“Staring at the floor, she didn't even look up as the final contestant entered.Not until she heard a deep, rich baritone that filled the hall with the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.Her heart pounding, she looked up to see Stryder holding his mother's lute.Only it wasn't a love song he sang.More like a limerick, it was a song about a woman who fancied herself a goose.And a man who gobbled her up.Laughter and applause rang out as soon as he strummed the last note.Breathe, breathe.It was the only thing Rowena could think. And even that couldn't get her to take a breath as Stryder approached her.He smoothed her hair and straightened her feathered crown. "Methinks my goose has molted."Rowena laughed as more tears streaked down her face.”

“You know," she said, pulling back from his neck. "I've always been wrong about something.""And that is?""I thought there was nothing in the world more seductive than a troubadour singing his observations about his lady love. But I was wrong."She trailed her fingernail down his arm, raising chills in its wake. "The most incredible seduction is when a knight who is renowned for his strength speaks from his heart. Not as a knave out to woo a woman because he can, but as a man who wants only to give of himself." Her gaze seared him as she stared into his eyes and he saw her innermost sincerity. "I love you, Stryder. I always will."-Stryder and Rowena”

“He pulled the knitting away from her, throwing it in the grass, then sank down on his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his head in her lap. He was shaking, she realized, and the tears were pouring down her face, onto him, as she stroked his long, silken hair and cried.She didn't care what it sounded like—the hiccupping noises, the choking sobs.Her own body was shaking, racked by the final release, and he sat back on his heels and pulled her out of the chair, into his arms, holding her so tightly that a weaker woman might break, whispering to her in Japanese, sweet, loving words, letting her cry.She was a strong woman, and her tears, so long denied, only made her stronger.His heart was pounding against hers, his hands firm and tender, pushing the hair away from her tear-drenched face. When he kissed her she couldn't breathe, and she didn't care.”

“It is an important distinction to note that she looked not only as if she had taken good care of herself, but that she had good reason to have done so. (...) She looked to be in such total possession of her life that only the most confident men could continue to look at her if she looked back at them. Even in bus stations, she was a woman who was stared at only until she looked back.”

“Still staring at the woman in the mirror, I hung up the phone. She looked as if she was going to cry. I felt bad for her, that woman with the dark hair, the one who only ever wore black and white. The one who might have been pretty if she'd only take care of herself, if only she weren't smarter, if only she didn't earn more money. I felt sorry for her but envied her, too, because she, at least, could cry and I could not.”

“He rubbed his thumb over the smoothness of her cheek, thinking she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. “You don’t think you’re worth killing for?”Her laugh was brittle. “Hardly.”For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing and the wind gusting through the trees. And then he said, “I disagree.”She stared up at him, trembling, her eyes filled with the questions she couldn’t put into words.“I mean it,” he rasped. “I would kill for you. Easily. Without remorse. Again and again.”