Everyone Can Lie, Young Roger, Given Cause

Do Ye Want Me?" He Whispered. "sassenach, Will Ye Take Me - And Risk The Man That I Am, For The Sake Of The Man Ye Knew?

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

Sometimes,' He Whispered At Last, 'sometimes, I Dream I Am Singing, And I Wake From It With My Throat Aching.' He Couldn't See Her Face, Or The Tears That Prickled At The Corners Of Her Eyes. 'what Do You Sing?' She Whispered Back. She Heard The Shush Of The Linen Pillow As He Shook His Head. 'no Song I've Ever Heard, Or Know,' He Said Softly. 'but I Know I'm Singing It For You.

Murtagh Was Right About Women. Sassenach, I Risked My Life For Ye, Committing Theft, Arson, Assault, And Murder Into The Bargain. In Return For Which Ye Call Me Names, Insult My Manhood, Kick Me In The Ballocks And Claw My Face. Then I Beat You Half To Death And Tell Ye All The Most Humiliating Things Have Ever Happened To Me, And Ye Say Ye Love Me." He Laid His Head On His Knees And Laughed Some More. Finally He Rose And Held Out A Hand To Me, Wiping His Eyes With The Other. "you're No Verra Sensible, Sassenach, But I Like Ye Fine. Let's Go.

The Rest Of The Journey Passed Uneventfully, If You Consider It Uneventful To Ride Fifteen Miles On Horseback Through Rough Country At Night, Frequently Without Benefit Of Roads, In Company With Kilted Men Armed To The Teeth, And Sharing A Horse With A Wounded Man. At Least We Were Not Set Upon By Highwaymen, We Encountered No Wild Beasts, And It Didn't Rain. By The Standards I Was Becoming Used To, It Was Quite Dull.