What do an exiled faery and an under-achieving artist have in common?
A tale of loss and longing, sacrifice and hope, Skelly is the first book in the Sea Glass Trilogy, and the first of the ongoing series - Tales of Glencarragh. If you believe that the Otherworld exists alongside our own - that it's simply a matter of choosing to see it, then these are the stories for you.
Travel to the wild shores of northern Scotland - witness an ancient struggle between spirits of the land and sea and learn the stories of the people charged with keeping the balance. Written as a series of novellas, these are the first stories to be set on the fictional island of Glencarragh - a rocky outcropping off the northern Scottish coast - a place where the lines blur between the Seen and the Unseen.
Frances thinks there's something not-quite-right about the old sheep farmer. When her ne'er-do-well dog takes to romping with his sheep, Skelly pays Frances a visit. Between cups of tea and slices of lemon-drizzle, he convinces Frances to paint the images from her dreams - only then, does she learn his true nature and the enormity of the task she has unwittingly taken on. From the sheep-dotted meadows of the mainland to a remote island in the wild, northern Scottish sea, Frances and Skelly become inextricably linked through an ancient curse and a modern quest to live a soul's purpose.
“Do ye believe in the Good Folk?”
“What? You mean, like faeries and brownies and that sort of thing?” asked Frances. The sun was climbing higher in the sky and she was feeling distinctly warm. And a tiny bit uneasy. What if Skelly was some sort of dangerous crackpot?
He erupted into a deep, sonorous, laughter.
Frances blushed. Surely he didn’t know what she was thinking?
“Ah, not so much exactly what ye’re thinking, you see. Just a general feeling it is that I have,”
He cocked his head to one side, his eyes still laughing.
Frances tried to concentrate on not tripping over hummocks of grass.
“Well?” prodded Skelly. “Are ye inclined to answer my question?”
“I…I’m not sure what to say, actually,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. “I’m feeling a bit out of my depth, to be honest,”
“Not to worry, lass. I’ll leave the question with ye for a spell, shall I? We’ve got a bit of a hill to climb here and we’ll need our wind for walking, not for chattering,”
Frances nodded, unsure how to respond. How does one respond to an old man who can apparently read your thoughts and wants to know if you believe in magic?
She realized, with a sinking feeling, that not only had she lost Angus, she had no idea where she was.
Skelly’s firm hand squeezing her elbow sent a quiet warmth up the length of her arm.
“Don’t ye worry, lass. I’ve not been dangerous for about three hundred years.”