Her Scottish King

By Theodora Taylor

One Moon Stand Gone Very, VERY Wrong…

Rugby star Magnus Scotswolf is a player in more ways than one. He's the most eligible wolf in Scotland, but now he needs an heir—and fast—if he wants to hang on to his title as King of the Scottish Wolves. He’s already decided Tara, his new sister-in-law’s best friend, will be his lucky queen. But there’s just one snag…she feckin' hates him.

Lone city wolf Tara Hamilton has ZERO desire to serve as an incubator for the ridiculously arrogant Scottish Alpha King…or have anything to do with his backwater kingdom village. Tara values three things above all else: her freedom, her life among humans in Edinburgh, and her fabulous wardrobe. No way is she giving all that up for an entitled a-hole with a hit-it-and-quit-it list at least a kilometer long.

Tara’s human understands she will never, ever let the annoyingly handsome alpha anywhere near her. But there’s just one snag…her wolf hooked up with Magnus’s wolf during the last full moon when neither of their humans was looking.

Now…Tara is pregnant with the Scottish king’s baby.

What will Magnus do when he realizes the hostile city she-wolf is carrying his bairn…and discovers the HUGE secret about her hidden past?

READER WARNING: do not one-click if you’re not ready for a twisty ride with an old-fashioned and oh-so-dirty alpha wolf in a kilt. Read at your own sexy risk, and ssssshhhh!— please don’t spoil the Big Reveal for everyone else.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theodora Taylor
• Release date: Jan 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781942167099

Book preview

Tara

H ey, Pavios, how are you doing? Could you move your legs right quick? I need to hide under your desk.

Pavios stared at me openmouthed, giving me an unappetizing view of his partially chewed Limburger cheese and tuna salad sandwich. Pavios had a habit of eating the same smelly thing for lunch every day at his desk—much to the dismay of his human Royal Scottish Bank colleagues. For that reason, along with his questionable personal hygiene, his RSB office mates had taken to calling him Stench behind his back.

I, however, was beyond grateful that Stench—or Pavios (as he was called by the less nose-sensitive workers on our floor) was oblivious to the wall of smell surrounding him. In fact, it was precisely why I’d ambushed the hapless IT guy in the first place.

Unfortunately, Pavios was taking way too long to respond to my request, and I only had a few seconds to hide before HE showed up.

There was no time for explanations. I yanked at the seatback of Pavios’ wheeled office chair—effectively shoving it and Pavios out of the way—and dove beneath his desk.

I scrambled as far back into the small space as I could, tucking my Jimmy Choos beneath me. The desk space was dimly lit and—whoa!—extremely pungent. I spotted the Church-brand loafers on the dark blue carpet next to me. Pavios must have kicked them off when he sat down.

Well, that explained the extra layer of stink. Once this situation was over, I vowed to pull Pavios aside and urge him to get his hands on a tube of anti-fungal cream and at least two cans of Odor-Eaters shoe spray.

Most humans in my current position would be trying hard not to gag or vomit. But my shifter senses relied on scent to gather important data about my surroundings. That meant I could handle any number of smells that were often too offensive for humans to bear full on. And Pavios, hands down, had the most intense scent of anyone in the office.

I sent up a silent prayer that the combination of Stench’s stench and the Keinwulf Neutralizing Fragrance I always wore would be enough to mask my smell from the incoming mega-problem I wasn’t nearly ready to face.

Don’t tell him I’m down here! I instructed Pavios in as loud a whisper as I dared with him nearby.

"Tell who? What’s this all about then—? Pavios started to ask. But then he broke off to exclaim, Crivvens! Is that Magnus Scotswolf? Ach, it is! Right here on the Technology and Auditing floor! What’s he doing here?"

Don’t. Tell. Him. I’m. Here. With that command, I wrapped a hand around the steel stem of Pavios’s rolling chair and yanked it towards me, forcing him into a wedged-in seated position that wouldn’t allow him to stand up to get a better look at the male I could smell rapidly approaching the cubicle. I needed it to look like the IT guy was simply eating lunch at his desk—not talking to the she-wolf hiding underneath it.

Have you seen Tara Hamilton? A voice asked only a few milliseconds later. It was low and commanding with a ridiculously thick Highland brogue.

"You’re … you’re Magnus Scotswolf!" Pavios sputtered instead of answering the question.

Aye, that’s me, the deep and officious voice replied. I’m looking for Tara Hamilton. According to yer office mates by the lift, she was last seen heading in this direction. Did ye see her?

"You’re Magnus Scotswolf … Magnus Scotswolf!" Pavios repeated. His voice was only a few registers below that of a prepubescent girl, and it sounded like he was on the verge of passing out.

Aye, right again, mate. Now, could you tell me where—

I heard you might reach 100 caps this season!

A pause. Then, The only argument I have with that statement is the word ‘might.’ Now, do ye think ye can point me in the dir—

"Magnus Scotswolf is here! At my desk! Talking to me. Me!!!" Pavios began to make a sound I could only describe as a cross between a wheeze and a scream.

And I let out a breath of relief. Poor Pavios obviously had too much of a man crush on Magnus to be of any use to him finding me.

Magnus seemed to reach the same conclusion. Alright, mate. Well met. I’ll—er—I’ll see if the folks in the next section can help.

Pavios just repeated breathlessly, "Magnus Scotswolf talked to me. To me!"

I held my position underneath the desk as I listened to the sound of Magnus’s boots heading away. Other than that, and Pavios’s star-struck fanboy declarations, I heard the light banter of some staffers returning from lunch.

That light banter soon came to an abrupt stop when they saw the male Pavios was still going on about.

Feckin’ hell, it’s Magnus Scotswolf! The familiar voice of the normally stodgy Head Auditor rang out among all the gasps and hooting sounds people make when they are well and truly surprised.

Aye, that it is, Magnus agreed. I’m looking for—

"But why are you on this floor? The Head Auditor demanded before Magnus could finish. The private banking fellows are on the second floor. This is the seventh floor—Technology and Auditing."

Uh, yes, I ken what floor I’m on. See, I’m looking for Tara Hamil—

Tara Hamilton? D’you mean Glamour? The Head Auditor asked, cutting Magnus off yet again. Tara’s in Technology over by the lifts. This here is Auditing. Nobody in this department would wear heels the likes of her. Right impractical they are. I have worries about the future health of that lass’s spine.

A consternated pause. Then Magnus said, I already checked with her department, but her desk is empty. They told me she headed this way.

Am I dreamin’? Another voice butted in. "Because I had a dream exactly like this the other night. Except you were naked. And so was I. And the rest of you lot just watched us go at it."

I rolled my eyes. That was Glenda, the oldest auditor on staff speaking. There wasn’t a sexual harassment course in the world that could make her actually think before telling an inappropriate story at work.

If you can’t find her, she’s probably at lunch, a helpful voice suggested. It belonged to the new Auditing intern from India. Her recent arrival to Scotland explained why she didn’t sound as breathless or awed as the rest of her colleagues when she spoke to Magnus, one of Scotland’s top rugby players. Tara usually grabs lunch outside the office. Maybe try the kebab place near the shops on Multrees Walk?

But, interjected Glenda, Before you do that, let me help you check the loo. She might have popped in there to powder her nose. Right this way, you dead sexy man …

Glenda’s voice gradually faded as she led Magnus away.

Still, I didn’t budge from my position beneath Pavios’s desk. Nor did I loosen my tight clasp on his chair. I wasn’t taking any chances and I was willing to use every ounce of my superior werewolf strength to keep from being found out.

Lucky for me, Pavios just couldn’t get over his celebrity encounter. He kept going on about how he’d met and spoken with Magnus Scotswolf until Magnus finally headed back to the main elevator bank.

I listened carefully for the far-off dinging of an arriving elevator car followed by the swoosh-hum of its slow descent. Thanks to my preternatural hearing and sense of smell, I knew the very moment Magnus left the floor—just like I knew the very moment he arrived a few minutes earlier.

Only when he was completely gone, did I push back Pavios’s chair and carefully crawl out from under the desk.

However, my problems didn’t end with Magnus’s departure.

When I got to my own cubicle, I found every single employee other than Pavios on the floor, including my boss—a tubby redhead named Gordon—gathered around it.

They started shouting questions as soon as I appeared.

Why was Magnus Scotswolf looking for you?

Where were you?

Did I just see you crawling out from underneath Stench’s desk of all places? Some middle-aged accountant I didn’t know very well asked.

Now, why on earth would she do that? Gordon demanded.

No idea! the accountant who’d spotted me emerging from my hiding place answered. "Why would any woman hide from Magnus Scotswolf in the first place? I mean, it was Magnus Scotswolf."

The accountant spoke his name in the same way my mother spoke of Jesus as our Lord and Savior. Then he and the rest of the crowd stared at me in collective expectation of a good answer to all their questions.

But I had no good answers for them—at least none they would believe.

So, I turned to Gordon and asked, Any updates on my transfer request to RSB Dublin yet?

Tara

Five Days Earlier

I hoped I’d run into you again.

Magnus appeared like a shadow at my secret changing place several miles outside of Edinburgh. Less than an hour before moonrise.

I opened my mouth to demand to know how he’d come to be in the dense woods near the Scottish/English border. But then a shiver of foreboding ran down my back.

"Magnus can be … temperamental."

That’s what Magnus’s brother Iain told me two full moons ago when he’d warned me to watch out for the star rugby player who also happened to be the alpha king of the Scottish Wolves. According to Iain, Magnus took his secret role "verrae seriously."

And you did punch him in the face, Iain pointed out when he convinced me to move into his heavily secured apartment while he and my formerly human best friend, Milly traipsed around the world on an extended babymoon.

I had merely rolled my eyes at Iain’s warning. I’d had good reason to hit Magnus and would do so again if given the chance. Plus, I could take care of myself.

But Iain had insisted and I did have a taste for nice things—like luxury flats in New Town. So I moved into the apartment like he and Milly wanted me to do.

And then …nothing happened. I hadn’t heard a peep from Magnus for nearly three months.

I’d been planning to call Iain and tell him as much with more than a little I told you so in my tone. But now …

Well, here Magnus was, approaching my private space with a lazy lope that put me in mind of the wolf he’d become once the full moon rose in an hour or so.

He stopped just a few inches away, towering over me by a good foot and filling my nose with his particular scent of pine trees, stone, lake water, and pitch.

He wore a full-on cape with a fur collar over a thick cable sweater and kilt. The cape smelled ancient, and I could all but hear the roar of the poor bear that was killed to make this Jon Snow cosplay moment happen.

The whole outfit was, in a word, ridiculous.

Even so, my wolf … well, it almost felt like she was standing up inside of me.

I tell you with my whole chest, my wolf stood up when I saw your mother. That was how my Ghanaian father described what his wolf did the first time he laid eyes on my Canadian mother.

But my mother was wonderful at first sight. Beloved by everyone in the small town where I’d grown up.

I despised the wolf who had just strode into my secret changing place like he owned it.

So this sensation inside of me couldn’t be that. Could it?

You alright there, Tara? Magnus asked, his thick Scottish brogue rolling into my ears like fog. He smirked down at me as if he could sense or maybe even smell my wolf’s reaction to him.

But I would have tied my own noose and hung myself with it before ever acknowledging what he was doing to my inner wolf.

What are you doing here? I demanded instead of answering his question.

Another smirk. "Ye ken, most lasses—human and wolf—would be chuffed for me to show up like this. And on a full moon night, no less."

You should know by now I am not most women. Or even most shifters, I shot back, ignoring the way my wolf rolled inside of me at the sound of his voice. And I prefer to shift alone, so …

I made a shooing action with my hands.

One that Magnus ignored as he inspected my small, chosen dell with a frown. Not much cover out here. What will you do if some daft humans break down on the road just beyond?

Not a problem. I tie myself to a tree before I shift, I answered smugly. It’s an old First Nations trick.

Clever. Though as I understand it, much of North America is overrun with wolves these days—the descendants of those turned by your Indigenous lot. I wouldnae be so quick to trust their methods if it were myself out here in the woods alone without mate or clan.

I squinted up at him, bristling at his arrogance. Yeah, and according to the humans here, wolves are supposedly extinct in Scotland. So, I think it’s safe to say Indigenous methods have some obvious advantages over yours.

A perverse pleasure stole over my human when Magnus’s jaw tightened and ticked underneath his rugged beard. He wasn’t so cocky now.

I might have felt triumphant if my wolf wasn’t blatantly ogling the alpha.

Real Talk: Magnus was stupidly handsome. He sported hair just as wavy and dark as the Game of Thrones actor who actually played Jon Snow—but with an even nicer beard. And don’t even get me started on those magnetic stone-gray eyes of his. Ugh!

Even though my human out-and-out hated the alpha king disguised as a popular rugby player, my wolf could not stop inhaling his scent …

He smells soooo good, she panted.

It was an unsettling combination of emotions, and I had no idea how to manage them all. The thing was, I had no real adult wolf experience.

After I left my Canadian pack, I chose to live as the humans did.

I shopped like them—way too much and with more money sitting on my shoe shelves and hangers than in my savings account. I worked an eight-to-five job. I went out for after-work drinks with my co-workers. And I was probably one of the few shifters in Scotland with a human roommate-slash-best friend—at least I was before Milly got turned.

But as glamorous as my co-workers believed me to be, I was still a she-wolf at heart.

I didn’t easily turn down men because I was haughty with sky-high expectations as I’d let my human friends believe. I turned them down because I was biologically incapable of feeling sexual desire for them. At least not until my first heat …

But Magnus wasn’t just any male. He was a wolf.

An extremely sexy wolf—with broad shoulders and a gray-eyed gaze that made me feel, despite his arrogance, that his attention … every single ounce of it … was completely focused on me.

And nothing but me.

Look … I swallowed heavily. "I don’t like you. And you don’t like me. So, if you’re here to give me a hard time about hitting you, can we just not and agree to be enemies? From,