Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
6th Feb 2013 from Twitlonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #settingabadexample
“You did it!” Germain backed up fast, but didn’t back down. He glowered up at his father, face flushed red with righteous indignation. “Ye told me so yourself, a dozen times or more! How you went to war with Grand-pere, and stabbed a man in the leg, and rode on a cannon when the soldiers dragged it back from Prestonpans—and ye weren’t even as old as I am now when ye did all that!”
Fergus paused for an instant, regarding his offspring through narrowed eyes, obviously regretting his previous prolixity. He breathed steadily through his nose for a moment, then lowered his hand.
“That was different,” he said, evenly. “I was milord’s employee at the time, not his son. I had a duty to attend him; he had no responsibility to prevent me doing so.”
Germain blinked, frowning uncertainly.
“You weren’t his son?”
“Of course not,” Fergus said, exasperated. “If I told you about Prestonpans, surely I have told you that I was an orphan in Paris when I met your grand-pere. He hired me to pick pockets for him.”