Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
16th Aug 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutMARCH2014 #RachelandIan #impedimentstomarriage
It was a perfectly ordinary red-brick building. Modest—no pediments, no carved stone lintels—but solid. Very solid.
Ian looked at it warily. The home of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting, the weightiest meeting in the Americas. Aye, very solid. He hoped it wasn’t about the crush him.
“Will this be like the Vatican?” he asked Rachel. “Or more like an archbishop’s palace?”
She snorted.
“Does it look like any sort of palace to thee?” She spoke normally, but he could see the pulse beat quick, in the soft spot just beneath her ear.
“It looks like a bank,” he said, and that made her laugh. She cut it short, though, glancing over her shoulder as though afraid someone might come out and scold her for it.
“They’ve been some time at it,” Ian observed. “D’ye think that’s a good sign?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “Friends talk over every possible point of consideration before they give an opinion—whether it’s a positive one or not.” There was the barest hesitation before “not,” but he heard it, and reaching out, pulled out her hatpin, gently straightened her straw hat, which had slid a little askew, and pushed the pin back in.
“And if it’s not, lass—what will we do?”
Her lips pressed together, but she met his eyes straight on.
“Friends are not married _by_ their meeting. Or by priest or preacher. They marry each _other_. And we will marry each other.” She swallowed. “Somehow.”