The Stones of Iona series by Award-Winning Author Margaret Izard
The power of love binds all and will last forever.
Human emotion powers the magic stones. Apart, they are strong; together, they are all-powerful. In the wrong hands, the stones could destroy the world. Travel to parts of the world in the present and the past as we follow multiple characters on the quest to restore the Stones of Iona.
Fall in love over and over with the new series, Stones of Iona. For centuries, the Fae charged the MacDougall family with guarding the magic Fae stones. In one fateful moment, the monarchs of the family die in a horrible accident. In a panic, the Good Fae cast the handheld gems across space and time to protect them from the Evil Fae. The current generation of the MacDougalls must seek the lost stones and return them to the Chapel in the Woods at Dunstaffnage Castle in Scotland for safekeeping for all mankind.
Stone of Love, Book 1
Against all odds, is true love strong enough to save a human soul?
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.
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Stone of Fear, Book 2
Marie Murray, a spunky expert on spiritual buildings, jumps at the opportunity to renovate the chapel mosaic floor at Dunstaffnage Castle, where she falls hard for the dashing John MacArthur. From their first kiss, sparks fly.Believing her religious renovation creates magic, a fanatical priest kidnaps Marie. Obsessed with obtaining a powerful magic Stone of Iona, he drags her to 15th-century Scotland.
With his love kidnapped, John must tackle his hereditary duty and locate a magic Fae stone while chasing his love across time. Her memories of their passion keep her sane. His fuel his will to find her.Will John get to Marie in time to save her soul?
Excerpt:
She turned around as she tried to detect the candle in the dark to light it. Lightning lit up the room, and she spied the candle for a moment. Marie placed her hand on the counter and patted down, only to find the sink. Thunder boomed again, and she yelped as she gripped the cup. She extended her hand out again, but this time encountered something warm.
Marie screamed as she held the cup for dear life. Large arms wrapped around her in a warm embrace. Her face rested against a man’s naked chest which wiggled as he chuckled. She took a deep breath, smelled John’s scent of light musk, and relaxed in his embrace.
“Sorry, a nighean,” my girl. “I only meant to play with ye. I didn’t think I’d scare ye.”
Marie huffed and pushed against him. “Well, ye scared me all right. Thought I found the ghostie, the Green Lady of Dunstaffnage, in the flesh.” She lifted her head, peeked at him, then rested her hand on his naked chest.
John stepped back as he took her cup. It clinked as he set it on the counter. She felt him move away as his form shifted towards the stove. The clank of the kettle told her he’d picked it up.
His body moved to her and he reached around her to turn on the water. The kettle filled with a gurgle. He amazed her at how he easily navigated the kitchen in the darkness.
In a flash of lighting, his white teeth glowed as his voice calmed her. “Didn’t ye want some tea?”
Marie blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and his face outlined in the dark, close to hers.
She took a deep breath. “Aye, tea would be nice.”
John chuckled as he moved away. “This happens every storm.” At the stove, with his eyes on hers, he opened the drawer, took out a long lighter, and held it up. He smiled, flicked it on, then lit the stove manually casting him in shadow. He stretched over her and lit the candle. A warm light illuminated the room and cast a golden glow around them.
As he pulled back, he stopped when their faces were a mere breath apart and stared into her eyes. He stepped closer and smiled as he reached to the cabinet behind Marie and retrieved another cup.
Marie shifted out of his way, but he placed the cup on the counter stopping her motion. He put the lighter on the other side. John leaned on the counter trapping her between his arms.
He gazed into her eyes as he opened the drawer next to her hip. His hand shifted around, then pulled out the tea and tea strainers and set them on the counter. His gaze held hers.
Marie raised an eyebrow. “I see ye’ve made tea in the dark before.”
John smiled. “Aye.”
Lightning lit up the room, and thunder reverberated off the walls. Marie jumped, and her hands gripped his shoulders. John took her hands into his, kissed one, then placed them around his neck as he wrapped her in his embrace. She rested her head on his chest, her ear aligned with his heart. Beneath his warm skin, its steady beat calmed her. Marie took a deep breath, and they stood there in the night as they held each other. The rain made shadows on the moonlit window and ran down the glass in wavy patterns. Thunder rumbled, but farther away now.
She wasn’t sure who moved first, but she gazed into his eyes. He shifted closer, and his lips brushed hers lightly. She didn’t stop to think, only feel.
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Stone of Lust, Book 3
She dreams of a Viking warrior with Fae-blue eyes and a God-like body that makes her heart pound like no other. Trying to save her kidnapped sister-in-law, Ainslie follows her back to the Vikings of Scotland, where she faces the very man who has haunted her dreams.
When Jarl, Rannick MacRaghnaill meets the alluring Warrior Woman who helped steal his warship, she dresses in clothing so strange that every curve teases his senses. But is she, as she claims, a woman from the future or an irresistible lying thief?She’d risk her life to save her sister-in-law. He’d risk his honor to win her heart.
Can both hardened warriors save the realms from the evilest of Fae’s minds combined with the most dangerous of humans?
This book contains themes that may be sensitive to some readers, including references to assault and mild violence. Reader discretion is advised.
Excerpt:
She placed her sword at his throat. “Yield?” The warriors gasped, then cheered for her.
Rannick’s eyebrows rose as Ainslie helped the youth to his feet and patted him on the back. Rannick rubbed his neck and looked over his warriors. He called upon another warrior. “Gunnar, come fight the She Warrior.”
A large older warrior moved from the crowd, a grin on his face. As Gunnar passed, Rannick patted his back and whispered something, but Ainslie couldn’t hear what was said. The warrior nodded as he moved toward her. No matter. She’d fight anyone.
Both took their ready stance, and Rannick signaled for them to begin.
They circled, weighing their opponent waiting on who would take the offensive first.
It was Gunnar, with a slice of his blade on her shoulder. Ainslie blocked him well, but he stepped forward and slammed his shoulder into her knocking her down. Ainslie somersaulted backward to stand, her blade out and ready to defend the next block.
Gunnar glanced at Rannick, who nodded toward Ainslie.
They circled again, waiting to see who would advance.
Ainslie led the next attack with an overhead slash. Gunnar blocked it, pushing her back. He was more substantial, but she was small, agile, and smart.
They circled, and Ainslie went for his middle.
Gunnar blocked and spun, coming around overhead.
She stopped it with her blade and allowed him to slide down hers knowing she could quickly push it aside with his forward momentum. When his sword came to the hand guard, she moved with all her might. He stumbled on a sidestep at the unexpected shift. As he flew past her, Ainslie whacked his rear with the side of her blade. The warriors laughed, and Gunnar came for her in an off-balance rage. She sidestepped and hit his rear end again.
Gunnar leveled his eyes on her and advanced with his blade. Side-to-side attacks came at her fast, backing her into the mainmast, trapping her, obviously trying to end the fight. Knowing sailing and the rigging, Ainslie reached up and grabbed the tack line holding the sail in place and swung herself onto the keelson box beneath the main mast. She landed surefooted and, in her follow-through, swung her sword connecting with Gunnar’s disarming him. His sword flew out of his hand and clattered against the hull. He stood staring at his empty hand, then tilted his head back and laughed loudly.
He bowed to Ainslie. “Ye are Freyja, the war goddess. Her spirit lives in ye. I have never seen a woman fight. A Valkyrie, and I’m honored to fight with ye.”
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Thistle in the Mistletoe (standalone holiday story featuring a MacDougall)
A kiss under the Mistletoe brings good fortune, but can a Christmas wedding stop a deadly feud?
The soft beauty beside him at the altar would make the perfect bride. Roderick MacDougall would do anything to stop the feud without more bloodshed. Too bad the gorgeous woman is the daughter of his greatest enemy who murdered his da. Trust in a Comyn is hard won, even if she tempts his senses.Mary Comyn only wants to stop the wars and live a life of peace and goodwill. Tricked by her father and forced by the English king to marry her clan’s enemy, Mary fears she’s sacrificing finding true love for peace. A Christmas wedding sounds romantic, but why would the handsome MacDougall laird, her greatest clan enemy, love her?A man conflicted by duty charged to find peace. A woman whose father betrayed all. When betrayal looms from within, can enemies find love and forge a new future for both clans?
Excerpt:
“Ye read?”
Mary turned, smiling. “Aye, my mother taught me before her death. Father wasn’t happy. Declared it was a waste on the lesser sex, but she insisted. Claimed a woman’s mind was just as smart, if not smarter, than a man’s.”
Roderick grumbled. Comyn didn’t have the sense of a pea. Women had complicated minds capable of not only deceit and deception but such wonderful insight. He learned from his ma, it was best to use a woman’s mind for good and not evil. His da always said, ye know nothing about a woman until ye make her angry.
Mary picked up a volume and flipped it open. “She taught some in the clan to read.” She closed the book and set it back in the case. “I’d always wished to teach more of my clan to read but my father wouldn’t allow it.”
Roderick would have liked her mom. Such a strange match for Laird Comyn, the gruff, crude, stern man he was. His father mentioned they were all friends at one time, before the feud. Mary’s mom had been a close friend of his ma’s. But all that was before his birth, before the wars began. Strange how times changed.
He strode to the table of spirits and poured himself one.
Roderick turned ready to take a sip and Mary raised an eyebrow. “Husband will ye not offer one to yer wife?”
His eyes met hers as he grinned, liking her banter. “Why pardon me, wife.” He sauntered toward her offering the goblet to her. “Would ye like a dram, Milady?” Stepping close he handed it to her, their fingers brushing. He waited for her to take a sip, expecting her to fall into a fit of coughs.
When she sipped and it went down smoothly, he chuckled. “A woman familiar with spirits. Shall I lock mine up?”
Her gaze fell to the cup. “With the warm welcome I’ve had, I’ll need another.” She stepped past him and sat in one of the richly upholstered chairs before the fire.
Roderick sighed and poured himself one, needing it for the conversation ahead. “Aye, well, I heard about Alister.”
He crossed to sit in the chair next to hers, facing her, his drink between both hands. “Mary, while it will take some time for people to grow used to ye, I will not permit harm to come to ye. Ye must tell me, has anyone else done anything to ye? Something I need to address?” He glanced at her, hoping that things went well for her outside of Alister’s outburst.
She sighed. “No, nothing I can’t handle. As for Alister, I wanted to comfort him. We both have losses and it’s time for that to end.”
Roderick sat back, sipping his drink then set his on the table between them. She was a wise woman, one who understood loss from war. What all had the Comyn clan lost? What had Mary lost? His plan for her acceptance, she needed to know so they could work together to bridge the gap between his people and her.
“Agreed. Anytime a clan member does something against ye for being a Comyn, I’m having them serve ye for an hour.”
Mary sat up, shaking her head. “It’s not—”
“It is. Mary, it’s not a punishment but a chance to spend time with ye, get to know ye. So, when Alister arrives in the morning, spend time speaking with him. Have him help ye so he’s needed. Ye ken?”
Mary smiled. “Ah, befriending the enemy, show him my vulnerability.” She sipped her whisky and peeked at him. “Yer plan has flaws. What if I am not a weak woman, Roderick?”
He slipped off his chair kneeling before her. “Mary, that’s the best part of my plan. Ye are not a weak woman and I want the clan to see it. To see what I see in ye.”
He took her drink from her and set it on the table. Taking her hands in his he stared into her eyes. “What I see in ye, Mary, is a strong woman who’s had to fight for all she needed, provided for her clan in hard times. Forced to run a keep on her own at a young age must not have come easy and knowing yer father’s warriors, must have been eye opening.”
She blinked and stared at him. “It wasn’t so bad. They are my family, my clan.”
Tears gathered in her eyes. He was right. Her life under her father had not been easy.
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Kissletoe Holiday Crystal Ornament (color may vary from picture)
Signed copy of book
Large Thistle in the Mistletoe book bag
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Insulated wine glass with Thistle in the Mistletoe logo
Dublin shot glass with etched Thistle in the Mistletoe logo
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Author Biography:
Margaret Izard is a multi-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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