Code Duello

Highlander - Code Duello by patricia51

(Those of you who have read an original series that I post elsewhere might raise an eybrow thinking "Hey, I've seen this character before.". And yes, a red-headed, green-eyed Irish lass IS a familiar sight in my stories. Let me explain.

When I first created that other character, Bridget O'Brien, my plan was to make her a "Highlander" Immortal. It was my dear, sweet, desperately missed friend Linda who made the suggestion to make her a vampire and I did. But I've always thought about that character as she was originally conceived and so here she is and it's amazing how Duncan's career dovetailed with historical research I had already done for that other character. So if situations seem familiar well, it just turned out that way.)

Prelude - Duncan meets an old friend with quite a surprise.

Duncan MacLeod was simply enjoying the air as he aimlessly strolled around the park. He hadn't been in this part of the United States in many years. He had gone wandering, as he often did, and had found his way to the coast of South Carolina. The scene around him could have been in just about any other American city. A baseball diamond and a soccer field were encircled by a running track with a small playground set off to one side. There were cries from the soccer field indicating a game was in progress. All very normal.

Then Duncan stiffened as the familiar sensation washed over him. There was another Immortal nearby. Instinctively his hand lifted and touched the back of his neck, his fingers inches above where his concealed sword hung down his back under his long coat. His eyes raked the immediate area but he saw no one that seemed to be looking around in the same fashion he was. Was the other one someone who knew him or a stranger? Was he friend or foe?

Duncan sighed to himself. Sometimes the Game grew very tiresome. He stopped walking and concentrated on slowly surveying each square foot of his surroundings. That was when he saw a man making his way towards him.

The Highlander spread his feet, balancing himself for whatever action he might need to take. The man didn't seem to pose an immediate threat. His hands were spread open and held out slightly from his body, a non-verbal sign of "I'm not looking for trouble". He was slightly under six feet tall with a wiry build and sandy blonde hair cut fairly short. He was dressed casually, jeans and a long sleeve flannel shirt under a windbreaker.

The man stopped a comfortable distance away. Duncan raised an eyebrow. Strange. The feeling had not intensified. This man was NOT the immortal that Duncan had sensed.

"Duncan MacLeod?"

"Duncan Maclead of the Clan MacLeod," he acknowleged.

"I'm William Hamilton of... well, nothing in particular." The man seemed uneasy but at the same time almost amused. "She told me that was exactly how you would respond."

"She?"

"My wife. Once she saw you she asked me to come greet you and ask you if you would like to join us. She sends her apologies but she couldn't come herself as she is extremely busy with something very important."

"Oh? Well, could you tell me who your wife is and what is so important?"

"I think she'd prefer to tell you herself about the latter. However her name is Deirdre."

Duncan was surprised. "Deirdre O'Connor?"

"Well," the man smiled. "Deirdre Hamilton right now but yes, that's her name."

"I haven't seen her since..."

"World War Two, she told me," William finished the statement. "Yes, I'm well aware of who, and what, she is."

Duncan shrugged. After all, it was not at all unheard of for immortals to marry mortals and when that happened generally it was to someone who could be trusted with the secret. He felt perfectly safe and followed the other man as William turned and walked back towards the soccer game. Not only was Deirdre an old friend, but as Duncan admitted to himself without any false modesty, he was pretty much a match for the woman. Not that he could imagine them ever coming to swordstrokes.

The two men made their way back through a crowd of people milling around the stands. There were cheers and groans as the spectators followed the course of the game on the field, played by, Duncan noted, pre-teen girls. Among the cries of encouragement he heard, Duncan had no problem picking out the remembered contralto voice as it cheered on the team with the ball. He craned his neck and then realized that his old friend was running up and down the sidelines, yelling instructions to the girls pressing the attack.

A smile played over Duncan's face. That was Deirdre. He studied the woman who appeared to be in her middle twenties as she waved her arms and shouted. She stood an inch under five and a half feet with a slender build. Red hair hung down her back to her shoulder blades. Impatiently, she raked locks of that same hair away from her face. He couldn't see her eyes but he knew they were a blazing green. They were probably shinning with excitement too.

That was just like the petite Irish immortal. She always threw herself enthusiastically into every thing she attempted, a characteristic he had noted from their very first meeting in Italy and then again in Manchu China in the late 1600's when she had been serving as a bodyguard and teacher for the Emperor Kangxi's family. They had become friends.

Duncan shook his head, returning to the present. A goal had been scored and Deirdre was dancing up and down. Seeing him, she waved and grinned. She then returned to scampering up and down the sidelines for the remainder of the game, which was won by the team she was coaching, the victory sealed in the final seconds by the goalie knocking away a penalty kick.

The girls on both sides lined up to congratulate each other on a well played game. Deirdre hugged her husband in elation and then Duncan.

"Hi there Duncan! Wasn't that great!"

Since he didn't really see that anything was all THAT exciting Duncan was about to make some concilatory remark when two girls dashed up to Deirdre. One was the foreward who had scored the lone goal of the game; the other the goalie who had preserved the victory. Both flung themselves on the red-headed woman.

"Mom! We won. We WON!" screamed both girls as they wrapped their arms around Deirdre.

"Yes you did and you were both great and I'm so proud of you both I could just bust!"

Duncan's mouth fell open. "Mom"? Immortals couldn't have children. What was going on here?


Chapter 1 - Introductions

(Note: The story of Deirdre of the Sorrows is part of the Ulster Cycle. She is considered the most tragic heroine in Irish mythology. Of course the song "Bonny Portmore" should be well known to any fan of either the movie or TV versions of "Highlander".)

Duncan blinked. "Ah, your daughters?" he asked as casually as he could manage.

"Yes," smiled Deirdre. She looked closer at the Highlander and giggled. "Close your mouth Duncan. No one has repealed anything concerning... us. I'll explain later. Meanwhile," she switched her attention back to the gaggle of girls, "We need to load up and head out for some ice cream!"

Cheers followed and a rush was made to the parking lot, leaving Duncan to help Deirdre and William pack up the equipment. Shouldering various bags they followed the girls who were already waiting by a couple of vehicles. Duncan looked through the bundles and lifted an eyebrow.

"Where's your sword? You know you need to keep it near to hand."

Deirdre sighed. "Duncan I'm well aware that no one gets to opt out of The Game. However my mini-van is about to be filled with excited and always curious near teenaged girls. No matter where I tried to conceal it someone might stumble across it. After all, it's quite unlikely I would need it in front of so many potential witnesses. But you're right. William has it in his truck, concealed in a special sheath behind the seat."

Hours later, after what turned out be not only ice cream but also pizza followed by the returning of all the other girls to their scattered homes they drove to a restored Victorian style townhouse in the historic district of the city. Night had fallen. Deirdre and William offered the hospitality of their home to Duncan and he accepted. He was curious about his friend and what had taken place in her life in the 60 odd years since they had last met. As the married duo put their girls to bed, he sipped his drink and explored the room they had left him in.

It was elegant, yet comfortable and lived in. The furniture was covered in deeply padded rich leather but was well broken in. It was a room for living in, not for show. Duncan noted there was no TV. Book cases lined two walls. He drifted over and ran his eyes over the titles. Quite an eclectic collection he noted. Everything from vintage children's books to best sellers. He smiled as he noted a well stocked section on Ireland and the Irish. When William entered the room Duncan had pulled one of those books from the case and was flipping through it.

"Entertaining," Duncan remarked. "But really not that accurate historically."

"That's what Deirdre says," smiled the other man.

"I see a great deal of material on Ireland. There's history and folktales and even fiction."

"Some it is hers. A lot of it is mine though. I try to understand things about her and her heritage is a major part of her. As for the fiction, she says, and I agree, that often you can find out more about people by reading what they dream about rather than just cold facts and dates."

Duncan nodded his agreement.

"And I'm of Irish ancestry myself. A little anyway. Of course most Americans tend to have a bit of Irish in them. By the way, Deirdre will be here in just a few minutes." The man smiled. "She's singing the girls to sleep."

Duncan answered the smile with one of his own. He could hear Deirdre softly crooning a familiar song that called to his own heart.

"Oh Bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand, and the more I think on you the more I think long..." the words faded away as the woman's voice grew quieter.

"She's such a wonderful singer," William remarked. He looked at Duncan. "But somehow I seriously doubt I need to tell you that."

"No. She was, is, considered a successor of the ancient Irish Bards. Very unusual for a woman as they were generally all male."

"She is one of a kind. It was her singing that first caught my attention. Heck, that's an understatement. She captivated me."

"How did you two meet?" inquired Duncan.

"I had stopped on my way home one Friday afternoon at a bar." William hesitated. "It had been about a year since I had lost my wife Bethany, the girls' birth mother. I had climbed out of the worst of the depression but I was still reeling from the accident. The girls were with my parents for the weekend, I was feeling sorry for myself and I decided to tie one on. The drink prices were low and the place was crowded but with a nice looking bunch.

"so I'm sitting at this table in the corner downing a beer and a shot of Jack Daniels when this woman comes onto the little stage at the front of the room. She sits down on a stool, tunes her guitar and starts strumming it as she talks a bit to the crowd there. I wasn't paying much attention. Then she started to sing."

William paused for a moment. Much softer but still audible the words came floating down the stairway.

"For it stood on your shore for many's the long day, till the long boats of Antrim came to float it away."

Both men smiled and William continued. "I couldn't believe it. She just grabbed me. Of course she did that to everyone else there as well. I found out later the reason the bar was packed was because the customers there were almost all steady visitors. Everyone loved to listen to her. There was one attempt by someone to make noise and he was tossed out of the place before the bouncers could even get to him.

"It was simple music she played; Folk songs, some old ballads, plaintive country songs. But every one of those songs came from a heart so full that you heard things in the lyrics you had never heard before. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry. I even stopped drinking.

"When she took a break, a late middle-age couple at the next table leaned over and smiled at me. The man told me he hoped I was 'with her' because I had sat there with a rapt expression on my face through the entire series, hanging on every word of every song. I felt like a drowning man who had been thrown a life-jacket.

"Then that nice couple smiled and the woman said 'I see she is'. I had no clue what she meant until the chair beside me creaked and I turned to look into green eyes so deep I thought I was going to fall into them. And I couldn't think of anything more that I could possibly want than to do just that."

Duncan nodded. Deidre often had that effect on people. Like her mythological namesake she seemed to be drawn to sorrow but in her case she didn't cause it but sought to relieve it. He had never been in love with her as he had loved Amanda but they had been friends, and occasionally closer than friends, for centuries.

Barely audible to the men came the last words of the song.

"If I had you now as I had once before, all the Lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore."

"So moving, and yet so sad."

Duncan nodded. "Much Irish music is tinged with sadness and longing. Including hers. But it definitely draws one, as it did you."

"Indeed. Before her break was over we were talking like old friends and she made me promise to stay until after she was finished. We went for a walk and I surprised myself by blurting out a request to see her again. I never thought she would say yes but she did. In two months we were serious. The girls absolutely adore her. Oh, that wasn't easy, they still miss their mother but Deirdre is rapidly becoming much more than just a step-mother."

"How did you come to learn about, well, her past."

"Her being immortal or her heritage? After all, one was nearly as startling as the other."

"Yes," smiled Duncan.

"When I asked her to marry me. Now THERE was a shock. A whole new world opened up. Of course I didn't believe her at first. I thought that she must be crazy or on drugs. And yet I wanted to believe her, I wanted her to be telling me the truth. Then she proved it."

William laughed this time. "Then once I had accepted she was in fact immortal there came the revelation of how LONG she had been alive and who her father was. Ruairí O’Connor, King of Connaught and Ard Righ of Ireland. I think that was harder to accept than her immortality. But I did and here we are. A simple American man married to an Irish princess, the daughter of the last real High King of Ireland."

"Ah, stuff and nonsense my love." Deirdre appeared in the living room. She slipped into her husband's lap, curling up there and snuggling against him.

"Had my father been the man he should have been, had he been a true Ard-Righ capable of welding Leinster and Munster, Meath and Connaught all together he might had forged a force that would have broken Strongbow when the English Earl led the first invasion. But Ireland was rent by too many feuds and factions. I adored my father but Roderick O'Connor was a weak man." She shook her head sadly. "Now if my brother Connor of Maenmagh had lived..." Her voice trailed off as she looked away, her eyes focused not on the wall or the painting hung there but rather on a scene that had taken place eight hundred years before.

The two men exchanged looks. Both realized that the other was aware of the significance of that scene. For it had been in the ambush that had taken the fiery male prince's life that the woman sitting there with them had met her own death, a death no less bitter for bringing her to the realization of her immortality.

"Enough of that," declared the red head, shaking her head. "What's become of you Duncan? Nearly fifty years have passed and eager I am to be hearing what you have been doing with yourself."

William laughed with a deep musical sound. "I think with this I will slip away and leave you two to your catching up. It's been a long and busy day and I have to go to work in the morning. I suspect you two will be up until all hours."

He slid from under Deirdre and deposited her in the chair. She twined her arms around his neck and they kissed. With a smile at Duncan and the words "See you all in the morning", tossed over his shoulder he left.

Deirdre and Duncan sat in comfortable silence. Finally he spoke.

"It will hurt even worse than usual Deirdre. The girls I mean. We've both lost many people over the centuries but everyone expects their children to outlive them, even step-children."

The woman shrugged. "True Duncan but keep in mind that this won't be the first time for me. I've been blessed to have been a step-mother and also an adoptive one before as well. We both know the only way to avoid the pain is to cut ourselves off; to avoid falling in love with anyone. Not even another Immortal."

She swirled her drink, looking down into the amber fluid. "And after all, which of us is guaranteed tomorrow? Either of us could be dead tomorrow. Someone like Xavier St. Cloud could show up with Horton's bully boys to shoot me helpless and take my head. I could lose a duel. Hell Duncan I could be in a traffic accident and have my head cut off by a broken windshield. So in the meantime let me love and be loved and make my music. Sorrow may come soon enough."

"So," she waved her hand as though she was brushing aside the ghosts that clung around her, as they sometimes did with most Immortals, including Duncan. "Tell me what you've been up to since, when was that? 1943 or was it 1944?"

"It was 1943 and the first hint I had that you were around was your singing."


Chapter 2 - The World at War

(France, 1943 - Outside Paris)

"Hurry!" whispered Duncan's friend and fellow Resistance operative Georges Dalou. "I hear someone coming."

"Just one more second," muttered Duncan. "There!" he hooked the wire that led over the train tracks and down the telephone pole to the detonator for the explosive charge the pair had buried under the tracks. "Let's go." As quietly as possible the duo slipped away. Minutes later they broke into a run.

"Why did you run the wire overhead?" inquired Georges later when they stopped for a breather. "Wouldn't it have been easier to just stretch it across the tracks?"

"Easier yes but not safer. The Germans have a corps of track walkers who daily check as much of the railroads as they can. They'd spot the wire in an instant if it stretched across the track. But high overhead? They look down all the time, not up. No, it will be safe there until the smokestack of the locomotive snags it and detonates the explosive charge."

"Hmmmm, nice."

"Indeed. The American OSS came up with a neat trick when someone thought of that. Now, let's get back to the monastery."

"The monastery! Always monasteries" Georges grumbled. "What a place for a Parisian to hide out. The only singing is chanting and the only drink is water. And don not even get me started on the food mon vieux."

"Poor Georges," chuckled Duncan softly. "Perhaps we will run a mission to the Left Bank for you one evening."

Heartened by the idea, Georges followed Duncan as the pair of saboteurs hurried away into the night. They made it back safely into the city, dodging three German checkpoints before their luck ran out. A Wehrmacht patrol spotted the two black clad figures slipping along a wall as they sought to cover the final leg of their journey. Shots rang out. Duncan and Georges raced through darkened alleyways and down little known side streets. They managed to avoid outright apprehension but additional patrols closed in on them and they found themselves pinned near the river.

They plastered themselves against a brick wall and held their breath, hoping that the patrol blocking the exit would move on. With agonizing slowness they fumbled down the nearly pitch black alleyway. Suddenly Duncan felt the sensation. There was another Immortal nearby. He strained his senses, trying to determine where the other one might be. Then he heard faint singing and he smiled as he recognized the voice.

"Outside the barracks, by the corner light. Darling I remember how I'd wait for you at night..."

"Come on," he whispered to Georges. "I know where we're going." He led the way down the alleyway, following the sound of the haunting song as it floated through the air.

"That's the Kit-Kat Club," protested his friend. "It's a known hangout for the Boche and those bastards who support them."

"I think we'll find a friend there." Duncan reassured him.

Georges shook his head but contented himself with mumbling under his breath.

It took time, but eventually the pair ended up at the back door to the Kit-Kat Club. Duncan rapped on the door. When the slit opened he hastily scribbled a note in the dim light and passed it in. Shortly the lock rattled and the door opened just long enough for Duncan and his friend to slip inside.

A bulky bouncer silently led them to a door, which he tapped on before leaving them. It opened and a slender arm drug Duncan inside. Georges followed, to be momentarily surprised at the sight of the tall Highlander being embraced by a slight red-headed woman. A woman that he recognized as one of the club's singers and, he thought, an ardent Nazi supporter. He opened his mouth to protest, a protest that he never got out. His mouth did remain open though as Duncan and the young woman kissed.

When the pair finally came up for air Georges was still staring. Duncan released the woman and turned towards his friend.

"This is my friend, and fellow Resistance operative, Georges Dalou."

"I am very pleased to meet you," the red-head said in pure Parisian French.

"But, but, but..." stammered Georges.

"Oh." Green eyes twinkled. "Duncan did not introduce me did he? I am Lieutenant Deirdre O'Connor, Army of the United States and presently attached to the Office of Strategic Services."

Georges' mouth gaped open even wider, if that were possible. "You're an Allied agent?"

"One of the best," confirmed Duncan. "And an old friend."

"I must say I wasn't expecting you Duncan," smiled Deirdre. She grew serious. "In fact, I was worried you might be someone else."

"Oh?"

"He calls himself 'Ernest Daimler'." When Georges turned his head and spat Deirdre nodded. "He's a Major in the Wehrmacht and seems to be as dedicated a Nazi as any one else. So far he has not visited the club and I have taken care to avoid any areas he could reasonably be expected to frequent. But sooner or later I'm sure our paths will cross. "

"But not so far."

"Yes, when that happens I fear my usefulness here will be at an end." She shrugged. "Most of the information I have been gathering I have passed on a irregular basis through a conduit set up through the Underground."

"Information? How do you gather information here?" asked Georges. Duncan suspected his friend's question had less to do with a desire to learn more about intelligence operations and more with keeping the lovely Irish girl talking. From the look on his face it appeared that Deirdre had made yet another conquest.

Deirdre dimpled, obviously aware of the young Frenchman's attraction. "Quite easily, mon petite Georges. The Germans come here; they drink and listen to me sing. After my performance they but me drinks and vie with each other to draw my interest. That often leads to boasting and boasting lets slip things that they would never reveal to a man. But they console themselves with the knowledge that I am a woman and more to the point I am Irish. It is well known that the Irish, although ostensibly neutral, lean towards the Germans, not so much because they favor Germany but because they detest the English."

"And you don't?"

"Once perhaps." The singer's eyes met Duncan's as the pair shared a long ago memory. "No longer." She made a gesture as though she was brushing away old memories. "Meanwhile, how did you know it was me?"

"As if your voice wasn't instantly recognizable to me, after," Duncan stopped himself from saying "After all these centuries" and changed the finale of the sentence to "After all this time."

"Well I'm glad you did." There came a soft but rapid knocking on the door. Deirdre motioned for the two men to step out of sight and cracked the door. There was a rapid exchange in tones to low for Duncan to pick up before Deirdre shut the door and turned to them.

"The Germans are searching the place." She took three quick steps and opened a huge free standing closet. "If there was time I'd get you to a secret passage that connects down to the sewers. But the searchers are already in the building. So we'll improvise."

Under Deirdre's rapid fire directions the two men hid themselves behind the clothes that hung in the closet. They precariously balanced themselves on a wooden shelf so their feet would not show. Surprisingly, Deirdre did not close the closet doors but instead made sure that they were flung wide open, allowing both men to peek through the mounds of clothes that hopefully obscured them.

Even more surprisingly the Irish singer's next step was to begin to rapidly undress. Duncan heard Georges barely smother a gasp. By the time a loud, authoritative rap came on the door Deirdre was clad in nothing more than a black corset with black seamed stockings snapped to it and a pair of black high heels. Duncan had seen her in less than that before but it still was a sight worth seeing.

The door opened without waiting for Deirdre to answer the knock or issue an invitation. She made an attempt to snatch a dressing gown from a nearby chair but instead knocked it to the floor. She stooped to pick it up as two German soldiers accompanied a man in the ubiquitous leather coat and hat of a Gestapo agent.

He held out his identity disk and said, or rather proclaimed, "Gestapo."

"Mein Herr," replied Deirdre in German as perfect as was her French. "Can I be of assistance?"

"I am searching for a pair of fugitives," he said. "It is possible that they came in here."

"HERE?" exclaimed Deidre, clasping one hand to her barely concealed breasts, which served to draw attention to them as well as to counterpoint the wide-eyed innocent look she gave the agent. "Well you must find them! I won't be able to draw a breath in peace until you declare them captured!"

"Don't overdo it," Duncan urged silently. But Deirdre played her part perfectly, just charming and flirtatious enough to keep the Gestapo agent and his helpers off their guard but not so much as to arouse their suspicions. After a cursory look around the room, interrupted by sideways glances at Deirdre's legs and cleavage, they left.

Duncan started to let out a sigh of relief but stopped when Deirdre held up a hand. She hastily propped one attractive leg up on the chair by her dressing table and began to smooth her stocking. Sure enough, her caution was rewarded as the door popped back open and the Gestapo man surveyed the room again. Deirdre's mouth fell open in apparent shock.

"Mein Herr!"

"Apologies Fraulien," the agent muttered rather insincerely as he closed the door.

The redhead quickly kicked off her heels and ran on stocking feet to the door and listened. After a minute or two she nodded and waved at the closet. Duncan and Georges stepped down and stretched gratefully.

"I thought we were done for when you forgot to close the closet doors," admitted Georges.

"Oh no, that was on purpose," replied the Irish girl. "The best place to hide is in plain sight. If I had closed the doors they would have opened them and searched the closet. Open doors aren't expected to hide anything."

"Now then," Deirdre went on briskly, "We'll give our uninvited guests time to finish wasting their time searching the building and move on before I get you two down to the concealed exit. From there you should be able to get to just about any part of the city."

The trio slipped down to the basement of the building. Deirdre indicated a large trunk which seemed fastened to the wall. She showed the men how a hidden catch allowed it to move, which revealed a trapdoor. Quickly she hugged and kissed both men.

"Be careful, both of you. Perhaps we'll meet again soon."

"Just in case it needs to be very soon let me tell you where we will be." Duncan gave swift but clear directions and then they climbed down the ladder and Deirdre slid the trunk back over the opening.

Duncan started down the tunnel and then had to go back and retrieve Georges who was standing with a expression of wonder and delight on his face. In fact, the Highlander had to drag his friend away, while Georges kept babbling about Deirdre. Finally the exasperated Duncan got his fellow Resistance operative to be quiet and they made their way through the sewers to an outlet that allowed them to slip safely to the monastery.

Two nights later as they made their plans to move on a hesitant knock came on the door of the monkish cell they were sharing.

A monk, his face twisted in worry, stuck his head in the door. "You have a visitor. Two in fact. One is quite welcome but the other," the man hesitated and fumbled for words, "The other is one who is not normally welcomed within these walls."

One of the local priests entered, his face lined with worry. He was accompanied by a small, slight monk who had the cowl of his robe pulled over his face. Duncan had already sensed the nearness of another immortal and so was anything but surprised when the "Monk" tossed back his cowl to reveal Deirdre's features.

"I didn't want to come here Duncan but Father Jacques insisted." She looked ruefully at her robes. "I really feel uncomfortable in this. After all, a monk is something I've never aspired to be. I don't have the self-control."

"Or the right sex."

"Okay, I wasn't meant for a nun either. Anyway, I don't like pretending to be someone in Holy Orders, I'm way too Catholic for that."

"But you are because...?" Duncan lifted an eyebrow.

"I've been blown."

"As an OSS agent?"

Deirdre nodded but her eyes met Duncan's. A barely perceptible nod indicated that Duncan had picked up that Daimler had been at least involved.

"Are they close behind?" asked Georges.

"I don't think so."

"I will go see."

Father Jacques left with Georges leaving the two immortals alone.

"It was Daimler. He probably doesn't know my affiliation to Allied Intelligence but he has several advantages. He can be eccentric and have a sword close at hand. I can't. He can have his Nazi pals drag me from Holy Ground and then find an excuse to behead me." She shrugged. "The Quickening might be hard to explain but he could find a way to do it or make up an excuse for taking me off into the woods somewhere."

"That's actually not the important part though. When I bolted from the club I took a chance and went by his office. After all," she smiled at the look of astonishment on Duncan's face," If he's out looking for me at the club and then probably at my apartment then he won't be in at his place. I managed a few minutes alone and riffled his papers. Didn't take any of course but I came across a list he's complied of Resistance members, both here and in Germany. I only have the one contact and by the time I could pass this warning up through that channel and have it filter back down he might scoop up everyone on that list. Can you do something?"

"I can," answered Georges, startling both immortals, who had not heard him come back. "Tell me who the people are."

Deirdre poured out a list of names. Trained in the ancient Bardic tradition her mind was capable of memorizing an immense quantity of information. She had, being her, put it into a rythmatic pattern like a chanted poem. Georges listened intently and nodded when she had finished.

"I will take care of it. Thank you Deirdre."

The Irish woman smiled and touched the Frenchman's cheek. "Thank you Georges." Her eyes twinkled. "Perhaps after the war I may have a chance to properly thank you." She kissed him and then embraced Duncan. "Okay you two, I'm gone. I have an appointment with a fishing boat that should put me in England in two or three days. God be with you both always." She pulled the cowl back up over her head and was gone.

Duncan started down the hallway. He stopped, sighed and turned back again. Georges was looking absolutely moon-struck this time. Duncan grasped his friend's ear and tugged.

"Ouch!"

"AFTER the war."

"Oh very well. But a man can dream."

(The Present)

"By the way, Daimler's hash has been settled."

"Good." Deirdre searched her friend's eyes and nodded, recognizing that he had been the one to do the settling.

"Did you ever see Georges again?"

"Oh yes." She smiled.


Chapter 3 - Old Comrades

(Paris, France - 1962)

Deirdre hummed to herself as she zigzagged back and forth across the cluttered street. Stalls sold merchandise of all types and descriptions to the early evening shoppers. She stopped occasionally to inspect one item or another but nothing really drew her interest.

As she turned from what a vendor claimed was an authentic seventeenth century lute that Deirdre knew was no more than ten years old she bumped into a man.

"Excuse me," she apologized at the same time as the man said exactly the same words. Then she was looking at a changed but still familiar face.

"Mon Dieu! Deirdre?"

"Georges! How lovely to see you mon ami."

"And you Deirdre." The one time Resistance agent cocked his head and studied the Irishwoman. "But how is it that you have not changed a bit? You are still as lovely and young as you were the last time I saw you nearly twenty years ago."

Deirdre laughed. "Why Georges you charmer!" She tucked her arm inside his. "Flattery will get you everywhere you know."

He gave a deep chuckle. "I hope so my Deirdre, I hope so."

The two former comrades in arms spent a lovely afternoon together. They shopped, they walked, they visited places that had been familiar to them twenty and shook their heads at how Paris had changed and yet remained the same.

A little cafe stood where once the Kit Kat Club had been located. Georges ushered the Irishwoman into a chair and ordered for them. They dined on a thick rich stew accompanied by a loaf of hot crusty bread and a hearty red Vin de Bourgogne. Both gave the food the attention it deserved. Finally they pushed their chairs back. The waiter brought them each a cafe-au-lait and they relaxed and began to catch up.

Inevitably Duncan's name arose. Neither of them had seen the Highlander since the war. Georges fixed Deirdre with an inquiring look and asked the question that he had wondered about for twenty years.

"Deirdre, how did you and Duncan happen to become friends?"

The Irish bard thought carefully. Obviously the truth would not be an option here. Yet at the same time she hated lying to Georges. They had only met twice but she had appreciated his dedication to the fight against the Nazis and his loyalty to Duncan, his friend. Also, she admitted to herself with a smile only she could see, she had enjoyed how he had seemed to be smitten with her but had remained the perfect gentleman even as his eyes had devoured her in the Kit Kat Club that night. So she skirted the truth.

"We met in Italy before the War." That was certainly true although she carefully avoided saying it was several centuries before World War 2. "We were both expatriates, Duncan from Scotland and me from Ireland. A mutual friend introduced us." Once again true, although she was NOT going to tell who that friend was and certainly not the full circumstances of that meeting. "We met several other times in different places. Eventually we became friends."

The Frenchman nodded. He seemed to be considering what he wanted to say next. He considered so long that the silence became slightly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat twice. His eyes avoided her as he finally asked what he had really wanted to know.

"Deirdre, this is none of my business and I cannot believe I am even thinking about asking this. You are someone I met briefly twenty years ago and you were then working to save my beloved country from the Boche. But I wondered then, and I do now. He was a very good friend was Duncan and I do not want to feel that I am intruding into a relationship between him and someone I came to greatly admire in a short time."

Deirdre suppressed the smile that threatened to break the spell of the moment. Sweet, sweet Georges was nothing like the dashing French seducer of legend. He was honest and straightforward with his heart on his sleeve. The once Irish princess could deflect the most subtle or the most blatant of passes when it suited her. But her heart went out to this former Freedom Fighter who showed how attracted he still was to her after all these years.

She reached across the table and took his hand in hers.

"Mon vieux, if you are asking if Duncan and I have ever been a couple the answer is 'No'. He is an attractive man and perhaps we have been closer than platonic friends before." Her green eyes twinkled. "A lady does not confess such things." The teasing left her voice. "But I assure you of one thing. There are no ghosts at this table with us. I have only eyes tonight for one man. I have thought of you too over the years my Georges. And tonight I hope that we can take back that night so long ago when we were younger and I could feel your attraction to me."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. The twinkle was gone now, replaced by a deeper glow in her green eyes. For she did want this man and he wanted her too. Not in a sudden burst of lust but in a slow simmer of something that had started twenty years ago.

Fingers crept across the table and touched. The waiter, who had seen many couples lost in each other over the years, delivered the bill with perfect aplomb. Without their gazes loosing contact both the graying Frenchman and the redheaded Immortal stood. Francs were tossed on the table without regard to the fact that the amount sufficed for four times what they owed.

"May I invite you to my apartment?"

"You have an apartment here?"

"I keep it for when I am in Paris." Deirdre smiled. "I suggest it because I have something there I think would be appropriate for this occasion."

"Champagne?" a matching smile tugged at Georges' lips.

"That too," replied Deirdre.

Evening had fallen across the City of Lights. It didn't take long tore ach Bridget's apartment, on the top floor of an old building. Nothing inside was old, although everything had a comfortable lived-in look. Deirdre slung open wrought iron and stained glass doors that led out to a private balcony.

"Wait here my Georges. I will be right back."

The Frenchman stepped out on the balcony. Paris, his beloved Paris, was laid out before him. Lights twinkled as he picked out landmarks. There was a clicking on the wood floor behind him. He turned and his jaw dropped.

"I thought this outfit would be right. I saved it for a special occasion and now that occasion is here."

Deirdre stood there. Soft light from the city flooded over her. She wore a black corset along with what could have indeed been the same black nylons and heels that Georges had seen her wearing two decades ago in the kit Kat Club. She carried a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

She handed him the bottle. He popped the cork and poured for them.

"I do seem to remember that outfit," Georges smiled. "In fact it has been the subject of many a happy dream over the years."

"I'm glad."

Georges set the bottle down besides the thick carpet that lay by the French doors. The pair encircled their arms and drank.

"Absent comrades," Georges said softly.

"Absent comrades," agreed Deirdre.

Glasses were emptied. They dropped from the duo's hands to the rug. Deirdre's arms wound around Georges' neck and she stood on her toes. Their lips met. This time they clung, tasting each other. Deirdre's mouth opened. The kiss, which began so gently, became deep. Moans came from both of them; moans speaking of a passion that had long been waited on.

Georges' hands danced down the red head's back to find where the curves of her ass cheeks peeked from the corset. Fingertips traced those curves. One curled under the fine satin of the garment and Deirdre shivered as it brushed along her cleft. She pressed herself tighter against him, rubbing her belly against the steadily increasing hardness of his cock.

Deirdre felt Georges struggle to maintain control. She broke the kiss long enough to whisper to him.

"Go ahead mon cher. Let go. We have all night."

With a near growl the man's fingers gripped her ass and lifted her into the air. She reached between them and tugged wildly at his trousers, finally freeing him. She struggled to undo the increasingly wet satin between her own legs even as he pushed her against the doorframe. Just in time she got the material out of the way. She wrapped her legs around Georges' waist, opening herself completely and allowing him to plunge deep inside her in one long motion.

Deirdre's eyes closed in sheer pleasure. Normally she preferred long slow love-making but Georges had been waiting for this for a VERY long time. She clung to him, arms and legs clutching his body to hers. Her head tipped back and soft cries came from her, matching the determined grunts from her French lover as he pounded in and out of her. She rode him using her firm legs muscles to bounce up and down to meet each of his hip thrusts. Her back and ass slamming against the doorframe just increased her excitement.

The pace was too frantic to last. Deirdre felt him stiffen and groan. She locked her ankles behind him and pulled him in deeper as he released himself in her. The heat of his seed tipped her over the edge and she came with him.

When they had caught their breath the Irish girl kissed him over and over. She untwined her arms from his neck. Still supported by his hands and the grip of her legs around his waist she took his face in her hands and looked in his eyes. She smiled.

"No mon vieux you did not end too soon. I need this as much as you did." He lowered her to the floor and she retrieved and refilled the glasses. "Come; let us stand on the balcony." Her eyes twinkled. "We're above prying eyes and the vines growing over the railings will shade us if someone did manage to see this spot."

A cool breeze dried the sweat of their coupling as they finished the Champagne. Deirdre leaned back against the wrought iron. Her heels were gone now and the corset was bunched around her waist, offering little or no concealment of her body. Her small firm breasts stood out, the pink tips crinkling from the cool air brushing across them as well as the joyful admiration Georges eyes were lavishing on them.

Deirdre saw that Georges was beginning to stir again. She took two steps to him, stood on her toes and kissed him before she sank to her knees. She ran her tongue over the mushroom head of his cock, enjoying the mingled taste of his cum and her juices. She giggled as he visibly stiffened. When he was good and hard again she slid her lips over the head and down his shaft. She worked slowly, smiling to herself at the sound of him moaning her name and the touch of his hands on her hair.

She cupped his heavy balls, just barely squeezing as she began to bob her head on his cock, using her tongue to follow the vein on the rough underside. Her lips were wrapped tightly on him and she slowly increased the suction.

Once more she felt Georges tremble. But this time the Frenchman remained sternly in control of himself. He gently stroked her hair and waited. Once she was sure she had him back to full erection she released him, giving his balls one more squeeze and a goodbye lick to the slit at the tip of the purple head. She rose, turned and leaned over the balcony, positioning herself so only her face and hair would be visible. She slid her legs apart and wiggled her ass.

"Ah, mon Deirdre, mon cheri," breathed Georges. He stepped behind her. His palms caressed her ass, rubbing the rounded cheeks and then slid up and down her back. His cock bumped against the inside of her thigh. She waited, letting him take the lead now. He took his time. Without using his hands he flexed his knees, guiding the head she had just licked between her labia. Once there he rolled his hips shifting the angle of his cock until it found her opening. As wet as she was he slid inside of her with ease.

Once they were joined he used gentle presses and releases of his hips to slowly work deeper in her. He knew that he could bury himself in her in one thrust but he refused. This time they would make love as he wanted. So Deirdre trembled and tried to keep from pleading as Georges seemed to take a week before his cock bottomed in her. He rested there, seemingly content to fill her. But then he began to move.

Slowly, oh so slowly Georges drew all the way back until just the head remained in her. Then he sank into her again, at the same maddening speed. Again. Again. Long slow deep strokes in and out of her. His hands stopped roaming and settled on her hips. His thumbs stroked the smoothness of her ass as he held her tightly.

Deirdre seemed to lose track of time. She floated away on a cloud that consisted solely of Georges' ministrations; of his hands, his fingers, and his cock. Her heightened senses barely noticed when the speed of his thrusts began to increase, after what seemed like hours of being in her. A sharp thrust bottomed in her, rubbing the head of his cock on her soft spot and the Irishwoman gasped as her second orgasm of the night rolled over her.

Perhaps that was a signal. Almost imperceptibly Georges moved faster. Soon the Deirdre's moans were nearly drowned out by the slapping of his groin against her upraised ass, by the squelching of his cock sliding into her pussy, by the smacking of his balls as they swung up from under her. His breathing was increasing while she was certain that hers had stopped. It must have because she can't talk, can't even moan. All she can do is hold steady as Georges takes her away from the world.

Finally, oh finally he arches and fires into her before he slumps over her, his arms circling her, his lips murmuring the endearments that she has heard many times over the centuries. But that doesn't make them any less dear to her, make her any less happy to revel in them and return them.

They slip off to bed and hold each other through the rest of the night. In the morning she must leave but they take time to make love one more time, exquisitely slow again, for they both sense that this is the last time they will see each other. But there are no regrets.

(The Present)

"I'm glad he had the chance to be with you."

"He was a lovely man. He was sweet and kind and a good lover. And he was as brave as any man I ever met."

"He's gone now."

The woman sighed. "They all are sooner or later. It's the price we pay."

The pair sat silently for a bit. Deirdre looked at Duncan, who was studying her while a grin crept over his face. She pushed him.

"Okay, I know that look Duncan. What are you recalling and what was I doing?"

"I was thinking of when we first met."

"Oh MY!"


Chapter 4 - First Meetings

(The Present)

"One thing you said earlier I wondered about Deirdre."

"What was that Duncan?"

"You mentioned the Hunters. How did you know about them?"

A merry smile danced across the woman's impish face. "Because Fitz told me about them."

"Fitz? When did you see him?"

"A couple of years ago. I was participating in the annual Renaissance Faire. As usual I was a strolling singer accompanying myself on the lute, which is not exactly my favorite instrument. I was singing, of course, 'Greensleeves', a nice song but one I was really tired of by the time I had gone through it a dozen or more times. I sensed someone and turned just in time for him to give one of those deep bows, hat fluttering nearly against the ground and all." She laughed. "And then a burst of that charming flattery that he is so good at. He really should have been Irish," she added thoughtfully. "He has the gift of gab."

"Was this before or after you had married William?"

"After. He's the only other Immortal that William has met."

"I hope he didn't make too bad an impression."

"Now Duncan. I know that Fitz has made a masterful study of the art of seduction, especially of other men's wives, but he's well aware that when I'm married it's with a capital 'M' and his efforts are lost on me."

"Yes, but you are not always married," teased Duncan.

"True and during those other times he has been amazing successful with me," Deirdre admitted with a roughish smile.

"Well I'm glad he has been," Duncan smiled. "It did lead to our first meeting."

(Milan - 1639)

"Go away!" called an exasperated voice through the door.

The thunderous banging was repeated. The soft strains of a harp that had been drifting through the closed door stopped.

"Hugh Fitzcairn get up and open this door. You were the one who thought we should have caught that ship and you were right."

A lock rattled and the door opened enough of a crack for Fitz, an exasperated look on his face, to peek out."

"For heaven's sake MacLeod there's no need to make such noise. I already knew it was you. And what is it NOW?"

"Let me in."

Fitz looked back over his shoulder. "Not hardly Duncan. I have company."

Duncan groaned. "Now who? The Duke's daughter? Or some nobleman's wife?"

"You are the one who has been pursuing the Duke's nubile daughter my friend," replied Fitz, who was still blocking the door. "Not I."

"That's because you are probably still recovering from your wooing of the daughter of the Doge of Verona."

Fitz smiled. "Oh I would say I am completely recovered from that. Wouldn't you say so my dear?" he called.

Before an answer could come, if indeed one was going to come, Fitz's expression changed to that of alarm.

"Duncan, look out!"

"Death to the Duke!"

"Again? How many assasins are out there?" Duncan thought as he reacted to the chorus of angry voices behind him. He started to draw his sword and turn. He was only halfway around when bodies slammed against him. His abortive move did save him from being skewered by two swords as half a dozen adversaries piled against him. The door gave way and the entire group spilled into the room.

Fitz gave a yell of indignation and sprang across the room, seizing the sword by the bed. Wearing only the pants and boots he had donned to answer the door he engaged two of the attackers. As they untangled themselves the remaining four all attacked Duncan.

The Highlander was already a brilliant swordsman but the greatest swordsman of all time would have a hard time coping with that many adversaries. They pressed Duncan back until he was trapped in a corner of the room. Although the point was the favored way of attacking an opponent during that period an occasional swipe reminded Duncan he could still lose his head.

Suddenly the rearmost attacker's eyes opened wide and his sword fell from his hand. He goggled at the tip of a rapier that protruded from his chest before he fell lifelessly to the floor.

The three remaining opponents backed away enough to spare a glance behind them. Their eyes bugged out. Duncan's eyes followed suit as well once the rival swordsman had given him room to catch a glimpse of the new member of their duel.

After all, thought the part of Duncan's brain that somehow remained apart from the scene, it wasn't every day that you saw an attractive young woman with fiery red hair and green eyes whose entire costume was that of the sword in her right hand. A sword that she was obviously quite capable of wielding, as demonstrated not only by the way she had taken out one attacker but by the way she held her own when one of the trio turned to engage her. Then Duncan's attention returned to the pair who had resumed their attempt to impale him on their slender rapiers.

The killers' attempt failed. Duncan disposed of the one on the right in short order. The other exchanged a series of lightning fast thrusts and parries with the Highlander before Duncan's blade slipped past the other man's guard and he fell soundlessly to the floor.

Duncan's gaze followed his sword point around the room. Fitz stood over the pair of attackers who had charged him. The woman was wiping the bloody tip of her blade on the ruffled doublet of the man who had turned to deal with her.

"You always have to bring a crowd don't you Duncan? By the way," the Englishman waved his hand back and forth, indicating the pair still on their feet, "Duncan this is Deirdre and Deirdre this is Duncan."

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," the Highlander acknowledged.

"I'm Deirdre O'Connor," replied the red haired woman.

"Pleased to meet you." A grin tugged at Duncan's lips. Fitz had started to quietly chuckle and the smile was spreading over Duncan's face when the woman realized that the sword in her right hand was the only thing she was wearing.

"Very funny!" She scrambled for the pile of clothes by the bed, shaking them out and sorting hers from Fitz's. She climbed into a loose fitting tunic and matching pants, along with soft boots. Turning around once she was dressed she attempted to maintain a scowl on her face, a scowl that kept slipping into a sheepish grin.

"The little jade isn't near as bashful as she appears," smiled Fitz.

Deirdre gave a very unlady-like snort. "I can speak for myself Hugh Fitzcairn." She sighed. "But you're right. False modesty is something I shed a few hundred years ago."

Duncan raised his eyebrows. He had thought that the tingle he had got when approaching Fitz's chambers was stronger than usual but the thought that there were two Immortals present hadn't occurred to him.

Deirdre and Duncan had no more than started to get better acquainted under Fitz's relaxed gaze when the Englishman's placid face suddenly twisted in alarm.

"Duncan! The Duke! If we're being attacked it's to get us out of the way."

"Go," commanded Deirdre. "I'll see if I can't clean up here

The two men scrambled out the door. Deirdre dragged the bodies one by one to the window and pushed them out of it to land in the alleyway behind the building. She supposed someone would do something about them sooner or later. She had searched the bodies, finding enough gold coins to show they were most likely hired assasins, although recent events had proved they were not very good at that job.

She had finished dressing and had piled the left over weapons in one corner of the room when she felt the tingle of an approaching Immortal.

"Still in here," she called.

The door swung open.

"Well I'm so very glad of that."

Deirdre spun around. Oh my God. It wasn't Duncan or Fitz.

"Nicolo Guiseppe, at your service. Or rather," a smile with absolutely no warmth spread across the man's face, "Or rather, you at my service. I challenge you. Defend yourself!" With that the new Immortal drew his sword and took a cut at the Irish bard's neck.

Deirdre ducked and rolled to her right, snatching for her own sword as she crabbed backwards. Her blade came free and she managed to parry the next series of thrusts as she scrambled to her feet. She immediately could tell that she was no match for the Italian swordsman. Still, she held him at bay for several minutes. Then, his confidence becoming overwhelming, he maneuvered her into a corner with the same open window she had just tossed the bodies from and thrust straight for her heart, obviously attempting to bring her to her knees where her head would be at a pefect angle.

Normally there wouldn't have been any room to dodge. But Deirdre had not only learned Bardic skills long ago. Two of her dear friends growing up had been the jesters for her father, the High King of Ireland. They had taught the spirited young woman tumbling tricks and she used one now. Pushing off with one foot she jumped high enough to catch her heel on the window and spring in a somersault over the viciously thrusting swordsman. His own momentum carried him right out the window, helped by a boot to his ass as he over extended. There was a muffled cry of surprise and then a crash below.

Deirdre spared a glance out the window before looping the baldric for her sword over her shoulder and snatching up the case that held her precious harp. The fall probably killed him but since he wasn't going to stay dead it was time to go before he got back up. She sprinted for the door.

This time the tingling came at the same time as she slammed into a broad shouldered powerful body. Fortunately it was Duncan, with Fitz right beside him.

"Deirdre! What is it?"

The Irish woman took a deep breath. "Either of you familiar with an Immortal named Nicolo Guiseppe?"

"I know of him," replied Fitz. "Hot headed Italian about one hundred who tends to start duels at the drop of a handkerchief. Why?"

"Because unless he's already got up, he's on top of that pile of bodies from earlier."

Fitz took several long strides and looked out of the window. "He must be gone. All I see are our opponents from before." He turned to Deirdre. "Are you alright?'

"Scared half to death but yes. I'm glad he managed to fall out the window. I was no match for him."

Duncan's eyebrow rose in surprise. "No match? But you are what, several centuries older than him aren't you?"

"Yes, but he's a fighter, a duelist. I'm a musician, a singer. I train with my sword and yes, I've won some fights over the years but usually when I practice it's with my harp or another instrument."

"Well you better practice more with your sword than your harp. You'll live a lot longer," scolded Duncan.

"I know," sighed the penitent Irish woman. She batted her eyes at Fitz and then at Duncan. "But now that I have Two strong men to look out for me it should all be fine," she cooed.

"Err, now wait just a minute," Fitz said hurriedly, the words tripping over one another. "I never promised... I mean, I'm not the kind who... that is what I'm trying to say..."

The rush of words was cut off when first Deirdre and then Duncan started laughing, so hard in fact that before long both were bent over and tears were coming from their eyes. Finally, when she had regained control of herself, Deidre walked over to Fitz and touched his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist. I'm not looking to be tied down either. You are a lovely man Hugh Fitzcairn and I hope to see you again and again over the years but right now I travel alone." She turned to the other Immortal. "Duncan I am very happy to have met you and I predict our paths will cross again and again." She kissed Fitz and then Duncan. She adjusted her sword, picked her harp back up and was gone.

"God, I'm going to miss her."

"I just met her and I feel that way too."

(The Present)

"Ever see Nicolo Guiseppe again?"

"More than once," nodded Deirdre. "It's never been a happy experience either. He has become one of the Headhunter types for sure. The only thing that has saved me from a repeat of that day was twice we were in a crowd that kept us apart and once we were on holy ground. That last time he did issue a challenge to me though, to be 'acted on at some later date' is the way I think he put it. He really is into the formality of dueling, as a way of life much beyond that of the rules of immortal combat."

"The day may come when you do have to deal with him," warned Duncan.

"I know. I probably am even less of a match for him that the first time but I practice with my sword a lot. Somehow I know that fight is coming."

"Speaking of swords, you still have your katana?"

"I do. Interesting that you and Connor and I, all Westerners, have one. But then I know how Connor got his and you and I both traveled throughout the Orient."

"And that was good too," Duncan smiled again at another happy memory. "That led to our second meeting."


Chapter 5 - Holding Back the Night Together

(China - 1680)

Duncan MacLeod examined himself in the polished steel mirror. He admitted that he did look rather dashing in the high collared blue tunic with the gold embroidery on the collar and sleeves. His polished boots peeked from under the finely woven cloth of his pants.

Automatically Duncan reached for his sword belt and strapped it on as the final step in his dress. He adjusted the weapon to hang at just the right angle. Kiem Sun was well respected; enough so that his sponsorship of Duncan allowed the Highlander access to the outer limits of the Imperial Court. Not that he minded that access being limited. He had no desire to be entangled in the multi-layered intrigue of the Court. Besides, not even his influential sponsor could arrange for him to attend the Imperial Court itself while armed.

It was an interesting time to be in China. The Emperor Kangxi was firmly on the throne and destined to be the longest reigning monarch China would ever see. It was under his rule that the Qing Dynasty would reach dizzying heights of power, a plateau it would remain at long enough for the era to be known as the “Kang-Qian Golden Age”.

Zheng Jing, the final challenger from the historic "Revolt of the Three Feudatories" had recently been defeated near Xiamen and forced to flee to Taiwan, where he would die the next year. With that victory the Emperor's absolute authority in all matters had been confirmed in that most ancient way, on the battlefield.

But military success was not the only achievement springing forth from the Manchu Court. Social progress, economic growth and even artistic expression flowered. The years that had passed since he had found out about his immortality had broadened his interests beyond the next fight, tavern or girl. Not that he didn't still find those all very interesting he admitted to himself with a bit of a grin. But more and more he enjoyed a broader life now. There was time to learn about and savor music and art. And Chinese culture and society was dizzyingly different from Western European.

He had wandered the outer palace for hours before sitting down on the edge of a marble fountain where carved dragon heads splashed water endlessly over a series of flat rocks of different heights before settling into the pool below. He idly trailed his hand through the cool water. His eyes watched the spray of the water and his thoughts drifted from one memory to another.

That probably explained why when he suddenly realized another Immortal was close by that he sprang to his feet, his hand going to the hilt of his sword as his now alert eyes swept across the area.

"Good Lord, Duncan. If I had known I was going to make you pop up like that I would have sent you a messenger to warn you."

Duncan blinked his eyes. "Deirdre?"

The Irish bard laughed merrily. "Yes." Soft giggles came to match her laughter. Duncan saw at least a pair of small faces peeking from behind the woman.

"What are you doing here? And who are these?"

"Well," Deirdre turned and motioned with her hands. Duncan's eyes widened as the line of children who had been following his friend seemed to get longer and longer. She shooed the smiling children into a line, starting with the tallest and probably the oldest, a young girl perhaps about ten.

"Okay, from left to right this is Yinshi, Wen, Ling, Yinreng, Xiao, Yinzhen and Wei."

"Good heavens."

"Oh there are more, it's just these are the ones I'm tutoring right now."

"Tutoring?" Duncan's eyebrow lifted in interest. "Then that means these are the Imperial children I suspect."

"Some of them anyway," replied Deirdre. "The Emperor has quite a few more. To say he's prolific is the understatement of this century. My father never even dreamed about having this many children, or concubines."

"What are you tutoring them in?" Duncan smiled at the wide-eyed group, who looked back and forth from one Westerner to the other, giggling and pointing.

Deirdre hugged the oldest boy and then lifted the smallest girl into her arms. "Music and geography mostly."

Duncan noted the Irish girl was wearing a sword slung from her shoulder. "And swordsmanship?"

"No, there are better blades here than me. Perhaps. I've not felt it necessary to reveal the full extent of my ability with a blade. And yes Duncan, I have been practicing since our last meeting. I have demonstrated enough to also be an Imperial Guard, at least as far as the children go. I like it. It keeps me safer and them too since I can go armed."

"There are threats?"

"Well no one is popping out screaming 'Death to the Duke' but yes. The current rulers are Manchus, not the Han who make up the majority of the Chinese people. They've only been officially on the throne for about forty-five years. There's still a representative or two of the previous dynasty, the Mings, around plus there's plenty of intrigue among the nobility. It's Ireland when my father was on the throne, squared and cubed. At least we all spoke the same language.

The two Immortals chatted just a bit longer until a servant appeared to summon the children, and by implication Deirdre, to the inner palace. The pair did have just enough time to arrange to meet that night for supper.

As evening fell another servant arrived at Duncan's quarters to escort him. To his surprise he ended up in the same courtyard where they had met earlier. There were a table and chairs set out and food steamed on top of the table. Lanterns lit the courtyard. Everything was present but the hostess. The servant bowed and left.

There was a rustle and Deirdre appeared from another doorway. Duncan had seen the Irish Bard before in a tunic and pants, as well as nothing but a sheet and in fact nothing at all. Earlier she had been dressed simply in a loose cotton shirt and trousers. But now she was clad in what Duncan knew was called a giapo. Translated as "long dress", it was a high collared and tight waisted dress with a long slit up the side allowing the legs to be shown off. One day it would be known as a cheongsam.

Duncan bowed, his eyes taking in the body of his fellow Immortal. Deirdre dimpled as she smiled and sat down, allowing the slit of the silk dress to expose her legs. The pair dug into the food and wine and spent an hour catching up on the previous forty years. Not that they confined their chat to only that. They flirted, sometimes ostentatiously, sometimes subtly. They confirmed what their one previous meeting had suggested; they liked each other and were attracted to each other. Nothing overwhelming, nothing that spoke of "forever" but still drawn one to the other.

The meal finished; the pair rose and Deirdre slipped her arm through Duncan's. She guided them through several corridors to another open courtyard. This one held a pair of armed guards, who nodded at Deirdre and eyed him with suspicion. Duncan was careful to keep his hands away from his sword and his attention fixed on the petite woman with him.

"Why the guards?' he inquired as they entered a room and Deirdre closed the flimsy door behind them.

"Because the children's room is right next door. Now, as much as I love those children could we discuss something else?"

Duncan took in the spark in the other Immortal's green eyes. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He took her in his arms, running his hands up and down her body, confirming what he had already suspected, that Deirdre wore nothing under her giapo. He smiled in appreciation and she winked as she reached behind her and the garment fell to the floor.

"Just like I saw you the first time."

"Hey, I had a sheet around me."

"Not when you were sword fighting."

"It distracted them didn't it?"

"And not just them."

Deirdre's fingers were busy on Duncan's clothing as she smiled at his last statement. They kissed again, their mouths exploring. The tunic went and Deirdre ran her fingers over his chest. With a smile Duncan returned the favor. The bard's breasts were firm and smooth and her pink nipples were hard to his touch. Her hand slid down his chest and over his rock hard stomach to unfasten his trousers. Her fingers went exploring and Duncan groaned as her deft fingers encircled his cock. Kisses followed where fingers had been and then the Highlander was looking at the top of Deidre's tousled red curls as she knelt before him.

The Irish Immortal tugged his trousers down and his pants legs up. As she struggled to pull off his boots her soft lips found his hardness and took it in. Her tongue teased the slit on the helmet as her mouth worked its way down.

Duncan balanced precariously first on one foot and then on the other as Deirdre managed to tug his boots off. She yanked his trousers all the way down and he kicked them aside. Now he was dressed the same as the bard and he scooped her up in his arms. He only needed a few steps to reach the broad sleeping couch. They tumbled onto the silk covers. Kisses became feverish, hands explored and then Deirdre stiffened as she guided Duncan into her.

The Highlander moved slowly, sliding deeply into the female Immortal. Deirdre wrapped her legs around Duncan's waist, holding him tightly as his hips began to rise and fall. They continued to kiss. The bard's breasts were soft against his chest, her two hard nipples a counterpoint that rubbed against his skin as he slowly moved up and down on her body. He broke the kiss to nuzzle her neck, his lips exploring her white skin.

Almost imperceptibly the two Immortals began to move faster against each other. Duncan's lips were replaced by his teeth, nibbling and gently biting her neck and shoulder. Then he reared up on his hands and began to pound himself into her. The bard clutched him, her strong legs tightening. His head tipped back and her eyes closed as shudders ran through both their bodies. They cried out softly as he shook and his cock emptied itself into her welcoming wetness.

They cuddled, kissing and exchanging words of deep friendship. Roused again after they rested, the two Immortals made slow gentle love, using the skills they had both taught over the centuries to drive away the night and the loneliness only someone who lives forever can feel.

Hours later Duncan was awakened by an unfamiliar noise. He laid still, his sense on full alert. Next to him Deirdre stirred for an instant before resuming the steady breathing that indicated sleep. However she touched his hand with hers, lifting her head slightly so he could slip his arm from under her. She obviously had heard the sound too.

There was a bit of moonlight shinning in the room. Four eyes searched and found nothing. Then the sound was repeated. Deirdre squirmed slightly, a movement that Duncan found not nearly as interesting as he had earlier, bringing her mouth to his ear.

"It's out in the courtyard." Her eyes widened. "The children!"

Both Immortals rolled from the couch and grabbed their swords. For just a moment Duncan had an amused thought, wondering if Deirdre fought all her swordfights in the nude. He crept after her, trusting in her better knowledge of the layout of the suite next to them.

"The beds are against that wall," indicated Deirdre, her voice pitched just above a whisper as she knew as well as he did that a whisper carries much further than is realized. "There should be attendants and guards." She padded to the paper doorway and slid it aside just enough to peek out into the courtyard. A smothered cry came from her and she opened the door and bounded out.

Duncan was right on her heels. A glance showed there were two guards, both sprawled on the ground. One had a garrote fastened around his neck and the other's throat appeared to be cut.

Deirdre crashed through the doorway of the adjoining room without slowing down. Immediately steel rang on steel. A man clad in loose-fitting grey garments, his features concealed by a cloth wrapped around his face stumble backwards from the now open doorway and collapsed to the flagstones. Blood poured from a wound in his back; a wound that obviously went all the way through him. Deirdre had scored first.

Duncan sprang after the female Immortal. He quickly glanced around the room. They were in time it appeared. The children were huddled in one corner with a young woman attempting to shield them all with her body.

A second glance showed that they were not in time for everyone. A woman's body lay on the floor, obviously another victim of the assassins. Assassins that an infuriated, and nude, woman was driving before her while screaming something in Gaelic. Her sword flickered back and forth a speed that outmatched all three men together. She had definitely been practicing. But then she was five hundred years old.

He knew why Deirdre was so enraged. One thing that had come through their conversation, touching as it had on a myriad of subjects was her heart-felt love of children and her deep heartache that she could never have any of her own. Attacking a little one under her care would be like attacking children of her own.

He also realized that she was too focused on the adversaries in front of her. Even as she executed a perfect stop-thrust that saw one of the masked men fall Duncan spotted two more slipping nearly soundlessly behind her. One was preparing to stab her. That would hurt but she would recover. The other was drawing back his sword for a decapitating swing. THAT would kill her. As the blade swished through the air it suddenly stopped as it met Duncan's sword. And the fight was on.

It didn't seem fair. It was four against two. But even the long training the assassins seem to have received made them no match for the two Immortals. By the time the screams of the children and the shouts of the fighters had summoned a near army of guards and courtiers the Duncan was cleaning his sword and Deirdre was holding as many of the Imperial children as she could manage to cuddle in her arms.

One of the arrivals turned out to be Zhang Lee, the Captain of the Imperial bodyguard. Together with Duncan he examined the bodies of the would-be killers. Squatting together Lee pulled off the hoods and studied the faces.

"Han nin-sha," he grunted. He rose. "This will bear much investigation. They could have been sent by a number of people." He looked thoughtful. "The attack on the Imperial children rather than the person of the Emperor himself is troubling. It suggests someone close to the throne." He shook himself and spoke directly to Duncan.

"In the meantime, thank you." the Captain turned to Deirdre and smiled. "And thank you young miss. May I suggest that you don some proper clothing?"

Duncan sighed. The other man turned with an upraised eyebrow in question.

"She's always doing that."


Chapter 6 - An Ambush

(The Present)

"You know I heard what you said to Zhang Lee."

"Hmmm?" Duncan replied as he attempted to keep an innocent expression on his face.

"I do NOT fight all my duels in the nude."

The pair of Immortals smiled at each other. They both remembered other meetings; some romantic and some in friendship when one or the other was involved with someone.

Deirdre stood up and stretched. She kissed Duncan lightly on the cheek. "Well I'm for bed. Your room is at the end of the hall with the door open. You can sleep through breakfast if you want. I'll leave the coffee on if we are all gone before you get up."

"Good night Deirdre."

"Goodnight Duncan. And Duncan? Don't be a stranger. Come back and visit and do it often."

"I'd like that."

And he did. More than once. Often enough in fact that soon Susan and Sheila were calling him "Uncle Duncan", which he rather enjoyed. He became friends with William, who seemed to have no resentment at all at the closeness between the Highlander and Deirdre. Of course Duncan's code of honor would have never let him do anything even remotely forward with Deirdre, regardless of their past together. And it was obvious that Deirdre adored her husband and the feeling was mutual. Duncan was wistful sometimes at their love. He had not had anything like that since Tessa. He always reminded himself about how that had ended when he started getting too envious.

One day he was lounging on their sofa as Deirdre prepared supper. William and Duncan had practiced soccer kicks with the girls in a nearby park until they were all worn out. William was taking a shower and the two Immortals were chatting about China.

"I would like to go there again sometime," remarked Deirdre. "I haven't been there since the late forties when the Nationalists and the Communists were slugging it out."

"I'd like to go too," admitted Duncan. "It would be rough getting a passport. Documentation is so strict everywhere these days. Hard to get the really good stuff."

"William could help you with that," replied Deirdre as she started to set the dinner table."

"Oh? How?" asked an interested Duncan.

"He's a United States Marshal with the Witness Protection Program. Perfect fake documents are a specialty of that group."

"You were in that line too as I recall."

"Not the Marshall's Service of course but yes." The Irish girl dimpled. "I was a Pinkerton agent as you very well know from when we met during the Civil War."

Sometimes Duncan stayed with the Hamiltons but more often he took a room in a historic hotel that had been fully restored and renovated just a few years ago. Duncan enjoyed the memories as he had stayed there over a hundred years ago when it was first built. He had just arrived and was unpacking when a brisk rap sounded on the room door.

He opened the door to find two neatly dressed men standing there.

"Duncan MacLeod?" asked one of the men.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

The speaker extended an ID folder. I'm US Marshall Robert Bolk and this is Marshall Griffin Price. Do you know a William Hamilton?"

"Yes," replied Duncan. "I met him about a year ago. He's married to an old friend of mine. What's this all about?"

"He's in Mercy Hospital, rather badly injured. He was unconscious when he was brought in but when he woke up he started asking for you. He said to tell you it's a matter of life and death." The federal officer looked puzzled. "it's strange. He won't say anything at all about his attacker. He just insists on seeing you. Will you come with us?"

"Let me get my coat," was all Duncan said.

Duncan leaped into his rented car and waved to the two me, who turned on hidden blue lights in the grill and flipped on a siren. The ride to the hospital was fast and furious. Once there the Marshalls led Duncan to a private room. A private room that had a guard in front of it Duncan saw. William was heavily bandaged but wide awake and appeared nearly frantic.

"William, what in the world happened?"

"Duncan, please, you've got to save her. Some man waylaid us as we were getting in the van after going out to picnic in the park. It was someone Deirdre knew. Another Immortal I guess. He just stepped out of the shadows and said something about it was time to renew the challenge."

The man looked miserable. "We didn't have Deirdre's sword. You know why, because of the girls. I wasn't armed either but I thought I could run a bluff with my ID. He just laughed at me and drew his sword. The girls screamed and I tackled him and yelled at Deidre to take the girls and run."

"I know I'm not supposed to interfere but that's bullshit. She's my wife and I love her and as old fashioned as it sounds I believe I'm supposed to protect her." William looked at the bandages swathing his body. "Some job I did of that didn't I?"

"You couldn't have stopped him even if you had been armed."

"I could have filed him with bullets. That would have stopped him long enough for us to get away. "

Duncan ignored that. There were more important things to find out. "Did she mention a name?"

"She didn't call him by name. Her eyes got wide and she just said 'You!'." I saw the sword in his hand. I tried to jump him but he knocked me aside with the sword. It looked to be a rapier rather than a heavier sword like she and you both use. Then he stabbed me."

"Deirdre screamed and went for him bare-handed. He knocked her down and was about to take her head when a group of people, including a uniformed police officer appeared."

"He took Susan. He snatched her up under his arm and laughed. Laughed wildly. Then he said something about he'd be in touch and she should be prepared. Then he disappeared into the bushes. The officer called for backup and more police arrived even as they got an ambulance for me."

Duncan nodded. "Where's Deirdre? For that matter where's Sheila?"

"Sheila is in the waiting area with my parents. Deirdre called them from the car as they followed the ambulance." The man looked miserable. "As soon as they arrived Deirdre kissed me, told me she loved me and left."

Duncan paced back and forth as best as he could in the limited space. "Where's her sword?"

"It's at the house, locked up in the closet in my office."

"She would have to go there first. Maybe I can catch her."

"Can you help her Duncan?"

"I'll try."

Once again Duncan drove like a madman. He reached the Hamilton's townhouse, bounding through the door standing ajar.

"Deirdre? Are you here?"

Only silence answered him. Completely familiar with the house he ran down the hallway into William's office. He grimaced. The closet was open and Deirdre's katana was gone.

"She wouldn't leave without a farewell message," thought Duncan, knowing his old friend. "She's too romantic for that. Now where would it be?"

Looking around the family room for a note he spied the light on the computer blinking. He moved the mouse and the screen lit up. He centered the cursor on the "Playback' icon and clicked the button. Deirdre's face appeared.

"William, I don't have much time. It was an Italian Immortal named Nicolo Guiseppe. He just called. I don't know how he got the number and I don't care. He's demanded that I meet him. I don't have any choice. He has Susan."

The Irish girl took a deep breath and tears appeared in her eyes. "William, I love you. I wish we could have spent the rest of our lives together. I would have given anything to grow old and watch the girls and children of our own grow up. The happiness that the three of you have given me is immeasurable. Thank you. I love the girls as though God had let them be mine from birth. To have been your wife and their mother has been as wonderful a time as I have had over the centuries. I am going now to save our daughter."

The message ended. Duncan jumped to his feet and then paused. Where to go? How to help?

"Think MacLeod," he told himself. "Where would Guiseppe want her to meet him?" He reviewed what he knew about the Italian Immortal. The predominant feature he could think of was his obsession with dueling. A thought occurred to him. He returned to the computer and called up a search engine. Several minutes and two articles later he bolted from the room and ran for his rental car.

One more time the Highlander sped through the streets. He pulled up at an old abandoned factory building, one that in a moment of irrelevancy reminded him of the one he and Connor had practiced in at their last meeting. Snatching his sword from behind the seat he dashed through a sagging door and into the canvernous building. He stopped and listened intently. Faintly he heard voices to his left and moved quickly in that direction. He tensed as he realized the predominate sound was the sobbing of a little girl.

"Mommy!" came a wailing cry as he neared the center of the building.

"Mommy's here baby. It's going to be alright," he heard Deirdre reassure the little girl.

"Oh isn't this touching." sneered an unfamiliar male voice.

"I'm here. Let her go!"

Duncan sneaked a peek around the corner. Deirdre, her hands clenched, stood facing a man he knew must be Nicolo Guiseppe. The male Immortal held Susan with one arm across her throat. His rapier was pointed at Deirdre. The Irish Bard's sword was slung over her back, her hands spread in pleading.

"Let her go, PLEASE!"

"Move around to this side," the Italian gestured, pointing out a section of the building that would effectively put him between Deirdre and any escape. The female Immortal immediately complied.

Guiseppe nodded. Still holding Susan with his sword arm he fumbled out a short piece of rope and bound the young girl's arms behind her. He then pushed the child to a post and fastened the rope end around it.

"You BASTARD," spat Deirdre. There was a rasp and the petite woman drew her sword. Anger shone in her eyes.

"I'll release her after this. But she can't leave just yet. She might try to interfere. Or worse, run away and bring someone to interrupt us."

"You better hope your sword is as able as your mouth is," retorted Deirdre. "Because right now you have me mad enough to take your head with no qualms at all.

"Ah, but that is the difference," mocked Guiseppe. "I never have qualms about taking heads. Not yours, not anyone's. But you are fortunate," proclaimed the Italian duelist. "I will let you defend yourself, although I am sure that you are no match for me. I have been devoting myself to swordsmanship while you have wasted your time with songs and poetry."

"Songs and poetry will outlive you Guiseppe, even if I do not."

Her opponent shrugged. "Irrelevant. You won't be here to find out if that is true. Now, on guard! Nothing and no one can save you now from your fate."

Duncan had been inching his way closer and closer. He knew a cue when he heard it. Taking two steps to clear the still standing wall he had been behind the Highlander stepped into the open.

"You're wrong."


Chapter 7 - The Champion

The combatants fell back from each other. Surprise showed on Deirdre's face but shock was written on Guiseppe's.

"Who are you?" demanded the Italian.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"Duncan! How, why, how did you get here?"

"It wasn't that hard," replied Duncan as he cautiously circled the room, searching for a position close enough to both his friend and to her daughter that he could get between either of them and Guiseppe should that Immortal attempt a movement in either direction.

"I found your message to William. Once I realized who had taken Susan I did a little immediate research on the computer. This city was once a hotbed for duels. The most common place for them was a level area just outside of what was then the city. Right where we are now in fact. Knowing what you told me about him," Duncan indicated the other man with a jerk of his head, "I was confident this is where he would make you come."

"Very clever, Duncan MacLeod," said Guiseppe as he recovered his arrogant attitude. "But irrelevant. This is between her and me."

"You can't interfere Duncan."

"She is right. The Code Duello forbids it. And I have challenged HER, not you."

"Since you are so bound by its prescriptions Guiseppe, I am going to remind you of one item of the Code that you seem to have forgotten about," said Duncan.

"What is that?" replied the baffled Immortal.

"A lady doesn't fight the duel. Her chosen champion does for her." Duncan drew his katana and assumed the high guard position. "And as her oldest living friend I claim the right to be that champion."

"Duncan!" Deirdre protested.

"Take Susan and go." When the petite Irish woman hesitated he added, "NOW!" As she scurried to comply he moved once more to shield her.

With barely concealed mounting fury Guiseppe watched Deirdre free her daughter and start to leave. "It's not over!" he yelled at her.

"Oh yes it is," stated Duncan. Swords rang and the fight was on.

Back and forth the two Immortals dueled across the floor. The Italian rapier and the Japanese katana clashed. Sparks flew from the violence of their meeting. Guiseppe thrust, his blade a lightning quick blur and Duncan barely managed to parry. The Highlander feinted and swung, his katana spinning through the air at his opponent's neck. The other Immortal managed to duck, barely in time, but his riposte was as vicious as ever and Duncan was forced to leap back.

Both fighters were master swordsmen, each having battled many a foe with the blade, both human and other Immortals. Each had always been victorious. Although their styles were completely different each one of the pair had fought strange opponents over the centuries and they quickly adapted to each other. The blades seemed to blur with their movements.

Chests worked like bellows as both men panted from their exertions. Neither slowed the intensity of their attacks. Time and again each man avoided an attack that would have finished a lesser swordsman. The broken concrete floor added its own hazards. Duncan stumbled when his foot caught the stub of a pipe and only a desperate twist of his body kept the Italian rapier from running him through. Stepping back Guiseppe's heel snagged a crumbling cinderblock as Duncan aimed a powerful cut at his head. The challenging Immortal dropped to the floor and rolled frantically as Duncan chopped at him.

Guiseppe kicked out, catching Duncan's wrist and sending his sword flying. The Highlander raced to recover it as it skittered across the floor. The Italian sprang to his feet and pursued. Just as Duncan snatched up his katana Guiseppe dropped into a classic lunge, extending his body as he thrust for Duncan. Spinning around and sidestepping the Highlander's sword sang through the air. Guiseppe's body still looked like a pose for a fencing magazine, except that his head was gone.

The body had no sooner slumped to the floor than Duncan was seized in the Quickening. It was a powerful one. Guiseppe had been a ferocious opponent who had sought out other Immortals to take their heads, The currents of power flowing into Duncan lifted him from the floor; a floor he collapsed on once the storm ran its course. Dazed, he picked up his sword, wiped it clean and made his way to his car. He stowed his sword in the secret place in trunk where he kept it and then returned to the building. He found a sagging stairway leading down to an old cellar that ran for some length underground and concealed Guiseppe's body there. Getting in his car he took several deep breaths, cranked the engine and left.

Several hours later it seemed all the loose ends had been wrapped up. He had got together with Deirdre and William and they had hammered out a believable story that he appeared in only as a friend who had gone to look for Deirdre. On her part she told the authorities that she had found Susan wandering the streets, having escaped from a captor whose description matched Guiseppe's just enough to confuse anyone who came forward that might have been in the park.

Duncan worried that the weak link would be Susan. But the now teenager looked the questioning officers right in the eyes and told the simple story that after she was abducted she pretended to faint. When the car stopped and the man opened the door she suddenly kicked him and ran away. The questioners fell hook, line and sinker; patted her on the head and declared what a brave girl she was. Duncan completely agreed.

The conclusion of the investigation was that the attack was aimed at William and the kidnapping was a crime of opportunity when the assasin realized he had failed, probably in an attempt to draw William out. An examination of the witness cases he had been involved with over the last several years was conducted but no immediate suspects were identified. However it was recommended that a transfer to another office, preferably on the other side of the country, be implemented as soon as possible.

"Well, how do you think you'll like San Francisco?" Duncan asked a few days after the excitement had calmed down enough to allow things to start to return to normal.

"It's been quite a while," Deirdre admitted. "It was the 1870's as I recall." She looked at Duncan with a grin. "I missed all the excitement of the Golden Horseshoe club and everything else that took place during the Gold Rush, but I was busy elsewhere."

"Ah, that's right. I had forgotten."

"Well that's okay," cooed Deirdre with a smile tugging at her lips. "I understand that when you get as old as you are forgetfulness is only to be expected."

Duncan snorted in amusement, well aware that the Irish Immortal was some four hundred years older than him.

"How about the girls? How are they taking it? And Susan, is she alright?"

"Thanks to you she's fine. And she knows something is, as she puts it 'different' about her Uncle Duncan. But she thinks its cool. Still, William and I might have to have THE talk with her long before we were prepared to do so. As for the movement, well, they're both excited about it and upset at the same time. This is the city they've always lived in. Their friends are here; their lives are here. But children move all the time. They'll adapt."

"In fact," William joined the conversation as he entered the room, "Last night we took a virtual tour of San Francisco and the girls were intrigued by their new city. Fortunately it's near the end of the school year; close enough in fact that I think we'll be able to delay the move until then." Deirdre's still heavily bandaged husband gingerly settled himself on the edge of a chair. "We know of course that there is no more danger here, at least from the 'unknown assailant' but it's better for us to go along the Marshalls Service on this."

Deirdre fussed over her husband for a minute, making sure he was comfortable before she turned back to Duncan.

"Duncan, thank you."

"Let me second that," Chimed in William. He looked embarrassed as he went on softly. "I don't think I could have stood to lose Deirdre. And the girls, she's not their Step-Mother anymore, she's simply 'Mom'."

Duncan swallowed a bit of a lump that seemed to have caught in his throat. "You're welcome," was his simple reply. He stood up and checked his watch. "Well if I'm going to catch my plane I better get moving. Tell the girls goodbye for me." He crossed the room and shook William's hand.

Deirdre stood on her toes and kissed the Highlander on the cheek. "We expect you to visit us in San Francisco once we get settled."

"It's a deal." Duncan started for the door, smiling wistfully at the look the couple was sharing; a look that shouted the love between the Immortal woman and her mortal husband. A grin crossed his face. To lighten the moment he turned around as he reached the door.

"William. By the way, has Deirdre ever told you how she prefers to be dressed for her fights?"

"Duncan!"

(The End)