Written by: Anne Hawkinson The Duke of Sandringham started it – and Murtagh finished it. The brutal justice delivered in “Vengeance Is Mine” was a long time coming and the pinnacle of a pressure that had been building ever since the Petition of Complaint (against Jack Randall) was drawn up by Ned Gowan and delivered by…
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Written by: Anne Hawkinson Murtagh is alwaysthere. Dependable, stable, loyal. You never have to wonder, you never have to doubt. He doesn’t push to the front or seek the limelight, like Dougal has on more than one occasion. And his reward is that he gets passed over, or passed by. “Prestonpans” proved it once again….
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Written by: Anne Hawkinson In “Best Laid Schemes,” Murtagh is finally told the secret Claire and Jamie have been keeping from him. But the timing of the reveal really threw me off. Wait . . . what?? Claire has just given Jamie her smallpox potion, which means any second now he should be vomiting and…
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Written by: Anne Hawkinson Murtagh is a man who makes you feel safe, no matter the circumstance. He stands quietly (for the most part) in the background, surveying the situation, alert to any potential danger. He’s got your back, no matter what. He’s loyal to the end – underneath that scowl and tough exterior is…
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Written by: Anne K. Hawkinson Who is the man with the port wine stain on his hand? He knows something of the way carriages are constructed as he removes the pin from the wheel of Jared’s carriage, ensuring its breakdown later in the day. How does he gain access to the carriage so easily, without…
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Written by: Anne K. Hawkinson Jared’s home in Paris is fully staffed with capable and loyal (so we’re told) servants. We see them in every part of the house, attending to Claire, Jamie, and Murtagh’s every need. When they are not attending to their respective charges, they stand at quiet attention, within earshot of private, potentially…
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Written by: Anne K. Hawkinson “Not in Scotland Anymore” drew me into a web of deception, plotting, and lies. Who is friend and who is foe? One slip of the tongue, one conversation with the “wrong” person and it could all be for naught. I searched for a steady thread, a ballast of sorts, and…
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