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He had learned early on the trick of living separately in a crowd, private in his mind when his body could not be. But he was born a mountain-dweller, and had learned early, too, the enchantment of solitude, and the healing of quiet places.
Some kinds of hunger were sweet in themselves, the anticipation of satisfaction as keen a pleasure as the slaking.
‘Only thinking.’ An answering smile touched his lips. ‘Aye? Well, ye dinna want to do too much of that late at night, Sassenach. It will give ye the nightmare.’
‘This is a morning my father never saw,’ Jamie said, still so softly that I heard it as much through the walls of his chest, as with my ears. ‘The world and each day in it is a gift, mo chridhe – no matter what tomorrow may be.’
Frank, urged to look at some wonder of nature whilst preoccupied with a problem, would have paused just long enough not to seem discourteous, said, ‘Oh, yes, lovely, isn’t it?’ and returned at once to the maze of his thoughts. Jamie lifted his face to the glowing glory of the heavens and stood still.
‘To see the years touch ye gives me joy, Sassenach,’ he whispered, ‘– for it means that ye live.’
‘When the day shall come, that we do part,’ he said softly, and turned to look at me, ‘if my last words are not “I love you” – ye’ll ken it was because I didna have time.’
