“I think you use people's reactions as a test...And it is unfair."Unfair! The man had no diea what the word meant. He possessed his limbs and all his senses. He had a beautiful life,friends,and family. Ranulf neither sought nor wanted pity, for life could have issued a much harsher sentence to be endured,but neither did he need the scorn and antipathy that came from people's unreasonable fear. And if boldly displaying his injury kept people away,the better. "A test that you might have prematurely passed," Ranulf gritted out.”

“His brother maintained that what sent people backing away was neither his size nor his mother's blood, but solely the expression on his face. To test Samuel's theory, Charles had tried smiling - and then solemnly reported to Samuel that he had been mistaken. When Charles smiled, he told Samuel, people just ran faster.”

“Ranulf had spent much of his life watching those he loved wrestle with the seductive, lethal lure of kingship. It had proved the ruination of his cousin Stephen, a good man who had not made a good king. For his sister Maude, it had been an unrequited love affair, a passion she could neither capture nor renounce. For Hywel, it had been an illusion, a golden glow ever shimmering along the horizon. He believed that his nephew had come the closest to mastery of it, but at what cost?”

“He knew it was ridiculous never to want another man to appreciate her beauty, to know her laughter, but until Bronwyn was his in every sense of the word, he would not be at ease.Then Tyr reached up and brushed something off her cheek and Ranulf's self-discipline exploded into a rushing torrent of anger and possessiveness. His best friend! On his land, touching his woman!Unthinking, Ranulf snatched his tunic and wrenched it over his head. After pulling on his leggings and shoes, he grabbed his belt and sword, fastening them as he exited the room. He ignored the servant,who had been patiently waiting just outside the door for instructions, and bounded down the stairs with only one thought-pummeling his soon-to-be ex-friend.”

“He who kills from afar knows nothing at all about act of killing. He who kills from afar derives no lesson from life or from death; he neither risks nor stains his hands with blood, nor hears the breathing of his adversary, nor reads the fear, courage, or indifference in his eyes. He who kills from afar tests neither his arm, his heart, nor his conscience, nor does he create ghosts that will later haunt him every single night for the rest of his life. He who kills from afar is a knave who commends to others the dirty and terrible task that is his own.”

“Italy, all the same, had spoiled a great many people; he was even fatuous enough to believe at times that he himself might have been a better man if he had spent less of his life there.”