The Black Swans: A Tale of the Antrim Cycle, #1

By N.W. Moors

Irish music, legend, and romance in a sweet award-winning story.
Taisie MacDonnell is a quiet girl who loves knitting and Celtic music. When a traditional Irish group moves to her small town of Antrim, Maine, she's thrilled. And that the handsome pipe player she met at a fair is one of the band members makes it all the more exciting. 

Conn McLaren and his siblings that make up the band, The Black Swans, are wanderers, moving from place to place. They have a secret that they must hide, a curse they have been under for many years, placed on them by the Fae at the behest of their step-mother, Aoife.

Taisie has no idea that becoming involved with Conn, the handsome pipe player, will enmesh her in magic, a centuries-old enchantment and pursuit by the Fae. 

This book is a modern retelling of the old Irish story "The Children of Lir". 2015 IndieB.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree, 2015 Wishing Shelf Independent Book Awards Finalist, and 2015 Shortlist for Drunken Druid Book Awards

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunday Morning Publishing
• Release date: Dec 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781976840432

N.W. Moors

N.W. Moors lives in Portland, Maine, the land of lobster and pine trees. She grew up in Connecticut and retired north(it's nice along the coast in winter). She's a voracious reader and avid traveler - she loves to visit Great Britain and Ireland. Researching trips meant that she tries to learn as much about the area as possible and listen to great Celtic music. She's also a knitter and hiker/walker with two cats(the cats don't walk). The Black Swans is a 2015 IndieB.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree, 2015 Wishing Shelf Independent Book Awards Finalist, and 2015 Shortlist for Drunken Druid Book Awards. The Pellucid Effect is a 2018 IndieB.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree She truly appreciates you sharing this adventure with her. She will continue to write about magic, love, and the small town of Antrim, Maine. Please leave reviews and like her Facebook page or follow her blog or twitter feed for further updates.  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009322893083 Twitter: https://twitter.com/AntrimCycle Website: http://antrimcycle.com/ She also writes Regency Romance under the name Jerusha Moors.

Book preview

This book is for my sons, Ben and Harry, who explored Ireland with me, sharing the beautiful glens and rocky coasts of Antrim that inspired this story.

Chapter One

M aybe I should put lime green color on the other side, to contrast with the magenta. Nola pulled the rear-view mirror over to the passenger side, her long black hair hanging down in front of her face. She was peeking through the strands over her eyes, studying herself in the dim light of the dashboard.

She tilted her head to the side, then pulled hair from each side of her head and held it out in front of her. The locks on the right side of her head had swathes of purple. What do you think? she asked, studying him from under her fringe.

Owen had been driving the van for five hours with no breaks. The way from Montreal was mostly highway, but once he crossed into the United States, he was on two-lane roads lined by thick brush and trees that climbed up and down mountains, occasionally marked by small towns and farms. He was following the white line marking the middle of the road just trying to make it to his destination and wasn’t paying all that much attention to what Nola said to him.

Nola squinted and frowned at Owen, then tried again. Hmm, I wonder if I cut my hair like Finn’s.... This time she got his attention. He looked over at her just in time to catch the grin as she swept her hair back behind her ears.

I don’t believe it would look as good on you as that haircut does on Finn, but, hey, if it’s what you want, go for it. Owen played along with her teasing. Nola grunted and pushed the rear-view mirror back over to an approximation of where it should be.

Owen reached up and positioned the mirror in place again. He used it to look in the back seat to where Finn sat, headset in his ears, listening to his iPod, his head bouncing to the music. His hair was a mess of colors and stuck up in short spikes. While it was a hairstyle that worked for Finn, Nola wouldn’t cut her hair like her brother, at least, not if Owen had anything to say about it. He liked her hair long and silky way too much.

There was a street light blinking up ahead, and Owen braked, gradually slowing the van. They were approaching another small town, or maybe it was just a crossroads. This one looked like it was a gas station combined with a dilapidated general store. Owen glanced down at the dashboard. There was about half a tank of gasoline left according to the gauge. It was a good thing he didn’t need gas because the station was closed up tight. No one seemed to be around, just a dim light in the store and a crooked ‘Closed’ sign on the front door. The only thing in the parking lot was a rusty pickup truck, parked over on the edge of the asphalt. He wheeled in, anyway, and stopped the van in front of the pump.

I need to stretch a minute, he announced and turned off the key.

Heads popped up in the back seat. What are we doing? asked Finn who couldn’t hear Owen over the music from his iPod. Conn, who sat next to his twin in the middle seat, pulled his earphones off, mussing his long hair, and waited patiently, looking around the dimly lit parking area. He’d been working on his laptop on an arrangement for one of their songs, Owen guessed. There was no sign of Hugh who had stretched out to sleep in the bench seat in the very back of the van.

I need to get out and walk around a little, Owen restated. And I want to check the trailer. Nola already opened her door and stood on the pavement, stretching her arms over her head, getting the kinks out of her back.

Owen got out, headed around the back of the building, and stepped back into the trees. The rest of the lads joined him, Hugh wandering back last.  He must have woken up with the slamming of the doors. It had been a long ride with no stops, and Owen had drunk at least three cups of coffee out of the thermos jug that Nola kept in the front seat for him.

Once they had finished their business, Conn and Owen went back out front to check on the trailer. Owen crouched down and looked under the frame while Conn pushed on the tires. The rig looked fine. The trailer wasn’t heavy, loaded with sound equipment and camping supplies. Their instruments and personal items were in the way back of the van. Nola wandered out from the other side of the garage where she had gone to find privacy away from the guys.

How much further is it to the pub? Conn asked.

I think we have a couple more hours to go. It will be late when we get there, Owen answered.  Nola came over and wrapped her arms around Owen’s waist, snuggling under the denim jean jacket he wore. He stood there, resting his chin on her head, while she rubbed the lower part of his back, pulling up his tee shirt to get at his stiff muscles.

Does that feel better? she murmured.

Hmmm, Owen responded. Finn and Hugh joined them, and he watched them push at each other, Finn poking at his older brother. They were both muscular, and they worked out when they could, so they were both in good shape and more brawny than Conn who had more of a lean build. Hugh tried to hook a leg behind Finn’s ankle to pull him down.  Soon they would be on the ground wrestling like a pair of puppies, using up some of the energy reserved from hours in the van. At times like this Owen felt as if he was chaperoning a group of high school boys trying to impress a group of cheerleaders on the other side of the quad.

Nola twisted around to see what her brothers were doing, entwining Owen’s arms over her shoulders at the same time. Stop that, you heathens. She didn’t sound as if she meant it, especially when she yawned.

Conn snorted. You’d do better to give them a whack on the skull or pull on their ears if you really want them to listen to you. He’d pulled out a whistle and was fingering a tune silently. Conn was often fingering one of his pipes or whistles soundlessly, not blowing into them, but seemingly unable to keep his long fingers still for long. So, what’s the plan when we get there? he asked, looking up at Owen.

We roust Jackie, and he’ll show us to our lodgings, Owen said. He said he has a cabin set back by the lake where we can stay. If we like the look of the place, he’s offered to let us settle there for the summer. In return, we play the pub four nights a week. He’ll give us part of the gate, and we can sell CDs and shirts. Owen shrugged. Jackie says it’s on the main tourist route and he gets a lot of custom through.

Conn nodded. They all trusted Owen to decide for the band. Owen acted as the manager, sound man, sold their merchandise, and also handled bookings. He’d been with the band for several years, ever since he and Nola had become a couple, and they all had the utmost confidence in the arrangements he made for them. The lads were protective of their sister, and Owen had proven over and over he only wanted the best for Nola and her brothers. Conn watched as Owen snuggled against Nola’s neck, her head tipped forward and a sleepy smile on her face, and he felt a pang in his chest. He shook it off, rubbing it away absently with the hand holding the small flute.

And what about the fair if we need to play at the pub? Conn asked. The band was due to play three nights at the Cumberland Arts Fair over the coming weekend. It was always a good gig, a place to meet up with old friends and fans. Usually, they played the Traditional Stage, but this year on Friday night Owen had arranged for them to play in the Main Tent which was a big promotion for the group. There should be a good crowd if the weather held fine, and there was always the potential to gain new fans among the attendees.

Owen answered, No problem, Jackie is fine with us going to the fair. He says we can start the week after we get back so now we’ll have a little break to get settled.

The four siblings, Nola, Finn, Conn, and Hugh, played traditional Celtic tunes in their band Na Ealai Dubha. They toured North America and Europe, playing in small clubs and festivals. The traveling only stopped for a few months every few years when they recorded another CD of the old songs.

Other professionals in the genre esteemed them and had a respectable following, but they made most of their money by selling CDs and other fan items, so the traveling was important. They had a website and a small marketing firm that sold their retail gear and mailed it out for them, but after postage and the cut for the marketers, Owen thought they made out better on the road where it was all handled by the band. But the constant travel could be wearing.

So, Owen jumped at the chance to play in Jackie’s pub, Malone’s, for the summer. It would be pleasant to have a base for the next few months where they didn’t have to camp or stay in motels. Malone’s was in a small town in Maine, but the population swelled in the summer when the tourists arrived, and the pub was on the main route. This would be good exposure for the band and a chance to find new fans. More important, it allowed a respite from the endless travel, and the location was private enough it wouldn’t raise any suspicions about the band’s odd hours.

Owen Campbell had grown up in a small town in the Ottawa valley in Canada. He loved the opportunity to see new places and meet people, especially when he had first worked for the band. But he looked forward to nesting in for a while with Nola, having a real kitchen and home-cooked meals and a place to hang their clothes up, rather than always living out of a duffel bag. He was definitely happy that he and Nola would have their own bedroom with a real bed and thought of the many nights they had camped to save on expenses, no mattress, just sleeping bags.

Hugh and Finn had stopped their wrestling and were just lying on the ground, laughing. Hugh had found a ticklish spot under his brother’s arm which had effectively ended the horsing around. It felt good to see Hugh having a good time even if the amusement was at a schoolyard level. He was a quiet man, the oldest and most responsible in the family. He had recently shaved his head, and it was just growing back in, black fuzz all over his head, usually hidden under a ski hat which had come off during the tussling.

Finn, on the other hand, was born for trouble, but it never seemed to bother him. He was the rowdy sibling, telling stories and jokes, never at a loss for words and ready for any sort of bedlam. All the McLaren’s had glossy black hair and startling blue eyes, throwbacks to their Irish roots, but Finn had colored his spiky hair in a multitude of hues, a punk look that suited him and attracted numerous female fans. Owen had watched gaggles of teenage girls and old grannies crowding around Finn at the end of a show, and Finn flirted and charmed them all with his natural humor and dark Irish looks.

Would you like me to drive for a while? Conn was standing, watching his brothers while his fingers moved restlessly on his whistle. Conn was the youngest, born just a few minutes after his twin, Finn, and the most reserved. He stood with his shoulders hitched forward and his long black hair hanging over his face as if he was trying to hide behind the ebony strands. Nola said with Conn, the stillest waters ran the deepest, and Owen agreed.

Owen nodded. That would be a kindness. Nola called to her brothers on the ground to get up and get back in the van, or they’d leave them behind. Owen tossed the keys to Conn who had put his tin whistle away in the back pocket of his jeans and went around to the driver’s door. Finn vaulted up and opened the passenger door; he liked to co-pilot when Conn was driving. Hugh got in the way back and stretched out again, ready to resume his nap. Owen lifted Nola, relishing the feel of her body against his while he helped her into the middle seat. Then he got in himself and slid the door closed.

Nola settled against him, and Owen put his arm around her shoulders. Sitting in the middle bench seat of the van with Nola cuddled up against him was so much better than the driver’s seat which had a considerable rip that had been duct taped together and rubbed against the middle of his back.

With her black hair streaked with magenta and the deep blue McLaren eyes, she looked like her brothers but was much more petite. Nola was the fiddler in the group. When she got into a jig or reel, she would dance all over the stage, bow flashing, feet leaping and tapping, in a way that got the whole audience cheering and jigging along. It was a marvel she could be as lively one moment and then so relaxed as now. Owen supposed it was life on the road, taking each moment as it came, but he smirked to himself. He knew it was the connection between them, the minute that their bodies touched, that relaxed them both and gave them such peace.

Conn pulled out onto the dark road, and Owen relaxed. He could rest for an hour or so until they arrived at Malone's. He had a good understanding with Jackie, knowing him from other gigs, and he was looking forward to a few months in one place. Owen didn’t mind the traveling and constant changes that working in a band required, rather relished the challenges more than not, but they had been touring for over a year now, and he was ready to settle for a bit. He watched out the window as the dark trees flashed by in the van’s headlights, pulled Nola a little closer, and drifted off.

Chapter Two

Taisie heard the rumbling become louder and louder. The sound entangled with the dream she was waking from, the crashing of waves on a rocky shore, and she shook her head, confused. The sound came closer, and something wet touched her cheek. She jumped and opened her eyes.  Boru, her big yellow tabby cat, kissed her cheek again with his nose and then butted his head against her chin. He was purring loudly which explained the rumbling that had blended in from the odd dream as he settled next to her on the bed. Boru was her alarm clock, a morning ritual established over the year that Taisie had been living here with Gran.

She reached out and rubbed her hand behind his ear. Today’s not a work day, you know. I could have slept in a while longer, she complained to the content cat. He tilted his head and looked at her through half-opened eyes, not paying any attention to her protest. Boru had done his job to get her up in the morning though in his mind it was just so she would come downstairs and feed him now. He lifted his head and gave her a sad meow, just to let her know she wasn’t moving fast enough for him.

Taisie stretched and sat up, looking around the room. It was a comfortable bedroom in the back of her Gran’s farmhouse that had once belonged to her father when he was a boy. The wallpaper was a little faded now, but touches of her father remained, a picture of a sailboat on the wall, a trophy over on the bureau. Taisie had brought some of her own belongings when she moved in with Gran, and she’d scattered them around the room. The rag rug her mother had passed down to her from her Goodwin family lay on the floor next to the bed, her old stuffed lamb that was missing an ear sat in the rocking chair, and her favorite afghan draped across the bottom of the bed.

Looking out the window, she could see sunlight through the willow tree in the backyard. Every year Gran threatened to have the willow cut down as the roots were digging into the basement wall, but Taisie loved the old tree. If you climbed out her window onto the roof of the mudroom, you could reach over to the willow and step down on branches until you got to the yard. Her father had often escaped outside by this route as a boy, and Taisie liked to sit out on the mudroom roof, reading or knitting, encased by the weeping willow fronds.

It looked like it was a beautiful day. Grampie, Taisie’s grandfather, had always said jokingly that summer in Maine comprised just one single day in July. If she was fortunate, today might be the one day for this year.

She could hear a tractor in the distance. It was Mr. Winslow mowing his field, down the road from Grans. She was glad that Gran didn’t have the area out back that led down to the lake mowed any longer. It was one of her favorite refuges. Taisie would find a place where the deer had lain and pressed the grass flat into a small circle. She could lie there under the blue sky with the Indian paintbrush and lupine around, watching the dragonflies while fluffy white clouds floated by and birds darted by, chasing bugs for their babies.

Boru opened an eye and gave another sad meow, eying her carefully. Taisie was sure that Gran had already fed him, but that didn’t mean the cat wouldn’t beg, hoping for a second breakfast if he could get away with it.

I’m getting up now, and we’ll just see if Gran fed you yet, she told the cat. She rubbed the back of his head and then threw the sheet back. It was getting hot already, even this early in the day. But it was her day off, and she fully intended to take advantage of the weather. She threw on a bathing suit, her old USM tee shirt and a pair of cut-offs and grabbed the knitting bag and iPod at the side of her bed. Boru had already disappeared down the stairs, knowing he had accomplished his primary mission of the morning. He would hang around the kitchen, waiting to see if any extra food ended up in his dish. If nothing further were forthcoming, he would vanish into the front parlor where it stayed cooler for his morning nap.

Gran was at the table, having a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. The town of Antrim only had the weekly Antrim Register that came out on Thursdays, so Gran also had the Portland paper delivered. She wasn’t much for watching television, but she liked to keep up on the news and read both newspapers religiously.  Boru sat by his dish, looking up hopefully as Taisie came in the door.

I’ve already fed him so don’t let him fool you into another breakfast. Gran lifted her head and smiled at Taisie, taking off her half-moon reading glasses and patting her hair back into her bun.

She wore her blue suit, her silver braid coiled upon her head, ready for a day out shopping and running errands. Gran was from a generation that wore dresses every day, but her usual attire was a plain cotton dress with a flowered apron over it.

Pretty swank looking, Gran. Heading out somewhere special?

Thank you. Your mother will be by soon to pick me up. We’re heading down to Portland for lunch and some shopping.

The MacDonnell’s lived in the town of Antrim, Maine, about an hour inland from the city of Portland on the coast. Antrim had one Main Street that went for about three-quarters of a mile, with short blocks of residential streets diagonally off from the main shopping area. Most of the stores were antique shops, restaurants, or small art galleries, catering to the tourists that visited for the lake in the summer or the ski areas to the north in winter. There was also the Post Office and the barber shop run by George Whitman and Dolly’s Style and Cut, a beauty parlor used by the local women. There was the yarn shop where Taisie worked, located right in the middle of Main Street, across from the red brick Savings Bank.

Gran’s house was on the last street off Main Street to the north, just before Main Street turned back to a two-lane highway that stretched along the lake. Cottages dotted the shores of Antrim Lake, mostly used by the flatlanders as Mainers called them, or people from out-of-state that flocked to Antrim for vacation, though some of the cottages belonged to families from the coast that liked to spend their weekends at a ‘camp’ in the woods. Those houses had been in those families’ possession for generations.

Further up the highway, about a half mile from the far end of the lake was the farm where Taisie’s parents lived and where she had grown up. Her father raised sheep and alpacas as well as vegetables and hay. They had a small farm stand by the side of the road where they sold yarn, fleece, produce, and preserves that her mother put up from their harvest in the fall. Usually, the stand was unmanned. Customers could take what they wanted and leave the money in a basket on the table. One of the MacDonnell’s would empty the receptacle at the end of the day. It was surprising how few times someone had ripped them off considering, but that was one of the benefits of living in rural Maine.

Gran folded up the newspaper and stood up, pushing the straight-backed chair away from the old kitchen table, across the linoleum floor. There are new-baked muffins in the dish on the counter, she said as Taisie rummaged in the refrigerator.

Thanks, Gran, I’m making myself a picnic lunch, Taisie replied.  But I’ll take a couple of muffins with me. I’m taking the boat out to the cove. She rarely ate much first thing in the morning. A cup of tea and some yogurt sufficed for breakfast. However, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t pack a sizeable lunch and eat it all. Taisie was petite, and in fact, she wished she could put on a few more pounds. Her two brothers, Rory and Cullum, teased her about her boyish shape. They were both tall and muscular from working on the farm, and they looked like their father, with his auburn hair and coloring. Taisie was a throwback to her grandmother in looks and size.  Though Gran’s hair had long changed to white while Taisie was a strawberry blonde, they both wore it in a long braid. Gran’s bun today was a concession to Lovey MacDonnell, Taisie’s mother, who wasn’t fond of anything she might connect to hippies or the sixties of her youth.

Isabella and Randal MacDonnell had come to Antrim, Maine a few years after their marriage, when Taisie’s father, also named Randal, was a baby. The name of the town had attracted them, called after the county in Ireland where they had once lived. Randal Senior had been a fisherman, plying the oceans between Ireland and Scotland in all seasons in a small boat, hauling in turbot, cod, and whatever else caught in his nets.

But it was a hard living, and Gran feared that the ocean would take her tall, handsome husband as it had so many others. So, they left Ireland and came to America, away from the sea, and settled on the farm where their son now lived with his family. Young Randal grew to adulthood, married a local girl, Lovina, or Lovey, Goodwin and had his own family. Grampie and Gran had bought the smaller house in town, leaving the old homestead to the younger couple and their growing family.

When Taisie had finished college, she had come home to work in the yarn store on Main Street. Grampie had passed away just before she graduated, so she had moved in with Gran since it was close to her work and a comfort to them both. They had always been close — two peas in a pod, Lovey declared — and enjoyed each other’s company.  And Taisie could walk the two blocks to the store, even in winter.

You’re welcome to come with us, Gran said with a grin, putting apples and bananas into Taisie’s lunch sack. Your mother would like to spend a little time with you, you know. We’re going down to the Old Port for shopping, and you’d enjoy that.

Taisie nodded. I would, but I’ll pass today. We’re leaving tomorrow for the Cumberland Fair, and I’ll be gone all weekend working. I think I’d rather laze around out on the water on such a nice day rather than pounding the cobblestones in the Old Port, fighting off the tourists. Tell Mom I’ll see her when you get back. Maybe we can have dinner together.

We’ll plan on it, Gran responded. We can eat up at the farm. I’m sure your father and brothers would like to see you, too. And I have a strawberry pie I can bring for dessert.

"Though I’m sure that Pop, Rory, and Cullum will want to see you anyway, they love your strawberry pie. Taisie finished a cup of yogurt and a glass of orange juice but waggled her eyebrows at her grandmother just so she’d know she was teasing. I’ll see you later. Tell Mom I love her and you both have a good time."

She gave her grandmother a quick hug, stuffed the lunch bag in with her knitting, and was out the door to the mudroom. She grabbed a life vest off the peg on the wall and headed out the back screen door.

The back of Gran’s yard was only mown for a short distance, allowing enough room for the clothesline and a small shed where they kept firewood for the winter. There was the willow tree that grew outside of Taisie’s bedroom window, and that held several birdhouses and feeders that Gran kept filled all year round. But after that, the yard changed into a field, where the grass grew tall and sweet this early in the season.

In a few weeks the summer heat would dry it out, and the field would become stiff and prickly on her bare legs, but right now it was full of the scents of the wild grasses and flowers that grew freely there.

At the end of the field was a line of trees, scrub bushes that had grown over the years. Right behind them was the old wooden dock on the lake where they kept the dented metal rowboat that Grampie had used for fishing. One reason her grandparents bought this property when they moved into town was because of the short piece of lake frontage that gave them access onto Antrim Lake.

The boat wasn’t much, but it didn’t leak and was reasonably comfortable. There was a small motor that Taisie never used. She preferred to use the old wooden oars to row to the small cove down from their dock. It was