The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance
including On Inishmore
What happens when an Irish god finds himself smitten by a beautiful mortal woman? When the Celtic gods dream of romance trouble abounds! Visit an Irish king tempted by the poetry of a sensuous wraith who blends the mythological and the historical so seamlessly he finds himself transported to a myth-laden Ireland of beasts and warriors-and entirely at her mercy.
A forbidden love cursed by the saints causes two young lovers to magically shape-shift to freedom in an underground fairy Otherworld with disastrous results. A Celtic hero sets out on a treacherous sea journey to claim a dream woman. The rekindled ashes of an ancient desire between a fierce clansman and his lady find new light with a pair of young, secret lovers.
The volume contains stories by: Jenna Maclaine, Jennifer Ashley, Roberta Gellis, Claire Delacroix, Sue-Ellen Welfonder, Cindy Miles, Ciar Cullen, Helen Scott Taylor, Shirley Kennedy, Margo Maguire, Susan Krinard, Pat McDermott, Nadia Williams, Dara England, Kathleen Givens, Sandra Newgent, Cindy Holby, Cat Adams, Penelope Neri, Patricia Rice.
ON INISHMORE by Susan Krinard
When Séanat, warrior woman of the Tuatha Dé Danann, captures mortal enemy Aodhan of the Fomóiri, she is struck by his beauty and courage. But ancient loyalties compete with her growing love for him, and she and must choose between the man she should hate and the future of her people.
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Running Press
September 20, 2020
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On Inishmore by Susan Krinard
She didn’t know how long she slept. It might have been the faint crack of a twig, or no more than the rustle of a single leaf. But Séanat opened her eyes, and there was a man in the clearing, no more than a dozen steps away.
Her sword was already in her hand as she leaped up, prepared to slash and stab. The man didn’t move. He stood completely still, his own sword pointed toward the earth, dressed in the armor of the Fomóiri.
But his face was not hideous or twisted with evil, nor was his body misshapen. He was broad of shoulder and comely like the disgraced King Bres, who carried the blood of both the Fomóiri and the Tuatha Dé Danann in his veins. Like Lugh, born of Ethlinn, Balor’s daughter. His hair was like smoke to Séanat’s flame.
Still he was of the enemy. Séanat lunged toward him, her sword reaching his throat before he could raised his own.
“Prepare to die, Fomóir,” she cried.
His eyes, blue as the sea, met hers. “Kill me, then,” he said, his accent so light that she might never have noticed it had he worn the armor of the People.
Her hand twitched, and her sword drew a thin line of blood from his neck. “Do you seek death?”
He smiled with a great sadness that tore at her heart. “I do, for I have no people and no place.” He lifted his chin. “Finish it, warrior.”