Written in My Own Heart's Blood by Diana Gabaldon

“A Dhia!” he said violently, and dropped the stone, turning back at once to find more. He really couldn’t bear the vision of them drowning, maybe clinging to each other, struggling to keep. The image of his mother in a hole in the ground stabbed him like a fork, retreated with the recollection that she wasn’t after all in a grave, and stabbed again all the harder for that. And those were the folk who would have known Jamie Fraser and loved him well but wouldn’t ken Jenny Murray from a hole in the. His mam and Uncle Jamie were brother and sister, and the family could mourn them here together-but there were others he might bring, maybe, to remember and pay their respects. He swallowed hard and, walking into the small clear space, set his stone in the middle, then stood back to look.Įven as he did so, he found himself shaking his head.

Fergus had stayed with her at Lallybroch, helped to take care of her and the place he hadn’t. Maybe more, he thought, his grief aggravated by guilt. Fergus had known Mam longer than Ian had, and loved her as much. Mam had raised Fergus from the time he was ten, and he’d had no mother before that. He meant to bring them up here-the family.įergus, to begin with. A small clearing, out of the way, up among a scatter of great lichened boulders, under the shadow of firs and at the foot of a big red cedar a place where no casual passerby would go, but not inaccessible. The forest between Philadelphia and Valley ForgeĪn Murray stood with a stone in his hand, eyeing the ground he’d chosen.

Written in My Own Heart's Blood by Diana Gabaldon