Highland Quotes

“And I or you pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth.”
― Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

“My love for her is stronger than my hatred of you.”
― Maya Banks, Never Seduce a Scot

“His eyes touched every part of her. Even parts that may never have been touched before. They flashed with lightning, singing along her nerves with electric currents of heat. A sultry, answering thunder whipped through her, calling forth a storm so unexpected, she almost felt betrayed by her own body.”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highlander

“The rough pad of his thumb dragged across the split on her lip as light as a whisper. She felt his caress in her bones.
And elsewhere.”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highlander

“Why do they not like Scots here?” Elysande asked with curiosity when Rory urged his mount to start moving.
“Because Scots are no’ English,” Rory said with disgust, and then shook his head and admitted, “And because of the reivers.”
“Reivers?” Elysande asked with interest.
“Groups o’ Scots who raid them and steal their animals and such. It’s happened along the border for years. ’Tis just desperate and hungry men looking to survive, but it makes it hard for the people trying to make an honest living, and makes them hate harder. O’ course, the English forget that there are Anglos raiding the Scots on the other side as well and just blame it on we heathen Scots with our stealing ways.”
Elysande considered that silently. Her mother hadn’t mentioned that when she’d spoken of her kin, but then the Sinclairs were Highlanders who lived far to the north—too far away to be involved in reiving from the English.
“But while that makes the English refuse to rent a room to a Scot, ye’re English,” Rory pointed out now. “We could probably find an inn that would take ye and yer men, and then we could hopefully find someplace nearby to—”
“Nay,” Elysande interrupted him. “We will stay with you.”
“Are ye sure?” he asked, and she could hear the frown in his voice. “Ye’d no doubt find more comfortable lodging in an inn, and with yer back paining ye—”
“Ye ferget I’m half-Scottish meself, laddie,” she said with a very bad attempt to mimic his accent. “I’ll no’ stay where me kind are no’ welcome.”
“Lass?” Rory said, a smile now in his voice.
“Aye?”
“Stick to yer English. Ye’re a muckle mess as a Scot.”
“Oh!” Elysande gasped on a laugh, and smacked his stomach where her hands rested. “I thought it was a very good attempt at mimicking you.”
“Ye thought wrong,” he assured her.”
― Lynsay Sands, Highland Treasure