Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
29th Apr 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #triage
“Friend Jamie says he will provide us a refuge,” Denny assured him. “We’ll go as soon as—who has thee there, Dorothea?”
Dottie was standing in the back of Denzell’s wagon, stowing supplies as he handed up the bags and boxes, but had paused to talk with a young girl who had climbed up to kneel on the wagon’s seat, and was addressing Dorothea earnestly.
“It’s a woman in childbed, Denny,” she called. “Three campfires over!”
“Urgent?” Denny at once began unstrapping the pack he had just done up.
“This child says so.” Dottie straightened up and tucked her straggling hair back under her cap. “It’s her mother’s fourth; no trouble with the first three, but given the conditions…” She sidled past the baggage to the lowered tailboard, and Ian gave her a hand to hop down.
“She really wanted Mrs. Fraser,” Dottie said to Denny, _sotto-voce_. “But she’ll settle for you.” She dimpled. “Is thee flattered?”
“I see my reputation spreads like pomade on a silken pillow,” he replied tranquilly. “And thy use of plain speech inflames me. Thee had best come with me. Will thee watch the wagon, Ian?”
They made off through the maze of wagons, horses, and stray pigs—some enterprising pig farmer had driven a dozen lean hogs into camp, seeking to sell them to the quartermaster, but the pigs had taken fright at the inadvertent explosion of a musket nearby and run off among the crowd, causing mass confusion. Rollo had run one down and broken its neck; Ian had bled and eviscerated the carcass and—after giving Rollo the heart and lights-- stashed it under damp canvas, hidden beneath Denzell’s wagon. Should he meet the distraught swine-herd, he’d pay him for the beast, but he wasn’t letting it out of his sight.