Book 1 - Unmarked: The Sons of Kerry
16th Century Ireland
The sun was dimly lit that morning. The village milled as usual but there was excitement in the air. Today Fionn would have a new bride, his second after his beloved first wife had vanished. He was both feared and loved. Those that feared him would trade their children to have his favor. Those that loved him knew better than to be attached to him. Behind every hero’s smile was a masked ambition to rule the world, Fionn mac Cumhaill was no different. Power was an exhilarating and dangerous thing to have.
Fionn was a hero but he was not pure of heart, not the way classic tales would foretell. He was a man full of greed, strength, charisma, intelligence and a power that could both give life and choose to deny it. Whether his story would end in light or darkness was his own choosing. Many would remember him bathed in the light; those who would know the true darkness would not live to tell of it. All but one would die.
That night a great banquet was held and the new queen would meet the man she was promised to. She had a duty; royal blood was not something to be wasted or polluted. She had been taught this before anything else. And now she sat in front of a large, ornate oval mirror as a maid brushed her golden hair. She watched the young girls lips move silently as she counted each stroke, careful to not lose count.
“Lady Grainne,” came a soft motherly voice at the door. The maid stood quickly and bowed her head in reverence to the older woman. “They are ready to announce you.”
Grainne looked into the mirror one last time, touched the tip of her finger to her lip and felt it tremble. She knew the stories of the heroic Fionn but she also knew he was much older than her and she would be expected to produce children for this man and rule at his side regardless of her choices. A princess has no choices, not real ones.
She stood, her golden edged dress weighing her down and took the first step towards her future.
Fionn awaited his new bride at the foot of the stone steps. His hair was long, pure white, and pulled back from his face with a leather string. He wore a robe of ivory and gold that covered him from his throat to his ankles. A thin golden rope of gilded leaves circled his head and his fingers tapped nervously on stone. He had truly wanted to protect his first wife and he knew she was still out there but after seven years of searching for her, he was tired, weary and his kingdom needed a queen. He learned at a very early age that anything precious could and most likely would be lost. Fighting and taking were the only way to hold on to anything that was rightfully his.
As he waited, his trusted soldier and friend, Diarmuid approached.
“Perhaps this is a rash decision,” he said to Fionn. Diarmuid would be the only person in his presence that would dare question any of his decisions.
“Perhaps,” Fionn agreed with a slight nod. He had trained with Diarmuid’s father and had taken a vow to watch over his son when the man died in his arms. “Perhaps not.” He was short on purpose, he would never admit the truth freely.
A horn sounded, announcing the arrival of the new queen to be. A man, in kilt and leather sash announced her. “The princess Grainne mac Airt, future queen in a day’s time.”
At the top of the steps stood a woman with obvious regal blood. Her nose was straight, pointed at the tip, her eyes centered in a perfectly heart shaped face. Streams of golden hair fell in waves around her shoulders and grazed the small of her back. She was beautiful, porcelain skin, a thin mouth and an air about her that announced her as a just and good queen.
Grainne looked down at the people she would represent and saw the man she would marry. She knew Fionn before being introduced, his age showed in his eyes though his body was ready for battle. She saw hard edge, ruthless need to win, a darkness that made her skin cool. She closed her eyes and pulled back the tear that threatened.
Then Fionn stepped aside, taking two steps towards her and she saw the man who lingered behind. Chestnut curls danced at his collar, brightly lit blue eyes looked straight into the ice blue of her own. He was rugged and beautiful and she could see his desire that mirrored her own as he looked up at her. So could Fionn.
He looked between his bride to be and his trusted friend and saw what he was sure everyone else did. Rage and embarrassment lit red through his vision. Still he climbed the steps, took the Lady Grainne’s hand and walked her into a banquet in their honor.
CHAPTER 1:
Sabina Keane never knew a sane version of her mother. She was told that at time, in the beginning of her trials, that she was charming, congenial and loving. She’d only seen her as mad, enraged and full of hate for her only daughter.
New York City was a city known to fulfill dreams. That was why her father brought her mother there, where they would create a home and start a family. Gone were the green hills of Ireland, replaced by tall buildings and unseen stars. Sabina was born nine months after they first stepped on American soil. Her mother took one look at her daughter and screamed. She hadn’t stopped screaming since. She was told her father died shortly after her birth, a result of his own hand; Sabina was sure he’d hated her as well. Her entire life was spent in therapy and one foster home after another; all with the knowledge that somehow she had caused it all by merely being born.
Life was tough on the streets of New York City and Sabina adapted quickly. It was easy to be tough when you had no choice from birth. She rose through the ranks of a local gang by beating her way to the top. No one touched Sabina Keane. No one. She led a group of her fellow delinquents on a long list of robberies, petty theft and vandalism. She knew more went on in the city but she could never bring herself to kill – hurt, yes; kill, no. Her mother wanted to kill her the moment she was born; she knew what it felt like to have someone want to kill you. Killing someone would make her have something in common with her mother and she wanted that like another hole in her head.
Steal from the rich, give to the poor. Sabina and her crew were the poor. The whole group followed her that night to a museum. It was easy to steal cash from a tourists back pocket but it only netted a few hundred dollars. If she could get her hands on some big game she could strike pay dirt. Big game, in her mind, was equivalent to the large black diamond currently on display. If she could pull this off then she’d fit the title on her bio down at the police station – master thief.
Getting in was easy. Gassing the guards had only given her a little trouble. If she’d been alone it wouldn’t have happened. It was hard being in charge or rather taking care of seven or eight others who had never even been inside a museum. But this was her family, the only family she had ever known. And family did what they had to. Psychosis shouldn’t change that. Apparently her mother never got the memo. She disabled the silent alarm with the code she’d witted out of the curator. Men were easy targets, especially men with pencil frame glasses, a pocket protector, and a blaring sign above their head that read “Never been laid.” Her solid frame, well placed curves, long auburn hair, emerald green bedroom eyes and a killer pair of black leather do-me heeled boots helped her along the way. Not every woman needed long legs. Some just needed the right accessories.
Cool eyes and excitement looked upon the gleaming black rock. Sabina smiled, this would be the night that changed her luck. It was quiet like every sound in the world stopped just so she could enjoy the moment alone with her thoughts. It dawned on her too late that it was far too quiet. She had just tucked the large diamond into her backpack when she saw the first flash of gun metal across the room. She didn’t even have time to curse when she took off running.
She stumbled and fell, looking down she saw a body and had to bite her lip hard to not scream. The face looking back at her was one of her crew, Erin, the newest guy to join up. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and his ear looked as if it had been burned from his head. Panicked, she looked around and saw another, then another. All of them looked as if they’d been burned on various parts of their bodies. How had she not heard a fire? How could it be gone now? This was impossible. A foot step behind her set her scurrying again, unable to help the family she’d sworn to protect.
She barreled into a wall, both hands coming up to protect herself as she skidded around the corner towards an emergency exit. Something whizzed by her ear and she smelled the stench of burning hair. She reached up to feel a soft tendril of curl fall into her palm. That was too close for comfort. But it hadn’t sounded like a gunshot. There wasn’t enough time to question it. She made a sharp right and ran into a locked door. Her shoulder ached from trying to shove through it. Taking three steps back she ran and kicked out at the door and heard the crack of the lock as it broke. She nearly fell down the narrow steps, catching herself at the bottom with a mound of spider webs and dust covering her. This was definitely not a place the janitor had seen in a while.
To the left she could make out a small window, to the right a wall of boxes with various labels. Maybe she could fit through the window. She grabbed boxes from one side, bringing them to the other so she could use them as a ladder to the dirty window. She had stacked three boxes and was coming back from the fourth when something behind the wall of boxes caught her attention. The edge of what seemed to be a yellowed tapestry curled and uncurled on its own; there was definitely no breeze in this dungeon of a supply room. She pulled down the box, then moved another and another. A story unfolded on the cloth, a story that made no sense but entranced her still the same.
Twelve women in dirty clothes sat in a circle, spinning cloth in various stages. Their faces were hideous, each of them sporting horns from their foreheads. A cold shiver worked its way down her spine and she felt her skin prickle as goose flesh covered her arms. She quickly rolled the tapestry and stuffed it into her backpack. There wasn’t time to look at all of it and she couldn’t leave it behind. She carried the fourth box to the stack she’d made and began climbing just as someone came barreling down the steps. She jumped for the window but couldn’t reach. This was it, her luck was changing, but not the way she’d expected.
A dark figure moved towards her, hands raised and ready to shoot. Even with her life in peril, she was not willing to kill. She dropped from the boxes and held her hands up.
“Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed. I give up.” Her voice was thin, not the confident stride she was used to hearing with her own ears.
The figure moved closer and she clenched her teeth. They didn’t seem to have any intention of letting her walk out of this. When she thought the phantom gunman would strike she heard another creaking on the stairs. Another figure held out what must have been a high powered weapon as a shot of red streaked across the room, but it wasn’t aimed at her. It was aimed at her assailant. What the hell had she gotten herself into this time?
She saw red then blue streaks in the air like fireworks and found herself crouching at the bottom of her make shift ladder, afraid to be struck by whatever weapons it was they were using. Her head spun and sweat dripped from her temple. The strangled cry of the person in front of her resonated in her ears as a red streak connected with his shoulder. When his hands dropped she was stunned to see he didn’t drop a weapon at all; what she did see was blue sparks emanating from his finger tips. This was not happening. Maybe lunatic was a special gene reserved just for her family, passed down from mother to daughter. She backed against the wall as the other figure came down the steps, seeming to glide instead of step.
“No,” she spoke, belying the plea that sounded in her mind. “Don’t touch me.”
He waved a large hand in her direction and red dusted her vision. Then she saw black.
The sun was dimly lit that morning. The village milled as usual but there was excitement in the air. Today Fionn would have a new bride, his second after his beloved first wife had vanished. He was both feared and loved. Those that feared him would trade their children to have his favor. Those that loved him knew better than to be attached to him. Behind every hero’s smile was a masked ambition to rule the world, Fionn mac Cumhaill was no different. Power was an exhilarating and dangerous thing to have.
Fionn was a hero but he was not pure of heart, not the way classic tales would foretell. He was a man full of greed, strength, charisma, intelligence and a power that could both give life and choose to deny it. Whether his story would end in light or darkness was his own choosing. Many would remember him bathed in the light; those who would know the true darkness would not live to tell of it. All but one would die.
That night a great banquet was held and the new queen would meet the man she was promised to. She had a duty; royal blood was not something to be wasted or polluted. She had been taught this before anything else. And now she sat in front of a large, ornate oval mirror as a maid brushed her golden hair. She watched the young girls lips move silently as she counted each stroke, careful to not lose count.
“Lady Grainne,” came a soft motherly voice at the door. The maid stood quickly and bowed her head in reverence to the older woman. “They are ready to announce you.”
Grainne looked into the mirror one last time, touched the tip of her finger to her lip and felt it tremble. She knew the stories of the heroic Fionn but she also knew he was much older than her and she would be expected to produce children for this man and rule at his side regardless of her choices. A princess has no choices, not real ones.
She stood, her golden edged dress weighing her down and took the first step towards her future.
Fionn awaited his new bride at the foot of the stone steps. His hair was long, pure white, and pulled back from his face with a leather string. He wore a robe of ivory and gold that covered him from his throat to his ankles. A thin golden rope of gilded leaves circled his head and his fingers tapped nervously on stone. He had truly wanted to protect his first wife and he knew she was still out there but after seven years of searching for her, he was tired, weary and his kingdom needed a queen. He learned at a very early age that anything precious could and most likely would be lost. Fighting and taking were the only way to hold on to anything that was rightfully his.
As he waited, his trusted soldier and friend, Diarmuid approached.
“Perhaps this is a rash decision,” he said to Fionn. Diarmuid would be the only person in his presence that would dare question any of his decisions.
“Perhaps,” Fionn agreed with a slight nod. He had trained with Diarmuid’s father and had taken a vow to watch over his son when the man died in his arms. “Perhaps not.” He was short on purpose, he would never admit the truth freely.
A horn sounded, announcing the arrival of the new queen to be. A man, in kilt and leather sash announced her. “The princess Grainne mac Airt, future queen in a day’s time.”
At the top of the steps stood a woman with obvious regal blood. Her nose was straight, pointed at the tip, her eyes centered in a perfectly heart shaped face. Streams of golden hair fell in waves around her shoulders and grazed the small of her back. She was beautiful, porcelain skin, a thin mouth and an air about her that announced her as a just and good queen.
Grainne looked down at the people she would represent and saw the man she would marry. She knew Fionn before being introduced, his age showed in his eyes though his body was ready for battle. She saw hard edge, ruthless need to win, a darkness that made her skin cool. She closed her eyes and pulled back the tear that threatened.
Then Fionn stepped aside, taking two steps towards her and she saw the man who lingered behind. Chestnut curls danced at his collar, brightly lit blue eyes looked straight into the ice blue of her own. He was rugged and beautiful and she could see his desire that mirrored her own as he looked up at her. So could Fionn.
He looked between his bride to be and his trusted friend and saw what he was sure everyone else did. Rage and embarrassment lit red through his vision. Still he climbed the steps, took the Lady Grainne’s hand and walked her into a banquet in their honor.
CHAPTER 1:
Sabina Keane never knew a sane version of her mother. She was told that at time, in the beginning of her trials, that she was charming, congenial and loving. She’d only seen her as mad, enraged and full of hate for her only daughter.
New York City was a city known to fulfill dreams. That was why her father brought her mother there, where they would create a home and start a family. Gone were the green hills of Ireland, replaced by tall buildings and unseen stars. Sabina was born nine months after they first stepped on American soil. Her mother took one look at her daughter and screamed. She hadn’t stopped screaming since. She was told her father died shortly after her birth, a result of his own hand; Sabina was sure he’d hated her as well. Her entire life was spent in therapy and one foster home after another; all with the knowledge that somehow she had caused it all by merely being born.
Life was tough on the streets of New York City and Sabina adapted quickly. It was easy to be tough when you had no choice from birth. She rose through the ranks of a local gang by beating her way to the top. No one touched Sabina Keane. No one. She led a group of her fellow delinquents on a long list of robberies, petty theft and vandalism. She knew more went on in the city but she could never bring herself to kill – hurt, yes; kill, no. Her mother wanted to kill her the moment she was born; she knew what it felt like to have someone want to kill you. Killing someone would make her have something in common with her mother and she wanted that like another hole in her head.
Steal from the rich, give to the poor. Sabina and her crew were the poor. The whole group followed her that night to a museum. It was easy to steal cash from a tourists back pocket but it only netted a few hundred dollars. If she could get her hands on some big game she could strike pay dirt. Big game, in her mind, was equivalent to the large black diamond currently on display. If she could pull this off then she’d fit the title on her bio down at the police station – master thief.
Getting in was easy. Gassing the guards had only given her a little trouble. If she’d been alone it wouldn’t have happened. It was hard being in charge or rather taking care of seven or eight others who had never even been inside a museum. But this was her family, the only family she had ever known. And family did what they had to. Psychosis shouldn’t change that. Apparently her mother never got the memo. She disabled the silent alarm with the code she’d witted out of the curator. Men were easy targets, especially men with pencil frame glasses, a pocket protector, and a blaring sign above their head that read “Never been laid.” Her solid frame, well placed curves, long auburn hair, emerald green bedroom eyes and a killer pair of black leather do-me heeled boots helped her along the way. Not every woman needed long legs. Some just needed the right accessories.
Cool eyes and excitement looked upon the gleaming black rock. Sabina smiled, this would be the night that changed her luck. It was quiet like every sound in the world stopped just so she could enjoy the moment alone with her thoughts. It dawned on her too late that it was far too quiet. She had just tucked the large diamond into her backpack when she saw the first flash of gun metal across the room. She didn’t even have time to curse when she took off running.
She stumbled and fell, looking down she saw a body and had to bite her lip hard to not scream. The face looking back at her was one of her crew, Erin, the newest guy to join up. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and his ear looked as if it had been burned from his head. Panicked, she looked around and saw another, then another. All of them looked as if they’d been burned on various parts of their bodies. How had she not heard a fire? How could it be gone now? This was impossible. A foot step behind her set her scurrying again, unable to help the family she’d sworn to protect.
She barreled into a wall, both hands coming up to protect herself as she skidded around the corner towards an emergency exit. Something whizzed by her ear and she smelled the stench of burning hair. She reached up to feel a soft tendril of curl fall into her palm. That was too close for comfort. But it hadn’t sounded like a gunshot. There wasn’t enough time to question it. She made a sharp right and ran into a locked door. Her shoulder ached from trying to shove through it. Taking three steps back she ran and kicked out at the door and heard the crack of the lock as it broke. She nearly fell down the narrow steps, catching herself at the bottom with a mound of spider webs and dust covering her. This was definitely not a place the janitor had seen in a while.
To the left she could make out a small window, to the right a wall of boxes with various labels. Maybe she could fit through the window. She grabbed boxes from one side, bringing them to the other so she could use them as a ladder to the dirty window. She had stacked three boxes and was coming back from the fourth when something behind the wall of boxes caught her attention. The edge of what seemed to be a yellowed tapestry curled and uncurled on its own; there was definitely no breeze in this dungeon of a supply room. She pulled down the box, then moved another and another. A story unfolded on the cloth, a story that made no sense but entranced her still the same.
Twelve women in dirty clothes sat in a circle, spinning cloth in various stages. Their faces were hideous, each of them sporting horns from their foreheads. A cold shiver worked its way down her spine and she felt her skin prickle as goose flesh covered her arms. She quickly rolled the tapestry and stuffed it into her backpack. There wasn’t time to look at all of it and she couldn’t leave it behind. She carried the fourth box to the stack she’d made and began climbing just as someone came barreling down the steps. She jumped for the window but couldn’t reach. This was it, her luck was changing, but not the way she’d expected.
A dark figure moved towards her, hands raised and ready to shoot. Even with her life in peril, she was not willing to kill. She dropped from the boxes and held her hands up.
“Don’t shoot. I’m unarmed. I give up.” Her voice was thin, not the confident stride she was used to hearing with her own ears.
The figure moved closer and she clenched her teeth. They didn’t seem to have any intention of letting her walk out of this. When she thought the phantom gunman would strike she heard another creaking on the stairs. Another figure held out what must have been a high powered weapon as a shot of red streaked across the room, but it wasn’t aimed at her. It was aimed at her assailant. What the hell had she gotten herself into this time?
She saw red then blue streaks in the air like fireworks and found herself crouching at the bottom of her make shift ladder, afraid to be struck by whatever weapons it was they were using. Her head spun and sweat dripped from her temple. The strangled cry of the person in front of her resonated in her ears as a red streak connected with his shoulder. When his hands dropped she was stunned to see he didn’t drop a weapon at all; what she did see was blue sparks emanating from his finger tips. This was not happening. Maybe lunatic was a special gene reserved just for her family, passed down from mother to daughter. She backed against the wall as the other figure came down the steps, seeming to glide instead of step.
“No,” she spoke, belying the plea that sounded in her mind. “Don’t touch me.”
He waved a large hand in her direction and red dusted her vision. Then she saw black.