I felt adrift, anchorless in a running sea. This is now my home.
I feel maybe like you did, he whispered to her, too low to wake her. When ye came through the stones. Like the world is still there—but it’s no the world ye had. He’d swear she hadn’t wakened, but a h...
I don’t really know, he said. He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. Does that sound unfeeling? I couldn’t say, I said, a little tartly. Surely you’d know better than I whether you had feelings for her...
I didn’t answer, occupied in dissolving the penicillin tablets in the vial of sterile water. I selected a glass barrel, fitted a needle, and pressed the tip through the rubber covering the mouth of th...
I did say when we were wed that I would always see ye fed, no? He pulled me closer, tucking my head into the curve of his shoulder. I gave ye three things that day, he said softly. My name, my family,...
I cried then, holding nothing back. For empty years, yearning for the touch of a hand. Hollow years, lying beside a man I had betrayed, for whom I had no tenderness. For the terrors and doubts and gri...
I could feel his heart beating against my ribs, and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, not moving, not making love, just breathing the same air.
I can hear. Hear them. It. Don’t you hear? It was a struggle to speak, to form coherent thoughts. The call here was different; not the beehive sound of Craigh na Dun, but a hum like the vibration of t...
I believe you, I said, my eyes fixed on the skein. If only because it seems rather a lot of trouble to go to. What was your motive, though?
I am your master … and you’re mine. Seems I canna possess your soul without losing my own.
I am thinking that you're verra beautiful, Sassenach, he said softly. Maybe if one has a taste for gooseflesh on a large scale, I said tartly, stepping out of the tub and reaching for the cup. He gr...
How to tell her in words, then, what he had learned himself by pain and grace? That only by forgiveness could she forget—and that forgiveness was not a single act, but a matter of constant practice.
His own words brought back to him the letters he had written now and then. The phantoms, as he thought of them: letters he’d written to Jamie Fraser—honest, conversational, heartfelt, and very real. N...
His own eyes were soft and dreamy, cloudy as a trout pool in the rain.
His head bowed and his lips fastened softly on my nipple. I groaned, feeling the half-painful prickle of the milk rushing through the tiny ducts. I put a hand behind his head, and pressed him slightly...
He’d suspected it when he’d found Fraser in the chapel with Geneva Dunsany’s coffin, just before her funeral. But now he knew, beyond doubt. Knew, too, why Fraser did not desire his freedom.
Hello, I said softly, one hand over the butterfly wings that beat inside me.
He was tempted to tell the boy the circumstances of that first meeting, but that would be poor repayment to John for his priceless gift, these precious few days with his son. He was a verra gallant so...
He was dead. However, his nose throbbed painfully, which he thought odd in the circumstances.
He touched his cheek, where the darker line of a scar sliced across the ruddy skin; a memento of the scandalous duel that had sent him into exile at Ardsmuir. God knows what you did to be sent here, G...