V.S. Carnes

“There are still many souls to be won for Christ,” she answered with quiet dignity, eyes downcast—but not, he figured, in humility. “Even here. Perhaps, especially here. Where better to sprea...”

“Therefore, she hummed the provincial lullaby she had learned from the officers’ children in the English Quarter of Jerusalem, and watched in fascination while the savage radical’s eyes miste...”

“I've crossed a world of sand and tears in search of you.”

“She was an extension of his dreams. A sprinkling of magic dust, of unfeasible wishes, on his stable existence. The one thing-the one bright, marvelous thing-he wanted more than the world, bu...”

“Kas was right: a woman could destroy a man. This one could do so, simply by knowing his name. She could do so, simply with her eyes.”

“It was a question of insurmountable proportions. A single word that held every fear he had ever had-and every wish he had ever made on those cursed stars. She needn't say more. In a single s...”

“He smelled the salt on his own lips and the orange blossoms in her hair. Real ones, he could see now, tucked into the curls with cheap, native combs. The sight of them gave him hope.”

“Because you have my heart, Virgilia Wessex.” Softly, almost achingly. “Every black ounce of it. Scars and all.”

“He watched her for her reaction, or possibly watched her just to watch, his eyes hooded by his lashes and his mouth impassive. A faceless man—such as the one she had dreamed of since she was...”

“I know I am flaky, I accept that—and I know, as well, that I can mangle the good king’s English like no one else in my or the next ten governesses’ acquaintances, but that will not prevent m...”

“She wondered how a man could look into a woman’s eyes and lie so completely, so convincingly. She wondered how he could have looked and not seen the love that had glowed there, the blind fai...”

“No fairy tale, this. This was by no stretch of the imagination a polished fantasy. This was a searing, living force, rough around the edges, unfamiliar and bittersweet. And precious.”

“Looking back at him was a man who was battered and broken. And alive, for the first time in his life.”

“He wanted to die. He prayed for it. Through the roar in his ears, he begged for it.”

“Caine was a murderer. A liar. A cad. A skulker in shadows and a heartless wretch. What sort of woman or God would love someone like him?”

“Caine usually woke from the recurring dream mid-air, having yet to be dashed upon the rocks, whimpering and panting like a child crying for his mother. Now he lifted his eyes to a dark, empt...”

“She was a little thing, too, inciting that basic compulsion in him as a man to protect her in so hectic a place as post-war Israel. Even so, his actions were borne out of an entirely differe...”

“He heard the voice that had called to him in dreams, had saved him from the sands and from following his brother into the river.”

“Better this way, what remained of his battered sensibilities told him. He was no good for her, anyway. She didn’t understand him. She didn’t understand that he was cursed. And, selfish as he...”

“I remember every good thing about you. Every sweet and perfect thing. And nothing else.” He touched her chin, tipped it up to look into her wet brown eyes. Even smudged, they were gorgeous....”