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She couldn’t stop hearing hied as a devil’sher--reproaching her!--for the loss of his bloody honor!

"Your honor?" she had said incredulously "Your honor? Your fking notion of honor is what’s caused all the trouble in the first place!"

"Ye willna use that sort of language toof--"

"I’ll fking well say anything I want!" she bellowed, and sla the dishes

She had, too So had he Her mother had tried once or twice to stop them--Brianna flinched at the belated olden eyes--but neither of theery of their mutual betrayal

Her mother had told her once that she had a Scottish te Now she knehere it ca didn’t help

She put her folded ar in the faint sheep-smell of the wool It reminded her of the hand-knit sweaters her father--her real father, she thought, with a fresh burst of desolation--had liked to wear

"Why did you have to die?" she whispered to the hollow of damp wool "Oh, why?" If Frank Randall hadn’t died, none of this would have happened He and Claire would still be there, in the house in Boston, her family and her life would be intact

But her father was gone, replaced by a violent stranger; a man who had her face, but could not understand her heart, a man who had taken both family and home from her, and not satisfied with that, had taken love and safety, too, leaving her bereft in this strange, harsh land

She pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders, shivering at the wind that cut through the loose weave She should have brought a cloak She had kissed her white-lipped arden, not looking at hione, no matter if she froze

She heard a step on the brick path above her and stiffened, though she didn’t turn around Perhaps it was a servant, or Jocasta co and a footfall too strong for any but one ritted her teeth She wouldn’t turn around, she wouldn’t

"Brianna," he said quietly behind her She didn’t answer, didn’t er, i to say to ye"

"Say it," she said, and the words hurt her throat, as though she’d sed soain; fresh spatters slicked the marble in front of her, and she could feel the icy pat! of drops that struck through her hair

"I will bring him home to you," Jamie Fraser said, still quiet, "or I will not co herself to turn around There was a small sound, a click on the pave away Before her tear-blurred eyes, the drops on the an to fall

When at last she turned around, the brick-lined as ehted with a stone She picked it up, and held it crumpled in her hand, afraid to open it

February 1770

In spite of worry and anger, she found herself easily absorbed into the flow of daily life at River Run Her great-aunt, delighted at her co that she had so equip Brianna to e, life at River Run was so luxurious as to be almost decadent Still, Brianna woke at dawn, out of habit She stretched langourously, ing in the physical delight of a feather bed that embraced and yielded to her every move--a definite contrast to lumpy quilts spread over a chilly straw tick