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

by Diana Gabaldon

This one I read as Claire, before hearing Davina.

I swallowed, overcome by the dizzying joy of finding myself—finding us—once again and so unexpectedly part of that remarkable thing, a family.

“To keep ye from freezing? Aye.” He kissed the back of my neck. “It was me freezing, at the abbey. I’d worn myself out tryin’ to walk, and ye wouldna let me eat anything, so I was starving to death, and—”

“Oh, you know that’s not true! You—”

“Would I lie to ye, S...

“Yes, you bloody would,” I said. “You do it all the time. But never mind that now. You were freezing and starving, and suddenly decided that instead of asking Brother Paul for a blanket or a bowl of something hot, you should stag...

I’d be doin’ the rest lying down, so why wait?”

IAN’S CABIN WAS charming.

I just listened to MOBY and I and R were living in someone else's cabin. I guess he built one in the past 3(?) days since Oggy's birth? 😂

midst of an aspen grove,

I went way back to make a note here -- I've always thought aspens are typically more northern and western but birches are more commonly eastern. I looked up the ranges for both and the forestry service has no quaking aspens marked in western NC but another map has a tiny bit of green indicating paper bitches. Not sure how many varieties of each there are though!

“Dia gam chuideachadh,”

“It’s no bad,” he said, but he was either too hungry to argue or simply conditioned to accept unwanted medical treatment by her mother, for he did sit down and stretch out the wounded leg.

“Tapadh leat, a gràidh,”

enjoying the rare feeling of waking slowly, rather than with the oft-experienced sensation of having been shot from a cannon.

Germain, perhaps; he’d slept at the Higgins cabin last night with Jemmy—but he wasn’t an early riser by temperament any more than I was.

I was seeing it again, as vivid in my mind’s eye as it had been in the shadows of my bed at L’Hôpital des Anges, when I had miscarried Faith and been dying of puerperal fever. When Master Raymond had laid his hands on me and I had seen the bones in my arm glow blue through my flesh.

“From what’s left of it, I presume that is—or was—a deer. Did you actually tear it apart with your bare hands?”

“Unless your mother kens otherwise, he’s the only brother ye’ve got,” Jamie assured her. “Aye, William. Jesus, Sassenach, ye’re worse than the bear!”

“Don’t do it,” he advised the insect, in Gaelic. “You’ll end up as a tonic, or ground to powder.”

Whenever he thought of Jane, he saw her in his mind, alone and abandoned in black night, her face stark white, dead by the light of her only candle. Dead by her own hand, and the church said thus damned, but he stubbornly prayed for her soul anyway. They couldn’t stop him.

It was a dreadful memory, but one he didn’t want to forget. Mammaidh, he thought, his mother coming suddenly to mind. Look after my bonnie lad, will ye?

Continental troops at Monmouth and had been with General Washington six months earlier, at Middlebrook Encampment—the

accused William of cheating at cards,

Whether he did it not, like father like son♠️♥️♣️♦️🃏

he wasn’t used to losing fights and the thought of simply slinking off like a whipped dog wasn’t on, either.

William breathed, twice, in order to avoid saying anything rash.

Progress!!

the real Eau de Cologne,

Does diana mean the Original Eau de Cologne 4711? If so, I have some. No idea LJG wore it.

He’d escaped the noose largely because of his skill at cursing in Latin, which had disconcerted the major long enough for William to identify himself, his ex-regiment, and a list of prominent army officers who would vouch for him, beginning with General Clinton (God, where was Clinton now?).

the last William had heard of Washington’s movements he was arsing about in the mountains of New Jersey.

“So I understand. To the, um, merry widow of a Scotch rebel general.

“But there’s very likely a reason why they’re called gallberries.”

Inconsistency.....

Mack the Knife is back in town.”

Lol

poking hastily at her broad-brimmed straw hat, worn sedately over a cap. God forbid the preacher’s wife should give scandal to the faithful…

that your mother is Claire Fraser, aye?”

Trouble.......

“As Mama says…Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

He lacked Jamie’s creativity in cursing but was making up for it in volume.

His shoulders were complaining; the thought of his knees joining in made him stretch his back and sigh.

Aww aging sucks, my dear

He had a feeling that he’d have liked to meet the fellow whilst standing in his own house with men at his back, but he had a stronger feeling that he wanted to get between the man and Claire.

she was transparent as a bottle of gin.

Forget Me Not?

He disliked being threatened, he disliked being condescended to, and he very much disliked being loomed at by a man larger than himself.

“Aye. Ye should ha’ seen the carry-on when Claire insisted on scalding Amy’s privy wi’ boiling water and lye soap and pourin’ turpentine into it after the Crombie lad left.” His shoulders rose toward his ears in memory. “If she was to do that every time we had sick folk in our privy, we’d all be shitting in the woods, too.”

Good lord, points for living in the present over the past!

“As it is,” he said, catching up with Jamie, “the last time I saw Lallybroch was…a bit earlier than that.”

“My father. Ye said—my family. He…” His voice died.

“You felt—I felt—as though…if this man was on my side, then things would be all right.” “Everyone felt that about him,” Jamie said softly, looking down.

was. The summoning of the dead, when those who loved them spoke of them.

But as Roger had said, this wasn’t about his own search for son and father. This was about what he owed to another father and another son. To the shade of Brian Dhu—and to Jamie.

“She told ye everything, then.” Jamie’s expression hadn’t changed much, but his face had gone pale.

“And if ye’d killed him?” he said quietly. “If I hadna been an outlaw, I’d not have been near Craigh na Dun, and in bad need of a healer, on that day when…” One eyebrow lifted.

“Dinna fash, then. I willna let Jenny kill ye.

If we’d not chosen to try to stop Charles Stuart…it would have been different for us, at least, if not for the Highlands. I’d maybe have kept Claire by me. If I’d not gone to fight Jack Randall in the Bois de Boulogne, would I have two daughters now?”

“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.”

Prepare her, how? he wondered. Say, “D’ye mind a man who came to Lallybroch forty years ago, lookin’ for his son? Ye don’t? Oh. Well, he’s here…only…”