Juilene Osborne-McKnight - Celtic Tribe

- February 2012 Archives

Juilene Osborne-McKnight Storytelling With Juilene Osborne-McKnight Storytelling With Juilene Osborne-McKnight

Juilene Osborne-McKnight

Barnes & NoblesAmazon

I Am of Irelaunde.

Juilene Osborne-McKnight - Bright Sword of Ireland

Bright Sword of Ireland Daughter of Ireland Song of Ireland I Am of Irelaunde A review From Diana Gabaldon, author of Outlander, Dragonfly in Amber & Drums of Autumn

"What a lovely book! Not only first-rate storytelling, but a feel for the
yearning for mystery and belief that lie at the roots of the soul. I think both Osian and Patrick would be more than pleased at this recreation of their lives and stories."

A review From Father Andrew Greeley, author of Irish Whiskey & Contract with an Angel

"This is a beautiful book -- both mystical and earthy, mysterious and
encouraging! It should be read by anybody who can say, 'I am of Ireland," or by those who, at least on occasion, wish they might be able to say it."

A review From Jack Whyte, author of The Skystone, The Singing Sword & The Saxon Shore

"A wonderful, magical story; it whipped me up into the air right from the first page and took me soaring to places I had never visited or imagined before.... The book is an enchantment, nothing less."

An excerpt from I Am of Irelaunde

The Stranger swung his leg up over his horse. I saw the youthful strength in that gesture, saw that he was taller than his horse's back even with his feet on the ground. But as his foot touched the ground, he crumpled to the dirt.

It was then that I heard the voice, the persistent one that forced me to return here to Eire, the place of my captivity, the place that I had resisted for so long. And the voice was urgent.
"Run Padraig!" it cried.

I ran, yanking up the cumbersome hem of my robe, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I reached the stranger, I saw that the distance or perhaps the cast of sunlight, had fooled us. For the figure on the ground was older than any man I have ever seen. His long hair was white, not gold. His face was creased and folded in against itself. His hands were gnarled and twisted with the ropes of age. He stared at those hands, as if he too was surprised by their ancient timber. I knelt beside him, lifted him into my arms.

Daughter of Ireland (2002) Song of Ireland (2006) I Am of Irelaunde (2000)