......what I Was Born Does Not Matter,

What Are You Doing With The Child?" I Inquired Cautiously. "i'm Teachin' Young James Here The Fine Art Of Not Pissing On His Feet," He Explained.

Then Kiss Me, Claire," He Whispered, "and Know That You Are More To Me Than Life, And I Have No Regret.

When I Asked My Da How Ye Knew Which Was The Right Woman, He Told Me When The Time Came, I'd Have No Doubt. And I Didn't. When I Woke In The Dark Under That Tree On The Road To Leoch, With You Sitting On My Chest, Cursing Me For Bleeding To Death, I Said To Myself 'jamie Fraser, For All Ye Canna See What She Looks Like, And For All She Weights As Much As A Good Draft Horse, This Is The Woman.

I Was Crying And Laughing, Snuffing Tears And Blood, Bumping At Him With My Bound Hands, Trying Awkwardly To Thrust Them At Him So That He Could Cut The Rope. He Quit Grappling, And Clutched Me So Hard Against Him That I Yelped In Pain As My Face Was Pressed Against His Plaid. He Was Saying Something Else, Urgently, But I Couldn’t Manage To Translate It. Energy Pulsed Through Him, Hot And Violent, Like The Current In A Live Wire, And I Vaguely Realized That He Was Still Almost Berserk; He Had No English.

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.