"'Well, he shall have a caithris!' He glared belligerently from Jamie to Fergus to Ian. 'Why not?'
Jamie wasn't drunk, but he wasn't completely sober either. He grinned at Duncan and lifted his own cup in salute.
'Why not indeed?' he said. 'Only it will have to be you singin' it, Duncan. None of the rest knew Gavin, and I'm no singer. I'll shout along wi' ye, though.'" —Diana Gabaldon, Drums of Autumn (NY: Dell, 1997), 24–25
"Enormously flustered, I groped for something suitable. I simply wasn't up to the challenge of composing a proper caithris, a lament for the dead—let alone providing the formal wailing that a truly first-class Highland funeral would have." —Diana Gabaldon, An Echo in the Bone (New York: Delacorte Press, 2009), 43