Yes, it is my birthday (I’m always astonished when it comes round again, but there it is…), and MANY THANKS for all the kind good wishes! For the record, I’m 72, or will be, as of 6:01 PM tonight (the night of January 11th, I mean). Aside from minor arthritis here and there, I seem to still be in decent working order, so we’ll hope for the best during the coming year! (NO, the book won’t be out this year. No, I don’t know when it will be done. Books have their own time, and I’m not rushing this one, but I hope you’ll enjoy it when you get it. In the meantime…)
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[Excerpt from BOOK TEN (Untitled), copyright © 2024 Diana Gabaldon]
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[Yes, there is a small spoiler, but most people already know it.]
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“So,” I said, sitting up. “You’re proposing to go off for some unknown period of time, to unknown places, to do unknown things that are likely bloody dangerous, fortified only by your memories of my hands and my bottom?”
“They’ll be my shield and buckler,” he assured me, straight-faced.
“What is a buckler? I’ve always wondered.”
“It’s something like a targe,” he said, reaching for his shirt. “A bittie round shield. About the size of your arse,” he added helpfully.
“I’ve seen targes, you know,” I said, somewhat coldly.
“Have ye ever sat on one?”
“No. Have you?”
“Aye, many times. Comes in handy, if you’re tired to death and out in the wet or havin’ to eat your supper in the snow. Mind,” he added fairly, bending to pick up his kilt off the floor, “ye canna do that if ye’ve got one o’ the fancy ones wi’ a spike in the middle. I couldna afford one o’ those, though—not at the time.”
Not at the time. I rather thought the last time he’d held a targe would have been at Culloden. I felt the expected pang at the thought of that—but for once, the memory was tempered by another. He’d come back from that battle. And a good many others. And at least this search would keep him off battlefields. I hoped.
I slid off the table as he turned round, and put my arms around him, comforted by his solid warmth and the taste of salt on his skin.
“I’ll remember your hands, too,” I said. “If I recall what Roger was saying in church last month, though, that psalm says, “His truth shall be your shield and buckler.” If a buckler is a shield, why do you need another?”
“To guard against the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Sassenach,” he said, and kissed my brow. “A targe is for swords and knives. The close work, aye?”
[With thanks to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the image of a Scottish targe. https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/]
Visit or return to my Book Ten webpage for more excerpts from—and information about—this new book.
This excerpt (“Daily Lines”) was also released on my official Facebook page on January 11, 2024.