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.
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...
All right, I said, waving the cup away and dabbing moisture very carefully from my lips. I'm fine. I breathed shallowly, feeling my heart begin to slow down. Well. So. At least now I know why you've b...
Sassenach… I love ye now, and I will love ye always. Whether I am dead – or you – whether we are together or apart. You know it is true, he said quietly, and touched my face. I know it of you, and ye...