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Shortbread Cookie Princess

“Who knows how many scraps of plaid have been preserved in mothballs and hidden away in family attics?”

His low voice held an edge of seduction. Sophia stepped closer. The underlying sensuality of his tone captivated her. In all the times she had dusted over the fabric, she never got close enough to inhale the faint scent of mothballs. She wrinkled her nose.

“You’re very lucky to have it.” Ian ran an index finger over a thin red line woven vertically down the plaid. “Highland dyers and weavers were highly skilled. It’s evident in pieces like this. Run your fingers along this line. Do you feel the thickness? The fabric was mended many times, perhaps torn by a sword or knife thrust.”

“Or it could have been caught on a rock.” Sophia reached out and touched the coarse wool.

“It’s possible.” Ian laughed. “If we settle for the simple explanations, we might never learn the history of the people who owned these valuable pieces.” He placed a hand over her finger”


Excerpt From: Zelda Benjamin. “Shortbread Cookie Princess.” iBooks. 

Her Perfect Blend 


“’Tis a dreich out there.” The man stepped from the shadows and shook the rain off his jacket. Spangles of water cascaded to the dirt floor, leaving a puddle at his feet. He stepped over the water, walked toward her, and gazed toward the roof. “And in here, too.”

In a soft Highland lilt, he described, to a T, the drab gray day. The man, however, was anything but dull. She gazed from his russet hair to straight-line Viking features. A tall, lean build made him preternaturally photogenic. He looked like he had stepped off a poster advertising the upcoming festival and games. “If it’s a room you need, I’m sorry, the B and B is booked solid.”

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