The sun was shining brightly and warmth tinged the damp breeze, a welcome reprieve from the rain that had pervaded the previous week. Guin raised her face to the rays of sun leaking through the leafy roof of the grove as they walked through it, closing her eyes as she leaned against Connor's shoulder. They had ridden out farther than she had ever been on his estate, and she had been rewarded with wonderful surprises -- like this quiet stand of trees that they were walking through now. Guin opened her eyes again just in time to see a family of bunnies leap away. "Look!" she whispered excitedly, pointing them out to Connor before they disappeared.

He smiled. "Without your eyes, I'd never have a fascination for seeing the wild animals out here." Connor wrapped his arm a little tighter around her. "You help me see things differently -- like I'm seeing them again for the first time."

Guin shrugged. "I guess that's saying a lot when you've been seeing things for five hundred years, huh?"

Guin was still adjusting to and digesting the information she'd come across just two days earlier regarding her love's real name -- and, more astonishing, his real age. Connor had been making it easier, however, by being the best of himself. Guin had gone back to work on Friday, although she was still feeling a bit under the weather, and she had come home to find a beautiful arrangement of red and sterling roses adorning the table that also displayed the dinner Connor had made. That evening he had played at being hand servant, catering to her every need as she huddled on the sofa and watched TV. And he had taken the time to answer any questions she had about Immortality, explaining as best he could The Game, The Rules and The Prize. Then today he had planned this ride for them, after she came home from a morning at the office. "You're such a suck up," she had teased him, quickly adding, "I appreciate all this, Connor, really I do," when his expression had reflected hurt and disappointment.

"Ceirdwyn called this morning," Connor interrupted her thoughts as they stopped at the far end of the grove and turned to make their way back to the horses. Guin bristled a little at the name, recalling the lithe, dark-haired woman who had spawned such a jealous tide in her when she and Connor had just begun dating. "She wants us to come out for lunch next Saturday -- all of us, John and Duncan as well. Jason from my store will be there too."

Guin shrugged. "Sounds like a good time." Connor glanced at her, curious at her nonchalance, but he didn't ask. "Do Ceirdwyn and Jason know you're Immortal?"

"Yeah," Connor chuckled. "They can feel it."

Guin looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "They're Immortals too? What the hell, am I living in Immortal Central and not know it?"

Connor laughed out loud. "No, not that I know of. There just happens to be a few of us around here. Ceirdwyn is Jason's teacher, that's why he's invited."

"Oh." Guin shrugged again. "I'm going to be feeling pretty out of place in the middle of this Immortal hoe-down," she added with an edge of cynicism.

"No you won't, I won't let you." Connor gave her a squeeze. "Besides, you have to come, or Ceirdwyn will feel out of place being the only woman there."

Guin bristled again. Only woman there? Over my dead body. "Don't suppose I have a choice then, do I?"

"Duncan!" Ceirdwyn squealed as she opened the door, nearly jumping into his embrace. "It's so good to see you!" A giant Irish Wolfhound followed her out the door. "Aye now, Jamie," she addressed it, "don't you stray too far." The dog, however, made a beeline for John, begging for a petting. "Ah, I see he remembers you, John." A somewhat smaller version of Jamie soon followed from the doorway. "Ah, knew my puppy Jack couldn't be far behind. And it seems he's rather interested in you, Guin."

Guin knelt down to come face-to-face with the dog who was sniffing her. "Howya doin', boy?" she greeted him, scratching him behind the ears with both hands. "You smell kitty-cat on me? I bet you do." Jack panted happily, sitting down in front of her and putting his paw on her knee.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" Ceirdwyn glanced at the knapsack John was carrying as they walked in the door. "I see you brought your traditional festivities," she said with a smirk. "I never did understand what you boys see in a game of catch."

"Meditation," Connor answered.

"Communication," Duncan added.

Ceirdwyn shrugged. "I suppose. Jason should be here soon, I'll send him back out to play with you little boys in a bit. We womenfolk can tend to the meal." She winked at Guin.

"We can help you, if you want," Connor spoke up guiltily.

"No," Ceirdwyn laughed, "go play you silly boys. It's not as if I'm working hard on a gourmet meal in here, and Guin and I need to get to know each other. Now go on." She waved them off.

Guin followed Ceirdwyn into the kitchen, jealously admiring the woman's strong build, pale skin and dark hair. So much more beautiful than my own Anglo- German looks, she thought. "What can I start with?" she asked aloud, looking about the brightly-colored and roomy kitchen.

"Hmm...where did I leave off...you could cut more carrot sticks, and I'll work on the sandwiches." Ceirdwyn gestured to a stack of carrots on the table as she cleared off more counter space and organized the ingredients for the rest of the meal.

Guin was burning with curiosity as she began to slice up the carrots. "So how long have you known Connor?" she asked, trying to remain nonchalant.

"Hmm, not very long. A couple of years, if that. Duncan introduced me to him, when I needed to find a place to move. Andrew -- uh, Connor -- Duncan calls him both. You do too, don't you?"

"Depends on who we're around, yeah. We tell people Connor is his middle name." Guin reflected on how easy it had been for her to shift from calling him "Andrew" to "Connor." Perhaps somewhere in her heart she'd known. She liked to believe that, anyway.

"I'll go with what I'm used to then. It'll keep me from getting too confused." Ceirdwyn smiled. "Anyway, Andrew suggested that this was a good place to lose yourself."

"You needed to lose yourself?" Guin asked curiously.

"Yes. I...well...something happened to me that I couldn't explain to my co-workers in Paris. So I needed to leave."

Guin furrowed her brows, perplexed for a moment. As she remembered some of the things Connor had told her, she unknitted them. "They saw you die, didn't they?"

Ceirdwyn looked up at her in surprise. "He told you more than I thought he would about the life of an Immortal. You know we sometimes have to start new lives, then?" Guin nodded. "Well then...yes, they knew I was pronounced dead at the hospital after being shot by thugs. The worst of it was that it was the second shooting for me in a year's time...the first time, no one but the thugs saw me get shot, but they killed the man I loved." It was Guin's turn to look surprised. "Yes, he was mortal. Unfortunately. Duncan stopped me from exacting my revenge on those punks then, but after people I knew saw me die, I had to get completely away. I called Duncan, and he called Andrew, who suggested that I come out here. He helped me establish myself as Ceirdwyn McDaniels, showed me around, kept me company at the Soaring Eagle's bar for a while. Although when I started to make my own circle of friends, he sort of drifted out of my life. That's why I was surprised to see him there with you.

"I was developing an identity to go to America with -- Kelly MacCallum, investment broker and Wall Street whiz." Ceirdwyn smiled again. "Kelly meaning warrior, Callum for a friend who died watching my back, while I was still mortal. Anyway...I was about to pack up and leave when Jason showed up. He knew he was Immortal, but his teacher had been a poor one, and he was looking for someone to teach him more. I rang Andrew to let him know there was another one of us in the vicinity, and he offered to hire Jason at the store. He gave Jay another mentor too, they work well together. I may still go to the States as Kelly MacCallum one of these days, but for now I'm doing fine right where I am, raising my dogs and enjoying the quiet for awhile."

"So you and Connor were never...involved?" Guin asked hesitantly.

"Oh, heavens no!" Ceirdwyn laughed. "You didn't think...I mean, he's a nice man, and nice looking and all, but..." She shook her head with a grin, then turned more serious. "Andrew -- Connor -- tends to keep his distance from other people. He doesn't let a lot of people in. It's only because of Duncan that I got to be anything like a friend to him, and it certainly didn't go any farther than that. It takes a special kind of person to really touch him, bring him out from behind the walls he builds to protect himself. You must be quite an extraordinary person, Guin." Guin blushed. "I mean it. Just the way he radiated when he introduced you to me that night...how long had you known him then?"

Guin shrugged. "A couple of weeks."

Ceirdwyn raised an eyebrow. "Is that all? Then you really are extraordinary." Ceirdwyn turned and gazed out the window at the trio playing catch and taunting each other. She shook her head with a smile. "I've known Duncan several hundred years, and I still can't get over how good-looking he is."

Guin nodded as she moved to Ceirdwyn's side. "He is quite handsome. For me, I don't know what it is about Connor, but..." She broke off, blushing.

"What?" Ceirdwyn asked with a naughty smirk.

Guin laughed nervously. "Just the thought of him touching me makes my thighs sweat."

"Well that's a good sign," Ceirdwyn said with a wink.

"I don't know about that," Guin replied, furrowing her brow. "He's been starting to act a little distant lately. It's worrying me. I keep wondering if he's tired of me."

"Don't be silly," Ceirdwyn answered. "Why would he get tired of you? From what I understand, you give him everything he needs...understanding, stability, love..."

"He told you that?"

"Well, not exactly...he said something of the sort to Duncan, who, under threat of beheading if I leaked it, told it to me. But I trust you." Ceirdwyn winked again. "What good is a secret like that if I can't share it when it counts?"

Guin smiled at Ceirdwyn's remark, then frowned. "I was just thinking that maybe the thrill of the chase is over for him." Guin looked over at Ceirdwyn. "How different is it for Immortals? Falling in love, I mean."

Ceirdwyn tilted her head in thought. "Not so different. We're human, after all. At least we think we are." She smiled. "But just as each mortal loves differently, so does each Immortal. And as with any couple with an age difference involved, there's a difference in perspective, different senses of time. But that can even happen between two Immortals, depending on when and where they were born. Take me, for example. I'm twice as old as both of them put together. But we were all raised as Celtic warriors, and that helps us understand each other to some degree."

For a few long moments, Guin silently watched the ball arc between John, his father and Duncan. "I was reading a piece someone had written on the game of catch. They pointed out that it's called 'catch,' not 'throw.' The objective is to make sure the person catches it -- you're not out to trick them or get them to drop the ball. They equated it to expressing ideas or philosophies, where your objective is to get people to understand you. Even if catch isn't exactly communication, like Duncan said, it is a form of communing, of connecting."

Ceirdwyn nodded. "I think you're exactly right. Look at them, how connected they are to each other right now." She looked over the food. "Let's put this stuff in the icebox and join them."

"All right, boys, we're coming to get you!" Ceirdwyn called out as the two women dashed out the back door to join in the game.

"We've only got four mitts," John replied. "Somebody's gotta be out."

Connor tossed his glove to Guin. "You're up," he said with a wink.

John looked at Guin uncertainly, and was gentle with his first toss of the ball. Guin caught it easily, tossing it back with grace and speed. The ball landed with a thud in John's upraised glove, and he looked back at her with surprise. He nodded to her, and the game was truly begun.

Toss, catch, toss, catch; the slick thud of leather hitting leather punctuating the still air. The tight focus of attention between pitcher and catcher with each trade of the ball formed an invisible barrier between them and all that surrounded them. Guin pulled her arm back and let the ball loose, all at once realizing that Connor was watching her form in motion. She was suddenly conscious of her tight jeans and form-fitting cream-colored sweater that had seemed appropriate when she had thought she was competing with Ceirdwyn's beauty. In her distraction, Guin almost missed the pitch John returned to her.

"Duncan," she called, tossing him her ball and interrupting the game of "nail the other player with the ball" he and Ceirdwyn were busy playing. "Time out for me." Guin walked over to the place Connor was sitting and gazed down at him. "And what are you looking at?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him playfully.

"You," he said, returning her gaze with an impish grin. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Guin shrugged. "Maybe."

"Why? You're beautiful," he said with a genuine smile. Guin rolled her eyes. "You are," he reiterated.

"And in 20 years I'll be middle-aged and sagging. Or starting to, anyway. You won't be looking at me like that then. And you'll look exactly like you do now."

Connor frowned reproachfully. "I'm not talking about your body. I'm talking about you."

"Same difference," she replied with another shrug. "I'm going to grow old, and no matter how gracefully it might happen, eventually I'm not going to be beautiful anymore. If I am now."

Connor shook his head, then took her hand and pulled her down next to him. "Depends on how you define beauty. What you need, you have, and you'll have it all your life."

"But you'll always look like you do now," she repeated, pulling off her glove.

Connor shook his head again. "You're not listening to me. It's not about looks."

"Society dictates that it is. Always has been, always will be."

"Not to everyone, Guin." He put a finger to her lips as she started to protest. "Don't start with this argument again. What is this, the third time this week you've brought it up? Just think about what I've said every time. I don't want to hear another word about it." Connor took the glove from her and handed it to Jason as he walked into the yard. Guin looked up in surprise -- she hadn't even known Jason was there. It took her another minute to remember that Immortals could sense each other coming.

"Had enough, you two?" Ceirdwyn called over to them.

"Yeah. Now that the gang's all here, so to speak, are we going to eat?" Connor complained.

"The food's ready whenever you are, my dear. Maybe you could take it upon yourself to set it up, since you're out of the game."

Connor stood up and offered Guin his hand. "Our pleasure."

Four figures quickly dashed form the Range Rover to the house. The rain had appeared out of nowhere, and they were hoping to avoid getting drenched -- an impossible task as the thunder cracked and the light drops turned to a downpour. Once inside, the foursome headed their separate ways: John to his room, to listen to music; Duncan to the guestroom, to pack for his trip to Glenfinnan to visit their "distant cousin" Rachel MacLeod; Connor to his office, to finish up some paperwork from the day before; and Guin to her room, to gather up some of her craft materials before heading to the den for some much-needed R&R in front of the television.

Connor switched on the computer and opened his database files. One new buyer had provided him with fourteen new separate clients, each of which had to be cross-referenced with each other and with the buyer. I'd much rather be curled up with Guin in front of the TV right now, he thought wistfully as he listened to the rain spatter against the window behind him.

Connor picked up the phone on its second ring in his office as he continued his data entry. "Beaton residence."

"May I speak to...Russell Nash?" a raspy male voice inquired.

Connor narrowed his eyes, but kept his tone inflectionless. "Sorry, you must have the wrong number."

The laugh on the other end of the line made him shudder. "No, I think I quite have the right number." The click and buzz of a dial tone came through the receiver before Connor put it down. I know that voice, he thought warily as he stood up. When, and where? Maybe a look through my journals will give me a hint.

Connor walked into the den to find Guin on the floor in front of the television, surrounded by beads and other crafting items, watching a movie. Their furry friend Mandy, meanwhile, was perched on the sofa, eagerly watching the beads and leather strings Guin was manipulating. Connor followed the movie for a couple of minutes before speaking. "What are you watching?"

Guin jumped at the sound of his voice. "Oh. Hi." She turned down the volume a notch. "Uh, it's Steel Magnolias. Ever seen it?" Connor shook his head. "It's on TV. I caught it about halfway through, but I've seen it before. It's not a very happy movie. Fits my cranky mood from this week, though."

"Uh oh. Does this mean I should run and hide?" he teased.

Guin stuck out her tongue at him. "No," she retorted. "And I'm only half-watching. I just need the distraction." She motioned to her craft items. "I'm keeping busy making dreamcatchers too."

"Well don't mind me. I'm just going to look through my journals...I need to place a memory."

Guin looked at him curiously. "Isn't that hard? Five hundred years is a long time."

Connor shrugged. "I can usually narrow it down to within a few years, and I didn't write down everything. It gives me a place to start, anyway."

Guin turned back to the screen with a shrug. "If you say so." She leaned forward over her dreamcatcher-in-progress again, keeping one eye on the movie. Connor watched Guin's face contort in contemplation as she strung and restrung sequences of beads until they suited her, laughing as Mandy caused Guin to jump by suddenly pouncing onto her lap in pursuit of jangly dangling things. The intensity of Guin's devotion to her craft made him smile. The movie, meanwhile, went in one ear and out the other as he searched through his texts. He caught enough of it to know that it wasn't the type of film he'd voluntarily choose to watch. Young woman dies tragically, family mourns, he summed it up in his head. Isn't there enough of that in the world without making a movie about it? Connor shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he began to flip through his journals. I've seen enough of that in my lifetime to find it not entertaining at all.

The sounds of Guin sniffling heavily at the funeral scene, however, brought Connor to the sofa, and he silently offered her a box of tissues. She motioned to the box already on the floor. "I came prepared," she laughed through her tears. "As many times as I've seen this, it still gets me. I guess it's the tragic death thing that gets to me."

"Death is always tragic." A pang of sadness swept through Connor. Heather's death...Brenda's...that of a hundred other mortals I've known and watched die. I'd closed them all off. Why am I feeling this now? Connor's face remained expressionless even as the healed-over scar of loss was torn open anew. She feels...I'm emotionally wrapped up in her...so I feel. That's something I wasn't quite expecting. Connor gritted his teeth and tried to block out the movie and the sound of Guin's tears. Guin's voice broke his concentration.

"Don't you ever cry at movies?" she asked, tilting her head up at him.

Connor shook his head. "No."

"You don't let them get to you."

"No." Connor looked down at her tear-stained face, then reached over and began massaging her shoulders.

Guin stretched under his touch. "I couldn't live without a good cry once in a while. There's too much pain in life not to let it out now and again." She sighed. "Then again, sometimes you can get me to cry at the drop of a hat. I can be way too thin-skinned for my own good, sometimes."

"But that's part of your beauty," he said sincerely.

Guin shrugged. "I suppose. But I'm sure it can annoy the crap out of people too." She leaned back against his legs and flipped off the television set, reaching up to take his hand in hers. "I think I've had enough of this heavy emotional stuff for tonight. Let's go to bed."

Connor stared into the space of his office, but his eyes focused on nothing. The antique store on the other side of the doorway was quiet, and only the tingle of an Immortal buzz told him that Jason was out there, working. Connor had spent the past two nights working late, trying to keep up with the influx of new transactions, and this Wednesday night was going to be no exception. Making matters worse, his mind was not focused completely on his work. The events of Saturday evening were still eating at him. Connor still could not quite place the voice that had been on the phone asking for Russell Nash -- and although he had pretty much narrowed it down to his sea-faring years in the mid 1800's, he couldn't quite be sure. I need to hear the voice again to identify them, he thought uneasily, though I don't really want to hear from them again. Connor was almost certain this was the beginning of a cat-and-mouse game, and he hated being the mouse -- it always put you at a disadvantage.

Then there was Guin. The rivers of emotion that ran deep in her had awakened some of his most buried feelings and memories. It was one of the things he loved most about her -- and one of the things most dangerous to him now. Every year he lit a candle for his first wife Heather on her birthday, but it had been centuries since he'd actually shed tears over her death. Even with Brenda's passing, he rarely felt the urge to get emotional these days -- it was all in the past, and he preferred to leave it there. But the chords Guin had touched in him ran right through his memories of both women, into the deepest part of his emotions, and that was something he just couldn't deal with at the moment. I can't afford to be distracted if I'm being hunted, he decided with a frown. As much as I love Guin, I'll do what I have to, to stay objective. He shook his head, looking down at the stack of inventory forms in front of him. And above all, I've got to stop thinking about this so much. I've got work to do.

Guin watched John bound down the stairs, two gloves and a ball in hand, as she entered the house. She hoped it was a good sign. Connor had gotten home too late and was too tired to play catch with him yesterday, but had promised they'd play today if the good weather held and if he wasn't exhausted again. Connor had called her from the store to say he was leaving early, so she hoped that meant he was in a better mood than the one he'd been in most of the week. Tomorrow was Friday, but she got the feeling that the weekend wouldn't be bringing either one of them a respite from work. The workload had obviously taken its toll on Connor -- he'd snapped at her more than a few times this week, though he'd always come back and apologized. Slipping off her shoes, Guin leaned against the kitchen doorway to watch the interaction about to take place. She nearly jumped as the phone rang, and she picked up the cordless extension in the hall. "Beaton residence."

"May I speak to Andrew Beaton?" a male voice asked.

"One moment." Guin covered the mouthpiece and gestured toward Connor with the receiver. "It's for you."

Reluctantly Connor took the handset from her. "Hello?"

The voice laughed. "Ha ha. Hello again, MacLeod. I know who you are. I know where you are. And soon I'll be coming to get you." The phone clicked, followed by a dialtone.

"Hello? Hello?" Connor shrugged. "Hung up. How strange." Guin looked at him suspiciously. He waited too long to repeat his hello, this person must have said something, Guin thought to herself. And it almost looked like he recognized the voice. Aw hell, he wouldn't answer me even if I asked.

"Ready to play?" John asked his father.

Connor flashed him a look, gesturing to the stove. "I can't just leave dinner unattended, now, can I?" he said flatly.

"I can watch that," Guin volunteered. "Go play."

Connor shook his head, giving her an icy stare. "I'm not in the mood."

Surprised, Guin countered with a reproachful look, then turned to John. "Give me a minute to change, I'll go out with you."

John gave Guin a tight smile, then bolted out the back door. She dashed upstairs, quickly changing into jeans, a turtleneck shirt and sneakers. What the hell is Connor's problem? she asked herself, tugging the shirt over her head. Pushing me away is one thing, pushing John away is quite another. As she walked back through the kitchen, she glanced over at Connor, who was busy fretting over the pots and pans on the stove. The urge struck her to go wrap her arms around him, but she got the feeling he might backhand her if she did. Still, a twinge of sympathy seeped through her. Poor baby, she thought. He's got so much on his mind that he's taking it out on us.

Connor had told Ceirdwyn that catch was meditation, and he was right. Guin and John were so focused on the interplay between them that they hardly noticed time going by. Neither brought up Connor's behavior, preferring to try to ignore it instead. The sun had sunk down nearly completely behind the hills by the time Connor came out to retrieve them.

Dinner was quiet -- too quiet. And despite Connor's time in the kitchen, the meal had not come out very well. The chicken was tough and dry, the vegetables mushy and tasteless. Guin and John ate what they could stand, not daring to criticize the meal. Finally Connor set down his fork in disgust and took his dishes over to the sink, emptying the remains of his dinner into the garbage disposal. John gave in and followed soon after. "Is your homework done?" Connor called over the roar of the disposal.

"Almost," John replied.

"Go finish it. Now."

"Now? But Dad..."

"No buts. Now!" Connor gestured toward Guin. "Might as well give me your plate too, I know you won't finish it."

Guiltily Guin handed over the plate as she watched John exit dejectedly. She took what remained of the dishes from the table to the sink. As the sound indicated that the food had been decimated, Connor shut off the disposal. "You're full of piss and vinegar today, aren't you?" Guin asked him gently, hoping to prompt an explanation. Connor shot her a dark look, but said nothing. "Snips and snails and puppy dog tails, that's what little boys are made of," she sang quietly with a smile, attempting to evoke a laugh from her dour companion.

"Shut up."

Guin raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" she asked testily.

"I said shut up." Connor didn't look at her, but rinsed the dishes and set them in the dishwasher, drying his hands roughly on a towel.

Guin frowned, her guilt kicking in. "I'm sorry, Connor, I was just kidding..." her voice trailed off as she saw her apology had no effect on him. "Connor," she said gently, touching his shoulder. He shrugged it off. "You know, you are all temper and intensity," she said, her tone turning sour. "Maybe one day I'll get used to that. Maybe." As she turned away, Connor reached for her hand. When Guin turned back to him, his eyes were closed, a shadow of grief across his features. Her heart aching, Guin squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek. "I'm patient to a fault," she whispered to him. "I know you're not ready now, but I'll be here when you need me." He nodded and released her hand, and she went upstairs to her room to read, and to try not to think about what was really bothering Connor.

Guin came to consciousness slowly as she realized her arm was dangling over the edge of the bed. I don't normally sleep so far off to one side, do I? she wondered sleepily. Not even in my twin bed here in my room. Then the sensations began to filter into her mind through her skin: the warmth of a torso pressed against her back, another leg loosely entwined with hers, an arm draped across her body. In the pale light she gazed down at the hand resting next to her abdomen, the long fingers curved slightly down to the fingertips resting on the bed. Guin sighed lightly through her nostrils. He sought me out, she thought with a grim smile, the hairs on her neck tickled by Connor's soft, even breathing. God you can be such a pain. But I love you anyway. Reaching down, she lightly stroked his palm with her thumb. The hand twitched momentarily, then relaxed as she gently massaged the veins on the back of his hand and down the strong fingers. Connor let out a long sigh, signaling he was coming awake. He pulled her closer and nuzzled against the back of her neck. Guin reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. "How ya doing, baby?" she whispered, tilting her head back slightly so she could see his face. Connor shrugged. She turned in his grasp to face him, wrapping her arms around him and settling her cheek against his chest. Sighing, Connor rested his chin on the crown of her head. "What's bothering you, Connor?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Guin frowned. "I know it's not 'nothing,' but I'm too tired to argue with you."

"It's nothing for you to worry about."

"It is when it makes you snap at me," she scolded gently. He gave an exasperated sigh, and she added, "all right, I won't ask." Guin ran her fingernails lightly down his back, finishing by tucking her hand suggestively under the waistband of his boxers.

Connor pulled her hand back up. "Not tonight," he said wearily, pulling her tighter into his embrace. Shrugging, Guin wrapped her arms around him and settled back against his chest to sleep.

The sun glittered faintly on the raindrops clinging to the windowpane. Not today, Connor thought miserably. There were multiple shipments coming in and going out today -- despite the fact it was Saturday -- and while he always packed his antiques watertight, some of the items coming in didn't look quite so secure. And there's an errand I need to run -- if and when I get the chance. He shook his head, checking off items on the packing list as he found and inspected them among the boxes after boxes sitting on the storeroom floor. This was a huge shipment, and Connor could only be thankful that most of these pieces were going to be shipped directly to the buyers later that afternoon. But until then, the storeroom was going to be hell to navigate.

The buzz of another Immortal startled him to look up, even though he was almost positive who it was. "The driver says that's everything," Jason told him as he walked in through the delivery door.

"I'm almost done. It looks like everything's here, but I want to make sure." Another ten minutes went by as Connor continued checking off items on the list. Finally he signed off on the inspection sheet and handed it to Jason. "That's it. Give that to the driver and tell him he can go." Connor sighed at the unorganized conglomeration of boxes. Everything's here, all right, and everything's a mess. But Jason's trustworthy. I think I can sneak off to run my errand, at least. As Jason walked back in, Connor called him over. "Start sorting the items that are going out today according to the lists from the office. There's something I need to take care of, I'll be gone a couple of hours, but I'll be back in plenty of time to finish this up with you and make sure everything's right. If anybody calls, just tell them I had to run out and I'll be back soon." Jason nodded and went to retrieve the lists from the office. Connor shrugged his leather bomber jacket on over his dark grey turtleneck and zipped it up, then headed for the Range Rover parked out front.

Jason jumped at the sound of the phone ringing. "Beaton's Antiques."

"Jason, it's Guin. Is Andrew around?"

"He just stepped out, said he had an errand to run, and he'd be gone for a while. Would you like me to leave him a message?"

"No, thanks." Guin didn't recall Connor saying anything about running errands today. "In fact, you don't even have to tell him I called. It's nothing important. I'll try back later."

Connor whistled with the Celtic fiddling on the tape player in the Rover. The reels and dancing music he was growing fond of again, but the bagpipes and drums always reminded him of war, and of the mortal life he had lost too soon. The trip up into the area of the Highlands where he needed to go took no more than an hour normally, and it was relatively good weather today -- the rain had cleared up nicely after its brief appearance that morning. This trip was always hard on him, though, and he was glad he was almost there.

So much had changed in 400 years. The entire landscape of these hills was different, and this road that was only a fraction of his age wasn't all that far from the gravesite, maybe a mile or two. Connor hiked across the sloping hills, finally coming to a stop near a weather-worn piece of metal sticking from the earth on top of one hill. I wonder how many people know that's a sword hilt, he thought to himself. Probably more than the number who realize it marks a grave.

"Hello, my bonnie Heather," Connor whispered aloud. "It's a few days early, but I thought I'd come visit you." He took a deep breath of the mountain air, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to remember what this spot had been like when he was younger. "I still miss you, you know. If I close my eyes, I can still hear your voice, feel your touch." Connor sighed. "I've met someone, again. And she's wonderful. I'm sure you know all about her already. Seems I've been lucky enough to meet a few good women in my lifetime -- and it all started with you." Connor's smile was twinged with sorrow. "It's good to know that I've loved each of you in your own way. It's the only thing that makes it a bit easier to love again. And it also means I'll never forget you. Ever."

"Hallo, a MacLeoid," called a male voice from across the nearest valley. "Ciamar a tha thu?"

Connor smiled and waved. "Tha gu math, tapadh leat. And how are you, MacKinney?" He called back.

"Could be better, could be worse," the old man responded in a thick brogue. "You're a few days early, I see."

"Things are busy. This was the only time I could get away, knowing that the weather was good."

"I still don't know how ye know who's under there, but it's always good to see ye respect your elders," MacKinney stated firmly, finally climbing the last few feet to shake Connor's hand.

Connor closed his eyes a moment to hide the pain. "Well, if you can't respect your family, who can you respect?" he answered levelly.

"How true. Still, it's good to see some young people know the truth, ye ken? Well, my sheep are down there, I'd better tend to them. I just wanted to say hallo, since I caught ye up here. Good day."

"Latha math." Connor smiled.

MacKinney shook his head. "I still don't understand how your accent can sound more like my grandfather's than mine...ye must've had good teachers." The old man tipped his hat and wandered off toward the valley. Connor took a deep breath, blew a kiss to the gravemarker, and made his way back to the Range Rover.

Guin stepped up to the open door of Connor's office. All six of the cabinets holding his nearly five centuries' worth of memories were set with their doors wide open, obscuring any view of the walls themselves and making the office seem completely different from the drab room it usually was. Up until a few weeks earlier, the only time the cabinets had been opened like this was when Connor had the office door securely locked. But now that Guin had become aware of the secret of his Immortality, she had rarely found the door to the office closed, much less bolted shut, although she had seldom seen the cabinets open in that time either.

Things had slowed down enough for the both of them to allow them to take this Wednesday off, in part to make up for both the weekend they had just worked through and the upcoming one that would most likely require their working presence as well. Presently Connor was ensconced in his leather chair, his eyes a million miles away, the ice melting in his glass of whisky on the desk. Only when she knocked on the doorframe did his eyes make a startled flicker before focusing on her.

"I'm going into town to spend some time at the women's shelter -- which I've been neglecting shamelessly since I met you," she added with a wink, "and to run a few errands. Do you need me to pick up anything while I'm out?" Connor shook his head silently a moment, then opened his mouth to speak. "No, wait, don't tell me," she laughed, "more Glenmorangie." He smiled at her, but his eyes were still distant as his gaze took her in. Guin strode over to his side, ran her fingers through his hair and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Don't drift too far away," she admonished him softly.

"I won't," he responded quietly, reaching up to cup her chin in his hand. His eyes told her that he needed to speak, but instead he closed them and shook his head, releasing her face from his grasp. "Don't be gone too long." When his eyes opened again, he was once again a million miles away. Guin turned around and left the room, hiding her frown.

Guin realized that this distance was really beginning to frustrate her. Although they both had the day off, they hadn't spent any time together; and from Connor's attitude, it wasn't in his plans either. The man had progressively sunk deeper into himself in the past fortnight, refusing to talk even when she could sense he needed to. It was much easier to attempt to fathom what Connor was feeling when I didn't know he was 480 years old, she mused. Guin couldn't even begin to imagine being around for half a millennium, much less the kind of feelings that could conjure up. There had been so much he'd been willing to tell her when he'd finally opened up about his Immortality, yet there was obviously even more that he wasn't saying. Guin dropped discontentedly into the driver's seat of her Volvo wagon and tossed her purse into the seat next to her, attempting to banish those thoughts from her mind. Learning to drive on the left side of the road hadn't been a problem for her; but learning to avoid tourists trying to drive on the right side of the road had been much more of a challenge, and she needed her concentration for that.

Guin could not keep her mind from wandering back to the subject, however. John had started avoiding contact with his father, particularly after being snapped at a few times. Duncan had gone to visit Rachel MacLeod in Glenfinnan before he had an opportunity to fully witness this change in attitude from his kinsman. So Guin was left alone to deal with this melancholy that hung between herself and Connor like a darkened window, leaving her outside in the cold. And in the past couple of days Connor had pulled so far inside himself that despite her most protracted reach, she couldn't touch him. Even their bed had grown cold. Granted, work had picked up lately for both of them and they were often tired when they got home, but the fact that he had not even been making the effort to start something weighed heavily on Guin's mind now. She wondered again if the thrill of the chase was gone, and if Connor was bored with her -- a thought that had crossed her mind too many times in the past couple of weeks.

With her self-confidence feeling bruised, Guin's time at the women's shelter made her at least feel useful. From there, however, the day went downhill and, unfortunately, the Glenmorangie was the easiest thing for Guin to find on her errand trip. It was early evening when she pulled her car into the drive next to Connor's silver Porsche. Well, looks like we'll be settling for a leftover stew dinner, unless Connor's thought to cook something up, she thought.

Entering the house, Guin headed straight for the kitchen. With no signs that Connor had been preparing a meal, Guin took the stew from the night before out of the refrigerator and placed it in the microwave. Good enough for me, anyway, she decided. Good thing John's over at Pete's this evening. Connor can make his own dinner if he doesn't like it. Where is that man, anyway?

Guin peered in the doorway of the office. Everything was just as she had left it several hours earlier, including Connor in his chair. The only difference was Connor's head lolling off to one side with his eyes closed, fast asleep. Returning to the kitchen, Guin settled down at the counter to eat alone. Mandy sauntered over and purred around her ankles, hoping to share. "No, sweetie, this is mine," she said, gently nudging away the furball with her toes. Guin was just finishing her meal when she heard Connor rouse from his slumber and stumble out of the office. As he walked past the kitchen, she asked congenially, "Hungry?"

Connor's eyes were still glazed over with sleepiness as he stared at her blankly. "Um...no." Shaking off some of his weariness, he continued on into the den. Not willing to let this go, she followed him. Connor walked over to the sofa, slumped down onto it and clicked the remote control for the television. Guin sat down beside him, circling his arm with hers. Wordlessly he pulled his arm from her grasp. Frustrated, she picked up his arm and placed it around her shoulders, snuggling up next to him. Again he pulled away, this time angrily snapping, "Stop it! Leave me alone!" then immediately absorbing himself back into the television set. Several more times she attempted to get near him, and each time he held out his hand to keep her at arm's length. The final time he did so, Guin smacked his hand away. "Fine!" she said hotly, her temper giving way. "You can have your melancholy and your glum and your solitude. And when you're finally sick of it, don't come to me for solace." Abruptly she stormed out of the room and up the stairs. Once in the bedroom, however, she sat on the edge of the bed, cradled her face in her hands and sobbed. For all her anger, she loved him more. There was obviously something on his mind, and she wanted to be there for him. If only he'd let me, she lamented. She sniffled the last of her tears and, exhausted from a day filled with frustrating shopping and confrontation with Connor, headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Connor quietly entered the room and stepped into Guin's path as she was returning from the bathroom. He took her face into his hands. "Forgive me?" he asked gently. "It wasn't you, Guin, I just had some bad dreams I was trying to shake off."

Guin shook her head and pushed his hands away. "It's not that easy, Connor. I'm fed up with this behavior."

"What behavior?"

"You pushing me away, like you keep doing lately."

"Well, I'm not pushing you away now," he said, wrapping himself around her, hands wandering, preparing to kiss her. She squirmed and shoved him away.

"And what happens when I'm no longer in my prime and able to give you the good screw you want?"

Connor's look turned stony. "Mother of God, don't start this now." He sighed heavily. "Is that what you think? Do you think that's why I'm apologizing? Do you think that's why I love you?"

"Do you love me?" she countered with a frown, raising her voice. "You never say it...except after I say it, and then you just say 'me too.' And it finally hit me just how fast we're moving...sex in a month, moving in at three and a half...it dawned on me that maybe you're just in this for the 'free milk.'"

Connor shook his head. "I move quickly because time is to short...for you. For mortals."

"The amount of time we live, or the amount of time we're still sexy and agile?" Guin cocked an eyebrow, fire in her eyes.

Connor narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you really think I'm that shallow?"

Guin glanced at him, then looked away. "I've had a lot of men pass me over for my looks, especially when I weighed a bit more. And I've seen the look in men's eyes now when I wear something sexy. When you look me over, I feel like I'm being scrutinized like that, like an object."

"Do you ever bother to look into my eyes to see what's there?" he countered, his voice becoming angry. "Do you?" Connor paused, but got no answer. "I don't think you look past what you want to see. You want to think I'm just looking at you for your body. Remember when I was watching you play catch at Ceirdwyn's? I wasn't just looking at your body. I was watching your grace, your passion, your focus..."

"Oh, come on," she snapped. "You were looking at my breasts and my ass!"

Connor glared at her and clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "Is that what you think?" he hissed.

"Yes. That's what I think," she responded defiantly.

"Maybe if you'd stop focusing on this," he gestured roughly toward her body, "and started worrying about this," he pointed to her forehead, "then you and I wouldn't be having these problems." Guin stared at him in shocked silence as he turned and left the room. She sat down on the edge of the bed and cradled her head in her hands for several minutes before the shock wore off and the tears came. Damn you, she thought. Damn you for being right.

Guin realized how lightly she'd been sleeping when Connor's quiet entrance awoke her. Silently she watched him walk over to the window, open the curtain a few inches and stare outside, leaning against the windowsill. Her heart ached to talk to him and to comfort him, but she knew she could not force him to accept the grace he might find in her company. The dim light of the remaining sliver of moon brushed his face with light and dark shadows, as if reflecting his melancholy soul. She stared at him, begging him telepathically to come to her, until sleep once again overcame her.

"Uhhhh." The loud moan Connor emitted woke Guin with a start. Several more followed. She sat up, waiting to see whether she should wake him. Connor rarely had nightmares or flailed in his sleep, so perhaps this would pass. But he had mentioned having bad dreams earlier that evening. The moaning continued. Okay, so if Immortals can't get sick, he's not sick. So it has to be a dream. Guin was about to shake him awake when his arm suddenly lifted from the bed across from her, reaching out for something. "Heather...Heather..." he cried piteously. Or someone, Guin added to herself, narrowing her eyes. Suddenly, Connor's behavior of late wasn't so surprising, as all the pieces fell together in her mind. There's someone else. He's seeing someone else. She smacked his shoulder hard, then turned over and tried to go back to sleep, curled into a fetal position.

Connor's eyes flickered open, and with consciousness came the sensation of a dull sting in his shoulder. Looking over, he noted that Guin was apparently asleep, facing the opposite direction. Hmm...strange. He rubbed his tingling shoulder and settled back into sleep.

"God damn idiots on the road...who do they think they are?" Guin swore at the traffic on her way home. She hadn't been able to focus on anything the past two days. Even staying late, she had not accomplished all that she should have. And with all her tension she'd managed to accidentally scrape the front fender of the Volvo on a pole of the covered parking area at work.

First and foremost on her mind had been Connor and this "Heather" he had cried out for night before last. She could still hear his voice calling that name, and it had eaten at her soul ever since. Although she had awakened the next morning to find his arm draped over her, she had promptly removed it. He probably thought he was holding Heather, she thought, fuming. She hadn't been able to even begin to confront him the evening after his outburst, as Connor had locked himself in his office with his work, and had apparently slept there. Maybe she was even in there, and I didn't know it, Guin tormented herself. At least it was Friday, and this weekend, she had found out, she didn't have to spend at work. But John was spending the night at Pete's tonight, and it meant she'd be faced with an evening alone with Connor.

Sunset was at hand by the time Guin arrived home. As she walked in the doorway, she nearly ran into Connor, who was donning his trenchcoat and carrying a small bouquet of flowers. She shut the door behind her and addressed him brusquely: "Where are you going?"

He raised an eyebrow as he turned toward her. "To the chapel, among other places. As if it's any of your business."

Guin loved the little church that was just a few miles from their home, but Connor had never seemed very interested in it. "It's not a holy day. Why are you going?"

"I have some business to take care of. I'll be back in a while."

"Then I'll go with you," she offered.

"I need to go alone." Connor gave the jacket a final settling around him and tied the belt.

"But..."

"Guin, I need to go alone. Let me be." The harsh tone of his voice stung her as if he'd struck her with one of the gloves he was pulling on.

Holding in the flood of anger and grief as best she could, Guin asked with deathly calm, "Who is she, Connor?"

Connor threw her a puzzled look. "Who is who?"

"The woman you're...the one you're seeing. The one you'll be leaving me for." Guin gritted her teeth and held her head high, but one swollen tear trickled down her cheek.

"What?" he asked with an abrupt and astonished laugh. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Tears flooded out as Guin made her accusation. "Heather, the woman you called out for the other night in your sleep! You could have at least been up front with me, rather than have me find out this way!"

Connor's laugh grated down Guin's spine. "Ah, so that's it. Well, if you're going to bluntly accuse me rather than ask me about it rationally, I'm going to make you wait. Besides, it's getting late, and if I'm going to run these errands, I gotta go." He stepped around her, putting him nearer to the door, which he opened. Kissing her forehead lightly, he said, "I'll be back soon, and I'll explain it all to you then, okay?" She gave no response. Turning to go, he could hear her hard, stifled sobs begin. Connor turned back to see her starting up the stairs. "Guin, don't start that," he said. She kept walking. "Mother of God," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Guin, I'll explain it all when I get back," he called to her retreating figure. Still she continued up the stairs, the sound of sobs trailing behind her. Shaking his head, Connor stepped outside and closed the door behind him. She's an emotional one, I'll give her that, but good God she can drive me crazy, he said to himself, heading down the porch steps. Connor stopped on the bottom one, and looked up to the now lit window of their bedroom. He shook his head. Dammit, she may deserve it, but I can't be that mean to her. Connor jogged up the steps. He let himself back into the house and left the flowers on the table by the door, unbelting his trench coat and removing his gloves as he made his way upstairs.

Opening the bedroom door, Connor stopped and stared in disbelief. One of Guin's suitcases was lying open on the bed. Guin herself was searching through a drawer and stacking clothes in the chair next to the dresser, stopping in mid-search when she saw Connor. She sniffled and wiped her tear-stained face with one hand, then continued her packing. Connor deposited his coat and gloves in the chair by the door and was by her side in one step, putting his hand over hers as she lifted a sweater from the drawer. "And where do you think you're going?"

"I don't know. Somewhere. Anywhere. Away from here."

"No you don't. Not until we've talked."

Guin looked defiantly into his face. "I've been at this juncture before, Connor. I've been left without a backwards glance more than once, by men who couldn't bear to tell me they didn't love me, so they just left. For once in my life, I see it coming. I'm not going to be left behind again -- I'm leaving first." She looked down into the drawer. "It's not as much fun now that the chase is over, is it, Connor? On to the next pursuit, right?"

"Why are you always looking for the end?" he said heatedly. "You say you don't want to look that far ahead, when I want to make plans for us for next summer. But you're already planning our demise."

"I'm just being realistic."

"No, you're being pessimistic. Waiting for the other shoe to drop -- no, expecting the other shoe to drop, right on your head."

Guin glared at him. "It's inevitable. It will drop. And it looks like it already has."

Connor reached over and gripped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the face. "Do you really think I'd leave you now?" His dark eyes bore into hers, and she turned her eyes away. "Do you?" he repeated angrily.

Guin yanked her head away, and her voice rose toward hysteria as she responded. "Yes! Yes, I do. Because you've withdrawn from me more times than I can count over the past couple of weeks, because you won't let me near you, and then I hear you call out 'Heather' in your sleep while you moan! I called you at work last Saturday, and you weren't there -- and you were gone for hours! And now you bar me from going with you, wherever it is you're really going, with flowers in your hand! What am I supposed to think?"

Connor narrowed his eyes and frowned at her. Guin could see his hostility escalating as his face turned red and his voice intensified. "First of all, I was backing off from you to give you some room to digest this whole Immortality thing. I thought maybe you'd appreciate that. Second, I needed some time to myself -- can't I have that? I had things to take care of, and I said I'd explain when I got back, isn't that enough for you?" He stabbed a finger at her accusingly. "Why do you only think about yourself and what you want?" Guin trembled before him in silence, closing her eyes. In frustration Connor turned and slammed the wall with his fist, rattling the seascape painting hanging nearby. Guin sank to the bed and buried her face in her hands, but no sound came from her shaking form. Minutes seemed like hours as the silence passed between them.

"Guin." Connor's voice suddenly at her ear startled her. He sat down next to her and took several deep, calming breaths as he took her hand between his. Elbows resting on his knees, he pressed her hand to his cheek and looked over at her, though she refused to meet his eyes. "When you live for hundreds of years, a lot of things -- and people -- come in and out of your life. You live, you grieve, but you never forget -- no matter how much you might want to. Sometimes the pain is overwhelming." Connor pressed his forehead against her hand clasped in his and closed his eyes. "In my early years, before I even knew what Immortality was, I came to love a woman named Heather. She was there when I was learning, and I stayed with her all of her life, here in the Highlands. I still visit her grave now and then. Like I did on Saturday. And I promised her I'd light a candle every year on her birthday. Today. That's where I was going, Guin." Connor took a deep breath, letting it out in a slow, sorrowful sigh. "And the flowers," he continued, "those are for Brenda's grave. I was thinking I'd take care of all of my grief at once." Gently he kissed her fingers. "Love and pain go hand in hand, especially for Immortals. Because of that, there have been many times when I've chosen not to love. But there have been a few times when it overwhelmed me anyway -- like with you." Connor looked over to find Guin watching him, silently listening, sympathetic tears welling in her eyes. Releasing her hand, he brushed his fingers against the soft skin of her cheek. "I worry that in 60 or 70 years I'll go through that pain again with you. But now I'm much more worried about losing you at this moment, before I get the chance to love you for that long."

Guin reached up with both hands to cup his face and smooth away the tears starting to trickle from the corners of his eyes. Connor took the opportunity to embrace her. "I love you, Guin," he said quietly in her ear.

"What was that?" she teased gently. "I don't think I heard you right."

Connor pulled back and smiled at her. "I love you." He rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you too," she replied. Sighing as she stroked his face, she added, "I am so sorry Connor. I get so emotional over things. I take things too hard, and make mountains out of molehills. Maybe you would be better off without me."

"Not a chance. I'm too obsessed with you." He raised an eyebrow and winked. She smiled back, embarrassed.

"You'd better get going, if you're going to go light that candle." Guin took a deep breath and sighed again. "I'd never forgive myself if you didn't, now that I know."

Connor stood and held out his hand to her. "Come with me? I'm sure Heather wouldn't mind. Or Brenda."

Guin looked up at him. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go alone? You said that's what you needed."

Connor shrugged. "I changed my mind. Besides, I might need someone to drive if I get too overwhelmed and break down. We don't need another accident."

"You? Break down? As in cry?" she asked, taking his hand and standing up.

"You mean I'm not allowed to?" he asked, half-serious.

Guin reached up and put her arms around his neck. "Of course you are. Whenever you need to. And I'll be there for you." She kissed him, then released his neck. Guin stepped back from him a moment, then began patting down his pockets.

"Careful where you put your hands," he said, a devilish grin lighting his face. She shook her head and laughed.

"Hey, it got you to smile, didn't it? But seriously, if I'm going to drive, I need the keys, sweetie."

"Oh yeah," Connor replied, the smirk still creasing his face. "They're in my coat. But it's not as much fun searching for them there."

Guin picked up his gloves from the chair and gave him a light swat across the butt. "Smart ass. How -- and why -- did Heather and Brenda ever put up with you?"

Connor shrugged as she helped him into his coat. "Must be my overwhelming charisma."

Guin snorted. "Yeah, right." She laughed. "You're so full of bull, I'm going to have to become a cowgirl to handle it all. Head 'em up, move 'em out, partner."

"Don't forget yeehaw," Connor teased.

"Oh yeah. Yeehaw!" Guin hugged him. "It's good to see you smile, sweetheart."