Written in My Own Heart's Blood (Outlander, #8)

by Diana Gabaldon

His mind was hopping like a flea, trying to calculate whether his chances of survival were better with Jamie Fraser or with this gang of yahoos.

It’s the truth, he thought defiantly. What I told you is the truth. And now you know it. Yes, said Fraser’s black gaze. You think I will live quietly with it?

“Have ye got a bit of trouble started again, Grand-mère?” he asked, unperturbed by the stones—now augmented with clumps of fresh manure—whizzing past our heads. “You might say so, yes,” I said. “Don’t—” But before I could speak further, he turned round and bellowed at the crowd, in a surprisingly loud voice, “THIS’S MY GRANNIE. You touch ONE HAIR on her head and—”

“Do you ever make bargains with God?”

“Everyone does,” I said. “Even people who don’t believe in God. Do you?”

“God damn you, sir,” William whispered, and his eyes were black with violence. “God damn you to hell.”

“I have loved ye since I saw you, Sassenach,” he said very quietly, holding my eyes with his own, bloodshot and lined with tiredness but very blue. “I will love ye forever. It doesna matter if ye sleep with the whole English army—well, no,” he corrected himself, “it would matter, but it wouldna stop me loving you.”

I couldn’t stop shaking. “Talk to me, a nighean,” he whispered into my tangled hair. “I’m afraid, and I dinna want to feel so verra much alone just now. Speak to me.”

“I love you,” I said, almost soundless, my arms wrapped tight about him. “Oh, dear God, I love you.”

“I’m going to be where you are for the rest of our lives,” I said firmly. “If that’s a week or another forty years.” “Longer,” he said, and smiled.

John always swore in German; perhaps it was a family habit.

“Er … is Jamie put out, do you think?” Ian and Rachel both laughed at that. “No, Auntie,” Ian said. “But he’s dead tired, and he wants ye bad.” “Did he tell you to say that?” “Not in precisely those words,” Rachel said, “but his meaning was plain.”

“Tell me, Ian,” he said, after a pause, “would ye be having this conversation with your da?” “God, no.” “I’m flattered,” Jamie said dryly.

“Thank ye, Sassenach,” he whispered,

“You can let go now,” I said. “Perhaps leave the room?” “Perhaps not,” he said, still mildly,

She turned to me with her mouth open to ask a question, then thought better and shut it firmly. “No,” I said, laughing. “He isn’t.”

“You wish he could be part of it,” I said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Be part of the family.” “If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,”

Well, I suppose men can make all the laws they like,” he said, “but God made hope. The stars willna burn out.” He turned and, cupping my chin, kissed me gently. “And nor will we.”

“I think ye could support the family all on your own, a nighean,” he said, dipping a finger in the honey and licking it before I could stop him. “Ian and Fergus and I can all retire and become gentlemen of leisure.”

“Why, ma’am,” said Nigel. “It’s a sovereign cure for the seasickness. Did you not know?”

“Tell me, then,” he said calmly. “It’s safe here; no one will hear. I gather it’s a dangerous matter?” “Life and death,” William said, and, with a deep breath, began. Fraser listened with complete attention, his eyes fixed intently on William’s face as he talked. When he had finished, there was a moment of silence. Then Fraser nodded once, as if to himself.

“Ye’ve a claim to my help,” he said, voice low and brusque. “For any venture ye deem worthy. But I’ve a family who have a claim to my protection. I canna leave them to starve if I’m taken.”

“There, a nighean,” he said quietly, patting her back. His eyes met Willie’s and I saw something pass between them—a question asked and answered. Jamie nodded. “I’ll care for her,” he said.

“Aye, well,” he said, with a glance at Fanny. “What’s one more?” There was an odd tone to his voice, and I looked at him in inquiry. “Marsali asked me if we’d take Germain,” he said, drawing Fanny in against him in a sheltering hug, as if this were a common thing.

A large gray cat looked up at me with big, calm eyes of celadon green and dropped a fat, hairy, very dead wood rat at my feet. “Oh, God!” I said, and burst into tears.

His eyes met mine directly. “Would now be a good time to tell me what’s coming, d’ye think?”

“Do you remember,” I said slowly, looking up at him, “on our wedding night? You told me you wouldn’t ask me to tell you things that I couldn’t. You said that love had room for secrets, but not for lies. I won’t lie to you, Jamie—but I really don’t want to tell you.”

and what I said was that there was nothing between us then but respect—and that I thought respect maybe had room for secrets, but not for lies.”

I’d seen Jamie’s hate flame bright the night he saved me and said to his men, “Kill them all.”

“Ye lost your parents young, mo nighean donn, and wandered about the world, rootless. Ye loved Frank”—his mouth compressed for an instant, but I thought he was unconscious of it—“and of course ye love Brianna and Roger Mac and the weans … but, Sassenach—I am the true home of your heart, and I know that.”

“I have loved others, and I do love many, Sassenach—but you alone hold all my heart, whole in your hands,” he said softly. “And you know that.”

but naming one for your deceased dog …” “Aye, well,” Jamie said judiciously. “He was a good dog.”

I was on my feet, and Jamie stood and grabbed my hand, hard enough to bruise my fingers. Movement at the door of the cabin, and a small figure that I recognized as Amy Higgins appeared. The tall woman pulled off her hat and waved it, her long red hair streaming out like a banner in the wind. “Hello, the house!” she called, laughing. Then I was flying down the hill, with Jamie just before me, arms flung wide, the two of us flying together on that same wind.