Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
22nd Feb 2014 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutJUNE10th #brotherlyconcern
John Grey eased his battered feet into the pan, teeth gritted against the expected sensation, but to his surprise, found that it caused him little pain, in spite of the torn skin and ruptured blisters.
“What—that’s not hot water, is it?” he asked, leaning forward to look.
“Sweet oil,” his brother said, his worn face relaxing a little. “And it had better be warm, not hot, or my orderly will be crucified at dawn.”
“I’m sure the man trembles in his boots. Thank you, by the way,” he added, gingerly dabbling. He was sitting on Hal’s cot, his brother perched on the campaign chest, pouring something out of a canteen into one of the scarred pewter cups that had accompanied him for decades.
“You’re welcome,” Hal said, handing him the cup. “What the devil happened to your eye? And is your arm broken? I’ve called for a surgeon, but it may be some time.” He waved a hand, encompassing the camp, the recent battle, and the stream of returning wounded.
“I don’t need one. Think the arm’s just badly bruised. As for the eye…Jamie Fraser.”