My own eyes went to Jamie, who had come to join Fergus and Ian by the sideboard. Still here, thank God. Tall and graceful, the soft light making shadows in the folds of his shirt as he moved, a fugitive gleam from the long straight bridge of his nose, the auburn wave of his hair. Still mine. Thank God.

You cannot compel love," he said finally, "nor summon it at will. Still less," he added ruefully, "can you dismiss it.

He was generally aware that he had been blessed in her beauty; even in her usual homespun, knee-deep in mud from her garden, or stained and fierce with the blood of her calling, the curve of her bones spoke to his own marrow, and those whisky eyes could make him drunk with a glance. Besides, the mad collieshangie of her hair made him laugh.

Good luck will do,” he said, and his hand tightened on mine…. “I love ye does much better.”He touched my hand, lifted his own and touched my hair, my face, looking into my eyes as though to capture my image in this moment- just in case it should be his last glimpse of me.“There may come a day when you and I shall part again,” he said softly, at last, and his fingers brushed my lips, light as the touch of a falling leaf. He smiled faintly. “But it willna be today.

Sassenach… I love ye now, and I will love ye always. Whether I am dead – or you – whether we are together or apart. You know it is true, he said quietly, and touched my face. “I know it of you, and ye know it of me as well.