Irish Name Novels & Stories

Looking back down at our son, she adds, "I was thinking. What do you think about the name Cace?" Cocking my head, I smirk. "How's it spelled?" She smiles as she humors me. "C-A-C-E." "Someone's been looking up traditional Irish names, I see." "Maybe a little," she jokes, then turns serious again as she looks at our son. "It means observant and vigorous. Kind of like you with all your people-watching and doing the right thing. Things I want him to be." Gazing down at my son, I consider her idea. "Cace Flanigan. A good, strong Irish name for a good, strong Irish boy."

Jack eyes him up and down, “Six—what? six four? six five? Two hundred ten pounds? Sound about right?” The Horned God nods. “What name do you want?” “In the past, I have been called, ‘Fearadhaigh’.” All four of us sit silent. “You want to spell that, please?” My father spells the name. “It means father of fairies.” “Uh-huh,” Jack nods, unimpressed. “It’ll do for a surname. Anything else—you know, polite—you’ve been called?” “Finn’s mother called me Warren—her protector.”

she whispered to me. "Why Cillian?" I inquired, wondering why she had picked out that specific name. "You know, Cillian is an Irish name," she waved a hand, "Considering the father is Irish, I think it's only fitting for my nephew." I exhaled an exasperated breath, "I never said Greg was Irish." "But you said he was a ginger..." "He's American. Although he does have their features, but it's a long lineage. Remember we agreed not to talk about him, Maya," I reminded her. Then creased my brows, "In fact, why are you trying to name my baby? That's my job."

I said. “Padraig Lugh. But it’s funny, you know, nobody ever calls me Paddy or Pad or anything like that, everybody always calls me Padraig.” “Do you want them to call you Paddy?” “No, I do not. I like Padraig.” “How do you spell that last name?” I asked, wondering if it was fake. “L-u-g-h. He’s the old Irish sun god, you know.” “I know,” I said. “And what’s your name?” he asked.

She looked down at me and smiled. “I’ve got all sorts of neat tricks,” she said. “Do you want to give me a name like you did Maddox?” “Can I call you Faith?” I asked. Her laughter was musical as she said, “Only if you admit it’s because the only Irish phrase you know is ‘faith and begorrah.’” “Not true,” I said. “I could call you Erin, like in ‘Erin go Bragh.’” “Let’s stick with Faith,” she said.

“I always thought you were my little fighter. Maybe I shouldn’t have named you after her, and you wouldn’t have had these many struggles in your life.” She couldn't help but wonder if naming her daughter Athena had contributed to the struggles she faced in life. Iris had always wanted the best for her children, but instead, their lives were filled with chaos and difficulties. She had envisioned Athena as a strong fighter, but now she questioned whether that name had brought more challenges than blessings. Iris carried a sense of regret, wishing she had chosen a different name that wouldn't have burdened her daughter with so much hardship.

“Just looking at one person, they don’t look like either, but if you take a closer look, some of their features are like Conrad’s and some are like Fia’s. They are combinations!” Mary squatted down, holding a small hand of each child. She asked with a sob, “What are your names?” “Adrian!” “I’m Irene.” “Adrian?” Mary was stunned for a good two seconds. “They are definitely Conrad and Fia’s children! Adrian is spelled ADRIAN, right?” Adrian nodded with a stoic expression. “That’s it. It must have been Fia who gave him the name! It carries a part of her own name. Irene, your name is similar to Eileen, her best friend!”

Pulling back, she asked, "What does Mo bhean, Mo ghrá mean?" Smiling at her, he flicked her nose and replied, "Learn Irish." "You're not going to tell me?" He shook his head. "Well then, till I know what it means, I'll call you Mo bhean." Grimacing, he said, "That's a term for women." Literally. "Hmm, how about Mo grá?" Smiling strangely, he said, "You don't know what you're saying."

The man furrowed his brows dubiously. "She claims to be the daughter of our second Missus…" "What? Second Missus? Could she be..?" The man was stunned to hear this and immediately turned to stare at Iris. When his gaze landed on her face, his voice began to tremble. "My dear, what is your name? Who…who is your mother?" "My name is Iris Young, and my mother is Priscilla Scammell," Iris replied.

I groaned. "No way," Vienna gasped. "He's playing with us," Marilynn clued in. "What is your name – really?" "Cáel Nyilas," I answered. "Cool name," Vienna declared. "Does it have a meaning?" "Cáel is from my Mother – it's Irish for 'slender' as well as the angel for Thursday," I informed her. "Nyilas is Hungarian – it means Archer." "Are there any rich Hungarians?" Marilynn asked.