There are some authors that I could enjoy at my blog all the time
Katalina Leon is one of them.
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Katalina is giving away $15 Amazon Gift Card + E-copy
to a lucky commenter.
Lord Griffin’s Prize
Katalina Leon
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.
Buy Links
Website: katalinaleon.com
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…)
About the Author
Katalina Leon
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.
Contact Links
Website: katalinaleon.com
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2 comments:
Thank you for dropping by, I do so love your books!
Thank you Mila I love visiting!
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