For my sake,” he said firmly, addressing the air in front of him as though it were a tribunal, “I Diana want ye to bear another child. I wouldn risk your loss, Sassenach,” he said, his voice suddenly husky. “Not for a dozen bairns. I have daughters and sons, nieces and nephews, grandchildren—weans enough.” He looked at me directly then, and spoke softly.“But I have no life but you, Claire.” He swallowed audibly, and went on, eyes fixed on mine.“I did think, though. . . If ye do want another child. . . Perhaps I could still give ye one.

The Fiery Cross