“I do not think of him as Lord Ian Mackenzie, aristocratic brother of a duke and well beyond my reach; not as the Mad Mackenzie, an eccentric people stare at and whisper about.To me, he is simply Ian.”

“I don't think we get a choice in who we fall for," Ian whispers. "I think we just do.”

“Hart caressed the letters of baby Graham’s name. “Mac likes to say, We’re Mackenzies. We break what we touch. But this little Mackenzie… he broke me.”

“His hand rested on my hair, and without knowing quite how it happened, I found myself curled against him, my head just fitting in the hollow of his shoulder.For so many years," he said, "for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men." I felt him swallow, and he shifted slightly, the linen of his nightshirt rustling with starch.I was Uncle to Jenny's children, and Brother to her and Ian. 'Milord' to Fergus, and 'Sir' to my tenants. 'Mac Dubh' to the men of Ardsmuir and 'MacKenzie' to the other servants at Helwater. 'Malcolm the printer,' then, and 'Jamie Roy' at the docks." The hand stroked my hair, slowly, with a whispering sound like the wind outside. "But here," he said, so softly I could barely hear him, "here in the dark, with you...I have no name.”

“This is Ian. He's no' usually speechless. Or so well dressed."-ConnerI shouldna wear my best clothes to meet an angel from heaven?"-Ian"You look very nice, I love your shirt."-Marielle"Thank you"-Ian"I have a shirt like that, too."-Conner”

“I stare up at Nick. "You're late.".... "I had things to take care of," he says, all growly, looking away from me and staring Ian down. They do the whole I'm alpha - No, I'm alpha thing, with the staring and pulling the shoulders back and posturing.Devyn whispers to Issie, loud enough for us to hear. "They're so sad sometimes."She whispers back, "I know.”