Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
5th Jan 2013 from Twitlonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutinFall2013 #RogeratthegarrisoninFortWilliam #brainworms
While Colonel Rumsford occasionally directed a question to Roger, he was for the most part able to leave them to it, and gradually relaxed. The rain had passed, and a beam of sun from the window rested on his shoulders, warming him from without as the whisky warmed him within. He felt for the first time that he might be accomplishing something in his search, rather than merely flailing desperately round the Highlands.
_And they can arrest the fellow_, John Murray had remarked, anent the soldiers and Rob Cameron. A comforting thought, that.
The clan angle, though…he didn’t _think_ Cameron could have accomplices here, but—he straightened in his chair. _He_ had an accomplice from this time, didn’t he? Buck had the gene, and while it was clearly less frequent—well, he _thought_ it was less frequent (an unnerving realization in itself)—less frequent to travel forward, he’d done it. If Cameron was a traveler, he’d got the gene from an ancestor who could also have done it.
Chill was running through his veins like iced wine, killing the whisky’s warmth, and a sinister tangle of cold worms came writhing into his mind. Could it be a conspiracy, maybe, between Buck and Rob Cameron? Or Buck and some ancient Cameron from his own time?
He’d never thought Buck was telling the whole truth about himself or his own journey through the stones. Could all this have been a plot to lure Roger away from Lallybroch—away from Bree?
Now the worms were bloody _eating_ his brain. He picked up his cup and threw back the rest of the whisky at a gulp to kill them.