Outlander: Blood of My Blood 1x07 "Luceo Non Uro" Promo - Lord Lovat goes to extreme lengths to fulfill a prophecy; Dougal attends a clandestine meeting that could spell political disaster for the MacKenzies.
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Outlander: Blood of My Blood 1x07 "Luceo Non Uro" Promo - Lord Lovat goes to extreme lengths to fulfill a prophecy; Dougal attends a clandestine meeting that could spell political disaster for the MacKenzies.
“A Happy Picture with a Sad Ending,” Moncton Daily Times. March 7, 1933. Page 3. --- Our photograph shows Lord Lovat in a happy mood at the Steeplechase meeting near Chipping Norton, just before his son, Simon Christopher, Master of Lovat, right, left him to ride in one of the races. When the young man returned atfer the race to speak to his father and mother, seen in the background, Lerd Lovat sank to the ground and then died.
Leadership & the Power to Inspire...
Leadership & the Power to Inspire…
“For a soldier, leadership is that power to inspire soldiers in battle, or unforeseen crisis, where others fail; the quality possessed by the individual, of whatever rank, whose courage lifts lesser men with the certainty that all will go well as long as he is there.”
Lord Lovat (1911 to 1995)
Brigadier Simon Christopher Joseph Fraser, 15th Lord Lovat and 4th Baron Lovat, DSO, MC, TD, JP,…
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The Streets Of London – Part Eighty
The Streets Of London – Part Eighty
Lovat Lane, EC3R
Anyone who wants a glimpse of what the City of London might have looked like before the ravages of the Second World War and the construction of the monstrous carbuncles the blight the skyline of the metropolis could do worse than take a walk down Lovat Lane. Running from Eastcheap from its northern end to Lower Thames Street at its southern extremity, it is a steep, narrow,…
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He poured out a basin of water and began to splash handfuls over his face. He looked up, startled and streaming, at my gasp. “Hah?” “Your stomach…” I said, pointing. The skin between breastbone and kilt was mottled with a large fresh bruise, spreading like a large, unsightly blossom on his fair skin. Jamie glanced down, said “Oh, that,” dismissively, and returned to his washing.” “Yes, that,” I said, coming to take a closer look. “What happened?” “It’s no matter,” he said, speech coming thickly through a towel. “I spoke a bit hasty this afternoon, and my grandsire had Young Simon give me a small lesson in respect.” “So he had a couple of minor Frasers hold you while he punched you in the belly?” I said, feeling slightly ill. Tossing the towel aside, Jamie reached for his nightshirt. “Verra flattering of you to suppose it took two to hold me,” he said, grinning as his head popped through the opening. “Actually, there were three; one was behind, chokin’ me.” “Jamie!” He laughed, shaking his head ruefully as he pulled back the quilt on the bed.” “I don’t know what it is about ye, Sassenach, that always makes me want to show off for ye. Get myself killed one of these days, tryin’ to impress ye, I expect.” He sighed, gingerly smoothing the woolen shirt over his stomach. “It’s only play-acting, Sassenach; ye shouldna worry.” “Play-acting! Good God, Jamie!” “Have ye no seen a strange dog join a pack, Sassenach? The others sniff at him, and nip at his legs, and growl, to see will he cower or growl back at them. And sometimes it comes to biting, and sometimes not, but at the end of it, every dog in the pack knows his place, and who’s leader. Old Simon wants to be sure I ken who leads this pack; that’s all.” “Oh? And do you?” I lay down, waiting for him to come to bed. He picked up the candle and grinned down at me, the flickering light picking up a blue gleam in his eyes. “Woof,” he said, and blew out the candle.
Dragonfly in Amber
I’d heard of ye, you know,” he said. “You’ve a bit of fame through the Highlands, Mistress.” “Oh, really? How nice.” I tugged inconspicuously; in response, his hand tightened around mine in a grip that was nearly painful. “Oh, aye. I’ve heard you’re verra popular with the men of your husband’s command,” he said, smiling so hard his eyes narrowed to dark-brown slits. “They call ye neo-geimnidh meala, I hear. That means ‘Mistress Honeylips,’ ” he translated, seeing my look of bewilderment at the unfamiliar Gaelic. “Why, thank you…” I began, but got no more than the first words out before Jamie’s fist crashed into Simon Junior’s jaw and sent his half-uncle reeling into a piecrust table, scattering sweetmeats and serving spoons across the polished slates with a terrific clatter.
Dragonfly in Amber