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The Black Rose

by Roy French; co-published with David M. Fleming, Black Rose Publishing

343 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0753; ISBN 1-55395-039-9; US$29.50, C$34.00, EUR24.50, £17.00

The Black Rose continues the story of Patrick Kelly, continuing the exploits of the character developed in Whispers in the Wind.

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about the book      about the author      Prologue      catalogue info

About the Book In a sequel to Whispers in the Wind, award-winning author Roy French returns with another tale of Patrick Kelly, a decorated veteran chopper jockey turned mercenary, who has decided to put his violent past behind him and settle down. His serenity however, is short-lived. When the Irish conflict spills over on to the streets of New York, and Patrick Kelly's friends are put in harm's way, he is forced to join up with an old adversary named John Waters, a commando from the elite Special Air Service, to confront the terrorists. As events spiral out of the control, old loyalties are brought into question, and people are moved like pawns in a game where the Irish peace process hangs in the balance. Kelly finds himself unsure of who to trust any more, and now stands to lose the one thing that has brought peace to his life... a lady known as the Black Rose. Once again, French takes us on a wild ride through the dark streets of New York, and then to the wilds of Ireland, the plot twisting and turning all the way.

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About the Author Roy French was born in Ballymena, Northern Ireland and makes his home in Toronto, Canada. Roy has won numerous awards including runner-up for the Arthur Ellis Award for his first novel A Sense of Honor, and has co-written two screenplays that are about to go into production. Also available from Trafford Publishing: Raven's Return Raven's Fury Raven's Honor

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Prologue

    Dark clouds filled the horizon, the scent of rain hung heavy in the air, and distant rumbling heralded the imminent arrival of yet another Atlantic storm. A chill wind was chasing away the last vestiges of sunlight and forcing the men to bury their hands deep in their pockets.
    Patrick Kelly and the old priest stood at the side of the new grave. It was almost a year since Patrick had stood in that same spot and looked death straight in the face. Yet it was Mulholland who went to join the grim reaper.
    A new headstone, made from the greenish-white Connemara marble for which the area was famous, was intricately engraved with the names of Sean and Mary Kelly.
    The priest dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. "It was a fine thing you did, Patrick. They will rest together throughout eternity."
    Patrick smiled. "It seemed that all that kept her going was the thirst for revenge. When that thirst was sated, there was no reason to carry on living. She walked the earth for a few months, but the spark was gone. Perhaps she realized the futility of it all, and finally understood that Ireland would never be united again. All the attacks accomplished was to harden the resolve of the British government. The number of applications to join the army even went up."
    "There will be no end to it that I can see," replied the priest, staring out towards the sea. "Not in my lifetime, not in yours either. The British are too firmly entrenched in the ways and the culture of the North to leave now. Besides, if a United Ireland was declared, Protestant extremists would be doing exactly what the Provos are doing now. Except they wouldn't be confined to the North any more. Anywhere in Ireland would be a target for them.
    "As you have seen in our little corner of the world, this country's economy depends heavily on tourism. If the violence reached down into the South, the entire country would suffer. Two car bombs went off in Dublin, in 1975. They were supposedly planted by Protestant extremists, but regardless of who left them, the effect was devastating to the economy. God only knows how many people canceled trips to Ireland in the wake of that disaster.
    "It's a shame both sides in this bloody conflict can't sit down and work something out. This country has so much to offer the rest of the world, yet those outside cannot see past the headlines or the pictures in newspapers. They think that all of Ireland is immersed in violence, yet it's only those bastards in the North who are fanning the flames. Decent people speak out but they get shot, or their homes get burned.
    "No, Patrick, not in my lifetime."
    The old priest shook his head sadly and turned away, making his way slowly across the cemetery, as if he carried the weight of the world.
    The horizon was now almost obscured by the sheets of rain blowing in towards land. His heart heavy, Patrick scanned the green fields and the rocky coastline, then returned to the grave for the last time. He knew he would never return.
    "Slan libh," he whispered, and the words were carried off on the wind.

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Catalogue Information

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