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

by Diana Gabaldon

“I try to be. But war’s war, Sassenach. Honor only makes it a bit easier to live wi’ yourself, afterward.”

“This is High John the Conqueror,” he said. “My great-grandmama gives him to me, and says to me it is man’s medicine and will heal me if I am hurt or sick. You put this into your moco before you put your hands on me, please.”

“A horse kicked me,” he said, reluctantly. “It’s nothing, Sassenach.” “Ha,” I said, taking my hands off him. “I’ve heard that one before. Show me.”

“Yes, please, Great-auntie Witch,” he said.

The Sachem was one thing; the inhabitants of the Ridge were something else. I couldn’t stop the more suspicious-minded tenants thinking—or saying—that I was a witch, but it was another thing to have my own great-nephew saying so in public.

Think, Ian.....

So she’d met her brother, at last.

Well they "met" previously, but only she knew the significance.

I recognized the commission as being merely the shimmering fly on the surface of his pond. Jamie, who probably knew John a lot better than I did, quite clearly saw that, too—and yet he’d simply picked up the baited hook, examined it, and then deliberately swallowed it. Yes, he’d needed guns, urgently. Yes, he wanted to restore Germain to his parents. To some extent, he probably also wanted Roger to be ordained. But I knew what he wanted most, and knew that John wanted it just as badly. They wanted William to be happy.

Brianna was a part of his identity and possibly something for him to hang on to while he fitted the rest of his life together.

Even more than I would have wanted to see the meeting between William and Bree—each knowing who the other was—I longed to see Jamie’s face watching such a meeting.

Man’s magic could be a useful thing, I thought, given recent events and the prospect of lots more like them.

“Do ye ken Captain Stevens’s intent in calling upon me?” “No, sir. And I don’ wish to know,” Jackson said firmly. Jamie laughed. “Likely a wise choice. I willna tell ye, then, save to say it was a personal matter between him and me.” “It looked that way.”

I’d paid no attention to the food I was holding, but the scent of bacon at close range was insistently seductive.

Here we go, hungry Claire😂🥓

It was a casual question—ostensibly, I thought, and nibbled the crispy end of a rasher—and Jackson answered it likewise.

“Well, let me give you back your High John the Conqueror,” I said, smiling as I plucked it out. “I hope you won’t need it on your journey, but just in case…” “Oh, no, madam.” He waved a slow hand at me, pushing it away. “Its magic remain with me ’cause you have healed me with it—but it is part of your magic now.”

Then I realized that he was saying something, soft and slurred, but not English. “I beg your pardon?” “I bless you,” he said, blinking drowsily. He smiled and his fingers loosened and slid free. A moment later, he was asleep.

He sat down gingerly, grimacing a little, but shook his head at my inquiring look. “I’ll do. But I’ll maybe have a dram wi’ my parritch.” I looked at him narrowly. “Have two,” I suggested, and he didn’t argue.

“Kill me,” he said, with a sigh. “Or try to,” he added, seeing my face. The corner of his mouth curled up. “Dinna fash, Sassenach. I dinna mean to let him.”

Oh, what the hell, add Ulysses to the list of those trying.

Roger Mac…”

Somehow this nickname has always annoyed me It came out of the blue and seems unneeded - no other Rogers and it's not shorter!

Yon bastard was only concerned wi’ the Scots,”

🤣🤣🤣

“I love you,” he said softly, and his hand cupped my cheek, big and warm. “As an egg loves salt. Dinna fash, mo chridhe. I’ll think o’ something else.”

Ah, romance. 🍳 and 🧂 🤣🙄

Dear Sister—

🥺❤️

Upon our most recent Meeting (near Charles Town), he looked at me oddly and remarked that he knew you. His Manner—and indeed, his saying such a Thing at all—was Peculiar in the Extreme and aroused a profound Feeling of Unease in me. I will not presume to instruct you, as I haven’t the vaguest Notion as to what Advice I should give. But I felt that I must warn you—though against What, I have no Idea. With my Deepest Respect and Affection, Your Brother (damn, I’ve never written that before, either),

she was pleased to see that William did indeed have at least some basic skill in drawing: he’d added a deep chiaroscuro to the left side of the face and quick thumb-shading to add hollows beneath the small, clever-looking eyes that…

Someone will come.

“My brother sent it to me,” she said, and smiled, despite her apparent uneasiness. “He’s right, it does feel strange to say it. ‘Brother,’ I mean.”

The shock was so great that he gaped stupidly at her for a moment, but he observed that while not gaping stupidly,

💀

“Stay away from my daughter,” the gnome said, taking a double-handed grip on his cane. “Or I shall…” His eyes narrowed, and William saw just where Amaranthus had got both eyes and expression.

Torn between annoyance and amusement, he bowed briefly.

Frequently his father's attitude...

Uncle Hal’s message—which had been dictated by Lord John, who said that Hal’s normal style of correspondence would drive any sane woman to instant flight—made

Choler choked her as efficiently as Ben had likely choked his inamorata when he saw Amaranthus looming in the doorway.

Ooops

“He got up and pushed me into his dressing room and kept me from going back into the bedroom until she’d got up and run, the filthy twat.” “Where the devil did you learn a word like that?” he asked, truly shocked. “A book of erotic poetry in Lord John’s library,”

“I yanked my ring off and tried to make him swallow it. I almost managed, too,”

“Marry me,” he said, instead.

“Marry me,” he said again, softly.

“Oh, no,” he said, and took hold of both her hands. “I definitely want to bed you. Repeatedly. What sort of marriage do you call that?” “Well, bigamy, for a start.”

Amaranthus had been first shocked and then amused by the discovery that his sprouting beard was a vivid dark red—and

Can never read about W's beard without thinking of Sam "Ginger Beard" Heughan😂

“I’m not an earl, either,” he said firmly, and her head swiveled sharply round. She stared at him. “I should have said, before,” he said. “If you were considering being a countess as part of the perquisites of marrying me, I’m afraid that’s off.”

I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not the Earl of Ellesmere anymore—if I ever was.”

“Well, whoever he was, he must have been a, um…very striking gentleman. Is that where—” She pawed vaguely at her chin, still staring at him. “Yes,” he said, not quite between his teeth. “And not ‘was’—he’s still alive.”

“Do you mean to tell me who this gentleman is?” “I hadn’t,” he admitted. “But—if you’re to marry me…” “I am not accepting your proposal. Not now. Probably not ever,” she added, giving him a look. “But even if I don’t, you should know that I wouldn’t tell anyone.” “Good of you,” he said. “His name is James Fraser. A Highland Scot, and a Jacobite—or was, I should say. He has some land in North Carolina; I visited there when I was quite young—didn’t have the slightest clue that he was…what he is.”

I have a decent small farm in Virginia that my mother—well, my stepmother, really; Lord John’s first wife—left me.”

“Lord John’s first wife?” Amaranthus stared at him. “I hadn’t thought he’d been married at all. How many wives has he had?” “Well, two that I know of.” He hesitated, but in fact, he rather enjoyed shocking her. “His second wife was—well, she still is—the wife of James Fraser, just to make things interesting.” She narrowed her eyes, looking to see if he was making game of her,

He couldn’t resist plucking it out and tucking the liberated curl behind her ear.

These Fraser men like curls, don't they?

“Mind, I doubt my father knows what Hal will do, either, but he’s used to dealing with the effects, at least.”

What His Grace calls a horsederve.”

On the other hand, this letter had a distinct smell of fish, and it wasn’t turbot.

Shit. It’s a boat.

He must be injured. That's English, not Latin😂