18 Quotes by Karen Ranney

She threw open the window to breathe in the spring air, heavy with the sweet perfume of roses and heather. To her right was the rolling glen beckoning her to come and walk. 'Sit here awhile and dream your thoughts on this flat rock.' How often had she done that?

The female in his carriage didn't say a word, merely turned and stare at him with doelike brown eyes. Was she too afraid to speak?

She laughed. He was right. Her laughter was enchanting. So, too, the sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at him. He'd never seen eyes as darkly brown as hers. With her dark hair she should have been a study in monochrome, but she wasn't. Her cheeks matched her pink lips.

What were her abilities? She played the pianoforte passably well even though it didn't interest her. She loved to read and could spend the rest of her life in a library. She'd written a book, and her imagination was such that she could transport herself from the wilds of Scotland to anywhere.

How very different it would be to live somewhere where people weren’t afraid to reveal themselves, where emotion was prized instead of hidden.

It was not the time to recall all those really horrifying nursery stories she’d read, Bluebeard, Babes in the Wood, Little Red Riding Hood. Why is it that children’s stories are so filled with monsters like wolves and witches who eat children, and men who kill their wives? And to think, that people actually sat and told their children such things.

A castle sat in the background, turrets flying a minuscule emblem in the foreground sat a lady, her skirts adorned with picked blossoms “A castle,” Helena murmured, “fit for a princess, except that the prince has escaped.

Memories of her, however, would remain with him. Everywhere he’d look, she would be there, as if she were a hundred women, all shadow and wraith, marking each place at Tyemorn and Ayleshire. He’d see her on the village road, smiling beneath an oak, straddling a furrow and laughing at something a companion had said. There again, tilting her head in an inquisitive look and offering advice on the line of the barn wall, or at night, when he could only see the outline of her form.

He wanted to know her with such familiarity that he could curve his fingers around a wrist, an ankle, a knee and recognize her from a hundred, a thousand other women.