"But Jamie lingered awkwardly a moment, and then, as though suddenly making up his mind to it, stepped forward and bending down, cupped Grey's face between his hands. Grey felt the big hands warm on the skin of his face, light and strong as the brush of an eagle's feather, and then Jamie Fraser's soft wide mouth touched his own. There was a fleeting impression of tenderness and strength held in check, the faint taste of ale and fresh-baked bread. Then it was gone, and John Grey stood blinking in the brilliant sun. "Oh," he said. Jamie gave him a shy, crooked smile. "Aye, well," he said. "I suppose I'm maybe not poisoned."