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.
They’re girls,” she replied briefly. “They were born in danger and will live their lives in that condition, regardless of circumstance.
Damn ye, woman! Will ye never do as you’re told?” “Probably not,” I said meekly.
My life is yours. And it’s yours to decide what we shall do, where we go next. To France, to Italy, even back to Scotland. My heart has been yours since the first time I saw ye, and you’ve held my soul and body between your hands here and kept them safe. We shall go as ye say.
Who needed the relief of occasional bad language more than a mother of small children? Maybe.
He was generally aware that he had been blessed in her beauty; even in her usual homespun, knee-deep in mud from her garden, or stained and fierce with the blood of her calling, the curve of her bones spoke to his own marrow, and those whisky eyes could make him drunk with a glance. Besides, the mad collieshangie of her hair made him laugh.
I could know ye all my life, I think, and always love you.
If your head thinks up mischief, your backside’s going to pay for it.
Ye must always give money for a new blade,” he explained, half smiling. “So it kens ye for its owner, and willna turn on ye.