Home of a mother, wife, writer

Posts tagged ‘Eamonn’

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: “Tail/Tale”

“I hope you have a good tale for that tail sticking out of your shirt,” Eamonn said as Desmund came into the room.

The other man didn’t say a word as he turned back to close the door. Still Eamonn put his pen back near the inkwell and leaned back in the chair, waiting. He’d gone on thinking Desmund was dead for too many months. He could have patience with the man right here with him now.

Desmund hissed as he started to turn back to Eamonn. Or was that whatever was in his shirt? “Should I be jealous?” Eamonn asked quietly then lowered his voice even more. “That something is closer to you than I am.” They always had to speak quietly here. The walls were too thin.

One corner of Desmund’s mouth lifted into a smile. “At least you never dig your claws into me this way. Ouch! Will you stop that?” he demanded of the wriggling lump under his shirt.

Eamonn laughed and moved over to him, slipping free some of the buttons of his shirt. Suddenly a ball of white and gray fur fell into his hands and let out a sharp “mew”. Eamonn cradled the kitten in the palm of his hand, scratching his fingers over the top of its head. When he ran his hand over the kitten’s body, he could feel every bump of its ribs. “Where did you find him?” Her? He hadn’t even checked.

“Crying in the alley. Couldn’t just leave her there all alone.”

Of course he couldn’t. Desmund had such a soft spot for any animal in need. He was always feeding strays behind the inn. But, the innkeeper never let them keep any of them. “How did you get her past Mal? Wasn’t he downstairs?”

“Why do you think she was in me shirt? We can keep her, right?”

Like he was ever able to say no when Desmund looked at him like that.


Today’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt was to use tail/tale, one or both, any way we want. I had several half-formed ideas by the time I got up this morning, but this is the only one that stuck and formed into more. If it does make it into the book, it’ll be somewhere in the second half of book 2 of my Green Hills & Smoky Fields series, which I’m still plotting.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: “Ink”

Bridgette stepped into the dining room and saw that Eamonn was the only one there. He didn’t even seem to notice her presence though, as he focused on the paper in front of him. He scribbled a few lines over it, pressed the end of the nib pen against his lip then put it back against the paper. He only paused in the scribbling to dip the pen back into the inkwell.

“Writing a letter?” she asked as she moved closer. She hadn’t really seen much of him recently. Not as much as she had seen of Torin. She felt a little bad that she wasn’t more disappointed by that. But, he was here now.

He jumped a little at her voice, and a few drops of ink fell across the page. He wiped at them, but they only smeared across the paper. He shrugged and set the pen aside. “Not a letter, no.”

She moved a little closer, hoping to get a glimpse of what he was writing. If not a letter, then what could it be? But he slid the paper under a blank sheet. Right, so he did not want her to see. He had been fairly charming to her over the days. She hadn’t expected this turn of behavior.

“You are not going to let me see then?”

“Nay, I do not think that a good idea,” he said, but he did flash her that smile. The one that liked to make her knees a little weak. It wasn’t as strong as it usually was. And it had nothing on what just Torin’s hand on her elbow did to her.

And there was still a sadness in Eamonn’s eyes. He was not as despondent as when they’d first arrived, a little more than a month ago. But, she still saw flashes of it, especially when he didn’t think anyone–mostly his brother it seemed–was watching. She did not know why he didn’t want her to see what he was writing, though. What could the harm be if it was not a personal letter.

But, she moved away and from the corner of her eye saw him dip the pen again. She tried to catch a few words without getting too close. But none of those made much sense to her. Not without seeing all of them. But, she couldn’t seem to help looking over from time to time.

It wasn’t until he was starting to fold the paper, and she got a glimpse of the name at the top of what he’d been writing she got her first clue. Keagen Aislinn. She’d seen that name before. Along with a rather stirring diatribe in The Nation. She couldn’t believe that was Eamonn. He could be charming when he chose to be, but this had gone beyond that. It could see him transported if not hanged.

“Have care,” she murmured as she stepped past him. “I know your brother enjoys your presence.”

He met her gaze for a moment, awareness in those eyes. She’d been caught by them from the first moment she’d looked into them. But, he simply nodded after a moment and turned away.

What was he doing to her? Not even two months ago, she’d sworn she’d never letย  a man control her. Now, she was being turned and twisted by two of them. No, she would not let it happen. Especially not for a man who seemed to be willing to risk being charged with sedition.

She definitely wasn’t going to let herself fall for him.


Today’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt was to use “ink” either as a noun or verb. Wasn’t quite sure what I was going to do at first. But, Eamonn decided to start speaking to me, or writing as it is. ๐Ÿ˜‰ The Nation was actually an Irish newspaper that would have been published around this time, and by this time, several of the contributors had been transported to Australia for exactly what Eamonn is doing, which would be why he’s writing under an assumed name. ๐Ÿ™‚

Stream of Consciousness: Arm

Desmund grabbed Eamonn’s arm, his fingers warm against Eamonn’s skin. There was no pleasure in the touch this time, though. “Do not go out there,” Desmund said.

“And why not?” Eamonn asked. “They are after my brother and me. You and your aunt should not be punished for harboring us. I will go. You can get out with Torin.”

“I do not want any harm to come to you!”

“Nor I you,” Eamonn said softly. “If they take me, I shall tell them that Torin is dead. That you and your great-aunt did not know who I truly was. You will be able to go free.”

“And what of you?” Desmund demanded. “What will they do to you?”

“It does not matter,” Eamonn said. “They will have me, and you can help my brother get away. Get away with him. That is what matters to me.”

“You matter to me!” Desmund shouted.

Eamonn tried to hush the other man, but when he tried to hold on to him, Desmund shoved him away. Sometimes he forgot just how strong Desmund was despite his wrecked leg.

“What does it matter if anyone knows? You will be lost to me no matter what you do. I do not want to live knowing I let you go to your death.”

“But, I should live with the same?” Eamonn asked, his voice cracking.

“I’ve survived before when I should have died. Go. I will keep them busy so you and Torin can get away. Do not worry for me. If I do not get away then it was my time. Maybe beyond it. Just stay free, and it will be worth it.”

“Des,” Eamonn murmured.

“Go,” Desmund insisted as voices rose into shouts outside again. “Go,” he said again even more forcefully this time. “Before they surround the house and you cannot.”

“Eamonn,” Torin called from the back of the cottage. “We must go.”

He looked between them, from his brother to the man he’d just thought he could be falling for, and chose. They were outside and to the barn when flames lit the night. “No,” he cried, lurching away from his brother. But, Torin pulled on his arm.

“We have to go,” his brother said. “We cannot let it be in vain.”

But, all Eamonn could do was stare at the burning cottage. Had Desmund gotten out before it went up? Or was he burning in there? Eamonn wasn’t sure he could bear the answer. Torin tugged on his arm again, and he realized his brother had already saddled both horses. “She told me to take both of them,” Torin said when Eamonn just gaped at him. “She knew they would not get away. Come on. We cannot do anything if we are dead.”

Eamonn clambered up into the saddle and they started away from theย  burning cottage. But, Eamonn looked back once more. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “So sorry.”

It seemed all he would bring to anyone was destruction.


More from my NaNoWriMo project for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday. The prompt was to use “arm”, either along or as part of another word. I’ve got both in this one. ๐Ÿ™‚ And I can’t answer Eamonn’s questions yet, either. Desmund may show back up, but it won’t be until at least book 2. He was a surprise character, but Eamonn had already told me he was bisexual(though he wouldn’t have had that word). And since we’re in 1850s Ireland, yeah, they were kind of doomed to begin with. But, yeah, I’m hoping Desmund didn’t actually die in that fire.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday: “Shortcut/Cut Short”

“You cannot just take a shortcut to justice.”

“It is the only justice he will ever get,” Torin said as he continued to brush his mare’s coat.

“That does not mean it has to be you who brings it his way,” Eamonn argued. “You are all I have left, my brother. Do not take that from me as well.”

Torin firmed his jaw at the guilt that tried to seep into his bones. He couldn’t let his brother’s pleas turn him from this path. “He killed our parents. He destroyed everything we had. I cannot just let him get away with that.”

“I cannot take losing you, too. Not after–”

“Stop,” Torin cut short whatever else Eamonn was going to say. “It does not matter what you say. I am going, Eamonn. You will not stop me. Just leave it.”

Torin was sure his brother would argue some more, instead Eamonn turned and stalked away. They’d made a semi-shelter in what was left of the barn. Torin imagined he was going back there. It wouldn’t offer much protection, but they wouldn’t be able stay here for much longer anyway. Especially after he did what he planned.

“He’ll try to stop me again, Ceallach,” he told the mare. “we can’t let it happen. No one else will make him pay. It has to be me.”

The mare blew out a breath and turning her head, nudged his arm. He buried his face against her neck, taking comfort from her. Other than his brother, the horse was all he had left in the world.

Owen Curran had taken everything else from him. Torin would stop him before he did the same to anyone else. No matter what more it might cost him. He’d promised his father, and he would see it through now.


No, Jonas and Isaac this week. Sorry if you were looking forward to them. This week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt was to use shortcut/ cut short. And I decided to put this toward my goal on my NaNoWriMo project…after making sure shortcut was a term that would have been used in the 1850s(by the 1600s , so I’m safe). Now, I’m off to get more of those words. Torin has some revenge to get after all(though that won’t go quite the way he has planned).

Tag Cloud