He paused, head bent, looking down at the ground, where a small pile of fresh mule apples marked Clarence’s mood. “Ye healed me of something a good deal worse, Sassenach,” he said, and touched my hand gently. He’d touched me with his right hand, the maimed one. “I didn’t,” I protested. “You did that yourself—you had to. All I did was…er…” “Drug me wi’ opium and fornicate me back to life? Aye, that.” “It wasn’t fornication,” I said, rather primly—though my hand turned, my fingers lacing tight with his. “We were married.” “Aye, it was,” he said, and his mouth tightened, as well as his grip. “It
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