Another two weeks passed while Guin settled her affairs at the bed and breakfast before she moved in with Andrew. The move itself was relatively uneventful; Guin had moved to Scotland with very little in tow, and even now most of what she had brought -- favorite books, momentos, and so on -- remained in storage, as it had been for the past 7 months. No reason to get it out now, she thought, stowing the last of her things from her soon-to-be-former residence in the back of the Volvo. She gazed lovingly at Beardsley's Bed and Breakfast as she climbed into the car and started the engine. The place had been good to her, not to mention that it was only a few scant kilometers from her workplace. Andrew's house, however, had taken on a more homey feel, and she was glad to be moving to a place where she felt she might finally belong -- despite her family's stoically disapproving silence at the news of her move. They just don't know him like I do, she had reasoned to herself. Besides, I'm paying my own way. She and Andrew had made an arrangement where she would be paying him rent, with an option to buy a share of the house from him if and when she decided to permanently stay, and they had set up a joint account from which the bills would be paid. After hearing Andrew remark on how he hated dealing with household finances, Guin offered to keep track of and take care of them, fulfilling her need for control and responsibility in her new home.

One of the guest rooms had been christened hers, although if things continued as they had been Guin knew that she wouldn't be sleeping there much. Still, it gave her space to house her possessions, particularly her computer. Several phone lines ran into the house, one of them into this room, which was part of the reason it had been offered to her; she would be free to squander her time and money on the Internet here. Guin glanced about the room, adjusting a few of the decorations she had put up, including her own dreamcatcher, the first she had ever made. "Home sweet home," she said with a smile, smoothing the feathers set on the leather-covered hoop.

A knock came at the door. "Need any help?" Andrew inquired.

"Nope. All I need to do is put my clothes away."

"You're not going to do that in here, are you?" he asked, a glint in his eye.

"Well where do you want me to put them?" she responded with a smile, knowing full well what he meant.

"Well..." Andrew said, then laughed, grinning ear-to-ear.

Guin picked up her garment bag and suitcase from the bed, and sighed dramatically. "Well now, I suppose I can't refuse an invitation like that." She shook her head as she followed him out the door. He took the suitcase from her as she reached his side.

"What did you pack in here? Bricks?" he teased.

"Hey now, I didn't ask you to take it from me, now did I?" she replied. "Poor little weak man can't carry a suitcase," she teased back.

Andrew made a face at her. "Now you've done it," he said, putting down her suitcase and advancing on her. Guin gave him a puzzled look that disappeared when he began tickling her.

"Eek!" she shrieked. "Andrew, stop!" she squealed between giggles, backing away from him until she ran into the wall. She had finally managed to keep his hands away from her sides when he leaned across and kissed her. "Mmm," she said, still catching her breath. "You're a dangerous man, do you know that?"

"More dangerous than you know," he replied, raising an eyebrow before kissing her again. "More than you know."

Guinevere got into her Volvo and slammed the door angrily. "Damn that man," she muttered under her breath as she turned the ignition, flipping on the wipers to clear away the early September rain dripping on the windshield. She should have known that joint account had been a bad idea, even if it was just for paying bills. She should have known he'd forget to put his share of the money in there, again, and she should have put enough of her own in to cover the difference this time. It wasn't as if he didn't have the money to pay her back, it was just that in both of the billing cycles since she had moved in, he had forgotten to make the deposit, making their bills late and tacking on all sorts of charges to the account.

Guin tried to be careful as she made her way through the rain-slicked streets, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Andrew. Sometimes she really wondered at his sense of time. In business, he kept to his schedule, shipped on time and returned his calls and e-mail in due course. Then again, he has sales assistants to help keep him in line, she reminded herself. At home, though, he was often in a different world -- with its own "Alice in Wonderland" sense of time. Days sometimes careened by, while others ran in a slow-motion haze. And it was so easy to get caught up in his world, too, not caring what day it was...until the bills were due. Then his timeline became a definite hazard.

On top of his memory lapses in regard to the bills, he had started to get paranoid lately. Noises made him jump, and she often caught him looking around as if he were waiting for someone to attack him. Every time she asked him about it, however, he simply said it was "nothing." Whatever it is, it's certainly something he doesn't want to share, she mused. I wonder what kind of trouble he's in? Must be bad, if he doesn't want to tell me. She shook her head. Regardless, I've got to be patient and let him tell me in his own time. This damned trust issue is getting in the way again.

Guin pulled into the drive and ran from her car to the house, closing the wooden door behind her as she shrugged out of her rain slick. She sighed and kicked off her shoes underneath the coat rack, picking up a towel to dry off her damp stockings. His cars are in the drive, he's got to be around here somewhere. "Andrew? Are you home? Where are you?"

"Coming, sweetheart." Andrew's piercing blue eyes appeared from around the corner. "I'm finishing up making my famous haggis. It's time for a celebration," he informed her, his head once again disappearing around the corner.

Guin wrinkled her nose. "Andrew, we have to talk." Wearily she followed him into the kitchen.

"Yes, we do. I finally found a good Scottish buyer for that Culloden-era shield, it just went for a nice sum of money." His staccato laugh filled the room as he set the haggis to simmer on the stove. "Time to celebrate! Too bad this happened during John's two weeks in Marrakesh with Jack, he's missing his favorite meal."

"Andrew, I need to talk to you about the bills," Guin said, exasperated. "I told you to put the money into the joint account for them, and you still forgot."

"Uh oh." Andrew looked down somewhat sheepishly. "I'm sorry, it'll never happen again."

"That's what you said last time."

Andrew walked over to her and kissed her forehead. "I've just been distracted. I'll take care of it first thing in the morning. And I'll be sure that there are several months' worth of bill money in there from now on. In fact, tomorrow morning I'll put in this month's and next month's and the month after that..."

"And the fees for overdrawing, and the returned check fees, and..." her voice trailed off in exhaustion.

"I'll take care of everything first thing tomorrow, Guin. I promise." He pushed her light brown hair behind her shoulder and kissed her neck.

"Not now, Andrew..."

"Why not now?" He raised an eyebrow wickedly at her.

"Because I'm tired. And I think I'm catching something. Must be all the rain -- although it seems we get more lightning than actual rainfall." She noted the clouded look that crossed his face, but didn't ask. They had been living together for a month and a half now, sharing expenses as well as a bed, but she was fully aware that there were a lot of things she didn't know about this man. And if he doesn't start opening up a little more, we won't be getting any more serious than we are, she added to herself.

Andrew lifted one of her hands to his face. "I can make you feel better," he said invitingly, enclosing the tip of her index finger in his mouth.

"Andrew, really," she protested, pulling her hand away, "I'm not in the mood. I'm sorry." Guin sighed and closed her eyes, leaning back against the dark wood paneling.

Andrew gently pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her. "No, I'm sorry. I understand. Go upstairs, and I'll bring you some hot tea..."

Guin looked up at him as he broke off, observing as well as sensing the tension in him. "Sixth sense kicking in?" she asked.

"Someone's here." He looked down at her sternly. "Stay here."

"Andrew, why..."

"Do as I say!" The harshness in his voice froze her where she stood as he walked toward the front entrance of the house, closing the sliding doors to the kitchen behind him.

Andrew fished the cane out of the umbrella rack next to the door, unscrewed the handle and removed the katana hidden within. Glancing back again to make certain Guin wasn't following, he sidled to the door and peered out the peephole. With a relieved but ponderous sigh he opened the door. "Duncan, you scared me half to death."

"Connor..." Andrew shushed the newcomer. "Oh, that's right," Duncan corrected in a low voice. "It's Andrew. Well, Andrew, if you'd have checked your messages today, you'd have known I was coming. Besides, you knew I was going to be in the area."

Andrew replaced the katana inside the cane and ushered his kinsman inside. "I've been busy. You should have tried the cell phone. Or at least tried calling again before you got here."

Duncan eyed the cane curiously. "So she doesn't know, does she?"

"No, she doesn't. And I'd like to keep it that way for a little while longer." Andrew looked Duncan straight in the eyes. "Please."

"Whatever you want, Con...um, Andrew. No wonder you're so tense."

"Well, I've also had...visitors, shall we say." Andrew glanced toward the kitchen door, half expecting Guin to appear any minute.

"Visitors. You mean as in the likes of us?" Duncan asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Any...problems, so far?"

Andrew shook his head. "No challenges, not to me, anyway. But there have been a couple of freak lightning storms. The sensation comes and goes, I know there are several nearby."

"And Jason?" Duncan inquired about Ceirdwyn's student, who was working as a sales associate at Beaton Antiques.

"He's good enough to take care of himself. Ceirdwyn's done well with him."

Duncan nodded. "So where is this woman who has stolen your heart?" Duncan changed the subject, pausing to sniff the air. "And don't tell me I smell..."

"Yes, you do."

"I thought you would have given up on that long ago." Duncan laughed. "Guess some things never change."

"It's about time I claim my Scottish heritage back. No better place to start than with haggis, don't you think?"

Andrew led the way into the kitchen. Guin was still rooted to the spot Andrew had left her in, her look of fear passing into relief as she saw his ease with the new arrival.

"Guin, this is my...cousin, Duncan. Duncan, this is Guinevere."

"A pleasure to meet you." Duncan gently took her proffered hand and shook it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Andrew doesn't talk about family much. I didn't even know he had cousins."

"Well, you know now." Duncan grinned, but gave Andrew a sly look.

"Yes...well...I really hate to be a wet blanket, but I'm not feeling very well. I was just on my way upstairs. But please, stay and catch up, don't worry about me."

"Actually, I should go into town and see if I can find a room to rent. I just wanted to make sure Con...Andrew got my message, and obviously he didn't." Andrew shot Duncan a sharp look at his slip.

"Con?" Guin asked curiously. Damn, Andrew cursed himself. She had to catch it.

"An old nickname, sweetheart. Connor. I'll tell you the story later sometime, it's long and boring." Andrew and Duncan exchanged distressed looks that did not slip by Guin's notice.

"Oh. Well, no need to go into town, he can stay here, right Andrew? We have spare rooms, and as he's your cousin and all..."

"Of course, of course. How could I object to having Duncan stay here?" Andrew's sarcasm, reflected in both his face and voice, was obvious to both of his listeners.

"Then I'm going to bed, Andrew. You get your cousin settled in, and don't forget about what you need to do tomorrow."

"I won't forget, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead lightly. "And I'll save you some haggis."

Guin wrinkled her nose. "Whatever." She turned to their guest. "Goodnight, Duncan. I apologize for being such a poor hostess, but there's no reason for me to risk passing my illness on to you both."

"Don't worry about it. Take care, and have a good night."

Guin was on her way upstairs when she realized she probably should have grabbed a glass of water before heading to bed. They're probably already working their way through a bottle of Glenmorangie, she thought with a tolerant smile. Ah, well, I was the one who wanted a Scot. The voices emanating from the kitchen stopped her before she reached the door.

"You really should tell her, Connor." The newcomer's voice was dead serious.

"It's not an easy thing to say, Duncan. And it'll put her in harm's way."

"And she's not now? C'mon, Connor, I know it's hard, but you owe it to her, if you plan on being involved with her. Especially if someone's after your head. I bet she'll take it better than you think. You have to tell her."

"I know." By the tone of Andrew's voice, Guin could almost hear him shake his head. "I've waited too long this time. But if I tell her, and she can't accept it, then..." He paused for a long moment. "Well, I can't just let her leave."

Guin backed away from the doorway, feeling guilty and more than a bit spooked. The part of her that didn't want to know what they were talking about overwhelmed the part that wanted to know, and she silently raced back up the stairs. She knew Andrew hadn't told her everything about himself, but now she also knew there was something very important that he was hiding. What is this all about? Is he involved with the mafia or something? Climbing into bed, she cradled her face in her hands. Okay, clear your mind, she thought to herself. Whatever it is, it can wait one more day. And you need the sleep. Taking a deep breath, she shut off the lamp and leaned back into the pillows, where she lay contemplating for a long while before falling into exhausted sleep.

There are few times when a consultant can legitimately call in sick, Guin thought, and not having a voice is one of them. At least there were some things she could do by e-mail and the Internet. She had spent the morning communicating by written note with Andrew, and despite her nonchalance, she was quite aware of the silent communication going on between Andrew and Duncan. Guin was not disappointed that Duncan had followed Andrew out to the antique store -- apparently antiques were something of a family business -- leaving her alone in the house.

Guin was glad to have the house to herself, particularly as it allowed her to use Andrew's office to work from, with his oversized oak desk and big comfortable leather chair. The office was decorated plainly, with no paintings and only a couple of well-selected pieces of art to adorn the room, along with her dreamcatcher displayed on the wall opposite the desk. The most prominent thing about the office, in fact, was the abundance of locked cabinetry. Andrew had informed her that they were nothing but storage space for extra antiques that were coming in and out of the store, and she had thought nothing of it -- at least, not until now. As she settled into the padded leather chair and flipped on the computer, a metallic flash caught her eye. She looked at the spot on the floor where the reflected light had appeared, only to find a small key -- the key to the cabinets. I shouldn't, she chastised herself. But if this secret is so important, then what is he hiding? I think I have a right to know. If there's nothing extraordinary in the cabinets, great. But if this blows the lid off our relationship...well, better now than later.

Just then, the phone rang. Guin lifted the receiver as she picked the key up off the floor. "Hello?" she croaked.

"Ah, Guin, is that you?"

"Hello, Rachel, it's good to hear your voice again." Guin turned the key in the light, guiltily contemplating whether to follow through on her plan to open the cabinets.

"And it's good to hear yours, what's left of it."

"I'm catching something. That's why I'm home."

"Poor girl. Sorry to hear that. Is...um...Andrew home?"

"No, he's not." Guin decided to take advantage of her unexpected audience. "Rachel, can I ask you a question?"

A pregnant pause filled the line before Rachel answered, a bit flustered. "Of course, dear."

"Is Andrew involved in the mafia or something?"

Rachel laughed, obviously relieved. "No. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno...he was just acting a little strange last night, after his cousin Duncan showed up. And he's been more than a little paranoid lately."

"Sounds to me like normal behavior for him. He has those moments. I wouldn't worry yourself over it. But I do need to get in touch with him."

"You can try him at the store, I'm sure he'll be happy to inform you of his latest sale. He was thrilled to tell me, and I don't know half as much about his business as you do."

"I'll try him there. Thank you, dear."

"You're welcome, Rachel." Guin put down the handset and summoned up her courage. Making her way to the first tall cabinet and drawing a deep breath, she unlocked it. It opened to an array of swords and other weapons, which were not so unusual for Andrew to have in his collection. These certainly look old, she thought to herself. And claymores too...they must be real if Andrew's bothered to lock them up. The second cabinet revealed nothing more interesting, only targes and shields rather than weapons. Guin sighed with relief, touching the ancient leather and steel. See? she told herself. This isn't so bad after all.

The contents of the third cabinet seemed somewhat out of place, however. In the center was a broad-brimmed hat with peacock feathers that coruscated in the light. Aside from that and an old sea captain's hat, most of the contents were pictures and certificates, which were hung on the walls and doors of the cabinet rather than stored in any sort of box, as she would have expected. One certificate was from 1672, a degree in Latin from Trinity College, awarded to one Connor MacLeod. Hmm, must be a relative, she thought. She knew that Andrew was rather proud that his last name of Beaton was a sept of the Clan MacLeod. Another framed document was a letter from George Washington to another Connor MacLeod, commending him for his services at Valley Forge. Lots of Connors in the family, she mused. Probably where his nickname came from. Then there were two pictures of college sports teams: one, a rugby team; the other, a rowing team. Both looked to be from the early 1900's. Guin inspected them closer, realizing with astonishment that one man on each of these teams strongly resembled Andrew. God, I knew genes ran in families, but that's incredible. Yet another picture drew Guin's gaze, this time a 1950's-style portrait of another Andrew look-alike with a girl in her mid-teens. With a start, Guin recognized the girl as Rachel. Peering closer, her mind slowly roused to the conclusion that this person didn't just look like Andrew, it actually was Andrew. But how could that be? She put the portrait next to the two team pictures for comparison, and again she came to the same realization: all of these people had to be Andrew. Or Connor. Or whatever he wants to call himself. As this information sunk in, her horrified eyes were drawn back to the certificate. Connor MacLeod? In 1672? Oh my God...What is he, a vampire? Creeping around for 300 years like some fallen angel...probably lured me here so he can sacrifice me to his gods to maintain his longevity, though I'm far from a virginal offering...or maybe he's some alien experimenting on me -- it would explain the haggis fixation...oh Christ, what have I gotten myself into?

"What are you doing?" A stern voice issued from behind her. Guin turned to find the man called Connor bearing down on her threateningly, with his kinsman close on his heels. Duncan reached forward and clasped Connor on the shoulder in restraint, and both men stopped.

Guin tried to find her voice as burning tears came to her eyes, but she only managed to rasp out, "Who are you?"

"I told you it was time to tell her," Duncan said cattily as he pulled his kinsman away from the trembling woman. Connor shot him a piercing look, then turned back to his lover and took a deep breath to calm himself before speaking.

"I'm sorry, Guin. I should have trusted you with this before."

"Who are you?" she whispered again, beginning to regain a little of her voice. She shuddered as terror overrode her senses. "What are you? And what are you going to do to me?"

"Guin," he began, reaching toward her. She backed away out of his grasp, but lost her balance and fell backward. Giving a cry as she fell, she burst into frustrated tears as she landed on her backside on the floor. Connor knelt over her and took her shaking hands in his. He started again. "Guin, listen to me. There's something you need to know." He took another deep breath before speaking again. "I was born Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod in the year 1518, in the village of Glenfinnan on the shores of Loch Shiel..."

Guinevere looked in his eyes briefly as he began to speak, but she was barely listening to him. Suddenly she swiftly drew back one hand and struck him full-force across the face. Not prepared for the blow, Connor fell, sprawling backward. Rubbing his jaw as he propped himself up on one elbow, he laughed. "Now that was not the reaction I was expecting."

"Don't you laugh at me, you bastard!" she whispered fiercely. Guin pushed herself up off the floor and sprinted around the desk to the door. Unfortunately, Duncan was there to block the way out. He grabbed her, and she squirmed in his arms.

"Let me go!" She begged him hoarsely, her voice beginning to give out again. But Duncan just gripped her by the shoulders and turned her toward Connor, who was picking himself up off the floor.

"Just listen to him, hear him out," Duncan said quietly. "He won't hurt you."

"Going after my woman, are you?" Connor wiggled his brow and smiled at his kinsman, and Duncan burst out laughing.

"I'm only trying to help, Connor," Duncan said, regaining some seriousness. "After all, I did prevent her escape."

"Yes you did, and I offer my thanks. Just don't expect too much else along with that thanks. She's mine, you know."

Guinevere was none too thrilled with their banter, and too terrified to find it humorous. "You bastards!" she whispered fiercely, wrenching away from Duncan's grasp and putting the desk between herself and the two men. "How dare you betray me!" she shot at Andrew, her voice rasping. "How dare you lie to me! I trusted you! But I don't know you at all, do I? How could I let myself get fooled like this?" Guin sniffled against the panicked tears rising in her eyes. "I don't know what or who you are, but how dare you come to me under some alias of a name and lure me into moving in here! Even if I never get away from here, I hope someone finds out who you are and what kind of blood-sucking monster you are and destroys you!"

Connor raised his eyebrows, bemused, and gave a brief laugh. "Monster?" he asked, half-smiling. "Did you hear that, Duncan?" he called over his shoulder. "I'm a monster."

"Connor," Duncan warned, but his kinsman waved to silence him.

Connor approached Guin, an angry frown creasing his features. "Well, first of all, you didn't exactly come here on fully open terms yourself," he said, walking around the desk. Guin took a step backward as he neared her. "It took some time before I found out Guinevere was a name you chose to go by, to avoid people hounding you when you won the lottery that allowed you to come to Scotland in the first place." Connor reached over and jangled the gold charms of the necklace he had given her, which spelled out her name. She pushed his hand away and began to back further away from him. "So you can't give me that crap, Guin. Andrew is the name I choose to go by for now, but it doesn't mean I'm any less me. I am still the same person you've come to know." Connor walked toward her again, reaching out for her. She continued to back away. "As for the question of what am I going to do with you -- that depends on how well you cooperate," he said, the tone of his voice ominous to her ears. He took a giant step forward, grabbing her by the wrist. "Stop," he commanded sternly. "Listen to me. Do I have to hurt you to get you to stop?" He twisted her wrist just enough to send a delicate wave of pain down her arm. Pulling her toward him, he grabbed for her other hand.

"No!" she cried hoarsely, yanking herself away. Now fully terrified by the man she had loved who was again advancing toward her, Guin bolted for the first cabinet and drew out a dagger. Between self-defense class and the movies she watched, she knew exactly what she had to do. As Connor came into range, Guin rammed the dagger up and under his ribs to reach his vital organs, repeating the motion several times to ensure success in stopping him. Connor sank to the floor, his body and mind quickly fading into unconsciousness, then deathly stillness. Looking over at Duncan, Guin was astonished to find that the man did not seem concerned whatsoever with his kinsman's death, only allowing for a mild look of surprise as he continued to stand confidently in the doorway, still blocking her way out. Thoroughly unnerved by Duncan's emotionless stance, Guin lost the last of what strength and sanity remained in her, sinking to the floor next to Connor's body and sobbing uncontrollably. Duncan walked over to her and knelt beside her. Trembling and too afraid to look up, she whispered, "Are you going to kill me now?"

Duncan shook his head. "No, don't be silly." With a chilling calm, he yanked the dagger from Connor's body and let it clatter to the floor. "But you didn't let him get far enough into what he had to say." Duncan wiped his hands on his jeans and put one hand on her shoulder. "We -- and yes, I am like him -- are Immortal. We don't get sick, we don't age, and..."

"Aaaaaaauuuuuuhhhhhh!" The heavy draw of breath into Connor's body caused Guin to leap backwards, her head hitting the cabinet door behind her. She stared at the awakening Connor, mouth agape.

"...and we can't die, by most conventional means anyway." Duncan finished, leaning over to her. "Are you all right? That had to have hurt."

"I'll be fine, thanks," Connor gasped from behind Duncan.

"Well I know you'll live, Connor. Her I can get a little more worried about." Duncan pressed gently on the back of Guin's head, and she let out a mild groan of pain. "Probably just a bruise, though a pretty heavy one. Didn't lose consciousness, so I don't think it was a major hit." Guin tracked her widened eyes from Connor to the man leaning over her. Duncan gave her a broad, reassuring smile. "It's okay, I won't hurt you. We won't hurt you. I promise."

"But..." she whispered, pointing to Connor uncertainly with a shaking finger, eyes still stricken with fear.

"We're a little different," Connor began to explain, sitting up and sliding a little closer to her. Guin lowered her eyes to his shirt, now rife with bloody knife slashes. She reached out and moved the slits to see the wounds, but jerked back her hand and recoiled at the sight of the healed, scarless skin underneath. Connor cautiously reached over and stroked her cheek. "It's okay. Really."

Her green eyes, turned bright with tears and still as large as saucers, searched his face. "It didn't hurt?" she whispered, looking down at the shirt again but reluctant to touch him again.

Connor laughed in surprise. "Hurt like bloody hell! But I get over it fast." Keeping eye contact with Guin, he slowly slid near her. When she didn't move away, he put his arm around her and cautiously pulled her to him. "It's okay. You can trust me. Really," he said gently. Hesitantly, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead. "That's better."

"Duncan said..." she began with a croak, then cleared her throat and started again in a whisper, "You can't die by normal means..."

"We can die, but only by...well, how can I put this nicely." Connor looked up at Duncan. "Hell, there's no way to put this nicely." He took a deep breath. "Immortals kill each other by beheading each other to get their 'quickening,' which is basically their power. It's in our nature to fight. And in the end, there can be only one of us left. It's the rule we live by."

Guin vacillated a puzzled look between Connor and Duncan, then shook her head as she tried to take in all this new information. "But you two..."

"He is my clansman," Connor began, "born about seventy years after me in the same village, and cast out of that village the same way I was, for being a so-called demon. I found him and taught him what he needed to know about his Immortality, just as someone taught me." Connor wistfully looked up at the peacock-feather hat in the third cabinet. "Some of us choose our fights more carefully than others, and some of us are more willing to help others. Just because our nature says we have to fight doesn't mean we can't be civil."

"And we cannot fight on holy ground," Duncan added. "It's the one place taking heads is forbidden."

"Taking heads," Guin repeated softly, then shuddered. She looked up at Connor searchingly, not having the voice or strength of thought to put into words the thing she wanted to ask.

"Yes, I do that too," Connor said to her gently. "Only when I feel it's necessary." He thought a moment, then continued. "You know my sixth sense for knowing when others are around? That's part of Immortality, we can sense each other. And that's why I get so tense and protective. And then there's the cane in the umbrella stand, the one I take with me everywhere I go..."

Duncan strode out of the room, returning moments later with the aforementioned cane. Connor unwound himself from Guin, then unscrewed the top of the cane and withdrew the katana. Guin's eyes opened wide at the sight. Duncan ducked outside the room again and returned with his own katana, and Guin shuddered as the two weapons came together with a steely clang. Connor laughed delightedly at the sound.

"Shall we?" Duncan invited with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "Practice makes perfect."

"Hey, that's what the fencing room is for, right? But..." Connor turned concernedly toward Guin, who was still pale, the residual fear reflected in her face. "I think I'd better take care of her." Connor reached for her hand, but she withdrew it.

"Go, Andrew...Connor..." Guin said, her voice still barely audible. "I need to think." Cautiously Guin picked herself up off the floor and made her way to the office door. This time, no one stopped her. She stepped outside the room and slowly made her way upstairs.

"Maybe you should go with her," Duncan said quietly.

"No." Connor's voice was firm. "I know that look, I know that tone, even with her voice not being what it usually is. She needs some time to herself. But when she's ready to talk, I'll be there." He looked at his kinsman and smiled wickedly. "In the meantime, let's get our workout."

Duncan once again pushed the point of his katana at his prone kinsman's midriff. "Had enough?"

"Never!" But Connor's countering move only managed to press Duncan's katana further into his abdomen, nearly ripping the shirt Connor had traded out for his recently bloodied and torn one. Before he could cause too much damage, Duncan pulled away from the elder MacLeod.

"You're not doing very well, Connor."

"I know." Connor's eyes flashed toward the door of the fencing hall. "I'm a little preoccupied at the moment."

"So I noticed." Duncan put his sword away. "I think it's time you talked to her again."

Duncan's gaze connected with Connor's, inviting the elder clansman to speak his mind. "I'm afraid, all right?" Connor said roughly, breaking the connection. "I don't want to hear her say she can't handle it. She was better off not knowing."

Duncan smiled sadly. "Been there, done that. And so have you. But you know, she's more likely to go now if you don't talk to her."

Connor looked back into Duncan's face. "You're right. I'm going." He laid down his katana and determinedly exited the room to face up to the woman he loved, taking the stairs two at a time.

Guin was sleeping fitfully in their bed, tossing and shifting restlessly. Connor sat down at the edge of the bed and stroked her forehead gently, but his attempt to calm her sleep failed. Instead Guin sat straight up with a gasp as she woke. Some of Connor's anxiety faded when her face showed relief rather than fear at the recognition of the figure next to her. He reached over and caressed her cheek. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Guin said, her voice stronger than it had been a scant few hours before. Her eyes held a rich mix of emotions, not all of which Connor wanted to read. He looked away, hoping she wouldn't try to read his own expression. "Andrew," she said quietly, reaching for his arm, "hold me." He complied, wrapping her gently in his embrace. After a moment she added, "Connor. It's going to take me a while to get used to that."

"You don't have to. Andrew Beaton is what the house is under, it's what my bank account says. I can live with being Andrew."

"But no one else remembers!" she said with a suppressed giggle. "Even Rachel stumbled to remember your name today."

"Yeah, she mentioned that."

"And I kind of like Connor. It has a nice ring to it." She pulled back and smiled at him, touching his face gently.

Connor searched her face for a long moment, then looked away as he finally asked the question he'd been avoiding. "Do you think you can live with this? With my Immortality, and all it brings with it?" A heavy silence fell between them for a few moments.

"I don't know, but I want to try," Guin said quietly, pulling his face back toward hers. "I love you too much not to try." She dropped her eyes. "Maybe this sounds weird, but there are a lot worse things I've had to deal with in relationships than something like your Immortality." Guin shook her head. "I've been with men who couldn't bear to tell me they wanted to leave me, so they strung me along until I figured it out for myself -- and sometimes that took a while, believe me." She laughed at herself. "Then there were men who wanted me to be their mothers; men who told me they loved me just to get in my pants; even men who were emotionally and verbally abusive, constantly putting me down to reaffirm their superiority. And so often I let them." She looked in his eyes sheepishly. "But you... you're different. You're kind and thoughtful and beautiful...everything I've wanted. Though maybe I don't deserve it."

"You deserve the best," he whispered. Holding her chin, Connor placed his mouth over hers, and she returned the force of his kiss. She reached out to unbutton his shirt, giving in to the intensity of her hunger, of her need to forgive him and the desperate need to be forgiven that was written in his face. They swiftly shed their clothes and fell into the familiar rhythm of lovemaking as the afternoon light faded from the window.

"Are you the only man alive that doesn't fall asleep right after that?" Guin teased, curling up to Connor's side and stroking his chest.

"Do you want me to?" He eyed her wickedly.

"Well, no." She laughed, then paused, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry, Andrew." She blushed. "Connor."

"For what?"

"For...well...everything." Guin poked him gently under his ribs with a fingernail. The pale red mark she left disappeared as quickly as the stab wounds had earlier that day. "For overreacting."

Connor's rich laugh filled the room. "And just what is the appropriate level of reacting to finding out accidentally that the person you love is Immortal?" More soberly he added, "I'm sorry I waited so long to tell you."

"Why did you wait?" Guin looked up into his face.

"I was enjoying having a normal relationship." Connor sighed. "From now on, no matter how good or bad our relationship is, it will never again seem 'normal.'"

"Who wants to be normal?" Guin grinned at him, hoping to ease the painful look in his eyes. When that didn't work, she gave him a squeeze. "You know, I was really more angry at myself for trusting you than I was at you for not telling me, but I took out that anger on you. I always worry about being a bad judge of character."

Connor rubbed her back. "I take it you've decided that trusting me is okay again?"

Guin nodded. "You did what you said you would: when I asked, you told me the truth, gave me an explanation. I was just too weirded out to listen, at first." She laughed. "Maybe that bump on the head knocked some sense into me. Now...well I can't deny that what you said is the truth, I witnessed it myself. But as you said, you're the same person at heart. Nothing's changed there." Guin shrugged, trying to relax her tight shoulders. "I read a lot of fantasy fiction novels, but I never thought I'd be living with a character from one. Did you really know George Washington?"

"Yes," he replied hesitantly, wondering where this was going to go.

"And what was he like?" Guin's eyes glittered as she looked up at him expectantly. Her enthusiasm amused Connor, and he smiled.

"He was a good man. Extraordinary, really. Not quite like anyone else I've ever met. Very committed to his cause." Connor paused. "Have you ever been to D.C.?"

"No," she replied. "Haven't been much of anywhere, to be honest. I should have taken some time out to travel before I moved here."

"We should go. Maybe next July, we could spend Independence Day there." Guin shrugged noncommittally in response to Connor's suggestion. "Don't you think that would be fun?" he asked, puzzled.

"Maybe. We'll see."

"We'll see?" Connor looked down into her face, then snorted. "You mean we'll see if we're still together." Guin blushed. "Don't you want to stay with me?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I do," she replied quickly. "It's just that..." Guin broke off, shaking her head.

"It's just what?" Connor prodded gently.

"I don't have much of a track record with men. This is the longest I've spent with anyone in a very long time. I don't want to look too far ahead, or second-guess my future."

Connor nodded. "Makes sense. Okay, forget I said it. Let's change the subject."

"Okay...So what makes a person Immortal?" Guin asked, laying her head back against his chest.

"Nobody knows," he said quietly, nestling his head on top of hers. "We don't even know we are Immortal, until one day we die...and we come back to life."

"And John's not Immortal?" she asked.

"No," he replied, breathing into her hair. "I'm just raising him...like I did with Rachel."

"Oh yeah, the picture..." she said, remembering. "And now she looks older than you. Eventually she'll pass on...and John will too, eventually." Guin gazed into his face. "Everyone around you gets older and dies, and you live on. That must make for a very lonely life." Connor closed his eyes and nodded. "And if I stay, you'll watch me grow old and die too." Her voice faded. "Unless..." her eyes lit up. "What if I'm Immortal too? Then we could be together forever."

Andrew shook his head. "I would have known it if you were. Even before an Immortal's first death, we can sense them." Guin's face was crestfallen. He stroked her cheek. "Even if you were Immortal, it wouldn't be so easy. If it came down to us as the last two, then one of us would have to take the other's head. And being together for centuries can take its toll on a couple, regardless. I've seen it. Your being Immortal would be more of a problem than a solution for us."

Guin sighed. "I changed my name and had a trail of bad relationships behind me. I thought I was the one bringing all of the baggage into this relationship. Guess we all have our problems, don't we?" Connor nodded silently in agreement, pulling his lover closer to him as she sighed again and settled down to fall asleep.

Guin slowly opened her eyes. Moonlight was pressing in through the curtains where last she had seen the afternoon light fading away. How long had they been asleep? At some point Connor had pulled the sheets up over them -- or had she done it subconsciously? -- to cover them. Her leg was curled around him; even in sleep, his arm held her close to his side, his head tucked tightly in the crook of her shoulder. She stroked his hair and sighed, looking down at his calm face half-hidden in the shadows of her body. How many nights had she awakened to find him pacing the room restlessly, or alternately to find his deep, mournful eyes staring at her from across the bed, clouded with uneasy worry? And now and again his somnolent hold was still suffocating, as if he were holding on to something he was afraid he'd lose. And maybe he was afraid of losing me, she thought soberly as she stroked his cheek. Connor's eyes flashed open, shining warmly as he came to consciousness and gazed at her.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, reaching up to brush the hair away from her face. Guin shook her head wordlessly, her hair cascading back down across her shoulder. "Oh, come on," he prodded teasingly. "Are you going to keep me guessing?"

"Go to sleep," she whispered, kissing his forehead. He searched her face warily. "Everything's fine. Go to sleep." She cradled his head against her and closed her eyes as peace and sleep overcame them.