Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
12th Aug 2017 from TwitLonger
Just for something a little Different...
#DailyLines #UntitledPrequel #BrianAndEllen #ThisisBrianDhu #NOyouarentgettingitanytimesoon #Haudyourwheesht #BonnieLad
“Find me the hoof-pick, will ye, son?” His fingers were already prying at the stone, but his mind wouldn’t fix—just the word “son,” and the fear rose up under his ribs. Maybe he’d have _another_ son today, what a strange thought. Or it might be another daughter. Or—
“The pick, Willie!” he said sharply, choking the thought before it could take shape.
“Ye’re holdin’ it, Da,” Willie said impatiently. He was sitting on the fence, kicking his heels and glancing up at the house now and then. Brian had brought him out to the far paddock because you couldn’t hear anything from the house from here, but Willie’s small red brows were drawn together—_God, just like Ellen’s, Oh, God, please_…and his wee face pinched, as though he was listening hard.
“Oh.” Brian gazed blankly at the instrument in his hand, then shook his head to clear it, and flicked the pebble loose with one dig. “Ken any songs, Willie?”
Willie concentrated even harder for a moment, but then tilted his head to one side and the other, and started singing. He knew about half of “[ ],” the first verse of “[ ]”—which he repeated several times while trying to think of something else, and a very decent try at the Kyrie from Mass.
Brian let the horse go and lifting Willie off the fence, taught him the chorus to “_Ho ro, mo nighean_…” which involved a lot of stamping and clapping, though their clogs didn’t make much noise on the earth of the paddock.
This did take their minds off things for a bit, but when they stopped, panting, Willie looked up at him and asked plaintively, “Are we gettin’ no supper at all, Da?”
He turned involuntarily to look back at the house. The kitchen chimney stood tall and cold, though there was smoke from the other end of the house, from their bedroom hearth.
“I suppose Mrs. MacLaren is busy helpin’ your mam,” he said, swallowing a lump at the word “mam.” He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “Come on, then, _a bhailach_, we’ll go and see what’s in the pantry.”
Willie was far too big to be carried, but Brian had a sudden strong urge to pick his son up and hold him tight, taking comfort in the boy’s solid warmth.