The
Cross of Ciaran
by
Andrea Matthews
Genre:
Paranormal Romance
When
a fifth century pagan priest is unearthed in Ireland fifteen hundred
years after being entombed, archaeologist Caitlin O’Connell is
convinced it’s the find of the century. The body is in perfect
condition, right down to the intricate tattoos adorning the Celt’s
skin. In fact, if scientific data hadn’t proved otherwise, she
would swear he hadn’t been interred more than a few hours.
Eager
to discover more about the mysterious Celt, Caitlin accompanies the
body back to the New York museum where she’s employed, but before
she has time to study him, the priest disappears without a trace.
Rumors surrounding the event begin to circulate and result in the
excavation’s benefactor pulling the plug on the entire expedition.
The
rumors are not far off the mark though. After being buried alive for
betraying his goddess and his priesthood in the dawning age of
Christianity, Ciarán wakes to a strange new world. Alone and
frightened in an unforgiving city, he stumbles upon the only thing
familiar to him and seeks sanctuary within the church walls. With the
help of the parish’s pastor, Father Mike, Ciarán slowly grows
accustomed to his surroundings, though he’s plagued by dark dreams
and the disturbing sensation that an evil from his past has followed
him into the future. But a more immediate danger lurks on his
doorstep.
Caitlin
is determined to get to the bottom of the mystery concerning her
missing Celt, and when she meets her Uncle Mike’s new handyman,
Ciarán Donnelly, she’s convinced the handsome Irishman knows more
about the theft than he’s letting on. Yet, even she can’t deny
the attraction between them, simmering below the surface and blurring
the lines between her personal and professional life. But will
Ciarán’s secrets draw them together or shatter their future
forever?
Ciarán stumbled along beneath the twisted canopy of blackthorn shrubs, their prickly branches entwining with those of the hawthorn to form a mystical passageway. Though only a dim grey light pierced its knotwork, intermittent flashes of lightning broke through the tangled vines to sketch eerie patterns across the moss-covered path. His robe caught on the spiny bramble, and he stopped for a moment to free his sleeve, but a sharp shove from behind thrust him forward once more, the sudden movement ripping a jagged hole in his fine linen robe.
His temper flared, and he turned to object, though it did no good. Another quick jab to his shoulder spun him back around and thrust him out into the lakeside clearing. Slender stone columns stood in a semi-circle around its perimeter, each one facing the sacrificial altar. He rested his hand against the one to his side, steadying himself as the reality of the situation washed over him in a wave of nausea. There would be no escape.
As if in agreement, a bolt of lightning ripped across the horizon, followed by a crash of thunder so loud it caused the breath to catch in his throat. The goddess was angry.
Out of nowhere, thick grey clouds had formed to conceal the morning sun and cast ominous shadows over the secluded enclosure. The urge to fall prostrate before his goddess mother gripped his innards, tearing at his stomach with a fiery knife, but he could not find it within his heart to do so. A black-robed cleric propelled him further into the temple confines, forcing him to his knees beside another of the slender gray columns. The decision to kneel had been made for him, though it was an empty gesture on his part.
Trying to retain his composure, he gazed around the quiet glade. Towering thorn bushes encircled the clearing, concealing the sanctuary from the outside world and providing a perfect setting for worshipping the goddess of their tuath. The bile rose in his throat, for he knew the requirements for admission all too well. Entry to its sacred confines was only granted to those within the priesthood — and those about to die.
Andrea
Matthews is the pseudonym for Inez Foster, a historian and librarian
who loves to read and write and search around for her roots,
genealogical speaking. In fact, it was while doing some genealogical
research that she stumbled across the history of the Border reivers.
The idea for her first novel came to mind almost at once, gradually
growing into the Thunder on the Moor series. And the rest is history,
as they say.
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