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Fireflies lit the yard, drifting like green sparks among the damp, lush growth of plants. It was good to see fireflies again; he had missed them, in England—and that peculiar softness of the southern air that molded his linen to his body and made the blood throb in his fingertips. Crickets were chirping all around them, and for an instant, their song seemed to drown out everything save the sound of his pulse.
We’re starting out with Willie!!
Claire ancestor?
Dinna fash yourself. If ye’ve got to dispose of my carcass, just leave it out for the crows.”
Lol
This whole book has felt like spring compared to the last one, and this chapter really amplifies that
“Whatever it is that lives in such water is older than the notion of saints,” he assured her. “But it listens.”
Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” Ian raised a brow, looked from me to Jamie, and shook his head. “Nay wonder ye’re sae fond of her, Uncle. She must be a rare comfort to ye.” “Well,” Jamie said, his eyes fixed on his work, “she keeps takin’ me in—so I suppose she must be home.”
“Catholics don’t believe in divorce,” Bree had informed him once. “We do believe in murder. There’s always Confession, after all.”
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“If ever you find yourself in the midst of paradox, you can be sure you stand on the edge of truth,” his adoptive father had told him once. “You may not know what it is, mind,” he’d added with a smile. “But it’s there.”
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“They’re girls,” she replied briefly. “They were born in danger and will live their lives in that condition, regardless of circumstance.”
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Me 😭
This guy is Fergus’s dad
“Then I grew older still, and discovered that, after all, it was true. I am the son of a great man.” The hook touched Jamie’s hand, hard and capable. “I wish for nothing more.”
She was standing among the stones now; so many of them. A good many of the later ones were still readable, these with dates in the late 1800s. Murrays and McLachlans and McLeans, for the most part. Here and there the odd Fraser or MacKenzie.
Possibly Ian‘s daughter?
10:30. Did you see the aurora borealis when you were here, or was it too early in the Year? It is a most remarkable Sight. Snow has fallen all Day, but ceased near Sunset and the Sky has cleared. From my Window, I see a northern Exposure, and there is presently an amazing shimmer that fills the whole Sky, waves of pale blue and some green—though I have seen it to be red sometimes—that swirl like Drops of Ink spilt in Water and stirred. I cannot hear it at present, because of the Singing—someone is Playing a Fiddle in the Distance; it is a very sweet and piercing Tune—but when I have seen the
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To relieve the mind of worry, anger, fear, possession by demons—that was to comb the snakes from your hair. Very apt.
Denys Randall-Isaacs is the son of a Englishwoman named Mary Hawkins and a British army officer: one Jonathan Wolverton Randall,
He’d heard the rocks talking to themselves on the fells at Helwater.
Night had come well on, and the sky opened overhead, clear and empty and vast, moonless but brilliant with distant stars. He thought of his father’s father, dead long before his own birth, but a noted amateur astronomer. His father had often taken him—and sometimes his mother—to lie on the lawns at Helwater, to look up at the stars and name the constellations. It was a cold sight, that blue-black emptiness, and made his fevered blood tremble, but the stars were a comfort, nonetheless.
Amelie Beauchamp.”
Comte St. Germain.
Knew it!
Do women hold back the evolution of such things as freedom and other social ideals, out of fear for themselves or their children? Or do they in fact inspire such things—and the risks required to reach them—by providing the things worth fighting for? Not merely fighting to defend, either, but to propel forward, for a man wanted more for his children than he would ever have.
Daniel Morgan—a
“I’ve heard it said that a man’s reach must exceed his grasp—or what’s a heaven for?”
He even has charisma on the page
Loved all that
Much respect for Roger in this chapter.
Foreshadowing
significant. I wondered what sort of man—or woman, perhaps?—had lain here, leaving no more than an echo of their bones, so much more fragile than the enduring rocks that sheltered them.
It has to be someone relevant to the story
Lol
It was possible to leave things behind—places, people, memories—at least for a time. But places held tight to the things that had happened in them, and to come again to a place you had once lived was to be brought face-to-face with what you had done there and who you had been.
Beautiful writing
Joanie is sweet
I wasn’t expecting Claire to tell them she’s a time traveler
Why does it always have to be that rock
I think this book will end with Ian dying
This is scaring me I know there are two more or three more books in the series but I’m scared
All loss is one, and one loss becomes all, a single death the key to the gate that bars memory.
This whole section was weird
In all honesty, it might have been, he thought. The knowledge, once revealed, had torn both their lives apart, exposed them both to terrible things. It had taken his voice. Almost taken his life. Had put her in danger, gotten her raped, been responsible for her having killed a man—he hadn’t spoken to her about that; he should. He saw the weight of it in her eyes sometimes and knew it for what it was. He carried the same weight.
Perhaps forever.
This line is really interesting because when Claire left Jamie to go to Philadelphia, I was like what if they never see each other again and now later in the book, Bree and Roger are having that same discussion
Oh my gosh what if this makes Claire go back to the 20th century
Like forgiveness, it was not a thing once learned and then comfortably put aside but a matter of constant practice—to accept the notion of one’s own mortality, and yet live fully, was a paradox worthy of Socrates.
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I was wondering if this was some kind of heaven with Claire and Jamie together
In the evenings, quite often, deer come out of the forest to feed at the edges of the lawn. Now and then, though, I see a particular deer. It’s white, I suppose, but it looks as though it’s made of silver. I don’t know whether it comes only in the moonlight or whether it’s only that I cannot see it save by moonlight—but it is a sight of rare beauty.”
Relatable
Bloody?
