Scots Have Long Memories, And They're Not

Well I Am Still Not Drunk" I Straightened Up Against The Pillows As Best I Could. "you Told Me Once That If You Could Still Stand Up, You Weren't Drunk." You Aren't Standing Up." He Point Out. You Are.

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?

"sassenach." He Had Called Me That From The First; The Gaelic Word For Outlander, A Stranger. An Englishman. First In Jest, Then In Affection.

I Thought The Force Of My Wanting Must Wake Ye, Surely. And Then Ye Did Come. . ." He Stopped, Looking At Me With Eyes Gone Soft And Dark. "christ, Claire, Ye Were So Beautiful, There On The Stair, Wi' Your Hair Down And The Shadow Of Your Body With The Light Behind Ye…." He Shook His Head Slowly. "i Did Think I Should Die, If I Didna Have Ye," He Said Softly. "just Then.

I Felt The Tributaries Of His Veins, Wished To Enter Into His Bloodstream, Travel There, Dissolved And Bodiless, To Take Refuge In The Thick Walled Chambers Of His Heart.