Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
19th Oct 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #OutMARCH25th #nosecondthoughts
“Ye’re out of your wee pink mind, ye ken that, aye?”
Roger looked at Buck in amazement.
“Where the devil did you get _that_ expression?”
“From your wife,” Buck replied. “Who’s a verra bonnie lass and a well-spoken one, forbye. And if ye mean to get back to her bed one of these days, ye’ll think better of what ye mean to do.”
“I’ve thought,” Roger said briefly. “And I’m doing it.” The entrance to the fort looked much as it had when he’d come here a week earlier, but now with only a few people hastening in, shawls over their heads and hats pulled down against the rain. The fort itself now seemed to have a sinister aspect, the gray stones bleak and streaked black with wet.
Buck reined up, grimacing as the horse shook its head, spraying him with drops from its soaking mane.
“Aye, fine. I’m no going in there. If we have to kill him, it’s best if he doesna ken me, so I can get behind him. I’ll wait at yonder tavern.” He lifted his chin, indicating an establishment called the Peartree, a few hundred feet down the road from the fort, then kicked his horse into motion. Ten feet on, he turned and called over his shoulder, “One hour! If ye’re not with me by then, I’m comin’ in after ye!”
Roger smiled, in spite of the heaviness in his middle. The woman of the house had insisted on feeding them breakfast, even though they’d risen long before dawn to begin their journey to the garrison, and the bannocks and black pudding hadn’t moved an inch since then. He waved briefly to Buck and swung off his horse.