Nora Roberts Irish Books Novels & Stories

Iris stiffened beside me. “Nora,” she said carefully "don't". But Nora continued anyway. “Private dinners. Expensive gifts. Luxury penthouses.” Her smile widened slightly. “Must be nice sleeping your way into a better life.” Silence filled the lobby instantly. Iris looked like she had just been slapped. Something dark settled in my chest immediately. Nora clearly noticed the shift in the atmosphere because her confidence faded immediately when my eyes moved toward her. “You seem very interested in her life,” I said calmly.

Janice trailed off. “How's the interview process going? I heard you had some hot-shot writer asking you all sorts of questions,” Norma paused, looking hesitant for a second, “That is if I'm allowed to ask and you want to talk about it?” “It's going pretty good. It just brought some dreadful memories, and I need some zoom and pew pew to distract myself.” Norma laughed, “Well, I got you some Philip Francis Nowlan and a couple of books by E.E. Smith, I hope that helps.” Norma pulled the books from the rickety shelf behind her and placed them on the desk.

Nora just walks into my room. "Hey!" I say, irritated that Nora just barged into my room. "You could've knocked!" Nora rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says. "Anyway,I just want to borrow your laptop for a min” “No,and get out of my room “ “I hope it spoils”she says and banged my door behind her. I signed. “Nora Kieran” That’s my sister

Watching by the dark waiting for the right time to strike down, but at the same time symbolizing the great power Fiachra laid down to their family. Morrigan’s hand slipped away from Colfre’s hand making him look at her as she gleam brightly at him. It was as if the stars aligned when Colfre saw her bright smiles. She hoisted her dress and the soft rustle of her dress echoes around the silent corner of the hallway. Smiling wide she started to jump gracefully, her long raven hair dancing at her elegant hops and her dress rustling at her elegant strides. Colfre watches her as she bounces happily around the long hallway to her study. His eyes gazed at her with such gentleness and sadness, gliste

The heavy iron stove hummed with a steady, radiating warmth, filling the open room with the rich, earthy aroma of roasted chicory, melted butter, and freshly baked oat cakes browning on the cast-iron griddle. Nora stood by the small wooden washbasin near the kitchen counter, splashing cold, revitalizing water against her face before wiping her skin clean with a soft, neatly folded linen towel. Her dark hair, still slightly damp from the morning wash, fell in loose, natural waves over the shoulders of a thick, cream-colored woolen sweater she had knitted herself the previous autumn. Through the frost-etched edges of the windowpane, she peered down the slope, noting the faint, dark outline of

I said, because truth likes to have witnesses. Nora arrived in the kind of flurry that announces someone who has run across decades to hand you the next chapter. She was younger than I’d imagined and had the same observant tilt in her head I’d seen in Maggie’s handwriting. Her hands held an old ledger bound in thread so worn the fabric looked like a map of storms. She unwrapped it like it was a relic and slid it across the table with a reverence I found disarming.

She stops in the doorway, hands folded neatly in front of her. “Ah, Nora,” my mother says warmly. “Come join us.” The woman hesitates, her eyes flicking to me briefly before she approaches the table. “Iris, this is Nora,” my mother explains. “She’s been with our family for many years. She’s the family nanny.” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Nora has been a trusted advisor and friend to our family for decades,” my father adds. “She helped raise both Caleb and… well, Selina.”

She pushed all the books to the floor,kicking away all the rubbish and settling down on the chair, resting her head on the table. “E-excuse me.” A small voice called out by her side. She opened her eyes to see who it was, a cute girl with glasses. She remembered her from her past life. She was one of the people that were nice to her and tried to warn her but she ignored her. Her name was Nora. In the future, she was an excellent script writer who was so popular but she married a bad man who beat her and later she ended up dead with her wrists slit in her bathtub. It was all over the news. She would try as much as she could to protect her in this life.

The kind she herself had cultivated by becoming unreachable, untouchable, a ghost. “I went for a walk, Elijah,” she said calmly. “The city is still there. And so am I.” She turned to Elnora, who was watching her with cautious hope, like someone witnessing the return of a familiar shape after a long absence. “You were right, Nora,” Robbin said quietly. “I was eroding. But I’ve found the bedrock.” In her office, Robbin opened a folder on her desk. Its label was simple, deliberate: The Foundation Ledger.

The servant girl was still standing there, her hands clasped in front of her apron, her eyes wide and nervous. "What is your name?" I asked, walking past her toward the window. "Nora." She replied, a little nervous. Her voice shook on the word. I turned to look at her. She was not pretty, not really. Plain brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. Plain brown eyes that darted away from mine when I looked at her. A nose that was slightly too long for her face. But she had something useful. Hatred. I had seen the way she looked at Isora in the hallway, the venom in her eyes, the bitterness in her voice. She hated that girl. And hate was something I could use.