[Ashley] #TheFieryCross #OUTLANDERReadAlong “Tell me one of your dreams, then.” A laugh vibrated through his chest, nearly soundless, but she felt it. “Only one?” “Yes, but it has to be an important one. Not the flying ones, or the ones where you’re being chased by a monster, or the ones where you go to school without your clothes on. Not the ones that everybody has—one that only you have.” One of her hands was on his chest, scratching gently to make the dark curly hairs twitch and rise. The other was under the pillow; if she moved her fingers slightly, she could feel the smooth little shape of the ancient wifie, as he called it. She could imagine her own womb swelling, round and hard. She could feel the clutch and soft spasm in her lower belly; aftershocks of their lovemaking. Would it be this time? He turned his head on the pillow, thinking. Long lashes lay against his cheek, black as the lines of the trees outside. He turned back then, lifting them, and his eyes were the color of moss, soft and vivid in the shadowed light. “I could be romantic,” he whispered, and his fingers drifted down her back, so that she felt gooseflesh rise in their wake. “I could say this is my dream—you and me, here alone . . . us and our children.” He turned his head a little, checking the trundle in the corner, but Jemmy was sound asleep, invisible. “You could,” she echoed, and ducked her head so her forehead pressed against his shoulder. “But that’s a waking dream—not a real dream. You know what I mean.” “Aye, I do.” He was quiet for a minute, his hand lying still, broad and warm across the base of her spine. “Sometimes,” he whispered at last, “sometimes, I dream I am singing, and I wake from it with my throat aching.” He couldn’t see her face, or the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. “What do you sing?” she whispered back. She heard the shush of the linen pillow as he shook his head. “No song I’ve ever heard, or know,” he said softly. “But I know I’m singing it for you.”
Posted on: Thu, 19 Dec 2013 17:00:01 +0000
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