“In her dreams the Hawk would be waiting for her by the sea's edge; her kilt-clad, magnificent Scottish laird. He would smile and his eyes would crinkle, then turn dark withsmoldering passion.She would take his hand and lay it gently on her swelling abdomen, and his face would blaze with happiness andpride. Then he would take her gently, there on the cliff's edge, in tempo with the pounding of the ocean. He wouldmake fierce and possessive love to her and she would hold on to him as tightly as she could. But before dawn, he would melt right through her fingers. And she would wake up, her cheeks wet with tears and her hands clutching nothing but a bit of quilt or pillow.”

“They spent a summer talking beneath the redwoods. There was a curiosity to the way they knew. She would take his hips in her hands and turn him to the left, so the sun would not be in his eyes. He would take her hips in his hands and turn her to the right, so the sun would not be in her eyes.. It is a dance. A very careful way they care.”

“He knew her, he believed. He would teach her that she was not his possession, he would show her she was free, he would see her flash her wings.”

“If he turned his hand into her and began stroking her there, she would wake up smiling and drowsy and ready for him again.They would kiss. Erotically. Her mouth would be so damn enticing, he’d dip into it again and again to gather the taste that was now familiar to him. He would touch his tongue to her nipples, and she’d rub her thumb around the tip of his cock and feel that he was about to burst, and then he’d be inside her, moving.Or maybe not. Maybe he would do something he’d never done with a woman. Maybe he would just… be. [...]No, maybe this time, he would just savor being joined to another person as tightly as two people could be. He would savor being joined with Honor.”

“Tell me about the farm," she pleaded as drops of blood began to appear on her hand. "The farm?""The farm that Finnikin the peasant would have lived on with his bride.""Evanjalin. That was her name. Did I mention that?"She laughed through a sob. "No, you didn't.""They would plant rows upon rows of wheat and barley, and each night they would sit under the stars to admire what they owned. Oh, and they would argue. She believes the money made would be better spent on a horse, and he believes they need a new barn. But then later they would forget all their anger and he would hold her fiercely and never let her go.""And he'd place marigolds in her hair?" she asked. He clasped her hands against his and watched her blood seep through the lines of his skin. "And he would love her until the day he died," he said.”

“She was his. He would die for her. He would die without her.”