Scots Have Long Memories, And They're Not

He Splayed A Hand Out Over The Photographs, Trembling Fingers Not Quite Touching The Shiny Surface, And Then He Turned And Leaned Toward Me, Slowly, With The Improbable Grace Of A Tall Tree Falling. He Buried His Face In My Shoulder And Went Very Quietly And Thoroughly To Pieces.

While The Lord Might Insist That Vengeance Was His, No Male Highlander Of My Acquaintance Had Ever Thought It Right That The Lord Should Be Left To Handle Such Things Without Assistance.

He Was Dead. However, His Nose Throbbed Painfully, Which He Thought Odd In The Circumstances.

Not For The First Time, I Reflected That Intimacy And Romance Are Not Synonymous.

Ye Werena The First Lass I Kissed," He Said Softly. "but I Swear You'll Be The Last.