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?
“Not so fast now,” the cheerful voice cautioned and the mug drew away from her lips. “You’ll not wish to hurl it back up.”
No, she did not wish that. But if more than a mouthful of water risked intestinal revolution, then how long had she been unconscious? And where was she? Maggie concentrated on focusing her eyes. As she looked about herself, the mug was again brought to her lips and tilted to trickle more sweet water into her mouth. She accepted it without reservation.
The room was not large, although neither was it cramped. She lay in a narrow, four poster bed covered in homespun blankets, worn and soft with age and many launderings. The body that supported her shoulders and against which she leaned heavily was well padded and soft and smelled faintly of roses. A man loomed just beyond the footboard. The dim lighting shrouded him in shifting shadows, but Maggie could tell that he was large and that he was intently focused on her. That focus made her nervous. Had she done something terribly wrong? At her age, wild and crazy behavior was far beyond her inclinations.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice rusty with disuse … and something else.
“Never you mind that,” the woman holding her said, her voice both soothing and adamant. “You’re safe here.”
And why would I not be safe, Maggie wondered.
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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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