You'd forgive me for Claire - but not for killing your . . . men. He glanced at the two Craddocks, spotty as a pair of raisin puddings and - Grey's look implied - likely no brighter.
You dinna need to understand me, Sassenach, he said quietly. So long as ye love me.
When I was small, I never wanted to step in puddles. Not because of any fear of drowned worms or wet stockings; I was by and large a grubby child, with a blissful disregard for filth of any kind.It wa...
The lawyer had gone a mottled red and gray, like a bad oyster, but said nothing. Jamie
One never stops to think what underlies romance. Tragedy and terror, transmuted by time.
I've never been afraid of ghosts. I live with them daily, after all. When I look in a mirror, my mother's eyes look back at me; my mouth curls with the smile that lured my great-grandfather to the fat...
I was becoming slightly bored
I thought I had not been out for long; I showed no symptoms of concussion or other ill effects from the blow, save a sore patch on the base of my skull. My captor, a man of few words, had responded to...
I said I don’t propose to die, William assured him. And I don’t need help.
I put a hand up to cup his cheek, warm and lightly stubbled. I didn't fool myself that this was paradise or even a refuge from the war - wars tended not to stay in one place but moved around, much in...
Dialogue doesn’t take place in a vacuum. Dialogue is contradictory, in that it can either speed up or slow down a passage.
But I talk to you as I talk to my own soul, he said, turning me to face him. He reached up and cupped my cheek, fingers light on my temple.And, Sassenach, he whispered, your face is my heart.
A peaceful refuge in which to rediscover each other, we thought,, not realizing that, while golf and fishing are Scotland's most popular outdoor sports, gossip is the most popular indoor sport.
Though. It isn’t necessarily easier if you know what it is you’re meant to do—but at least you don’t waste time in questioning or doubting. If you’re honest—well, that isn’t necessarily easier, either...
Mouth worked a little, but he shook his head. I … no. Perhaps
Gruff. He jerked his head at his
Along. It was a week after we had set out, in a
Your face is my heart, Sassenach, he said softly, and love of you is my soul. But you’re right; ye canna be my conscience.
When you hold a child to your breast to nurse, the curve of the little head echoes exactly the curve of the breast it suckles, as though this new person truly mirrors the flesh from which it sprang.
Until we two be burned to ashes.