The Reading Garden

The Reading Garden - Travel

Important notice: All excerpts have been submitted by the author.

Author: Elizabeth Keys

County Adare, Ireland 1566

PROLOGUE

The vault door grated, stone against massive stone. A solid closing thud reverberated damnably loud off the hallowed walls. With a quick flick of his wrist, a man released his silver pendant from its rocky groove.

The ancient Celtic knot gleamed like living metal in his palm. White bronze, gold and silver. Full of secrets. The round moonstone set in its center glowed despite the hidden gloom. Older than the words etched centuries before into the glimmering round edges, the O'Connell heirloom symbolized safety and protection for his people.

"Do you think this will be enough, Mo run?" A woman's worried whisper echoed in the cold damp mist, binding the two people together with tendrils of life. And death.

"'Twill have to be." He drew her to him for a quick kiss then slipped the pendant's chain over her head. "Keep this next to your heart. There's a chance the trouble will pass. Our people will feel more confident if you still wear the jewel."

His words rippled off the cold stone walls. Husband and wife shivered together, two desperate souls. Neither believed the evil plaguing their land would pass them by. The forlorn hope firing their actions this night dwindled away with the sounds of approaching hoofbeats.

"You must leave now, my love."

"Nay. I'll bide with you yet." She defied him just this once.

He grabbed her to him. Fierce, despairing love shone in his eyes. She nodded, acknowledging his unspoken dread. They kissed with a passion that fused their spirits together one last time.

The clang of metal sounded from the tunnels. Booted feet tramped inexorably nearer. The couple drew apart.

"A stoirin," she whispered. "The children."

"Are safe with my brothers," he reassured her as he drew his weapon. There was no more time for words. The marauders were upon them. He shoved her behind him. "Run!" He growled the word through clenched teeth.

The crash of battle drowned whatever protest she might have made. She fled.

Her soft leather boots made no sound over the rocky terrain.

The screech of a gull sounded high above the turmoil rending her life. Pain twisted her heart. Broken bits of prayer fell from her lips as she sped along familiar dips and turns.

She heard shouts now, close behind. The pursuit had begun.

She gasped. Damp air, ripe with the smells of freshly-turned earth and tall grass, rushed into her lungs. Her heart slammed into her ribs. The pendant thumped against her, a reassuring weight in a world gone mad.

Death. The grass whispered around her as she left the rocky path. She dared a quick glance behind. The men were closer than she feared. She caught a dull flash of red from their uniforms in the light of their single torch.

She heard whimpering, realized it was her own and clamped her teeth together. She'd not give them the satisfaction.

Her quick glance cost her dear as she snagged her gown on an unseen tree limb. She grappled with twisted fabric and grasping branches. Fear swelled near to bursting within her soul. A small scream escaped her. With a violent rip, she tore free, snapping her chain as well.

Whirling off into the rainy night, the Celtic knot landed unnoticed by the soldiers running past. Gleaming with unholy fire, the talisman lay against the peat-rich earth, christened in blood as her screams rent the air. *

County Adare, Ireland 1845

CHAPTER ONE

Brendan O'Connell, Fourth Viscount Adare, stood by his parlor's empty hearth. Before long the English would arrive. Adare Manor would have a new master. His thoughts shuddered--How would his ancestors react to this latest conquest? Mortgage held a nicer patina than conquest, but the result was the same. Surrender.

Too many steps had been taken down the path of compromise and accommodation over the centuries for him to turn aside now. The people were hungry and he was making his own sacrifices in this bargain with the devil.

He scanned the portrait still gracing the wall above the mantle, seeking absolution. Caught in eternal youth, his many-times great grandmother gazed back at him with a muted expression. The slender hand of this flame-haired O'Connell bride touched the edge of the pendant she wore at her throat. She'd been the last to wear the good luck charm whose loss, when she and her husband were slain, marked the decline in the family fortunes he could no longer forestall.

White gold, bronze and silver, the ancient Celtic knot captured his attention as it always had, a gleam of living metal upon the canvas. The moonstone at the center appeared to shimmer and pulse. If only he could find the treasure legend claimed had been hidden with the necklace when the first English marauders roved these lands, he might still be able to salvage Adare's future. Treasure hunters across the centuries, himself included, searched in vain. Most likely, the fortune had been plundered along with the pendant.

As he stared at the necklace, the canvas disappeared in a smoky haze of ebon velvet. All but the pendant faded away. For a long moment, a different image of a dark-haired beauty glowed from the moonstone in the pendant's center.

Clouds of dark curls rippled over the woman's shoulders and her brilliant blue-eyed gaze fixed on him. A keen sense of familiarity clutched his heart. I know her.

He took a step back.

The door creaked open behind him. He jerked his gaze away for a moment. When he looked back the illusion evaporated. The portrait hung as before with the image of his grandmother and the pendant no more than a reminder of forgotten glory. Empty yearning suffused him, leaving a cold ache in his stomach.

He turned to the door. Wizened and shriveled, a small figure shuffled into the room with a slow gait. Mrs. Calhoun, once his mother and grandmother's seamstress, hummed a tuneless ditty as she moved, smiling and letting out an occasional laugh. She covered her mouth and ducked her head when she saw him.

"Can I help you?" he asked, remembering talk of her failing health and memory.

"Ye be needin' help, sir." Her voice came out a scratchy little squeak. She cackled, then closed her eyes and bobbed her head as if in time with music only she could hear.

"Nay, I'm well." Brendan eased toward her, his movements slow and steady, the way he might approach a skittish animal. She was obviously lost. He must find her family before the Grenvilles arrived.

As he reached out to touch the old woman, she darted forward with a speed her advanced years belied and clutched his hand. Her eyes opened, shining bright with determination and youthful zest.

"When dreams weave vistas of time, And love entwines distant hearts--The riches of life will gather at your hearth, And blessings shine upon the land." Her words, spoken almost in verse, echoed in Brendan's memory.

The crone pulled him closer. Brendan leaned forward, unable to resist.

"Dark hair, blue eyes, yer destiny awaits ye, Master. Before long she'll come. Prosperity 'twill return to O'Connell lands."

A thrill of recognition raced down Brendan's spine. The woman in the pendant.

"There ye are, Mother Calhoun!" Her daughter-in-law, Bridget, bustled into the room with a scold in her voice. "Ye shouldna' be botherin' His Lordship when he's so much on his mind."

"Keep a sharp eye out fer the colleen with the dark hair. She holds yer treasure in her hands." The woman released her death grip on Brendan's fingers and cast a guilty look over her shoulder. Her eyes glazed over and she began to hum to herself again. The swiftness of her change back was stunning.

"'Tis all right, Bridget. She's been no bother." He flexed his fingers as life pumped back into them.

"I'm sorry, Master Brendan, we were busy with the packin'. My Daniel's come to fetch his mother to our new place now the English are comin'."

New people. New places. New ways for all County Adare to adjust to. The events he had set in motion by his actions could not be undone with old verses or wish-filled visions, no matter how desperately he might crave escape from the path he'd chosen.

Brendan nodded to his housekeeper. She took the older woman's arm. Once Mrs. Calhoun had been the finest seamstress in the county, the backbone of her family. Now she needed them to watch after her.

Bridget coaxed her mother-in-law toward the parlor door. "Come on, Mother Calhoun. Daniel's waitin' fer ye."

The women moved into the hallway. As Bridget turned to shut the door, a flash of vivid intelligence shone on her mother-in-law's face again and she spoke, "Remember what I told ye. Watch for the dark-haired colleen in yer dreams."

Bridget shushed her and the door shut behind them.

The dark-haired colleen. He glanced up at the portrait and the pendant, but could discern nothing unusual. A cold trickle of disappointment seeped through him. Whatever he'd seen before must have been the product of a tired mind.

Carriage wheels crunched outside. A driver called his team to a halt. The Grenvilles had arrived. Brendan released a weary sigh. Preparing himself to leave his home in the hands of his English tenants, he quashed the outrage and despair hammering within his Irish soul. #

Brookline, Massachusetts The Present

"I'm home, Aunt Clare." Leigh called out deliberately as she opened the back door. Echoing emptiness brought fresh tears to her eyes. The air inside the old house held a tinge of mustiness from being closed up. Unnatural quiet enveloped her as she stepped inside.

Aunt Clare would never answer again.

Leigh released the kitchen door, letting the wooden screen slam behind her with a resounding clap. An old habit, a comforting sound amid a turmoil of grief that lacked all comfort.

Aunt Clare had been a big part of her life, especially during the last ten years, ever since the accident claimed her parents when she was in high school. There'd been a brief struggle over who should be Leigh's guardian and whispers of whether Aunt Clare was up to the task. Clare had quickly silenced those questions, patting Leigh's hand in a gesture of reassurance while she dared anyone to take her great-niece from her.

With a pensive sigh, Leigh ran cold water into the old porcelain sink, wet a towel and pressed it over her eyes. Her head pounded. There was so much to get done, so much to get ready for the estate sale. Too much to do to indulge herself in the nap she longed for.

She reached into her purse for some aspirin and pulled out the aged black velvet case she'd retrieved from Clare's safe deposit box. Inside lay the legacy her aunt had held in trust for her all these years. On impulse, she opened the case.

White bronze, gold and silver, her inheritance gleamed with ageless value against the jet black velvet. She reached out a hesitant, fascinated finger to caress the ancient twists of the Celtic knot. The smooth, incandescent moonstone center held a luster at odds with the tattered box.

As she gazed into the pendant's center, it began to glow with a strange hypnotic sheen. She could not look away. The room around her faded. As she cradled the pendant in her palm, warmth tingled over her fingers and traveled up her arms to touch her lonely heart. The box clattered to the counter. All she could see was the flare of light in the moonstone. At the center of the light she saw a figure. Hand resting on a mantle, head bowed, he seemed as abandoned and heartsick as she.

He looked up, his green eyes gazing at her with startling intensity.

I know him, she thought with a mixture of wonder and fear.

She'd never seen his face before, yet her feeling of recognition was undeniable. Honey-gold hair shadowed the worry that etched his brow. Something in the grim yet determined line of his mouth made her long to help him shoulder his burdens.

The pendant seemed to pulse. She felt a magnetic pull toward him.

Irresistible. Immutable. Drawing her through a funnel of fractured color, fragmented light. As if they were somehow connected. --Š1995 ***

*About the authors: Writing together as Elizabeth Keys for the past four years, lifelong friends Mary Lou Frank and Susan C Stevenson have produced two multi-award winning manuscripts. In DREAMWEAVER, the magic of an antique Irish canopy bed and an ancient Celtic pendant reunite two lonely souls in 1845 Ireland as they discover a love and a fortune lost centuries before. FALLEN ANGEL, our contemporary paranormal, is the story of a guardian angel who assumes human form to help the last member of a family he has guarded for 700 years. His mission is complicated when he falls in love with her. These two manuscripts have won or finaled in a dozen writing contests (listed below). Mary Lou is a former managing editor for a Gannett weekly newspaper and currently works part-time as a grants writer for a local human service agency. Susan writes book reviews for both print and online sources. We are active members of Romance Writers of America, New Jersey Romance Writers and New Castle Chapter RWA. Between us we juggle two husbands, two jobs, six children, assorted pets, a regional contest for published authors and our joint writing. Write to Elizabeth Keys

DREAMWEAVER - Time Travel --Š1995

1st place, paranormal, 1996 Silver Heart, Monterey Bay RWA --- 2nd place, paranormal, 1996 Heart to Heart, San Francisco RWA --- 2nd place, paranormal, 1995 Emerald City Opener, Seattle RWA --- 2nd place, time-travel, 1995 FF&P-RWA On the Far Side --- 3rd place, historical, 1996 Heart of the West, Utah RWA --- Finalist, paranormal, 1996 Golden Synopsis, Maine RWA --- Hon. Mention, Romancing the Ozarks, Ozark (MO) RWA

FALLEN ANGEL - Contemporary Paranormal --Š1994

1st place, paranormal, 1995 Heart of the Rockies, Colorado RWA --- 1st place, paranormal, 1994 Romancing the Novel, Northeast Ohio RWA --- 2nd place, all genres, 1995 Put Your Heart In A Book, New Jersey RWA --- 2nd place, paranormal, 1995 Heart to Heart, San Francisco RWA --- 4th place, all genres, 1995 Between the Sheets, Greater Detroit RWA

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