When You're Reading, You're Not Where You

He Splayed A Hand Out Over The Photographs, Trembling Fingers Not Quite Touching The Shiny Surface, And Then He Turned And Leaned Toward Me, Slowly, With The Improbable Grace Of A Tall Tree Falling. He Buried His Face In My Shoulder And Went Very Quietly And Thoroughly To Pieces.

For I Had Come Back, And I Dreamed Once More In The Cool Air Of The Highlands. And The Voice Of My Dream Still Echoed Through Ears And Heart, Repeated With The Sound Of Brianna's Sleeping Breath. "you Are Mine," It Had Said. "mine. And I Will Not Let You Go.

I'll Leave It To You, Sassenach," He Said Dryly, "to Imagine What It Feels Like To Arrive Unexpectedly In The Midst Of A Brothel, In Possession Of A Verra Large Sausage.

If It Was A Sin For You To Choose Me . . . Then I Would Go To The Devil Himself And Bless Him For Tempting Ye To It.

I Meant It, Claire,' He Said Quietly. 'my Life Is Yours. And It's Yours To Decide What We Shall Do, Where We Go Next. To France, To Italy, Even Back To Scotland. My Heart Has Been Yours Since First I Saw Ye, And You've Held My Soul And Body Between Your Two Hands Here, And Kept Them Safe. We Shall Go As Ye Say.