Title: Stone of Love
Author: Margaret Izard
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Book Blurb:
After leaving her abusive ex, American scholar Brielle DeVolt embarks on a career-changing opportunity, the renovation of Laird Colin MacDougall’s Chapel ruin. The attractive, broad-shouldered Laird leaves her weak-kneed, but can she trust herself to love again?
Dusted in construction dirt, the curvy beauty in his study captivates Colin. As Brielle steps to the window, her brunette tresses halo in the sunlight, and he sees her as his dream soul mate. When he learns his hereditary duty is safeguarding magic Fae stones, all he wants is to protect Brielle from the evil forces of the Fae.
Traveling to the past to assume his forefather’s identity and find a missing magic stone is challenging enough. When Brielle appears, an undeniable attraction to his ancestor ignites, causing her confused passion. Faced with fighting an evil Fae to save the realms, Colin must choose between saving the stone or saving his love.
Excerpt:
Colin took a minute to study her. She was fair, with petite features and light-brown hair pulled into a loose bun, leaving golden tendrils desperately escaping, caressing her face. He wanted nothing more than to free the bun and run his fingers through the soft brown curls. Her cheekbones were high, with a spot of dirt on one side and a pert nose to match her tart personality. When she was angry a second ago, her eyes had flashed almost green. Now they were a light golden-brown, like a fine whisky.
His gaze traveled over her body. She wore twill pants and hiking boots with a button-down shirt that might have been tan if not for the light layer of gray dust. Under that sat a white tank top with a smudge of dirt on the front near her abundant cleavage. His gaze lingered, then continued to her petite features, set perfectly in her heart-shaped face. She wasn’t what he expected, far from it. Wait, she said her mom was from Glasgow.
“Was?” Colin asked quietly.
Brielle blinked.
He stepped away from the window at her blank stare and approached her. “Was. You said your mother was from Glasgow.”
She blinked again and rubbed the back of her neck, then gave two quick nods and replied, “Yes, she was. She died last year of cancer. My father passed the year before. I have a brother, but we aren’t close.”
He held out his hand, then glanced at it. Brielle stared at his hand, then tentatively placed her hand in his and peered at his face. He smiled as his other hand closed over hers and held it between his own.
Her hand was small and warm. It trembled so slightly he almost didn’t notice. He could detect a callous on a finger. She didn’t mind hard work. Strong yet vulnerable. Brielle.
He spoke honestly, for he understood her loss as much as his own. “I am sorry for their deaths and yer loss.”
Brielle glanced at their hands, then back at him, and smiled, but her head nodded in a tic again. “I am truly sorry over your parents’ loss as well. I wish I could have attended the funeral.”
Colin stood there, holding her hand, the energy flowing through the connection. The earth took a breath and held it, waiting for them. He had never had this reaction to a woman upon first meeting her. His response piqued his curiosity. What else did his ma’s special project have in store for him?
Brielle pulled her hand from his and squared her shoulders. “You called me for an update on the renovation. Shall we go over it?”
Colin traveled past her, sat in his desk chair, and waited as she stood there fidgeting. Ah, the wee builder was nervous. When he held her hand and spoke of her mother, he felt a connection, a loss they shared. She seemed like a bright, confident lass, and when she got angry…the spark in her eye, her sharp tongue. She was attractive in a way Colin found endearing. The businesslike builder covered her charm. He hmphed. Too bad she was an American who might ruin his ma’s special project. He’d hate to ask the Historic Environment Scotland to replace her. She started to grow on him.
She watched him over her shoulder, and he smiled as he waved his hand, inviting her to the chair in front of his desk. He sat back in his chair, hoping to appear relaxed, wanting her to be comfortable.
Brielle cleared her throat as she crossed to the desk, sat upright in the chair, clasped her hands in her lap, and began her report.
“We’ve cleared away the rubble and overgrowth so we can start on the demo of the broken stonework…”
He watched her as she spoke. Her gaze traveled across the room, stopping at the fireplace and staying there momentarily. The couch in front of the fireplace was a favorite spot of his. Maybe she also enjoyed sitting in front of the fire on late nights?
Her gaze shifted back to him, then dropped to her hands. “As you know, your ancestors built the chapel around the thirteenth century as a private chapel for the family. We consider the stonework the most detailed from that era.” He used to sit like this with his da, talk about life with a whisky in hand. He was always on the other side of the desk, nervous—like her. A drink, that’s what she needs, a smooth whisky.
He rose and turned to the table. He didn’t ask, just poured two glasses. The scent wafted to his nose, reminding him of his da. He walked to her. She still spoke, as she fidgeted with her hands. He stood directly in front of her and handed her a glass.
She put her hands up, and he wiggled the drink under her nose, knowing the scent would tease her and make her mouth water in anticipation of that first smooth sip with a nip in it.
“It’s Scotland. We drink all the time, plus it’s my da’s best stock.” He handed her the glass again. As she took it, their hands brushed, and awareness shot up his arm. He tried to appear unaffected as he leaned back against the desk with his arms and legs crossed.
“Slàinte,” he said, leaning toward her and clinking her drink, “which is a toast to health.”
“I know what Slàinte means, thank you.” She raised her glass and spoke. “Slàinte,” she replied. She sipped it and smiled. He half expected her to choke, even though his da’s whisky was the smoothest in Scotland. Still, she was an American unused to uisge beatha, or the “water of life.”
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):
What’s your favorite part about being a romance author?
I enjoy creating characters and stories that readers connect and relate to.
Here’s my tip to add romance to your love life:
Grow together in life and remember to laugh when life throws you each or both a curve ball.
Giveaway –
One lucky reader will win a $75 Amazon gift card
Open internationally.
Runs February 1 – 29, 2024
Drawing will be held on March 1, 2024.
Author Biography:
Margaret Izard is an award-winning author of historical fantasy and paranormal romance novels. She spent her early years through college to adulthood dedicated to dance, theater, and performing. Over the years, she developed a love for great storytelling in different mediums. She does not waste a good story, be it movement, the spoken, or the written word. She discovered historical romance novels in middle school, which combined her passion for romance, drama, and fantasy. She writes exciting plot lines, steamy love scenes and always falls for a strong male with a soft heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and adult triplets and loves to hear from readers.
Readers can email me at: info@margaretizardauthor.com
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