Jamie in DoA
“I hadna thought ever to be so jealous of a dead man,” he whispered at last. “I shouldna have thought it possible.”“Of a dead man?” My own voice rose slightly, with astonishment, as it finally dawned on me. “Of Frank?”He lay still, half on top of me. His hand touched the bones of my face, hesitant.“Who else? I have been worm-eaten wi’ it, all these days of riding. I see his face in my mind, waking and sleeping. Ye did say he looked like Jack Randall, no?”I gathered him tight against myself, pressing his head down so that his ear was near my mouth. Thank God I hadn’t mentioned the ring to him—but had my face, my traitorous, transparent face, somehow given away that I thought of it?“How?” I whispered to him, squeezing hard. “How could you think of such a thing?”He broke loose, rising on one elbow, his hair falling down over my face in a mass of flaming shadows, the firelight sparking gold and crimson through it.“How could I not?” he demanded. “Ye heard her, Claire; ye ken well what she said to me!”“Brianna?”“She said she would gladly see me in hell, and sell her own soul to have her father back—her real father.” He swallowed; I heard the sound of it, above the murmur of distant voices.“I keep thinking he would not have made such a mistake. He would have trusted her; he would have known that she…I keep thinking that Frank Randall was a better man than I am. She thinks so.” His hand faltered, then settled on my shoulder, squeezing tight. “I thought…perhaps ye felt the same, Sassenach.”
From Franks Letter in DoA
Fraser—shall I curse him for stealing my wife, or bless him for giving me my daughter? Though likely this is just the product of jealousy and imagination—I know what the bastard looks like, well enough; I see his face on my daughter, day by day! I can almost feel him, sometimes, looking over my shoulder, standing across the room. Hadn’t thought of this before—do you suppose I’ll meet him in the sweet by-and-by, if there is one? Should we meet as friends, I wonder, with the sins of the flesh behind us? Or end forever locked in some Celtic hell, with our hands wrapped round each other’s throat?Whoever he was, whenever he was, I wanted nothing more in life than to see him—and to kill him.