The poems in this section are the sole property of the author and may not be reproduced without permission.

The sun had been up for an hour already on this Saturday morning, but its wan light through the clouds made everything as grey as in the pre-dawn hour. Connor yawned, still tired from visiting Brenda's grave after settling the fight with Guin the night before. He wearily watched the rented pick-up truck chortle to a halt in front of Beaton's Antiques as he unlocked the front door. "So how was our glorious Glenfinnan?" he asked as Duncan stepped from the truck.

 "Glenfinnan's just fine. This truck is horrible."

 "I told you, you should have borrowed the Range Rover." Connor rattled the keys, trying to get the lock to turn. Damned thing's stuck again, he frowned to himself.

 "I wanted my own transportation. There's nothing wrong with me doing things for myself. I can afford it, Connor."

 "Glenfinnan isn't far enough away to bother with a rental, you probably drove farther just to get the damned thing." Connor finally opened the door and gestured for Duncan to enter. As they walked in, Connor's gaze darted around the store. Nothing seemed obviously out of place, but something didn't seem quite right, either. He reached for Duncan's arm, halting him. The two men exchanged looks, then Connor proceeded forward, one hand inside his trenchcoat. He didn't sense another Immortal besides Duncan, but he felt the need for a weapon of some sort, just in case. Quietly he unlocked his office door and opened it slowly. Flipping on the lights, Connor frowned sternly at the mess inside. Duncan peered in over his shoulder. File cabinets were open, desk drawers were pulled out, and a few files were scattered over the floor.

 "Should we call the police?" Duncan asked as the pair walked into the office.

 Connor shuffled through the papers. "No...I don't think anything's missing. It almost looks like it was done for effect." He glanced around. "The computer's still here, all the expensive art in the salesroom, my private things in here..." Connor sat against the edge of his desk, surveying the room. His gaze turned steely as he eyed the top of the desk itself. "What the hell?..."

 "What's wrong, Connor?" Duncan asked, turning from the files he was attempting to straighten out.

 "My pictures of Guin and John are missing." Connor shook his head. "I don't like the look of this." Following his instinct, Connor walked over to the answering machine. There was only one message. He punched the play button.

 "Ah, I'm sure you've seen my handiwork in your office by now, MacLeod. Have you figured out who I am?"

 "Yes, Fenster, I have," Connor responded quietly to the machine.

 "I hope so. I hope you remember what you did to me." The voice paused. "By the way, nice family you have there. I look forward to making their acquaintance... especially that lovely woman of yours. I'll be sure to have of her what you had of mine...you can even watch. Before I make you watch them die, slowly. And then I'll take your head." Fenster gave a sinister laugh. "I'll get you, my little pretty, and your little dog Toto too." The voice laughed again before the click and dial tone.

 "Only pirates have such a twisted sense of humor," Connor said bitterly.

 "Who's Fenster?" Duncan asked, looking over at Connor with dark curiosity.

 Connor shook his head. "Someone I met in Liverpool, about a year before The Rosemary burned." He closed his eyes. "Someone I didn't really want to run into again."

 "Sounds like he's out for vengeance."

 Connor nodded, eyes still closed. "And he's putting Guin and John right in the middle. Dammit! I knew something like this was bound to happen."

 The pair heard the bell on the front door of the shop tinkle, and Connor walked out into the showroom cautiously to see who was antique shopping so early. He smiled congenially at the man who had entered: tall, probably mid-40's, greying hair and a cane. "Is there something in particular you're looking for?" Connor asked politely.

 "Yes," the man answered in an American accent, smiling back. "But I'm looking for someone, rather than something. His name is..."

 "Joe?" Duncan interrupted, his face frozen in astonishment as he walked out of the office.

 "Well, whaddya know, there he is." Joe smiled broadly. "How's it going, Mac?"

 Connor looked between the two men suspiciously. He knew Joe was a friend of Duncan's, but he also knew that Joe was in an organization called the Watchers, and that they kept track of Immortals and their activities. Connor was not too fond of the idea of being watched by a bunch of nosy mortals. Bad enough when other Immortals were tracking him.

 "What are you doing here, Joe?" Duncan asked. "Nothing bad, I hope."

 "Well, it's not good, to be honest with you. And it has to do with the both of you, actually. Is there some place we can talk?"

 Connor eyed the man warily, but motioned toward his office. The three men entered, and Connor closed the door behind them. "So, what is this about?" he asked, taking his seat behind the desk.

 Joe and Duncan settled into the chairs across from Connor. "Well, as you may know," Joe began, "two weeks ago there was a headless body found along the road about ten miles from here."

 Connor nodded. "I heard about that. But there's been a lot of Immortal activity around here lately too. You ought to know that," he said brusquely. Duncan shot Connor a warning glance, but Joe simply continued.

"Thing is, it wasn't an Immortal. It was a Watcher. In fact, it was your Watcher, Connor. And unfortunately, he had a lot of his notes on him -- who you've been, who you are, where you live, everything."

 "So you think an Immortal killed him for the information," Duncan stated flatly.

 "Exactly." Joe leaned back. "I just thought I'd warn you."

 Connor looked at him stonily. "I didn't think that's what Watchers did."

 Joe shrugged. "When our interference hurts a situation, we do our best to clean up our own messes." He smiled. "Besides, some of us really like the good guys, and we don't mind helping out now and then. Even if it is bending the rules."

 Connor looked down at his hands folded in his lap. "I guess this explains why he asked for Russell Nash when he called last week."

 Duncan looked up sharply. "He's been calling you? More than just this morning?"

 "He's called a couple of times," Connor answered quietly. "But it was a standard threat, the 'I'm coming to get you' thing. Until this morning."

 "Who's this you're talking about?" Joe asked. "And what did he say this morning?"

 "Simon Fenster," Connor replied as he stood up and walked over to the answering machine, replaying the message.

 "Damn," Joe said when the message stopped. "Wasn't he a pirate of some sort in the 1800's?"

 Connor nodded. "At the same time I was gun-running."

 "And just what did you do to him?" Duncan asked.

 "Do you really want to know?" Connor looked over at his kinsman and the Watcher, who were waiting expectantly. "Well, then, I'll tell you..."
 

Liverpool, England -- 1852

 Connor MacLeod sniffed the briny air and walked down the gangplank of his ship, The Rosemary. This night he had overseen the unloading of some rather precious -- and highly illegal -- cargo: black market rifles and gunpowder-based bombs, heading for God-knew-where. Connor didn't particularly care; he was being paid handsomely for his troubles acquiring the weapons, and his sense of loyalty to any one government or group had long since faded away. Even in saying "I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he was only pledging to the honor of his clan's ancestors, nothing more.

 And now that they were at port, tonight he had drunk himself near to oblivion, and he was determined to sleep in a warm, dry bed that didn't rock with every wave. As much as he loved The Rosemary and the escape it provided -- not only from the harsh world, but from other Immortals -- Connor savored his occasional jaunts on dry land. Particularly when it meant that he could also gain the favor of a woman, after months at sea with only other men.

 Connor weaved through the darkened streets, still inebriated, hoping there was a room available at the inn and a lady free to wait upon him. He felt a twinge of disappointment as he glanced up at the darkened windows of one particularly familiar house along the way, nearly running headlong into the figure that stepped into his path. He stopped short, then grinned broadly as he recognized the feminine shadow. "Molly, what say you? Is your husband not at home again?" he asked with a laugh.

 "Nae, is he ever home, Mr. MacLeod? I say not. Rarely, anyway. Too busy with his sailing." Molly's husband, Simon Fenster, was more than just a sailor. Connor had heard from the first time he set foot in Liverpool the stories of how Fenster was more pirate than gun-runner, and raped and pillaged along his routes as well. And having met Molly, Connor knew that she was well aware of her husband's practices. Which was more than he could say Fenster knew about Molly's.

 "'Tis a shame he doesn't think more of you, Molly." Connor looked her up and down appreciatively.

 "What say you, Mr. MacLeod, would you like to come in and warm up a bit? 'Tis a cold night. I'll put some tea on."

 "What a splendid idea. I'd be delighted." Connor nearly stumbled after Molly into the house, closing and securing the door behind him. She led him into the kitchen, dimly lit by a single lamp hanging over the table. Molly turned to face him. "Are you hungry?" she asked him, taking a step closer.

 "I wouldn't have accepted your invitation if I wasn't." Connor closed the distance between them and kissed her, pressing her body into his. Soon he was working at the laces of her dress, his fingers fumbling. "Anxious, are we?" she teased. He just smiled at her, finally succeeding in removing the layers of dress down to her skin. Molly tugged off his boots and trousers and tossed them aside, pushing him back into a chair and sliding onto his lap. Molly was different from the prostitutes down the way, and not only in that she was very selective in her clientele and that her husband was completely unaware of her activities. She had a fiery passion, an overwhelming eagerness that stemmed from her own loneliness. Her kisses were always deep and hungry, her body warm, seductive and inviting. Connor could well identify with her need for the simple touch of another human being. Love was something beyond their reach, but this...this could be accomplished and appreciated, and it was so much easier than the mental anguish of loving. She had been of service to him the last couple of times he'd been in Liverpool, and he'd been thankful for her generosity.

 Connor ran his hands over the curves of Molly's body, and she arched her neck and tightened her hips. He could feel her gentle, intense movement in every corner of his body, and he gritted his teeth as his breathing grew harder, his hands on her waist until he finished. Connor leaned his head back, taking deep breaths, their bodies still connected.

 "Good enough for ye?" she asked.

 "Always, Molly, always." Connor took her face in his hands and kissed her. "But you'll have to give me my trousers back if you want me to pay you."

 "Do ye have any left, or is it all invested in that whisky on your breath?" Molly inquired as she stood up, cocking an eyebrow at him.

 "I have enough." He motioned to her, and she handed over his pants. As he was taking the money out for her, the sensation of another Immortal trickled down Connor's spine. "Are you expecting anyone?" he asked Molly, suddenly more sober.

 "No. Why do ye ask?"

 Connor quickly slid into his trousers and boots and shoved the money into her hand. "Stay here," he said firmly, heading for the door.

 As he walked outside, a greasy figure in ill-fitting tight clothing stepped in his path. The stranger ran a hand through his tangled dark hair and brandished a sword in Connor's face, while two of his henchmen grabbed Connor by the arms. "What are ye doing in my house?" the man said threateningly.

 Mother of God, Connor thought. Not only is Fenster a ruthless pirate, he's an Immortal. "Simon Fenster, I presume," he said congenially, attempting to shrug off the grip of his captors. Fenster's cronies removed the saber from Connor's side and tossed it on the ground, out of reach. "I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, and your wife was just helping me..."

 "I'm sure she was," Fenster responded with a sneer, pressing the point of his sword toward Connor's neck. Connor pulled away as far as he could.

 "There's no need for violence, my good sir, she was only showing me directions, and offering me a spot of tea." He's going to behead me right here, even in front of his men, Connor realized, the beginnings of panic threading through his nerves. Ruthless men make ruthless Immortals.

 "I'll decide whether ye'll keep your life or not," Fenster returned, pressing ever closer to his victim. Connor could see the powerlust swelling in the man's dark eyes. Suddenly a crash emanated from behind Fenster. As he turned and his men loosened their grip, Connor took advantage of the commotion and spun to take a swing at one of his captors. Even as his fist connected squarely with the man's jaw, Connor could feel his own head continue to whirl even after his body stopped. I had to pick tonight to drink myself stupid, he chided himself. Even if I could get to my sword, I'd never win. As painful as the decision was, Connor abandoned the fight, running a half dozen yards and ducking into a shadowy alleyway. Fenster and his henchmen began to pursue, but there were too many open doorways and narrow walkways where his prey could have hidden himself away. Instead, Fenster called off his cronies and turned to walk back to his house. Connor peered around the corner, then silently propelled himself away from the scene. Suddenly a woman's scream pierced the night, echoing down the street from the direction of Fenster's home. But Connor did as he knew he must and simply kept running -- running for his life.
 

The present

 "I didn't find out until later that he had, indeed, killed Molly. Fenster blamed me for her downfall, and for her death, even though he was the one who killed her." Connor looked down. "I don't normally run from fights," he explained solemnly, "but I knew I was in no shape to fight him that night. And that cost Molly her life."

 Duncan nodded. "You know you have to tell Guin."

 Connor laughed darkly. "I'll tell her nothing! Tell me, Duncan, what would I say? 'Yes, sweetheart, I slept with his wife, so now he's after me. And by the way, he killed her because I was too drunk off my ass to stop him.' She'd be hoping he'd take my head if I told her that! If she didn't pick up a sword and take it herself, that is!"

 "Not if she knew the whole truth, Connor. And not if she knew she was the 'prize' in this fight."

 "I'm not telling her anything...and neither will you. She has enough on her mind as it is, without worrying about me."

 "Shouldn't she be allowed to worry about herself?" Duncan countered. "Connor, one of us has to..."

 "Not a word. I mean it." Connor glared at his kinsman. Duncan shrugged.

 "Fine. Whatever you say. Just make sure you get this Fenster before he gets her, all right?"

 Connor nodded. "I intend to. I fully intend to."
 

"Guin! So glad you could come in today." Rebecca MacInnes strode across the lobby of the women's shelter to greet her favorite volunteer.

 "For once, I've got a Saturday off. I haven't been spending enough time here, I feel guilty."

 "Well, I've got a special case for you then that will make up for that guilty feeling."

 Guin looked at her suspiciously. "And just what might that be?"

"A woman came in a couple of days ago...she was so upset, we've had her on sedatives. We think she might be...well, you know..." Rebecca circled her finger at her temple. "The psychologists think she suffered some really hefty physical and mental abuse, and it sent her into deep fantasizing. But she's harmless, and I think she could use a good sympathetic ear. I think you'd be just the person she could trust. It'll be a couple of days before you could speak to her, though. Do you think you can handle it?"

 Guin shrugged. "I'll do my best. When do you think I can talk to her?"

 "Probably Tuesday, I'd say. If you could get out here in the evening, I think you could be a real asset in this case."

 "I think I can arrange that," Guin said with a smile. "So what are we up against today?"

 "Just a women's group trying to deal with the memories of being beaten. Do you think you have the stomach for that today?" Rebecca gave her a serious look.

 Guin nodded. "I feel like I can do anything today."

 Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Things going that well?"

 "Let's just say that things seem to be getting back to normal after a bit of tumult." She smiled. "Connor and I had a long night, but I think we worked out some of the miscommunication between us. It gave me a dose of my strength back."
 

"Connor?" Guin called as she walked into the house. "Connor, are you home?"

 Duncan ducked his head out of Connor's office. "Hi Guin." He grinned.

 "Hi! You're back. How's Glenfinnan? As pretty as the last time I saw it?"

 "Do you go there often?" Duncan asked, stepping out and leaning against the doorway.

 "No. I know that's where Connor was born, and we're only a few miles down the road, but he seems to avoid it. In fact, I haven't been there since I met Connor."

 "Ah, so you haven't really seen Glenfinnan, from our perspective. That will have to be rectified." He smiled.

"Yes, it will. So where is the old man?" she said with a laugh.

 "He'll get you for saying that, you know."

 "For saying what?" Connor asked, striding down the stairs.

 "Nothing," Guin replied with a sassy grin.

 He raised an eyebrow at her as he reached the landing. "Nothing, huh? I suppose I'll have to torture it out of you, then." Trapping her in his arms, Connor began to tickle her.

 "Ack! Stop it! All right, all right, I called you 'the old man,'" she said, trying to control her giggles.

 Connor kissed her neck. "I don't suppose I can come after you for saying something that's true." Turning her to face him, he gave her a deep kiss as Duncan averted his eyes from the pair. "I think we're making Duncan uncomfortable."

 Duncan laughed. "I think I'll live."

 "You were looking for me, love?" Connor asked Guin, looking down at her.

 "Yes, I was." She smiled at him. "You know, we haven't done anything fun in a while...I think we ought to go out tonight."

 Connor's expression went dark. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

 "Why not?" Guin asked, furrowing her brow. She looked between the two men as Connor and Duncan held a wordless conversation. Guin opened her mouth to speak, but Duncan interrupted her.

 "I think it's a great idea. Why don't we all go down to the Soaring Eagle tonight? I hear there's a good band playing."

 Connor eyed his kinsman suspiciously. "And just how do you know that?"

 A fleeting look of guilt crossed Duncan's face. "Joe's sitting in with them. C'mon, Connor, you can't say no. You both could stand to get out for a while...John too."

 "Mmmm..." Connor intoned with an unenthusiastic frown.

 "Connor," Duncan said temptingly, "It's swing music."

 Connor hiked an eyebrow. "Really?"

 "And they've got a dance floor," Duncan added with a grin. "I can call Ceirdwyn, we'll make it a party."

 Connor looked down at Guin and smoothed back her hair. "What do you think?"

 Guin smiled broadly. "With that twinkle in your eye, I take it you'd like to go. So would I, for that matter."

 "We'll get ready, you call Ceirdwyn," Connor instructed Duncan, taking Guin's hand and leading her up the stairs to their room. Connor headed straight for the closet, leaving Guin to stare after him, baffled. He pulled out a forest green corduroy dress and held it out for her to see. "This one?"

 Guin shrugged. "Looks good to me." Taking it from him with a puzzled and concerned expression, she added, "Connor, what are you doing?"

 "You'll see." She could hear him rummaging around in the back of the closet. Minutes later he reappeared, looking as if he'd just stepped through a time-warp from the 40's, from his shoes to his dress shirt and suspenders to his matching jacket and pants. Guin shook her head and laughed as he walked out, brushing the dust from a brown fedora.

 "You're not actually going to wear that, are you?" Duncan asked, giving Connor an odd look from the doorway.

 "Why not?" Connor asked, feigning innocence.

 "Just how long have you had that hat?" A grin came over Duncan's face.

 "A long time. Waiting for a time like this to give it a second life." Duncan rolled his eyes, and Connor gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Hey, if I'm going to go out to have fun, I'm going to have fun, all right?"

 "Whatever you say, Connor," Duncan said with a laugh, turning to go back downstairs. "But if anybody asks, I don't know you."

 Connor sneered at Duncan's turned back. Guin shut the door and started getting dressed. "You don't mind, do you sweetheart?" he asked her, looking slightly worried.

 Guin shook her head. "No, it's adorable." Turning to him, she undid his narrow tie and retied it properly. "So you look a bit like a gangster. I can live with that." She grinned. Connor made a face at her. "Really, it's fine. But you need to slick your hair back if you want to finish the look." Connor went into the bathroom to follow her advice as she finished getting dressed. When he returned, fedora in place, she smiled. "Duncan may not claim you, but I will." Guin put her arms around him and gave him a lingering kiss.

 "Maybe we should just stay home," Connor said with a devilish grin, pulling her closer.

 "I think we're committed to going. But we can finish this up later." Guin gave him another peck before letting go. Taking his arm, they walked down the stairs together. Duncan shook his head at them.

 "John's waiting outside, and Ceirdwyn will meet us there." Duncan eyed Connor again. "And you told me I live in the past," he said with a broad grin.

 "I don't live there...I just visit once in a while." Connor shrugged nonchalantly. "So are we ready to go or what?"

 There was almost no parking left at the Soaring Eagle when Connor and his entourage arrived, and it made him nervous. "I didn't know there were going to be so many people here," he said offhandedly to Duncan.

 "Neither did I." Duncan frowned, but added, "The more the merrier, right?"

 Connor's eyes darted around the car park as he pulled into a free slot. I wonder if Fenster still uses his mortal cohorts, he mused silently. And if he does, they could be anywhere, and I wouldn't know it. Connor scowled as he hurried around the Range Rover to open the door for Guin. He kept one arm tightly around her and one hand on John's shoulder as the group made their way toward the entrance of the tavern.

 "There you are!" Ceirdwyn called to them from just outside the doorway. Duncan kissed her cheek as she took his arm. "That getup is great," she said to Connor. "I love it!" Connor threw Duncan an "I told you so!" look, and Duncan shrugged.

 Connor removed his fedora as they entered, keeping a close eye on the son he had let go of to do so. Guin seemed content to remain in his grasp, and he was grateful. The group managed to find two smaller tables near each other, although they were on the opposite side of the establishment from the band, which was in the middle of its first set. The upbeat music set Duncan's toe to tapping, and he quickly escorted Ceirdwyn off to the dance floor.

 Guin gestured toward the dance floor. "Wanna go?" she asked Connor with a smile.

 After a searching trip around the room, Connor's eyes finally focused back on Guin, and he shook his head. "I don't want to leave John here alone."

 John was about to protest, but Guin signaled him to be quiet. She frowned at Connor, whose gaze was once again traveling the room. "Connor, is something wrong?" she asked with concern. He shook his head slightly, but the intensity of his gaze made Guin uncomfortable. She fell into an uneasy silence as the waitress came by and Connor ordered a round of drinks for the table. As Connor's distraction continued, Guin finally gave up on getting his attention and began a heated game of rock-scissors-paper with John. Better than being ignored, she thought, shooting a nasty look in Connor's direction. The waitress brought their drinks as Duncan and Ceirdwyn finally returned to the table.

 "Aren't you going to dance?" Duncan asked Connor, raising an eyebrow at his kinsman. As Connor glanced over at John, Duncan added, "John's fine in our hands. Go have some fun."

 Connor looked over at Guin, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth as his eyes finally truly focused on her. "Our turn." Connor held her tightly to his side as they made their way through the crowd to the dance floor. Guin watched Connor's face gradually light up with increasing delight as they swung through the dance moves to the upbeat tunes.

 "I knew I wouldn't regret learning how to swing dance," she said, smiling up at him as they paused between songs. The smile Connor returned to her quickly turned to a frown as a stranger approached and asked to step in. Any thought of acquiescence was chased from Guin's mind by Connor's stern look. "You're certainly moody tonight," she commented dourly.

 Connor furrowed his brow. "Am I?"

 "Oh yeah." She tugged at the end of his tie, frowning thoughtfully. "If you've changed your mind about wanting to come..."

 "Nonsense," he cut in. "I'm just distracted. I'm sorry." Connor took one of her hands and brought it to his lips. "Let's enjoy ourselves, shall we?"

 The next song was slow, giving them a chance to catch their breaths and be truly absorbed in one another. Guin enjoyed the feel of Connor holding her close, and it made up for the attention he had been slighting her earlier. At the next break between songs, the pair was approached by a handsome, greying gentleman with a cane. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked. "They're going to play another slow one, it may be the only chance I get."

 Connor gave the man a look that was indecipherable to Guin, but he stepped back to allow the man in. "Guin, this is Duncan's friend Joe. Joe, this is Guin."

 "A pleasure." Joe took her hand delicately, hooking his cane unobtrusively on his arm as he gently put one hand around her back. "I don't bite, I promise."

 Guin smiled at him. "I wouldn't think that any friend of Duncan's would." Connor had backed to the edge of the dance floor. Guin noticed that his gaze had gone dark and was passing over the room again. She shook her head. "Do you know Connor well?"

 "We just met this morning, actually," Joe replied. "Why?"

 Guin shook her head again. "He's just been moody tonight, I've been trying to figure out why, but I just can't get into his head."

 "Sometimes it's better not to try," Joe responded with a shrug.

 "I know. Especially with him. I just don't like not having answers." She sighed. "You're a wonderful guitarist, by the way. I'm really enjoying the music tonight."

 "The band's terrific, I'm glad they're letting me sit in with them. I know Don -- first trumpet there. I was passing through town and decided to see if they could use my services."

 "Funny that you happened to be in town while Duncan was here."

 "We seem to be in the same place at the same time a lot. Call it fate." Joe smiled, bowing slightly to her as the music ended. "It was a pleasure meeting and dancing with you, Guin. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

 "Thank you," Guin replied. Connor approached them, taking her hand again as Joe took his leave of the pair and returned to the stage. This time, however, Connor's frown didn't fade as his eyes met hers.

 "Ready to go?"

 Guin furrowed her brow. "You mean go home?" Connor nodded. "We haven't been here that long, Connor."

 He shrugged. "I'm tired."

 "Are you feeling all right?" Guin almost reached for his forehead, then gave a snort of laughter as she realized the idiocy of her question and action. "What's bothering you?" she asked seriously. Connor simply shook his head. Guin shrugged, a bit frustrated. "All right, let's go. But I'm not going to stop asking until I get a straight answer." Guin circled her arm through his and they made their way back to the tables.

 Ceirdwyn turned her head toward them as the pair arrived. "Connor, you look absolutely claustrophobic," she said, a worried look crossing her face.

 Connor darted a glance at Duncan. "I'll be fine. But I think it's time to go."

 Duncan nodded. "It is a little busy in here."

 Shrugging, Ceirdwyn commented, "I guess the old grey mares just ain't what they used to be. Are you boys getting too old for this much fun?"

 Connor and Duncan exhanged another set of cryptic glances. "I guess we are," Connor responded, waving his son to his side. "Duncan can stay if you'll bring him home, Ceirdwyn. I don't want to keep you two from your fun." Ceirdwyn nodded in agreement, and Connor placed the fedora on his head and offered Guin his arm.

 "Connor..." Duncan began, a frown creasing his face.

 "No, really. Stay. Have fun." Connor gave a slight smile. "We'll be fine." Connor tipped his hat and guided Guin and John out to the Soaring Eagle's car park.

 The trip home was quiet, the hush of night invading the vehicle as soon as they pulled away from the Soaring Eagle. Guin stared out her window for a while, contemplating Connor's strange behavior. "Okay, I'm going to ask one more time," she said flatly. "What's wrong?"

 "Nothing." Connor stared ahead at the road.

 "It's not nothing. So what are you afraid of? Why won't you tell me?"

 "Because it's nothing you need to worry about."

 "So it's not nothing."

 "It's nothing. End of discussion." Connor cast a dark glance at her, and Guin bit back the retort that threatened to emerge.

 The silence lasted until they got home, and continued even as they prepared for sleep and settled into the bed. But once there, Connor immediately wrapped himself around her, and Guin could feel his hunger. "Hmm," she said with a smile. "Not so tired, are you?"
 

The diffused sunlight shone through the curtains, casting a hazy glow over the two forms curled together on the bed. Guin yawned, stretched and opened her eyes. While Connor's hold was not as tight as it used to be, it was still as difficult to get out of as a vise. Guin had just begun to really believe he'd stopped dreaming about Brenda, but the past few nights he'd once again been keeping an uncommonly tight hold around her. He seems to be getting more aggressive in a lot of ways these days, she mused to herself. Guin pulled at the hand around her waist, hoping to pry it away without waking him. "Just where do you think you're going?" a voice, distinctly awake, said in her ear. Guin laughed.

 "I was hoping I was getting out of bed."

 "No." Connor laughed his staccato laugh and wrapped both arms around Guin's waist. "You're staying right here." Connor put his chin over her shoulder. "You have no choice."

 "Oh I don't, do I?" Reaching behind her, Guin tickled him.

 "Hey, not fair!" Connor said, laughing harder as he wrestled her hands around in front of her. "None of that." He kissed her shoulder, then her neck.

 "Mmmm...not now, sweetie." Guin breathed out a sigh. "It's late already. There are things I need to do."

 "Like what?"

 "Going shopping for food might be a good idea, considering what little we've got left. There are some other items I need. It's no big deal, I just need to go do it."

"I'll go with you." Connor sat up and reached for his sweatpants.

 "Why on earth would you want to do that?" Guin raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief, sitting up as well.

 "Because...you might need help carrying things."

 "Why are you suddenly feeling so very helpful?" Guin shrugged into a t-shirt and shorts. I'll take my shower after breakfast, she told herself.

 Connor looked over at her. "What, I'm not allowed to be?"

 "It's just...very unusual." Guin shrugged as she pulled her hair back into a pony tail. "Besides, I was hoping to go alone. Doing little mundane things like this clears my head. You'd be a distraction."

 "You're not going alone."

 Guin stared at him, both brows raised now. "I'm not," she repeated, her tone incredulous.

 "No."

 "What, am I a prisoner of your little whims now?" Guin's nostrils flared.

 "You're not a prisoner..."

 Guin's tone raised with her temper. "Well, that's what it feels like. You wrap your arms tightly around me in my sleep, you all but ignore me last night but won't let me out of your sight, you hardly talk to me, now you won't let me go shopping by myself...and all this after you explained the whole thing about Heather and Brenda...what in the hell is wrong with you, Connor? What has gotten into you now?"

 "Nothing..."

 "Don't give me that bullshit. I won't stand for it. If you decide you want to talk, I'll be in my tower cell down the hall." Guin stormed out of the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

 "Damn, MacLeod," Connor muttered to himself. "How many ways can you piss that woman off?" Shaking his head, Connor headed for the shower.

 A few hours later, Connor peered around Guin's open door, hoping to find her in her room. Although she had holed herself up in there for what had been left of the morning, as well as a good part of the afternoon, he had no such luck presently. Connor had passed her closed door several times, not daring to knock and incur the wrath he assumed would be directed at him. Hoping to earn her good graces back, he had done the grocery shopping and picked up some flowers, which were waiting for her on the dining room table. Connor entered the empty room anyway, curious as to what she had been occupying herself with all that time. Probably the computer, or the internet, he thought, circling around her desk. The computer was off, but still radiating warmth from use. What caught Connor's eye, however, was the thick black three-ring binder that lay open on top of the desk. He leaned over to take a closer look. The page it was open to contained a poem. He rifled through the rest of the sheets, which also appeared to hold poetry. Turning back to the page the binder had been left open to, Connor silently began to read its contents:
 
 

          Out of Fear

This silence frightens me.
Your eyes focus on nothingness,
you are hidden so far away
inside yourself.
I am afraid to touch you,
not afraid of the response
but afraid of no response.
You are in a place I cannot reach,
in that small room inside your heart
that does not permit others in;
your soul is harbored away,
I cannot touch it....

 "I wasn't prying. It was open." Connor gestured to the book as he straightened up. "I didn't know you wrote poetry."

 "I wrote those a long time ago, for someone else, under other circumstances," she said passively.

 "But they still mean something now...I mean, that is what makes poetry universal." Connor took a deep breath to straighten out his head. "What I'm trying to say is...you took this out for a reason, didn't you?" He walked over to her, reaching out to put his hands on her shoulders.

 "Don't touch me. Just leave me -- and my poetry -- alone!" Guin said venemously, shoving past Connor. She strode to the desk and slammed the binder shut, blinking away tears as she tried to slow her angry breathing.

 "Guin," he said gently, "don't be mad at me."

 "These are very private for me. There's a lot in here no one but me should see. Just because it was open doesn't mean you have the right to read it."

 "I'm sorry..."

 "Sorry doesn't cut it. No one invited you in here, no one invited you to read these. I guess having my own room really doesn't mean much, does it?"

 "Guin..."

 "Go away. I want to be alone." Although her breathing was slowing, Connor knew her temper was still warm enough. She looked up at him with a gaze that could pierce lead. Connor frowned.

 "If you don't want intruders, don't invite them in," he said sarcastically. "There's a lock on the door. Or at least learn to closed the sacred notebook, then, for God's sake." Connor turned on his heel and exited the room.

 "Bastard," she whispered under her breath after he'd left. "Bad enough I wrote this garbage. And bad enough I'm reading through it again. He doesn't need to be reading it."

 Connor sat for several hours in his office, ears alert for any unusual noises. With Guin and John ensconced upstairs, he at least knew there was only one way to get to them -- up the staircase. The roof and upper windows were just too difficult to access. Connor stared for a long time at the opposite wall, his mind wandering between Fenster's potential attacks and Guin's mood. I really pissed her off this time, he thought with a frown. And I don't think I can reverse it now. Listening intently, Connor heard one door open upstairs, then another one squeak half-closed a few minutes later. Trained to the noises of his home, he concluded that Guin had left her room and moved to their bedroom. Do I even dare try? he mused. Dammit, I suppose I owe her that much. Pushing himself up from the chair, Connor gave the locks on the front and back doors another check. He plucked a red carnation from the bouquet on the table and headed upstairs.

 Guin was sitting on the bed, her forehead resting against her bent knees. Even though it was his room too, and the door was open, Connor wasn't sure whether to knock before he entered. Finally he rapped his knuckles on the door. Guin barely raised her head enough to see who it was, then put it back against her knees. "Can I come in?" he asked cautiously.

 "Whatever you want," came the muffled reply. Connor walked over to the bed and sat down next to Guin, putting his arm around her shoulders. She shrugged it off, and he moved his arm behind her, sliding next to her and offering her the flower. Guin scooted over, leaving several inches of space between them.

 "Guin, I know I was rough with you earlier." Connor ran his fingers through her hair. "That doesn't mean I don't love you."

 "I know," she replied with a heavy sigh, lifting her face to his. "But sometimes you really piss me off."

 "I'm sorry." Suddenly Connor laughed. "I feel like I've said that a million times the past few days."

 Guin laughed back. "I think you have."

 "And I owe you every one. And then some." Connor pulled the stem from the carnation and tucked the flower behind her ear. "You're beautiful." He smiled at her, then frowned. "There is an explanation for all this. But it's not easy for me to talk about, and I don't think it's going to be something you want to hear."

 Looking at him quizzically, Guin replied, "Now you've really got my curiosity piqued."

 Connor shook his head sadly. "It's not anything I really think you need to worry about, and not something I want to talk about now. But I will if you want me to."

 Guin pursed her lips. "You know you shouldn't leave these things up to me, Connor. As much as I'd like to know, I feel guilty pushing you. But you're making me nuts. If this goes on much longer, I might just beat it out of you!"

 "Connor," Duncan said as he appeared at the door, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

 Guin frowned at him. "Is it that urgent?"

 Duncan nodded. "Yes. It is."

 Startled by Duncan's bluntness, Guin waved Connor off. "Go then. We'll talk about this later," she added, giving him a stern look.

 Connor stood up and followed his kinsman into the hall. "What's the matter?" he asked in a low voice as they descended the stairs.

 "There's something you need to see," Duncan answered matter-of-factly. He turned toward the front entrance and opened the door. "Over there." Duncan motioned toward a shadow on the lawn. Connor walked over cautiously to take a closer look. Impaled by an all-too-familiar saber was a scarecrow -- minus its head. The air around reeked of burnt straw, and Connor could see that the body was blackened. "I took the liberty of putting out the fire," Duncan said quietly as he caught up to Connor.

 "Damn," Connor muttered under his breath. "At least our bedroom window faces away from here. Help me get rid of this, would you?" Duncan and Connor dumped the scarecrow remains in the stand of trees to the west of the house. Connor took the saber into his office and locked it in the cabinet that held his sword collection. Suddenly the phone rang.

 Connor picked up the receiver. "Beaton residence."

 "Did you find your sword, MacLeod?" Fenster responded.

 "Yes, thank you for returning it. Took you long enough."

 "The scarecrow didn't have a brain...now he doesn't have a head."

 Connor closed his eyes, tamping down the anger building in him. "And to think it was the cowardly lion that took it. Or are you the tin man -- no heart?"

 "Doesn't really matter, does it, Dorothy? You still don't have the power to defeat me."

 "We'll see about that."

 "Oh yes, we'll see, all right." The phone clicked, and Connor set down the receiver.

 "Connor..." Duncan began.

 "Don't say it." He looked into Duncan's eyes, his soul afire. "He's mine. He's all mine."
 

     In a flash of light, you've won, and I've almost lost.
     Your fear betrays our love with its imaginings. 
     You perceive that this gift you've been given by God damns you
     to a life of grief and solitude, 
     blind to the very human trait of solicitude
     that beams a light of saving grace upon your soul. 
     The past is lost, the future hidden in deep shadow, 
     fate stacks and restacks the cards
     with every moment of free will we exercise. 
     In this moment, you have a choice: 
     choose to live, to love, to open yourself
     to the joy and sorrow that the moment contains; 
     or choose not to live, but sink into the depths
     of melancholy and despair that fear leads you to the brink of. 
     Choose this grace of God and choose this moment, 
     for in the end, these memories will be all that are left of us.

Connor gripped the paper and carried it with him out of the room, even more determined to find Guin. He checked her room, but the door was open and the lights off. Growing more disconcerted, he checked the kitchen, the den and the living room. There was no sign of her. Connor breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her coat still hanging from the coat rack. He noted that Duncan had locked down the rolling shutters that covered the now-obliterated picture window, and he assumed Duncan had taken care of the body outside as well. But where was Guin? Finally he saw the faint glow of the porchlight from behind the curtains hanging over the window next to the door. Connor smiled briefly; the stocky little lead-glass window had somehow survived the Quickening. He opened the door cautiously. Guin was sitting on the top step with her back mostly to him, chin resting on her folded hands. Connor quietly sat down near her, gesturing with the paper in his hand, unsure of what to say. "This is nice," he said finally.

"Nice?" she asked incredulously, sarcasm edging her voice. "Nice? Is that all?"

"No," he said quickly, sliding over to her and putting his arm around her. "No, it's not all, but it's a start."

Guin put her head on his shoulder and wrapped one arm around his waist. "Connor, I'm sorry."

"Nothing for you to be sorry for," he breathed softly against her forehead.

"You know, when my father passed away, I never got the chance to tell him all the things I should have told him, not even that I loved him." Guin wiped tears from her eyes. "I almost let that happen with you. I almost let you slip away from me without expressing just how much I love you. And now that I know I haven't lost you, you better believe I'm not going to leave, Connor. You can't make me." Guin tightened her grip around him.

Connor shook his head. "I just don't want this to happen again. I don't want anyone to use you -- or John -- to get to me."

"John has done just fine so far. And I can take care of myself," she said adamantly.

"I know you can," he said, pulling away so he could confront her face-to-face, "under normal circumstances. These are not normal circumstances. Some of these Immortals who may be coming after me are ruthless, they will stop at nothing to get what they want."

"So what makes them different from some mortals, in that regard? Lots of people do insane things, for no real reason. Murder, rape, kidnappings...they happen all the time. Often for some kind of revenge against somebody else, but sometimes for no reason at all. What makes this any different?"

Connor sighed heavily. "Because it has the potential for happening more frequently in my life than in the average mortal's."

Guin frowned at him. "And, potentially, I could die tomorrow crossing the street, or from a stray bullet somewhere, or somebody could rob me and kill me..." Guin broke off as she remembered how Tessa had died. "There are no guarantees. That I've learned once again tonight. Especially no guarantee which one of us will outlive the other." She gently ran her fingers through his hair.

"But there are ways for you to keep yourself safer, Guin. I have to play The Game. I have no choice. It's part of me. It's my destiny."

Guin shrugged. "I know you have to. That's not my point."

Connor shook his head. "You're not listening to me..."

"And you're not listening to me! Can't you hear what I'm saying, Connor? I well understand that there's this thing out there you call 'The Game,' that all Immortals 'play' until there's only one left. And what I'm saying is, number one, you're not going to scare me off with it. Number two, if you become that last one, and you've spent your past however-many centuries not really living, what good is 'The Prize' to you? And what good will you be to the world? When that time comes, you'll be wasting precious time learning what it is to be human, when you could be learning now. Don't give up this moment, Connor. And don't give up on us either."

"Do you really want to stay?" he asked warily, looking into her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Dammit, Connor, I wouldn't be arguing with you about staying if I wasn't sure. You know I don't particularly enjoy confrontation. And I wouldn't have written that," she said, pointing to the paper in his hand, "if I wasn't absolutely sure all the way down into my soul. Got it, bucko?" She grinned at him.

Connor smiled back. "Got it." He folded the paper neatly and slid it into his back pocket.

Rain began to come down, first a few tiny drops, then spatters of them. Neither Guin nor Connor made an attempt to move from the steps. Guin raised her face to the sky, letting the increasing rainfall wash over her. Her quiet voice drifted over to Connor. "'Dance like nobody's watching, love like you've never been hurt.'"

"If only I could take that advice," he said with a shake of his head.

Guin looked at him thoughtfully. "You weren't kidding when you said you didn't cry at movies. You push everything so far down that you don't let yourself feel very much at all."

Connor nodded. "Sometimes it's the only way to deal with The Game."

"I know you take The Game seriously, Connor, but for goodness sake, think about what I said a few minutes ago. The Prize will be worth nothing if you're not human too." Guin looked at him thoughtfully before continuing.

"You know, it is the hardest thing for me to sit here and talk to you right now. Hard to keep from just running away, finding somewhere to hide and scream and cry." She smiled. "The poetry helps keep me from running sometimes, but not always. But right now I am completely terrified of you." Connor looked over at her, frowning. "No, no, no, it's not what you think," she said, throwing him a disapproving glance. "I am so damned terrified of the thought of losing you, whether by us fighting or your own selfish reluctance to feel." She shook her head as he cast his eyes down and away. Taking a deep breath, she began, "Let me tell you a story that maybe you can relate to...

"When I was twelve, my father passed away from a heart attack. I never cried much over it, nobody knew why, not even me at the time. I could talk about him without my voice breaking, without a tear. And this went on for years. People thought I was so strong, because I didn't let it get to me. Then as I entered college, I had several events hit me at once: meeting a girl whose father had died the same way; having to write the story of my father's death in several forms, including poetry and myth, for an English class; realizing that my original chosen major in college was one I chose only because of my father's dreams, and not because of my own. And you know what happened?" Connor shook his head. "I just about had a nervous breakdown. All those emotions that I hadn't dealt with, that I had tamped down and covered up and locked away, came bursting forth like a tidal wave, and it almost drowned me. I burst. And somehow by the grace of God I came away healthy without therapy." She laughed. "But that's why I find it necessary to cry once in a while. Everything that's pent up, I gotta let go of. And sometimes it's not a cry, sometimes it's just doing something crazy, but knowing I need to let it all out is something I've learned to do the hard way." Guin reached for Connor's hand as she looked up into the cloudy night sky and sighed. "You may be half a millennium old, Connor, but you still have some lessons to learn."

Connor gently turned her face back toward his, pressing his gaze into hers. The opening of his soul to her was almost too much to bear: she could see all five centuries of joy and pain, hope and despair. Five hundred years of love and loss. And here he was yet, risking everything once again...for her. You are so beautiful, she thought, unable to find her voice as she touched his cheek. Finally she could stand the emotional overload no longer. Jumping from her seat, she ran out into the rain, spinning in a circle on the paved drive. "Woo-hoo!" she whooped, opening her arms to the sky as she continued spinning. Connor laughed at her. "I haven't done this in soooo long!" she yelled over to him. "Come on!" She waved him on. He shook his head. "Come on! You're already wet! What are you afraid of? There's no one here to see. Would it matter if there were? Dance like no one's watching!" she cajoled him.

After a long moment of silent contemplation, Connor finally leapt to his feet and ran over to her, sweeping Guin into his sopping embrace. "Dance?" he asked with a grin, picking up her hand and twirling her around. Guin laughed breathlessly, and Connor hugged her to him.

"Don't let me go," she whispered to him. "Not ever."

"I won't," he whispered back.

"What in the hell are you doing out there?" Duncan's voice floated to them from the porch. The pair looked over to find Duncan and John watching them, puzzled expressions on each face.

"We're living!" Connor yelled back with a deep staccato laugh. "Come join us!"

"Not a chance!" John yelled out. "I'm not catching a cold from doing that. You guys are nuts!"

Connor shrugged and reeled Guin around as he hummed "In the Mood." "Have it your way!" he called out to his family, then looked into Guin's face as they continued their merry dance. She smiled broadly. They both laughed and danced in circles til they couldn't any longer, then, breathless and dripping, they walked back into the house.