Margaret Mallory > Quotes

“Some men are honorable because of the example set for them, others, choose to be honorable in spite of it”
― Margaret Mallory

“Twas a shame a man who looked like that ever had to wear a shirt.”
― Margaret Mallory, Knight of Passion

“She told me that love has a magic all its own.”
― Margaret Mallory, The Gift

“Strange how a tiny hand could make the weight of his new responsibilities feel like a boulder on his chest.”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird

“I see this is not the first time you've gotten yourself injured," she said, sounding irritated. "I suppose battle scars are a badge of honor for you Highlanders."
He shrugged. "Every scar provides a tale to share around the hearth."
"You should be more careful," she scolded.
"I am careful," he said with a laugh. "That's why I live to tell the tales.”
― Margaret Mallory, The Gift

“hall for”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird

“I knew how you liked long tales," he said, giving her a wink. "There's sure to be plenty of those."
"In Gaelic," she said.
"All the better for learning it.”
― Margaret Mallory, The Gift

“Hmm?” She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him, then her cheerful expression faded. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asked, though he knew damned well what she meant.
“Like ye think I’d be willing to have my wedding night lying in the dirt,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “If ye believe that, you’re quite mistaken.”
“So we’re only debating where, and not whether, to have a wedding night?” he asked.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“I’ve been wanting to kiss ye since the first moment I saw ye,” he said. “I’m going to do it now.”
Sybil could not breathe, let alone form the words to object. When she moistened her lips with her tongue, she felt his heartbeat leap beneath her palm. Her gaze fixed on his mouth as he drew her to him ever so slowly.
She had expected a sweet, teasing kiss, not this explosion of passion that seared through her body at the first touch of their lips. No one had ever kissed her like this before, as if he would die if he could not have his mouth on hers. With a will of their own, her arms wound around his neck and her fingers tangled in his long, thick hair as she pulled him closer.
She was lost in the sensations and long past thought. As his kisses slowly changed from feverish to tender, she felt as if she were floating. She wanted this to go on forever.
When Rory pulled away, she stared up at him, stunned.
“That was promising,” he said with a wide grin.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“Rory did not want her.
After devoting so much effort to avoid being wed to a man she did not want, she found herself bound to a man who did not want her.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“If he is strong, then we’ll have to be quick and clever,” she said in a cheerful tone.”A bit of trickery may be needed as well.”
“Ach, ye sound like a Highlander,” he said. “In Gaelic we say, an ten ach mbionn laidir ni follair do bheith glic.” He who is not strong must be cunning.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“By the time she recovered her senses, he was preparing to bandage his leg himself. He was already pale and sweating from the ordeal of removing the arrow. Could the man not admit he needed help?
“You’ve already proven you can do this on a galloping horse,” she said. “Why don’t you let me do it this time?”
“Aye, that would be better, for certain,” he said, and leaned back on his elbow.
His ready agreement surprised her until she noticed the smile curving his lips and the devilish gleam in his eyes. Her sensible half regretted her offer, but her other half – the one that liked to play with fire – smiled back at him.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“Let’s get your face washed and fix your hair,” Catriona said. “My mother used to say that will make ye begin to feel better.”
“Mine said that too, but it won’t help this time.”
“Well, my mother also said that wallowing in misery never fixed a thing.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“No one lacked imagination like the English. Yet he could not dismiss the notion that this lass dressed in breeches could be the seer his grandmother foretold. Finding an English lass lying on a Scottish hillside so many miles from the border was strange enough to have a touch of magic about it.”
― Margaret Mallory, The Gift

“I should never have expected loyalty from a Douglas,” he spat out. He turned his back on her and went to the window.”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird

“Loyalty is everything to him,” Robbie said. “He expected ye to trust him, to believe in him, without requiring an explanation.” She had failed David, and he could not forgive her.”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird

“Had her ordeal addled her mind? She was on a horse with a wild Highlander going God knew where with men even he did not trust and yet she found it thrilling!”
― Margaret Mallory, The Gift

“I may not survive," Roderick said, resting his hand on the small of her back,"if I wait any longer to kiss you.”
― Margaret Mallory, The Gift

“Lie with me,” she said.
“I don’t know if I can sleep beside ye tonight and not touch ye like I want to,” he said in a strained voice. “I need ye too much.”
“I know that,” she said, and flipped back the blanket for him to lie down.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“If ye have needs to see to, do it quickly.”
“You’re a stubborn man,” she said.
“Tis a good quality in a man,” he muttered under his breath as he picked up the saddle.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“Men made decisions and pretended it was fate.”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird

“I can’t meet your family like this,” she said, spreading the filthy skirt of her gown. “I look like a tavern wench – one ye had your way with in the bushes all the way home.”
Rory titled his head back and laughed. “Well, I can’t say I don’t wish the last part was true, but ye look fine.”
― Margaret Mallory, Claimed by a Highlander

“David started up the wheeled stairs to the upper floors with his sword at the ready. He expected to encounter Blackadder warriors, protecting the lady of the castle. But there were none on the stairs and none guarding the door on the first floor.

Damn it. She must have escaped. He gritted his teeth as he envisioned the lady’s guards leading her through the tunnel.

He was about to open the chamber door to make sure it was empty when Brian, one of his best men, came down the stairs.

“Laird, I checked all the chambers while ye were in the hall,” he said.

David’s jaw ached from clenching it.

“There’s one door on the floor just above us that wouldn’t open with the latch,” Brian said. “Shall I break it down?”

David waved him aside and pulled the ax from his belt as he raced up the stairs.

“Open it!” he shouted and pounded on the door.

He did not wait. She could be escaping through a secret door this very moment. Three hard whacks with his ax, and the door split. He kicked it until it swung open, then stepped through.

At his first sight of the woman, his feet became fixed to the floor. He felt strange, and his vision was distorted, as if as if he had swallowed a magical potion that narrowed his sight. He could see nothing in the room but her.

She was extraordinarily lovely, with violet eyes, pale skin, and shining black hair. But there was something about her, something beyond her beauty, that held him captive. She was young, much younger than he expected, and her features and form were delicate, in marked contrast to the violent emotion in her eyes.

David knew to the depths of his soul that a brute like him should not be the man to claim this fragile flower, even while the word mine beat in his head like a drum. He had no notion of how long he stood staring at her before he became aware that she held a sword. It was longer still before he noticed the two wee lasses peeking out from behind her like frightened kittens.

Anger boiled up in his chest. Every Blackadder man in the castle who could still draw breath should have been here, standing between him and their lady. Instead, she faced him alone with a sword she could barely lift with both hands.

It was a brave, but ridiculous gesture.

There was no defense against him.”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird

“He wanted one night with her when he did not have to be on his guard waiting for the Douglases to discover that she was English and a lass; one night when he could sit and talk with her by the fire without another soul in sight; one night when when he did not need to pretend he did not want her.”
― Margaret Mallory, The Gift

“Burning her husband's bed was a mistake. Alison could see that now.”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird

“Good God, the lad is a lass!”
― Margaret Mallory, The Gift

“I was a possession he had a right to use, a woman with no feelings that mattered.” Wedderburn still did not speak. “I don’t want to feel like that again,” she said in a whisper. Wedderburn’s eyes were dark with a violent emotion, but his hands were gentle as he held her face. “You’ll never be just any woman to me,” he said. “I want to know you, Alison Douglas.”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird

“David strode through the battle raging between his men and the castle defenders in the courtyard and headed straight for the keep, intent on his goal.

The castle would fall quickly. The defenders lacked leadership and were in disarray. His only concern was whether the castle had a secret tunnel for escape. During the siege, he had spread his men out through the fields surrounding the fortress to keep watch. But he had concentrated his forces for the attack and most were now inside the castle. If there was a tunnel, he must secure the widow and her daughters before they had a chance to escape. He did not relish the idea of having to chase them down through the fields with dogs.

The defenders had foolishly waited too long to withdraw to the keep, and most were caught in the courtyard when David’s men burst through the gate. He barely spared them a glance as he ran up the steps of the keep.

With several of his warriors at his back, he burst through the doors brandishing his sword. He paused inside the entrance to hall. Women and children were screaming, and the few Blackadder warriors who had made it inside were overturning tables in a useless attempt to set up a defense.

“If ye hope for mercy, drop your weapons,” David shouted, making his voice heard above the chaos.

He locked gazes with the men who hesitated to obey his order until every weapon clanked to the floor, then he swept his gaze over the women. Their clothing confirmed what he’d known the moment he entered the hall. Blackadder’s widow was not in the room.

“Where is she?” he demanded of the closest Blackadder man.

“Who, m’lord?” the man said, shifting his gaze to the side.

“Your mistress!” David picked him up by the front of his tunic and leaned in close. “Tell me now.”

“In her bedchamber,” the man squeaked, pointing to an arched doorway. “’Tis up the stairs.”

David caught a sudden whiff of urine and dropped the man to the floor in disgust. The wretch had wet himself.

“Take him to the dungeon,” he ordered. The coward had given up his mistress far too easily.”
― Margaret Mallory, Captured by a Laird