4
" You’re afraid,” he said, the amazement of sudden revelation lighting his face. “I never thought I’d find the one thing you fear.” “I’m not afraid,” she said. “You’ve never been kissed before, have you?” She looked beyond him, her vision blurring as memories swept over her. Ah, she’d been kissed. Once. Alonso had kissed her once. He had held both her hands lightly, as if they were fragile crystal. She recalled his handsome face, dark and tender, the tumble of inky hair over his noble brow, the sculpted bow of his mouth. Their lips had met lightly, two butterflies colliding by accident and then winging away. Caitlin MacBride had lived for four years on that too-brief moment. “I’ve been kissed before,” she said crisply. One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “We’ll see about that, love. "
― Susan Wiggs , The Mist and the Magic
8
" You mustn’t touch me.” Very slowly, he lowered his hand. “You need to be touched, Caitlin MacBride. You need it very badly.” She girded herself with denial. “Even if it were so, I would not need it from an Englishman.” “Think again, my love. We’re easy with one another despite our differences. Remember our first meeting—the shock of it, the knowing? We could be good for each other.” “And when, pray, has an Englishman ever been good for Ireland?” A lazy grin spread over his face. “Even I know that, Caitlin. St. Patrick himself was English born, was he not?” “But he had the heart of Eireann.” “So might I, Caitlin MacBride. So might I. "
― Susan Wiggs , The Mist and the Magic
12
" You’re bleeding,” he said. “A thorn prick, no more,” she stated. “I didn’t know fairy creatures could bleed. I always fancied them spun of mist and moonlight, not flesh and blood.” “Let go.” “No, my love—” “I’m not a fairy creature, and I am surely not your love.” “It’s just an expression.” “It’s a lie. But ’tis no high wonder to me. I’d be expecting falsehoods from a Sassenach.” “Poor Caitlin. Does it hurt?” Very slowly, with his eyes fixed on hers, he put her finger to his lips and gently slipped it inside his mouth. Too shocked to stop him, she felt the warmth of his mouth, the moist velvet brush of his tongue over the pad of her finger. Then with an excess of gentleness he drew it out and placed her hand in her lap. “I think the bleeding’s stopped,” he said. "
― Susan Wiggs , The Mist and the Magic
14
" Cait,” he said softly, his hand covering hers and slowing the motion of the comb. “Put that down and look at me.” She stiffened. “Don’t be touching me, Englishman.” “I don’t think I can help myself.” She tossed her head, and her downy hair rippled across his chest. He smelled its wild, fresh fragrance. “Scared?” “Never,” she swore. “Then turn around.” She pivoted sharply, but he kept hold of her and Caitlin found herself pinned between him and the horse. “Why do you keep after me?” “That’s another thing I can’t help.” His finger skimmed her cheekbone, tracing the line of her jaw. “I understand you better than you think. Better, perhaps, than anyone at Clonmuir. "
― Susan Wiggs , The Mist and the Magic
