2
" Do you like sandwiches?" he asked.
"At this point, I think I'd eat anything. Other than rabbit. I'm not excessively fond of rabbit."
"Or anything with eyes," he said, charming her by remembering. "I've an appetite for beef, some bread, mustard, and ale."
At her look, he smiled. "I have a schoolboy's tastes. It's what I lived on in England. I still crave it from time to time."
Hustle's staff must have been prepared for his cravings because within a quarter hour they were seated in his sitting room with a large tray on the table between them. She was dressed in one of his blue dressing gowns and he wore a black patterned one.
She tucked her feet beneath her as, one by one, he took the domed lids from a succession of plates, each smelling better than the one before. When he came to the cake, a delicious looking confection filled with nuts and fruit, she glanced up at him.
"I want cake," she said. "Before anything healthful or beneficial."
"Cake it is, then," he said, cutting a piece and handing it to her.
She closed her eyes after the first forkful. The taste was heavenly, light and airy yet filled with nuts and chopped apricots.
When she opened her eyes, it was to find him watching her.
"I love cake," she said, embarrassed. "I love sweets."
"What about rabbit cake?"
"Oh, that would pose a problem for me."
He smiled and she felt it down to her toes. "
― Karen Ranney , The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (Clan Sinclair, #3)
3
" A storm in Scotland was like nothing she'd ever experienced in London. Here, the elements felt alive, sentient. This storm was a raging monster that had grown in fury since yesterday.
Sometimes, she thought Scotland was more than a country, more than a rough and magnificent land with a border created by men, written on a map, and defended for hundreds of years. Scotland was almost a living creature that could turn and bite your hand if you didn't speak about it in fond and loving tones.
When she walked the hills and glens surrounding Drumvagen, she sometimes felt like she was being watched. Not by living inhabitants, but those who'd gone before, proud men and women who hated the English and now hovered over their land to protest her appearance.
For all her imagination, she didn't believe in the hundreds of folktales Brianag told the children. The trees weren't alive; they were simply trees. Brownies didn't do chores for obedient children. Sea creatures in the shape of horses didn't bedevil the coast.
Yet something about this storm was otherworldly, as if God were punishing them. "
― Karen Ranney , The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (Clan Sinclair, #3)
5
" He shouldn't be captivated by the sight of a tear caught on her lashes, or her perfect nose, slightly pink. Those lips were even more intriguing, so he made himself look away, staring out at the forest beyond the gazebo.
He glanced down to find Ellice still looking up at him, her eyes liquid pools of chocolate.
Their gaze caught and held, the seconds ticking by in solemn regularity. He felt drawn to her like a magnet. Pulling away would be a difficult task.
He must for his own safety. This woman with her guileless eyes, soft heart, and lurid imagination was a danger. "
― Karen Ranney , The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (Clan Sinclair, #3)
6
" What is being a Scot like?" Ellice heard her mother ask.
'Oh, no.'
"A certain independence of spirit,"she answered before the men could. Or before the girl serving the venison could hear, take notes about Enid's snide remarks, and carry them to Brianag.
"An ability to carry on despite circumstances," she continued. "Perhaps a belief in otherworldly phenomena."
"Do you think we all believe in ghosts?" Gadsden asked.
She glanced at him. Now was not the time to recall the feeling of her breasts pressing against his chest, of his fingers on her skin, his lips trailing kisses along her throat.
Or her earlier image of him unveiling her, inch by inch.
Her cheeks warmed.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked him.
"Not the incorporeal ones," he said. "Only those of memory and mind."
"Are you a haunted man?"
He didn't answer her, merely sat there, his gaze steady on her. To her surprise neither her mother nor Macrath said a word. Or perhaps they did and she didn't hear anything.
She was caught by his gray eyes, snared and netted until she could almost imagine she was at his feet, head bowed, swearing allegiance to him.
He'd raise her up with both hands on her arms until she stood before him, clad only in her gauzy tunic. A slave brought to the man who declared himself her master. "
― Karen Ranney , The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (Clan Sinclair, #3)
11
" The room smelled of lemon wax and the perfume she wore, something delicate and unassuming, not truly mirroring the complex woman she was. She would wear something hinting of roses, or more exotic blooms, a scent that teased the senses.
She hated the mirrors, so he had them removed. He found another desk in the attics, one more suited for a study, but she'd been overjoyed when first viewing it. There was enough space in the sitting room, and that's where it rested, beneath the window looking out over Huntly's glen.
He wished this view of the lake. She would have liked the sight of the birds soaring over the trees or the pale light of dawn reflected in the water. "
― Karen Ranney , The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (Clan Sinclair, #3)
16
" She wanted to be away, leaving her suite, Drumvagen, and all of its inhabitants behind.
Mostly, she wanted to be away from who she was. She wanted to be someone more courageous, like Mairi. Mairi didn't chafe under the role circumstance had given her. Instead, she molded life to fit her, like Lady Pamela.
Nor was Mairi the only courageous person she knew. Everyone at Drumvagen was strong-willed and memorable: from Virginia, who had challenged society's rules, to Macrath, who created an empire from an idea, to her mother and Brianag.
She was the only one people ignored. 'Oh, yes, Ellice,' people probably said, wrinkling their brows to summon an image of her.
Poor dear girl, she's Enid's daughter, correct? Pity the other one didn't survive. Heard she was a beauty, but this girl?
Brown hair and brown eyes and a completely malleable nature, they would say, describing her. Once, she'd been endlessly chastised for speaking out of turn, for saying what she thought. Years of being castigated had taught her to keep silent. "
― Karen Ranney , The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (Clan Sinclair, #3)
18
" His breath halted as he stared at her. Why hadn't he seen it before? The woman in his carriage, the one who'd emerged from his carriage like a Botticelli Venus, was beautiful.
Not in the way Cassandra had been beautiful, with glittering eyes and full, red lips. Cassandra's blond beauty might have faded in time, become handsomeness instead.
This woman's beauty was simple; well-defined cheekbones, a high forehead, slender nose, and stubborn chin. As the years passed she might grow even more attractive.
He suspected that her laugh would captivate, just as her tears would act like a razor to whomever brought them forth. Her smile had already charmed him, and now her silence incited his curiosity. Not about who she was and why she was here, but about more.
Who was the woman behind the smile? "
― Karen Ranney , The Virgin of Clan Sinclair (Clan Sinclair, #3)
