The Dragon Wore a Kilt
In the northern reaches of Scotland rests Loch Saorach, home to an ancient legend—a dragon. The Matasan family has guarded the loch and its dragon for centuries.
Over the years Saorach has claimed humans, imbuing them with his fae magic. Connor Matasan, the arrogant Earl of Glencarol, is a recent acquisition. Like all those possessed and transformed by the dragon’s ancient magic, Connor is sith, immortal and commanding powers beyond the human norm.
Middle aged wife and mother Lila is vacationing in Scotland when Saorach chooses her to join his brood. Her transformation to an eternally young sith is painful and compounded by the loss of everything she holds dear. Waking to a new life, she is utterly dependent upon Connor and his family. Lila feels trapped and resents that the dragon has bound her to Connor, soul to soul, passion to passion: a passion Connor cannot control, a passion Lila fears.
Will the magic that brought them together destroy them?
“Ah,” the woman replied and rose quickly. “Connor, help us out here.”
The big man came forward and scooped her into his arms. As he lifted her from the bed and cool air brushed over erupting goose pimples, Maggie realized that she was naked. She wanted to be embarrassed, but the urgent need to relieve her bladder and bowels claimed greater importance. He lowered her to a clean, if outdated, toilet a mere second before her control expired. Maggie groaned, embarrassment rushing in.
“I’ll help her with the intimacies,” the woman stated and shooed the man out of the bathroom which looked to have last been remodeled in the 1940s. When the door closed behind him, she said, “You’ll feel better for a warm bath, I’ll reckon.”
So saying, she turned on the spigot and spent the next half hour tending to her patient’s bodily needs.
“Thank you,” Maggie said faintly and looked with utter disgust at the filthy bathwater that resulted from a gentle scrubbing of her flesh.
“Och, you’ve little enough to be thankful for right now,” the woman said, voice dripping with sympathy. “Let me hold you upright while I drain the tub. You’ll want another scrub and rinse.”
And she did, truly. That water, with its debris of large skin flakes, tangled hairs, and whatever else she did not care to think about, made her stomach roll. But the woman remained cheerful and calm and practical, sitting Maggie down again and refilling the tub with clean water. After a second scrub, Maggie felt immeasurably cleaner. With a trembling hand, she raised her hand to her head and gasped with she felt the thick, soft stubble.
“What happened?” she asked again, her voice trembling with fear.
The woman sighed and answered, “’Tis a long story that’s not my place to tell. You’ll have to hear it from Connor, for you’re his now.”
“His? How can I be his?”
“Lass, it’s a new life you have now. I’ll leave it for Connor to explain.”
“Who is Connor?”
Hard boiled, scrambled, over easy, and sunny side up: eggs are the musings of Holly Bargo, the pseudonym for the author.
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