Secrets of the Fairy Tree: Craigmorag Castle Series, #2

By Lisa Greer

When 19 year-old Lynette Rosewood winds up pregnant and unwed, she travels to Ireland from America to have her baby and give it up for adoption at her mother's behest.

 

At her aunt's home in Ireland, Craigmorag Castle, she finds danger and romance. Her cousin Roan McGrath attracts her with his dark good looks and soft side, but he spends too much time in the stables and is a self destructive recluse. Nevertheless, he and Lynette build a bond, and he encourages her to make her own choices about her child. Soon, Lynette decides she is going to keep her baby, no matter what it takes. She realizes her and her baby are in danger from an unknown enemy. Will Lynette be able to keep her child and find love with Roan?

 

This is a 45,000 word novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Greer
• Release date: May 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393957881

Book preview

Secrets of the Fairy Tree

(Craigmorag Castle Series)

****

Lisa Greer

www.lisalgreer.com

Copyright 2021 Lisa Greer

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art: Victoria Cooper Art

Editing: Kay Springsteen

Formatting: The Author Faerie

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Also in this series: The Haunting of Craigmorag Castle

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Craigmorag Village, Ireland, July, 1918.

Ah, there she is, miss—Craigmorag Castle! The ancient lady of the isle. What do ya think? It’s not a nice day to see her, but she’s magnificent, nonetheless. The trap driver pointed up the winding, jewel green hill at a monstrous stone edifice, just coming into view under the looming, leaden clouds.

Lynette peered ahead, her hand on her stomach in a protective way, excitement rising in her despite the long ride there. This place is really primitive. She shifted, trying to take weight off her sore bottom.

Oh my goodness. She does look ancient but also gorgeous in a romantic sort of way. She could say little else, her thoughts awhirl. Several shades of green hillsides rolled up to a formidable, if crumbling, castle—a defiant light gray stone monolith against a steel shaded, stormy sky. It jutted into the sky as if it were growing out of the earth—a strange primordial creature that menaced the landscape.

Lynette suppressed a shiver at the strange thought. She had read that Craigmorag Castle was built in 1578. It certainly looked like it, with its gray stone walls, forbidding turrets, and a strange architecture where points were everywhere and windows with coverings seemed to appear at random. It was the only structure of its kind for miles. Every other one was a simple fisherman’s cottage or farmer’s house. That was odd for some counties in Ireland, where castles seemed to pop up on every other corner or hill.

Lovely, ain’t she? The driver asked, a strange tone in his voice. Though some of the inhabitants aren’t so lovely.

What do you mean?

To tell the truth, miss, my daughter was employed here for a while, but she was fired by the lady of the castle when she fell pregnant. The man spit over the side of the cart.

Oh. I’m sorry. That must have been terrible for her.

He nodded. It was. Now she lives at home with us. The baby is still small, and she has yet to find other work. Her reputation was ruined. If they’d let her come back to work after the baby’s birth, it would have made her life so much easier. He frowned.

I’m sure it would have. Lynette’s stomach coiled with misery. Unwed mothers are treated no better here in Ireland than they are in America. Just more reason to keep her secret. She paused, determined to change the subject to one she felt more comfortable with. Do you come here often to drop travelers off? Lynette gripped the side of the rickety trap, wondering if it would hold all the way up the perilous hillside. Will it be dashed into pieces by one of the bumps?

Beneath her, water spread out like a placid blue jewel, reflecting the cloudless sky. Numerous sheep grazed in fields, splashes of red and blue paint on their backs to show which farmer they belonged to. It was a rare day, her driver had told her—a respite from the soft, spitting rain that had been going on for days—though the gray sky still hung overhead, threatening rain at any moment.

No, not often. It always takes my breath away—the view of the place ’round the bend. He paused. Take care, miss. I wish you much luck during your stay. He stopped the vehicle with a jerk, and Lynette winced.

It was a slightly strange thing to say. She sighed, realizing she had to get out of the trap now. Ugh. Her hands trembled at the thought. The place felt foreign and unwelcoming in spite of the friendly driver. Thank you, sir. Dread rose within her, thick in her throat.

The driver jumped out of the trap. I’ll be seeing you to the door, then. I’ll get your bags o’ course. His soft burr had surprised her at first.

Lynette had expected it to be much thicker, but it was nearly unnoticeable.

Others thereabout the castle will have much thicker accents, miss. It’s a country place, you know. He’d laughed as if he’d made a private joke when she had mentioned it, and maybe he had.

Lynette had no idea. There’s no going back now—at least not until after the baby is born and adopted out. Her mother had given her no choice in the matter, and her state of poverty guaranteed that she would comply with her demands.

Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of giving the baby up—of her foolishness and what she had done. There’s nothing to look forward to here—not without the baby.

Lynette touched her chest, remembering how she had always loved babies and children. Some of her earliest memories were of playing mother to her dolls and to the neighborhood children. Often, their mothers were out working, and she would watch them for little or nothing from about age seven. Little mother, one of the neighbors had branded her at age eight. The name had stuck, and she was often teased with it by her peers.

How wrong that nickname is proving to be. She had felt enthusiasm for a brief time during the journey—the happiness of a voyage to a place one has never seen before and to one’s ancestral land. That was all it had been, and that joy was gone now—evaporated like a wispy cloud on a sunny day at the thought of what she was giving up in coming here.

Miss? The man gave her a hard look.

Lynette started. She’d forgotten all about the driver who reached a hand up to her.

I’m sorry. I’m very tired. She forced a smile.

’Course you are. I’ll just be helping you down. The driver gave her a reassuring smile, and tears welled in her eyes at the kindness.

Lynette nodded and took his calloused hand as he lifted her from the trap in one swift movement, as if she were little more than a doll. She found something comforting about the motion and wished he weren’t leaving her alone to face Aunt Siobhan—a duchess and the matriarch of the house now that her husband, Roan McGrath, the former Duke of Craigmorag, had died some years before.

The woman seemed cold and harsh from her letters, and her pictures were no better with a severe nose and high forehead—so unlike Lynette’s own pretty mother with her soft features. As half-sisters who shared their mother, they did not favor each other much. It was nice enough that she had offered to get Lynette out of her trouble, but her mother would have taken the devil’s help if it were proffered after she’d found out about her daughter’s being with child. Her wealthy sister had been just the answer to her Irish Catholic mother’s fervent, loud nightly prayers for a week after Lynette had told her the dreadful news. At least to her, it was dreadful.

Lynette had been secretly elated, but that fell through almost as quickly as she found out. Colin had wanted no part of the child, and that posed a problem. It would be a scandal to have a baby out of wedlock.

As they walked up the dirt path toward the looming castle, Lynette remembered the moment she had told her mother what she had done. There was no mistake she was with child by that point. Her monthly had been missed—which never happened—and her breasts were sore. She was exhausted all the time. She knew the signs, and she knew what she had done with Colin McDougall—the lout. He had seduced her with fine words and taken off for Chicago for the promise of work. She would get no help from him, she had known. Pity she had thought she loved him. She realized now that she had only loved his attention in a household where her mother was harried with money troubles and too busy to deal with her. And her father was long dead. She barely remembered his face now. But he was kind.

I have something to tell you, Lynette had said as her and her mother sat in front of a small fire at home. She wrung her hands, unable to keep them still. It was late spring and still chilly in New York City, especially in their small apartment. Her mother had gotten it cheaply, and comfort wasn’t part of the living space. Layers of clothing and a fire had to suffice.

What? There isn’t any trouble, is there? Her mother looked up from her knitting, her gaze sharp, knowing. But how could she know?

Lynette supposed she did look pale, and she had been vomiting in the mornings. Perhaps her mother already suspected. She had warned her about running with boys, but again, she had been too busy trying to keep a roof over their heads to monitor Lynette’s every step.

I...I’ve done something unwise, Lynette’s voice trembled in spite of her grip on the arms of her threadbare chair. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t say it.

As do we all at some time or other, her mother said, her soft Irish accent coming through as it did when she made one of her wry comments. She had come over with her parents in the late 1800s in search of a better life. Her sister Siobhan had gone back to Ireland after meeting Irishman Roan McGrath, Duke of Craigmorag, during his travels as a young man in New York City. She had been the lucky one, Lynette’s mother always said.

That had never made sense to Lynette since she knew about the potato famine in Ireland and the misery and starvation that had ensued. Obviously, though, that hadn’t affected her aunt and uncle with their land and fortune.

I don’t think— Lynette started. She stopped, her mouth dry. She just couldn’t say it.

Tell me, girl. It’s better that I know, whatever it is. A secret shared is a burden halved. Her mother bit her lip, her gaze unwavering as she spit out another of her many sayings.

I’m going to have a baby, Mum. Lynette let the words out in a rush. A wave of relief washed over her just to spill the heavy secret, even though the words made barely any sense to her. Whatever the reality, she felt detached from the life inside of her. She didn’t want the baby, though she felt pity for the wee thing. It wasn’t his or her fault that it was being born.

What, girl? Her mother asked, her hands trembling in her lap. She dropped her kitting work, her brow furrowed like a stormy sea.

I’m pregnant, Ma. I made a mistake. Lynette choked on the words, tears rising in her throat, making it hurt.

Her mother said nothing for a long moment. The only sounds were the mantel clock ticking and Lynette’s thundering heartbeat. I’m only glad your father has passed. This shame would have killed him faster than the heart attack did. Her mother’s mouth was set in an ugly line. For a woman who nearly always had a smile, the sight was foreboding. Lynette had always hated seeing her angry or disappointed.

Fighting back a sob, Lynette said, I’m sorry. I need your help. I don’t know what to do, other than have it, I suppose. But how could she? They were nearly starving, just the two of them, and another mouth to feed? How could it work? Having a child would only make it more difficult, too, to find a husband and end the burden that she was to her mother.

I know you’re sorry, girl, but sorry won’t fix this. I’ll think of something. Her mother stuffed her knitting piece away. Her voice was harsh, matter of fact. She wouldn’t meet Lynette’s gaze.

Think of something? Lynette asked stupidly. She’d had no other thought than that she would have her baby in shame and deal with the consequences of her choice.

You can’t have the baby here. I won’t have you ruin your reputation over that McDougall boy. I knew he was trouble. It is his? Her mother leaned forward, glaring into her daughter’s eyes.

Yes! Of course, Lynette said.

Hmph. Should have kept your legs together, girl. Her mother’s eyes flashed in anger.

Are you going to send me to the country to have the baby, then?