All About The Books

A blog to discuss the Outlander book series. Here for the books, the whole books, and nothing but the books.

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Daily Lines, Posted November 28, 2019

It was dark outside; the moon had set and dawn was some way off. It was cold, but the cold didn’t touch me.

I’d let him take the baby, at last. Felt his hands on mine as he took her, warm and sure, his face filled with light. He’d knelt carefully and given the baby to Susannah, placing his hand on the child in benediction.

Then he’d stood and wrapped me in my cloak and walked me outside. I couldn’t feel the ground beneath my feet, or see the forest, but the cold air smelt of pine and lay like a balm on my heated skin.

“All right, Sassenach?” he whispered. I seemed to be leaning against him, though I didn’t remember doing it. I’d lost track of where my body began and ended; the pieces seemed to be floating about in a loose sort of cloud of exaltation.

I felt Jamie’s hands tremble a little as he touched my face. From exhaustion, I thought. The same small, constant quiver seemed to be running through me from crown to sole, like a low-voltage current of electricity.

In fact, I’d passed clear through exhaustion and out the other side, as one does sometimes in moments of great effort, You know that your bodily energy has been used up, and yet there’s a supernatural sense of mental clarity and a strange capacity to keep moving, but at the same time, you see it all simultaneously, from outside yourself and from your deepest core—the usual intervening layers of flesh and thought have become transparent.

“I’m fine,” I said, and I laughed. Let my forehead fall against his chest and breathed for a moment, feeling all my pieces come to rest, whole again, as the enchantment of the last hour faded into peace.

“Jamie,” I said, a few moments later, raising my head. “What color is my hair?”

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon

A very interesting Daily Lines post from Diana today. What do you think has just happened here?

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Daily Lines, Posted October 19, 2019

From Diana: “In honor of Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall Fraser Randall Fraser Grey Fraser.”

I listened with half an ear to Mandy’s mingled endearments to Esmeralda and denunciations of her brother and Germain, but most of my attention was focused on what was going on in the clearing below.

I could hear Jem’s voice, high and argumentative, and Roger’s, firm and much lower, but couldn’t pick out any words. Roger was talking, though, and I didn’t hear any choking or coughing…that was good.

The memory of him bellowing at the children was even better. He’d done that before—it was a necessity, children and the great outdoors being what they respectively were—but I’d never heard him do it without his voice breaking, with a followup of coughing and throat-clearing. MacEwan had said that it was a small improvement, and that it took time for healing.

Had I actually done anything to help?

I looked critically at the palm of my hand, but it looked much as usual; a half-healed paper cut on the middle finger, stains from picking blackberries, and a burst blister on my thumb, from snatching a spider full of bacon that had caught fire out of the hearth without a rag. Not a sign of any blue light, certainly.

“Wassat, Grannie?” Amanda leaned off the table to look at my upturned hand.

“What’s what? That black splotch? I think it’s ink; I was writing up my case-book last night. Kirsty Wilson’s rash.” I’d thought at first the rash was just poison sumac, but it was hanging on in a rather worrying fashion…no fever, though…perhaps it was hives? Or some kind of atypical psoriasis?

“No, dat.” Mandy poked a wet, chubby finger at the heel of my hand. “Issa letter!” She twisted her head half-round to look closer, black curls tickling across my arm. “Letter J!” she announced triumphantly. “J is for Jemmy! I hate Jemmy,” she added, frowning.

“Er…” I said, completely nonplused. It was the letter “J.” The scar had faded to a thin white line, but was still clear if the light struck right. The scar Jamie had given me, when I’d left him at Culloden. Left him to die, hurling myself through the stones to save his unborn, unknown child. Our child. And if I hadn’t?

I looked at Mandy, blue-eyed and black-curled and perfect as a tiny spring apple. Heard Jem outside, now giggling with his father. It had cost us twenty years apart—years of heartbreak, pain and danger. It had been worth it.

“It’s for Grand-da’s name. J for Jamie,” I said to Amanda, who nodded as though that made perfect sense, clutching a soggy Esmeralda to her chest. I touched her glowing cheek, and imagined for an instant that my fingers might be tinged with blue.

“Mandy,” I said, on impulse. “What color is my hair?”

“When your hair is white, you’ll come into your full power.” An old Tuscarora wisewoman named Nayawenne had said that to me, years ago—along with a lot of other disturbing things.

Mandy stared intently at me for a moment, then said definitely, “Brindle.”

“What? Where did you learn that word, for heaven’s sake?”

“Uncle Joe. He says at’s what color Badger is.”

“Who’s Badger?”

“Auntie Gail’s doggie.”

“Hmm,” I said. “Not yet, then. All right, sweetheart, let’s go and hang Esmeralda out to dry.”

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Daily Lines, Posted October 17, 2019

Diana posted three small excerpts from Go Tell The Bees That I Am Gone. What do you think about these small moments she has shared with us?

Excerpt #1

Ian had come in quietly—_like an Indian_, Rachel thought—sometime past midnight, crouching by the bed and blowing softly in her ear to rouse her, lest he startle her and wake Oggy. She’d hastily checked the latter, then swung her feet out of bed and rose to embrace her husband.

“Thee smells of blood,” she whispered. “What has thee killed?”

“A beast,” he whispered back, and cupped her cheek in his palm. “I had to, but I’m no sorry for it.”

She nodded, feeling a sharp stone forming in her throat.

“Will ye come out wi’ me, mo nighean donn? I need help.”

She nodded again, and turned to find the cloak she used for a bedgown. There was a sense of grimness about him, but something else as well, and she couldn’t tell what it was.

She was hoping that he hadn’t brought the body home with the expectation that she would help him bury or hide it, whatever—or whoever—it was, but he had just killed something he considered to be evil and perhaps felt himself pursued.

Excerpt #2

“What was it your Mam said to your Da about this expedition?” Roger rolled up his breeches to mid-thigh, eyeing the wagon-wheel whose rim protruded from the burbling middle of a small creek.

“It’s too deep,” Brianna said, frowning at the rushing brown water. “You’d better take your breeches off. And maybe your shirt, too.”

“That’s what she said? Though she’s likely right about it being too deep…”

Brianna made a small, amused snort. He’d taken off his shoes, stockings, coat, waistcoat and neck cloth, and looked like a man stripped to fight a serious duel.

“The good news is that with a current like that, you won’t get leeches. What she said—or what she quoted herself as having said, which isn’t necessarily the same thing—was:

‘You’re telling me that you mean to turn a perfectly respectable Presbyterian minister into a gun-runner—and send him in a wagon full of dodgy gold to buy a load of guns, in company with your eleven-year-old grandson?’”

“Aye, that’s the bit. I was expecting it to be more fun…” Reluctantly, he shucked his breeks, tossing them onto the shoes and stockings. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you and the kids. Germain and I would have had a great adventure by ourselves.”

Excerpt #3

I did wonder just how Roger proposed to follow Captain Cunningham’s act. The congregation had scattered under the trees to take refreshment, but every group I passed was discussing what the Captain had said, with great excitement and absorption—as well they might. The spell of his story remained with me--a sense of wonder and hope.

Bree seemed to be wondering, too; I saw her with Roger, in the shade of a big chinkapin oak, in close discussion. He shook his head, though, smiled, and tugged her cap straight. She’d dressed her part, as a modest minister’s wife, and smoothed her skirt and bodice.

“Two months, and she’ll be comin’ to kirk in buckskins,” Jamie said, following the direction of my gaze.

“What odds?” I inquired.

“Three to one. Ye want to wager, Sassenach?”

“Gambling on Sunday? You’re going straight to hell, Jamie Fraser.”

“I dinna mind. Ye’ll be there afore me. Askin’ me the odds, forbye… Besides, going to church three times in one day must at least get ye a few days off Purgatory.”

I nodded.

“Ready for Round Two?”

Roger kissed Brianna, and strode out of the shade into the sunlit day, tall, dark and handsome in his best black—well, his only black suit. He came toward us, Bree on his heels, and I saw several people in the nearby groups notice this, and begin to put away their bits of bread and cheese and beer, to retire behind bushes for a private moment, and to tidy up children who’d come undone.

I sketched a salute as Roger came up to us.

“Over the top?”

“Geronimo,” he replied briefly and with a visible squaring of the shoulders, turned to greet his flock and usher them inside.

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Daily Lines, posted May 26, 2019

[This is Roger and Brianna, looking over the site of the first cabin that served as a church, which in their absence, has been struck by lightning and burned down.]

They stood still for a little, listening to the wood around them. Two male mockingbirds were having their own personal war in the nearby trees, singing their little brass lungs out. Despite the charred ruin, there was a deep sense of peace in the little clearing. Green shoots and small shrubs had come up through the ashes, vivid against the black. Unresisted, the forest would patiently heal the scar, take back its ground and go on as though nothing had happened, as though the little church had never been here.

“Do you remember the first sermon you preached?” she asked softly. Her eyes were fixed on the open ground.

“Aye,” he said, and smiled a little. “One of the lads set a snake loose in the congregation and Jamie snatched it up before it could cause a ruckus. One of the nicest things he’s ever done for me.”

Brianna laughed and he felt the warm vibration of it through her clothes.

“The look on his _face_. Poor Da, he’s so afraid of snakes.”

“And no wonder,” Roger said with a shrug. “One almost killed him.”

“A lot of things have almost killed him,” she said, the laughter gone. “One of these days….” Her voice was husky.

He put a hand round her shoulder and massaged it gently.

“It’ll be one of these days for everyone, _mo graidh_. If it weren’t, people wouldn’t think they need a minister. As for your Da…as long as your mother’s here, I think he’ll be all right, no matter what.”

She gave a deep sigh, and the tension in her body eased.

“I think everybody feels like that about them both. If they’re here, everything will be all right.” _You feel that way about them_, he thought. And in fairness, so did he. _I hope the kids will feel that way about us_.

“Aye. The essential social services of Fraser’s Ridge,” he said dryly. “Your mother’s the ambulance and your da’s the police.”

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Daily Lines, posted May 13, 2019

Jamie read the letter through twice, his lips tightening at the same place, halfway down the first page—and then again, at the end. It wasn’t actually unusual for him to react to one of John’s letters that way, but when he did, it was normally because it held unwelcome news of the war, of William, or of some incipient action on the part of the British government that might be about to result in Jamie’s imminent arrest or some other domestic inconvenience.

This, however, was the first letter John had sent in nearly two years—since before Jamie’s return from the dead to find me married to Lord John Grey, and before he had punched John in the eye as a result of this news and inadvertently caused his lordship to be arrested and nearly hanged by the American militia. Well, turnabout was fair play, I supposed…

No point in putting it off.

“What does John have to say?” I asked, keeping my voice pleasantly neutral.

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon 

Let the speculation begin! What might be in John’s letter to get this reaction from Jamie?

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Daily Lines, Posted April 22, 2019

“Mr. Fraser was a Jacobite—do you know what that means?” Fanny nodded uncertainly.

“The Jacobites were supporters of James Stuart, and fought against the king of England,” I explained. “They lost that war.” A hollow place opened under my ribs as I spoke. So few words for such a shattering of so very many lives.

“Mr. Fraser went to prison afterward; he wasn’t able to take care of William. Lord John was his friend, and he raised William as his son, because neither of them thought that Mr. Fraser would ever be released, and Lord John thought that he would never have children of his own.” I caught the distant echo of Frank’s advice, like a spider’s whisper behind the empty hearth: _Always stick to the truth, as far as possible_…

“Was Lord John wounded?” Fanny asked. “In the war?”

“Wounded—oh, because he couldn’t have children, you mean? I don’t know—he was certainly wounded, though.” I’d seen his scars. I cleared my throat. “Let me tell you something, Fanny. About myself.”

Her eyes widened in curiosity. They were a soft dove-gray, gone almost black as her pupils went large in the shadows of the kitchen.

“I fought in a war, too,” I said. “Not the same war; another one, in a different country—before I met either Mr. Fraser or Lord John. I was a—healer; I took care of wounded men, and I spent a lot of time among soldiers, and in bad places.” I took a breath, fragments of those times and places coming back. I knew the memories must show on my face, and I let them.

“I’ve seen very bad things,” I said simply. “I know you have, too.”

Her chin trembled slightly and she looked away, her soft mouth drawing in on itself. I reached out slowly and touched her shoulder.

“You can say anything to me,” I said, with slight emphasis on ‘anything’. “You don’t ever have to tell me—or Mr. Fraser—anything that you don’t want to. But if there are things that you want to talk about—your sister, maybe, or anything else—you can. Anyone in the family—me, Mr. Fraser, Brianna or Mr. MacKenzie…you can tell any of us anything you need to. We won’t be shocked—“ _Actually, we probably would be_, I thought, _but no matter_. “And perhaps we can help, if you’re troubled about anything. But—“

She looked up at that, instantly alert, unsettling me a little. This child had had a lot of experience in detecting and interpreting tones of voice, probably as a matter of survival.

“But,” I repeated firmly, “not everyone who lives on the Ridge has had such experiences, and many of them have never met anyone who has. Most of them have lived in small villages in Scotland, many of them aren’t educated. They _would_ be shocked, perhaps, if you told them very much about…where you lived. How you and your sister—“

“They’ve never met whores?” she said, and blinked. “I think some of the men must have.”

“Doubtless you’re right,” I said, trying to keep my grip on the conversation. “But it’s the women who talk.”

She nodded soberly. I could see a thought come to her; she looked away for an instant, blinked, then looked back at me, a thoughtful squint to her eyes.

“What?” I said.

“Mrs. MacDonald’s mother says you’re a witch,” she replied. “Mrs. MacDonald tried to make her stop, when she saw I was listening, but the old lady doesn’t stop talking about anything, ever, except when she’s eating.”

I’d met Janet MacDonald’s mother, Granny Campbell, once or twice, and was not overly surprised to hear this.

“I don’t suppose she’s the only one,” I said, a little tersely. “But I’m suggesting that perhaps you should be careful about what you say to people outside the family about your life in Philadelphia.”

She nodded, accepting what I’d said.

“It doesn’t matter that Granny Campbell says you’re a witch,” she said thoughtfully. “Because Mr. MacDonald is afraid of Mr. Fraser. He tried to make Granny stop talking about you,” she added, and shrugged. “Anyway, nobody’s afraid of me.”

_Give them time, child_, I thought, eyeing her.

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon

Claire as counselor, mother, matriarch. What stands out to you in this passage?

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Daily Lines, Posted April 3, 2019

Sometime later, we lay curled together, naked in the cool night, happy in the warmth of each other’s body. The moon was coming down in the west, a sliver of silver that let the stars shine bright. The pale canvas rustled and murmured overhead, the scents of fir and oak and cypress surrounded us, and a random firefly, distracted from its business by a passing wind-current, landed on the pillow by my head and sat for a moment, its abdomen pulsing with a regular, cool green light.

“_Oidche mhath, a charaidh_,” Jamie said to it. It waved its antennae in an amiable fashion and sailed off, circling down toward the distant flicker of its comrades on the ground.

“I wish we could keep our bedroom like this,” I said wistfully, watching its tail-light disappear into the darkness below. “It’s so lovely, being part of the night.”

“Nay so much when it rains.” Jamie lifted his chin toward our canvas ceiling. “Dinna fash, though; I’ll have a solid roof on before snow flies.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I said, and laughed. “Do you remember our first cabin, when it rained and the roof leaked? You insisted on going up to fix it, _in_ the pouring rain—and stark naked.”

“Well, and whose fault was that?” he inquired, though without rancor. “Ye wouldna let me go up in my shirt; what choice did I have?”

“You being you, none at all.” I rolled over and kissed him. “You taste like apple pie. Is there any left?”

“No. I’ll go down and fetch ye a bite, though.”

I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“No, don’t. I’m not really hungry and I’d rather just stay like this. Mm?”

“Mmphm.”

He rolled toward me, then scooted down the bed and lifted himself between my thighs.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, as he settled comfortably into position.

“I should think that was obvious, Sassenach.”

“But you’ve just been eating apple pie!”

“It wasna that filling.”

“That…wasn’t quite what I meant…” His thumbs were thoughtfully stroking the tops of my thighs and his warm breath was stirring the hairs on my body in a very disturbing way.

“If ye’re afraid of crumbs, Sassenach, dinna fash—I’ll pick them off after I’ve finished. Is it baboons ye said that do that? Or was it fleas?”

“I don’t _have_ fleas,” was all I could manage in the way of a witty riposte, but he laughed, settled his shoulders and set to work.

“I like it when ye scream, Sassenach,” he murmured a little later, pausing for breath.

“There are children downstairs!” I hissed, fingers buried in his hair.

“Well, try to sound like a catamount, then…”

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon

A moment between Jamie and Claire. Are you excited for Bees to be released later this year?

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Daily Lines, Posted March 7, 2019

No one went to the Old Garden, as the family called it. The people on the Ridge called it the Witch-child’s Garden, though not often in my hearing. I wasn’t sure whether “witch-child” was meant to refer to Malva Christie herself, or to her baby boy. Both of them had died in the garden, in the midst of blood—and in my company. She had been no more than nineteen.

I never said the name aloud, but to me, it was Malva’s Garden.

For a time, I hadn’t been able to go up to it without a sense of waste and terrible sorrow, but I did go there now and then. To remember. To pray, sometimes. And frankly, if some of the more hidebound Presbyterians of the Ridge had seen me on some of these occasions, talking aloud to the dead or to God, they would have been quite sure they had the right name, but the wrong witch.

But the woods had their own slow magic and the garden was returning to them, healing under grass and moss, blood turning to the crimson bloom of bee-balm, and its sorrow fading into peace.

Despite the creeping transformation, though, some remnants of the garden remained, and small treasures sprang up unexpectedly: there was a stubbornly thriving patch of onions in one corner, a thick growth of comfrey and sorrel fighting back against the grass, and—to my intense delight, several thriving peanut bushes, sprung up from long-buried seeds.

I’d found them two weeks before, the leaves just beginning to yellow, and dug them up. Hung them in the surgery to dry, plucked the dry peanuts from the tangle of dirt and rootlets, and roasted them in the shell, filling the house with memories of circuses and baseball games.

And tonight, I thought, tipping the cooled nuts into my tin shelling basin, we’d have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for supper.

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon 

Anyone care to share their thoughts on this passage, with its beautiful details of life on The Ridge, and also the tragedy of Malva Christie and how Claire honors her with the garden?

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

The first section’s chapter list (via DG’s Facebook)

SECTION I: A Swarm of Bees in the Carcass of a Lion

CHAPTER 1: The MacKenzies are Here!

CHAPTER 2: A Blue Wine Day

CHAPTER 3: Meditations on a Hyoid

CHAPTER 4: Home is the Hunter, Home from the Hill

CHAPTER 5: Dead or Alive

CHAPTER 6: Visitations

CHAPTER 7: Animal Nursery Tales

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

“… and if he says, ‘Oh, God, oh, God,’ at some point,” I advised, “take note of what you were just doing, so you can do it again next time.”

(Written In My Own Heart’s Blood, Chapter 55)

Physical intimacy is no small part of the series. Such moments help the characters strengthen their emotional connection and often reveal their hidden depths. Whether playful and funny, sensual and tender, or dark and intense, these passages are beautifully written.

Which scenes between any of the characters left you breathless and keep you flipping back to that page?

Share your favorites. Don’t be shy...

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Prior to this passage from The Fiery Cross, Jamie finds Obadiah Henderson making unwelcome advances on Bree. He interrupts, sending him away, and the following exchange takes place. It’s an interesting moment between these two, highlighting the trouble Bree is having in adjusting to the gender roles of 18th century life, and also showing Jamie’s views on what a man’s place is.

What does this passage say about gender roles in different time periods? What does Jamie mean by “regard for my pride, and I for hers”? How might Roger feel about this?

“So long? And why did ye not tell your man about it?” he demanded, incredulous.

She was startled, and fumbled for a reply. “I—well—I didn’t think … I mean, it wasn’t his problem.” She heard the sudden intake of his breath, no doubt the precursor to some biting remark about Roger, and hurried to defend him. “It—he—he didn’t actually do anything. Just looks. And … smiles. How could I tell Roger he was looking at me? I didn’t want to look weak, or helpless.”

Though she had been both, and knew it. The knowledge burned under her skin like ant bites. “I didn’t want to … to have to ask him to defend me.”

He stared at her, his face blank with incomprehension. He shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes away from her. “What in God’s name d’ye think a man is for?” he asked at last. He spoke quietly, but in tones of complete bewilderment. “Ye want to keep him as a pet, is it? A lapdog? Or a caged bird?”

“You don’t understand!”

“Oh. Do I not?” He blew out a short breath, in what might have been a sardonic laugh. “I have been marrit near thirty years, and you less than two. What is it that ye think I dinna understand, lass?”

“It isn’t—it isn’t the same for you and Mama as it is for me and Roger!” she burst out.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, his voice level. “Your mother has regard for my pride, and I for hers. Or do ye maybe think her a coward, who canna fight her own battles?”

“I … no.” She swallowed, feeling perilously close to tears, but determined not to let them escape. “But, Da—it is different. We’re from another place, another time.”

“I ken that fine,” he said, and she saw the edge of his mouth curl up in a wry half-smile. His voice grew more gentle. “But I canna think that men and women are so different, then.”

“Maybe not.” She swallowed, forcing her voice to steady. “But maybe Roger’s different. Since Alamance.”

(The Fiery Cross, Chapter 79)

What do you think?

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Discussion Question:

What is your favorite term of endearment that Jamie uses for Claire?

Throughout the books, Jamies refers to Claire in many different ways. Some carry on and he uses them time and time again, others are specific to a certain moment.

Some examples include . . .

Sassenach:

And when we reached the castle, he left me at the gate with no more than a softly mocking, “Good’ e’en, Mistress Sassenach.”

(Outlander, Chapter 9)

Mo duinne:

“I meant it, ye know,” he said softly. “I will protect you. From him, or anyone else. To the last drop of my blood, mo duinne.” 

“Mo duinne?” I asked, a little disturbed by the intensity of this speech. I didn’t want to be responsible for any of his blood being spilt, last drop or first. 

“It means ‘my brown one.’ ” He raised a lock of hair to his lips and smiled, with a look in his eyes that started all the drops of my own blood chasing each other through my veins. “Mo duinne,” he repeated, softly. “I have been longing to say that to you.”

(Outlander, Chapter 16)

Edit to add this excellent information from @yarnings

Point of order: mo duinne and mo nighean donn count as the same thing. mo duinne was due to a bad understanding of Gaelic, and was corrected to mo nighean donn once this was brought to the author's attention.

Mo nighean donn:

“But ye must do it, mo nighean donn. My brave lioness. Ye must.”

(Dragonfly In Amber, Chapter 46)

Sorcha:

“Sorcha,” he whispered, and realized that he had called her so a moment before. Now, that was odd; no wonder she had been surprised. It was her name in the Gaelic, but he never called her by it. He liked the strangeness of her, the Englishness. She was his Claire, his Sassenach.

(The Fiery Cross, Chapter 18)

Bonnie wee swordsman:

“Ye’ve the tongue of a venemous shrew,” he said, “but you’re a bonnie wee swordsman, Sassenach.”

(Echo In The Bone, Chapter 62)

The list could go on and on. So, which do you like the most? 

Share your favorite and add any that may have been missed!

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Daily Lines, Posted February 5, 2019

By mid-afternoon, I’d made great progress with my medicaments, treated three cases of poison ivy rash, a dislocated toe (caused by kicking a mule in a fit of temper), and a raccoon bite (non-rabid; the hunter had knocked the coon out of a tree and went to pick it up, only to discover that it wasn’t dead. It was mad, but not in any infectious sense.).

Jamie, though, had done much better. People had come up to the house-site all day, in a steady trickle of neighborliness and curiosity. The women had stayed to chat with me about the MacKenzies and the men had wandered off through the house-site with Jamie, returning with promises to come and lend a day’s labor here and there.

“If Roger Mac and Ian can help me move lumber tomorrow, the Leslies will come next day and give me a hand wi’ the floor joists. We’ll lay the hearth-stone and bless it on Wednesday, Sean McHugh and a couple of his lads will lay the floor with me on Friday, and we’ll get the framing started next day; Tom MacLeod says he can spare me a half-day, and Hiram Crombie’s son Joe says he and his half-brother can help wi’ that as well.” He smiled at me. “If the whisky holds out, ye’ll have a roof over your head in two weeks, Sassenach.”

I looked dubiously from the stone foundation to the cloud-flecked sky overhead.

“A roof?”

“Aye, well, a sheet of canvas, most likely,” he admitted. “Still.” He stood and stretched, grimacing slightly.

“Why don’t you sit down for a bit?” I suggested, eyeing his leg. He was limping noticeably and the leg was a vivid patchwork of red and purple, demarcated by the black stitches of my repair job. “Amy’s left us a jug of beer.”

“Perhaps a wee bit later,” he said. “What’s that ye’re making, Sassenach?”

“I’m going to make up some gall berry ointment for Lizzie Beardsley, and then some gripe-water for her little new one—do you know if he has a name yet?”

“Hubertus.”

“What?”

“Hubertus,” he repeated, smiling. “Or so Kezzie told me, the day before yesterday. It’s in compliment to Monika’s late brother, he says.”

“Oh.” Lizzie’s father, Joseph Wemyss, had taken a kind German lady of a certain age as his second wife, and Monika, having no children of her own, had become a stalwart grandmother to the Beardsleys’ growing brood. “Perhaps they can call him Bertie, for short.”

“Are ye out of the Jesuit Bark, Sassenach?” He lifted his chin in the direction of the open medicine chest I’d set on the ground near him. “Do ye not use that for Lizzie’s tonic?”

“I do,” I said, rather surprised that he’d noticed. “I used the last of it three weeks ago, though, and haven’t heard of anyone going to Wilmington or New Bern who might get me more.”

“Did ye mention it to Roger Mac?”

“No. Why him?” I asked, puzzled.

Jamie leaned back against the cornerstone, wearing one of those overtly patient expressions that’s meant to indicate that the person addressed is not particularly bright. I snorted and flicked a gallberry at him. He caught it and examined it critically.

“Is it edible?”

“Amy says bees like the flowers,” I said dubiously, pouring a large handful of the dark purple berries into my mortar. “But there’s very likely a reason why they’re called gall berries.”

“Ah.” He tossed it back at me, and I dodged. “Ye told me yourself, Sassenach, that Roger Mac said to ye yesterday that he meant to come back to the ministering. So,” he went on patiently, seeing no hint of enlightenment on my face, “what would ye do first, if that was your aim?”

I scooped a large glob of pale yellow bear grease from its pot into the mortar, part of my mind debating whether to add a decoction of willow bark, while the rest considered Jamie’s question.

“Ah,” I said in turn, and pointed my pestle at him. “I’d go round to all the people who’d been part of my congregation, so to speak, and let them know that Mack the Knife is back in town.”

He gave me a concerned look, but then shook his head, dislodging whatever image I’d just given him.

“Ye would,” he said. “And maybe introduce yourself to the folk who’ve come to the Ridge since ye left.”

“And within a couple of days, everyone on the Ridge—and probably half the brethren’s choir in Salem—would know about it.”

He nodded amiably. “Aye. And they’d all ken that ye need Jesuit bark, and ye’d likely get it within the month.”

- Copyright 2019 Diana Gabaldon

Anyone have any thoughts? Are you excited for the next book?

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

~ Remembering their wedding night ~

Outlander / Written In My Own Heart’s Blood

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Discussion Question:

At what point does Claire realize she is in love with Jamie?

Shortly after Claire marries Jamie, she ponders the feeling of infatuation she is experiencing:

I had been fighting it for some time. Even before this ridiculous marriage, I had been more than conscious of his attraction… 

(Outlander, Chapter 16)

She is not in love with him at this point, but recognizes some elements of love’s potential.

When Jamie later asks Claire if what is between them is usual, he specifically refers to the intensity of their physical connection. Her reply that it is not usual suggests she is pondering just what it is between them.

And again, just as she’s fleeing to the stones:

My stomach gave a sudden lurch as I thought of Jamie. God, how could I do it? Leave him without a word of explanation or apology? Disappear without a trace, after what he had done for me?

(Outlander, Chapter 20)

When, then, does she realize her feelings have evolved to love?

What are your thoughts? Share some book quotes and we’ll piece together the beginnings of this love story!

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Spectacular answers to this so far! Check out the reblogs in the notes to see some really great thoughts. Thank you so much for weighing in:

@yarnings - @theministerskat - @whiskynottea - @futurelounging - @teenybeanielinguine - and everyone else who commented or added thoughts in their tags! 

Anyone else with some thoughts on it, let’s hear it!

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Discussion Question:

At what point does Claire realize she is in love with Jamie?

Shortly after Claire marries Jamie, she ponders the feeling of infatuation she is experiencing:

I had been fighting it for some time. Even before this ridiculous marriage, I had been more than conscious of his attraction... 

(Outlander, Chapter 16)

She is not in love with him at this point, but recognizes some elements of love’s potential.

When Jamie later asks Claire if what is between them is usual, he specifically refers to the intensity of their physical connection. Her reply that it is not usual suggests she is pondering just what it is between them.

And again, just as she’s fleeing to the stones:

My stomach gave a sudden lurch as I thought of Jamie. God, how could I do it? Leave him without a word of explanation or apology? Disappear without a trace, after what he had done for me?

(Outlander, Chapter 20)

When, then, does she realize her feelings have evolved to love?

What are your thoughts? Share some book quotes and we’ll piece together the beginnings of this love story!

[outlanderbooktalk-blog]

Introducing Outlander Book Talk!

Outlander Book Talk is a blog that has been created out of a desire to explore the world that Diana Gabaldon has created within the series and related novellas.

What Outlander Book Talk is:

A designated space to delve deeper into the written world of Outlander.

A place to have an open and facilitated discussion with other fans of the books.

What Outlander Book Talk is not:

A place to talk about the Outlander TV series.

A blog looking to compare the show to the books.

A space to discuss the actors in the show.

What to expect from Outlander Book Talk:

Book quotes.

Discussion questions.

Future book speculation.

Character analysis.

Watch for our first discussion post soon!