My special guest today is western-with-a- paranormal-twist award-winning romance author, Lyn Horner. She's busy at work on a new series after the success of her Texas Devlins series. Welcome back, Lyn!
Hi Peggy, thank you for inviting me to your gorgeous site. It’s an honor to be here. Today, I’d like to tell you and your readers about the new series I’m working on and what led me down this path. So far I’ve written mainly western historical romance with dashes of paranormal in the form of Irish psychics.
With The Scrolls of Danu I’m leaving the Old West and venturing into modern times, but continuing the psychic theme. This series will consist of nine to ten novellas, all separate yet intertwined by a larger ongoing story. Think of it as a soap opera on steroids. Wink! The first book, Beyond the Darkness, is set in County Kerry, Ireland. Following installments will jump around the globe.
Premise of the series: A great secret handed down through millennia is guarded by ones who derive unique powers from their long dead ancestors, the Tuatha Dé Danann.
Legend: “In Irish-Celtic mythology, the Tuatha Dé Danann (“People of the goddess Danu”) are the Irish race of gods, founded by the goddess Danu. These gods, who originally lived on ‘the islands in the west’, had perfected the use of magic. They traveled on a big cloud to the land that later would be called Ireland and settled there.” – Micha F. Lindemans, "Tuatha Dé Danann," Encyclopedia Mythica Online.According to the legend, the Tuatha Dé Danann defeated the Firbolg and the Fomorians, prehistoric inhabitants of Ireland. Later, they were themselves conquered by Milesians from the Iberian Penninsula and were driven to the underworld. Called Aes sidhe, they are invisible to mortals, but in a battle against evil, it is said they will fight beside mankind, wielding lances of blue flame, carrying snow white shields.
Does that kind of remind you of Tolkien’s Lord of the Ring, with the mystical elves fighting beside men against the evil forces of Mordor? It does me!
Enthralled by the magic of Irish myth, I find myself compelled to follow it where it may lead my character. Of course there will be romance, since that’s what I love best to write, although not necessarily hot and steamy in every book. Oh, and there are evil ones trying to get their hands on the treasured scrolls. Maybe they should be shrouded in black cloaks like, ride fire-breathing mount and carry swords like Tolkien’s Ringwraiths, you think?
Naw, that would be plagiarism. Besides, my bad guys live in the real world, not Middle-earth. Well, not the real world, but the real world of my imagination.
In this scene, Lara Spenser, Chief Keeper of the ancient scrolls, meets a man she hopes to hire as her bodyguard.
“Come in,” she called, opening the door and backing away.
Una stepped into the room with a rolling pin gripped in one hand and flour dusting her apron. She partially closed the door behind her.
“Mum, he looks a bad un,” she whispered, worry lines creasing her brow. “Ye oughtn’t to be alone with him.”
Lara hesitated briefly then put the warning down to melodramatics. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Please show him in, Una.”
“But mum, he’s –”
“Show him in,” Lare gently insisted, raising her hand to stave off further argument.
The Irishwoman issued a mournful sigh and nodded. “Aye, mum, as ye wish.”
While she went to fetch the man, Lara smoothed her long skirt and self-consciously fingered the jagged scar on her right cheek. She considered standing to create a stronger first impression but dismissed the idea with a grimace. Her injured leg wasn’t strong enough to bear her weight yet, if it ever would.
A man’s heavy tread accompanied Una’s footsteps up the hall. The door opened again and the plump Irishwoman warily ushered in a tall stranger. He halted just over the threshold to stare at Lara, obviously unprepared for her appearance. She stiffened self-consciously and gulped at the sight of him. He had to be six-foot-three or four. His coffee-brown hair was shaggy and several days’ growth of beard shaded his square jaw. Clothed in faded jeans, a dark shirt, black leather jacket and boots, with studded leather gloves protruding from one pocket, he looked like he belonged in a motorcycle gang.
“Mum, this is Mr. O’Shea,” Una said tightly, eyeing the man with a disapproving scowl.
Lara forced a stiff smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. O’Shea. I’m Lara Spenser.” Receiving a silent nod in reply, she glanced at her housekeeper. “That will be all, Una. I’ll ring if I need you.”
Sticking out her chin, the woman appeared ready to argue but evidently thought better of it. “Aye, mum. Excuse me, sir,” she snapped at O’Shea, who finally deigned to step farther into the room.
As the door closed behind him, he cleared his throat. “Sorry for staring. I wasn’t expecting . . . .” He pointed toward her wheelchair.
“You needn’t apologize. Perhaps I should have mentioned this when we spoke.” She tapped her fingers on an arm of the chair, thinking he was probably more shocked by her scarred face. She’d deliberately not told him about her infirmities when he phoned yesterday. He was a complete stranger and in her situation it paid not to give out too much information. Besides, his Texas drawl had rattled her, causing her to stammer like a tongue-tied adolescent.
“Maybe so, ma’am, but my mama would skin me alive for my bad manners,” he said in those deep, achingly familiar tones. He added a genial smile that softened his rugged features. However, that smile didn’t reach his steel-gray eyes, eyes that watched her intently, making her stomach flutter and her hands sweat. Maybe she should have listened to Una.
To find out more about Lyn, please visit her blog!
And check out her books at Amazon