Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
13th May 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #forallyoumotherbearsoutthere #HappyMothersDay !
Mandy clung to her neck, but Brianna set her firmly on the stairs.
“Mummy wants you to stay here, _a chuisle_. I have to put Mister Rob someplace safe, where he can’t do anything bad.”
“No!” Mandy cried, seeing her mother head toward the crumpled Cameron, but Brianna waved in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, picked up the cricket bat just in case, and nudged her prisoner in the ribs with a cautious toe. He wobbled, but didn’t stir. Just in case, she moved round behind him and prodded him rudely between the buttocks with the cricket bat, which made Mandy giggle. He didn’t move, and she drew a deep breath for the first time in what seemed like hours.
Going back to the stairs, she gave Mandy the bat to hold and smiled at her. She pushed a strand of sweaty hair back behind her ear.
“OK. We’re going to put Mister Rob in the priest’s hole. You go and open the door for Mummy, all right?”
“I hit him?” Mandy asked hopefully, clutching the bat.
“No, I don’t think you need to do that, darling. Just open the door.”
Her work-tote was hanging from the coat-rack, the big roll of duct-tape easily to hand. She trussed Cameron’s ankles and wrists, a dozen turns each, then bent, and clutching him by the ankles, dragged him toward the swinging baize door at the far end of the hall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house.
He began to stir as they negotiated the big table in the kitchen, and she dropped his feet.
“Mandy,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as possible. “I need to have a grown-up talk with Mister Rob. Give me the bat. Then you go right on out to the mud-room and wait for me there, OK?”
“Mummy…” Mandy was shrinking back against the sink cabinet, eyes huge and fixed on the moaning Cameron.
“Go, Mandy. Right now. Mummy will be there before you can count to a hundred. Start counting now. One…two…three…” She moved between Cameron and Mandy, motioning firmly with her free hand.
Reluctantly, Mandy moved, murmuring, “Four…five…six…seven…” and disappeared through the back kitchen door. The kitchen was warm from the Aga, and despite her lack of clothes, Bree was still streaming with sweat. She could smell herself, feral and acrid, and found that the smell made her feel stronger. She wasn’t sure she’d ever truly understood the term “bloodthirsty” before, but she did now.
“Where’s my son?” she said to Cameron, keeping a wary distance in case he tried to roll at her. “Answer me, you piece of crap, or I’ll beat the shit out of you and then call the police.”