Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
17th Jun 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutMARCH25th #Warpaint
Ian opened the willow-bark box of deer-fat, and anointed his face and chest and shoulders with it, slowly, focusing his mind. Normally, he’d speak to the spirits of the earth as he did this, and then to his own particular saints, Michael and Brigid. But he wasn’t seeing Michael or Brigid; Brianna was still faintly with him, but what he was getting was a strong sense of his Da, which was disconcerting.
It didn’t seem respectful to be dismissing his own father. He stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes, instead, waiting to see if maybe Da had a thing to tell him.
“I hope ye’re no bringing me word of my death, aye?” he said aloud. “Because I dinna mean to die until I’ve lain wi’ Rachel, at least.”
“Well, there’s a noble goal, to be sure.” The dry voice was Uncle Jamie’s, and Ian’s eyes popped open. His uncle was standing among the trailing fronds of a river-willow, dressed in nothing but his shirt.
“Out of uniform, are ye not, uncle?” he said, though his heart had leapt in his chest like a startled deer-mouse. “General Washington willna be pleased.” Washington was a great stickler for proper uniform. Officers _must_ be dressed suitably at all times; he said the Continentals couldn’t be taken seriously as an army, did they come to the field looking and acting like a rabble in arms.
“I’m sorry to interrupt ye, Ian,” Uncle Jamie said, stepping out. The moon was nearly down; he was nay more than a ghost, bare-legged in his floating sark. “Who were ye speaking to, though?”
“Oh. My Da. He was just…there in my mind, ken? I mean, I think of him often, but it’s not sae often I feel him _with_ me. So I wondered, had he come to tell me I’d die this day.”
Jamie nodded, not seeming bothered at the thought.
“I doubt it,” he said. “Ye’re putting on your paint, aye? Getting ready, I mean.”
“Aye, I was just about to. Ye want some, too?” It was only half said in jest, and Jamie took it that way.
“I would, Ian. But I think General Washington might have me strung up by the thumbs and flogged, should I come up before him wi’ my troops and me wi’ war paint on.”