Happy Women's Fiction Day, !

And happy beginning of summer, for those of you who (like me) are finishing up the school year. This weekend, my oldest daughter graduated from high school, and my oldest son was confirmed in our church.

So now, to wrap up a very exciting weekend full of celebration, I am delighted to give you a new book! I've heard so much enthusiasm from you, my readers, about a magical library, that I have gathered several of them together. These three short stories are adapted from my "Castle in Kilkenny: Fairy Tales" series.

Claim my free copy of "Magical Libraries"!!!

What's inside?

If you're a new reader... this is a nice little introduction to the series. It's free, and each story only takes a few minutes to read. Give it a try!

If you've enjoyed one or two of my fairy tale retellings... Test out a something new, from the same familiar world of Irish folklore! This volume includes one story from Heroic Ireland and one modern narrator; two very different Fae; and lots and LOTS of books!

If you've devoured all the available Castle in Kilkenny books... This contains sneak peeks of a couple never-before-seen stories! One new narrator, and one character that many of you told me that you wanted to hear more about. Read to find out more...

Want a sample? Scroll down, and the beginning is in this email (but the formatting is better in the real version!)...

Matheson skillfully intertwines traditional Irish folklore with contemporary themes, creating a narrative that’s both enchanting and relatable. 

-Erik McManus, Breakeven Books

Thank you for reading along with me!

❤️📚 Pour yourself a cup of tea, download the book while it steeps, and enjoy!

Christy & the Shelties

Welcome

What are your first memories of libraries? Perhaps you can feel the books in your arms, the walk to the center of town, the smell of the books—I can still drop into the sensation of walking up the outdoor steps, mitten in my mother’s hand, carefully placing my feet to avoid the ice. I do believe that in some ways, libraries are magical, no time slips or leprechauns required…but I also think there might be more magic in the world that we acknowledge.

I realized that my “Castle in Kilkenny: Fairy Tales” series has several pivotal scenes around libraries, and that when I talk about them with you, so many of my readers light up with joy and memories. So I decided to make these stories into a special collection.

Yes, each of these stories is part of a larger book, and I invite you to read the whole series. However, this isn’t just a “teaser” volume. I collected and tweaked them with an eye to making three sections each into an enjoyable short story. I added a little introductory note to ground you in the arc of the whole “Castle in Kilkenny” narrative, but hopefully these characters and their sense of discovery are enough to draw you into the story. 

The Library in the Castle in Kilkenny

Meet Hannah Rowland.

If you’ve read The Knight of Terrible Valley and Aiden of Florida, you’ve seen her very briefly, as the girl that Dylan would do anything for.

If you haven’t, here are three ordinary teenagers. They’re finishing secondary school in Kilkenny, Ireland, and they’ve paid attention to their local folklore. Much of it centers around this one particular ancient spot, and everyone is annoyed that some American’s have bought it. So before those pesky outsiders move in, Arthur and Dylan have one last thing to do—and Hannah’s along for the ride.

The Castle

Arthur slams on the breaks and turns sharply, sliding me across the back seat into Dylan’s shoulder.

I squeeze his fingers, a little too hard. “This was supposed to be our date,” I whisper.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, luv.”

Sorry doesn’t cut it. My parents barely ever let me have a night off, I skipped tea to start my piano practice early and no sooner than I’d gotten to my boyfriend’s house than Arthur showed up with all these excuses. The castle’s been sold, it’s gotta be tonight, catch the Patchwork Man, blah blah blah. I know the boys want the reward, but I want a little time with my boyfriend. I want Dylan to pay attention to me, every once in a while, that’s all.

The car hits a pot hole, slamming my teeth together. Of course Arthur is speeding through a cattle field in the dark, but he’s the only one who’s turned seventeen and old enough for a license. 

“I’ll take you out to a nice place next time,” Dylan tells me. “Fine meal, maybe some music at the pub after.”

Unfortunately, the song ends right then and Arthur hears us.

“Ye can’t afford to take Hannah for a fine meal, you bastard,” he says cheerfully. “That’s why poor boys like us need this reward.”

Dylan goes stiff and I sag, knowing that nothing I say will fix it. We’ve been round and round this, the three of us. Arthur throws in barbs about me being a rich girl now; Dylan is ashamed of the street we all grew up on; I say it doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t, truly, but I can’t tell him how hard it is to be caught between my parents’ expectations and loving him. That would make him feel worse, and he might give me up for my own good.

I can’t bear the thought of Dylan giving me up, so I don’t say anything at all.

“I can too afford a fine meal,” Dylan mutters. “I can save for it.”

I don’t want a fine meal. I just wanted to spend the evening together, just the two of us being ourselves.

We arrive; Arthur slows as the car rolls through the gap in the ragged hedge, and a shiver slides across my skin. Is that the magic of this place, or just me thinking on it? I’ve certainly heard all the stories, but I’ve never been here myself.

Arthur parks with a shower of gravel, and we all climb out. I stare up at the the castle looming above us, a darker cliff in the dark night. This isn’t some gussied up palace that hosts champagne receptions under fairy lights, like they do in the cities. It’s a chunky square with a glowering gatehouse and one tower off the back side; pleasure gardens from centuries past have gone wild and crowd up to the flat sandstone walls. I’ve seen plenty of pictures, but I’m curious what’s really here as Arthur leads us on an overgrown path around the side. Dylan’s hand brushes my back, inviting me to go ahead, a simple gesture to say he’s taking care of me.

Why don’t my parents see this? They poke fun at his broad accent and tut-tut that he isn’t taking enough leaving certs for university. They don’t see how hard it is to find a fellow who treats a girl like she matters, especially when she’s quiet and mousey-like. 

I still would rather be joking and eating crisps in his bedroom (door open, of course).

Halfway along the dark wing, Arthur leans down and pushes aside a window frame with the ease of long practice, flicks on a torch, and slides into the maw of the castle.

“Can you make it over?” Dylan asks me.

I’m wearing a dress, so the question is fair. I bite my lip, trying to decide if I want to play it tough and act like the boys. But I don’t want to ruin my dress—I put on a pretty one because it was my evening with Dylan. 

“It’s a bit of a hop,” Arthur calls. “You should go first and give Hannah a hand. Here, I’ve found a barrel I’ll push over so she can stand on it.” 

There’s scraping and banging from below, and Arthur grunts with effort. Right—this is why I put up with Arthur, because for all his rough edges, he’s good to his mates. 

Besides, I grew up on that street. I know his Da.

Between the two boys, they get me through the window and down to the cellar floor. I shiver for real and pull my jumper close; the autumn chill is descending.

“Is this the dungeon?” I ask. Were English soldiers tortured here, or clan wars before that? Just think of the stories these stones could tell!

“Just storage rooms,” Arthur answers. “Follow me to the stairs.”

Dylan hands me a torch and I pick my way after Arthur, dust swirling with every step. My dress is never going to be the same, and Dylan didn’t even say I looked pretty.

Arthur leads us up steep plywood stairs, then through a series of dilapidated rooms. I dart my beam around, finding heavy garderobes and tattered tapestries, and dust dust and more dust everywhere. 

“This is a fine place to live,” I say bitterly, thinking of the cleaning to be done.

Arthur jerks his thumb behind us. “The family rooms are at the front. They’ve put in a kitchen and toilets and all, but we don’t want that. We want the part they haven’t mucked about with.”

I want the part that has seen a mop some time in the last twenty years, that’s what I want.

“When are the new folks moving in?” Dylan asks.

“This weekend, but the movers come tomorrow.” Arthur growls. “Bloody feckin’ Americans with their bloody feckin’ millions.”

He’s said that, with various degrees of profanity, at least a dozen times since he picked us up this evening, but I have to admit I agree. I’m a quiet girl, but the blood fair boils in my throat when I think of foreigners running all over our castle and our history. They might buy it, but they’ll never own it.

“Just so long they don’t try to make it some posh B&B,” Dylan mutters, and we all agree.

We’re at the back of the square now. Although it smells of damp and some of the stonework is patched with plywood, the castle still retains a sense of grace and majesty. My heart swells with pride, and despite myself I’m a wee bit glad I came here tonight, while the castle is still ours.

An caisléan, the castle—that’s what we call it, we folks who live in this little valley at the edge of County Kilkenny. There’s another name on the map, but locals don’t use that—as though this is the only castle in the world, or at least the only one worth mentioning. Even my parents are proud of this place.

“There’s a lot of rooms on the inside,” Dylan says.

Arthur nods. “We should spread out to look. Go faster that way, so we can get Hannah back and her parents don’t eat her head off.”

Dylan glances at me anxiously. I know he’s expecting me to ask to stick together, but I don’t say it.

I’m not scared of our castle. And besides, Dylan already lost the chance to spend the evening courting me.

I push my hair behind my ear, which is the mousey version of tossing my head. “Anything we’re looking for, precisely?”

Arthur turns to me. “I dunno if we’ll see it, so much as feel it. See if it speaks to you. If it…” He spreads his hands, work-rough even at our age.

“They say this place was built on a faerie mound.” Dylan’s voice is animated now.

“Two thousand years ago and more,” I add.

“”Twas here in the days of Finn McCool.” Arthur whistles.

“And someone has lived here, right in these walls, ever since,” Dylan says.

“Maybe with the fae living alongside them, or Below.” I shiver. I wouldn’t want to see one, myself.

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