Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
6th Dec 2013 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #OutJUNE10th #helpiswhereyoufindit
“Went _where_?” I asked. His hair was more heavily traced with silver than it had been. I didn’t mind that; I minded that I hadn’t been there to see it slowly change, day by day.
“Ian didna ask him. But he said Mrs. Figg told the duke the names of some friends of Lord John’s--Loyalists that might be still in the city. And his son’s staying in a house here, no? Dinna be worrit on his account, Sassenach.” He turned his head to smile sideways at me. “His grace is a man who’s hard to kill.”
“I suppose it takes one to know one,” I said tartly. I didn’t ask why Jamie had gone to Chestnut Street; Hal, Jenny, and all other concerns notwithstanding, I knew he wanted to know whether John had reappeared. Apparently not, and a small chill frosted my heart.
I was groping in my pocket for a ribbon with which to club his queue, when a fresh draft swept through the loft, lifting the oil-cloth and fluttering the papers beneath. I turned to see the source of the breeze, and beheld Germain, swinging off the pulley-rope to come in by the shuttered doors through which bales and kegs could be lowered from the loft to wagons below.
“_Bonjour, grand-pere_,” he said, wiping a cobweb off his face as he landed and bowing to Jamie with great formality. He turned and bowed to me, as well. “_Comment ca va, grand-mere_?”
“Fi—“ I began automatically, but was interrupted by Jamie.
“No,” he said definitely. “Ye’re not coming.”
“Please, Grand-da!” Germain’s formality disappeared in an instant, replaced by pleading. “I could be a help to ye!”
“I know,” Jamie said dryly. “And your parents would never forgive me if ye were. I dinna even want to know what your notion of help involves, but—“
“I could carry messages! I can ride, ye ken that, ye taught me yourself! And I’m nearly twelve!”
“Ye ken how dangerous that is? If a British sharp-shooter didna take ye out of the saddle, someone from the militia would club ye over the head to steal the horse. And I can count, ken? Ye’re no even eleven yet, so dinna be tryin’ it on with me.”