Irish Name の小説・ストーリー

"You are not just working with me." "I'm working with the distillery," Valentina says. "For as long as it continues. That includes the next generation." The daughter's name is Catrìona (a Scottish Gaelic name, the Gaelic form of Catherine, meaning 'pure' — pronounced approximately KAT-ree-ona, with the accent on the first syllable; traditional in Highland families, often shortened to Catrì or Trina in daily use) and she is indeed twenty-six and knows everything Eilidh knows and has been waiting for the language.

This girl is mine, but I can be patient. I wonder what she thinks of the inscription on the back of the moonstone. It looks like a jewelry designer name, Mo fhíorghra. Someday I’ll tell her it’s pronounced “moe here-graw”, and that its literal Gaelic meaning is “my true love”. In our pack, which is strongly Irish-American, we use it to mean “fated mate”. I bought it from a vendor at a midsummer fair in our hometown of Tidepool Cove, not far from Crescent.

Because from what I know, he does not keep his hairs this long. "Iris means rainbow. Or goddess of rainbow." I informed him. "When I was born, my parents were really happy." I smiled, fondly at the memory, even though I was so little to remember anything about that day. But the way my parents explain that day to me, makes it felt like I lived it. Like I was some sort of miracle that happened to them.

My request bounces back to me, leaving me empty handed and I begin to look for other alternatives. “Is it Irish or Iris?” I squint my eyes as my fingers search for something I can defend myself with, in the darkness. “It’s Irish. That’s what she was called.” She argues back and I hum, moving to the side slowly, my back still on the wall. “Or it’s what your father told you because I have never heard a name like Irish.” I say, trying to hide my glee as my fingers touch a rod. I hold it tightly when she comes closer with her eyes looking strange in the dark.

"For a girl. Niamh. It's Irish. It means bright." He said the name out loud, slowly, testing the shape of it in his mouth. "Niamh." Then again. "Niamh." "How do you spell it," he said. She told him. He frowned slightly. "Nobody in New York is going to be able to pronounce that." "Then they'll learn." "Isla." "My name is Isla. Nobody could pronounce that either until they met me. Everyone survives." He considered this, leaning against the counter with his mug. "Fair."

"You pick the boy's name. You pick the girl's, Harvey." Declan looked at the baby boy, sleeping peacefully. "Rowan," he said. "It's strong. Irish. Means 'little red one.'" I smiled. "Rowan Callahan." Harvey watched the baby girl with that same expression—the one I still couldn't quite name. "Nora," he said quietly. "It means 'light.'" "Nora Callahan." I looked at the two names. Rowan and Nora. Strong and light. "They're perfect," I whispered.

a name that had its origins rooted in the uncertainty of his paternity. He had Brockbank blood which belonged to the Leprechaun clan but no one came forward to identify himself as his father so he was raised in House Rhys with the Banshees. Soon, he had risen to the ranks and became the man my father trusted with his life. Our affair had started mainly as a curiosity on my part, Rory moved around with a sullen demeanor, he was an attractive being but his temperament and his gloomy, dark persona steered people away from him as quickly as his green eyes drew them in but that attracted me to him even more.

It's expected really, after all, Luca had gone all out of his way to make sure Iris and the baby would be safe and sound. Iris looks at her fiance and daughter, their baby girl is already responding well to her father. Iris giggles sweetly as her daughter snuggles closer to the love of her life. "What do you think we should name her?" Luca smiles softly, "Hmmm….. I was thinking something Greek-ish. Just like your name, Iris goddess of the rainbow." Iris giggles again, a tired smile on her face. "Oh, yeah! How about…. Olympia?" Luca smiles lovingly at his wife- to- be. "I think that's absolutely beautiful, baby. Olympia Magdalene Harald."

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."

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.