Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
4th Oct 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #OutMARCH25th #namethree #carpenoctam
“Sounds like fun.” The racket of the camp had died down considerably, but the thick air still held the vibrations of many men, awake or uneasily asleep. I thought I could feel that same expectant vibration pass through Jamie, in spite of his obvious tiredness. “You need sleep, then.”
His arm tightened round me and his free hand traveled slowly down my back. I’d left Denny’s apron in the tent, and my cloak was over my arm; the thin muslin of my shift might as well have not existed.
“Oh, God,” he said, and his big, warm hand cupped my buttock with a sudden urgency. “I need _you_, Sassenach. I need ye bad.”
The shift was just as thin in front as in back.; I could feel his waistcoat buttons through it—and a few other things. He did want me bad.
“Do you mind doing it in a crypt that smells of wee?” I asked, thinking of the Chenowyth’s back bedroom.
“I’ve taken ye in worse places, Sassenach.”
Before I could say “Name three,” the tent-flap opened to disgorge a small procession, this consisting of Denzell, Dottie, Rachel and Ian, each couple carrying one end of a canvas sheet on which lay the recumbent form of Mrs. Peabody. Mr. Peabody led the way, lantern held high.
We were standing in shadow, and they passed without noticing us, the girls giggling at the occasional stumble, the young men grunting with effort and Mr. Peabody calling out encouragement as they made their laborious way through the darkness, presumably heading for the Peabody abode.
The tent stood before us, dark and invitingly empty.
“Aye?”
“Oh, yes.”