Killed you

The whole Scene:

We sat, hands clas­ped and pres­sed toge­ther on the bench, unmo­ving, unspeaking, for what see­med like hours, with the cool rain-bre­e­ze whis­pe­ring our thoughts in the grape lea­ves above. Water drops scat­te­red over us with the pas­sing of the wind, wee­ping for loss and separation.“You’re cold,” Jamie mur­mu­red at last, and pul­led a fold of his cloak around me, brin­ging with it the warmth of his skin. I came slow­ly against him under its shel­ter, shi­vering more at the start­ling solid­ness, the sud­den heat of him, than from the cold.I laid my hand on his chest, ten­ta­ti­ve as though the touch of him might burn me in truth, and so we sat for a good while lon­ger, let­ting the grape lea­ves talk for us.“Jamie,” I said soft­ly, at last. “Oh, Jamie. Whe­re were you?”His arm tigh­te­ned about me, but it was some time befo­re he answered.“I thought ye were dead, mo duin­ne,” he said, so soft­ly I could hard­ly hear him above the rust­ling of the arbor.“I saw ye the­re — on the ground, at the last. God! Ye were so white, and your skirts all soa­ked wi’ blood…I tried to go to ye, Clai­re, so soon as I saw — I ran to ye, but it was then the Guard took me.”He swal­lo­wed hard; I could feel the tre­mor pass down him, through the long cur­ve of his backbone.“I fought them…I fought, and aye I pleaded…but they would­na stay, and they car­ri­ed me awa’ wi’ them. And they put me in a cell, and left me there…thinking ye were dead, Clai­re; kno­wing that I’d kil­led you.”The fine tre­mor went on, and I knew he was wee­ping, though I could not see his face above me. How long had he sat alo­ne in the dark of the Bas­til­le, alo­ne but for the scent of blood and the empty husk of vengeance?“It’s all right,” I said, and pres­sed my hand har­der against his chest, as though to still the has­ty bea­ting of his heart. “Jamie, it’s all right. It…it wasn’t your fault.”“I tried to bash my head against the wall — only to stop thin­king,” he said, near­ly in a whis­per. “So they tied me, hand and foot. And next day, de Rohan found me, and told me that ye lived, though likely not for long.”He was silent then, but I could feel the pain insi­de him, sharp as crys­tal spears of ice.“Claire,” he mur­mu­red at last. “I am sorry.”I am sor­ry. The wor­ds were tho­se of the note he had left me, befo­re the world shat­te­red. But now I unders­tood them.“I know,” I said. “Jamie, I know. Fer­gus told me. I know why you went.”He drew a deep, shud­de­ring breath.“Aye, well…” he said, and stopped.I let my hand fall to his thigh; chil­led and damp from the rain, his riding bree­ches were rough under my palm.

bastille

All rights for the Pic­ture go to the right­ful owner Starz
Quo­te and Excerpt by Diana Gabaldon from “DiA”
I own not­hing but the editing
Heike Ginger Ba Written by:

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