Do Ye Want Me?" He Whispered. "sassenach,

At Last I Took One Big, Callused Hand And Slid Forward So I Knelt On The Boards Between His Knees. I Laid My Head Against His Chest, And Felt His Breath Stir My Hair. I Had No Words, But I Had Made My Choice. "'whither Thou Goest,'" I Said. "'i Will Go; And Where Thou Lodgest, I Will Lodge: Thy People Shall Be My People, And Thy God My God: Where Thou Diest, Will I Die, And There Will I Be Buried.' Be It Scottish Hill Or Southern Forest. You Do What You Have To; I'll Be There.

This Is Our Time. Until That Time Stops - For One Of Us, For Both – It Is Our Time. Now. Will You Waste It, Because You Are Afraid?

Alright, All Right," I Said. "what If I Tell You A Story, Instead?" Highlanders Loved Stories, And Jamie Was No Exception. "oh, Aye, " He Said, Sounding Much Happier. "what Sort Of Story Is It?

Scots Have Long Memories, And They're Not The Most Forgiving Of People.

When You Hold A Child To Your Breast To Nurse, The Curve Of The Little Head Echoes Exactly The Curve Of The Breast It Suckles, As Though This New Person Truly Mirrors The Flesh From Which It Sprang.