Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
2nd Apr 2014 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WRITTENInMYOwnHEARTSBlood #Book8 #OutJUNE10th #HappyBirthday @BlackDogsMomma
It was well into the small hours of the night before I felt Jamie slide into bed behind me, bringing chilled skin and the smell of brine, cold mud, and marsh-plants with him. Also…
“What’s that smell?” I asked drowsily, kissing the arm he’d put round me.
“Frogs, I expect. God, ye’re warm, Sassenach.” He cuddled closer, pressing his body into mine, and I felt him pull loose the bow of the ribbon that gathered the neck of my shift.
“Good hunting, then?” I obligingly wiggled my bottom into the hollow of his thighs and he sighed in appreciation, his breath warm on my ear, and slipped a cold hand inside my shift. “Oo.”
“Aye. Germain caught a fine big catfish, and we brought back a sack of crawfish and shrimps—the wee gray ones.”
“Mmm. We’ll have a good supper, then.” His temperature was quickly equalizing with mine, and I was drifting pleasantly back down toward sleep—though quite willing to be roused for the right reasons.
“We saw a wee alligator. And a snake; a water moccasin.”
“You didn’t catch those, I hope.” I knew that snakes and alligators were technically edible, but I didn’t think we were quite hungry enough to make the challenges of cooking one worthwhile.