Mortal Hearts
By Juli
December 1998
Part 4/9
For disclaimer and warnings, see Part 1.
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"Och, he's a bonnie lad!"
Derek looked up in startlement at hearing the friendly voice. He'd only been in Glasmonadh for a couple of days, but most of conversations with its natives had fallen a bit short of congenial, a highly unusual occurrence as Scots were normally friendly and polite with visitors.
The woman speaking to him was several years older than himself. Her graying hair was pulled up into a loose knot and her sleeves were rolled up in a business-like manner. Her face was weathered and care-worn, but her eyes were lively all the same.
Derek followed the woman's gaze and wasn't surprised to see that it was Nick that his new friend was referring to. The young man had taken a quick detour to report that the cottage's phones were down and was now making his way back across the village square. Knowing Nick's voracious appetite, Derek had thought it best to come ahead to Glasmonadh's only restaurant and order for them both. As much as he loved the young man, the Dutchman simply wasn't up to eating one of Nick's specialty omelets.
A gentle touch on Derek's arm brought him back from admiring his lover. "Ye care fer him, do ye?" The twinkle in her eye had been replaced by concern.
Was it that obvious? Instead of answering her question, Derek countered with one of his own. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met......."
"Anne Whittington." Anne offered Derek her hand. "I've been away for a few days, lookin' after me mum. She's nae been well."
"Derek Rayne. My companion is Nick Boyle. We've been renting the old McGready place."
Anne ignored Derek's attempt at polite small talk and went back to her question. "Do ye care fer him?"
The repeated question made Derek nervous. He and Nick had decided to follow the US military's lead on disclosing their relationship: Unless anyone asked, they weren't going to tell. The Dutchman thought that they'd been discrete in public, but maybe their relationship had been the reason for the town's odd welcome. But the Precept would be damned if he'd deny it.
"Yes, I do are about him. Very much."
The two of them watched Nick kick a wayward soccer ball back to a trio of boys playing in the street in front of the restaurant. The children's mother had been chatting with a friend nearby, but quickly gathered her offspring up and shooed them inside as the American approached. Nick stood a moment in disbelief at the flagrant snub before continuing on to join Derek in the restaurant.
"Dinnae judge them, Mr. Rayne. The two o' ye be outsiders. Ye dinna ken what tis happenin' here."
Derek put is hand on Anne's shoulder. This woman who had seemed so strong just minutes before was now trembling. "Let us help."
Anne just shook her head and made her way towards the inn's back room. Just shy of the door she turned back to the Precept. "If ye care fer the lad half as much as I ken ye do........" Anne's gaze turned inward and she continued in a near whisper. "Keep him close, Mr. Rayne. Hold fast and dinnea let go."
And then she was gone.
*********************************
"These people give me the willies." Nick spoke quietly as he shrugged off his coat and joined Derek at the table.
"In what way?"
"They're always........looking at me."
Derek studied his lover for a moment, trying to look at him with objective yes. Cheeks ruddy from the chilly air. Eyes flashing green in indignation. Baggy sweater that did little to hide the ex-SEAL's athletic physique. No, the Dutchman couldn't blame any of the locals for eyeing the young man. But God help anyone who tried to *touch.*
Nick paused after taking a bite of porridge, grimacing when he realized that Scots flavored theirs with salt rather than sugar. The American was taking a gulp of coffee to wash the taste away when he realized that Derek was staring at him. "What?"
The older man smiled fondly. "I was just thinking that I could understand why they're looking."
"Give me a break, Derek! I've been ogled before. This is different. It's like they're measuring me for my coffin."
The Precept's smile vanished. Nick didn't have to be psychic to be able to read people well and the young man's observation worried him.
"I didn't want to do this, but I don't think we have a choice......."
Upon hearing the worry in his lover's voice, Nick looked up from finishing his breakfast. In the same concerned tone, the Precept continued. "We'll have to split up. You find some fuel for the car and go back to the cottage. The phones should be up soon, right?" At Nick's nod, Derek went on. "Try and contact the London House to get as much information about the Shining Ones as possible. I think we'll need it very soon. In the meantime, I'll see what I can find out here. There's more going on in Glasmonadh than meets the eye."
"I don't know, Derek, I don't think we should split up." Nick did not look happy. Neither man wanted to be the one to bring it up, but both were thinking of the dire consequences of splitting the team in Connamere.
Derek's heart ached. He knew how Nick carried guilt about not being with Julia when she was attacked. The Precept still carried his own self-loathing over that decision but had accepted long ago that such choices were part of leadership. He didn't like it, not for a minute, but he excepted the burden all the same. "Truly, Nick, if I thought there was any danger... If there was any other way, I would take it in a minute."
Even though he was far from convinced, Nick tried to put on a happier face for the older man. "I'm sure you're right--this situation's totally different." Grabbing his coat, the American headed for the door.
"Nick," the American turned as Derek called his name. "Watch your back, all right?"
"You got it boss." With his characteristic saunter, the former SEAL turned and walked out into the dull light of late morning.
It wasn't until Nick was out of sight that Derek realized that he'd not said "I love you" to the young man that morning. The Precept tried to shrug off such gloomy thoughts, telling himself that he was a silly old man mother-henning his young lover.
But despite his best attempts at reassuring himself, the Dutchman
couldn't help but feel that he'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.
**************************************
Glasmonadh was a small town and normally wouldn't have had anything resembling a decent reference library. However, Glasmonadh did have the distinction of being the birthplace of Dr. Siobvan Sinclair, one of the first female university presidents in all of Europe. Upon her death, Dr. Sinclair had bequeathed the town not only her substantial personal library, but also the monies to expand upon it. One got the impression that Dr. Sinclair had keenly felt the lack of adequate materials during her own childhood and felt an obligation to improve matters for future generations.
In any case, Derek's old friend, Dr. Williams, had mentioned the Siobvan Sinclair Scottish Society Trust to him, amazed that such a fine facility could be found in a remote location like Glasmonadh. With little difficulty, Derek found the building, and soon found himself pouring over texts and documents of local history.
It was a good thing the Precept was so adept at research. The only thing he received from the librarian was a glare at his back, which he didn't find particularly helpful.
The information that Derek found was unsettling. Of the Sidhe, not a thing. That in itself was highly unusual. The Shining Ones were as much a part of Scottish lore as the Wee Folk, the Loch Ness monster, and other ferlies. To find no mention of the fairy in a Scottish library, particularly in one as fine as this, was unbelievable. It was almost as if someone had gone through the library's collection and cleaned out any reference of such creatures.
Odd.
Realizing that he would get nowhere trying to gather additional information on the Sidhe, and hoping Nick would have better luck getting details from the London House, Derek turned his attention to finding out as much as he could about Glasmonadh. This was where he ran into a little difficulty. Derek truly appreciated modern technology and knew that without computers, the Legacy's duties would be much harder, not to mention time-consuming. Still, the Precept wasn't as adept at tickling information out of electronic systems as Alex or Nick. As a result, it took him most of the rest of the afternoon to find out the history of the town.
The sky was beginning to darken when the Precept stretched and winced. With his lanky frame, Derek had to hunch over the computer terminal in an uncomfortable position that twisted his neck and back. As he tried to stretch the kinks out of his spine, the Dutchman had decided that he just might need to have Rachel teach him some of her yoga moves. Suddenly realizing what other good uses those yoga positions could have (not to mention how the extra flexibility could enhance his love life), Derek grinned and moved the notion up a notch on his priority list.
What made his current discomfort even worse was the knowledge that his search might have been fruitless. Despite his and Nick's feelings, the only odd occurrence that Derek'd discovered in Glasmonadh's history was an odd disappearance/reappearance. It seemed that a Willis Bridie had disappeared a little over 50 years ago. The young man had been seen one evening at the local pub having "a wee dram" of whisky but had somehow vanished on his way home. The newspaper clipping he'd read on the subject had implied that Bridie had skipped out on his upcoming wedding to a local girl, one Mary Locke. The girl, of course, had denied being left at the alter, saying her love was true to her. But it was an unarguable fact that no one had heard from Bridie for 50 years. It was as though the young man had fallen off the face of the earth. Half a century of silence and then, quite suddenly, a decrepit old man had been discovered wandering in the woods outside of Glasmonadh. The battered old man was in such bad shape that could hardly speak, but insisted that he was Willis Bridie. There were no official documents that they could compare to back his statement up, but his now-elderly fiance, Mary, had made a positive identification.
Bridie had died two days later, reportedly raving about glowing people holding him against his will.
The newspaper report had discounted the whole Bridie incident as a drunken old fool rambling on about alcohol-induced visions. Derek knew better. The Precept knew that the Shining Ones had a reputation of stealing people away to take to their enchanted dwellings. Of single nights that seemed to last for decades. The Dutchman had a suspicion that the town knew about this too--and the odd feeling he and Nick had sensed was somehow tied into the worry of Glasmonadh's citizens, hoping that another one of their own wouldn't be snatched. To make matters worse, if Derek was reading the maps and descriptions right, Bridie had disappeared and reappeared uncomfortably close to the location of the cottage that he and Nick were currently renting.
Derek got up from his chair and began to pace as the timing of this whole situation began to come clear to him. Willis Bridie had disappeared 50 years ago, most likely taken by the Sidhe, on a January night with no moon. He had reappeared, obviously the worse for wear, and then died just last month.
And tonight would be a January night with no moon, fifty years to the day that Bridie was taken.
Shit.
**************************************
It was a good thing, Nick reflected as he finally reached the cottage, that he and Derek had started out so early that morning. Investigating the fairy ring and hiking into town had taken most of the morning. A late breakfast ate up another hour and finding someplace to buy gas--who would have thought such a simple task would take most of the afternoon? Daylight was in short supply during Scottish winters and the sky was already darkening as the ex-SEAL reached his destination.
The young American re-fueled the car with the gas he'd finally obtained. Nick had been a bit disturbed by the furtive nature of the transaction. Buying gas was no crime, but the crofter who'd finally agreed to sell to him had acted as though he was doing something dirty. The nervous man definitely didn't want his neighbors to know about it, if the young American was reading the Scot's body language right. Strange, but then Nick was getting used to this odd little town.
Task finished, Nick went into the cottage and tried the phones again. Much to his surprise, they were actually working. Finally, something going right on this frustrating day! He'd just reported the problem that morning and no service company worked that fast so Derek must have been right about the unreliability of the local telephone service.
Talking to William Sloan wasn't one of Nick's favorite activities, so the ex-SEAL first tried the San Francisco House. He reached Frederick on the first ring, but found that neither Alex nor Rachel were available. Nick left a message and resigned himself to having no choice but to contact Sloan. Maybe he'd get lucky, the American told himself, and Sloan'd be out.
Nick needn't have worried. By the time he'd pawed through his well-worn pocket address book and located Sloan's number, the phones were down again. So much for their luck improving.
After considering his options, Nick decided to stay at the cottage for the time being. His task was to contact the London House for assistance, so although every instinct he had was urging him to head back into Glasmonadh and rejoin Derek, the young man knew his duty was to keep trying to get through to Sloan. Besides, considering the lateness of the day, it was a good bet that Derek was already on his way back to Nick.
In the meantime, the cottage looked a bit neglected. Last night's activities had left clothes strewn all about and neither man had yet taken the time to pick them up. Nick's upbringing and Navy training made it difficult for him to put up with such a mess. He sighed and started picking up the clutter.
Oh well, he encouraged himself, at least getting the place ship-shape would give him something to do instead of worrying about Derek.
**********************************
Shit.
Derek whirled from the computer terminal and strode straight towards the librarian's desk. He didn't care how much that woman glared at him, by God, she *would* let him use the phone. Nick was in danger that he didn't even know about and Derek would be damned if he'd let anyone get in the way of warning him.
The Precept ignored the woman's stammered demands for an explanation and reached over her to grab the telephone. He waved her away as though shooing off a annoying insect as he started to dial, noticing but not really caring when she left the room in a huff.
Derek stared at the handset in disbelief as the recorded voice recited again the number he was dialing was not in service.
Shit.
Sick at the thought that he couldn't warn his lover, the Dutchman put aside his fear and made for the door. With the short winter days, the daylight was rapidly fading. Every moment counted right now and he had to find the quickest way to get back to that cottage.
In his single-minded determination to reach Nick, Derek literally ran into the new arrivals now standing in the entrance to the library. Bouncing back from the physical contact, the Precept tried to shift them out of his way, but they moved even closer, packing the doorway and effectively blocking the exit.
"Get out of my way, this is an emergency!" Derek was in no mood to be polite.
"Now where do ye be goin', laddie buck?" asked one of the larger men.
Derek took a closer look at those in front of them. The librarian was present and evidently had brought reinforcements. Believing she might be angry about the call he'd tried to make, Derek directed his comments to her. "I'm very sorry about the phone, I'll see that you're reimbursed about the call. But this really *is* an emergency......." The Precept again tried to push his way through, only to be rebuffed by a stocky man making his way through the back of the crowd.
"We dinnae ask the two o' ye to cum here," the newcomer stated, "remember that. But when ye decided ta push yer noses where they not be belongin'.......well, ye'll have to take the consequences."
Derek looked at the stoic faces now surrounding him. Some would meet his eyes, but most of the people turned away. Yet, if he tried to push his way through, the Precept would find himself blocked. The Dutchman was beginning to get frantic-- he had to get to Nick! He met the gaze of one matron, only to see her blush and duck her head down. Suddenly it occurred to Derek just why the townspeople were delaying him and he grew cold right down to the marrow of his bones.
"My God," he whispered in dread. "You mean for them to take him!"
The woman who'd just lowered her eyes lifted her gaze to face him. "Please, ye've got ta understand! Me own son, Geddes, he's only 18. He's nae as bonnie as yer lad, but I just know that they twould choose him!" Tears fell from her eyes as she pleaded for Derek's sympathy.
The Precept was *not* disposed to give it to her and was about to make a scathing remark when someone else beat him to it.
"Cowards! All o' ye!" A new voice came from just beyond the crowd. "Fer years, ye laughed at me, said I twere crazy. But now that it's yer own loved ones at risk, ye'd sacrifice an innocent lad ta those ferlie beasts! Shame a'pon ye!" The voice got louder as the speaker approached and by the time she was finished, she had pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Derek saw that his new champion turned out to be a shabby old woman.
As the old woman had made her entrance, the people near her withdrew slightly, leaving an aisle open to the door. Derek was about to make his exit when he realized that someone might take pity on him and provide transportation, getting him to Nick all the sooner.
"Please," he begged, "your young men at least know to be careful. Nick doesn't have a clue that the Sidhe might be...........hunting tonight. I need a car--"
"Be gone w' ye then!" The first man spoke for the group. "We'll let ye pass, but no more." His voice got louder as he gave his orders to the gathered citizens. "No more!"
Derek looked at the heartless faces around him and knew that it would be fruitless to hope for further assistance. The Precept took off at a full run. Two miles was a fair piece of land to cover and it had already been a long day.
"God speed to ye, lad!" He heard the old woman's voice cheer him on.
"God speed!"
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