You are my courage, as I am your conscience,” he whispered. “You are my heart – and I your compassion. We are neither of us whole, alone. Do ye not know that, Sassenach?” “I do know that,” I said, and my voice shook. “That’s why I’m so afraid. I don’t want to be half a person again, I can’t bear it.
I listen,” she said simply. “To what folk say – and what they don’t.
Quite without warning, I began to cry. No sobbing, no throat-gripping spasms. Water simply welled in my eyes and flowed down my cheeks, slow as cold honey. A quiet acknowledgment of despair as things spiraled slowly out of control.
Your aunt’s a handsome woman, Fraser, but she could freeze the ballocks off the King o’ Japan, and she wanted to.
Venemous,” Jamie corrected him. “If it bites you and makes ye sick, it’s venemous; if you bite it and it makes ye sick, it’s poisonous.
Dangerous thing, infatuation.
I like ye fat, Sassenach,” he said softly. “Fat and juicy as a plump wee hen. I like it fine.
You’ll have to keep it up for longer than that, if you expect ecstatic moans,” I answered. “Two minutes doesn’t deserve any more than a giggle.
Some were in Gaelic and some in English, used apparently according to which language best fitted the rhythm of the words, for all of them had a beauty to the speaking, beyond the content of the tale itself.
But just then, for that fraction of time, it seems as though all things are possible. You can look across the limitations of your own life, and see that they are really nothing.
It was Jamie’s fear that he would lose her – that she would go, swing out into a dark and solitary space without him, unless he could somehow bind her to him, keep her with him. But, Christ, what a risk to take – with a woman so shocked and brutalized, how could he risk it?
Turd-eating son of a flying tortoise.
He said, ‘If you’re sizable, half the men ye meet will fear ye, and the other half will want to try ye. Knock one down,’ he said, ‘and the rest will let ye be. But learn to do it fast and clean, or you’ll be fightin’ all your life.’ So he’d take me to the barn and knock me into the straw until I learned to hit back.
If I were marooned here till it suited my overbearing, domineering, pig-headed jackass of a husband to finish risking his stupid neck, I’d use the time to see what I could spot.
Damn Frank!” he said ferociously. “Damn all Randalls! Damn Jack Randall, and damn Mary Hawkins Randall, and damn Alex Randall – er, God rest his soul, I mean,” he amended hastily, crossing himself.
Does it ever stop? The wanting you?” His hand came around to caress my breast. “Even when I’ve just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.
The universe had shifted, with a small, decisive click; he could still hear its echo in his bones.
Cows?” he asked, “Was it really cows, or was I dreaming?
The world and each day in it is a gift, mo chridhe – no matter what tomorrow may be.
He looked like Bree, didn’t he? He was like her?” “Yes.” He breathed heavily, almost a snort. “I could see it in your face – when you’d look at her, I could see you thinking of him. Damn you, Claire Beauchamp,” he said, very softly.