Hannah Howell > Quotes

“There was no doubt in her mind about what she had to do now. She had to leave, had to go and take all of her”
― Hannah Howell, Highland Honor

“Ye are stirring up a lot of trouble, arenae ye?” “Me? I just came to explore this building. She is the one stirring up trouble. She wants Cathal, I think.” “She does, e’en though his Outsider blood sickens her. Edmee would like to be the lady of Cambrun. She has ne’er been able to convince Cathal of that, however. It doesnae help her cause that she makes her contempt of his mother so verra clear. Cathal has ne’er intended to wed with a MacNachton, either. He wants bairns.” Bridget frowned at him. “There is a wee bit more to me than a womb, ye ken.” “Och, aye, a wee bit.” He laughed when she softly hissed in annoyance, then grew serious. “O’er the last few days ’tis evident neither of ye will suffer in the making of a bairn.” He only briefly smiled at her blushes. “Tis a blessing, that. And where is the insult in a mon thinking a woman a good choice as mother to his bairns?” None, she supposed, but she was not about to admit it. “There should be more.” “Ah, poor lass, so unsure of yourself.” He nimbly danced out of her reach when she tried to hit him. “The only thing I will say is that, compared to the rest of us, Cathal is nearly a monk. He isnae one to be caught in embraces with a lass round every corner. And, aye, mayhap he thinks too much on a bairn, but ’tisnae just an heir he seeks, is it? Tis the salvation of his people. Tis no small thing that. So, do ye cease teasing the fool and say aye?” Bridget sighed. “Tisnae an easy thing to decide. Tisnae just my fate, but that of my children I must consider and ye ask me to do it in but a week.” “We are but a wee bit different.” “Och, aye, ye are that.” “But, that shouldnae trouble a Callan, I think.” He sighed when she did not respond to that remark. “We arenae what ye think we are, lass. Nay exactly. I dinnae believe the soulless dead breed bairns.” He smiled gently at the look of consternation that briefly crossed her face. “We are but different. Cursed in some ways, blessed in others, but ’tis Cathal who must tell ye the tale.”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Few men are true masters over their women. In truth, I would eye with suspicion any woman who acts as if that is the truth. Either she lies, or she is so dull-witted or weak-spirited that she will make you a tedious wife.”
― Hannah Howell, Beauty and the Beast

“He set his wine goblet on the table, knelt by Bridget’s feet, and took her hands in his, pressing a kiss upon each small, soft palm before looking at her. “What ye saw happen to those thieves and what ye saw tonight is a part of me. I cannae deny it. I cannae deny that there have been MacNachtons who have behaved verra much like the creatures of some nightmare. There is a feral part of me, of us. It comes out in the hunt, in battle, in anger. It has been a verra long time, however, since MacNachtons were a threat to innocent Outsiders, although I fear Scymynd would like to be so again. They used to call us the Nightriders because we raced out of these hills at night and death always followed, though nay in the ways and numbers the tales would have ye believe. I think Scymynd wants those days to return.” “What of the sun, Cathal? Can that kill ye?” “Aye, eventually. Tis as if the sun feeds upon us, steals the life right out of us. It burns us up. A Pureblood can die rather quickly if caught out in the sun. I can endure it for a while, but it does leave me feeling weak and ill.” “And what of whatever children we may be blessed with?” “I cannae say. There isnae any way to ken what traits will weaken, which will linger, and which will disappear. My cousin Connall is of the same paternal and maternal bloodline as I am, but is different. James is born of a halfblood and an Outsider. He can endure quite a lot of daylight, but he still suffers a wee bit.” Bridget slipped her hands free of his grasp and took his face in her hands. “It matters not. I chose ye. I have said vows afore God. Tis good to ken that I deal with people, nay demons, but it still doesnae matter. Ye are my husband.” There”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Mental note: Being the damsel in distress truly sucked angel feathers; avoid at all costs.”
― Hannah Howell, Eternal Lover

“Now, m’lady, ye dinnae need to worry o’er our laird,” said Mora, patting Bridget on the back. “He can hold his own.” “Do they do this often?” Bridget asked, surprised at how normal her voice sounded for she was cold and trembling inside. “Nay. Oh, there are fights here and there, now and then. Tis what men do, aye? They like a wee punch and wrestle from time to time. And, weel, these lads can really only have a fair one with each other. This will knock a wee bit of sense into some of them.” “Tis because of me. I am nay saving Cathal’s clan as he wished,” she whispered, “but destroying it.” “Nay, nay. Tis but the changes that must come which stirs this up. Change ne’er sets easy on a person’s shoulders. Most all of them have the wit to see that ’tis necessary, but they will fight it for a wee while ere they settle to it. Tis only natural.” Natural”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Odd in what way?” “She hisses and verra weel, too. She scratches, swipes at one with those verra sharp nails of hers when ye startle her. Ye didnae see her run, but, trust me, she is verra swift and sure of foot. E’en with the full moon, most Outsiders move cautiously. The night and the shadows didnae slow her down at all. She kenned I was there ere she saw me. And, the fact that she saw me in the shadows is, weel, unusual. She dances in the moonlight. E’en though there was no sound to warn her, she kenned something had happened to her people. I watched her tense, crouch, and look about. Tis as if she scented danger upon the air.” And she purrs, Cathal thought, but only said, “Some people have keener senses about such things.” “There”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“It was several long moments before she gained the strength to open her eyes. The way he was looking at her as he gently brushed the hair from her face made her heart race. Bridget smiled faintly, a little disappointed that he was not whispering sweet words of love. “Ye love me, lass,” he said, and grinned at her wide eyed look. “Aye, ye do. Ye were screeching it there at the end. Twice.” So that was what she had said, she mused. “Aye, I do. I have for a long time. Why do ye think I said aye?” “Ye wed me because ye loved me?” he asked in surprise. “Aye, but ye dinnae have to fear that I will pester ye for the same. I understand ’tis different for men.” “Lass, I will confess that I was nay so quick as ye to see the truth, but I do love ye. I have for a while. I have been trying to think of ways to make ye love me.” He laughed softly when she threw herself into his arms. “In truth, since ye told me ye loved me just as I was about to bite ye, I cannae be sure which has me feeling most bound to ye. I may have e’en been mistaking a need for those words for the need for the mating.” “Weel, it doesnae matter. The need is gone, aye.” “Completely. Ah, love, ye have given me so much. Passion, laughter,” he slid his hand down to her stomach, “the future.” “And”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Bridget saw her husband look for her and shivered. The memory of how the MacNachtons had dealt with those thieves was still clear in her mind, clear and terrifying. This incident had given the chilling memories credence, ensured that she would not be able to dismiss it all as a bad dream. She now knew exactly what her husband was, what he was capable of. How could she live with that? And, yet, how could she not?”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Dear Lord, you are a vampire,” Eva gasped, then covered her mouth to keep the wayward thing from spouting any other unwanted revelations. Connall stiffened, his eyes shooting to her face. He had the oddest expression on his face, she noted. He looked . . . scared? Nay, apprehensive was a better description, and Eva had to wonder why he was looking so apprehensive when he was the soulless— Nay, not soulless, she reminded herself, recalling their conversation from the night before. He was not dead, nor soulless, he had assured her and he did not kill those he bit. Connall had described himself as just different and while Eva thought that was something of an understatement, she reassured herself with that information, now. He was just different, still her husband, the kind, sweet, gentle man who had treated her as if she had value, and shown her such consideration, as well as taught her passion. Nothing else had changed, she reminded herself as her head began to spin. He was the clan chief of the MacAdie, and her husband. And really, as flaws went, vampirism was much more pleasant to deal with than his being a wife beater or some such thing. Wasn’t it? “Dear Lord,” Eva breathed, shaking her head at her own thoughts, then she glanced to Connall again. He was uncharacteristically silent, his attention focused on her with an intensity that made her nervous. Her husband hadn’t said a word since she’d blurted that he was a vampire and it was making her uncomfortable enough to start searching her mind for a way to make him leave. “If you have things to do, you need not trouble yourself to wait here for me to finish eating. I can manage well enough on my own,” she murmured at last, though the food was all gone. “Tis no trouble to be with ye,” he said with a frown and there was sudden anger on his face. “Yer no a burden to me, Eva, ye ne’er ha’e been and ne’er will be. Dear God, ye saved me life this morn, woman, no once, but twice. Ha’e ye no realized yer worth yet?” “I—” Eva shook her head helplessly, confused by the tears suddenly pooling in her eyes. His vehemence was as surprising to her as the words themselves. She had saved his life that morning. She’d driven the intruder off with the log, then . . . well all right, the feeding bit wasn’t that impressive. Anyone would have done in that instance, but she had fended off the intruder. “Ye’ve courage and beauty and intelligence and are a worthy wife. E’en a king would ha’e pride in claimin’ ye to wife. I have felt nothing but pride in claimin’ ye meself.” “Despite my bein’ accident prone?” she teased with a wry twist of the lips. “Yer accidents are a result o’ tryin’ too hard to earn a place here,” he said quietly. “But ’tis only because you doonae realize ye already ha’e a place here. Yer the Lady MacAdie. My wife.” Eva swallowed, her gaze dropping from his at those words. They made her heart ache for some reason. “Why do ye look away? Do ye hate me now?” Eva glanced back up with surprise. “What?” “Now that ye know what I am?” he explained. “Will ye be wantin’ an annulment? Beggin’ to be set free? Wid ye rather a mortal man to husband? Should I take ye back to Caxton?” Eva stared at him in horror, fear clutching at her heart at the very idea of what he suggested.”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“when I stopped lying to myself, stopped trying to make excuses for her. It was as if I woke up from some feverish dream and found myself locked into a nightmare.”
― Hannah Howell, If He's Wicked

“Have ye made her your mate yet?” Cathal looked up from his work to frown at Jankyn even as the man strode across the ledger room to stand before his worktable, his hands on his hips. “Why would ye ask me that?” “I happened to get a good look at your bride’s wee, bonnie neck a week ago as ye fought with Edmee. No mark. We may heal from a bite without a scar, but an Outsider cannae. Your mother wore your father’s mark. Proudly. Do ye nay feel the need or are ye ashamed of it, try to deny it?” “The need is there,” confessed Cathal, “although I had hoped it was one of the MacNachton traits I didnae inherit from my father. As ye ken weel, every halfling is different in what remains, what weakens, and what disappears. I am nay ashamed of it, however. I but worry about how Bridget will react to it. Cowardice has held my tongue, but I must gird my wee loins and tell her soon. The need grows too strong.” Jankyn”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Ah, my wee wife, I wish I was a poet or a minstrel. I would like to drown ye in pretty words. There is so much inside of me that I feel, but I dinnae have the words.” She touched her fingers to his lips. “I love ye.” “I love ye, too.” “Ye dinnae need any other words than those, Cathal. Not ever.” “Not ever. I will be living for a verra long time yet.” “We Callans are verra long lived as weel.” “Oh, I do hope so, love. I do hope so. For I need ye. Ye are my sun, my joy.” Bridget brushed her lips over his, deeply moved. “Ye are getting much better with your words, Cathal,” she whispered. “My wife, my mate, forever.” “Do ye ken, I think those are the finest of all. My husband, my mate, forever.”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Despite the fact that her parents had both died when she was barely nine, and she’d had no mother to educate her in these matters, Eva was not ignorant on the subject of men and women. Mavis had seen to that. The girl spent most of her time working in the kitchens when not pressed into service as her lady’s maid, so it was in the kitchen with the rest of the servants that she slept, though she occasionally had slept in the great hall if Cook was in a mood. Sleeping there with all the rest of the servants, Mavis had seen—and eagerly recounted to Eva—much of what went on between a man and woman—at least among the servant class. The maid had described it as a sort of wrestling match that ended when the man took his pillock, “rather like a large boiled sausage,” she had described it, and stuck it up between the woman’s legs. Eva had never fancied the idea of having a boiled sausage shoved up between her legs and found her feet shifting together to press her thighs more tightly closed as she stood before the mumbling priest. Then her gaze dropped to the side of its own accord, to peer at the point where her husband’s boiled sausage would be. Although he normally wore his plaid, or had since she’d arrived, today Connall had chosen to wear the outfit she had seen him in at court for their wedding; a fine dark blue doublet and white hose. Eva was flattered that he had troubled himself to dress up for the occasion, but it meant that his figure was now rather on view and her eyes widened in alarm at the size of the bulge visible beneath the hose. Mavis had said that the bigger the bulge, the bigger the boiled sausage, and her husband appeared quite huge to her. Not that she had ever before seen a man’s sausage or troubled to notice the size of their bulge, but Connall’s bulge looked rather large to her anxious eyes. Eva squeezed her thighs a little tighter closed as she tried to imagine him wrestling her to the bed and assaulting her with his sausage. “Eva?”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“When Bridget was angry or cornered, she looked like a hissing cat. Duncan looked far more impressive, like one of those great lions he had read about. “Oh, dear,” murmured Bridget, looking at her brother. “Duncan is starting to lose his temper.” “I believe I noticed that, lass,” said Jankyn, laughter rippling in his voice. “Enjoy your wee giggle. If he gets any angrier, it willnae be pretty.” “Does he rip out his enemies’ throats and then lick himself clean afterward?” “Oh, hush.” “Tis”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Are you the MacAdie’s sister?” she hazarded the guess as they had ascended the stairs and started along the hall. “Mither,” the woman corrected with a smile, her eyebrows rising when Eva abruptly stopped walking and gaped at her in horror. “Dear God, I’ve been married off to a boy,” Eva breathed and the woman laughed. “Nay.” “But I must be! You are not old enough to have a child more than ten.” “Connall is well past ten, lass.” “But—” Eva paused as realization claimed her. Of course, this woman was MacAdie’s stepmother, that was the obvious explanation.”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Bridget recognized that snarl and tried to see where Duncan was. “Duncan sounds verra angry now.” “And looks it,” said Jankyn. “Ye Callans may nay change any more but ye certainly come as close as anyone I have e’er seen.” “I cannae see. Does his hair look weel, fatter or higher?” “As if his fur is standing on end?” Jankyn was obviously going to torment her about her heritage every chance he got. “Aye, something like that.” “Aye,”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“She was just about to run out through the gates, surprised but pleased to see them open, when a man dropped to the ground right in front of her. A soft screech escaped her as she stumbled back a step, even as she frantically looked around in a vain attempt to see where he had come from. “Greetings, lass,” the man said in a deep, rough voice. “Ye probably dinnae remember me. I am Raibeart. I drove your wee bonnie cart back here after we saved ye from those thieving swine.” “Ah, weel, I thank ye. Now, if ye will just excuse me,” she tried to dart around him, but the man swiftly put himself in her path. “Now, ye dinnae really want to go out there. Tis dark, aye? Too dangerous for such a wee lass.” “Ye arenae going to let me leave, are ye?” She cursed when he shook his head. “The laird wants ye to stay here.” “I dinnae care what he wants. He isnae my laird. He isnae my kinsmon, either.” Bridget could feel panic clawing at her insides and struggled to push it aside. “I wish to go to my cousin’s and none of ye have the right to stop me.” She felt a light touch upon her shoulder. Blindly, she turned and struck out, raking her nails across the face of the man who stood behind her. As her fingernails scored soft flesh the feeling pulled her free of the tight grasp fear had upon her. She looked in horror at the bloody furrows she had left upon Jankyn’s cheek. He touched a hand to the cuts as he stared at her, his gaze holding more intense consideration than shock. Mumbling a heartfelt apology, Bridget pulled a square of daintily embroidered linen from a pocket in the lining of her cloak. However, by the time she reached toward Jankyn, intending to clean the blood from his wounds, there was no need for such care. “Your wounds appear to be closing,” she whispered. “Aye. They were only shallow cuts,” he said. “Ye have verra sharp nails, lass.” Keeping his gaze fixed upon her face, he slowly licked the blood from his fingers. “Oh, it needed only that.” Bridget closed her eyes, took a deep breath to calm herself, then scowled at Jankyn. “That was a strange thing to do, lass,” murmured Raibeart as he moved to stand beside her. It was, but Bridget would never admit it. “Nay, it wasnae. I felt a touch and thought I was in danger. Jankyn also crept up behind me when I was feeling agitated.” She abruptly made a dash for the gate, not surprised when both men quickly appeared to block her way. “That could become verra annoying.” “E’en”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“It’s yer wife, Connall! She’ll be the death o’ me, I’m sure. Between the scares with her accidents and—sweet Jesus! Me heart stopped when she tripped up on the stairs in the keep, then again when she tumbled down the chapel steps, and then there’s her shenanigans tonight. I’m sure I’ve aged ten years since she arrived and I’m an old man to begin with.” “All”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“I suppose those mist-shrouded mountains could easily stir the imagination,” she murmured, but felt the rousing of a keen curiosity she had never been able to conquer. “Tis certain that many people fear such places, fear what might lurk in such a dark forest or in those clouded hills. But, this time, ’twas some foolish tale they heard in that village we stopped at for the night.” “Ye heard it, too?” “Nay. The men told it to me. Some tale about a creature from those hills, one who disguised himself as a mon. A mon who ne’er showed himself when the sun rose, only ventured out at night. A mon with eyes like a wolf and teeth like one, as weel. A mon so strong it took near a dozen villagers to subdue him, many of them suffering grievous injuries. A mon who could bewitch any lass into offering him her chastity.” The scorn in Nan’s voice made it very clear that she did not believe the tale at all. Bridget was pleased that that scorn did not stop the woman from repeating the tale, however. “Why did they feel the need to attack him, to subdue him? And, what did they do with him after they captured him?” “They caught him sinfully fornicating with another mon’s wife. They dragged him before the priest. Tis then that they realized what they had—a devil, a demon, one of Hell’s foul creatures. The priest had the mon tortured, but that mon didnae confess his sins or repent them. They said his wounds healed as if by magic. The priest then declared him a demon, or a witch. I am nay quite sure. They garroted him, burned him, and scattered his bones far and wide o’er the moors so that he couldnae come back to life.” “How cruel. He may have been innocent.” “I certainly doubt he was all they claim he was, but he wasnae innocent. If there was a mon executed, it was probably for the sins of fornication and adultery. He showed the villagers that their women lacked morals.” Bridget”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Connall chuckled at her expression and immediately began to undress. Finding herself a tad shy about being nude here where anyone might see, Eva was slower to start, but once Connall went charging off to splash his way into the water, she quickly removed the rest of her clothes and hurried to follow, feeling better once she was immersed in water and therefore had regained some modesty. “Shy with me, wife?” Connall teased, moving closer to her in the water. Eva splashed at him and scoffed, “Nay, some of us just have a bit of common decency.” He”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“I am thinking it might be time for me to marry,” said Jankyn as he stepped up beside Cathal. “Ye? Have ye finally settled upon one of your harem?” “I dinnae have a harem,” objected Jankyn. “Nay, I think I am finally starting to age. I found a grey hair.” Cathal looked at Jankyn’s thick black hair, then caught the hint of a blush upon Jankyn’s cheeks. “Ah. Not there.” “Nay. Not there.” “Mayhap ye are only partly aging.” Cathal had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing when Jankyn cast a horrified glance at his groin. “So, ye think ye are getting older and wish to have a loving companion.” He grew serious. “Best ye choose carefully, Jankyn. If nay a Pureblood, then ye will outlive your mate for many years. Recall what that did to my father. Worse, I believe he began to fear that he would outlive me as weel. Ye do have a wee touch of Outsider in your blood, but it doesnae seem to have changed ye from the Pureblood as far as years to live is concerned.” “So”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“You look different.” He said nothing, knowing that his face would appear leaner to her, his eyes perhaps taking on more of a yellow tinge in the brown depths. “You are very pale, but . . .” She was obviously trying to puzzle it out, but didn’t understand and was growing frightened and confused. “Aye, nae doubt I am pale. I lost a fair amount o’ blood,” Connall said, wishing he could ease this for her. “Aye.” She nodded slowly and tried to smile, but was having difficulty with it and he knew she could see the hunger in him. “You need food and rest to rebuild it.” “I need blood.” Eva stared at him silently, then her eyes moved back to his wound as if drawn there by some unseen force. He could tell by her expression that it was continuing to heal, growing smaller by the moment. “You heal much more quickly than we do,” she said finally. Her voice was bleak and Connall winced at the knowledge in it. We. She had finally admitted to what was staring her in the face; the supposed reaction to the sun, the rumors, his wound healing so quickly . . . The fact that Aileen aged had probably confused her, but she was seeing it now. You heal more quickly than we. We. He was not one of her kind, at least not wholly. He was different. Connall always had been, and should be used to it by now, but somehow it hurt hearing Eva say it. Her face was expressionless when she turned it back to him to ask, “Are you soulless?” Connall knew that she was making a decision in her mind, one vital to their future. He had feared this moment, but felt hope in the fact that she hadn’t simply turned away in horror. “Nay. I’m no a dead, soulless creature as the rumors proclaim,” he answered solemnly. “I’m jest different.” “But”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Is there anythin’ else I should ken?” “The priest has arrived,” Ewan announced cheerfully and Connall felt some of the stiffness leave his shoulders. This was good news at least, he thought, turning to move toward the stairs now. “Good, I might yet get the woman wedded and bedded and hopefully with child ere she gets hersel’ killed,” Connall muttered as he began to jog lightly down the stairs. “She does appear to be prone to accidents.” There was a touch of amusement in Ewan’s voice as he followed on his heels. Connall snorted at what to him seemed something of an understatement. “Tis obvious the lass cannae be left to her own devices. I want ye men to keep an eye on her when I’m no about.” “I suspected ye might,” Ewan said dryly as they reached the great hall and started toward where Connall could see his wife seated at the trestle table.”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Drawing on some of the courage that had carried her through the attack that morning, she blurted, “I love you.” One moment she was sat in bed, facing him, and the next Eva was enveloped in his arms as he babbled the Gaelic at her between peppering her face with kisses. The assault stopped just as abruptly as it had started when Connall caught her face between his hands and stared at her intensely for several moments as if memorizing her features. Eva stared back, wondering what would come next. “Do ye really love me, Eva?” he asked at last. “Aye,” she said solemnly. “I love you, Connall MacAdie. With all my heart.” “And I love you, Eva MacAdie,” he said, his voice husky, and before Eva could quite react to that, he kissed her.”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“I am thinking it might be time for me to marry,” said Jankyn as he stepped up beside Cathal. “Ye? Have ye finally settled upon one of your harem?” “I dinnae have a harem,” objected Jankyn. “Nay, I think I am finally starting to age. I found a grey hair.” Cathal looked at Jankyn’s thick black hair, then caught the hint of a blush upon Jankyn’s cheeks. “Ah. Not there.” “Nay. Not there.” “Mayhap ye are only partly aging.” Cathal had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing when Jankyn cast a horrified glance at his groin. “So, ye think ye are getting older and wish to have a loving companion.” He grew serious. “Best ye choose carefully, Jankyn. If nay a Pureblood, then ye will outlive your mate for many years. Recall what that did to my father. Worse, I believe he began to fear that he would outlive me as weel. Ye do have a wee touch of Outsider in your blood, but it doesnae seem to have changed ye from the Pureblood as far as years to live is concerned.” “So I thought, but I begin to wonder. I am going through my bloodlines. Och, I am nay like ye, but it begins to look as if I am nay a Pureblood, either. Once the other blood gets into your lineage it doesnae leave.” He shrugged. “I still have weeks of writings and lineage charts to go through, however.” “Does it bother ye? One way or t’other, I mean.” “Only in that, if I have been told I am something I am not, a Pureblood, I may have wasted years I didnae have to waste.” “Ah, weel, take heart. E’en if ye are much akin to me, ye still have many years left. Many more than the lifetime of many of the Outsiders.” He caught Jankyn staring at Efrica Callan who was laughing at something Bridget said. “She is only sixteen years of age, Cousin.” “I ken it. I was just wondering if she purrs.” He exchanged a brief grin with Cathal before wandering off into the crowd. Cathal”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Ye are alive,”she murmured and felt him tense. Cathal studied her face closely and felt his hopes rise despite her words. “Aye, lass.” He put his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her close to him to add softly, “And the only one who can put your wee bonnie soul at risk is ye.” “Weel, that is a comfort, I suppose.” “So, have ye decided ye will have me then?” “Aye.” She did not resist when he tugged her down onto his lap and kissed her while the other men cheered and hooted. “Might I ask what changed your mind?” Bridget had no intention of telling him what was in her heart, not until she got some hint as to what he felt for her. “Ye kiss weel.” “Thank ye, but I think there is another reason.” “Aye. I recently decided that I best take ye as I dinnae seem to want anyone else to have ye.” He kissed her again. It was a start. Cathal finally admitted that he wanted more, much more, from her, but he could be patient. She would soon belong to him in body and name. He was willing to work for the rest, for her heart and soul.”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“The laird was tall, quite possibly a foot or more taller than she was. He was lean yet she was certain there was an impressive strength beneath his slim elegant appearance. She had seen a hint of it in the way he moved as he had fetched the wine. His hair was a deep black and hung in soft waves several inches past his broad shoulders. His skin was a lot paler than she would have expected in a man with such dark hair. Not a wan, sickly pale, either, but a rich, lovely creamy tone that many a woman would envy. The lines of his face were cleanly cut, elegant perfection from his long, straight nose and high cheekbones to the firm jaw. There was a slight fullness to his lips that she found far too attractive. His eyes were strangely beautiful. Set beneath faintly arched brows, rimmed with enviable long lashes, they were a pale golden brown. He was, without doubt, one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. Feeling”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“How old is the laird?” “Wheesht, lass, I cannae recall. Such things are of little interest to me. Ye should ask the laird. Then, again, what does it matter? He be hale and handsome. Blood still runs hot, aye?” Mora chuckled when Bridget blushed. “Has all his teeth, too. Nay, age doesnae matter. Tis the heart of the mon what counts, nay how long it has been beating.” “There”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander

“Mavis got it wrong, lass.” Eva narrowed her eyes. “She did?” “Aye. Drink yer wine.” Eva automatically took a sip, then asked, “What did she get wrong?” “Well, there is much she left out, or perhaps was simply unable to see in a dark great hall at night with who knows how much distance between her and the people in question.” “What did she leave out?” Eva asked. “Well, for one thing, she left out the kissing.” “Kissing?” Eva’s interest was definitely engaged now. She still recalled that brief brush of lips after the ceremony and the way her mouth had tingled. “Yes. Like our wedding kiss, only more.” “More?” she echoed with interest. “More what?” “Drink yer wine,” he instructed instead of answering. Eva took an impatient gulp, then repeated, “More what?” “Tis difficult to describe,” he said, then raised one eyebrow again. “Perhaps I should show you?”
― Hannah Howell, The Eternal Highlander