The Maiden of Ireland Quotes

“You’re right. I have no heart because I lost it to you.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“Do you feel the magic?” “Aye,” he breathed into her salt-dusted hair. “It’s all around me, but most especially, here in my arms.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“He stopped working and smiled at her. “What are you thinking that makes you look at me so?” “I’m thinking I’d best do something about you soon.” “Are you open to suggestions?” Setting aside an iron chisel, he brushed her cheek. The glove glided, hot and rough, on her skin. She pushed his hand aside. “Not of that sort.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“The pressure of his mouth eased. He drew away, holding her at arm’s length. He filled her vision, broad shoulders and shaggy head framed by the crags and cliffs of Connemara. He had a look of astonished delight on his face, while dangerous banked fires smoldered in his eyes. Still gripping her shoulders, he stepped back and said, “Look me in the eye, Caitlin MacBride, and tell me you’ve been kissed before.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“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 Maiden of Ireland

“Caitlin.” Hawkins touched her cheek. “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she burst out, “do you not see how silly you’re being?” “It’s only silly if you continue to shy from me like a maiden. You’re the MacBride. You’ve done worse than kiss an Englishman.” His hands held her fast at the arms, and he bent to whisper in her ear. “I won the forfeit.” His breath caressed the curve of her ear. “I want to feel the fullness of your lips with my own. I want to slide them open with my tongue and taste the sweetness of your mouth. I want to feel your body pressed to—” Summoning the last of her composure, she said, “You’ve made your point.” His hands lifted to her shoulders. “Well? I’m waiting.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“His rough, cold hand grasped her chin. Her heart jolted as she gazed into his moss-gray eyes. “You owe me a forfeit,” he said. The breeze plucked at strands of his hair, curling them against his windburned cheeks. She jerked her head away. “Just what is it you want?” “I’ll have a kiss from you.” The breath left her chest in a rush. Inhaling slowly, she drew in the cold salt air. “That’s your forfeit?” “I declare to my soul, this is getting interesting,” whispered Aileen Breslin. “It’s an outrage,” Rory snapped. Caitlin challenged her prisoner with a furious stare. “I’d rather kiss a natterjack.” “You’ll have to settle for me instead.” In truth the request was modest enough. Yet her nerves rattled like dried reeds in the breeze. “Why?” His laughter flowed like warm mead from a crystal goblet. “Do you really have to ask?” “I’m asking.” “Because I want to know if the MacBride tastes like a woman, or a warrior.” Her face heated. “That’s absurd.” “It’s my request and my prerogative to be as absurd as I please. You knew the stakes. Will you have it said that the MacBride breaks her word?”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“Seeking to distract her from further questions, he bent and blew lightly into her ear. She shivered. “This horse bites, you know.” “I think he likes me. Almost as much as you do.” “I don’t like you. How can I like you? I don’t even know you, for you refuse to answer my questions.” He stroked her upper arms. “There is little to say. You have Clonmuir, and that makes you far richer than I.” He gazed over the horse’s back, where a patch of sunset shone through a barred window. Even the warmth of her pressed against him failed to melt the ice of aloneness.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“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 Maiden of Ireland

“I came here to conquer you. And here I stay, a willing prisoner of your heart.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“Make me a part of this place. Make me a part of Caitlin. Please, God, I love her so.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“I think I loved her from the first moment I saw her. Before that, I loved her, too. Before I even knew she existed outside the realm of my dreams.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“I want you to look at me and see no other than the man you love. I want you to feel a start of pure joy when you awaken in the morning and find me beside you. I want you to wish you could rush the sunset so that we can be together sooner.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“I want you in every way a man can want a woman, and in ways we’ve yet to invent. Every single day and night. Now, come here.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“Good God, what must I do to win you?”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“No, my darling. I’ll love the woman you keep hidden inside you. You’ve led men to battle, but never into your heart. Men respect you, they obey you, but they see you as a warrior. You’ve never had the chance to blossom.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“Caitlin, I was born to worry about you.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“I would forfeit the very surety of my soul to be the man who brings that look upon your face.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“You can either kill me. Or marry me,” he said. His suggestion slammed into her with the force of a blow. She reeled back. “No!” He bent and began fishing nails out of the bucket. “No to what?” “To both choices. I will neither kill you in cold blood, nor marry an Englishman.” “I’m relieved by the former, but you’ll have to explain the latter. Why won’t you marry me?” “It isn’t obvious?” An intoxicating smile slid across his face. “Not with the taste of you still fresh as the dew on my lips.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“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 Maiden of Ireland

“Then you agree that you should keep me.” With the smug satisfaction of an argument won, he propped his shoulder against the stall door. Her eyes picked him over as if he were a carved goose on a table. “Aye, I’ll have to either keep you...or kill you.” “I vote for keeping me.” A glint of humor shone in her eyes. “And I shall so long as you behave yourself.” “And if I don’t behave? If I try to escape?” “I’ll hunt you down and kill you.” The conviction in her voice chilled him, and yet he felt something else, an ache of pity that a wonderful creature like Caitlin MacBride should be compelled to have the heart of a murderer. “Then you leave me no alternative,” he said lightly. “I shall stay. Think of it, Cait, we’ll grow old together. We’ll walk on the strand and watch the sunset, and you’ll sing songs to me in that lovely voice of yours.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Maiden of Ireland

“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 Maiden of Ireland