Go Tell the Bees that I Am Gone (Outlander, #9)

by Diana Gabaldon

But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, she thought, entertained. It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists / It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him. The poem had always summoned Roger for her, but now it encompassed Ian and her father as well, different as the three of them were.

“No man owns his own life,” he said. “Part of you is always in someone else’s hands. All ye can do is hope it’s mostly God’s hands you’re in.”

“Bless Thou, O God, the dwelling,” he said, “And each who rests herein this night; Bless Thou, O God, my beloved ones In every place wherein they sleep; In the night that is to-night, And every night; In the day that is to-day, And every day. May this sacred iron be witness To the love of God and the guarding of this house.”