An Echo in the Bone (Outlander, #7)

by Diana Gabaldon

just like Laoghaire to keep a lame servant for the express purpose of embarrassing him.

*snort*

What was it about him that a hapless woman such as Laoghaire MacKenzie should bring out every wicked, shameful trait he possessed?

But Jenny would evoke some bit of bad temper or hasty language from him, fan the flames ’til he was roaring, and then extinguish him neatly with a word, ...

“I’ve come to say sorry to ye,” he said bluntly. “I said it before, and ye shot me. D’ye want to listen this time?”

her lip curled in scorn at his good ruffled shirt, which he’d worn to show her respect, God damn it!—“flauntin’

“flauntin’ your wealth and playin’ the great yin wi’ your ancient hussy foamin’ in her silks and satins on your arm, is it?

“When Dougal made ye wed the Sassenach whore, I thought I’d die. But I thought maybe you felt like dyin’, too—and it wasna like that at all, was it?” “Ah … no,” he said, feeling awkward and foolish. He’d seen nothing of her feelings then. Hadn’t seen a thing but Claire.

“Hush your gob!” she shrieked, and, picking up a stone watering pot from the bench by the shed, hurled it at his head. He hadn’t expected that—Claire threw things at him frequently, but Laoghaire never had—and was nearly brained; it struck him in the shoulder as he ducked aside.

The man was grunting, whimpering, and gurgling, and he’d drawn back his knee to give the bugger one in the balls to settle the matter when he became dimly aware of Laoghaire, screeching and beating at his head.

He felt something stinging run into his eyes and, wiping it away, found that his forehead was bleeding; Joey the openmouthed had evidently inadvertently bitten him when he’d butted the man. He grimaced with disgust, feeling the tooth marks in his forehead,

Meanwhile, foggy as his head felt, matters on the ground in front of him were becoming clearer by the moment. A good mistress might try to comfort a wounded servant, but he’d yet to hear a woman call a servant mo chridhe. Let alone kiss him passionately on the mouth, getting her own face smeared with blood and snot in the process. “Mmphm,” he said.

“I hoped that,” she said, her own voice a little choked. “When we learned about the Dunbonnet, and the cave … I thought about you, alone here—and I hoped you could see the stars at night.”

come to a stop at last at the top of the high hill, where some old stone building that they called the fort had fallen down long ago.

“Does thee think he knows?” she asked abruptly. “Friend William?” “Does he know what?” “His very striking resemblance to James Fraser,” she said, letting the curtain fall. “Surely thee does not think this coincidence?” “I think it is not our business.” Denny resumed scratching with his quill.

Yet surely no two men could look so alike who did not share blood in some close degree. She had seen James Fraser many times and admired him for his tall, straight dignity, thrilling a bit at the fierceness in his face, always feeling that niggle of recognition when she saw him—but it wasn’t until William suddenly stepped out before her at the camp that she realized why. Yet how could an English lord be in any way related to a Scottish Jacobite, a pardoned criminal? For Ian had told her something of his own family history—though not enough; not nearly enough.

Besides, William thought that his father was actually relieved to finally know what it was that Dottie had been up to. He hadn’t said anything directly to William regarding William’s own role in her adventure—yet. He would.

“Henry will be fine. I know it. Denny is a great physician, and Mrs. Fraser … she’s … er …” In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what Mrs. Fraser was, but she scared him a little.

Because now she was all that Mandy had.

He could see her heart in her throat the first time she spoke French to a real Frenchman;

But the boulanger understood her—Brest was full of foreigners, and her peculiar accent roused no particular interest—and the sheer delight on her face when the man took her penny and handed her a baguette filled with cheese and olives made Jamie want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“He understood me!” she said, clutching him by the arm as they left. “Jamie, he understood me! I spoke French to him, and ...

He smiled at her excitement, patting her hand. “Well done, a nighean.”

“Jamie! I can buy anything! By myself!” He couldn’t help sharing her joy at thus rediscovering her independence, even though it gave him a small twinge. He’d been enjoying the novel sensation of having her rely on him.

“Fuck. Who cares?” “I do,” Jamie said between clenched teeth. “And so will you, ye wee arse-wipe. Where is she, and why are ye not on her?”

I carried her no longer—but she was still there. Perhaps reachable.

Quaker Plain Speech The Religious Society of Friends was founded around 1647 by George Fox. As part of the Society’s belief in the equality of all men before God, they did not use honorific titles (such as “Mr./Mrs.,” “General/Colonel,” etc.), and used “plain speech” in addressing everyone.