Bree seemed to be wondering, too; I saw her with Roger, in the shade of a big chinkapin oak, in close discussion. He shook his head, though, smiled, and tugged her cap straight. She’d dressed her part, as a modest minister’s wife, and smoothed her skirt and bodice. “Two months, and she’ll be comin’ to kirk in buckskins,” Jamie said, following the direction of my gaze. “What odds?” I inquired. “Three to one. Ye want to wager, Sassenach?” “Gambling on Sunday? You’re going straight to hell, Jamie Fraser.” “I dinna mind. Ye’ll be there afore me. Askin’ me the odds, forbye…Besides, going to church
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