Free To Love a Highland Dragon by Ann Gimpel

said she was needed at work, and fled.”
    Arawn snorted. “A cellular telephone.” To Lachlan’s confused expression, he added, “I will explain later.” His dark eyes gleamed hotly. “Ye were a bit of a laggard. Why did ye not bed the lass when ye had the chance?”
    “I dinna say aught. How is it ye already know I dinna bed her?” Lachlan’s mind raced. Something was afoot, but he had no idea quite what.
    “All in good time. I asked my question first.”
    Lachlan’s lips twitched. How like the gods to not pull any punches. “Because she had to leave. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. She said as much.”
    Arawn and Gwydion exchanged a significant glance. “What?” Lachlan stared at them.
    Arawn nodded half to himself before saying, “The woman comes from a long line of witches. Her father’s mother is on her way here now. She is the head of a powerful coven.”
    “Oh for the love of Dana, do quit nattering,” Gwydion broke in. “I swear, ye’d talk a saint into their grave.” He turned to Lachlan. “We have been, ahem, shadowing you ever since ye and Kheladin emerged from this cave. The woman showed up so quickly, we thought it odd and conferred with Bran, god of prophecy. He believes ye and the lass are linked in a way that amplifies all our power.”
    Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. “Why dinna you show yourselves?”
    “We were trying to be polite and waiting until ye’d bedded her.” Gwydion grinned lasciviously.
    Lachlan rolled his eyes. “You wanted to watch.”
    “Aye, that, too,” Arawn concurred. “More important, though, the tide may have finally turned. This could be just the break we have been waiting for to oust Rhukon, the Morrigan, and the red wyvern.”
    Lachlan envisioned Maggie’s lush, blonde hair and dark blue eyes and smiled. “I can think of worse fates than to fuck her—for the good of the world, of course. But the lass may not see it that way. She lusts after me, yet I sense a fierce independence in her.”
    Arawn snorted. “Aye, ’tis no doubt why Mary Elma is on her way to Scotland.”
    “Is that the grandmother?” Lachlan asked.
    Gwydion nodded. “A lusty wench herself, by all reports. I was thinking of offering myself—as a sacrifice of course—if she were so inclined.”
    “Two can play that game.” Arawn chuckled. “Mayhap she’s partial to tall, dark, mysterious types.”
    “If it wouldna be too much trouble,” Lachlan interrupted. “There is much I doona know. Kheladin and I—”
    “Oh, so ye finally remembered my existence.” Sarcasm encased the dragon’s words.
    “He is right to censure us.” Arawn inclined his head. “Apologies. Let us sit. We shall conjure food and wine and answer all your questions.”
    “Tell me more about the woman, about Maggie,” Lachlan blurted. That he asked about her first surprised him. There was so much he needed to know to survive in a world turned upside down, yet the woman was foremost in his mind and heart. He walked to his shirt, kilt, and boots. Lachlan dressed before following the Celts to a corner of the cave near his clothing chest. He settled with his back against it and waited.
    “Bran’s prophesy is that your love will save the world,” Gwydion said. “I understand it sounds far-fetched, but hear me out.”
    Lachlan’s eyes narrowed. It did sound not only far-fetched, but improbable. How could love possibly do anything to fix the brokenness he’d sensed in his brief sojourn into the year 2012?

 

Chapter Six
    Maggie tossed and turned on sheets damp with sweat. She’d tried to reach her grandmother over and over again, but Mary Elma hadn’t answered her voice mails, texts, or pages. During the brief stints when Maggie had slept, vivid, disturbing dreams wakened her. She opened her eyes and looked at the window, trying to judge the time by the amount of light creeping around its shades.
    “Five a.m.,” she muttered. “May as well get up.” She yanked her clammy sleep shirt over her