped his chin between long, bony fingers and forced his reluctant gaze up to his face. Father O’Reilly’s black robe flapped and snapped in the chill spring wind that slashed Cathal’s own skin. The gulls screaming over the sea like banshees sent shivers down his spine. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, struggling to control his shameful tears. “We’re going to America, Father.”
“And do ye know why ye must go to America?”
“Because we’ve no food, Father.”
“Ah, now that’s where ye’re wrong, lad.” Father O’Reilly glanced over to where Cathal’s family huddled together on the shore with hundreds of other emaciated refugees waiting to board the Sally Malone. Then he knelt before the ten-year-old boy, his dark-blue eyes blazing, his hands biting into his flesh. “Ye must go to America because the English decided ye’ve no food, Cathal. England starved ye, abused ye, and when ye dared to cry out for help, she turned blind eyes and deaf ears. Where has all the grain gone? And the cattle and the pigs and the sheep? All gone to England.” The priest waved a bony hand toward the quay, where huge, many-masted ships filled with food and livestock waited to sail. “All of it sent over the water so England may grow fat while Ireland starves. Do ye realize that, Cathal Donnelly? Do ye, lad?”
“Aye, Father.” Cathal widened his eyes in awe, pride swelling his heart and puffing out his thin chest. No one had ever talked to him this way, as if he were grown up. As if he understood. He’d heard the whispers in the back room at Phelan’s pub, or when the men were digging the praties before they’d turned to black slime in the pit. But never had anyone told him why they must send their own food away. “I understand.”
“Remember it then, lad. Remember it all—the hunger, the evictions, the cruelty. Remember it, and tell yer children, and in time their children. Will ye do that for me, Cathal Donnelly?”
“Aye, Father, I will.”
“The English drove ye from yer land.” Father O’Reilly’s voice shook with emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, and Cathal’s heart twisted for the priest’s grief. “Don’t ever forget that, lad. Keep the memories alive, so that one day, please God, the wrongs done to our people will be righted.”
Blinded by tears that had nothing to do with the sharp salt wind blowing off the sea, Cathal clenched his fists, his soul crying out for justice. For vengeance.
“I promise, Father.”