Conflict and character are the heart of good fiction, and good mystery has both of those in spades.

For so many years, for so long, I have been so many things, so many different men. But here," he said, so softly I could barely hear him, "here in the dark, with you… I have no name.

You dinna need to understand me, Sassenach," he said quietly. "So long as you love me.

What are you doing with the child?" I inquired cautiously. "I'm teachin' young James here the fine art of not pissing on his feet," he explained.

You are safe," he said firmly. "You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. The man willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.

Do ye want me?" he whispered. "Sassenach, will ye take me - and risk the man that I am, for the sake of the man ye knew?

This is our time. Until that time stops - for one of us, for both – it is our time. Now. Will you waste it, because you are afraid?