Dazzled by Books

The theory sounds reasonable, and he’s happy to accept it, until Aodhán comes across an empty tomb in the Hills of ár Sinsear that looks as though it may have been occupied at some point. Could Ruadhán have survived after all? And if so, where is he now? To complicate the issue, Aodhán stumbles across another piece of information that could alter the possible meaning of his brother’s dreams. But will Ciarán manage to put the pieces together before it’s too late, or will he lose his family to an ancient adversary?

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Excerpt

The house was dark and silent when Ciarán woke. Caitlin lay snuggled against him, a shaft of moonlight revealing the curve of her luscious lips. He sighed as he recalled the moments before he’d drifted off to sleep. But somewhere in his slumber that feeling of contentment had disappeared, leaving him tense with a sense of foreboding. Experience warned him that was not a sensation he should ignore. Slipping out from under Caitlin’s petite form, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his pants and T-shirt. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the night. A dog barked off in the distance, a frog croaked somewhere beneath his window, but there—the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Three o’clock, the small travel alarm on their nightstand said. Who would be out and about at this hour? Best be ready for anything. After pulling on his socks and shoes, he slipped into the hallway and checked on the twins. Sleeping like little angels at the moment. The thought made him laugh, for he knew a bit of wood nymph slumbered in each of them, waiting to wreak havoc as soon as they woke. He kissed each of them on the forehead, then turned to gaze out the window. His stomach clenched. There against the low stone fence across from the bed and breakfast rested the chief priest Ruadhán. Though more salt than pepper now, his long beard was well-groomed and rustled in the soft summer breeze, and his white robe shimmered in the moonlight. He gazed up at the window and nodded, causing Ciarán’s blood to freeze even as it coursed through his veins. No, he wouldn’t let the man near his children. He wouldn’t abandon them the way he’d abandoned Bréanainn and the others. Tearing down the stairs, he reached the front door and threw it open, his pulse pounding in his throat. Without thinking, he charged across the yard, toward the white-robed figure, but before he knew what was happening his foot caught in a bramble, and he cried out in pain as he landed facedown on the road. The house lit up like the Christmas tree they’d had last December. He could hear footsteps thumping on the staircase and the chatter of alarmed voices. In desperation, he cast a gaze across the road, but although the dog still barked in the distance and the frog still croaked beneath his window, Ruadhán was nowhere to be seen. Had it all been a dream? Or had the chief priest been playing with him? Ciarán was just sitting up, checking his ankle, when Caitlin came bursting through the open door. “What happened? Why are you wandering around at this time in the morning? Are you all right?” Not wanting to alarm her, he smiled. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought a bit o’ fresh air might do me some good. I must have tripped over that bramble.” “What bramble?” Mrs. Byrne brushed past Caitlin, Aisling in her arms. “I just had young Eoin over here clearing the yard. Wouldn’t want the wee ones getting caught on a thorny bush, now would I?” Ciarán gazed down at his throbbing ankle. If that was true, Ruahán had planted it there deliberately and lured him from the house.

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