(The Wild Rose and the Sea Raven trilogy)
By Jennifer Ivy Walker
This book kind of snuck up on me.
This book kind of snuck up on me.
At first, I was just settling into it—the world, the characters, all the detail. It doesn’t rush you, which I actually liked. It feels like you’re slowly stepping into the story instead of being thrown into it. And then somewhere along the way, I realized I actually cared—like really cared about what was happening.
There’s this really strong mix of beauty and unease running through the whole book. Everything feels vivid—the castle, the forest, the court—but there’s always something a little off underneath it. Even the quieter, softer moments don’t feel completely safe, and that tension builds in a way that just sits with you.
A big part of that comes from Morag. From the moment she appears, there’s something unsettling about her. She’s beautiful and composed, but it’s very clear she knows exactly how to use that. The way she completely pulls Issylte’s father in—almost like he’s under a spell—is honestly hard to watch. Once she becomes queen, everything changes. The warmth disappears, the atmosphere turns cold, and Issylte’s life becomes much more controlled and isolating. You can really feel how quickly things shift for her, and it makes everything that follows hit harder.
Issylte’s story is the one that stayed with me the most. She just wants freedom, something simple and real, and instead her world keeps closing in around her. The loss she goes through—and the way it’s handled—feels quiet but heavy, like something she has to carry rather than something that gets resolved.
The magical side of the story is also really well done, and I liked that it’s not overwhelming—it kind of weaves in naturally. The forest feels alive in a way that’s hard to explain, like there’s something older and watching just beneath the surface. And then there’s Ronan, the Avalonian elf, who brings in that deeper sense of magic and calm. His presence feels different from everything else—steadier, warmer—but still tied to that same underlying mystery. He adds this almost dreamlike quality to parts of the story, while also becoming something much more personal for Issylte.
Tristan’s storyline adds a completely different kind of energy. He’s from Lyonesse, and his past is honestly brutal—he witnessed the massacre of his family during a Viking attack when he was a child, and that trauma really shapes everything about him . His journey is more physical and driven—training, fighting, pushing himself—but it’s also tied to something bigger. The whole Tournament of Champions and the chance to become one of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table, training under Lancelot, adds this epic, legendary layer to his story. It gives his path a sense of purpose that balances out Issylte’s more emotional, internal journey really well.
I also really liked how the setting actually matters. It’s not just there for atmosphere—it shapes the characters and their choices. The pressure of royal life, the expectations, the lack of control… all of that feels very real within the story.
The only reason this is a four-star read for me instead of five is the repetition. Certain phrases and descriptions come up a bit too often, and while the writing is beautiful, it occasionally pulls you out of the moment.
By the end, I wasn’t completely emotionally wrecked—but I was definitely invested. I wanted to keep going, especially with the way the story hints at something bigger still unfolding.
This is one of those books that slowly gets under your skin. It’s immersive, a little haunting, and layered with just enough magic and emotion to keep you hooked. Not perfect, but definitely one that stays with you.
This is the kind of book that doesn’t just tug at your emotions—it grabs them and refuses to let go. The opening feels like a quiet warning of what’s coming, and even though the pieces don’t fall into place right away, when they finally do, it hits with full force. I didn’t just cry at the end—I was completely undone. By the time this book was finished with me, I felt wrung out, hollowed, and deeply moved.
What made it hurt so much is how Love Lost in Time slips so easily between comfort and dread. It gives you moments that feel almost safe—small, familiar, gentle—and then quietly pulls the rug out from under you. Everyday actions turn into revelations. Simple sensations turn into memories that don’t belong where they surface. The book doesn’t rush these shifts, and it doesn’t soften them either. You’re allowed to sit in the discomfort, and that’s exactly why it lands so hard.
The medieval storyline broke my heart in the best and worst way. Life is harsh, choices are limited, and love exists under constant pressure from duty, belief, and survival. There is tenderness here, but it’s fragile, always at risk of being taken away. Even the moments of warmth carry a sense of loss, as if you know they won’t last—and that knowledge hangs over everything.
The modern timeline feels deceptively ordinary at first, which makes the emotional cracks that appear later even more painful. When the past starts bleeding into the present, it doesn’t feel dramatic or theatrical—it feels personal. Unavoidable. Like something that was always waiting to be found.
What stayed with me most was the atmosphere. The past in this book doesn’t shout—it lingers. It seeps into the story through touch, scent, fragments of memory, and half-understood truths, until you realize it’s not content to stay buried. There’s something deeply intimate about the way it unfolds, like you’re being let in on a grief that was never properly laid to rest.
By the end, I wasn’t looking for answers—I was just sitting there, emotional and shaken, trying to catch my breath. The book doesn’t offer neat resolutions or easy comfort, and that feels intentional. It leaves you changed, carrying the weight of what you’ve witnessed, knowing that some stories don’t end cleanly—they stay with you.
This is not a gentle read. It’s a beautiful, painful, emotionally demanding one—and I won’t be forgetting it anytime soon.
Cathie is an Amazon-bestselling author of historical fiction, dual-timeline, mystery, and romance. She loves to infuse her stories with a strong sense of place and time, combined with a dark secret or mystery – and a touch of romance. Often, you can find her deep down the rabbit hole of historical research…
In addition, she is also a historical fiction book promoter with The Coffee Pot Book Club, a novel-writing tutor, and a keen reviewer on her blog, Ruins & Reading.
After having lived in Scotland for almost two decades, Cathie is now enjoying the sunshine in the south of France with her husband, and her rescued pets, Ellie Dog & Charlie Cat.
She is a member of the Historical Novel Society, the Richard III Society, the Alliance of Independent Authors, and the Romantic Novelists’ Association.
This book is unlike anything I usually pick up, and I mean that in the best possible way. It reads part historical drama, part travelling circus memoir, part political satire, and part fever dream. One moment you are watching acrobats and dancers take the stage, the next you are caught in Cold War paranoia, culture clash, and the messy private lives of people trying to reinvent themselves far from home.
What struck me most is how boldly it shifts tone. It can be funny, outrageous and almost theatrical, then suddenly reflective and surprisingly tender. The Ringmaster’s voice ties it all together, constantly stepping in and out of the action, commenting on events, time, memory and truth itself. It shouldn’t work, but somehow it does, giving the whole story the feeling of being both performance and confession.
The circus acts themselves are vividly described and genuinely thrilling, but the real story happens around them: the tensions between old Soviet control and new American excess, the power struggles behind the scenes, the fragile friendships and dangerous attractions forming in the gaps. It feels chaotic and alive, as if anything could happen next.
I’m not too sure what to make of the constant references and the QR codes linking to real songs and historical speeches that are scattered through the book, but they certainly make the experience unusual. For the most part I did ignore them as I was too engrossed in the story to come away from it.
Although the book is inspired by real events, it openly leans into exaggeration and satire, which gives it licence to be wild, provocative and sometimes shocking. It definitely isn’t a neat or comfortable story, and it’s not suitable for younger readers, but that rough edge is part of its appeal.
By the end, nothing is neatly resolved. Instead you are left hanging in mid-air, like a trapeze artist between swings, which feels completely intentional. It leaves plenty of room for the second book, and I finished it feeling slightly dazed, very curious, and keen to see where this strange, ambitious circus goes next.
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Wolf of the Nordic Seas is not a gentle story, and it has no interest in pretending to be one. It reads like a collision between saga, myth, and romance, where fate is unavoidable, and humans are left dealing with the consequences. From the start, it feels bold, dramatic, and unapologetically larger than life.
What surprised me most was how confidently the book leans into its mythological side. This isn’t a historical romance lightly dusted with legend—the supernatural elements are built directly into the structure of the story. Prophecies matter. Divine choices have consequences. You’re constantly aware that unseen forces are watching, nudging, and sometimes shoving events in certain directions, whether the characters are ready or not.
The tone shifts more than once, but it does so intentionally. One moment you’re caught up in political maneuvering and looming threats, the next you’re pulled into something far more intimate and intense. The romance is passionate and immediate, but it never exists on its own; it’s tightly bound to destiny, loyalty, and the simple problem of surviving long enough to see what comes next.
I also appreciated how unrestrained the story feels. It doesn’t try to be neat or minimal. There are elves with their own agendas, wolves that blur the line between myth and menace. At times it feels almost excessive—and then you realize that excess is exactly the point. This is a story rooted in legend, where subtlety would feel out of place.
The cover deserves special mention because it fits the book perfectly. It promises drama, danger, and romance, and the story delivers on all three. There’s a strong sense of momentum throughout, as if everything is moving toward something inevitable, even when the characters themselves don’t yet see it.
By the end, the book leaves you with the feeling that you’ve only seen part of a much larger design. Threads are still in motion, forces are still aligning, and the anticipation is very real. This is a vivid, myth-heavy, emotionally charged fantasy romance that fully embraces its scope and ambition. I finished it thoroughly entertained and more than ready to see what chaos fate has planned next.
Jennifer Ivy Walker is an award-winning author of medieval Celtic, Nordic, and paranormal romance, as well as contemporary romance, historical fantasy, and WWII romantic suspense.
A former high school teacher and college professor of French with an MA in French literature, her novels encompass a love for French language, literature, history, and culture, including Celtic myths and legends, Norse mythology, Viking sagas, and Nordic lore.
Some stories throw you straight into the roar of battle. This one carries you into the whispering wilds of the frontier, where the wind through the trees sounds almost like voices and the earth itself is not as solid as it seems. From the opening pages, the tale settles around you like campfire smoke, warm with friendship and wonder, yet edged with danger that keeps you turning the pages.
Lives change in an instant. A girl fleeing her daily chores runs for her life through an unfamiliar forest. A lonely modern teenager falls through the ground and into another century. A young man’s ordinary day ends in the company of soldiers and gunfire. Each of them arrives with nothing but the clothes they wear and a strangely beautiful stone that hums with hidden power.
These stones are gifts, but they are also burdens. There are no instructions, no gentle awakening of magic, only confusion, fear, and the growing sense that something dark is hunting them. The past they land in is breathtakingly alive: clear waters teeming with fish, forests untouched by industry, and a people deeply bound to the land. Yet beneath that beauty lies the shadow of invasion, conflict, and change that cannot be undone.
At the heart of the story is the meeting of strangers who slowly become something more. Trust is not given easily, but earned in shared danger and quiet acts of courage. Guidance comes from an aging shaman who understands that his time is short and his knowledge must live on in these unexpected heirs. Through him, the magic feels ancient and spiritual rather than flashy, rooted in responsibility instead of power for its own sake.
What lingers most is the feeling of found family. These young heroes come from different times and worlds, yet discover that belonging is not about where you start but who stands beside you when everything else is lost. Their growing bond brings warmth to a harsh and uncertain world, a reminder that loyalty and compassion can take root anywhere.
This is an adventure filled with peril, mystery, and wonder, but it also has a gentle, reflective heart. It invites you to walk beneath towering pines, listen to old stories carried on the wind, and believe that even across centuries, people can find one another and change the course of history together.
Books have been an important part of my life as long as I can remember, and at 54 years old, that’s a lot of books. My earliest memories of reading are CS Lewis’, “The Horse and His Boy” – by far the best of the Narnia books, the Adventures series by Willard Price, and “Goalkeepers are Different” by sports journalist Brian Glanville. An eclectic mix. My first English teacher was surprised to hear that I was reading, Le Carré, Ken Follett, Nevil Shute and “All the Presidents’ Men” by Woodward and Bernstein at the age of 12. I was simply picking up the books my father had finished.
School syllabus threw up the usual suspects – Shakespeare, Chaucer, Dickens, Hardy, “To Kill a Mockingbird” – which I have reread often, and others I don’t immediately recall. By “A” level study, my then English teachers were pulling their hair out at my “perverse waste of talent” – I still have the report card! But I did manage a pass.
During a 35 year career, briefly in Banking and then in IT, I managed to find time, with unfailing family support, to study another lifelong passion, graduating with an Open University Bachelors’ degree in History in 2002. This fascination with all things historical inspired me to begin the Time Stones series. There is so much to our human past, and so many differing views on what is the greatest, and often the saddest, most tragic story. I decided I wanted to write about it; to shine a small light on those, sometimes pivotal stories, which are less frequently mentioned.
In 1995, my wife, Michelle, and I moved from England to southern Germany, where we still live, with our two children, one cat, and, when she pays us a visit, one chocolate labrador. I have been fortunate that I could satisfy another wish, to travel as widely as possible and see as much of our world as I can. Destinations usually include places of historic and archaeological interest, mixed with a large helping of sun, sea and sand for my wife’s peace of mind.
Oh wow, this book! I wasn’t sure what to expect going in, but The Relic Keeper completely surprised me. Angelo is such a layered character — tough, clever, and just trying to get by in a world that’s stacked against him. I loved how real he felt; you could almost see his thoughts and struggles as if you were right there with him. You really get a sense of how hardened he is from a life of survival, but also the small glimmers of curiosity and hope that keep him going. It made me care about him instantly.
The story moves at a really nice pace, and I found myself completely invested in the small, quiet victories Angelo experiences. Watching him interact with Padre Benedetto and slowly start to see that there might be more to life than survival was honestly heartwarming. And I absolutely adored Benedetto — he’s so kind-hearted and genuinely sees the good in people, especially in Angelo. The way he offers Angelo shelter and trust is touching, and the scene where Angelo almost runs off with the candlesticks (a little like Jean Valjean in Les Misérables) had me holding my breath. Instead of scolding him, Benedetto offers breakfast! That combination of tension, compassion, and gentle humor had me grinning and tearing up at the same time.
Angelo’s trip to Rome is one of my favorite parts of the story. Experiencing the city through his eyes — with its bustling streets and rich history — really brought the story to life for me. When he visits Gerrit van Honthorst’s studio and sees the Adoration of the Christ Child, I was so curious that I actually had to look up the painting myself! Seeing it through Angelo’s eyes, his awe and unguarded emotional reaction, made the moment feel so powerful. It reminded me how art can reach even the hardest hearts and spark something you didn’t even realize was missing.
I also really appreciated the way the story highlights small moments of growth and courage. Angelo’s journey isn’t sudden or unrealistic — it’s the little choices, the small steps toward trust and honesty, that make his transformation feel genuine. And the writing itself is so immersive, you can practically feel the streets, the people, and the life Angelo navigates. It’s the kind of book that makes you slow down and savor the characters and the story, rather than rushing through.
If you love historical fiction that makes you feel like you’re stepping into someone else’s shoes — and cheering them on every step of the way — this book is a must. It’s heartfelt, quietly powerful, and full of hope and humanity. I can’t recommend it enough!
HEIDI ELJARBO grew up in a home full of books, artwork, and happy creativity. She is the author of historical novels filled with courage, hope, mystery, adventure, and sweet romance during challenging times. She’s been named a master of dual timelines and often writes about strong-willed women of past centuries.
After living in Canada, six US states, Japan, Switzerland, and Austria, Heidi now calls Norway home. She lives with her husband on a charming island and enjoys walking in any kind of weather, hugging her grandchildren, and has a passion for art and history. Her family’s chosen retreat is a mountain cabin, where they hike in the summer and ski the vast white terrain during winter.
Heidi’s favorites are her family, God's beautiful nature, and the word whimsical.
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