#claire and jamie

kiss me~

He turned to me, wordless, with a quiet ferocity that I might have thought the hunger of desire long stifled—but knew now for simple desperation. I sought no pleasure for myself; I wanted only to give him comfort. But opening to him, urging him, some deep wellspring opened too, and I cleaved to him in a sudden need as blind and desperate as his own.

We clung tight together, shuddering, heads buried in each other’s hair, unable to look at each other, unable to let go. Slowly, as the spasms died away, I became aware of things outside our own small mortal coil, and realized that we lay in the midst of strangers, naked and helpless, shielded only by darkness.

And yet we were alone, completely. We had the privacy of Babel; there was a conversation going on at the far end of the longhouse, but its words held no meaning. It might as well have been the hum of bees.

Smoke from the banked fire wavered up outside the sanctuary of our bed, fragrant and insubstantial as incense. It was dark as a confessional inside the cubicle; I could see no more of Jamie than the faint curve of light that rimmed his shoulder, a transient gleam in the locks of his hair.

“Jamie, I’m sorry,” I said softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Who else?” he said, with some bleakness.

“Everyone. No one. Stephen Bonnet, himself. But not you.”

“Bonnet?” His voice was blank with surprise. “What has he to do with it?” “Well…everything,” I said, taken aback. “Er…doesn’t he?”

He rolled halfway off me, brushing hair out of his face.

“Stephen Bonnet is a wicked creature,” he said precisely, “and I shall kill him at the first opportunity I have. But I dinna see how I can blame him for my own failings as a man.”

“What on earth are you talking about? What failings?”

He didn’t answer right away, but bent his head, a humped shadow in the dark. His legs were still entangled with mine; I could feel the tension of his body, knotted in his joints, rigid in the hollows of his thighs.

“I hadna thought ever to be so jealous of a dead man,” he whispered at last. “I shouldna have thought it possible.”

“Of a dead man?” My own voice rose slightly, with astonishment, as it finally dawned on me. “Of Frank?”

He lay still, half on top of me. His hand touched the bones of my face, hesitant.

“Who else? I have been worm-eaten wi’ it, all these days of riding. I see his face in my mind, waking and sleeping. Ye

did say he looked like Jack Randall, no?”

I gathered him tight against myself, pressing his head down so that his ear was near my mouth. Thank God I hadn’t

mentioned the ring to him—but had my face, my traitorous, transparent face, somehow given away that I thought of it? “How?” I whispered to him, squeezing hard. “How could you think of such a thing?”

He broke loose, rising on one elbow, his hair falling down over my face in a mass of flaming shadows, the firelight

sparking gold and crimson through it.

“How could I not?” he demanded. “Ye heard her, Claire; ye ken well what she said to me!”

“Brianna?”

“She said she would gladly see me in hell, and sell her own soul to have her father back—her real father.” He swallowed; I heard the sound of it, above the murmur of distant voices.

“I keep thinking he would not have made such a mistake. He would have trusted her; he would have known that she…I

keep thinking that Frank Randall was a better man than I am. She thinks so.” His hand faltered, then settled on my shoulder, squeezing tight. “I thought…perhaps ye felt the same, Sassenach.”

“Fool,” I whispered, and didn’t mean him. I ran my hands down the long slope of his back, digging my fingers into the firmness of his buttocks. “Wee idiot. Come here.”

He dropped his head, and made a small sound against my shoulder that might have been a laugh.

“Aye, I am. Ye dinna mind it so much, though?”

“No.” His hair smelt of smoke and pinesap. There were still bits of needles caught in it; one pricked smooth and sharp

against my lips.

“She didn’t mean it,” I said.

“Aye, she did,” he said, and I felt him swallow the thickness in his throat. “I heard her.”

“I heard you both.” I rubbed slowly between his shoulder blades, feeling the faint traces of the old scars, the thicker,

more recent welts left by the bear’s claws. “She’s just like you; she’ll say things in a temper she’d never say in cold blood. You didn’t mean all the things you said to her, did you?”

“No.” I could feel the tightness in him lessening, the joints of his body loosening, yielding reluctantly to the persuasion of my fingers. “No, I didna mean it. Not all of it.”

“Neither did she.”

I waited a moment, stroking him as I had stroked Brianna, when she was small, and afraid.

“You can believe me,” I whispered. “I love you both.”

He sighed, deeply, and was quiet for a moment.

“If I can find the man and bring him back to her. If I do—d’ye think she’ll forgive me one day?”

“Yes,” I said. “I know it.”

On the other side of the partition, I heard the small sounds of lovemaking begin; the shift and sigh, the murmured

words that have no language.

“You have to go.” Brianna had said to me. “You’re the only one who can bring him back.” It occurred to me for the first time that perhaps she hadn’t been speaking of Roger.

Diana Gabaldon

Drums Of Autumn

“Brianna,” he said quietly behind her. She didn’t answer, didn’t move. He made a small snorting noise—anger, impatience?.Say it,” she said, and the words hurt her throat, as though she’d swallowed some jagged object.

It was beginning to rain again; fresh spatters slicked the marble in front of her, and she could feel the icy pat! of drops

that struck through her hair.

“I will bring him home to you,” Jamie Fraser said, still quiet, “or I will not come back myself.”

Drums Of Autumn

Diana Gabaldon

What angel will free you from sadness

and you will wake up a beautiful day

without memory of what afflicted you

and he will whisper in your ear: “Listen and stop

your crying In my arms, it does not weigh you

the slowness of time nor the impious

betrayal of men. You’re mine,

you are no longer of this vain world prey.

Peek into this bright window

for your ornate happiness. Already the pain

it withered like a long flower

whose wisdom finally heals you

when it dissolves because it becomes

in dust, in illusion, in another fate ”.

Silvina Ocampo

Twelve months, four seasons, a happy heart and dreamy eyes…

The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of dreams. May the New Year bring you many dreams and beautiful satisfactions!!

#HappyNewYear2019

#Outlander

‪Teach us to value eternal things above all‬

to find the joy hidden by generosity

to know the peace of distant hills

to experience the joy of giving of heart

to remember this Christmas that the only thing that can be preserved is what is given

Dear Friends #MerryChristmas

#Outlander #Brianna #Roger #CraighNaDun

“Such a mother, such a daughter” … the gifts are always inherited and the blood ties are never broken …

Throbbing the new episode #DownTheRabbitHole

#Outlander #TheCompanyWeKeep #TheFieryCross

“I dinna want ye to bear another child. I wouldna risk your loss, Sassenach,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “Not for a dozen bairns. I’ve daughters and sons, nieces and nephews, grandchildren—weans enough.”

He looked at me directly then, and spoke softly.

“But I’ve no life but you, Claire.”

He swallowed audibly, and went on, eyes fixed on mine.

“I did think, though … if ye do want another child … perhaps I could still give ye one.”

Brief tears blurred my eyes. It was cold in the lean-to, and our fingers were stiff. I fumbled my hand into his, squeezing tight.

Even as we had spoken, my mind had been busy, envisioning possibilities, difficulties, blessings. I did not need to think further, for I knew the decision had made itself. A child was a temptation of the flesh, as well as of the spirit; I knew the bliss of that unbounded oneness, as I knew the bittersweet joy of seeing that oneness fade as the child learned itself and stood alone.

But I had crossed some subtle line. Whether it was that I was born myself with some secret quota embodied in my flesh, or only that I knew my sole allegiance must be given elsewhere now … I knew. As a mother, I had the lightness now of effort complete, honor satisfied. Mission accomplished.

I leaned my forehead against his chest and spoke into the shadowed cloth above his heart.

No,” I said softly. “But, Jamie … I so love you.”

#DianaGabaldon

Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?”

There was the briefest of pauses, and I felt Jamie jerk slightly, taken by surprise. I squeezed his arm, and saw the firelight gleam on the gold ring on my hand.

“Oh. I do, to be sure!” he said. Brianna turned her head and smiled at him, her eyes dark with love. He gave her back the smile, then blinked, clearing his throat, and squeezed my hand hard.

I felt a slight tightening of the throat myself, as they spoke their vows, remembering both of my own weddings. And Jocasta? I wondered. She had been married three times; what echoes of the past did she hear in these words?

“I, Roger Jeremiah, take thee, Brianna Ellen, to be my wedded wife …”

The light of memory shone on most of the faces around the fire. The Bugs stood close together, looking at each other with identical gazes of soft devotion. Mr. Wemyss, standing by his daughter, bowed his head and closed his eyes, a look of mingled joy and sadness on his face, no doubt thinking of his own wife, dead these many years.

“In plenty and in want …”

“In joy and in sorrow …”

“In sickness and in health …”

Lizzie’s face was rapt, eyes wide at the mystery being carried out before her. How soon might it be her turn, to stand before witnesses and make such awesome promises?

Jamie reached across and took my right hand in his, his fingers linking with mine, and the silver of my ring shone red in the glow of the flames. I looked up into his face and saw the promise spoken in his eyes, as it was in mine.

“As long as we both shall live.”

Slàinte!“ he echoed them-then tipped the cup, so that a little of the brandy fell into the flames, where it hissed and burned blue for an instant’s time.

He lowered the cup, and paused for a moment, head bent. He lifted his head then, and raised the cup toward Archie Hayes, who stood across the fire from

him, round face unreadable, fire sparking from his silver gorget and his father’s brooch. "While we mourn the loss of those who died, we must also pay tribute to you who fought and suffered with equal valor-and survived.”

“Slàinte!” came the salute, louder this time with the rumble of male voices. Jamie closed his eyes for an instant, then opened them, looking toward Brianna, who stood with Lizzie and Marsali, Jemmy in her arms. The rawness and strength of his features stood out by contrast with the round-faced innocence of the children, the gentleness of the young mothers-though even in their delicacy, I thought, the firelight showed the seams of Scottish granite in their bones.

“We pay tribute to our women,” he said, lifting the cup in turn to Brianna, to Marsali, and then, turning, to me. A brief smile touched his lips. “For they are our strength. And our revenge upon our enemies will be at the last the revenge of the cradle. Sainte!”

Amid the shouts of the crowd, he drained the wooden cup, and threw it into the fire, where it lay dark and round for a moment, then burst all at once into brilliant flame.

Thig a seo!’ he called, putting out his right hand to me, Thig a seo, a Shorcha, nighean Eanruig, neart mo chridhe. ` Come to me, he said. Come to me Claire, daughter of Henry, strength of my heart. Scarcely feeling my feet or those I stumbled over, I made my way to him, and clasped his hand, his grip cold but strong on my fingers.

I saw him turn his head; was he looking for Bree? But no-he stretched out his other hand toward Roger…

Diana Gabaldon

The Fiery Cross

He was gnawing his fist at the moment, with a ferocious scowl of concentration, and with his soft fuzz of red-gold plush, he looked like no one so much as Jamie himself. “Mm. So why all the insistence on having Roger vetted by a priest?”

“Well, they’ll be married in any case,” he said logically. “I want the wee lad baptized a Catholic, though.” He laid a large hand gently on Jemmy’s head, thumb smoothing the tiny red brows. “So if I made a bit of a fuss about MacKenzie, I thought they’d be pleased to agree about an gille ruadh here, aye? ”

I laughed, and pulled a fold of blanket up around Jemmy’s ears. “And I thought Brianna had you figured out! ”

“So does she,” he said, with a grin. He bent suddenly and kissed me.

His mouth was soft and very warm. He tasted of bread and butter, and he smelled strongly of fresh leaves and unwashed male, ivith just the faintest trace of effluvium of diaper.

“Oh, that’s nice,” I said with approval. “Do it again.”

The wood around us was still, in the way of woods. No bird, no beast, just the sough of leaves above and the rush of water underfoot. Constant movement, constant sound-and at the center of it all, a perfect peace. There were a good many people on the mountain, and most of them not that far awayyet just here, just now, we might have been alone on Jupiter.

I opened my eyes and sighed, tasting honey. Jamie smiled at me, and brushed a fallen yellow leaf from my hair. The baby lay in my arms, a heavy, warm weight, the center of the universe.

Neither of us spoke, not wishing to disturb the stillness. It was like beiniz at the tip of a spinning top, I thought-a whirl of events and people going on all round, and a step in one direction or another would plunge us back into that spinning frenzy, but here at the very center-there was peace.

I reached up and brushed a scatter of maple seeds from his shoulder, He seized my hand, and brought it to his mouth with a sudden fierceness that startled me. And yet his lips were tender, the tip of his tongue warm on the fleshy mound at the base of my thumb-the mount of Venus, it’s called, love’s seat.

He raised his head, and I felt the sudden chill on my hand, where the ancient scar showed white as bone. A letter “J”, cut in the skin, his mark on me.

The Fiery Cross

Diana Gabaldon

#Outlander #Bestmoments to remember

“…when I heard you cry out. I would have killed a dozen men to get to you, Claire.” His voice cracked.

“And when ye screamed, I went to you, armed wi’ nothing but an empty gun and my two hands.” Jamie was speaking a little more calmly now, but his eyes were still wild with pain and rage. I was silent. Unsettled by the horror of my encounter with Randall, I had not at all appreciated the desperate courage it had taken for him to come into the fort after me.

He turned away suddenly, shoulders slumping.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “Aye, you’re quite right.” Suddenly the rage was gone from his voice, replaced by a tone I had never heard in him before, even in the extremities of physical pain.

“My pride is hurt. And my pride is about all I’ve got left to me.” He leaned his forearms against a rough-barked pine and let his head drop onto, them, exhausted. His voice was so low I could barely hear him.

“You’re tearin’ my guts out, Claire.”

Something very similar was happening to my own. Tentatively, I came up behind him. He didn’t move, even when I slipped my arms around his waist. I rested my cheek on his bowed back.

“I’m sorry,” I said, simply. “Please forgive me.” He turned then, to hold me tightly. I felt his trembling ease bit by bit. “Forgiven, lass,” he murmured at last into my hair. Releasing me, he looked down at me, sober and formal.

“I’m sorry too,” he said. “I’ll ask your pardon for what I said; I was sore, and I said more nor I meant. Will ye forgive me too?” After his last speech, I hardly felt that there was anything for me to forgive, but I nodded and pressed his hands. “Forgiven.”

In an easier silence, we mounted again. The road was straight for a long way here, and far ahead I could see a small cloud of dust that must be Dougal and the other men.

Jamie was back with me again; he held me with one arm as we rode, and I felt safer. But there was still a vague sense of injury and constraint; things were not yet healed between us. We had forgiven each other, but our words still hung in memory, not to be forgotten.

Outlander

Diana Gabaldon

_Strong, isn’t he?” I said, and realized that I was crying only when I tasted the salt of my tears running into the corners of my smile.

Sometime later, with mother and child cleaned up and made comfortable, food and drink brought for Brianna, and a last check assuring that all was well, I walked out into the deep shadows of the upper gallery. I felt pleasantly detached from reality, as though I were walking a foot or so off the ground.

Jamie had gone down to tell John; he was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. He drew me into his arms without a word and kissed me; as he let me go I saw the deep red crescents of Brianna’s nailmarks on his hands, not yet faded.

“Ye did brawly too,” he whispered to me. Then the joy in his eyes bloomed bright and flowered in a face-splitting grin. “Grannie!”

Diana Gabaldon

Drums Of Autumn

_Auntie,” he said hesitantly. “Will ye not forgive him?”

“Forgive him?” I stared at him. “For what? For Roger?”

He grimaced.

“No. It was a grievous mistake, but we would do the same again, thinking matters as we did. No—for Bonnet.”

“For Stephen Bonnet? How can he possibly think I blame him for that? I’ve never said such a thing to him!” And I had been too busy thinking that he blamed me, to even consider it.

Ian scratched a hand through his hair.

“Well…do ye not see, Auntie? He blames himself for it. He has, ever since the man robbed us on the river; and now wi’ what he’s done to my cousin…” He shrugged, looking mildly embarrassed. “He’s fair eaten up with it, and knowing that you’re angry wi’ him—”

“But I’m not angry with him! I thought he was angry with me, because I didn’t tell him Bonnet’s name right away.”

“Och.” Ian looked as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or look distressed. “Well, I daresay it would ha’ saved us a bit of trouble if ye had, but no, I’m sure it’s not that, Auntie. After all, by the time Cousin Brianna told ye, we’d already met yon MacKenzie on the mountainside and done him a bit of no good.”

New video about J and C