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"Jamie," I said hesitantly "Do you believe I love you?"

He turned his head and looked down atThe h they had been chiseled in marble

"Well, if ye don’t, Sassenach," he said at last, "ye’ve picked a verra poor tihost of a laugh

"No, it’s not that," I assured hihtened, and I sed hastily, needing to get the words out

"I--I don’t say it often Perhaps it’s only that I wasn’t raised to say such things; I lived with my uncle, and he was affectionate, but not--well, I didn’t kno htly overhis lips After amy voice

"Look, what I mean to say is--if I don’t say it, how do you know I love you?"

He stood still, looking at ment

"I know because ye’re here, Sassenach," he said quietly "And that’s what ye er And so perhaps he will love her enough?"

"It’s not a thing you’d do, just for friendship’s sake"

He nodded again, but I hesitated, wanting to tell hinificance of it

"I haven’t told you a great deal about it, because--there aren’t words for it But one thing about it I could tell you Jamie--" I shivered involuntarily, and not froh the stones coain"

His look sharpened

"How d’ye ken that, Sassenach?"

"I can--I could--hear theht by this tiht my hands between his own and drew me close The autumn wind rattled the branches of the s by the stream, a sound like dry, bare bones He held o

"It’s cold, Sassenach Come inside" He turned toward the house, but laid ain

"Jamie?"

"Aye?"

"Should I--would you--do you need me to say it?"

He turned around and looked down at ht, but his features were once more dark

"I dinna need it, no" His voice was soft "But I wouldna ain Not too often, mind; I wouldna want to lose the novelty of it" I could hear the s in return, whether he could see it or not

"Once in a while wouldn’t hurt, though?"

"No"

I stepped close to him and put my hands on his shoulders

"I love you"

He looked down at lad of it, Claire," he said quietly, and touched lad Come to bed now; I’ll warm ye"

48

AWAY IN A MANGER

The tiny stable was in a shallow cave under a rocky overhang, walled in along the front with a stockade of unpeeled cedar logs, sunk two feet deep in packed earth, stout enough to deter the h the open upper half of the stable door, and ruddy, light-filled s like bright water over the stone

"Why a double door?" she had asked It seemed excessive labor; an unnecessary refineive the beasts a place to look out," her father had explained, showing her where to sht around the curve of the wood He picked up the ha over the half-ate "Keeps them happy, aye?"

She didn’t know if the animals were happy in the stable, but she was; cool and shadowy, srass-fed ani the day, when its inhabitants were out grazing in the ht, the little stockade was a pocket of coziness; once she had passed near enough after dark to see the soft, ap betood and rock, as though the earth itself were breathing through pursed lips, warht, the stars sharp as needle points in the hard, clear air It was only fiveunder her cloak by the ti out ca lantern, she saw, but also fro heat and light for the vigil within