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

by Diana Gabaldon

THE MACKENZIES ARE HERE

yeeeee !!

Later, with both of them adults and her married, him divorced from his Indian wife, a sense of physical attraction had been silently acknowledged between them—and just as silently dismissed.

Dreadful as the memory of that night was, he kept it, recalled it deliberately. William had come to him for help, and he treasured that. The sense of the two of them, pursuing a lost cause through a rainy, dangerous night, standing together in desolation by the light of that candle, too late. 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?

“Richardson threatened to make it known that Lord John is a sodomite.”

Jamie left off what he was thinking, then, and turned his head to look at Roger. “I missed ye, Roger Mac,” he said.

“If the author thought it was worth his writing it down, then it’s worth my reading it. I dinna mean to miss a single word.”

“Aye, I forgive ye, ye bloody wee bugger,” he said to John Grey, and felt the lightening of soul he’d been unconsciously seeking.

“Well, I dinna ken if I forgive ye or not, Englishman,” he murmured, opening the cover and taking a cleansing breath of cedar. “Or you me, but let’s see what ye have to say to me, then.”

“Besides,” Jamie said, “William called her Frances. When he gave her to me.”

I thought of Frank’s face; his photograph, drifting through my mind—those familiar hazel eyes behind the black-rimmed glasses. Earnest, intelligent, scholarly…honest.

VOULEZ-VOUS COUCHER AVEC MOI

“Even so—it isn’t a matter of kingly whim, either. Grounds for revoking a peerage are rather limited, I believe. The only one that comes to mind is engaging in a rebellion against the Crown.” “You don’t say.”

“My body is out from my control,” he said softly. “She was the half of my body—the very half of my soul.”

Guide him, he thought, between the words of the prayer. Give him good judgment. Help him to be a good man. Show him his way…and Holy Mother…keep him safe, for your own Son’s sake…“World

Rachel put on a brave face when Jamie bent and kissed her forehead in farewell. “Fare thee well, daughter,” he said softly. “I will see thee safe again.” A smile creased his eyes, and brief as it was, it gave her soul enough peace that she could smile back.

to carry

“To liberty, mes chers. Sauerkraut and muskets!”

“My braw lass.”

“You are the son of le Comte Saint Germain,”

“And your mother’s name was Amélie Élise LeVigne Beauchamp.” Roger heard Fergus’s sudden intake of breath.

“J’ai connu une jeune fille de ce nom Amélie,” Fergus said. “Mais elle est morte.”

say, she was covered, even to her feet,

“Les enfants savent qu’il ne faut rien toucher près de la porte,”

And among the remembered bits of dreams recalled, he saw a face. Black-rimmed spectacles, an open, searching face from the back of a book… A face that rose above his own, without spectacles, searching, trying to fix his gaze, to make him look, look at what—

“I will go with you,” the Sachem said, bowing. “Wherever you wish to go.”

and Young Ian stepped out, holding a little boy who was sucking his thumb and regarding me warily.

❤️

“But I chose his name,” she said, ignoring the muddy paw prints on her skirt. “He’s called Skénnen.” “Which means?” “Peace.”

“You shouldn’t worry,” he assured me. “He is a man who loved you; he means you no harm.”

“What is strange,” he said as I rose, “is that this man often follows your husband, too.”

And, like him, perhaps I send you back, knowing—as he knew of me—that he will protect you with his life.

IN WHICH WILLIAM SPILLS HIS GUTS, MOSTLY

He saw her hair and Mandy’s for a moment, their mad curls swirled together, and felt such love that he kent if he died just then, it would be fine.

“My real father was a soldier, you know, and he left me a comfortable sum of money, with the stipulation that I should use it to buy a commission—if I should turn out to be a boy, that is. He died before I was born.”

“My mother wanted me to be a clergyman, poor woman.” Denys shrugged.

With my Deepest Respect and Affection, Your Brother (damn, I’ve never written that before, either),

“Marry me,” he said, instead.

“You mean a marriage blanc, I suppose?” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “Separate lives, separate beds?” “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?”

“Ye’ll take care of her, aye?” he said at last, speaking soft to the bees. “If she comes to you and says I’m gone, ye’ll feed her and take heed for her?” He stood a moment longer, listening to the ceaseless hum. “I trust ye with her,” he said at last,

ok i’m scared

To my Natural Son, William James Fraser, known also as William Clarence Henry George Ransom, known also as the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere… He bit the end of his quill, tasting bitter ink, then wrote: …one hundred Pounds in Gold, the three Casks of Whisky marked with JFS, and my green Bible. May he find Succor and Wisdom in its Pages.

“Tha gràdh agam ort,

Jamie looked after them, then turned suddenly and pressed his hand over the cross on Roger’s breast. “Pray for me,” he said in a low voice, and then was gone.

“Ifrinn!” He jerked, and looked down. The large snake that had bitten him was writhing round his leg in panic, and he flung himself away, kicking out in his own panic. The first bullet struck him in the chest.

“Dinna…fash, Sass…” He wheezed deeply. With tremendous effort, he opened his eyes and turned his head enough to look up at me. “I’m…no…afraid,” he whispered. “I’m not.”

“For…give me…” he said, his voice no more than a thread, and I didn’t know whether he spoke to me or to God. “Oh, Jesus,” I said, tasting cold iron on my tongue. “Jamie—please. Please don’t go.” His eyelids fluttered, and closed.

“Listen!” I said, and shook his arm, hard. “You think you’re going to die by inches, but you’re not. You’re going to live by inches. With me.” “Auntie, he’s dead.” Ian’s voice was low, rough with tears, and his big hand warm on my shoulder. “Come. Stand up now. Let me take him. We’ll bring him home.”

wtf

BLUE. IT’S NOT empty. It’s beautiful.

“Ye can’t die, mate. Presbyterians don’t do Last Rites.”

“The battle’s over. You’re not dead.” He regarded me for a long moment, his mouth slightly open. “Not…yet,” he said, in what I thought was a rather grudging tone. “We’re going home,” I said. He breathed for a minute, then said, “Good,” and closed his eyes again.

William snatched off his hat and bowed from the saddle. He was breathing hard, his dark hair was pasted to his head with sweat, and there were hectic patches of red across his broad cheekbones. He gulped air, his eyes fixed on Jamie. “Sir,” he said, and swallowed. “I need your help.”

woooooo!!!!!