She felt it suddenly, distracted by Rose's
squirming.
Seeing her go still Sky reached for the baby and began to
study the crowd, searching for faces he recognized.
There were none.
Across the room Duncan paused in the conversation, his
expression one familiar to Richie, who felt it a second later.
"Anyone I know?" he asked with forced calm as they both
studied the room.
"I don't see anyone." Duncan said. Then a slow, reluctant
smile began to spread on his face. "It's okay, Richie. She's a
friend."
"I see him." she told Sky with shrug. "I'm
in no danger."
"Somebody I've heard of?" he asked, passing a fretful
Rose back to her arms, to cuddle and soothe automatically.
"I believe I've mentioned him." it was said with an
undertone of laughter.
"Let me guess." Sky grinned at her wide smile, delighted
to see her excited. He frowned and concentrated where she was
looking. "Not the redhead...not your type -"
"Hey!" she protested. "I don't have a type!"
"- but the other one's very nice, in a dark-and-handsome
way. Hey! That's not MacLeod, is it?" now he sounded excited.
"The one and only." she smiled even more brightly. "Now,
hush. He's coming over."
There she was. He hadn't seen her in three
hundred years,
and here she was, in the same room, at a children's fashion
show, of all things, in Paris. She hated crowds.
"Have I heard of her?" Richie asked as Duncan began
making his way through the crowd, around the empty catwalk. He
quickly spotted her, making her way to meet them.
"No." he answered distractedly. "It was a very long time
ago. When I was still with Connor..." Duncan stared at her as
she walked. In a clinging sheath, she was a vision, an Amazon
Goddess, bronzed by the sun, her hair falling down her back in
a sheet of red-brown, her eyes still sparkling blue, her nose
still slightly crooked...memory overwhelmed him.
(flashback)
Duncan slammed into their suite of rooms energetically.
He'd had a wonderful day -- his horse had won, he'd won at
cards, and he'd seen a woman in the bar that afternoon...an
incredible woman. Catching her buzz as she walked past a far
door he'd almost thrown down his cards and gone after her, but
there had been too much money on the table....he felt the
buzz. It was stronger, but he'd had a lot to drink. Sometimes
that confused the odd sixth sense.
"Connor?" his cheerful bellow shook the crystal.
"In here, Duncan." his mentor's raspy voice answered from
the small sitting room off the foyer.
Duncan strode in, giving a real bull-in-a-china-shop
impression -- which was, of course, false, but only barely and
that recent -- and stopped cold.
Sitting on the settee, Connor was pouring tea for the
woman sitting in the wing chair. The woman Duncan had seen
earlier that day.
Briefly stunned, Duncan's eyes focused on Connor's hands.
Fluent, graceful in a way Duncan's never would be, almost
delicate. The hands of an artist.
The face of a priest. Connor looked up at him and smiled
his ironic half-smile, his voice holding real welcome.
"Duncan. There's someone here I'd like you to meet."
She stood, and Duncan found staring her in the eye, or
close enough. Six foot even, all of it slender muscle, the
shoulders of an Amazon Godess.
"I think we almost met earlier." her voice was soft, he
had to strain to hear it, leaning closer unconsciously. She
held out a hand. "I'm Saraid Manasdottir."
He took the hand, bent over it, his lips pressed to it
warmly, fleetingly. Her hand was strong, he felt the callouses
of a swordsman, unladylike, but a good predictor of her
continued survival.
"Duncan McLeod of the clan McLeod, at your service." his
smile was charm personified. He was no more able to stop it
than he could prevent the tides from rising.
Or Connor's face from hardening. Duncan watched in dismay
as his kinsman, his teacher, his friend, turned himself
inward, as he was so good at doing. As he did too often.
"Tea?" Connor asked lightly, no hint of sarcasm.
He looked from the one to the other. She was beautiful,
in every way that mattered. He could simply tell by looking at
her eyes. The color of her hair, the shape of her face --
these things didn't matter. It was the glow of her
eyes...serene. Calm. Accepting. He felt that he could tell her
anything and she would understand, and forgive. Right now.
Anytime. Forever.
And Connor looked like he wasn't even there anymore.
"I best get some sleep." Duncan said slowly,
backpeddling. "I have an early moring planned."
Connor noticed the effort he made to keep his accent
even, english, and smiled a small, tight smile.
She felt it. They could see she did. She set her teacup
down, and turned to Connor.
"It was lovely talking to you. But it is late for me as
well." she took his hand and squeezed it, Connor staring at
her like a lost child. Duncan was sure he wasn't aware of it.
She turned to Duncan.
"I do hope you won that hand this afternoon."
Her grin was as mischevious as a child's, and then she
was gone, leaving the two men staring at each other like
idiots.
Connor was the first to recover. He began gathering the
tea service, making himself busy.
"I should have known." the laughter in his words was
honest amusement, but Duncan searched for meaning behind it.
"The prettiest woman here and you've already marked her."
Suddenly deflating, Duncan dropped to the vacated chair,
seeing Connor wince as it creaked in protest.
"I didn' meet her." he said, his brogue suddenly thick
again. "I saw her 'cross a rrroom. No more than that."
Connor looked over at him and Duncan was struck by the
pain in his face. Connor hadn't been a happy man in the
decades Duncan had known him, but he seldom let it show as
vividly as it did now. Unsure, Duncan leaned forward and put a
hand on his shoulder.
"Connor. Wha'is it?"
Connor shrugged, Duncan's hand falling away.
"Nothing." he made it sound light. "I think she likes
you."
Duncan sat back, willing to be distracted.
"Yoo do?"
"Aye." Connor stood and looked down at him. "I do."
He had left the room before Duncan sat up and looked
after him, wondering.
In the years they had spent together, Connor had known
women. Not as many as Duncan, not even close. The darkness
inside him, the pain he hoarded, kept him from casual romantic
entanglements. And when he did play it was always, always
short and sweet. No committments, no pledges of love. Just a
whirlwind romance that always ended abruptly, often with
Duncan picking up the pieces behind him, consoling broken
hearts and soothing outraged feminine egos. With his dark good
looks, natural charm and cheerful enthusiasm for the opposite
sex, Duncan was Connor's opposite in matters of the heart --
and the flesh.
Duncan knew that Connor hadn't truly loved a woman since
his wife Heather died.
His response to Sarrita -- was that Norse? Celtic? he
hadn't heard it before -- was unusual. He had invited her up
for tea, served her, talked to her.
"He must like 'er." Duncan said aloud, startled. He'd
never thought this would happen. He and Connor want the same
woman?
Well, of course he would leave her to him. Connor needed
her more than he, Duncan, did. Duncan could always find a
willing wench.
But, as he twisted on his bed, trying to become
comfortable, he felt her eyes on him in his dreams...the warm,
sparkling gold he'd never seen before....
The maid was tidying up when he came out
in his dressing
gown. The look she gave him was openly adoring and he
ruthlessly squelched an automatic answering smile. She
couldn't be more than twelve, he reminded himself. While it
was appropriate in society's view, he personally preferred his
women with a bit more experience. Actually, he preferred them
to be women.
"This was left for ye, sair." she handed him a notecard
and curtesied low, trying to show the fraction of cleavage
she'd managed to force upwards with her corset. He ignored it
and looked around. The table was set, there was a plate of
bread and fruit, Connor's breakfast, untouched on the table by
the window.
"Is my brother awake yet?" he asked. They usually called
themselves that when they traveled together, it was easier
that way. And it was a part of the relationship, a feeling of
close kinship, brotherhood, that had nothing to do with their
immortality. They were clansmen, but yet it was more than
that.
"He's still abed, sair. Shall I fetch ye a bath?" she was
still astonished by their frequent bathing, something both of
them had picked up in the orient.
"One for both of us." Duncan said. She curtsied again and
left while he went to Connor's door and knocked.
"Come in." Connor's voice sounded tired.
Duncan stepped in, his eyes going to the bed, finding his
friend in a large chair before the window. From experience he
could guess that he had spent the night there.
"Connor." he spoke quietly, coming around the chair,
hunkering down beside it. "Are ye' all right, man?"
Connoe stirred, his bones creaking as if he hadn't moved
in hours. He looked up at Duncan and surprise registered on
his face.
"Duncan."
Duncan clasped a large hand on Connor's shoulder,
squeezed.
"Do ye want some breakfast?"
Connor covered his hand with his own, his eyes clearing.
"What time is it?"
"Almost noon." Duncan replied, the worry in his voice
obvious. He hated it when Connor got in these moods.
Connor pushed his hand away with a small smile.
"I'd better get up then." he stood and Duncan stood with
him. "What are you doing up so early, brother?" he teased.
Duncan shrugged.
"I like ta see the sun once in'na while."
Connor stretched. He didn't move with Duncan's natural
grace, rather a hidden ferocity, a wildness seldom seen, but
often felt by those around him. Then he frowned.
"I ordered ye a bath." Duncan grinned, understanding the
expression.
Connor punched him in the shoulder, gently.
"I trained ye well." he lapsed briefly into the brogue he
normally avoided.
"We have an invitation to ride out." Duncan responded by
dropping the accent so that they had reversed patterns. "From
Saraid Manesdottir. Do you want me ta accept?"
Connot shrugged and turned away, facing the window, his
face suddenly inscrutable.
"You go. I have business to take care of."
Duncan frowned. They had no business here, as far as he
knew, though Connor did have far-ranging interests.
"The invitation was for bo' of us."
Connor glanced at him, curious. Why was he pushing him to
go?
"I thought you would be glad to have her to yourself,
Duncan."
"I dinna know if I want her, Connor." he amswered with a
genuine smile, but Connor saw through the ruse.
"Oh, no, Duncan. You aren't setting me up. I saw how you
looked at her."
"She 'ad tea with you." Duncan pointed out.
"Probably as a ruse to meet you." together they walked
into the main room as the bell was rung. Connor opened the
door for the kitchen women bearing two copper tubs, followed
by a stream of boys carrying steaming buckets. The tubs were
set up there in the main room.
They both kept silent as the tubs were filled and the
maids left. The young one gave Duncan one last, beseeching
look as he firmly closed and latched the door.
"Or you could have that one." Connor laughed at Duncan's
grimace as he undressed.
They both stripped unselfconsciuously and climbed into
the steaming tubs, Connor silently, Duncan with a groan of
pleasure.
After several quiet minutes Duncan spoke up. They both
had their eyes closed.
"What bussinees are ye meeting for?"
"I'm going to buy a ship." Connor's voice was low and
soft, a hint of something Duncan couldn't recognize in it. "I
want to leave the land for a while.
"You'll be a sailor again?"
"I want to establish a trade route. It's been a long time
since I visited Nippon."
Duncan understood now. He wanted to go back to the
society that accepted his silence, approved his self-control.
"Do ye want me ta go with ye?" Duncan sat up, slightly
worried about the answer. Connor had never sent him off on his
own, not since that first time after he'd taken his first
head, when he'd had to because of the rules.
He knew they would have to go their seperate ways
someday, but he wasn't ready yet. That first ten years had
been lonely. He'd had friends and he'd had fun, but something
was always missing when Connor wasn't beside him.
"Of course, Duncan." Connor laughed his strange laugh,
softly. "Of course."
"I'll come wi' ye to buy yer boat if you ride with us
today." Duncan said hopefully.
Connor's answer was a few minutes coming, and sounded
reluctant.
"All right, brother. If that's what you want."
"Aye. It is." Duncan answered, satisfied.
And then Connor threw a cold wet cloth at him.
The little maid didn't seem near as
enthralled with
Duncan when she surveyed the mess an hour later and tiredly
began to mop up. But her features brightened considerably when
Connor pressed a large tip into her hand.
"Buy yourself something pretty." he said with a telling
glance at Duncan.
The girl blushed and curtsied until they were out of the
room.
In a black velvet riding habit the woman
looked like a
man. She rode her spirited horse astride, and people stared as
they cantered by.
On either side of her, Duncan and Connor were aware of
the stares. Amused, appalled, intrigued, envious. Saraid
ignored them all, cantering through Hyde Park.
Duncan and Connor exchanged glances.
"Would you like to leave the path?" Duncan asked her.
"Please!" the smile she flashed him stopped his heart,
started it again. He saw that Connor had the same reaction.
At the next fork they broke off into the woods.
"He does get tired of behaving." she said as her horse
began pulling at the bit. But she controlled him with an iron
hand, sitting tight as he danced sideways, forcing Duncan to
shift his mount behind.
"He's a beautiful animal." Connor observed with true
appreciation.
"Isn't he? I found him at the knacker's, preparing to be
cut up for cat meat. His previous owner didn't have the money
to feed him properly."
Considering the stallion stood seventeen hands or more,
Connor would believe it. His own mount was a favorite gelding,
quiet, sturdy, and strong. Not flashy like Duncan's slender
chestnut, but with staying power.
Saraid's horse yanked again and both men watched her
fight him with interest.
"A race then?" Duncan said enthusiastically. "This lady
here is unbeaten."
Connor had told him a hundred times not to ride his
racehorses for fun, but Duncan loved it too much.
"Yes!" she agreed, her enthusiasm matching his. Connor
shook his head to himself. They were a matched pair. He had no
bussiness pursuing her.
"To the pond?" Duncan controlled his mare with his
powerful thighs as she danced, picking up his excitement.
Conner's horse was calm, steady.
They sighted along the trail. The pond was barely
visible, a glimmer of blue far ahead.
"On three." she agreed, then glanced at Connor, a smile
passing over her face that made him feel as if it were just
for him. "Connor?"
Perhaps he needed to know this woman.
"One." he nodded. "Two. Three!"
They broke with an even start, racing through the woods
like maniacs, ducking branches and swerving around trees,
risking life and limb. Not something sane people did. Or
mortals.
It was times like these Duncan relished his immortality
the most -- when he was doing something stupid and dangerous
just for the fun of it. He pulled out to an early lead,
content to let the others follow, assured in his victory..
The stallion surging past him, the woman crouched low
over his neck, startled him. He missed a branch, took the blow
full in the face, and managed to stay on by hauling on the
reins, drawing a head-shaking pained squeal from his mare.
Instantly sorry he pulled up and watched in disbeleif as
Connor thundered past him, his nondescript brown gelding
running like a flat tracker, legs eating the ground in long
strides as he pushed to catch the woman and her big bay.
Dismounting, Duncan checked his mare's legs, feeling the
tingle as the cuts on his face, one particularly deep and
nasty, healed. The mare blew and shook her head and he
determined she was fine. Remounting, he put her to a canter to
catch the racers.
Saraid loked back over her shoulder and squealed in mock
terror as Connor's gelding pulled alongside her, and then
pretty outrage as he pulled ahead.
He reached the bank of the pond a scarce length head of
her. Laughing loudly, he threw himself off to catch her horse
and help her to the ground.
"Heh, heh, heh." he grinned and felt his heart tighten as
she smiled back, open, like the sun.
Staring at her, his eyes caught by hers, Connor leaned,
watching her face, his lips touching hers, lightly, a brush of
electricity...
"You've been holding out on me!" Duncan's words preceded
him out of the woods he pulled up short as Connor hastily
stepped away from Saraid. She smiled at him again, softer this
time, and they turned to walk the horses cool after their
sprint. Duncan dismounted and joined them, giving Connor an
apologetic shrug.
"Why don' ye race that horse?" he asked as they went
slowly around the lake.
"He's a secret weapon." Connor answered.
"But she's very good." Saraid told Duncan. "You would
have had a chance if you hadn't let yourself become
distracted."
Duncan winced.
"I'd be interested in breeding them." she continued. "If
you'd like a foal from her. It would probably be a good speed
horse."
Duncan was watching her walk.
"Aye, I'd like ta breed." he said thoughtlessly. When she
blinked he recovered himself. "The horses." he explained with
mild embarrassment. He glanced at Connor, who was smiling his
little smile. "The horses."
"Aye, Duncan. I know." Connor said patronizingly.
After that they were inseperable. Saraid
went with them
to buy Connor's boat, a sturdy merchant vessel. They took her
to dinner, to plays, to the the ballet. They gambled alongside
her, rode daily. Connor's horse did usually win, and more than
once Saraid lamented that he'd been gelded before his owners
knew what they had.
But there were no more almost-incidents. Both men were
holding back. Despite his good intentions Duncan found himself
drawn to her. Only his wish that Connor have her kept him from
starting something. But Connor was aware of how he felt and
thought that Duncan should have her. They had several quiet
and not-so-quiet discussions on the subject.
"She's the kind of woman you like, Duncan." Connor would
insist.
"I kin get a hundred women, Connor!" Duncan retorted,
unaware of the implied insult that Connor let slip past. "Ye
need her more than I do!"
"She doesn't want me." Connor's last words were filled
with pain and loss and Duncan couldn't argue with him anymore,
though no agreement was reached.
"I just want ye to be happy." he would say, sometimes
quietly, sometimes not. "Ye are too sad, Connor."
"Aye." Connor would say, then laugh his unamused laugh.
"I come by it honestly."
During all of this Saraid divided her
attention evenly.
They went out together, the three of them, every time. If
Connor tried to back out of an engagement she changed her
plans and they would stay in, playing whist and dice in the
men's rooms. If Duncan attempted the sacrifice she would
become teasing, cajoling and flirting until he gave in. But
she never let herself become involved with one or the other.
The strain became obvious.
At a ball, thrown in honor of someone's wedding, someone
Connor couldn't remember having ever met, some socialite
Duncan had romanced, they were dancing.
Not in Duncan's class on a dance floor, Connor could
still hold his own with most everybody else, and the feel of
her in his arms was more rewarding than he wanted to admit.
She was just his height, and her head fit snugly on his
shoulder. The long curls of dark auburn that framed her strong
face brushed warmly against his pulse, and all he had to do
was turn his head a little to smell it.
Floating in a waltz, he did, smelling lavender and
sweetness, feeling himself react as he hadn't to a woman in
decades. He closed his eyes and held her fractionally tighter.
"So why haven't you tried to kiss me again?"
Her whisper was so unexpected he missed a step, but
recovered and continued. On the side Duncan was surrounded by
a flock of girls and women, all eager as he bestowed his smile
upon them. But his eyes were on Saraid and Connor.
"It's complicated." Connor said quietly, hoping she would
leave it at that.
"You're not leaving me to Duncan's tender mercies?" the
laughter in her voice echoed in his ear. He leaned his head
closer.
"Not if you don't want me to."
Now she raised her head and met his eyes. Hers were such
an unusual color, now shining almost gold, molten gold.
"It's not complicated." she said, and she wasn't smiling.
The music stopped and they bowed to each other before he
took her arm and led her to the buffet table, getting her a
crystal glass of something sweeet. He knew now that she liked
sweet things.
She took it, but her face was serious now.
"I won't choose between the two of you."
This startled him more than he was willing to show.
She lowered her eyes for a minute and then met his again.
The strength and conviction in them set his blood racing.
"Then you will have neither of us." he said it steadily.
"I will not fight him for you."
"That's not what I had in mind." she said and he heard
dissapointment - ? - in her words. She turned and walked away
and he let her go, trying to understand that last statement.
She went directly to Duncan, who waded out of the mob to
greet her, taking her hands, making an elaborate show of
kissing them as the other women glared at her with unconcealed
jealousy.
When Duncan took her to the floor they really did seem to
float.
Connot turned back to the table, unable to watch. It
wasn't fair. The younger Scotsman could dance and fight and
love, all of it with such grace and polish that Connor felt
awkward and clumsy next to him, though he knew well enough
that he was neither.
He looked back. Her head was on Duncan's chest and he had
one hand resting lightly on her hair. It was an impropriatey,
but Duncan seemed able to get away with those things.
With a gleeful smile Duncan replied to something she said
and then pressed his lips to her silky hair.
That was enough.
Connor took a bottle from the table, and then another,
before walking out of the room and going up to his room.
No woman followed him up as he went. They would have
followed Duncan.
He allowed himself a tight smile as he mounted the
stairs.
Maybe.
They noticed he was gone as soon as the
song was over.
"Dammit." Duncan swore softly, under his breath, giving
her s smile of apology.
"In front of a lady, Duncan?" she asked, teasing, taking
his hand and leading him out of the room to a secluded sitting
room off the ballroom. These rooms were often used for illicit
assignations - private parties, as it were. But Saraid merely
sat on the upholstered bench and stared up at him. "You're
worried about him. I can tell."
Duncan sat on the floor, feet flat, hands around knees.
He was always relaxed around women, comfortable. Not like
Connor. He shrugged his broad shoulders expressively, hands
palm up.
"He's my clansman." he said, as if that explained
everything.
"You've been avoiding me." it wasn't quite true, but she
knew he'd thought of it.
"I hav' noh'." he objected. "I thought ye should spend
time wi' Connor."
Saraid leaned forward, giving him the opportunity to look
down the front of her dress, which was cut to a relatively
modest standard, but she filled it out so well he hadn't
noticed. Now he looked appreciatively, since it was offered,
and immediately wished he hadn't as she smiled.
"Why do you pretend you don't want me?" her voice was
softer than usual, she was practically whispering so he had to
lean even closer, his hands flat on the floor for balance, his
face inches from hers.
"I will noh' deny it." he was whispering as well, his
voice smooth in the quiet. "But Connor needs ye."
With a flounce that broke the spell of attraction she sat
back, fluffling her skirt, not meeting his eyes as she spoke.
"Does it have to be one or the other?" now she met his
eyes, surprised and a little bit confused. "Why can I not have
both?"
"I don' share." Duncan jumped up, agitated by the
suggestion. But he couldn't have said why it bothered him so
much.
She stood beside him, not offering her hand, not taking
his arm when he reflexively offered it.
"I think I'll go to my room now." there was a sadness in
her voice that cut him to the bone.
She walked out and he didn't try to stop her.
He was worried about Connor when he went
up, and wasn't
surprised to find him lying on his floor, drunk as a skunk,
passed out in his underclothes.
Kneeling beside him he touched his face.
"Connor. You're cold, man." he said softly.
Connor groaned and rolled over clumsily.
"Duncan?" his voice was cheerful, friendly. "Did you have
a good time?"
"I came home, Connor." Duncan scooped him up with a bit
of effort -- Connor might be a bit shorter, but he was as
solidly packed as Duncan himself, all stringy, wiry muscle.
Laying him on the bed, Duncan stood back up, but Connor's hand
shot out and grabbed his shirt front.
"Duncan." it was soft this time, an affirmation. Duncan
sat beside him on the bed.
"How much did you drink, Connor?" he wasn't really
worried, but he'd seen Connor do dumb things before when he
was in this mood. He'd even managed to die from alchohol
poisoning once, something neither of them had ever heard of
another immortal doing.
"Noh' mush." Connor's hand kept a deathgrip on Duncan's
ruffled shirtfront as he settled back into the pillows, eyes
still closed. "Noh' enow."
"Enow to what, Connor?" knowing he wasn't going to get
away anytime soon, Duncan swung his legs up on the bed by
Connor and lay back beside him as they had done hundreds of
times before.
"To forget, you stupid git." Connor said as if it were
obvious. And of course it was.
"Me neither." Duncan said.
He looked down as Connor's hand loosened its grip and
slid from his shirt to his chest. With a sigh and a smile he
covered it with one of his own, holding it affectionately.
"Goodnight, Connor." he said heavily, the words rolling
off his tongue as he closed his eyes, sliding an arm under his
friend's shoulders as Connor's head lolled. The bed was
comfortable and Connor was a pleasant weight next to him. He'd
been sleeping alone since they met her and that was far too
long...
They slept that way all night, Duncan holding Connor
against his demons as Connor had once held him. It was
something friends did.
Saraid didn't meet them for lunch the next
day, nor did
she show up to go riding. Both men noticed but weren't sure
what, if anything, to say about it. So they said nothing, and
went on as if nothing had ever happened. For about a week
things were as they had been, both were aware of the feeling
that something was missing. Nothing seemed quite as much fun
anymore, the parties seemed dumber, the sun itself less
bright.
Connor busied himself with provisioning the ship and
finding himself a trustworthy crew, one that wasn't too
superstitious. He'd once been on board a ship and made the
mistake of dying. When he'd come back to life they'd panicked
and thrown him overboard. Fortunately it had been on the
Mississippi and he'd made it to shore fairly quickly, but he
had no desire to repeat the performance, especially on the
Atlantic. They had to make stabling arrangements for the
horses, in the end settling for sending them to the estate of
another immortal friend where they would be well taken care
of.
They were two days short of sailing when she reappeared.
She knocked on the door and came in when Duncan opened
it. His behavior had been subdued, pensive even, but now his
entire face lit up. Connor noticed, and she noticed him
noticing.
"Were have ye been?" Duncan led her to a sofa, offered
her wine that she politely declined.
"We missed you." Connor said quietly from his desk, a
wealth of information in the words.
"I needed to settle some matters." she paused, looking at
them both. "I want to go with you. On your ship."
The men exchanged looks. Connor stood and Duncan stepped
close to him, presenting a united front.
Her eyes widened and they both saw the hurt on her face.
"I'm not trying to come between you." it was in her words
as well. "I want to leave London. I'm bored with the parties
and intrigues and clothes. I want to do something hard, to
learn something new."
"You want to sign on as crew?" Connor was startled.
"No!" Duncan didn't need to think about it. "Na' as
crew!"
She stood, came close to them, held out her hands. They
each took one, unable to do anything else.
"I want to wear pants and climb the riggings. I want to
wake up in the morning and practice with a worthy opponent. I
want to see a whale blow." her eyes were darkening, warm.
"Please, Connor. Duncan. I won't cause any trouble."
Duncan saw Connor's face out of the corner of his eye,
and knew it was a lost cause.
"The crew won' like a woman aboard." Duncan said hastily.
"I'll get new crew." Connor squeezed the hand he held.
"There're only two cabins."
"We'll share."
Duncan made an exasperated noise. Saraid beamed at both
of them and Connor dropped her hand, becoming practical again.
"We're moving aboard tonight." he sat at his desk and
wrote a note, then stood and rang the bell to the kitchen.
"You'll need a few things."
"We'll send yer horse on wi' ours. There'll be a foal by
the time we get back." Duncan was pleased with the prospect.
Still beaming, Saraid sat on the settee. Seeing the
happiness on her face Duncan sighed and then gave up. He never
held a grudge well, anyhow.
"I'll take ye shopping." he said with a modicum of
interest. He liked shopping, much more than Connor did.
"Good." Connor said. "Get her a bed."
"A bed?" Duncan asked, a speculative gleam in his eye.
"There's a bunk in the cabin."
"Bunks are not for ladies, Duncan." Connor chided.
"Uh-huh." they stared at each other for a minute and
silently aknowledged the circumstances.
They were right back where they had been.
But it was okay.
**************************************************************
The shopkeepers were scandalized.
"Trousers." Duncan insisted as they brought out dresses,
pantaloons, lacy underthings. Normally he would have loved to
see her in them, but this wasn't what they needed now. "The
lady needs pants."
"We don't have anything that would fit her..." the matron
almost stuttered.
"Do ye no have something for a boy?!" he demanded.
"Something ye can alter?"
Sitting demurely behind him Saraid laughed silently into
her hand. He caught the glances of the shopgirls and knew what
they were thinking.
"We will try to find something, sir." Duncan's gold,
shown ostentatiously as they entered, was going to get them
what they wanted. He sat beside her with a grimace, putting an
arm around her familiarly. She leaned against him, trying to
catch her breath.
"You know what they think." she was still laughing.
"Aye." he growled. "They think I want a boy, so I dress
ye as one." his expression was pained. "I'm doin' this for
you, wench."
"And I appreciate it."
The fittings were pure torture to Duncan. Saraid wore
only her chemise, pulling the trousers on beneath it. He
caught his breath as she held the fine lawn material up so he
could see the way the wool clung to her rounded curves.
"Oh, aye. Those'll do nicely." he said hurriedly. Though
there was nothing he'd like better than to watch her change
again, he decided that discretion was the better part of valor
for now. "I'm goin' for a drink. Meet me in front when yer
done."
Her laughter followed him out of the shop.
What was Connor thinking? That woman was going to drive
them both crazy in a week.
It wasn't long before he thought of a suitable revenge.
It was even worse than he knew. After he left she ordered
a selection of daring nightdresses and underthings that would
drive any man crazy.
They arrived at the ship just past dinner, carrying a
basket of food they had picked up at the market.
Connor swung down from inspecting the rigging and landed
before them. He looked more comfortable in working clothes, as
always.
"We lost two men." he announced. "But we can take their
places."
Duncan nodded. He'd rather work aboard ship anyhow.
A group of sailors gathered on the deck. Six men, strong
looking. Three orientals, two norse-looking types, and one
very large black man with Moorish tribal tattoos covering his
face and bare shoulders. Connor took him by the shoulder and
presented him to Duncan and Saraid.
"Mahadi, this is my brother, Duncan MacLeod, and our
passenger, the lady Saraid. Mahadi will be our mate, Duncan."
they shook hands, the Moor obviously releived by the welcome
he had recieved. "His last ship wouldn't allow him to pray."
Connor whispered to Duncan in an aside as Mahadi presented the
rest of the crew.
The cook was a slight oriental named Matsu, who said that
he would have an assistant, his sister's son, coming aboard
before they left in two days.
"It's his first ship and he wants to spend as much time
as he can with his mother." he said, his english very good.
"I understand." Connor said, exchanging glances with
Duncan and Saraid. No immortal knew their mother, but they
would want to spend time with her if they did.
"How old is your nephew?" Saraid asked.
"Almost ten. Ready to work." Matsu said proudly. Saraid
sighed, knowing it would be useless to ask about school. There
were undoubtedly a dozen children in the family and this boy's
wages would go to help feeding the others.
"Does he want half up front?" Connor asked, his thoughts
following her's.
Matsu looked startled.
"That would be a blessing to his mum." he said slowly.
"Me brother died last year and she's been struggling ever
since."
"Come with me." Connor led him to his cabin, leaving
Duncan to make the rest of the introductions himself.
It didn't take long. And then the hired wagon arrived
with their personal things. Connor came up just as the men
began unloading it.
He stared.
It was the biggest bed Duncan could find - that would fit
in the cabin. Complete with silk sheets and a huge, thick down
comforter.
"Ye said ta get her a bed." he said innocently as Connor
jumped up on the wagon and stared harder.
"It won't fit." Connor objected.
Saraid climbed up beside him and sat on the plump
mattress.
"I tried to tell him that." she said, smiling, teasing.
"I can take it apart an' put it back together agin."
Duncan answered, his smile wide. He could see the thoughts in
Connor's head as Saraid lay back on it and smiled up at him.
Connor jumped down without another word, brushing past
Duncan like he wasn't there. Saraid hurried down, but Duncan
stopped her with a hand on his arm.
"He'll be all right." he assured her. "Give 'im a
minute."
Hearing a crash from the front cabin, he reconsidered.
"Or a day."
He set two of the men, the swedish brothers, to
disssasembling the bed while he went to supervise the storage
of supplies.
Crates of dried meat, potatoes, bags of rice, flour, salt
and sugar -- an expensive luxury that Duncan didn't plan to do
without -- beans and sides of bacon, as well as closed barrels
of pickles, crackers, fruits and vegetables, and the all-
important lemons and limes. A stash of candies. Lard. Ale and
water and wine. Towels and soap and a big copper tub. All the
little things that would make a long sea journey bearable. A
surgeon's kit. Blankets, lots of them. Coal for the kitchen,
for the cabins and the heater below, for they would still be
sailing when the cold weather came. Oil for the lamps. The
last item unloaded from the wagon, long past dark, was a huge
crate, so heavy it took four of them to carry it, that he
directed be put in the smaller cabin he and Connor would
share. It took up almost half the floor space, but would
double as a low table. Giving it an experimental shove, Duncan
decided it wouldn't need to be tied down, it was too heavy to
move now.
"What is it?" Sven, the elder swedish brother asked.
"Books." Duncan replied with a touch of pride. "New ones.
Ones I 'aven't read yet."
"Ye can read?" they sounded surprised, as Duncan
expected. He'd changed out of his finery into linen trous and
shirt, a leather vest hung with knives over it, heavy boots on
his feet, so he was one of them now.
Saraid was still in her day dress, helping in the galley.
She and Matsu, who barely came to her bosom, arranged pots and
pans and spices in the tiny space, making it a workable
kitchen.
It was long into the night and he still didn't have the
bed assembled when Saraid came in, bringing a plate of cold
food and sitting beside him on the floor. Her new clothes
wouldn't be ready until the next day, right before they left,
and she'd had to pay a pretty penny to get them done that
quickly.
With a groan he stood and stretched.
"Get some sleep." she advised. "You can finish it
tomorrow."
"Where will ye sleep?"
She pointed at the mattress, on its side against the
wall.
"On that."
He helped her lie it down, lopsided over the pieces of
the frame, and she casually threw a blanket over it, then
looked at him. He was watching her.
"I'm going to change now." she said, with quiet
amusement. "You can stay and watch if you like, but I'll warn
you now that nothing is happening in this bed tonight but
sleep."
He seriously considered the offer, but then thoughts of
Connor intruded.
"No." he said reluctantly. "Noh' a good idea."
"Oh, I don't know." she reached behind herself and tried
to get the buttons of the dress as he turned to leave.
"Duncan! Wait?"
He turned back, shutting the door he had just opened.
"I have no maid with me." she said, and he understood, as
she'd known he would.
"Turn aroun'." it was said with a long-suffering sigh.
His nimble fingers made quick work of the tiny buttons, a long
double row all the way down her back. It slipped open to
reveal fine lawn and bronzed skin smooth beneath it. Duncan
took a hasty step backwards. "There. I'll be goin' now."
Holding the dress to her, she turned and smiled at him.
"Thank you, dear."
"You'rre welcome." he got out of there as fast as he
could, and then stood in the hallway, bemused.
Connor found him there minutes later and drug him to
their cabin, where he scolded him for the bed as he hung a
hammock across the small room.
"You take the bunk." Duncan said, an apologetic offer.
"You don't like hammocks." Connor protested.
"We can take turns."
"No, Duncan. I'll sleep in the hammock." Connor didn't
mind them. In fact, he actually did like them, but Duncan
wouldn't understand that. Swaying in time to the sea, wrapped
as if in his mother's womb. It made him feel safe.
Matsu's nephew showed up at dawn, a
carrysack on his back
and fear in his eyes. Duncan took him aboard. He'd come alone
and avoided a scene with his mother.
The carrysack appeared to be wiggling.
"Whas in yur bag?" Duncan asked as he led the boy on
deck.
Sheepishly the boy, called Tetsu, sat it on the floor and
opened it, reaching in and hunting around. Duncan watched. The
bag was definitely moving. And meowing.
Three balls of fluff, orange and grey and white, appeared
in the boy's hands.
"I found 'em on de road." he said defensively. "Me mum
says ships need cats to keep down the rats.
"And so they do." Duncan said stoutly, touched. He was
being brave in the face of the journey. Saraid, who had been
watching, came over.
"But they're too little to allow on deck yet." she said
softly. "Why don't they stay in my cabin umtil they are a bit
bigger?"
Reluctantly the boy handed over his pets.
"They'll need a bed." Duncan said, reaching into his
pocket and fishing out a handful of coins. "Get a sturdy box
and some rags." he pressed the coins into the boy's hand. "And
anything ye want."
The boy, too excited, began to run off, but stopped when
Duncan called after him.
"We sail in an hour! Don't be late!"
"I won'!" his high voice came clearly, and Connor came
out of the forecastle to watch him go.
"Was that our cabin boy?"`
"Aye." Duncan answered, stroking a tiny furred head as
the white kitten mewed at him pleadingly. "He'll be back."
"And what are these?"
"Ship's cats." Saraid said.
"For the rats." Duncan added with a straight face.
Connor looked from one to the other, and allowed himself
a small smile. "Rat food?" he asked with a quirk of his lips.
"Not if I can help it." Saraid said. Seeing Connor's eyes
soften, she handed him the grey one. It was quiet and calm,
long-haired, fluffier than the others. "I think this one is
yours."
"Mine." Connor took it and rubbed it against his cheek,
closing his eyes as he felt the softness. Duncan saw the look
in Saraid's eyes as she watched him.
Then Connor opened his eyes and handed the kitten back to
her, turning it over as he did so.
"Here." he said. "Keep him with the others. I wouldn't
want him to get lonely."
A brief inspection proved that there was one male and two
females.
"I get a girl." Duncan said.
"Of course." Connor said as he walked away. "You always
get the girl, Duncan."
"Not always." Saraid said after him, but wasn't sure if
he heard her.
Tetsu made it back with time to spare,
carrying another
sack and a small stout box. Duncan was almost done with
Saraid's bed and continued to work on it as she made a place
for the box in the bunk, which she had covered with blankets
to make a cushioned bench. "For reading." she had told him.
"And other things."
Being the biggest cabin, it held a small table, two
chairs, and her trunk as well as the bed and a pot-bellied
stove. There was a section of built-in shelves with rails and
a small wardrobe for clothes. Connor's desk was in the tiny
forecabin where Tetsu would sleep - having the cabin-boy sleep
with the men sometimes proved a problem, especially with one
this young. The men's cabin was small and so only their trunks
and Connor's armchair were enough to crowd it.
It wasn't a big ship, but it carried a lot of cargo, and
it was sturdy and sound.
At noon that day they were finally ready. All of the
cargo was aboard -- french lace, leather, wool and cloth, a
hundred things that people other places might want.
As they put off, raising the sails, Connor swung up to
the crow's nest and sighted into the sun. Duncan climbed to
join him and they sat together for a while in silence. The
crew knew what to do, and Saraid was sequestered in her cabin,
making the bed, putting things in order, and staying out of
sight lest her presence cast a bad omen over the journey, a
concession to tradition she didn't mind. The kittens were
entertaining, and she'd not a had a lot of sleep over the last
few days. Finally she lay on the wonderfully soft bed, the
kittens curled around her, and dozed off.
Connor's eyes were misty and Duncan knew
what he was
thinking.
"Shall you name her, brother?" he asked, meaning the
ship.
"You know what her name is." Connor responded with a
shrug.
"Heather." Duncan agreed.
They sat until the land was out of sight.
**************************************************************
She was sleeping deeply when Connor
knocked softly on the
door.
"Saraid." he called, and she stirred but did not wake.
In the narrow hall Connor frowned. He'd left a book he
needed on the shelf in the room, and she had missed dinner.
Carefully, quietly, he opened the door and slipped in.
Someone had lit the lantern hanging beside the door. Duncan
was taking a turn at the wheel, and all was quiet. The
creaking and motion of the ship was soothing him, he was home
again.
She lay curled on her side in her chemise. It wasn't cold
yet. He rached past her to the bookshelf -- the only way the
bed had fit was by pushing it up under them and it was very
crowded -- and searched in the lamplight for the book he
wanted.
Her hand on his chest was all the warning he had as she
took hold of his shirt and pulled him down to her. He lowered
himself slowly, unresisting.
"Did you come to wake me?" she whispered.
"To get a book." he managed to say, bracing himself with
a hand on either side of her head as she turned beneath him,
still holding his shirt.
"Then I should go back to sleep?" her eyes were wide and
dark, her skin soft and sweet.
"Only if you want to." he met her eyes, warm and
welcoming. He'd been a fool to fight this. Lowering his
head, he touched her lips with his, asking.
Her response, wrapping her arms around him and pulling
him down to her, was a strong and eager answer. He was lost.
It had been a very long time for him.
His hunger was overwhelming, his need demanding. She met
him power for power and the world fell away as they grappled
passionately. She allowed him to take her with all the pain in
his soul, the rage he hid from others flowing free as he
quenched it, soothed it, in her willing arms.
His lovemaking was wild and dynamic, demanding and
energetic. She kept pace, her small sounds of passion becoming
moans as he applied himself to her. A scratched back healed,
bruises faded off thighs, and the bite marks were gone when
they collapsed at last, sated.
Her breasts were his cushion as he cried. She held him
tightly, not as a mother would, but as a sympathetic lover,
until he was done, and then they made love again. Quieter this
time, his hands searching for the places that made her sing,
seeking them out, feeling her shudder around him, his lips a
promise on hers.
"I wasn't always like this." he whispered at last. "I
used to..." he trailed off, unable to put the feeling to
words.
"You used to be gentle." she did it for him. "When it
didn't hurt so much."
"Yes." he accepted her words. And then he slept like the
dead.
She watched him sleep in the quiet dimness. His face,
unilke so many men's, didn't soften as he slept. The lines
remainded, drawn hard and firm, and his hold on her didn't
lessen.
She heard the footsteps in the hall, soft thumps. There
was no light coming from the small porthole, it was well dark.
The lamp was burning down.
The steps paused, and she looked to the door, wishing she
could see through it, that she could speak and tell Duncan
what he needed to hear right now.
But she didn't want to wake Connor, who never slept this
well sober.
In the hall Duncan waited, indecisive, and then went back
to his room, where Connor's hammock swung slightly with the
motion of the ship.
In his narrow bunk, on his back, sleep was a long time
coming as he questioned himself.
He'd wanted this to happen. Connnor had been alone too
long, unhappy for decades. It was petty of him to feel this
envy.
But he did feel it. He just hoped he could keep it
hidden.
**************************************************************
"M'lady." Connor raised his sword in a
fencer's salute.
Across the cleared deck from him Saraid did the same. Her
weapon was a finely crafted, the pommel a hand-carved
representation of some winged beast done in a hard dark wood,
the leaf-shaped blade intricately etched with runes, still
bright despite its obvious age. Neither man had ever seen one
like it.
"It's a balyori." she had said when asked, not explaining
further.
She handled it well, she was fortunate to have the
natural flair, the agility and aptitude to fight. She was
bigger than most women as well, which led both men to
speculate on her heritage. Her age was indeterminate, she
could have been anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five,
there was no way to tell, and she'd given very few clues as to
how long she had been immortal. A passing mention of missing
Rome, a comment on the Norse invasion of the Celts...these
were clues, but nothing concrete.
Their mornings had a pattern now. Mahadi had morning
watch and the three of them traded off as sparring partners.
Both men learned quickly that she fought at their level, and
the matches were close.
Connor pushed her to her limits, his beserker nature
occasionally showing, but Duncan had always had a problem
fighting women and it showed.
This morning Connor was feeling vicious, aggresive, he
pushed her hard, attacking and attacking until she barely had
the strength to parry. The crew slowed in its work to watch,
Duncan stared, troubled, but no one stopped them.
He had her against the rail. She had nowhere to go but
over or through him. With a howl of fury that shocked the men
watching, she launched a furious counter-attack, her blade
whirling through the air like a scythe. It made a sound, a
whistling, singing hum that no other blade had ever made. And
Connor was driven back. And back, across the deck, against the
mast, his beloved katana knocked from his hand and her blade
at his throat.
There was stillness. Connor smiled his mocking smile and
Duncan bit his tongue restraining his shout, felt it heal even
as she leaned forward and kissed him.
Connor's arms came around her, her sword clattered to the
ground, and they embraced passionately.
When they broke, the audience hurriedly turned away,
busied themselves with chores, except Duncan, who allowed his
eyes to linger for a minute, aware that they saw it, unsure
what to say.
In the end he said nothing, only went to bed alone that
night. Dinner had been a quiet, subdued affair. The weather
was turning and they were on the lookout for a storm. The
Moor, Mahadi, said it would hit within a day. He said it as if
he knew.
Lying in his bunk, feeling the ache of his
body,
unrelieved tension, Duncan asked himself why he had come on
this trip. Because he was worried about Connor? Aye. Perhaps
tired of playing the dandy, he'd wanted to get his hands dirty
again.
But he hadn't been tired of the women. A night alone in
his bed had been rare in London before they met Saraid, and
then by his choice, when he simply needed a break from
lovemaking, or felt the urge to spend more time with Connor.
And now he was alone, and his body was hungry.
He could relieve the tension, and sometimes did, but it
wasn't enough. Seeing them together, knowing what they were
doing across the hall, it danced in his head, the knowledge.
He could imagine it, and did. He and Connor had taken women in
the same room before, drunk and loud, watching each other,
shouting encouragement and advice. This wasn't the same thing.
This was envy, jealousy, need, feelings Duncan thought were
beneath him.
Yet he still felt them.
The status quo maintained for several days
more. The
promised storm materialized and Mahadi was promptly named
ship's wizard for his prediction abilities. It wasn't too bad
and they rode it out nicely. Everyone knew it was only the
first of many, but to come through it so well was a good omen.
Saraid donned her breeches and boots and a layer of
shirts and joined the men in the riggings, listening,
learning. The crew looked at her askance, but Connor approved
so wholeheartedly that they didn't dare speak out, and soon
were grudgingly admitting that she was good at it, 'for a
woman'.
Evenings were spent more and more in the big cabin,
playing cards, chess, reading aloud, the kittens playing on
the floor in front of the stove, now stoked and kept warm.
Tetsu would sit on the floor in the evenings after Matsu
released him from his duties, playing with them, a piece of
string or a scrap of food to entice them.
"You'll have to stop feeding them soon." Connor warned
one night. "They will have to be hungry to hunt rats."
Saraid looked at the kittens and laughed.
"The rats are still bigger than they are." she scooped up
the orange one, the one she had claimed as hers but shared
with the boy. "Do you want to find a rat, Muffin?" she held it
up high and spoke to it. "Or would you like some beef?" she
fed it a tiny piece of the dried meat she kept to spoil them
with.
Duncan shifted in the straight chair he sat upon. Saraid
was sitting on the bed and Connor relaxed on the bunk, mending
a piece of sail. He sewed more neatly than a woman.
Saraid sat back, the kitten curled in her lap, chewing
contentedly.
"Read aloud, Duncan." she begged. "You have such a
beautiful voice."
Grudgingly, he did, leading her imagination through the
tale of Persephone's adventures in the underworld. At his feet
Tetsu was still, enthralled.
The knock on the door broke the spell, and Matsu came in
apologetically. Tetsu was up quickly, handing the kitten to
the mistress, as he called her.
"Is he in the way?" Matsu asked, as he did every night.
"I like having him." Saraid answered as she always did.
"I was going to ask you," she waited as the small man stopped
and turned around, suddenly anxious that he had offended in
some way. "Would you mind if I taught him to read? It's a
useful skill."
"He hasn't had any school." Matsu said slowly, as if
warning her.
"Would you like to learn to read?" Saraid asked the boy
directly.
"To hear those stories to myself? Yes'm!" he was excited.
"If you could just let him spend an hour with me, in the
morning or afternoon." she smiled sweetly, and even the somber
cook was moved.
"If you wish it." he agreed.
Then he took the boy out and they were alone.
Duncan closed the book and stood.
"I'm to my bed." he said as Connor stood as well.
"Oh." Connor sounded dissapointed.
"Long day." Duncan shrugged.
"Yes." Connor agreed.
He left and Connor went to the bed, where Saraid smiled
up at him.
"He doesn't want to be around me." he sounded very sad.
"He's lonely. We make him feel left out." she reached for
him. "I'll have to think of something to do about that."
There was nothing else to say as she pulled his shirt
over his head.
**************************************************************
Another month passed, and another. Two to
go, and the
weather was worse. They had packed everything they needed, all
they had to do was ride out the storms as they came and keep
warm, but it was becoming a challenge.
Water soaked their clothes, even the oiled leather of
boots eventually stopped shedding it, gloves froze to wet
hands. Connor put the men on half-shifts between storms, cut
to skeleton crew, everything he could to keep them
comfortable. Coal was given generously and the belowdecks was
at least warm, if not shirt-sleeves temperature. Saraid proved
resilient, keeping her cabin just warm enough to be
comfortable, but Connor still welcomed the thick comforter
Duncan had bought.
Because the little office didn't have a stove Duncan
moved the cabin boy into Connor's hammock, tacticly admitting
that Connor wasn't coming back to use it. The move seemed to
make Matsu nervous, but Duncan didn't understand until the
cook spoke to Connor, who came to talk to him while he was at
the wheel one night.
The sea was calm, the swells smooth and they rose and
fell in a rythm as old as the earth.
"How's your head?" Connor asked as he apporached. Saraid
had given him a good knock that morning, proving she could go
hand-to-hand if forced when Duncan disarmed her and left her
with no alternative.
He rubbed his jaw reflectively.
"She's a strong girl."
Connor smiled and laughed his little laugh,
"Aye, she is."
"You would know better than I." Duncan snapped, and then
regreted it. Connor knew he would and so let it go without
comment.
Leaning on the rail beside his clansman, he brought up
the subject of Matsu's worry.
"There is a question among the crew." he said. Duncan
hadn't been spending much time with them. In fact, he'd been
spending a lot of time alone, unusual for such a gregarious
man. "Matsu is concerned that Tetsu is sleeping in your room
while I sleep in hers."
His meaning was clear to Duncan, who shoved himself away
from the wheel violently.
"Be damned, Connor!" he shouted. "Is tha' wha' ye think
of me?!" they faced off, the wheel beginning to spin slowly.
Connor stuck out a hand and caught it, the spoke slapping
firmly against his palm.
"Not me, brother." Connor soothed.
"Is noh' like I 'ave anything else ta do, iz it?!" Duncan
continued, not soothed. "Ye have her and I'm on me own!"
"We want you to spend time with us, Duncan." he reached
for the bigger man's hand, but Duncan snatched it out of
reach, turned away. "Duncan!" Connor seldom raised his voice
to him.
"It'z for the best, Connor." Duncan said quietly as he
walked away. "Ye need her more than I."
"Duncan!" Conner shouted after him as the other man went
down to his room, leaving him alone with the wheel and the
rising wind. "damn."
That night he told Matsu that he had nothing to worry
about, and that if he continued to worry he, Connor, would
take it as a personal insult.
Duncan didn't come to their cabin for four days.
It was the worst storm yet. Surprising
them, it crashed
with terrifying intensity. Waves washed over the deck, the
heavens opend up and poured down upon them. Pulled from his
solitude, Duncan came above to find Connor struggling with the
wind while the swedes desperately hauled in miles of sail,
Saraid alongside them, her hands bleeding, the skin tearing
repeatedly, too fast to heal properly. Duncan made his way,
lurching, stumbling, across the pitching deck, to the wheel,
where Connor was losing the battle to turn the ship into the
wind. If they went broadside to it they would go over, and
they all knew it. Mahadi was trapped in the crow's nest, the
rigging beneath him flapping wildly in the wind, the journey
down too perilous, the others lashing down sail and trying to
reach safety.
Duncan breathed a faint prayer of thanks that Tetsu was
safely below in the cabin they shared now. The boy had been
bringing him food, emptying the chamber pot. He was a good
boy.
Being of a naturally tolerant nature, Duncan didn't
succumb to self-pity for long. He was ready to come out when
the storm hit, but perversely grateful that it would prevent
conversation for some time.
In front of him Connor slipped, his body lifted by the
wind, hands torn free of the wheel, and Duncan threw himself
at him with no thought to his own safety. The sea was probably
the least safe place for them -- though they couldn't drown,
there was a question of what would happen should they wash
overboard at these deapths. Would they be able to surface? Or
would they remain dead at the bottom like a mortal, forever?
He didn't want to find out.
One strong arm wrapped through the wheel -- it spun and
he felt the agonizing tear of muscles and heard the bones
crunch above the wind, but he held on to Connor, dragging him
back inch by inch, his hand leaving great bruises on the ankle
he gripped, until he had him in the shelter of his own body.
Connor collapsed beside him and Duncan held on to him
until they had recovered their breath.
"Heh, heh. What kept you?" Connor smiled at him as he
shouted.
"I was wondering if you were worth saving." Duncan
shouted back with his own smile.
"I'm glad you didn't take too long to decide!" Connor's
words were ripped away by the wind. He looked at Duncan's arm,
the unnatural angle where it wedged into the wheel. "That must
hurt."
"Like hell." Duncan agreed.
"On three?"
"Three!" Duncan's shout became a scream as Connor lurched
to his feet and yanked the wheel around, releasing Duncan's
arm, which had tried to heal in that position and now broke
again. It hung useless as he stood, but the other was strong
and together they wrestled the wheel to the course they
needed.
Side-by-side they steered. As his arm healed Duncan was
able to put more spower into it. He'd always been stronger
than Connor, a fact the smaller man didn't begrudge. Now that
strength was put to the test as they fought the wind. Ducan
stood with his back and side to it, Connor between the wall
and Duncan's sheilding body, the fierce wind buffeting the
larger man as they fought to stay the course.
It was at least twelve hours before they realized the
wind was slackening. Looking around, they saw that everyone
had gone below. Above, Mahadi was climbing gingerly down the
riggings, torn and ripped but holding strong.
He came to them and took the wheel.
"I got it, cap." he said quietly. "It wasn't so bad up
there."
Duncan released the wheel and staggered away, hands stiff
with cold, lips blue. He hadn't realized how cold he was until
Connor came up beside him.
"You're a good windbreak." Copnnor leaned over him,
worried. "Come get warm."
When he took his arm and led him to the big cabin Duncan
was too tired and cold to object. He moved stiffly, his body
rebelling, air coming hard to his laboring lungs.
Saraid and Tetsu were there, playing checkers. She closed
the board with a snap upon seeing them, and spoke urgently to
the boy.
"Go to the hold and get Hans and Franz. Tell them to get
the big tub and heat water for it." she knew the men had been
below resting while the highlanders fought the storm.
Tetsu nodded and ran off, his heart filled with worry.
Duncan looked quite blue.
Connor lay Duncan on the bed gently, and began to strip
off his wet clothes, but his own hands were shaking with cold
now. She pushed him impatiently aside, with a mild scolding.
"You're near as bad off as he is, get something dry on
and warm some wine."
She took over the task of undressing Duncan, who stared
up at her unseeing, his massive body beginning to shake
violently, shuddering on her bed.
"Duncan. Duncan!" she patted his face and then slapped
him once, hard. "Can you hear me?"
His brown eyes focused on her for seconds as he tried to
answer.
"Aye...I think so. Am I dyin, then?" he whispered in a
cracked voice.
"I think so." she agreed. "But I'll be here when you get
back. You won't be alone." she assured him.
"I hate...this..." he sighed as his body gave one last
convulsive shudder and lay still.
Now in dry clothes, buttoning his cuffs, Connor came
over.
"Damn. He took the worst of it for me." he sat on the bed
beside Duncan as she continued to undress his lifeless body.
"Help me." she said as she strugggled to lift him to pull
off his shirt. "He'll feel better if he wakes in a hot bath."
"Aye." Connor agreed. Together they stripped him. By the
time the swedes arrived with the tub he was naked and lying
under the damp comforter, but still looking more dead than
asleep.
Connor took charge of the tub, carrying the buckets from
the hall into the room, not allowing anyone else in. They
understood. Tetsu's description had been vivid and terrified.
It was believed that the second MacLeod brother was going to
die, having saved the first.
Getting his inert form into the tub was awkward and
messy. Connor took his head and shoulders while Saraid managed
his feet. They had just got him settled when he took that
first gasping breath and began thrashing. Connor caught his
shoulders and spoke to him.
"Duncan! Duncan! It's all right, you're fine."
The brown eyes opened and clarity returned.
"Connor? I'm cold, Connor."
"You'll be warm soon." Connor took another steaming
bucket from the stove and poured it in by Duncan's feet.
"Are ye angry wit' me?" Duncan followed his movements
with tired eyes.
"I'm not mad at you." Connor said firmly. "You've been
upset, and I understand."
Duncan's eyes searched for Saraid, found her sitting on
the bed. The tub took up most of the empty floor space.
"I'm sorry I've been su' a' bastard." he apologized to
her, shamefaced.
"Sometimes things are hard." she smiled. "It's okay."
Connot poured another bucket of hot water over him and
Duncan groaned as sensation returned to his extremeties.
"It hurts, but it feels good."
"I've never tried exposure." it was gentle chiding.
He sat in the tub until there was no more hot water. Then
Connor helped him climb stiffly out and to the bed.
"Noh' in yer bed, Connor." he protested sleepily.
"We've shared a bed before, Duncan. Don't fuss." Connor
firmly manuevered him into it, settling him back on the
pillows and covering him warmly, then looking down at him.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Aye." Duncan smiled, the sweet smile of a tired child.
"I knew this bed would be soft. But I thought I would be the
one sleepin' in it."
"I know." Connor smiled at him. "I thank you for that, as
well."
Standing at the other side of the bed Saraid snorted and
flounced out of the room.
"Saraid!" Connor called after her. "What did I say?"
She gave no answer.
The men came back in later to take away the tub. It was
much harder now that it was full, but they semed to think it
was worth it, seeing Duncan asleep in the bed, his breathing
regular, his face regaining color.
"'E looks good, Captain." Franz said with surprise.
"He was only cold and tired." Connor downplayed it. "He
protected me from the wind." he wanted them to know at least a
little of Duncan's sacrifice for him. He had taken the cold
and the pain of death so that Connor wouldn't have to this
time.
Saraid showed no sign of returning and he decided not to
follow her. He was tired as well, exhausted, even. Stripping
to his long johns, he climbed into the bed beside Duncan. Not
close, he didn't want to make her uncomfortable when she did
come back, but not so far as to make Duncan unhappy should he
wake and find Connor away from him in his sleep.
All he had to do was close his eyes and he was gone.
They looked so peaceful.
She stared at them for long moments after she finally came
back. She'd spent the time dressing minor scrapes and rope burns.
There was only one bad injury, a nasty deep gash on the other
asian man's arm where a loosed rope had sliced him in the wind.
She had stitched it neatly, knowing that infection was the
greatest danger here, so far from civilization. If it were kept
clean he would be fine.
She stretched, still looking at the sleeping men. Duncan was
flat on his back, but Connor had turned to his stomach. He had
one hand a few inches from Duncan's still form.
Shedding her clothes, hanging them over a chair before the
warm stove, she opened her trunk as she thought. They were so
transparent. When had men decided it was bad to touch each other?
She remembered clearly her father's friends, finding her brother
waking with his blood brother. It brought them closer in battle
and gave them a connection that modern men didn't have. An
understanding of themselves.
It was so silly. To think that loving another man made them
less manly.
With a quick snap she chose a nightdress. Forgoing the
practical warmth of the thick woolen ones, instead she pulled on
a creation of thin silk, creamy white, falling in a gentle wave
from neck to ankle, clinging to her body all the way down.
This would suit them, she decided.
They were so close already. She knew they had shared
clothes, a bed, women. Perhaps by sharing a woman together they
would learn to share themselves.
There was only one way to find out. Whatever happened, she
was certain that their bond would be strong enough to withstand
it. She might be kicked out into the cold, but they wouldn't
abandon each other.
**************************************************************
He was warm and the pain of death was
faded. Movement beside
him, and the mattres sinking down...warmth. More than his own.
There was a light touch on his face and he opened his eyes.
In the dimness he could see her eyes shining on him. Connor was
sleeping heavily on her other side.
"Duncan." she smiled as she spoke softly. "Dear Duncan."
When she leaned over him to kiss him he was powerless to
resist. Soft and sure, her lips moved on his and his tormented
body responded eagerly. His hands raised off the bed to hold her,
but his mind stopped them.
"No'." he said, a little too loudly. Connor stirred and sat
suddenly.
His eyes widened to see his woman in his brother's arms.
Duncan pushed her hastily away, sat up and moved to the edge of
the bed.
"It was noh' me, Connor." he spluttered.
Saraid lay back with a teasing smile on her face, one hand
still reaching for Duncan while the other traveled delicately up
Connor's leg.
"No." she agreed with a smile. "It was me. I saw the two of
you lying together and you looked so good I couldn't resist."
Connor sat now as well, his hand catching hers on his leg,
holding it still.
His eyes met Duncan's, saw the guilt there.
"Duncan. It's all right." he tried to alleve it, but wasn't
sure what exactly he meant was all right.
"It could be much better than 'all right'." she said,
reaching for the larger man, her hand open. "The three of us
together would be wonderful."
Now Duncan stood, agitated, and Connor looked at her
askance.
"What do ye mean?" Duncna was very upset.
Her smile was warm and included both of them.
"There's no reason we can't all sleep here." she patted the
pillow invitingly. "Me and the MacLeods."
Their faces showed that they understood what she meant.
"Is noh' normal!" Duncan protested.
"Saraid..." Connor warned.
She sat, the fluid movement drawing the attention of both
men to her body.
"Why not try?" she asked softly. "It would make me very
happy."
Duncan shook his head while Connor looked thoughtful.
"You've shared everything else." she pressed. "Share me and
let me share what the two of you have."
There was silence.
Connor was thinking, Duncan rejecting, and she was getting
tired of it.
"I need a' drink." Duncan said finally.
"Pour us all one." she suggested as he took the wine from
the stove where it had been kept warm. He poured it into the
thick wooden mugs with wide heavy bases and handed them out.
Connor remained beside her on the bed, but Duncan pulled a chair
to the side of it.
They all drank, and he poured another round.
By the third Duncan was willing to talk.
"Why d'ye want ta do this?" he sounded honestly confused.
Connor said nothing but looked hurt.
"Because it would be different. Because it could be
magical." she said softly. The wine was going to their heads,
they hadn't been drinking much since coming aboard. "Because you
have something special and I'd like to share it."
"Iznoh' because I was left ou'?" Duncan asked.
She leaned forward, over Connor's lap - where his response
was obvious - and smiled directly at Duncan.
"That was your choice. This is your chance to make a
different one."
"I don' know 'ow."
"I'll show you." she sat back, giving Connor a long caress
on the way, beckoning Duncan to the bed.
He locked eyes with Connor.
"Connor?" half-frightened.
"It's all right." Connor said, meaning it. He was intrigued
by her suggestion, but not so much that he would push it on his
friend. "Come up."
Unsure, careful, Duncan climbed back into the bed, on her
other side, and sat.
"Lie down." Saraid said, giving him a shove. "I'll bet your
back is still sore from dying."
"Aye." he aknowledged, turning to lie reluctantly. He was
wearing only a pair of short pants that were actually Connor's.
They fit tightly.
She straddled his back and began applying welcome pressure
to his neck.
"I always knew you were stiff-necked." Connor joked, moving
closer.
"This is strange', Connor." Duncan's voice was muffled by
the pillow he clenched in his bulging forearms, his face buried
in its softness.
As she rubbed his back Connor was caught, watching her
slender form, and had to touch her. So his hands began a casual
exploration of her, trailing through her hair and over her hips.
If they slipped down and stroked Duncan's legs once or twice,
there was no harm in that.
The wine and warth had relaxed the bigger man, and now he
allowed himself to close his eyes and settle into the comfort of
the bed. Her hands were strong and sensual. It had been too long
since a woman touched him...the roughness of Connor's hands on
his calves startled him mildly, but it was okay. Connor would
never hurt him.
Working together Saraid and Connor got Duncan as relaxed as
he could be without falling asleep. He was actually getting
drowsy when she slid off him, tugging on his shoulders to turn
him over. As he rolled his hand stroked down her chest, not
deliberate, but not quite accidental, either. Connor watched with
calm interest as Duncan gathered the silk in one strong fist and
pulled her face to his.
"Iz this what ye want, then?" he asked before he kissed her,
his mouth wide and soft on hers. She welcomed his tongue and
pressed herslf against him gently, reaching for Connor with a
hand, stroking his chest as Duncan kissed her.
Connor moved closer. Lifting her thick hair off the back of
her neck he began nuzzling and kissing, whispering in her ear,
his head almost touching Duncan's.
"You're a brave wench..." he muttered against her skin.
Duncan felt her smile against his lips but didn't concern
himself with the source, only began to kiss her more urgently,
hungrily, but still softly, still with the gentleness that marked
his lovemaking with any woman. Handling her as if she were
something precious, something beautiful...he hadn't learned that
from Connor. It came from his heart.
His hands came around her and found Connor. One went to his
shoulder, gripping tentatively and the other between them, to
spread wide and possesive on her slender back as he pulled her
closer, off her knees and to the bed beside him, Connor
following, his own hands going around to her front to caress her
breasts through the silk, and Duncan's heavy chest as well.
Drugged by the kiss Duncan almost didn't realize who was
touching him, but her hands were cradling his face. The
recognition hit suddenly and he stilled himself, shock flowing
cold through him.
He pulled his face from hers, looked over her shoulder into
Connor's calm eyes.
He blinked and asked in a small voice "connor?"
Connor smiled his half-smile and pulled a hand out to smooth
Duncan's long hair, tangled from his ordeal.
"It's okay, Duncan." quiet reassurance.
"Ye don't mind?"
"I don't mind." Connor's hand slipped from Duncan's hair to
the back of his neck and pressed him upward. "If you don't."
Their faces were inches apart over her shoulder. Saraid was
leaning away, watching with bright eyes.
"I don' mind if it's yew, Connor." Duncan's admission was
low and half-embarrassed.
"Who else would it be, Duncan?" Connor's words were
whispered as he brushed his lips across Duncan's stark cheekbone
on one side. "There is no other man I would get this close to."
Then the other. Then, meeting his clansman's eyes, his lips.
Duncan first accepted the kiss passively, but then leaned
into it as Connor kept up the steady pressure. Their eyes watched
each other. Duncan's hands tightened on Saraid, who moved between
them, rubbing herself against both of them.
They broke the kiss at the same time, still staring. Then
Connor smiled again, a self-mocking, tight smile, and Duncan
smiled back, his expression more open than Connor's. He moved his
hands from Saraid to Connor's back, pulling him against the
woman, as Connor did the same to him so that they were holding
each other around her.
Saraid nuzzled Duncan's neck and Connor returned his
attention to her's as Duncan's mouth began a leisurely
exploration of her chin and the neckline of her gown.
There was no pressure, no feeling of time. Just the three of
them, warm and safe, together in the big bed. When Duncan groaned
with pleasure, he did not look to see whose hands touched him.
When Connor sighed and his body relaxed from its eternal
tenseness, the source didn't matter. And Saraid was in her
element, both men applying themselves to her pleasure, their
hands and lips and tongues stroking and touching, with such
different styles and emphasis she could readily tell who was
doing what without looking.
They rolled until she was on top of Duncan, he holding her
close, tightly, his hands exploring her butt and the softness of
her inner thighs while Conner snugged in close from the side and,
his head on Duncan's chest, suckled the nearest breast, small and
firm, with soothing intensity.
Duncan shifted restlessly. He wanted to take her, now, his
body was screaming for it, but it didn't feel quite right.
Shouldn't Connor do it? At least first?
His head on Duncan's shoulder, his hands and mouth busy at
her breasts, Connor felt Duncan's hesitancy. He tilted his head
up, and his lips brushed Duncan's chin.
When Duncan looked down, their lips met. This time Duncan
closed his eyes and gave himself up to the new sensations.
Connor's lips were thin but warm, strong, but still soft, and he
kissed like no woman ever had. The kiss deepened and he tasted
his kinsman's mouth, and it wasn't scary. It was hot and heady,
the newness combining with the forbidden feel of it and making
Duncan hotter, hungrier. A groan slipped out and Connor smiled
tightly against his lips, bringing a hand to Duncan's chest to
run through the thick curly black hair so different from his own,
tracing the hard slabs of muscle his body would never produce,
heavy chest thumping with the beat of another man's heart.
Not to be outdone, Duncan brought a hand up from Saraid's
legs and tangled it in Connor's hair, taking control of the kiss,
pushing the other man down as he explored his mouth avidly.
Saraid, feeling just a little left out, watched with a quiet
smile, her own body throbbing with new desire fired by their
willing embrace of each other. This was how it had been when she
was young, before she died the first time. In her small Celtic
village, practicing magic alongside her mother and aunts, her
first introduction to sex had been spying upon her older foster
brother and his blood brother as they loved each other before a
battle. Discovered one night, she had been sent away with the
invitation to join them when she was older. As soon as she had
hit maturity she had returned to them, been initiated with care
and joy, and found her first true love.
For her, love with one man would always be wanting. When she
had died and left home she had left a large group marriage, with
three husbands and a second wife and her two children. She had
been lonely ever since, searching as the world changed for men
sure enough in themselves and with the kind of relationship that
would allow them this kind of contact.
But now she wanted their attention, or at least some of it.
Sitting up straight, she startled them into breaking the kiss and
slid the gown -- untied all down the front, it was practically
gone anyhow -- over her head, giving Duncan his first view of her
beauty, which he appreciated with a sigh and lingering stare.
Connor reached for her with a rare true smile and she smiled
back, steadying herself on Duncan's hips and sliding herself over
his ready hardness with no fanfare.
His explosive grunt and convulsive shudder told her how much
he wanted her. And Connor only smiled, rising to his knees and
coming behind her, gently pushing her down close to Duncan, who
grasped her hips in his hands and began moving her slowly while
Connor lay over both of them and slid his hands forward to her
breasts. Duncan bent his legs so Connor was trapped between them.
Now Duncan was moving quickly, his need too long denied.
Connor steadied her with his hands as his brother moved
sinuously, hungrily, not the pounding rage of Connor's own
hunger, but a sliding, aching ballet. His breath came in harsh
gasps, his hands tight on her hips, his head buried in the crook
of her shoulder, her hair spilling around him, covering him,
screening him.
Connor leaned in closer, his weight taken on one braced
hand, his fierce erection nestled in the crevice of her butt,
warm and snug, urging him to move, to take the welcome she was
offering, pushing back against him, moving between the two of
them like she belonged there.
Connor took the offer, forcing himself into her with a
stiffled groan and the rage he concealed so well from all but
these two, the tightness of this new passage almost bringing him
over the edge immediately. He bit her shoulder hard, forced
himself to let go, searched for her mouth and found Duncan's
instead.
Aware that something had changed, but too enthralled to
care, Duncan was surprised to find Connor's mouth again on his
own, this time forceful, hot and urgent, offering no quarter and
taking none. His hands left her hips to grasp Connor's back,
feeling his movements, knowing what they were doing...but it was
Connor's moan -- desperate, pleading -- that drove him over the
edge. Between them Saraid shuddered with pleasure, unable to
think, only able to react as she was loved the way she wanted to
be, completely, utterly, her entire being surrounded, filled. It
was too much, and Duncan's first spasms, deep pulses within her,
gave her body the final push it wanted and she came, hard, her
quivers bringing Connor along as he fought it, wanting it to go
on, not wanting the moment to end, the connection to be broken...
They shuddered and moaned and she screamed, not loudly, a
high cry of pleasure, and then they were still, all too stunned
to react, to move.
Connor was first. He slid from her body to collapse on the
bed beside them. Suddenly frightened, Duncan moved Saraid from
him and turned to him, the boy he'd been when his tribe turned
him out shining from his eyes.
Connor understood his wordless question. Reaching for him,
he pulled him into a lover's embrace, kissing him deeply,
drugging, hands in his hair, down his back, Duncan's hands
traveling his lean body...until Saraid laughed with delight and
insinuated herself between them, they welcoming her with open
arms and mouths, tongues tangling in the air between them,
sharing scents and tastes and textures, memories of all of them.
"You keep that up and I'll feel left out." she chided when
they returned to kissing each other, eyes open, watching, each
gauging the others' reaction.
"I would noh' wan' that." Duncan rumbled deep in his chest
and Connor was struck by how attractive he was. In a completely
masculine way -- he was so very male. More so than Connor
himself.
"No, we can't have that." he agreed and they both bent to
kiss her, bumping heads lightly and ending up meeting mouths
again. She sat up between them and leaned to kiss them in turn,
first one, then the other.
They pased kisses in a circle. Connor kissed Saraid, Saraid
kisses Duncan, Duncan kissed Connor. And then back the other way.
It would become their ritual.
"That went well." she said with satisfaction. "I knew the
two of you were close enough."
"I was noh' sure." Duncan still didn't sound sure, and
Connor caught his head as he tried to turn it away, his slender
hand tangling in the snarled locks, turning him back to face him.
"Duncan." it was a question and a plea together. Please
don't spoil this.
"It's a'right, Connor." Duncan met his eyes. "I am
surprised, only." he lost the grammar but said what he meant.
"You shouldn't be." Saraid lay back down, snuggling close to
both of them, Duncan pulling her head to his shoulder, Connor
pillowing himself on her breasts. All six hands wandering freely,
Duncan's perhaps a bit cutiously. "Men have been doing this since
the beginning of time. You wanted to know how old I am, Connor --
it's much older than you think. As far as I know there are only
three older, and none of them have been seen for decades. I was
found on the sea, in a basket, by a woman of an early Celtic
village..."
They lay with her and listened to her story, the history of
her people and humanity as a whole. The magic, the invention of
war, the intrusion of the Vikings, the loss of her way of
life...they listened, and began to understand what they meant to
her.
**************************************************************
In the end it was boredom that got to
them. After thirty
years -- not a long time in an immortal relationship -- they
discovered that they wanted different things. Connor, his rage
ever-harder to control, wanted more and more to hunt down those
who had hurt him, who had mocked him in the past. The ones who
hurt others for fun, who tortured mortals because they could.
Duncan's wandering foot was itching, but not to hunt. He wanted
to play, to spend a few decades in serious decadence after the
ascthetecism of the east and the harshness of life aboard ship.
Saraid wanted peace, and quiet, and contemplation. Connor
had convinced her that her history should be written, and she
sought a serene place to do it.
So they parted ways, with no acrimony, all believing that
they would find each other again when the time was right and they
were ready to be one together again.
But that time never seemed to come. After fifty years Duncan
was done with playing. He joined Connor's headhunting for a
while, then began traveling again, simply trying to survive and
have some fun. The he turned to serious study of swordplay and
martial arts, traveling the globe in search of teachers, finding
them and loves as well, while Connor retreated to an exploration
of the unknown world -- Egypt, Asia, Brazil...he found the Nile
and other great wonders, but, no matter where each of them went,
they heard no word of her.
They never spoke of it. Sometimes, when they were alone
together and Connor was hurting too much, he would look at Duncan
with something in his eyes, but, without her there as a bridge
between them, Duncan couldn't bring himself to make the first
move that he knew Connor waited for. This, as much as anything,
was what finally drove them truly apart, the first time since
they had met.
Duncan discovered an appreciation of
beauty. Though his life
was still determined by the women he loved, his mind -- well
started by Connor and well fed since, hungered for more
knowledge. He found much to learn besides war, though he often
fell into that again. His was a warrior's nature, however
tempered.
Connor withdrew further and further into himself. He chose
to live in remote places, to spend time in quiet contemplation,
to study and hone himself. Despite his clan nature, he did not
seek battle the way Duncan did, and felt this not as a failing.
Love did not come and so he was more alone than ever.
Breif contacts with Duncan reassured him that his brother
was doing well, and would always be there when he needed him. For
his part, Duncan learned to miss Connor, and to understand, to
some measure, his pain as the world moved on and he had to move
with it, leaving loves and lives behind.
(end flashback)
"Saraid." he said softly as she began
walking toward him. He
registered periphally that there was a man with her, a short,
very fit albino with flat pink eyes, and a baby in her arms. The
low-level buzz of a pre-immortal emanated from him.
They met beside the buffet, where the
crowd had thinned as
the show was about to start. She handed the baby to the man and
held out her arms to him and, to his surprise, he accepted the
embrace with an openess he didn't give anyone, not even Amanda.
When she kissed him it was the most natural thing in the world to
kiss her back, the old feelings stirring in him like it was
yesterday.
"Ahem." the sound, a polite bid for attention, came from the
man now holding the baby, who was now beginning to cry. "Saraid.
She's getting ready to cut loose."
"Naturally." she said, and released Duncan, who almost
stumbled. Richie steadied him, staring in something like shock.
How could a woman have that effect on him, Duncan MacLeod? "I
meet an old friend I haven't seen in, oh, ever-so-long, and the
baby interrupts."
She took her back and settled on her satin-clad hip with a
practiced air and Duncan stared harder. Richie was afraid his
eyes would pop out.
Solemn brown eyes stared back at him from under a cap of
black curls while a chubby finger poked at him with curiousity.
"I guess I'll have to introduce myself." Richie said,
wanting to break this strange spell. "I'm Richie Ryan, American."
"I need a few minutes, Sky." the woman said. "Take her for a
walk, will you?"
With a sigh the man again took the proffered baby, who
screwed up her face and prepared to protest loudly.
"Your lover?" Duncan asked suddenly, eyes boring into her.
"I'm not his type." she smiled and Richie watched Duncan's
eyes widen in understanding. Then he got it, too, as the young
man grinned at him with what could only be called...appreciation?
She extended her hand to Richie and shook his with a strong,
firm grip. "I am Saraid Manasdottir, Richie. I'm pleased to meet
you. This is my student, Skylar Tonda."
The man offered his shand and Richie shook it, but the baby
was beginning to fuss louder.
"I think I'll take her for a walk." he smiled a Richie and
turned away when the woman nodded. He seemed to ne hurrying as he
headed for a door. They heard the first squall as it closed
behind him.
"Where have you been?" Duncan asked suddenly, stepping to
her. "I've looked for you for centuries. Where did you go?"
"It must be old home week. I saw Conner just a month ago, in
Italy. Have you heard from him?"
"Conner is in Europe?" Duncan repeated stupidly, but then
returned to his previous tact. "You owe me an answer!"
His angry voice rose above the murmur of the crowd and
people began to look. Richie reached for his shoulder but he
shook him off brusquely.
"I couldn't find you! I - we - thought you were dead!"
She reached a hand to his face, her fingers barely touching
his lips, and then his eyes, and she whispered a sentence in some
soft language Richie didn't recognize.
"Peace, Duncan. I will answer you." she finished in English,
and he closed his eyes briefly while she touched them, and opened
them again, the anger still there, but contained.
"I thought you were dead."
"I know you did." she said with a sad smile. "I will explain
it to you later."
A voice came over the sound system and she made
a shushing
movement with her hand, then took Duncan's. He grasped hers and
held it tightly to his side.
The girls and women, in the startling and boring clothes
that constituted this designer's spring collection, paraded up
and down the catwalk. The first time the exotically pretty dark
girl with the green eyes appeared Saraid nudged him and he forced
himself to pay attention until she was gone.
"My daughter, Layla." Saraid whispered in his ear and he
tried to ignore the shiver that ran through him, and watch the
girl when she returned again, seeing her beauty, almost
unearthly, she stood out from the crowd of thin, pale girls like
an orchid among the weeds.
The it was over and he returned his attention to Saraid, but
she was disengaging her hand and smiling at him.
"I must get her now, before someone tries to talk her into
going to the party. She's only fourteen and far too young for
that sort of thing, although she thinks otherwise."
"Wait!" Duncan heard himself shout, struggled for a more
normal tone. "You aren't going to leave again?"
"Not yet." she said and Richie heard the sadness in it,
wondered if Mac did. "Here -- meet me at this adress. I have to
get the others to bed, I left them with the housekeeper."
"There are more?" he asked stupidly, and she smiled, leaning
to kiss him lightly on the cheek.
"Five in all. I'm looking forward to you meeting them."
She pulled her hand from his reluctant grasp and turned,
walking away with a floating gait he couldn't tear his eyes from.
Beside him Richie shook his head.
"Well, that was surreal. You gonna explain?"
When Mac didn't answer he looked at his face and was shocked
to see tears trickling from his friend's eyes. "Mac! Who is she?"
Turning to leave, not looking at his face, Duncan answered
in a tight voice.
"She's a goddess, Richie."
That was all the answer he got.
They went home to the barge and Duncan
changed out of his
fancy dress. Watching him, Richie ventured a question.
"You want me to come with you, Mac? Moral support kinda
thing?"
Duncan looked at him, obviously distracted, and buttoned up
his black silk shirt.
"Yeah, sure, Richie. You can come."
He went to a small chest he kept beside the bed and opened
it, digging to the bottom and withdrawing something he lay gently
on the bed. Richie stepped beside him to see what it was.
It was wrapped in brown velvet, so old the edges crumpled
when Duncan carefully unwrapped it.
"What is it?"
Duncan pulled the small piece of metal free and brushed it
on his shirt, blowing off the velvet-dust. Suddenly it caught the
light and gleamed like a new penny.
Holding it up to the light Duncan watched as it caught it,
seemed to absorb it, and then flooded his face with it.
"How's it do that?" Richie stared, awed.
"Magic." he answered, his voice strange. The token Saraid
had given him, had given Connor, when they parted, had stayed
with him since, a hope, a prayer against the mounting evidence of
her loss.
"There's no such thing as magic, Mac." Richie thought he was
teasing.
"There was, once. A long time ago. When people still
believed in it." Duncan wasn't going to explain further. He put
the token in his shirt pocket. "Let's go."
He was stubbornly silent as they drove, through the city,
down wide winding roads lined with tall trees and manicured
lawns. Richie looked around with interest.
"I never visited places like this." he said, a joke. "Their
security systems are better than yours."
"A-huh." Duncan wasn't talking.
They drove up a long driveway, to stop before a small castle
of a place, actually built of granite and marble. The lights
shown with warm yellow light and it looked like a home, despite
the size and expense.
The door opened and the albino, Sky, stepped out to greet
them. He was wearing jeans and a tight muscle shirt that showed
impressive definition of chest and shoulders.
"She's been waiting for you." his smile was open and
cheerful. "I think she was afraid you wouldn't come."
"I almost didn't." Duncan's answer was short and his voice
harsh, uneven.
"Duncan?" the voice was soft and light and floated in the
air. Duncan moved to it like music, leaving Sky and Richie
staring after him, bemused. Sky smiled and shrugged, gesturing
toward a large door.
"She has that effect on some people." he said. "You hungry?"
"Always." Richie answered with the heart of an eternal
teenager. Sky led him into the large, expensive kitchen and began
pulling leftovers from an economy-sized, steel-fronted
refridgerator. "We didn't actually get to eat much at the show."
"Beer's in that one." he nodded toward a matching appliance
on the other side of the room.
"I'd better take Duncan one." Richie pulled out three.
"Give it a few minutes." Sky carried a couple of plates and
several containers to the large marble-topped sitting bar,
setting them beside the microwave. He took a seat, waving Richie
over. "I'm pretty sure they need privacy right now."
"Oh. Yeah." Richie agreed, opening his beer and giving
another to the shorter man.
"So, veal or lamb?" Sky opened two of the sealed containers
and Richie smiled widely.
"Both."
She was sitting on an absolutely huge
green leather sofa in
a comfortable, if large, living room, with a fancy entertainment
system. Wearing slacks and a long, flowing cream silk shirt, she
hadn't changed at all.
He stopped in front of her.
"You cut your hair." she observed softly. On board ship he'd
let it grow, at her request, until it was half-way down his back.
Connor had said it made him look like a real barbarian.
"It gets curly when it's that long." his face was
controlled, still hurting. "This is easier to take care of." the
short hair styles that had bcome popular never felt comfortable.
He'd grown up with his hair loose around his shoulders or tied
back, it wasn't meant to be short. It didn't feel right.
Her eyes had darkened as she studied him. He took a step
closer, drawn to her, but held himself back.
"Have you forgiven me?" the quiet words brought him to his
knees in front on her. Duncan groaned softly, reaching for her
and she bent over him as he buried his face in her belly.
"There's nothing' too forgive." his burr showed how
distraught he was. "I just missed ye so much."
"I'm sorry." she kissed his head, her hands loosening the
tie on his hair and fingers spreading it like a cloak over his
shoulders. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt
anyone."
"Connor?" Duncan looked up, his face an inch from hers, his
arms going around her waist, leaning himself in closer to her.
"He was angry...angrier than I've ever seen him." she
admitted. "But he forgave me." her smile was small and impish.
Duncan pressed a kiss to the neckline of her shirt, soft and
sweet, and she shivered. "Surely we have more to do than that."
she teased even as she pressed his head to her.
"Ii' would be hard ta stop." he muttered against her breast
as he moved his head lower. "I've dreamed o' this for two hundred
years."
"Then don't." he looked up and she smiled
down at him like a
god should. "My room is the first door on the right at the top of
the stairs." her grin was teasing, challenging.
His answer was to swing her off the couch into his arms and
stride up the stairs without faltering. She held his shoulders
loosely, admiringly.
"You couldn't do this three hundred years ago."
"I've learned a lot since then." his smile was wicked as he
slid off a shoe and reached for the doorknob with stocking-clad
toes, balancing gracefully. Getting it open with one twist, he
carried her in, shutting it with his foot behind him, and lay her
gently across the really big antique bed. It was hung with gauzy
draperies from the canopy and strewn with a dozen large pillows
that he cleared away as he pressed himself down onto her.
"It's really you." his eyes were open wide with wonder as he
kissed her again, feeling time drop away until they were on the
boat again, on their tatumi in Japan, or in the big bed they had
all shared at their english estate the seven years before they
had split up.
His hand brushed her hair back from her eyes and slid
beneath her to fan it out on the lace coverlet.
Her hands were reaching for the buttons of his shirt, but he
pulled away and stood, smiling at her. "Have a good look." he
said as he stripped, slowly but not provocatively, enjoying her
eyes on him almost more than any others he'd felt. The exception
was, as always, Tessa.
She watched and admired the new strength, the honed
hardness, the size he'd achieved. The grace had always been
there, but it was enchanced by the strength, the new - to her -
confidence.
"I wouldn't have believed it, but you look even better." she
sighed as he came back to her and she reached for him. "Connor
hasn't changed, but you..."
"I grew up." his eyes were sad now.
"With all the pain and loss that entails." she kissed his
chest, right above his heart. "I know. Connor told me."
"Did ye do nothing' but talk of me, then?" he was teasing
with hands and words and she answered in kind, her fingers
reaquainting themselves with him eagerly.
"We did everything we needed to do." her mouth closed on
his. "But we can talk about that later."
"Aye." he kissed her back hungrily, his arms closing around
her tightly as his mouth went to her neck, and lower. "We can."
Richie ate his fill and then some - it was
good food - and
then he and Sky went into the living room. Finding it empty, Sky
grinned at him.
"I guess they had other places to be."
"Guess so." Richie was at a loss - what did he do now? It
was late and he'd had a couple of beers, he didn't really want to
drive all the way back to the barge alone.
"We got plenty of guest rooms." Sky said, seeing the
conflict on his face. "But they're not made up. I can fix one for
you, or you can take the extra bed in my room."
"That would be fine." Richie said without thinking about it.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, but
what could he do? Tell the guy 'uh, nevermind, I'd rather not
sleep in your room 'cause you're gay?' That would go over well.
And it wasn't like the guy was going to attack him or anything.
"You sure?" Sky paused on his way up the stairs and Richie
damned his expressive face.
"Yeah." he tried to sound sincere, but Sky still looked
doubtful.
"It's okay."
"No, I really don't mind. I appreciate it." Richie tried
hard to look positive and must have been convincing, because Sky
shrugged and led him the rest of the way up the stairs.
Before the first door at the top they saw something - a
man's shoe. They stopped and looked at it and Sky shook his head.
"Guess I'm taking the little ones to school tomorrow."
"Looks like."
They shared a smile, Richie glad Duncan had found an old
love alive and happy, Sky happy that his mentor was with one of
the men she loved. She'd told him all about Duncan and Connor
MacLeod and what had passed between them.
"So, do you know how they met?" Richie asked as they went
down the hall, stopping to check into each room to see that the
children were sleeping peacefully.
"I'll tell you about it if you'll tell me about being
immortal." Sky's grin was sneaky.
"You know?!" Richie stopped as he opened the last door. "You
aren't supposed to know."
"Well, she kinda had to tell me." Sky led him into another
large, comfortable room, this one with a serious computer system
and two double beds on either wall. "The kids sleep in here with
me sometimes." he answered Richie's questioning look. "Layla
still has nightmares about her parents' death, and the youngest
boy, Alec, doesn't sleep much some nights."
There was a loud sound from down the hall and Richie
started, but Sky was calm.
"I think they got that lamp by the bed." he said. "I've
always told her it would get broken someday."
"Hope nobody's hurt." Richie was joking, but still curious
about what the other man had said. "So why did she tell you?
Duncan didn't tell me - I never even suspected."
Sky rumaged through a dresser and pulled out a pair of
sweats and tossed them to Richie.
"Here, try these - bathroom's over there." he pointed to the
third door on the back wall. "We'll talk about it when you get
done."
Gratefully Richie took the clothing and stepped into the
bathroom to change. He wasn't much bigger than Sky and they fit
easily.
The other man was in bed when he got out. He'd laid back the
covers and stacked the pillows on the second bed. Richie climbed
in and loked over at him expectantly. The room was large, but
full, and he could hear him just fine when he began talking.
"She found me when I was fifteen. My parents caught me with
a boy...well, you can imagine. They kicked me right out of the
house and I was on the street. You know about that, I can tell by
looking at you."
Richie nodded.
"So I was doing what I had to to survive. But it was getting
harder and harder...I didn't want to live anymore. So I took an
overdose - because I couldn't afford to buy a gun - and wound up
in the emergency room where she worked."
"You didn't die."
"Nah, they pumped me clean." he shook his head. "It didn't
change how I felt, I was just waiting for another chance. She
knew that. The hospital couldn't keep me and there was no place
to send me. She asked me to come live with her, help her keep
house and stuff and I said yes."
"Then she told you?" Richie was interested. This guy's story
was a bit like his, but so different. There were so many stories
like this.
"No. Not until I tried again." his voice was quiet. "I
didn't feel any better about myself. I still wanted to die. But I
felt like I owed her something...so I waited until she was out of
town. I really meant to do it, but she'd arranged to have a
friend come by and check up on me. He found me and got me to the
hospital again and I lived."
He raised his arms and Richie could see the long, ragged
scars that went up each arm from wrist to elbow. Bright pink
against his pale skin, they stood out so well he was surprised he
hadn't noticed them before.
"I lived. And when she came back to get me out of the
hospital, she told me. She didn't want me to die before I was old
enough, or strong enough."
"What didya think about it?"
"I already knew about her. I figured then that she'd only
saved me because of that. Then I asked her to take my head."
Richie winced.
"That was harsh, man."
"I know." the other man sounded unhappy, but not desperately
so. "I was pretty screwed up."
"So what did she do?"
"She promised she would if I still wanted her to when I was
older. Then she got me into therapy. I couldn't say anything
about being Immortal, obviously, but I could talk about how I
felt about what I had done and what had been done to me. I sortof
made peace with my mother, and that helped. After a couple of
years I told her that I didn't want to die, that I wanted to live
out my life as a mortal and go for old age."
"Why?" Richie couldn't imagine giving up his immortality,
even with the hardships and heartbreak it brought.
"I still didn't really want to live."
"But you've changed your mind, right? You want to be
Immortal now." Richie heard the change in his voice and
misunderstood it.
"Not really. But I'm not ready to die yet, either." Sky's
eyes were open and he stared across the room at Richie. "I don't
want you to go screaming from the room or anything." he warned.
"I won't." Richies was curious now. What could he be talking
about?
"I have AIDS. Must have got it when I was a kid on the
streets, probably from a trick. But it's getting bad...and I
don't want to die that way." he paused. "Not without a fight."
"Oh, man." Richie was sympathetic. "I wouldn't either."
"So I'm in the best shape I've ever been in -- if you don't
count T-cells -- and I'm ready. We're just waiting for the right
time. We want to do it away from here, so the kids don't kow I've
died. They aren't ready to lose either of us yet."
"How you gonna do it?" morbid curiousity. How would he have
died if he'd been able to plan it?
"An overdose. She'll give it to me, probably morphine, so
it's not too much or to little. I'll go to sleep and wake up. It
won't hurt more than the needle stick."
"That would be better than the way I did it." Richie agreed.
"Tell me about it." Sky's voice was warm and friendly.
His own voice alternately low and then choking, Richie told
him about it. About Tessa and his guilt and Duncan's overwhelming
grief and his own shock. About training and being hunted because
he was new and taking his first head. About the dark quickening
and his fear and their cautious new relationship. He didn't tell
him about Watchers, he figured his teacher should tell him that,
but he told him everything else. What a quickening felt like, how
his life had changed, mistakes he had made that Sky might avoid.
"A big thing -" he was finishing up -- it was well into the
night and he was tired "- is not to die on television. Even my
friends in the states saw it on satellite and now I can't go
there. I shouldn't be here now, I was just dropping off to visit
Mac."
"It's all so complicated." Sky sighed.
"Yeah." Richie agreed.
There wasn't anything else to say. So they went to sleep.
**************************************************************
"Hey, Mac. You up yet?"
Richie's voice pulled Duncan from the nether regions of the
bed, where he'd been paying tribute to some of Saraid's favorite
gods. Panting, she grabbed his shoulders and smiled, her eyes
glowing with liquid fire.
"Ohhh, Duncan. No you don't."
He caught her hand and kissed it, grinning at her, before
answering.
"I'm up, but I'm bus-sy!" he called back. She laughed out
loud.
In the hallway Richie heard the words and the laugh and
sighed.
"Do you want me to go to the meeting without you?"
"Oh, hell!" Duncan released her hand and scrambled from the
bed, leaving her laughing even louder. "The meeting!"
"I gather it's important." she said. Duncan stopped
gathering his clothes and dropped a kiss on the top of her head,
looking worried.
"I've been trying to get this piece for fifty years." he
said, trying to convey how badly he wanted this without actually
saying it. "It's a sword that belonged to a friend of mine a long
time ago... somehow it got into this private collection..."
"It's okay." she slid out of bed and he caught his breath.
"I have things I need to do as well. But maybe we could get
together tonight? Here? I'd like you to meet the kids."
"Yes. Please." he took a minute to kiss her thouroughly,
the tasste of her still on his tongue, and then pulled on his
pants and hurried out of the room, almost knocking Richie down
outside the door.
"You've had a lot of practice at this, haven't you?" Richie
teased as they left the house. Duncan still wasn't fully dressed,
but snagged the keys when Richie would have taken them.
"Shut up, Richie." Duncan skidded on the steps as he flew
down them. Richie followed with more control.
"So, she told her student..." he slammed the door as Duncan
started the engine and pulled out. His mentor spared him a hard
look, but he couldn't maintain it. His face softened almost
involuntarily to a smile. "You're happy again, aren't you?"
Richie was smiling too.
"I am." Duncan sighed as he drove, one hand rebuttoning his
shirt, done crookedly the first time.
He wasn't thinking about the past or the future. What he had
now was enough.
He was so happy that he paid almost twice what he'd meant to
for Caro's sword. Coming out of the office building where the
collector had kept it as part of the lobby decorations, he was
still smiling.
"So who's was it?" Richie asked.
"An old friend." Duncan's smile didn't fade and Richie
thought that was strange since the old friend must be dead. "He
never really wanted to be a part of the game. I think he was
releieved when he gave his head up as a sacrifice."
"A sacrifice?" Richie sputtered. "Which religion are we
talking about here?"
They got back into the car and headed back for the barge.
"I'll tell you another time."
They went back to the barge and cleaned up,
checked the
email and such. There was a message from Duncan's new accountant
in Seattle, asking Duncan to call him immediately.
Worried, Duncan did. The man was a retired Watcher Joe had
put him in contact with. He understood the problems peculiar to
someone like Duncan, and Duncan's fortune was getting too big to
manage by himself, at least not without dedicating more time to
it than he wanted. Joe had assured him that the man was
trustworthy, and he'd agreed after meeting him. And insisted on
paying him almost twice what he was asking. Now Duncan's was the
only estate he managed.
"Douglas." He spoke quietly. "I got your message. Is there a
problem?"
Doug Kaufman spoke witht he vigor of a man half his age.
"I'm afraid so. There were some discrepancies on your tax return
last year and the IRS has come calling. I would take care of it
myself, but they're insisting on speaking to you."
"Damn." every American's nightmare. Though he still
considered himself a Scotsman at heart, his current legal
identity was American. "You can't just pay some fine and make
them go away?" he didn't care how much it cost. He really didn't
want to leave Paris now, not when he'd just found Saraid after so
many years. She was liable to vanish again.
"I don't think so, sir." Kaufman called everyone sir, even
those younger than himself. Even Joe. "The problem involves the
transfer of ownership of some property...they seem to be implying
that you did it to avoid paying the proper taxes on it, not out
of true philanthropical bent."
"So? What do they care?"
"They say you've exceeded your limit for philanthropical
gifts, and this doesn't qualify because it was too an individual
you weren't related to."
"This is about Anne's house, isn't it?" Duncan sighed. He
should have asked her to make a token payment, or not tried to
write it off. What had he been thinking?
That's why he'd finally gotten an accountant. Because he got
bored with this sort of thing and made mistakes. He was an
intelligent man, but he'd never gone to school for this. And even
professionals made mistakes with the American tax code.
"When do they want me by?"
"Yesterday." Doug's voice was amused. "I told them I didn't
have your number there but I don't think they believed me."
"But you do have my number. Or you could have gotten it from
Joe."
"Never play by their rules, sir. That's the first rule when
dealing with the government."
Duncan chuckled.
"I have plans tonight that I'm not willing to break...I'll
catch the Concorde tomorrow morning. There's a eight o'clock
flight daily. Set up an appointment for, oh, I guess four? That
should give us time to go over things before we talk to them."
"That should make them very happy, sir."
"Thanks for bringing this to my attention, Doug." Duncan
wasn't happy abput the IRS, but that he could trust this man.
"When this is over you're getting a raise."
"I don't need one, sir. Just doing my job."
Off the phone, Duncan explained things briefly to Richie,
who sympathized in his own inimitable way.
"The audit thing, huh? That sucks. I wonder if I'll ever
have enough money to worry about that sort of thing."
Duncan began pulling out the clothes he would take.
"You will if you live long enough and you don't gamble it
away like Kit or fritter it like Amanda."
"But where do I start, Mac?" they left the barge, heading
for Saraid's. Dinner would be early, because of the kids. "It was
easier for you. You had so many things to invest in, it was
cheaper then."
"No, it wasn't. Things were cheaper, but money was scarcer.
You just have to get a stake together and plan for the long run.
The stock market looks tempting, but you're better off just
opening a high-interest savings account -- maybe one you can't
withdraw from for a while -- and leaving it sit a century or two.
You'd be surprised how fast it grows when you do that."
"But what do I live on until then?"
Duncan gave him a sideways glance as he maneuvered through
traffic.
"What, you thought that now you're Immortal you'd never have
to work again?"
Bashfully Richie shrugged, hedging.
Duncan snorted.
"Well, I guess you can after a while, if you do it right.
But maybe you'll learn that most of us don't work for money.
Immortals work to have something to do. When they have enough
money to stop working, they often work as hard at playing as they
did punching a clock. Forever is a long time, and it's not that
hard to get bored." he paused and looked again. Richie was
actually listening, paying attention to what he was saying. He
felt a surge of almost filial pride. "Work gives us structure, a
framework to build lives in. I don't think I could survive
without some identity to hang myself on -- soldier, journalist,
teacher -- it doesn't matter what, I just have to find a way to
identify myself other than 'Immortal' or I would go crazy. And
there's always the pleasure of saying 'Hey, that looks
interesting. I wonder if I could do that. If I'd be good at
that.'"
"I hadn't thought about it that way." Richie leaned back in
the seat. "I really can try anything once, can't I?"
"As long as it doesn't involve possible decapitation. Or
medical intervention." Duncan smiled at his wary enthusiasm.
"I guess that cuts out the space program." Richie sighed
melodramatically.
"For now." Duncan grinned as they turned up Saraid's
driveway. "In the future - who knows?"
Dinner was noisy and messy and Duncan
loved it, but felt
that familiar pain in his chest as he watched Saraid patiently
getting baby Rose to eat her vegetables and Sky coaxing eight-
year-old Alec to eat anything at all.
Richie hit it off with the teenage model, Layla, quickly.
She was still beautiful, but her youth was obvious now, with no
makeup or fancy clothes. Duncan knew Richie would behave properly
and not do anything to hurt her.
They stayed the night. Duncan couldn't help it. After dinner
Saraid took him up to her room -- for a drink, she said -- and
they ended up making love again, this time with Duncan sitting in
her big armchair with her in his lap, over him, making him crazy.
After that he couldn't walk, so of course he took her up on the
offer to sleep in that big soft bed again.
She was sad to hear that he had to leave so soon. They
hadn't talked much the night before, so now he asked him about
her student. She told him the story Richie had heard and he was
fillled with sadness for a young man so badly hurt.
"We need to do it soon." she sighed in his arms. "Before he
gets sick again. I just don't know what will happen after the
first death...have you ever heard of a situation like this?"
Duncan shook his head, arms tight around her waist.
"I would think it would be just like dying any other way."
he said. "I knew an Immortal who died of the plague, and he was
fine afterwards. It's probably like that."
"It's such a strange disease, Duncan, I don't know. I'm
worried for him."
He raised her up to kiss her deeply. When they pulled apart
he was smiling.
"Tell you what. When you're ready to do it we'll take him up
to my cabin. We'll have privacy and be safe on Holy Ground. You
have enough doctoring to treat him if anything goes wrong and
there's anything we could do."
She was thinking about it.
"The older kids are all going to summer camp next month."
she said slowly. "I'd have to bring Rosie, but she's too little
to understand or be upset by anything we do."
"How long will they be gone?" he asked. His body was waking
back up, wanting her again. Gently he nibbled on her shoulder,
testing her willingness. Her fingers twisted in his hair and she
sighed again.
"Three weeks." she said. "It's a great place, they'll have
tons of fun, but I'll miss them so."
"So you come over and spend some time with me and we take
care of your student."
"Connor should be there." she whispered. "If you want him to
be."
"How could I not?" he asked rhetorically. "I'll call him. It
will be just like old times."
She moaned softly into his mouth as he pulled her on top of
him, molding her to his strong form.
"That sounds like a plan." she pulled her mouth away long
enough to whisper. "And now that we've got that settled..." her
hands went between them and down, and he forgot what they'd been
talking about.
This time Richie woke him early, so he had time to shower
and dress properly before making the mad scramble to catch the
plane. Richie stayed behind to take care of closing the barge
down, happy Mac trusted him to deal with details like this.
**************************************************************
He took care of the tax problem
expediently, over Doug's
protests -- he paid the disputed amount. They wanted to bring
Anne into it and he wanted her left alone, and Doug understood.
He wouldn't accept a raise, so Duncan sent him a gift, cruise
tickets for himself and his wife; non-refundable.
The next month was spent catching up on
everything that had
happened while he was in Paris, like the first month always was.
Richie came back, and they made a point of spending some time
together.
Sitting at the bar, drinks in front of them, the room
crowded but quiet, they listened to Joe play onstage.
Actually, Duncan listened while Richie tried to make eye
contact with a pretty girl sitting two stools over.
"I envy you." Duncan told Joe when he came back around
behind the bar.
"You envy me? Get outta here." Joe snorted.
"Seriously. I canna make music. I've tried to sing before
and, believe me, it's scary."
"I remember." Richie said with a grin.
"When have you heard me sing?" Duncan demanded. "I never
sing."
"In the restaraunt, when -" Richie shut his mouth with a
snap, eyes wide.
Duncan's expressive face went blank.
"When I proposed to Tessa."
"Uh, yeah." Richie couldn't look at him.
"It's okay, Rich. We can't go through life avoiding her
name."
Looking back, Richie saw the pain he'd expected in Duncan's
eyes, but there was a new peace there as well.
"Sorry, Mac."
"We need to talk about her. That's the only way she'll stay
alive in our memories." Duncan looked at Joe, who was watching
with avid interest and some sympathy. Roughly Duncan pushed his
glass toward him and Jow refilled it with the Glenmorangie he
kept for him.
"Tessa is the first person you've lost, Rich." Joe said.
"It's hard to know what to do afterwards. Take it from an old
hand; talk about her as much as you can. You don't want to wake
one day and realize that you can't remember her face."
"Or her smile. Or her laugh." Duncan closed his eyes and his
friends watched him, worried. "Or her touch..." he whispered, not
knowing he said it aloud.
No one to hold him through the night. No one to scold him,
to care if he were hurt, to kiss him and take the love he had to
give. The love he needed to give to feel alive.
The girl Richie had been eyeing was looking at him now.
"She thinks you've lost interest." Duncan said knowingly.
"You better go tell her you haven't."
With a wise-ass grin Richie got up and headed over.
Duncan pushed his glass back to Joe, who refilled it somberly.
"So, what's up with you?" he asked, giving Duncan a serious
look.
"You weren't in Paris." Duncan sipped. "You know who I
found?"
"The third musketeer." Joe allowed himself a brief grin.
"The woman you shared with Connor for thirty years, eight months
and six days."
Duncan raised an eyebrow.
"About that, yeah."
"We lost track of her when the three of you split up. We
thought she was dead." Duncan knew Joe wanted to ask, answered
before he had to.
"I don't know where she was. Connor and I thought she'd lost
her head a century ago."
"So, does Connor know...?"
Duncan grinned.
"Your people aren't as good as you think. She found Connor
months ago, in Italy."
"We had a man on Connor -- he didn't mention him hooking up
with another Immortal."
"Would he have recognized her?" Duncan knew that Connor
hadn't had a regular Watcher like he did for decades, because
he'd been traveling too much. Not all of them could afford to
just pick up and go like Joe did, and he could only do it because
Duncan usually told him where he was going -- and he didn't go
many places.
"You're right. He's not new, but he's essentially a
researcher. He watches Rome."
Duncan nodded. Some Watchers were assigned to cities instead
of people and their job was to keep track of who came and went
and what happened in between. Paris had several, and London, he
knew. And New York, which was where Connor had been based for
almost two hundred years, had five since the beginning of the
gathering in 1985.
"He probably hasn't read back that far." Joe poured himself
another drink, offering it to Duncan, who shook his head, tilting
his half-full glass. "So...are the three of you getting back
together?" he phrased it carefully.
Joe knew things that Duncan didn't know he
knew. Things he
was pretty sure Duncan didn't want him to know.
But his friend just gave him that enigmatic smile and
changed the subject.
(continued in part 2)
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