Leading a merry dance
When my 1st leprechaun love story came out, I found a lot of confusion about just who and what leprechauns really are. I had to explain that they weren’t little, green men but actually the warriors of ancient Celtic legend, the ‘luch-chromain’ or sons of Lugh – the Celtic god of war.
Three books later, I’m still explaining this. Now, I supposed I shouldn’t be too surprised. Leprechauns are not exactly traditional warriors – strong, brawny types that go in swords swinging. They’re more like spies, uncovering secrets and orchestrating overthrows with charm and tricks!
Leprechauns are the boys who got you to do their homework in high school with a wink, or the ones who let you get carded for beer in college. They’re the boys your mother should have warned you about instead of the bad boys!
Bad boys show their colors early on when they borrow your car keys or your wallet, but the tricksters won’t hurt you. They’re the ones who ‘accidentally’ post pictures of your not-quite-authorized party where your parents can see them because they think it’s funnier when you trip yourself up!
I know what you’re thinking. Why write about someone who’s hard to explain and plays sneaky tricks? Did I mention the party? Tricksters throw fabulous parties! They’re all about the rebellion and the good time. Their philosophy is life is short, so break the rules and have some fun. Leprechauns, in particular, come from a culture that celebrates “sean nós singing and dancing. Something to do around the pub of an evening!”
So this St. Patty’s day, raise a pint of Guinness, toast all your mates, and break out into song. Even if you can’t sing, we won’t mind. Though we will probably post the vid to YouTube!
As the song wove into a second chorus, Padraig grinned and the song lilted, becoming more sprightly, his voice making the notes hop. Murphy took one step onto the wooden plank, then another, then began dancing, his steps matching the bounce of Padraig’s tune, tapping around it and adding syncopation until his feet flew in a crazy rhythm.
Murphy spun and swooped, his feet clicking and clacking in the few square feet allotted to him in the muddy track. He held his arms out for balance, as his body swayed and bent with the movement of his swiftly flying feet. Spontaneous applause rippled through the growing crowd, but Fergus shook his head, dropping it into one hand to indicate whole-hearted dismay while he waved the other hand in an exaggerated negative. Laughing and bowing in elaborate invitation, Murphy stepped down and offered Fergus the plank.
Fergus stepped up on the improvised stage, bowed deeply, and then his feet flew. He held himself more upright and tighter than Murphy, his elbows pulled in close to his body, but he bounced higher while his feet kicked higher front and back. His feet didn’t click so much as they stomped. He grinned at Murphy in triumph.
Padraig doubled over laughing and Mrs. Carmichael in her Grateful Dead T-shirt clapped her hands. “No, no,” Padraig wheezed. “Together then.” And he waved at Mrs. Carmichael.
I didn’t understand the words to her song either, but they weren’t really the point of the music. Instead, Fergus grinned and with one hand held out in front of him, palm up, waggled his fingers in the classic bring-it-on signal. Murphy made an exaggerated show of loosening up his shoulders and rolling his head, then stepped onto the plywood and executed a quick two-step with a final fillip. The crowd roared applause.
Fergus held up his hands, head bobbing in acknowledgment, and then as a wicked grin crossed his face, he danced the same step, only faster and with an additional hop. The crowd cheered and whistled approval while Murphy shook his head, turning away with his hands on his hips. As Fergus came to a halt, he quirked one eyebrow at his opponent, and Murphy stepped forward and lifting his hands out in appeal to the crowd, danced again, his feet clicking faster and faster in a growing crescendo. Fergus clapped his hands and threw back his head in silent laughter that couldn’t be heard over the pounding rhythm and the roar of appreciation from even this limited crowd.
Then Fergus stepped up next to Murphy and matched his steps, feet flying in perfect execution of drums and trebles and flairs. Combat well and truly joined, the two hopped and skipped together in tandem, feet flying across the makeshift stage until they literally ran out of stage and staggered to a stomping finish that kicked up mud over most of the spectators. The impromptu performance dissolved into laughter and a hunt for napkins.
Still giggling and slightly dazed by the display, I helped Mrs. Carmichael hand around paper towels pulled from underneath one of her tables. “That was brilliant,” I told Murphy.
About Fighting Mad
Laid off from her job at the bank, Carla turns to her friends for support only to find they’re more concerned about their jobs. The one person she can count on is local bartender Murphy, but what kind of example is he for her daughters? Having learned the hard way, Carla’s not depending on any man, even if he is cute, charming, very kind, and some kind of leprechaun?
Murphy is used to sneers. Clurichauns are the redheaded stepchildren of the leprechaun world and then there are the late night throw downs at his bar. What he wants, however, is to protect the dainty, little mom who ogles him when she thinks no one’s looking. He knows she’s fighting overwhelming odds, but she’ll need more than bravery when the conflict between the King and Queen of the Fairies becomes outright civil war!
Amazon link – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B019BOJM5E
Book trailer – https://youtu.be/Y2QLlOC1f9k
Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28210463-fighting-mad
About Kathy Bryson
Kathy Bryson knew she wanted to be a writer when she finished reading through her school and local children’s libraries. She honed her writing skills on marketing brochures, websites, and several unfinished manuscripts before going into teaching and finishing award-winning books with all the stuff she enjoys most – from coffee to love to Shakespeare! Kathy lives in Florida where she caters to the whims of spoiled cats and wonders what possessed her to put in 75 feet of flower beds.
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