#nine book

[jesuisprest002]

Thank u Outlanderuniverse1743 for pic and quote.

Hilarious!!! Not a Susan either and I confess I love this show and the books with all my heart!! Can’t wait for Season 6 and for Book 9!!!

[jesuisprest002]

Go tell the Bees that I am gone

#DailyLines #GoTELLTheBEESThatIAmGONE #Book9 #itscomingalongnicelythankyou #Illtellyouwhenitsdone #butitllbeawhileyet #Flashback “Here.” Buck had reached into his pocket and come out with a grimy wad of paper, which he shoved unceremoniously into Roger’s hand. He knew what it was—and wondered for an instant how he knew. Was it only the circumstances, or could he actually…feel something? It was a sapphire, a raw one. A misty, cloudy blue little thing, half the size of his little finger’s nail. He shook it free of its wrappings and it landed silently but solidly in the hollow of his hand. “Ye said it maybe doesna matter whether it’s cut or not,” Buck said, nodding at it. “I think not. I hope not. I wish I could say I can’t take it.” Roger closed his fingers gently on the little rock, as though it might burn him. “Thank you, _a charaidh_. Where did ye find it?” “Ach…” Buck said vaguely, with a slight wave of his hand. “Just saw it and picked it up, ken?” “Holy Lord,” Roger said, squeezing the little pebble involuntarily. Too late, he remembered the castle in Strathpeffer, him talking with the factor about Jemmy and Rob Cameron—the earl being away from home—and Buck gone, disappeared with a handsome young housemaid. And the factor offering to show him Cromartie’s collection of agates and rare stones…he’d declined, thank God. But— “You didn’t,” he said to Buck. “Tell me ye didn’t.” “Ye keep saying that,” Buck said, frowning at him. “I will, if ye want me to, but I shouldna think a minister ought to be encouraging folk to tell lies. A poor example for the bairns, aye?” He nodded toward the stable-yard, where Jem was playing with a boy who had a hoop, the two of them trying to drive it with sticks over the bumpy ground, with a marked lack of success. Mandy was throwing pebbles at something in the dry grass—probably some hapless toad trying its best to hibernate against the odds. “Me, a poor example? And you their own great-great-great-great-grandfather!” “And should I not be lookin’ out for their welfare, then? Is that what ye’re sayin’ to me?” “I—“ His throat closed suddenly and he cleared it, hard. The boys had left their hoop and were poking at whatever Mandy had found in the grass. “No. I’m not. But I didn’t ask ye to steal for them. To risk your bloody neck for us!” _That’s my job_, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “May as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.” Buck gave him a direct stare. “Ye need it, aye? Take it, then.” Something that wasn’t quite a smile touched the edge of his mouth. “With my blessing.” On the far side of the yard, Mandy had picked up the hoop and put it about her solid little waist. She waggled her bottom, in a vain attempt at getting it to spin. “Look, Daddy!” she called. “Hula hoop!” Jem froze for a moment, then looked at Roger, his eyes big with concern. Roger shook his head slightly—_don’t say anything_—and Jem swallowed visibly and turned his back to his sister, shoulders stiff. “What’s a hula hoop, then?” Buck asked quietly, behind him. “Just a toy.” His own heart had jumped into his throat when she said it; he swallowed now, just like Jem, and felt it settle. “It’s nay bother; she’s wee, and a stranger. No one would trouble about what she calls things.” “Not _that_ thing, no.” Buck watched Mandy for a moment; she’d got the thing whirling round her neck, but only for an instant before it dropped down her body to the ground. She hopped out of the hoop and skipped over to see what the boys were doing. “There’s maybe other things she might say, though. Eh?” “Aye. But she’s wee,” Roger repeated firmly. “No one pays much heed to what a maid of her age might say. Bairns make things up, and they chatter all the time.” “Aye, I’d noticed that.” Buck’s voice held a wry amusement. Roger saw that Buck’s eyes were still fixed on Mandy, with an intensity Roger recognized. It was the look of someone trying to hold on to a moment, a place, a person they expected to lose. Roger touched Buck’s arm, lightly. “Will ye not come with us, then?” he asked. “We can find another stone. We can wait.” Buck’s breath steamed briefly and he turned away. “No,” he said firmly. “I wouldna make it.” “Ye don’t know that!” Roger grabbed his arm this time, making him stop, making him meet his eyes. They were the same deep green as his own—the same as the woman’s. Buck’s mother, his own ancestress. How many of the generations between Buck and himself had those eyes? He wondered. Who were they? “Do I want to die to find out?” Buck snapped, and pulled loose.