...sitting and waiting is one of the most miserable occupations known to man - not that it usually is known to men; women do it much more often.

Torn between the impulse to stroke his head, and the urge to cave it in with a rock, I did neither.

If she was broken, she would slash him with her jagged edges, reckless as a drunkard with a shattered bottle.

No wonder he was so good with horses, I thought blearily, feeling his fingers rubbing gently behind my ears, listening to the soothing, incomprehensible speech. If I were a horse, I’d let him ride me anywhere.

It was in a way a comforting idea; if there was all the time in the world, then the happenings of a given moment became less important.

He leaned close, rubbing his bearded cheek against my ear. 'And how about a sweet kiss, now, for the brave lads of the clan MacKenzie? Tulach Ard!' Erin go bragh,' I said rudely, and pushed with all my strength.

Oh, aye, Sassenach. I am your master . . . and you're mine. Seems I canna possess your soul without losing my own.