“Margaret quirked her lips, looking much like the imp their mother used to call her. "What flower would ye pick for Katherine Campbell?" Callum snorted. "I wouldna pick flowers." "Ye let her take a bite out of ye." Maggie looked up at him, then cut him off when he opened his mouth to speak. "Ye fancy her. What flower would ye pick for her?" "Tulips," he mumbled, ignoring her knowing smirk.”

“At her gesture Michael cursed and caught her hand, falling suddenly atop her.She stared up at him wondering what bedchamber faux pas she’d committed.He groaned at her look. “I’ll let ye pet and play all ye want—after. Now I need”—he pushed her chemise to her waist, parted her thighs, and settled between them—“to be inside ye.”

“Lookin' at ye is like baskin' in the summer sun after a long, cold winter. 'Tis like seein' home after a battle that's left ye empty and alone." He kissed her mouth, her nose, her eyes. "I dinna' know how 'tis possible, but each time I see ye, ye grow more beautiful to me.”

“Ye belong to me,” he said, whispering the words against her mouth, “only ye refuse to admit it, even to yerself. But ye will. One day, Ye will. - Alysandir Mackinnon”

“Let me make love to ye.” “No…” “Aye,” he said, and his hand lifted the damp gown so he could touch her smooth skin. Her softness made him groan. He touched her gently, insane with wanting. “Ye are denying everything ye want, and yer body is the proof.” “It isn’t the first time that my body and my mind didn’t agree.” She pushed against him. “I can’t.” He wanted to teach her to make love to him and to him, to bring her pleasure and to show her how to bring pleasure to him. He knew it would be perfect between them, and he would give her anything she desire… Except marriage.. – Isobella Douglas & Alysandir Mackinnon”

“Will sat where he was, gazing at the silver bowl in front of him; a white rose was floating in it, and he seemed prepared to stare at it until it went under. In the Kitchen Bridget was still singing one of her awful sad songs; the lyrics drifted in through the door: "Twas on an evening fair I went to take the air, I heard a maid making her moan; Said, 'Saw ye my father? Or ye my mother? Or saw ye my brother John? Or saw ye the lad that I love best, And his name it is Sweet William?" I may murder her, Tessa thought. Let her make a song about that.”