Highlander Hero Quotes
Quotes tagged as "highlander-hero"
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“Doona fash, Sam.” Calybrid, spying her scowl, hurried to balm the wound. “Ye’re plenty fair.”
“Aye,” Locryn agreed.
“With eyes the color of the Alt Dubh Gorm.”
“Sure, that too.”
“Just… no one will write odes to yer breasts is all.”
“On account of ye not having any,” Locryn supplied, rather unnecessarily, in Samantha’s opinion.”
― The Scot Beds His Wife
“Aye,” Locryn agreed.
“With eyes the color of the Alt Dubh Gorm.”
“Sure, that too.”
“Just… no one will write odes to yer breasts is all.”
“On account of ye not having any,” Locryn supplied, rather unnecessarily, in Samantha’s opinion.”
― The Scot Beds His Wife
“They were close enough that she could finally see him clearly.
Her eyes took in the sight of the Scot, standing tall in full Highland dress.
“Oh, delightful,” she muttered to herself. She was at her worst, with seaweed hair streaming water, while Wren had apparently decided to put on his Sunday best.
And didn’t he look absolutely magnificent!
If her heart had not already been doing troublesome things before, it was pounding in brazen excitement as she looked at him now.
This was her husband. Dear Lord. This was her husband.
He was always a very striking man. The cleft of his chin. His sturdy Roman nose. The softness of his dark, sooty lashes over those gorgeous blue eyes. His height, his breadth, his width. His girth? Briar almost giggled. Shush, she told herself.
But now? Gracious, he was unbearably handsome.
There was something about a man in a kilt. Especially the way Wren was wearing it. The dark green Renfrew plaid, shot through with its strands of red and white and gold, was already a lovely thing. Against Wren's form, contrasted against his dark hair, it was a god's finery. Every pleat, every fold fitting his leanly muscled physique.
She swallowed hard, then took another step.”
― Lady Briar Weds the Scot
Her eyes took in the sight of the Scot, standing tall in full Highland dress.
“Oh, delightful,” she muttered to herself. She was at her worst, with seaweed hair streaming water, while Wren had apparently decided to put on his Sunday best.
And didn’t he look absolutely magnificent!
If her heart had not already been doing troublesome things before, it was pounding in brazen excitement as she looked at him now.
This was her husband. Dear Lord. This was her husband.
He was always a very striking man. The cleft of his chin. His sturdy Roman nose. The softness of his dark, sooty lashes over those gorgeous blue eyes. His height, his breadth, his width. His girth? Briar almost giggled. Shush, she told herself.
But now? Gracious, he was unbearably handsome.
There was something about a man in a kilt. Especially the way Wren was wearing it. The dark green Renfrew plaid, shot through with its strands of red and white and gold, was already a lovely thing. Against Wren's form, contrasted against his dark hair, it was a god's finery. Every pleat, every fold fitting his leanly muscled physique.
She swallowed hard, then took another step.”
― Lady Briar Weds the Scot
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