{"product_id":"jewels-of-the-sun-isbn-9780515126778","title":"Jewels of the Sun","description":"\u003cb\u003eBOOK ONE OF THE GALLAGHERS OF ARDMORE TRILOGY\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn Gallagher’s Pub, where the fire is burning low and the pints are waiting, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Nora Roberts has a story to tell...\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Determined to reevaluate her life, Jude Murray flees America to take refuge in Faerie Hill Cottage, immersing herself in the study of Irish folklore and discovering hope for the future of the magical past.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Finally back home in Ireland after years of traveling, Aidan Gallagher possesses an uncommon understanding of his country’s haunting myths. Although he’s devoted to managing the family pub, a hint of wildness still glints in his eyes—and in Jude, he sees a woman who can both soothe his heart and stir his blood. And he begins to share the legends of the land with her—while they create a passionate history of their own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eDon’t miss the other books in the Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eTears of the Moon\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHeart of the Sea\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“America’s favorite writer.”—\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Roberts, a storytelling wizard, is at her best here, creating a fantastic setting for the continuing romantic tales of the Gallaghers.”—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cb\u003eNora Roberts \u003c\/b\u003eis the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of more than 200 novels. She is also the author of the bestselling In Death series written under the pen name J. D. Robb. There are more than 500 million copies of her books in print.\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eDear Reader,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThose of you who are familiar with my books know that Ireland is one of my favorite places to visit, in real life and in fiction. It’s a country of dramatic cliffs and quiet fields. One of myth and magic and legend. In\u003c\/i\u003e Jewels of the Sun, \u003ci\u003eI’ve borrowed from some of those myths and created my own legend.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eIt could have happened.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’d like you to meet the Gallaghers of Ardmore: Aidan, Shawn, and Darcy, who run the local pub in this pretty seaside village in the county of Waterford. Not far from the village is a cottage, a place of magic where a lonely American woman comes to explore her roots and her heart.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eShe won’t be alone in the house, for there is another lonely woman in residence. She just happens to be a ghost.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eWith the help of a faerie prince who loved well if not wise, Aidan Gallagher of Ardmore and Jude Frances Murray from Chicago will find their place, and take the first step toward breaking a hundred-year spell.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’d like to take you back to Ireland with me, through the doors of Gallagher’s Pub where the fire’s burning low and the pints are waiting. I have a story to tell you.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eNora Roberts\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eCome away! O, human child!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTo the woods and waters wild,\u003cbr\u003eWith a fairy hand in hand,\u003cbr\u003eFor the world’s more full of weeping than\u003cbr\u003eyou can understand.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—W. B. YEATS\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eONE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOBVIOUSLY, WITHOUT QUESTION, she’d lost her mind.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBeing a psychologist, she ought to know.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll the signs were there, had been there, hovering and humming around her for months. The edginess, the short temper, the tendency toward daydreaming and forgetfulness. There’d been a lack of motivation, of energy, of purpose.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer parents had commented on it in their mild, you-can-do-better-Jude way. Her colleagues had begun to glance at her, covertly, with quiet pity or unquiet distaste. She’d come to detest her job, resent her students, find a dozen petty faults with her friends and her family, her associates and superiors.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEvery morning the simple task of getting out of bed to dress for the day’s classes had taken on the proportions of scaling a mountain. Worse, a mountain she had absolutely no interest in seeing from a distance, much less climbing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen there was the rash, impulsive behavior. Oh, yes, that was the final tip-off. Steady-as-she-goes Jude Frances Murray, one of the sturdiest branches on the family tree of the Chicago Murrays, sensible and devoted daughter of Doctors Linda and John K. Murray, quit her job.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot took a sabbatical from the university, not asked for a few weeks’ leave, but quit, right in the middle of the semester.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhy? She didn’t have the faintest idea.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt had been as much a shock to her as to the dean, to her associates, to her parents.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHad she reacted in this manner two years before when her marriage had shattered? No, indeed. She’d simply continued her routine—her classes, her studies, her appointments—without a hitch, even while shuffling in the lawyers and neatly filing the paperwork that symbolizes the end of a union.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNot that there’d been much of a union, or a great deal of hassling for the lawyers to legally sever it. A marriage that had lasted just under eight months didn’t generate a great deal of mess or trouble. Or passion.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePassion, she supposed was what had been missing. If she’d had any, William wouldn’t have left her flat for another woman almost before the flowers in her bridal bouquet had faded.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut there was no point in brooding over it at this late date. She was what she was. Or had been what she was, she corrected. God only knew what she was now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaybe that was part of it, she mused. She’d been on some verge, had looked down at the vast, dark sea of sameness, of monotony, of tedium that was Jude Murray. She’d pinwheeled her arms, scrambled back from the edge—and run screaming away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was so unlike her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThinking about it gave her such sharp palpitations she wondered if she might be having a heart attack just to cap things off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAMERICAN COLLEGE PROFESSOR FOUND DEAD\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIN LEASED VOLVO\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt would be an odd obituary. Perhaps it would make it into the \u003ci\u003eIrish Times\u003c\/i\u003e, which her grandmother so loved to read. Her parents would be shocked, of course. It was such an untidy, public, \u003ci\u003eembarrassing\u003c\/i\u003e kind of death. Completely unsuitable.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNaturally, they’d be heartbroken as well, but overall they would be puzzled. What in the world was the girl thinking of, going off to Ireland when she had a thriving career and a lovely condo on the lakeside?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey would blame Granny’s influence.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd, of course, they would be right, as they had been right since the moment she’d been conceived in a very tasteful mating precisely one year after they’d married.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThough she didn’t care to imagine it, Jude was certain that her parents’ lovemaking was always very tasteful and precise. Rather like the well-choreographed and traditional ballets they both so enjoyed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd what was she doing, sitting in a leased Volvo that had its stupid wheel on the stupid wrong side of the car and thinking about her parents having sex?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll she could do was press her fingers to her eyes until the image faded away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis, she told herself, was just the sort of thing that happened when you went crazy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe took a deep breath, then another. Oxygen to clear and calm the brain. As she saw it, she now had two choices. She could drag her suitcases out of the car, go inside the Dublin airport and turn the keys back in to the leasing agent with the carrot-red hair and the mile-wide smile, and book a flight home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOf course she had no job, but she could live off her stock portfolio very nicely for quite some time, thank you. She also no longer had a condo, as she’d rented it to that nice couple for the next six months, but if she did go home she could stay with Granny for a while.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd Granny would look at her with those beautiful faded blue eyes full of disappointment. \u003ci\u003eJude, darling, you always get right to the edge of your heart’s desire. Why is it you can never take that last step over?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Miserable, Jude covered her face with her hands and rocked. “It was your idea I come here, not mine. What am I going to do in Faerie Hill Cottage for the next six months? I don’t even know how to drive this damn car.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was one sob away from a crying jag. She felt it flood her throat, ring in her ears. Before the first tear could fall, she let her head roll back, squeezed her eyes tight shut, and cursed herself. Crying jags, temper tantrums, sarcasm, and otherwise rude behavior were merely various ways of acting out. She’d been raised to understand it, trained to recognize it. And she would not give in to it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“On to the next stage, Jude, you pathetic idiot. Talking to yourself, crying in Volvos, too indecisive, too goddamn paralyzed to turn on the ignition and just go.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe huffed out another breath, straightened her shoulders. “Second choice,” she muttered. “Finish what you started.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe turned the key and, sending up a little prayer that she wouldn’t kill or maim anyone—including herself—on the drive, eased the car out of Park.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe sang, mostly to keep herself from screaming every time she came to one of the circles on the highway that the Irish cheerfully called roundabouts. Her brain would fizzle, she’d forget her left from her right, visualize plowing the Volvo into half a dozen innocent bystanders, and belt out whatever tune jumped into her terrified brain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the route south from Dublin to County Waterford, she shouted show tunes, roared out Irish pub songs, and at a narrow escape outside the town of Carlow, screeched out the chorus of “Brown Sugar” loud enough to make Mick Jagger wince.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter that it calmed down a bit. Perhaps the gods of the traveler had been shocked enough by the noise to step back and stop throwing other cars in her path. Maybe it was the influence of the ubiquitous shrines to the Blessed Virgin that populated the roadside. In either case, the driving smoothed out and Jude began, almost, to enjoy herself.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRoll after roll of green hills shimmered under sunlight that glowed like the inside of seashells and spread back and back into the shadows of dark mountains. The hulk of them rambled against a sky layered with smoky clouds and pearly light that belonged in paintings rather than reality.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePaintings, she thought, as her mind wandered, so beautifully rendered that when you looked at them long enough you felt yourself slipping right into them, melting into the colors and shapes and the scene that some master had created out of his own brilliance.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat was what she saw, when she dared take her eyes off the road. Brilliance, and a terrible, stunning beauty that ripped the heart even as it soothed it again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGreen, impossibly green, the fields were broken by rambling walls of rough hedges or lines of stunted trees. Spotted cows or shaggy sheep grazed lazily in them, figures on tractors putted over them. Here and there they were dotted with houses of white and cream where clothes flapped on lines and flowers burst with wild and careless color in the dooryards.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen wonderfully, inexplicably, there would be the ancient walls of a ruined abbey, standing proud and broken against the dazzling field and sky as if waiting for its time to come round again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat would you feel, she wondered, if you crossed the field and walked up the smooth and slick steps left standing in those tumbling stones? Would you—could you—feel the centuries of passing feet that had trod those same steps? Would you, as her grandmother claimed, be able to hear—if only you listened—the music and voices, the clash of battles, the weeping of women, the laughter of children so long dead and gone?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe didn’t believe in such things, of course. But here, with this light, with this air, it seemed almost possible.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom the ruined grandeur to the charmingly simple, the land spread out and offered. Thatched roofs, stone crosses, castles, then villages with narrow streets and signs written in Gaelic.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnce she saw an old man walking with his dog on the side of the road where the grass grew tall and a little sign warned of loose chippings. Both man and hound wore little brown hats that she found absolutely charming. She kept that picture in her mind a long time, envying them their freedom and the simplicity of their routine.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey would walk every day, she imagined. Rain or shine, then go home to tea in some pretty little cottage with a thatched roof and a well-tended garden. The dog would have a little house of his own, but would most usually be found curled at his master’s feet by the fire.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe wanted to walk those fields with a devoted dog, too. Just to walk and walk until she felt like sitting. Then to sit and sit until she felt like standing. It was a concept that dazzled her. Doing what she wanted when she wanted, at her own pace and in her own way.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was so foreign to her, that simple, everyday freedom. Her great fear was to finally find it, nip the silvered edge of it with her fingertips, then bungle it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs the road wound and ribboned around the coast of Waterford, she caught glimpses and stretches of the sea, blue silk against the horizon, turbulent green and gray as it spewed against a wide, sandy curve of beach.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe tension in her shoulders began to slide away. Her hands relaxed a bit on the wheel. This was the Ireland her grandmother had spoken of, the color and drama and peace of it. And this, Jude supposed, is why she’d finally come to see where her roots had dug before being ripped free and replanted across the Atlantic.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was glad now she hadn’t balked at the gate and run back to Chicago. Hadn’t she managed the best part of the three-and-a-half-hour drive without a single mishap? She wasn’t counting the little glitch at that roundabout in Waterford City where she’d ended up circling three times, then nearly bashing into a car full of equally terrified tourists.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEveryone had escaped without harm, after all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNow she was nearly there. The signs for the village of Ardmore said so. She knew from the careful map her grandmother had drawn that Ardmore was the closest village to the cottage. That’s where she would go for supplies and whatever.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNaturally, her grandmother had also given her an impressive list of names, people she was supposed to look up, distant relatives she was to introduce herself to. That, Jude decided, could wait.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eImagine, she thought, not having to talk to anyone for several days in a row! Not being asked questions and being expected to know the answers. No making small talk at faculty functions. No schedule that must be adhered to.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter one moment of blissful pleasure about the idea, her heart fluttered in panic. What in God’s name was she going to \u003ci\u003edo\u003c\/i\u003e for six months?\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302843797733,"sku":"NP9780515126778","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780515126778.jpg?v=1767730399","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/jewels-of-the-sun-isbn-9780515126778","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}