Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
16th Sep 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #OutMARCH25th #everythinggoesbetterwithbeer
Dottie, having checked Mrs. Peabody’s pulse and breathing, laid a ginger hand on the distended bulge of pregnancy. “Has thee attended a birth before, cousin?” Dottie asked Rachel, being careful of her plain speech.
“Several,” Rachel replied, squatting down by Mrs. Peabody. “This looks somewhat different, though. Has she suffered some injur—oh!” The brewery reek hit her and she reared back and coughed. “I see.”
Mrs. Peabody uttered a loud moan and everyone stiffened. I wiped my hands on my apron, just in case. She relaxed again, though, and after a few moments’ contemplative silence to see if she’d do it again, Dottie took a deep breath.
“Mrs…I mean, Friend Claire was just telling me some very interesting things. Regarding…er…what to expect on one’s wedding night.”
Rachel looked up with interest.
“I should welcome any such instruction myself. I know where the…um…parts go, because I’ve seen them go there fairly frequently but--”
“You have?!?” Dottie gawked at her, and Rachel laughed.
“I have. But Ian assures me that he has more skill than the average bull or billy-goat, and my observations are limited to the animal world, I’m afraid.” A small line showed between her brows. “The woman who cared for me after the death of my parents was…very dutiful in informing me of my womanly obligations, but her instructions consisted largely of “Spread thy legs, grit thy teeth, girl, and let him.””
I sat down on the packing case and stretched to ease my back. God knew how long it might take Ian to find Jamie among the thousands of soldiers in camp. “Pour me another cup of beer, will you? And have some more yourselves. I suspect we may need it.”