You wouldn't let him do it, would you, Jamie?" Jamie's expression was very serene. She stared at Andrew when she spoke to her husband. "With your permission, I would like to answer him." "You have it," Alec replied. "Andrew," she called out in a voice as cold and clear as a frigid winter morning, "my husband does whatever he wishes to do. I am sometimes allowed to help, though. If he decides to cut off your feet, I will, of course, offer him my assistance.

I will find her." "And when you do?" Roger asked. "I will make her mine," the warrior answered in a hard, determined voice. "She will be mine." The vow was made.

He shrugged. "I was...thinking." "About what?" "The fires of purgatory." She had to sit down. He wasn't making any sense now. "What does that mean?" she asked. "Patrick told me he would walk through the fires of purgatory if he had to in order to please his wife." She went over to the bed and sat down on the side. "And?" she prodded when he didn't continue. He stripped out of his clothing and walked over to her. He pulled her to her feet and stared down to her. "And I have only just realized I would do the same for you.

As a matter of fact, she has refused to marry me.” “So when's the wedding?” Ramsey asked.

Why? Why did you do this to me?" "He's going to come after me. He won't just kill me. He'll go after you, too." "That's right, He can't take the chance. I didn't tell you about it...why?" He repeated on a sob? "Why did you-" You wouldn't take me to New York" His mouth dropped open "NEW YORK?" he shouted. "You did all this because I wouldn't take, you to New York!

If you get yourself killed, I'll find your grave and spit on it," she threatened.

Let go of me or slow down," she demanded as she tried to keep pace with him. He slowed down. "I swear to God, you try the patience of a saint." "You aren't a saint, Brodick, no matter what your mother might have told you.