The Widow and the Highlander (Tales from the Highlands, #1)

by Martha Keyes

both strange and familiar, like a well-known room someone had rearranged the furniture in.

Gordon had been a strong man—Christina had come to know that all too well—but Mr. Murray’s strength felt different. It wasn’t threatening; it was reassuring. Like restrained, well-controlled power.

men were skilled at creating heroes out of themselves and their causes. Soldiers on opposite ends of a battlefield from one another were inspired by the belief that they each fought for right.

Her problems had certainly not disappeared, but fresh air and sunlight had a way of making even the gloomiest ones seem more surmountable.

“Cowardice masquerades as bravery while it can—while it is certain of victory. When failure looms, though; when a person’s power begins to slip away—that is the true test. And when Angus faces such failure, he will no longer be able to hide what he truly is.”

She was hesitant to look at it—to remember what had happened, but perhaps even more hesitant to be reminded of what might have happened. But ignoring those things did not make them go away.

scooting away from him a bit more. It wasn’t done with unkindness. It occurred to him that Mrs. MacKinnon was careful about how close she allowed herself to others.

“I dinna think ye weak, Christina. Far from it. But I do think ye deserve a bit of a respite from bein’ strong.”

Ye’ll teach the bairn what ye’ve kend since ye were a bairn yerself: ‘tis no’ blood which makes kin, but loyalty.