Book Review of Lord Griffin’s
Prize
Sponsored by Paranormal Cravings
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Genre:
<Paranormal romance, shape-shifters>
Pages: <105>
Isbn: <9781419945397>
Blurb:
Part of the Emerald Isles Fantasies
series
Tullamore
Castle Ireland is an enchanted place where the unexpected happens. Phantom
lovers materialize in haunted beds and a lonely griffin patrols the ramparts
waiting to reclaim its mate. And that’s just the beginning.
For the
adventure of a lifetime Maeve de’Burgo visits Tullamore to study genealogy.
Through a magical act and time travel she becomes embroiled in a dangerous
medieval romance and the unfinished life of her ancestor. Maeve gets thrown
back in time to be captured, ravished and cherished as a war chief’s prize.
Ronan
O’Griofa is a griffin-shifter, the most loyal of creatures. He’s been trapped
in limbo as the avenging guardian of Tullamore since 1332 AD and longs to be
free. When the soul of his wife returns to the castle he’s granted the
privilege of becoming a man for one day to be her lover, win her heart and remind
Maeve of a bond strong enough to last an eternity.
Author Information:
I’m an artist, an author, mother and
wife. I write for Ellora’s Cave, Loose Id Publishing and a couple new
publishers to be announced soon. I try to bring a touch of the mystical and a
big sense of adventure to everything I write because I believe there’s a bold,
kick-ass heroine inside all of us who wants to take a wild ride with a strong
worthy hero.
Links:
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Website:
katalinaleon.com
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Excerpt:
Maeve
placed a gloved hand on the golden door handle of the Tullamore Castle Hotel
and pushed. The glass door resisted against the vacuum of a blustery gust. The
short but stormy walk from the cab to the curb had left rain sheeting from her
umbrella and tall black boots.
She
bore down, gave the door a firm shove and watched in awe as it swung open onto
a timeless realm entrenched in equal parts modern luxury and dour medieval
grit. Above the entrance a time-ravaged, iron-studded medieval shield bearing
the image of a griffin held a place of honor between two Victorian-era crystal
sconces, punctuating the contrast of a far-reaching past.
Maeve
was too tired to care that she was tracking water across the patterned carpet
as she ambled into the elegant front lobby dragging a lopsided piece of rolling
luggage. For the past twenty-four hours she’d roamed airports, engaged in
endless desperate bargaining with airline personnel to exchange tickets, hunted
down cabs and texted anyone she could reach to tell them that her international
flights and all her arrangements on the ground had been disrupted by turbulent
weather.
The
challenging journey from the US to Ireland had left her weary to the bone.
Everything that could go wrong had. As she approached the front desk there was
little wonder in her mind why the word “travel” had its roots in the original travail,
which literally meant torture.
An
attentive middle-aged woman, with red hair swept away from her stark face,
stepped from behind the carved baroque counter to greet her. “You must be Maeve
Clark. We received your message. I’m so sorry you’ve had such a difficult time
getting here.” The woman reached for Maeve’s luggage. “Let’s get you signed in
so you can rest.”
The
woman glanced out the front entrance as the cab that had brought Maeve turned
and drove away in the pouring rain. “I don’t see anyone else out there. Is Mr.
Clark with you?”
“What
time is it?” Maeve fought the impulse to rub her eyes with the heels of her
hands and grind what little mascara still clung to her lashes onto her cheeks.
The
woman smoothed the lapels of her prim navy suit. “It’s 1:11 a.m.”
“Oh
god. I’m so disoriented I thought it was earlier. By the way, I’m no longer
Maeve Clark. I made the reservations last year before I divorced. Didn’t I
update you on the name change?”
The
woman’s gaze lingered on the prominent wedding ring on Maeve’s left hand. “No
name change was mentioned, but we have a beautiful room waiting and we’re pleased
to have you visit with us, Miss...?”
“Maeve
dé Burgo.”
The
woman looked elated. “You’re a dé Burgo? Of course, now it all makes sense! Oh
this is wonderful, and so appropriate. I’m certain you are aware that the
ancestral founder of Tullamore Castle was Lord dé Burgo?” The woman clasped
Maeve’s hand. “My name is Áine Byrne. I’m the current owner of Tullamore Castle
and if I’m not mistaken, you and I are distant relations.”
“You’re
the castle owner? I’m so happy to meet you, Miss Byrne.”
“Call
me Áine. I’m simply thrilled to have a dé Burgo under our eaves again!”
Maeve
was dumbfounded by the woman’s intense enthusiasm for her maiden name. “I’m
surprised to see you working the front desk at this hour.”
“I’m
a hands-on owner and a notorious insomniac. Night is when interesting things
happen at Tullamore. I like seeing everything and everyone who comes through
the front entrance. Hospitality is my business and I enjoy being hospitable.”
“Thank
you, Áine.” Maeve was barely able to manage a smile in her exhausted state.
“From the outside, the castle is so dramatic, very picturesque. I’m certainly
looking forward to seeing my room.”
“Of
course you are.” Áine took Maeve’s hint and hurried behind the counter to
retrieve a massive leather-bound ledger with vellum pages. “Because you are a
dé Burgo would you please sign the historic guest ledger?” She handed Maeve an
old- fashioned feather quill and a bottle of ink.
Maeve
sighed as she accepted the quill and ink. Despite her interest in all things
historical, she had no experience writing with a quill and hoped she wouldn’t
make a mess of Áine’s lovely old ledger with an inevitable clumsy ink splosh on
the creamy page.
Áine
seemed to read Maeve’s mind. “It’s not difficult. Simply dip, swipe the quill
on the rim of the bottle and write far more slowly than you think you should.”
Maeve
dipped the quill and sketched her name across the velum with shaky, scratchy
strokes that required several dunks into the ink.
“Lovely.”
Áine gazed at Maeve’s signature and set the ledger aside to dry. “By the way,
the room you requested is not available. We had a slight accident with some
workmen the other day and the room you reserved will require refurbishment.”
Maeve
groaned in disappointment. “The cheerful little yellow room overlooking the
rose garden isn’t available?”
“No.”
Áine glanced at Maeve sideways. “We’re putting you in the O’Griofa suite
tonight. It’s our finest room.”
Maeve
gasped. She’d visited Castle Tullamore’s website many times and knew the
O’Griofa suite was a sprawling set of adjoining rooms stuffed with priceless
antiques and no doubt far beyond her budget.
“It’s
all right.” Áine raised a preemptive palm into the air. “You will not be
charged suite rates. The mistake was on our side and you shall be the one to
benefit.”
Maeve
exhaled. “Thank you.” A nearly forgotten thought surfaced. “Some months ago I
contacted a Professor Burke to meet me here at the castle and help me to gather
information about my family’s genealogy. I forgot to email him and tell him my
flight was delayed. Has the professor contacted you?”
“Yes,
I spoke with Professor Burke at some length and now that I know you’re a dé
Burgo your research project makes perfect sense. The dé Burgos have shared a
stunning history with Castle Tullamore. Your family has been here since the
beginning.”
“I’ve
been told I was named for a great ancestor of mine, Lady Maeve dé Burgo. I’m
looking forward to learning more about her.”
Áine
did not appear to be the least bit surprised by this bit of information.
“There’s been a mild setback. I am sorry to say Professor Burke isn’t coming.
He called yesterday to cancel your appointment. He must attend to emergency
business in France and will not return for a fortnight. He apologized profusely
for the sudden change of plans.”
“The
professor’s not coming?” The energy drained from her. “I’m so disappointed.
That was the core purpose of my trip to Tullamore.”
“Don’t
despair.” Áine lifted her chin. “Another professor has volunteered to take his
place.”
“Who?”
“Ironically
it’s a Professor O’Griofa. He too claims a strong ancestral connection to
Tullamore and has enjoyed a long association with the castle. Isn’t that an
interesting coincidence?” Áine’s gaze sharpened. “Professor O’Griofa is
considered the premier expert on Castle Tullamore, so it goes to show that tiny
setbacks and substitutions can often be wonderful boons. I’m sure the change
was for the best. Tullamore’s just that kind of place. One must expect the
unexpected.” She reached for a brass skeleton key dangling from a hook. “We use
an old-fashioned key for the O’Griofa suite. Come with me and I’ll show you to
your room.”
Maeve
followed Áine down a long corridor lined with gilt-framed oil portraits of the
castle’s many occupants. They passed a staircase and approached an antiquated-
looking iron-cage elevator.
“We’re
going to take the lift.” Áine took hold of the iron filigree door and struggled
to wrench it open. “This door can be so stubborn.” She gave the base of the
door a brisk kick with the heel of her shoe until it opened. “Ah, there we go.
You’re not claustrophobic or easily startled by screeching metallic sounds, are
you?”
“No.”
Maeve gazed longingly toward the staircase.
“Don’t worry, the lift is in
excellent working condition. It’s just odd.”
Maeve
lingered at the threshold. “How is it odd?”
“It’s haunted and there are a few
other peculiarities.” “Like what? I would think haunted is peculiar enough.”
“Oh
there’s much more.” Áine stepped into the lift, pulling the rolling luggage
with her, and motioned for Maeve to follow. “Get in and I’ll tell you about its
many eccentricities.”
Maeve
felt her face blanch as she stepped inside the unsound-looking lift.
Áine
slid the rattling door shut and pressed a button. The lift lurched with a
grating noise and rose to the thumping whir of unseen gears and pulleys.
Maeve
gulped a nervous breath. “I’ve never been in a lift like this.”
“You
certainly haven’t!” Áine grinned with pride. “It’s one of a kind. I’ve had
guests swear the lift delivered them into another time and place. Can you
imagine that? A few bold souls have even claimed to encounter entities haunting
the lift that encouraged them to engage in...” She hesitated. “How should I say
this? Amorous behavior. Their actions were quite spontaneous and uninhibited,
but I strongly suspect they didn’t do anything they didn’t already want to do.”
“Oh
my.” Maeve laughed. “And they blamed the lift?”
The
lift screeched to a jolting halt. Áine drew the door open. “We’re here.” She
motioned for Maeve to exit. “The O’Griofa suite is at the end of the corridor.”
(Just wait until Maeve sees the handsome
portrait of Lord O’Griofa. She’s in for trouble…)
Review:
Romance, time travel, shifting to a
Griffin, and a love that lasts the ages… now that’s a real romance. Lord O’Griofa has been waiting for his true
love to return for centuries.
Unfortunately she is a modern woman and doesn’t believe in magic or anything
like time travel and waiting for your love to free you. Will she change her mind before it’s too late
or is she destined to be alone forever?
I love romance stories and I love
shifter stories. This one was fabulous
with a Griffin shifter. I have never
read a story where the shifter was a
Griffin, so that was an interesting twist.
I give this book 4.5 out of 5
clouds.
This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.
