Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone
Chapters (28)
COVER
About the Author
DIANA GABALDON is the author of the international bestselling Outlander novels and Lord John Grey series.
She says that the Outlander series started by accident: ‘I decided to write a novel for practice in order to learn what it took to write a novel, and to decide whether I really wanted to do it for real. I did – and here we all are trying to decide what to call books that nobody can describe, but that fortunately most people seem to enjoy.’
And enjoy them they do – in their millions, all over the world. Published in 42 countries and 38 languages, in 2014 the Outlander novels were made into an acclaimed TV series starring Sam Heughan as Jamie Fraser and Caitríona Balfe as Claire.
Diana lives with her husband and dogs in Scottsdale, Arizona. Go Tell The Bees That I Am Gone is the ninth Outlander novel.
Keep in touch with Diana
@Writer_DG
AuthorDianaGabaldon
Also available by Diana Gabaldon
Fiction
OUTLANDER (PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED AS CROSS STITCH)
DRAGONFLY IN AMBER
VOYAGER
DRUMS OF AUTUMN
THE FIERY CROSS
A BREATH OF SNOW AND ASHES
AN ECHO IN THE BONE
WRITTEN IN MY OWN HEART’S BLOOD
SEVEN STONES TO STAND OR FALL
The Lord John Grey Series
LORD JOHN AND THE PRIVATE MATTER
LORD JOHN AND THE HAND OF DEVILS
LORD JOHN AND THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE BLADE
Non-Fiction
THROUGH THE STONES
THE OUTLANDISH COMPANION
THE OFFICIAL OUTLANDER COLOURING BOOK
DEDICATION
This one is for Doug
True North
MAP
FAMILY TREE
Prologue
YOU KNOW THAT SOMETHING is coming. Something—a specific, dire, and awful something—will happen. You envision it, you push it away. It rolls slowly, inexorably, back into your mind.
You make what preparation you can. Or you think you do, though your bones know the truth—there isn’t any way to sidestep, accommodate, lessen the impact. It will come, and you will be helpless before it.
You know these things.
And yet, somehow, you never think it will be today.
Part One
A SWARM OF BEES IN THE CARCASS OF A LION
1
The Mackenzies Are Here
Fraser’s Ridge, Colony of North Carolina
June 17, 1779
THERE WAS A STONE under my right buttock, but I didn’t want to move. The tiny heartbeat under my fingers was soft and stubborn, the fleeting jolts life. The space between them was infinity, my connection to the dark sky and the rising flame.
“Move your arse a bit, Sassenach,” said a voice in my ear. “I need to scratch my nose and ye’re sitting on my hand.” Jamie twitched his fingers under me, and I moved, turning toward him as I shifted and resettled, keeping my hold on three-year-old Mandy, bonelessly asleep in my arms.