If it was a sin for you to choose me . . . then I would go to the Devil himself and bless him for tempting ye to it.

Could I but lay my head in your lap, lass. Feel your hand on me, and sleep wi' the scent of you in my bed. Christ, Sassenach. I need ye.

We have nothing now between us, save - respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies.

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

If ye loved him, he must ha' been a good man.' 'Yes, he...was.' 'Then I shall do my best to honor his spirit by serving his wife.

Mo Nighean donn," he whispered," mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart." Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me. a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.

forgiveness is not a single act, but a matter of constant practice