Glenfinnan on the banks of Loch Shiel
 
 

All Hallow's Eve
By Lisa W.

He should have known.  There had always been resistance to returning to Scotland and this time, this time the reason was even more … well, just more.

He had managed to get permission to bury Connor in the old cemetery and to re-inter what remained of Heather with him.  Rachel had helped.  Now, all of his family was in one place.  He had even toyed with the idea of making a grave for himself there as if to finally put to rest his need to prove something to his father.  But, in the end, that would have been a futile gesture, and not only because he still lived.

Why he decided to remain in Glenfinnan afterwards was not clear, perhaps a vague sense of unfinished business tied him to this place or merely the ennui that had seemed to settle over him since the tragedy that was Jacob Kell.  Regardless, Duncan found himself still in the room in the old house he had rented though the lease for a week had turned into a two-month stay with no end anticipated.

Mrs. MacGavity was pleased by the turn of events; she had never had such a good tenant one who not only was quiet and considerate, but also was handy and willing to repair the little things that needed work.  If she had her way, the nice young Mr. MacLeod would stay long enough for her to marry him off to her youngest daughter and then all would be right by her.  With that end in mind, the stalwart Mrs. MacGavity was pleased that her daughter Laura was on her way to visit her mum.  Of course the independent Ms. MacGavity, partner of a thriving advertising agency in the big city of Edinburgh, was as unaware of this impending marriage as was her supposed intended.

“Duncan, can you ready the spare bedroom at the back for my daughter,” Mrs. MacGavity asked.  “My Laura is coming for a visit this next week and I haven’t had time to properly air out the room.”

That was the only warning he had, though at the time it was innocuous enough and did not seem to be a portent of any great mischief or danger.  Hindsight of course, being the great equalizer, should have warned him that any long stay in Glenfinnan was fraught with potential.  This was the place that had birthed not one, but three immortals and seemed to be a crossroads of some sort for many other happenings. But none of those issues intruded as he opened and aired the second floor room in readiness for the visit of the inestimable Laura.

By the end of the day, with the room ready and the evening meal waiting on the arrival of her daughter, Mrs. MacGavity mentioned to Duncan that he was welcome to stay and take supper with them if he would like.  Being the considerate guest that he was, he declined saying, “Mrs. MacGavity, I know that you haven’t seen your daughter for a long time.  You can visit with her and I’ll meet her another time.”  Duncan had no intention of becoming settled in Glenfinnan and this preparation for the visit had driven home just how at odds he had become with the ebb and flow of life; his life in particular.
He had remained in touch, via email, with those important to him, but he hadn’t taken any interest in defining a course for the future.  Everyday he would visit Connor, his parents and, by days end, could be found sitting at the overlook to the Loch.  Each day brought no new insight, melting into all the previous ones seamlessly without any new direction.  Desire to be a part of something, anything, seemed as amorphous as the ever present gray clouds which neither promised a storm nor provided one by happenstance.

Returning to his room the day following the return of Mrs. MacGavity’s daughter, Duncan had virtually forgotten that there was another temporary tenant in the house, until he saw her; it was Debra, his Debra with her riot of flaming curls burnished by the last rays of the settling sun.  She stood just so with hands on hips looking up to the house completely unaware of the affect she presented.  Turning just a bit toward the startled gasp that echoed in a crystalline moment of silence.

Time was meaningless in that moment and the sense of displacement was as real as the bite of the bitter wind whipping at his short locks.  He stood immobile, staring and transfixed while his mind, his senses tried to sort out the meaning of the woman turned toward him in obvious welcome.  He knew, without doubt, that his Debra was long in the grave - one of the few he had purposely left undisturbed.  That was his own private pain and was not to be shared with any well-meaning family member.

“Would you be Mr. MacLeod that my mum’s been talking about?”  she asked, her question breaking his reverie.

“Oh, aye”, he responded as he moved closer extending his hand in welcome, “I’m Duncan MacLeod. It’s a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“What a wonderful coincidence”, she smiled taking his outstretched hand warmly in her petite grasp. “I’m to marry a MacLeod perhaps you are related, though the name is common enough” she said laughingly.

Still holding the pliable hand of welcome, MacLeod moved closer yet to the living, breathing beauty from a time before.  With palpable hesitation he asked the next question; somehow knowing the answer, fearing it none-the-less while still chiding himself for the foolishness of the chill in his marrow - it was only the wind after all.

“And who is this lucky MacLeod to have captured such a lovely creature as yourself?” he managed to force out politely from between reluctant lips.

Laura, unaware of anything amiss gaily replied, “Robert, Robert MacLeod.  He says his family is from these parts,” she laughed at the supposed irony, “and he kids me that my being a Campbell should finally put to rest all the ghosts of the past.”  Laura looked up at Duncan just then and noticed the colorless aspect of his mien though unaware that her words were the root cause.  “Please Mr. MacLeod, you look chilled clear-through, come into the house and warm yourself.”

With that command, suiting action to word, Laura guided Duncan into the cozy comfort of the MacGavity home by their still joined hands.  Duncan, coming to some control of his own actions, gently disengaged his hand and removed his coat to hang on the hall tree by the front door.

The warmth of the house did nothing to remove the chill shadow clinging to memory.  Robert, it wasn’t possible that he had been immortal as well.  The likelihood that Duncan would have known, or been able to do anything about it was nil - that much he realized in what passed for the rational part of his mind.  At the time, he was still 4 years from his own immortality and it would be another 2 years yet until he understood what that meant.  To think that Robert might have been buried and yet alive for all that time … no, it could not be so!

So lost in his own thoughts, it was a sharp question from his landlady that finally returned him to the present as he became aware that he was being stared at by both mother and daughter.  “I asked if you wanted tea Mr. MacLeod!  You look terrible, so pale and unfocused.  Are you ill?  Should I call someone for you? Can I get you something stronger?  A brandy perhaps?” Mrs. MacGavity kept at the steady stream of concerned questions not even allowing a breath to actually receive an answer.

“I’m fine Mrs. MacGavity”, Duncan finally managed to break-in and answer while they all continued toward the warm welcome of the kitchen and its open fireplace.  “Though a brandy would be appreciated.  I seem to have caught an unexpected chill”, he replied with a wry grimace to himself.

Laura quickly produced the liquor from the parlor and poured a generous amount in a cut crystal glass.  “Here you are Mr. MacLeod”, she said handing him the restorative with an open smile.

Thanking her politely Duncan tried not to swallow the entire drink at once.  The forced sipping helped to focus his scattered thoughts while the color returned to face.  Again, realizing that he was unaware of the exact words of the conversation that began to flow between the MacGavity women almost immediately when they all sat at the kitchen table, he forced himself to resettle in the here and now and was lulled toward that end by the completely mundane nature of the external circumstances.

Awareness also brought the realization that he was acting a bore.  He contented himself to become a part of the conversation and thereby hopefully to find out more about Robert MacLeod.  With this end in mind, he caught the thread of the conversation and quickly realized that his task would be completed without any real attempt on his part to steer the discussion toward the unknown man; it appeared that Laura was already deep into the telling of the tale and all he had to do was to be an attentive guest.

“The way Robert tells it”, Laura continued, “all through the late 1500’s and in the early 1600’s the Clan MacLeod and the Clan Campbell were constantly feuding.  They would steal each other’s cattle and sheep and the like and it kept escalating.  In order to stop the warring, a marriage was arranged between a MacLeod and a Campbell.  This marriage pact had been made when they were but children and they grew-up together knowing each other and there was a kind of peace for a time between the Clans due to the arrangement.  But there was another, the boy’s cousin, the Clan Chief’s son, who was also part of the friendship; so, the three all grew-up together.  When it finally came time to make the marriage it became obvious that Debra had fallen in love, but not with Robert.  When the cousin tried to get Debra’s father to allow her to marry him instead of Robert, the real trouble began.  The old man would hear nothing of the change - a deal was a deal.  As the story goes, Robert’s cousin couldn’t bear the thought that he had lost and so he bewitched Debra by giving her an enchanted bracelet to make her his own despite the marriage arrangement.  This enraged Robert who saw it for what it must be and he challenged his cousin to a duel.  The demon, for that is what he was, was afraid to fight and had to be forced into it by the Chief, for the sake of honor.  Of course he used his black arts and defeated Robert.  Debra, who should have been comforted now that she could marry her loved one realized the terrible injustice that had been done and ran off to get away from the demon.  He chased after her and demanded that she marry him.  When she could see no way to escape, she jumped from a cliff to her death and was branded a suicide.  The demon took her and buried her in a secret place so that he could resurrect her whenever he wanted,” Laura proclaimed with a flourish.

Duncan was stunned to speechlessness at the obvious perversion of the tragedy that was his first love.  But, Mrs. MacGavity unwittingly opened the door to his own confusion with her query, “How does your Robert know all this?  Why was the cousin a demon and not just a competitor?  These old stories always have to have a bit of the supernatural in them don’t they?” she laughed nervously, apparently disquieted for some inexplicable reason.

Laura looked at her audience of two and, with the classic technique of the storyteller (or advertising specialist as she was), she paused poignantly before stating the coup de gras, the final pitch.  “Because,” she answered, “not four years later in a battle with the very same Clan Campbell, the demon was killed and then rose from his deathbed healthy and alive!”  She finished with a flourish, completing her tale to the gasp of her mum and the shocked silence of her other listener.  Looking between the two, Laura decided to frost the cake a little and added, as if in after-thought, “It is said that the demon walks the earth to this day.  His love for Debra torments him still and he returns to her grave on All Hallow’s Eve to raise her up to beg her forgiveness and be freed from his eternal life and be allowed to join her in unholy rest.”

The scrape of the chair was the only warning the two women had of the effect of the story as Duncan arose from his seat to escape the hateful words that evoked such a picture of bleak darkness.  This was not the truth, not how it had been!  He was a good man, a loving and kind man and he had never wanted to hurt Robert.  How had this story been perverted to such a fabrication of what had happened?  How could he be that demon?  These were his only thoughts as he ran from the house unmindful of the picture he presented to the startled women.

Without awareness of any destination, his legs carried him to the one place of safety and acceptance that had been his since first he returned to Glenfinnan just a few years previously; to Rachel’s tavern.  As clarity returned he realized where he stood.  He could ask Rachel if she had heard this story or if it was just a ghost tale told to impress a gullible young woman.  With more determination than he could credit at the moment, he approached the Inn and was brought short when the first faint frisson of Immortal awareness thrummed through his being.  Turning quickly away, still too unsettled in both mind and body to confront anyone, be it friend or foe, he again set foot away from warmth and comfort.

A mighty ring of oak trees stand before me,
their massive trunks spread wide, protecting the inner circle.

Inside the ring their lyrics call to me chanting, mesmerizing,
I am drawn closer.

I see the Druids dancing, celebrating the season of change,
Samhain, when earth sleeps under a blanket of approaching winter.

I grow dizzy, a face appears inviting me into the circle to him, to dance.

His magic flirts with my soul our movements are frenzied,
his lips are ripened fruit ready to be tasted.

He is holding me against the oak tree, lips nibble on my neck while the oak bites my back,
his leaves caressing my hair.

Fingers or branches stroke me, inviting me to step forward and embrace the movement, the madness, the merriment.

I welcome the winter.

The ancient Druid invocation called to the guilt-torn soul of the Highland stepchild as his steps turned him round and round.  The MacGavity’s house was but a short distance, but it was too far to even consider; Rachel’s Inn held the strength of the MacLeod sword, but its heir could feel only bitter defeat and accusation in its presence.  The only place for communion was with the dead, as if they held the answers he sought.

Volition was of no consequence as the fast encroaching dusk spread shade and shadows along the well-trodden path.  Duncan considered the impact and horror of Laura’s words while confronting their source at Robert’s resting place.  The gloom spread, shaping and coloring the slopes surrounding Glenfinnan with a hush and a promise as Duncan crouched upon the earth to confront his memory.

Was this the lesson that Methos had been trying to teach him with his “just-a-guy” words?  He had so isolated himself since Connor’s death that he was no longer certain of his welcome among his friends and, he so wished to have at least one certain friend waiting around the corner.  When had Death and Love become inseparable in his mind if not in reality?  When had he become the instrument of the one to the other such that he could no longer tolerate either?  Was this what Immortality was about; he had never thought so before … no, it could not be.  He had only to look at the example of Amanda, Gina and Robert, Grace, Constantine and Methos among so many others to prove the contrary.

“Robert, I dinna want to hurt you.  You must know that.  I saw it in your eyes at the last.  I loved Debra but would’a left for you … you wouldn’a let me an’ forced the fight.  I would’a still left but for Debra … I tried to save her, I did!  How did the tale change shape so?  Were you also Immortal?  Was it you back at Rachel’s?”  The questions streamed in the old tongue, unbeknownst, as Duncan’s eyes turned inward toward the so long ago.  The answers were not here, at least not now; but there was at least one living person who might set some of the questions to rest.

With a determination to try to piece together the jig-saw of his life, Duncan finally decided on a plan.  He was an enlightened man, a modern man of the 21st century and he knew that he was no demon, no monster who controlled the black arts.  Who better than he to know the truth of that fact; he knew what the face of a demon looked-like … and yet, the face of the demon looked at him each day when he awoke and he forced himself to look upon it and banish it ‘til the next arising.

With a stride that bespoke a confidence he did not completely feel, Duncan turned back to the MacGavity house.  He would consider the Immortal at Rachel’s Inn at a later time, or if they were just passing through, perhaps not at all.  He no longer saw himself as the guardian and protector; he could no longer fill that role when all he touched turned to ash.

Entering the house did nothing to dispel his sense of unease.  The lights were low and quiet reigned.  He returned to the kitchen hoping to catch the women there but all he found was the table set for one and a note propped upon the setting.  His hand was unsteady as he grasped the missive and read the words written with a strong, bold stroke:

Sorry to have upset you so with the tale.  I must be a better storyteller than I thought.  Anyway, we are going to the Inn to meet Robert who came up today to meet mum.  You are welcome to join us if you return before 6:00 pm but we are leaving then to go to the city for dinner.  If you can’t make it, there is a plate made-up for you and you can just heat it up in the oven.  Again, I didn’t mean to scare you.  Please let me apologize tomorrow with a special breakfast.  Laura

With Laura and Mrs. MacGavity gone for the evening, Duncan felt a relief that was unexpected.  Perhaps he was not yet ready to confront his past in this particular guise.  His other option, to go to the Inn and see exactly “who” was there, seemed to have won by default regardless of the fact that he really had no great desire to find out.  Having managed to screw his determination to the sticking point, he returned the note to the table, retrieved his coat from the hall-tree and headed to the Inn.

There was life and light straining forth from the windows and the lilt of music emboldened even the trepidations of Duncan’s overwrought imaginings.  Should the other Immortal be present, this was a haven, a place of safety, and no harm would befall any within the circle of Rachel’s domain.  That happy thought was the final goad and took him brightly through the door into the warmth and welcome within.

The difference between the cold outside, the lack of life at the MacGavity house and the overwhelming relief of the boisterous tavern buoyed his spirits to a place that could appreciate the joy of living.  The contrast was not so much in the extreme of the differences, but in the place that his mind had been wandering for the past several hours, if not during the recent months.  Here he could sit and watch the tapestry of the days as they unfurled to form lives; or he could join in at any point if he so chose.  That he realized, at least for him, was the meaning of Immortality - not bleakness and despair, but the opportunity for choice.  He had time to make mistakes and to repair them.  Knowing his own propensity to brood and act the dour Celt, he laughed at his own understanding of choice.  Bleakness and despair were often his fall-back position, but time was the great equalizer and usually meant that opportunities were still out there.

Returning to Rachel’s had been the right choice, though forced upon him by circumstance.  With a more positive mindset then he had had since arriving in Glenfinnan he sought out the company of his hostess.  Espying Rachel behind the bar, too busy to notice a wayward customer without a direct assault, Duncan steered through the massed humanity and squeezed into an open spot near to her position.  “Rachel, an ale if you please”, he announced himself with a smile.

Rachel reacted to the drink order before recognizing the voice of the speaker at which point she glanced up with a welcoming smile.  “Duncan, I didn’t notice that you were here!  How are you tonight?  Can you wait one bit while I clear these orders and we can chat a moment,” she asked, certain of an affirmative, immediately returning to her task without really noticing his answer.

It felt good to be considered as a known rather than an unknown.  Her easy acceptance of his presence and the assumption that he would wait for her, wanted to spend time with her, were the balm to his soul that this day had so tried. The evening held the promise of peace and, though answers were what he sought, the other was a benefit that he truly needed.  Within this unspoken framework, he remained standing at the bar, savoring his ale until Rachel was free to visit with him.

“So,” she began as they sat at a corner table tucked away and kept empty for the use of the proprietress only, “and what brings you to my humble Inn this fine evening?”

Duncan just smiled at her and replied, “Why should anything other than yourself and a good glass of ale be the reason for a visit?”

“Ah, Duncan, you have the look about you.  Don’t you know that I can tell when a man is here ‘just because’ and when he is here ‘because’,” she laughed.  “Of course, the ‘because’ is usually woman trouble.  With you I never can tell!”

Rachel’s attitude and confidence went a long way to easing the last remaining tension that was unrealized until it was gone.  Duncan returned her ready banter with his own, “What makes you think it isn’t woman trouble?” he retorted.

“Because, every available lass in Glenfinnan, and some unavailable ones as well, have already tried for you.  And everyone has been disappointed.  The only new lass is that Laura MacGavity, and her young man is staying right here at the Inn, so I know it isn’t her either,” she pronounced with a certitude.

One down, one to go Duncan realized with surprising relish for the game now that it was afoot.  Perhaps he needed this jolt to his honor, his understanding of who he was to see who he is and determine exactly who he wished to be.

“So, there are no other strangers visiting Glenfinnan other than Robert MacLeod?” he asked.  At Rachel’s nod he continued, “Have you ever heard the ghost story that he tells about Debra Campbell?”

“Oh, aye Duncan.  That is one of the many that are told in these parts, particularly when ‘tis close to All Hallow’s Eve.  I can understand why the young man enjoys this tale as it has a Robert MacLeod as the fallen hero … and everyone enjoys a love story, tragic or no,” she whispered conspiratorially.  “Of course, I hold no truck with the current fashion of the telling of that tale.  I could no more warrant that that Duncan MacLeod was a demon than that you are,” she stated with a wink and conviction, looking straight into eyes shadowed by more than the bar’s lighting.

Two for two; Duncan now knew that his long ago shame could still hurt him, and perhaps kill him if the Immortal he felt and Robert MacLeod were one and the same.  While it seemed farfetched, how could it not be?  Rachel herself had declared that there were no other strangers in Glenfinnan other than Laura’s Robert, while he had been there for over 2 months without sensing any other Immortal.  What if this Robert were his cousin from so long ago?  The ghost story clearly showed how Robert viewed the events leading to his and Debra’s deaths.  But, a demon, when he himself would be Immortal and understand that Duncan was no more such a creature than he himself was.

So enmeshed in this train of thought, Duncan was startled to notice that Rachel had risen from her seat when he caught the last of her comment, “ … back to the bar, it’s a busy night.  You can stay here if you want.  I think Robert is planning to stay a few more days if you want to meet him,” she finished while turning to take her place behind the bar once more.  Duncan nodded to Rachel’s back in thanks for the drink, the company and the information.  Nursing what remained of the very stout ale, Duncan decided that the best way to find a solution was to meet with Robert MacLeod and learn how he knew of the tale and to determine if he was the Immortal that Duncan had sensed earlier that day.  It would be too late this evening to accomplish either of those tasks and he really did not want to confront the issue without a good night’s rest.

With his course charted, his sense of self-assuredness began to return.  He was not a frightened child or ignorant barbarian who believed in ghosts and things that go bump in the night.  Well, at least not in this he was not, he didn’t think … or, at a minimum, he sincerely hoped not.  It was time to say good-bye to the past and to look toward the future.  He could do that by settling this issue with Robert, and he also could do it by making certain of his friends; letting them know exactly what they meant to him and how important they were.  There was one particular Immortal friend that he missed the most and had so badly used during the whole situation with Connor, not to mention a certain mortal friend that he had neglected terribly.  Thank the modern world for technology and the internet he acknowledged as he returned to his room at the MacGavity house.

After his late night flurry of activity, the thought of an early morning rising was beyond possible.  The darkness of the encroaching winter months did nothing to alleviate his lethargy and rather than begin the day with these negative thoughts, Duncan relished the idea of a few more cocooned moments.  If there were responses to his email messages, they would wait for a more reasonable waking; and the issue of Robert could not be approached until he had an opportunity to speak with Laura.  That would certainly have to wait until the promised breakfast, also requiring the participation of the other occupants of the house and not to take place before Mrs. MacGavity's usual rising time of 8:30 am.  Ignoring the green luminescence that reflected at him with reprimand, he returned to his dreams as 5:30 silently changed to 5:31 am.

One and one-half hours later, with his perspective greatly improved, Duncan roused himself to begin his morning ablutions.  A quick shower and shave afforded him time to review his email, if any, while also leaving the sole bathroom available to the women of the house as they also began to stir - thus began a new day, one with more promise than any of the preceding ones.  Even given his concerns regarding Robert, the ghost tale, and the unknown Immortal, the possibilities were of a positive nature and his curiosity was well and truly engaged.

It was in this frame of mind that Duncan approached his breakfast date.  There had yet to be any responses to the several email communications he had sent; though, in truth, he had not actually expected any as of yet given time differences and the sporadic nature of some of his friends attachment to this form of communication.  Entering the kitchen with its warmth and the animated chatter of mother and daughter, he was rewarded with the sight of a truly bountiful breakfast.  His stomach rumbled agreement as the wonderful odor of freshly baked cinnamon bread tickled his senses with promise.

"Mr. MacLeod, how are you this morning?"  Laura asked placing fresh fruit on the table to join the rest of the repast.

"Just fine.  And how are you both this fine morning?"

Mrs. MacGavity replied with asperity, "Just a bit more tired than normal due to the late night in town," casting a telling glance toward her daughter.

Not wishing to get into the middle of a family discussion regarding whatever might have transpired the evening before, Duncan quickly sat in the chair indicated by Laura and broached the topic most of interest to him.  "Where is Robert this morning, will he be joining us?"

"No," they answered virtually in unison, though the tone of voice was vastly different for both, one having a decided regretful note and the other more a statement of fact.

Again, using battle skills developed across centuries of engagements, Duncan decided that there was more to this situation than he needed to know at the present.  In order to avoid distraction from his own goal of gaining as much useful information as possible, he turned the conversation to what he hoped might be a safer opening.  Filling his plate with eggs, bread and fruit he asked where Laura had met Robert.

"Ah, that is a tale indeed; but, not a ghost story like last night," she was quick to add still a little discomfited by Duncan's reaction to the previous story.  "I had gone to the coffee bar at the corner.  I go just about every morning on my way to work,” she began.  “While waiting in line, a young man taps me on the shoulder and asks if we had met.  Well, I know a pick-up line when I hear one; so, I said to the young man that I didn't think so.  He wasn't very interested in taking ‘no' for an answer and he kept chatting me up.  I was almost ready to for-go my coffee just to get away from his unwanted attentions.  The next thing I know, a gentleman walks up to the young man and very politely but pointedly asks him to leave me alone.  Of course, at that point I was almost late getting to work and, as I had finally gotten my take-away, I just left.  That should have been the end of it.  As far as I was concerned it was the end of it, but that young man felt he had been deprived of a chance to gain my interest.  If you can warrant it, a few days latter the same thing happens.  This time I am not about to wait around and I just start to leave.  He starts to come after me, yelling at me that I am a snob and not worth his time anyway and generally making a royal scene.  Right in the middle of his ranting, the gentleman of the previous day comes walking down the street and, like a knight to the rescue of his lady, takes my arm and walks me toward my office loudly proclaiming some such nonsense about the lovely evening we had together and pointedly telling the other young man to leave his lady friend alone if he knows what's what.  When we were in the lobby of my building, he removed my arm from his and excused himself to leave.  I, of course, had to stop him and ask his name and everything.  After all, when a person comes to your rescue, not once but twice, you really do need to say thank you.  Needless to say, that was Robert and of course one thing just lead to the next and, well, here we are", she finished a little breathlessly and faintly flushed at the pleasant memory.

"Yes", Duncan smiled, "that is a little less bloodthirsty than the last story.  So how did Robert come to tell you of the ghost story?"

"Let's get these dishes into the sink for cleaning Laura, then we can make a proper morning of it in the front room," Mrs. MacGavity quickly interjected interrupting her daughter before she could launch into another long story.

Fitting action to words, Duncan rose and helped carrying all of the breakfast dishes to the sink as well as putting things away.  Mrs. MacGavity smiled at his attentiveness and continued to give Laura pointed looks, which she blithely ignored.  Again, realizing that there was some difference of opinion regarding the absent Robert, Duncan proceeded to derail any additional difficulty by suggesting that the MacGavity women retire to the front room while he washed the dishes indicating, that since he had eaten without preparing, it was the least he could do.  In so doing, he hoped that whatever the difficulty was between mother and daughter, it would be worked-out between them in the interim.

Though both women sputtered somewhat at the suggestion, they had little choice in the matter as he proceeded to shoe them out of the kitchen and was already up to his elbows in soapy water when they tried to help out.  "Go", he admonished them, "this won’t take any time at all and I'll join you both for that coffee and a chat straight-away."

The respite seemed to have done wonders for mother and daughter and when Duncan joined them a bare 20 minutes later, there was no indication of the previous disagreement.  With an inner sigh of relief, after preparing a cup of coffee for himself, Duncan sat in the armchair that he had come to favor.  Wanting to get back to the previous conversation, he remarked to Laura that she was about to tell them how Robert had come to tell the ghost tale.

"Well," Laura began with a hesitant smile at Duncan, "after we had been seeing one another for several months, Robert told me that he didn't just notice me in the coffee bar that particular morning.  In fact, he had seen me there several times for almost a month before he had the courage to try to talk to me."  Laura stopped and again looked at her mum before continuing.  "You see the obnoxious young man was really a 'plant' so that Robert could rescue me."

A loud "harrumph" was heard from the sofa where Mrs. MacGavity sat, but she said not a word.  Duncan gently prodded Laura to finish by remarking, "I suppose that is one way to get a person's attention."

"Yes, well, ah, yes I suppose it is.  I mean, it worked", she hiccupped nervously. "Anyway, by the time that he confessed this to me, we were already well involved.  I suppose it should have mattered more but then he showed me the sketch and told me the story and … and, I really liked him a lot.  So, I was willing to overlook it.  I mean, he told me the truth and all so I decided that it didn't matter.  In fact, it was very flattering that he went to all that trouble to have me think kindly of him.  Don't you think so Mr. MacLeod?" she asked turning to enlist his support.

Duncan wasn't sure what to make of the story.  He himself had rarely had difficulty with meeting a young lady when so inclined.  It didn't strike him as a malicious action, but it didn't seem to fit well with the idea he had of someone whom one would marry.  It was deceptive and that just didn't feel right somehow.  Certain that his concern showed on his face, he instead responded by asking, "What does the sketch have to do with the ghost tale or with Robert noticing you in the first place."  He hoped this query would deflect the conversation and obviate his having to provide any response of support.

True to his intentions, Laura excitedly added, "Oh, but it does you see.  The sketch was of me.  Well, not really of me, but of Debra Campbell.  Robert said that that was what made him notice me that first time."  Again the skillful storyteller to the fore, Laura paused and looked at her audience, both of whom were staring at her waiting on her every word.  Thus ensured of their rapt attention she continued, "He had this very old, old drawing of a young woman with wild curls about her face. It was just a charcoal sketch so there was no color and it was very faded and worn, but you could still see the resemblance to me.  I asked who it was and that was when he told me the story.  It was so sad to think that these young people died for their love."

Struggling to understand the import of Laura's words, Duncan, though slightly apprehensive of the answer, continued, "How did Robert come to have the drawing and know the story?"

"That's the remarkable part about the whole thing," Laura stated.  "He only just got the drawing a little bit before he first saw me.  He knew the story, of course, it had been told in his family and around these parts for generations.  I'm still surprised that you never told me about it," Laura looked askance of her mum, "but no matter."

"You know that I don't hold with any of those tales.  They are for noh good and I didn't tell them to you because of the trouble they could start.  We don't need to be believing in such things," Mrs. MacGavity stated with certainty.

"I suppose, but I don't really believe.  It's just fun in a spooky sort of way.  Anyway," looking at Duncan, Laura remarked, "Robert hadn't ever seen the sketch before and when he got the family bible after his great grand-da died, there it was pressed between the pages. He was sent the bible because he was the last Robert in the family and they thought he should have it for his great grand-da who was also Robert.  My Robert had never met his great grand-da, but he was named for him."

Duncan took in all of the information.  It really didn't solve the question of whether Robert was cousin Robert and/or the Immortal at the Inn, but it certainly tied everything together nicely.  There was something more to all these circumstances; coincidences were never just that.  Serendipity had been playing havoc with his life too much in the recent past and the advent of All Hallow's Eve was merely a few days away.  If you held to the old beliefs, the veil between the living and those not was thinnest on that day and there had been many times over the centuries when Duncan was given to wonder into exactly which category he fit.

While not usually willing to contemplate the supernatural, it almost seemed a pot and kettle quandary given the very nature of his life; he was becoming more apprehensive regarding this Robert MacLeod. He liked Mrs. MacGavity and was concerned for the safety of her daughter.  It also was very apparent that his landlady was not impressed with Laura's choice for a husband.  While that was of little concern to him, all of his protective instincts were being called forth.  Something was rotten in Denmark or, Glenfinnan as the case might be.  He had little choice in the matter and knew that he needed to get to the bottom of what was bothering him.  But, he had one last question that needed answering and Laura was the only one present at the moment who could.

"Laura, tell me, when Robert told you the story, did he name his cousin?  Or, did he always call him a demon?"

"Ahem," Laura looked away from Duncan clearing her throat several times, "well he did say that the name told him was Duncan," she finished almost in a whisper.

"Did you say Duncan was the cousin's name?" he gently asked.  "You won't offend me, it is a common enough name in these parts.  Please, is that it, the name of Robert's cousin?"

"Yes," she replied looking abashed despite his reassurance.  "I know that it isn't you.  I mean it can't be, the story is almost 400 years old.  But, well, with meeting Robert and the drawing and then with you here.  It’s just strange, that's all.  Anyone for more coffee?" she asked getting up and heading to the kitchen effectively closing the topic.

With Laura’s somewhat abrupt removal to the kitchen, there remained a strained silence in the front room.  Breaking his reverie, Duncan stood and turned to the front door about to excuse himself as well.  With Robert unavailable the only other avenue to pursue was at the Inn.  Gathering his coat, Duncan bid adieu to Mrs. MacGavity only to find her hand gently holding him back.

“Duncan,” she began, “I need to tell you, no … that isn’t quite it; you should hear another tale before you leave.”

He looked at her closely, curious about her hesitancy.  In the short time that he had known his stalwart landlady, uncertainty did not seem to be a descriptive word he would have used.  She had a look about her that stilled him from asking further and he merely nodded at her to continue though he remained standing while she once again sat.

“Ah, well, yes … the tale then,” she cleared her throat and sipped her now cold coffee.  “You might recall my shock at the telling of the story the last evening as if I had never known it.  In fact, that was the first time I had ever heard that telling.  You see, when I was a wee lass my mum told me the story as she had been told it, as gram had been told and, as every last person that I knew had known it.  T’was noh ghost story to frighten or shock, noh not at all; it was a love story alright - a terrible tragedy.”

With that declaration Duncan found himself again seated and listening raptly to a very different interpretation of the events of so long ago.  Mrs. MacGavity’s soft voice weaved in and out with the circumstances of the children growing, the friendship and the love that all felt for one another.  Then, the tragic day when Duncan was denied his petition to wed Debra in place of Robert.  His decision to leave Glenfinnan not being able to bear remaining close to his love while to not have the joy of sharing his life with her.  Before he was to leave he gave her a bracelet.   Robert thought the gift was to tie Debra to Duncan and forbade her the keeping of it and sought out Duncan to challenge him.  Duncan didn’t want to fight his cousin and tried to leave, but his father, the Clan Chief would not allow it.  In the end, Robert lay dying in Duncan’s arms with the whole village as witness.  Debra, at the sight of her betrothed dead in the arms of her beloved, ran from the village into the forest.  It was only later that all came to know of her fate.  Duncan had gone after her, but he was too late to stop her.  She could not live having caused such hurt to those she loved best and so, jumped to her death.  Being a suicide, she was not to be buried on Holy Ground and this, Duncan could not accept.  He took her body away to a secret place that only he knew and buried her there.

Completely entranced by this telling, so close to the truth of the events, Duncan had not noticed Laura returning to the front room.  The both of them started when it appeared that the story was come to an end; such that Laura was the first to ask her mum if that was, in fact, the end of it.  Sadly, Mrs. MacGavity shook her head saying that it was a tragic love story, like Romeo and Juliet and she continued that Duncan never married though it was his duty and his father tried to find him a suitable bride.  Also, after the death of Debra, the Clan MacLeod and the Clan Campbell was at odds again raiding and the such.  Finally, several years later, there was a battle between the two Clans and Duncan was killed.  That should have been the end of it, but there was more still; and this was the making of the tale.  When all were grieving the great loss, Duncan rose up, though dead, to join with his beloved Debra as none could know where she was lain but he, himself.

“There you have it,” she finished with a flourish, “the MacLeod heir was noh demon.  He could not abide to be buried in the Holy Ground where his true love would be lost to him.” Turning to her daughter, shaking her head sadly, “It has only been in recent years, since the return of Kanwolf, that these old tales have come to such evil tellings.”

“Kanwolf?!?!” Both Laura and Duncan gasped as Mrs. MacGavity stood to clear the coffee service.

“Ah, noh, I won’t be saying that one,” she retorted sharply.  “If you must have the sense of that adventure, Rachel MacLeod is the best one for you.  Young people, always wanting more than a body can give,” she chortled, backing into the kitchen with her hands full.

“Is that truly that end of it?” Laura followed her mum into the kitchen.

“Well, I do recall that it was also said that every All Hallow’s Eve, if you know where to look, you can see Duncan and Debra together … but I don’t warrant such doings,” was her conclusion beginning the washing of the dishes and effectively closing the topic.

Duncan recognized his opportunity to leave and continue with his own queries.  He was relieved to know that there was another view of these events, though he was still surprised that the circumstances of his life were the fodder for ghost stories and tall tales.  With purpose and determination he gathered his coat from the hall and left the cozy warmth of the MacGavity home as the clock struck ten chimes on the hour.

Approaching Rachel’s Inn, Duncan began to wonder slightly at the turn of events bringing him to this place at this time.  It was as if a circle was nearing completion, yet, similar to the unknowable number that is Pi, the closer he approached the beginning the closer he was to its ending.  The ripple effect of the stone thrown carelessly into the water that generates ever increasing spheres of influence.

His pace had slowed in direct opposition to the speed of his ruminations and thus it was only the shock of Immortal presence that alerted him to his actual proximity to the tavern.  Not about to lose the opportunity to settle this question, at least, he focused on the present and quickly strode toward the door of the Inn and entered.

Rachel moved toward him in apparent welcome, though there was a sideways glance toward the stairs that lead to the guest rooms.  In full warrior mode, he registered this attempt as subterfuge and, though puzzled at some elemental level regarding her apparent duplicity, proceeded directly toward the stairs and the rooms above without a whisper of acknowledgement toward her friendly ‘hello’.  Thus engaged, he realized that the call of the Immortal remained steady and unmoving; so he prepared for the confrontation, whether it be challenge or exchange of greetings, by slipping his hand beneath his open coat to rest upon the hilt of his blade.

While there were few rooms on this floor, Duncan was not one to cause distress to any other guest, though Rachel had indicated the previous evening that there were none, and therefore hesitated upon the landing to try and ascertain which room might house the elusive Immortal.  That short fraction of a moment was all that was necessary before the door at the end of the hallway was opened and a tall thin figure emerged.  The window at the end of the hall backlit the Immortal providing Duncan with no further illumination as to their identity, their features obscured by the rays of the early morning sun.

Despite the fact that there was a familiarity about the Immortal, a teasing at some elemental level begging recognition, Duncan declared, “I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod,” as was his custom, “are you here to challenge me?”

“Well, MacLeod, I suppose I am a challenge to you … but no, I think not this time,” was the glib reply in the cultured baritone voice that was as well known to Duncan as was his own.  “I would invite you in, but you seem to have done so already without.  Would you care to join me in a walk about the countryside?” Methos asked of his stunned friend, striding nonchalantly toward the only exit, in front of which still stood the Highlander.

Finally, coming to terms with this very unexpected happenstance, Duncan regained wits enough to remove his hand from his blade, to turn aside just as Methos approached allowing for space to pass and gain the stairway, and call out, “Adam, what are you doing here?!?!” rather than the more emphatic “Methos?!?!?!” that he had begun to yell.

Chuckling to himself, Methos replied unabashed, “Why watching out for you.  Why-ever-else would I come to this blighted country filled with sheep and barbarians?”

Unaware that he had fallen into step with the man he called friend, Duncan had no chance to ponder the response when Rachel was upon them anxiously looking from one man to the other.  “Is everything to rights then?” she asked, though it was unclear as to which man she had directed the question.

Realizing that there was some conspiracy between his friends, Duncan looked askance at Methos awaiting his response.  Just how long had he been at the Inn?  Wasn’t it only last evening that Duncan had specifically questioned Rachel regarding any strangers at the Inn.  And, had she not replied that there was no one unknown to her that was a guest.

Ah, then he saw the catch … she had not mislead him purposefully.  Methos, or rather Adam, was not unknown to her and, her reply therefore, had been the truth in spirit if not in matter of fact.  He chuckled at his own folly causing both of his companions to cast suspicious glances toward the sound.

Methos’ face reflected his immediate relaxation at MacLeod’s good humor and brightly replied to Rachel’s anxiety, “All seems well,” and, looking toward Duncan in confirmation, continued, “it seems likely that you need not concern yourself with my difficulty any further.  Apparently, I have been forgiven my cleverness.”

Duncan simply shook his head in mock confusion and smiled at Rachel to assure her that she was not at fault in any of this.  With a short sigh of relief Rachel returned the smile and was about to say something, derisive he was certain, when she was called to the kitchen by an impending disaster.  Taking his cue from his fellow Immortal, Duncan followed Methos as he continued toward the door on his quest for the aforementioned ‘walk about the countryside’.

Falling into an easy rhythm the two men strode toward the hills and the loch beyond.  It was not until they were well away from the town and the morning bustle of people about that Duncan repeated his earlier question, “Methos, why are you here?” and in the asking placed a strong, firm hand upon the arm of his friend to stop him mid-stride.  There was no anger in the question, the voice was quiet and confident but brooked no consideration that the other man would not answer truthfully.

“I, I was …,” he began, first looking away then directly at MacLeod, “I was concerned that all would not go well for you here alone; alone with your ghosts.”  He almost looked lost and confused, a look with which Duncan was unaccustomed to seeing on his ancient friend’s face.  “I did not mean to over-step.  But, you needed someone to watch your back and it just so happens that I lost the coin-flip,” he finished sounding slightly more himself and purposefully continuing the aborted walk.

Duncan puzzled over that statement for a moment before realizing that he was being left behind, literally as well as figuratively.  Quickly catching the retreating man they continued in silence, striding apace each reflecting on their camaraderie.  There was a connection here, one that Duncan had been loath to examine with any due diligence.  He had come to accept the companionship of the secretive man before realizing how much that friendship had meant.  While, at times, it appeared that he, Duncan, was nothing more that a fond indulgence, a diversion, for the enigmatic Immortal that walked alongside him; the truth, it seemed, was far more complex, or vastly more simple.

They were of a kind despite the years that separated their birth and not because of their Immortality alone.  Duncan, only now, was beginning to realize exactly how alike they were. While Duncan would protect all those that he could, even he had begun to recognize the futility of trying to keep everyone safe.  The last several years had driven that lesson home with a vengeance, time and again and with a finality that had ended on a rooftop in New York City - with his oldest and dearest friend and brother finally at rest; another lost by his own hand.  Even then, Methos had tried to shield him from the pain and the grief to come.  Yet, had he ever really tried to understand the motivations of this particular friend’s actions; or had he blithely chosen rather to accept them, unquestioningly, as his due.  Why now was his understanding of this important, why now?

The circle drew closer to its beginning.  Duncan could almost feel an imperative to act.  The action of striding alongside another who was willing to place himself within arm’s reach despite danger, despite potential harm, was only a further impetus to action, but what action?  He had resolved the question of ‘the Immortal at the Inn’, but he did not understand this itch under his skin that demanded to be scratched.  How did Debra and Robert connect with him, here and now? And why, oh why was Methos really here.

“Methos please, stop,” Duncan pleaded quietly.  “Don’t run from this, whatever ‘this’ is.  Why did you come here, really, and,” pausing as if the thought had just struck, “how long exactly have you been here?”

Neither question was a demand, an accusation.  Both were honest and heartfelt as if from a dying man seeking the answer to what lay on the other side.  There was warmth and caring in Duncan’s eyes as he stood his ground facing his companion, patiently waiting for a response.

Methos looked deep into the Highlander’s eyes as if tying to find the answer there.  It almost seemed that he did not, within himself, know it.  Thus they stood, a tableau among the sentinel trees, upon a rise of the hillside, unaware that they were not alone.  Their directionless ambling had taken them, by warrant of Duncan’s subconscious confusion, to the secret spot that was the grave of Debra Campbell.

A pall had settle upon them.  The brisk wind that had been at their backs hushed for the space of a breath, then another and another as the rustle of the leaves subsided.  The day had not been overly warm but it had been sufficiently so that the moisture from the earth had risen laying a mist upon the ground adding to the other-worldliness painting time out of synch with mundane reality.  Still, the moment lengthened, neither seeming willing to break the silent communication resonating between them with something as inconsequential as words.

Then, an icy chill blew swirling between and around them, shattering the stillness and stopping whatever Methos’ answer might have been.  Immediately, turning back-to-back in a reflexive gesture of defense as the mist took on an ominous presence and out of it came words of warning.

“Beware the love that turns to hate.  There be power that no man alone can defend.  Life calls to life and death to its mate.  Life must choose life or death will it overcome.”

It was not until the silence returned in absolute measure that each man became aware of the other and their proximity, or that each had drawn sword in hand pointed toward an unseen enemy.  The chill was gone, replaced by the waning rays of a winter sun that brought with it no great warmth.  The mist had receded as well and Duncan was faced with the stone he had place upon Debra’s grave.  It was at that moment that he realized the words had been spoken, not in Methos’ voice and not even in English, but in the shape and sound of the Gaelic of his long dead love.

Shaken and uneasy Duncan was loath to replace the Katana within the folds of his overcoat, however there was no immediate danger that warranted its continued display.  Turning slowly to face his companion, he asked in the hushed tones that seemed appropriate to the circumstance, “Did you hear that?”

Methos, lost in deep reverie, was startled by the normal sound of a voice. Abruptly pivoting to face the potential foe, sword at ready, it was only the split second reflexes of both friends that averted the near disaster.  As it was, at least one sword was bloodied before being returned to its sheath.

“What did you say?” demanded Methos at the self-same moment that Duncan shouted, “Why did you do that?”

Each man glared at the other, demanding an answer, non-relenting.  While Duncan was merely puzzled and somewhat concerned for his friend, Methos seemed truly unsettled.  Realizing his error, Methos was the first to break the stalemate, “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you for a moment.  What was it you asked … ah, yes; yes I heard what was said.  But,” he continued, as the confusion seemed to deepen upon his lean aristocratic features, “did you understand what was said?”

Duncan’s nervousness was exacerbated by the question.  Of course he had understood, why wouldn’t he when it was stated clearly in the language of his youth, of his Clan, in the voice of his lost love.  He remarked on this to Methos, his entire body transmitting both the concern he felt for his friend as well as the tension inherent to the pulsing of added adrenaline through his system.

Unnerved, Methos ceased all motion, which was more disconcerting in and of itself than any continued activity might have been.

Duncan mirrored his stillness, focused entirely on Methos, as if readying for an anticipated attack and awaiting direction.

“I heard a prophecy, a warning as well if you will,” Methos hissed, “but you could not have understood the content.  It was the voice of Kronos and it was spoken in the language of my years as a Horseman.  I heard no woman’s voice and it most certainly was not your Clan’s tongue.”

Realizing that there was more to the communication than could be sorted out while remaining on the desolate hillside, the friends began the long trek back to the tavern as if of a single mind.  There was little discussion on the return hike as each Immortal wrestled with the meaning of the message; not only the words but also the manner of delivery.  By the time they had reached the welcoming entryway to a firmer reality with its inherent warmth, each had come to the same conclusion.

“This is more than just a ghost story,” each commented to the other, virtually at the same time, as Duncan opened the door issuing Methos toward the interior and much needed liquid sustenance.  Methos turned to Duncan, catching his eye, and the tension of the last several hours was released in a wry chortle as both relished the comfort of companionship despite the confusion of the situation.  A silent pact was sealed between them that seemed to resolve all issues, or at the least, to hold them in abeyance, until such time as this current matter was put to rest.

Settling at Rachel’s secluded table, the only one not occupied and with the permission of herself, Methos again asked Duncan what he had heard; specifically the actual words.  Upon comparison, they concluded that each had, in fact, heard the exact same thing.  Whether it was a warning or a prophecy was yet to be determined.

In the manner of general’s devising a battle plan, each contributed according to their strength and specialized knowledge.  Duncan, it was decided, would return to the cottage and seek out more information regarding the elusive Robert MacLeod; particularly, as to when he was to return and exactly where, supposedly, he currently was.  It appeared reasonable that, as the only player not yet upon the scene, he had an inherent role in the drama evolving.  Methos, on the other hand, would turn his hand to research the various possibilities presented within the words, the circumstances upon which they were heard and the compounding of the voices with which they were uttered.  The one thing that both agreed upon regarding this matter was, that while Duncan would most likely be enticed by the voice of Debra, the possibility that Kronos would have a similar effect upon Methos was unlikely at best.  Therefore, it was reasonable to conclude that, while Duncan was necessary for whatever was in the offing, Methos’ participation could be considered a hindrance.

“What will you look for?” Duncan asked simply.  The task seemed daunting to him by virtue of the fact that what seemed to be involved was in a realm outside of facts.  “If this were one of those pop-culture TV shows you seem to like so much, there would be the convenient hero just waiting around the corner for you to bump into and solve all your problems.  Neither Buffy nor Superman are here.”

Methos was taken aback by Duncan’s comment and laughed, again easing the tension that had begun to reassert itself during the previous discussion.  The warmth and general hubbub of voices also leant to an atmosphere of congeniality further dispelling the direness of the situation and allowing for a return to normalcy, or at the least a modicum of such given the nature of their lives.

“Have no fear oh great and noble hero,” he jested, “I have no need of Buffy, though Giles might be helpful in this quest.”  He chuckled again at the confused look on Duncan’s face, as he continued, “the internet should yield all the information that is necessary.  And what can’t be found there, well let’s just say that I have several contacts in surprising locations involved in a variety of studies, and leave it at that.”

Duncan shook his head at the smug look on the other man’s face and granted that his method of direct investigation would only yield as much as people were willing to tell him.  Though he had been remarkably successful in the past, it remained to be seen how this would play out.  The lynchpin was Robert MacLeod.  Duncan again digested the possibility that his supposedly long dead cousin could, in fact, be very much alive.  He would have had no way to know if Robert had been Immortal, and even if he had, he would have reacted as had all of his superstitious Clansmen.  That was a surprising revelation, one that needed to be pondered in depth, later.  He re-attuned himself to Methos’ latest pronouncement and agreed that it was time for each to follow the course determined.

As they parted company, Methos back to his room and his laptop, Duncan to the MacGavity home, Rachel motioned to Duncan to join her for a moment at the bar before he left.  “You know, do you not, that I had no plan to deceive you?”

Duncan did not pretend to misunderstand her question and her concern.  He was still puzzled by her actions though. “I would not have thought that you would not have told me that my friend was here when I asked the other night,” he stated though the tone of voice and manner clearly conveyed an unasked question.

“Aye, I would have said it right out had I been at liberty to do so.”  She looked toward the stairs and the last glimpse of the legs of her guest as he returned to his room.  “I had no leave to do so,” shaking her head sadly, “he said that you were angry with him and would not be wanting to know of his being here.  You seemed so sad when first you came and kept to yourself so, even to not staying here at the Inn.  I wouldn’t put another burden on you and kept his wishes.  Is it forgiven I am?” was her sincere entreaty.

Knowing Methos as he did, Duncan could well imagine him enlisting Rachel in this subterfuge.  Well, in the words of the oft quoted bard, ‘all’s well that ends well’ despite the nagging suspicion that the end was yet to come.  With this thought in mind, and to ease the discomfort of a well-meaning friend, he replied with a smile that lit his face, falling into the cadence of the Highlands, “I’ll not hold it against you.  You only wished to help, and for that I do thank you.”

Rachel beamed at his forgiveness, taking both his great hands in her smaller ones, squeezing with the emotion of the moment while looking into his troubled earth-colored eyes.  “Don’t you be forgetting who are your friends and where to find them.  Anything, anything at all; if you are needing it just be asking and if it is in my doing, you’ll be having it.”  Perhaps, realizing that she had said more than she might have meant to, Rachel quickly turned back to her customers though there was no specific task for which she was immediately needed.  Duncan continued to regard her fondly for a moment before again turning to leave.  His friends were always there for him all he had to do was ask.  As much as he expected those for whom he cared to be able to rely upon his help, he had forgotten the other side of the equation; they were there for him as well.  Another thought to consider and ponder, later.

Stepping out into the bracing cold wind that cut across the village in the dark of the evening, Duncan found himself making a mental list of all the recent thoughts to be examined in depth, later.  At this rate, he would have to remain in the Highlands another month to adequately brood - no, to consider he reminded himself with a wry chuckle, or perhaps not … remembering one particular friend and his penchant for warmer climes.

It was in this more positive frame of mind that Duncan heard Rachel’s voice call to him just as the door was closing “Don’t be forgetting the festivities tomorrow for All Hallow’s Eve”.  He would be there, and he would enjoy himself he vowed.  It was an appropriate time for new beginnings he thought, remembering the true origins and meaning of the day.

Returning to the MacGavity home Duncan was surprised by the lady herself greeting him at the door with a rushed question; “Have you seen him then?” she insisted grabbing Duncan by his still coat-clad arm.  Resting his other, less encumbered arm around the trembling shoulders of the elderly woman Duncan tried to calm his landlady while seeking to understand what had transpired during his absence.

“Please, calm yourself and tell me what this is all about,” he asked in a soothing voice while maneuvering the shaken woman to a chair in the front room.  “Let me make you some tea and you can start at the beginning … No this won’t take long and you can use the time to organize your thoughts so that I can help.  Aye, there you are,” he finished settling her in the room, turning on the lights and bringing her the bag of her knitting to give her something to focus on other than her apparent troubles.

Returning to the hall to remove his coat Duncan was puzzled indeed by this strange turn of events.  He truly had not anticipated that anything untoward would have happened since his leaving the house.  Though, upon reflection, he realized that he had expected both mother and daughter to be at home when he returned.  As he walked to the small cozy kitchen to make the promised tea, Duncan began to worry about Laura.  If she was not at home, and since Mrs. MacGavity was so concerned, it was only reasonable to conclude that the concern was about Laura despite the question regarding ‘him’.  The sooner Duncan could hear what had transpired, the sooner he could put the matter to rest; or so he hoped.  He was sure it could not possibly be as bizarre as his afternoon had been.  There was a strangeness at work in these matters though and the lack of Laura might be more related to his own problems than could be discerned at first blush.

While these thoughts chased themselves hither, skitter and yon landing on no particular spot that made any sense, the tea kettle whistled indicating that the water was ready for proper tea steeping and some answers could be garnered.  Duncan carefully prepared the hot drink using the time to calm his own speculations, trying to clear any preconceived notions from this endeavor to piece together the situation.  Placing some biscuits on the tray as well, he returned to the front room to a much less rattled Mrs. MacGavity.

Handing her a cup of tea and a biscuit, Duncan sat beside her chair on the near-by lounge rather than in his accustomed place across the small room.  He wanted to be close enough to provide comfort if that became necessary and he didn’t want this to seem to be an interrogation should he need more information than was at first presented.

“Well, what is it that has you so worried?” he began mildly, “I saw my friend who has been staying at the Inn, is that the ‘him’ you meant?”  This seemed an innocent enough opening and, by stating the information quietly, Duncan hoped that, should this be the concern, Mrs. MacGavity would understand that he bore her no ill will.  After all, it was possible that his secretive friend might have enlisted the help of his erstwhile landlady as well.

Mrs. MacGavity shook her head vehemently.  “No, it is not any friend of yours that I mean.  It is himself, Robert MacLeod.  I don’t know what to do, please … I just don’t know,” her voice hitched as if about to cry but she took in a deep breath, squared her shoulders and raised her head to look steadfastly into Duncan’s concerned gaze.  “I’ll not start again, this is no way to tell you what’s what.”

Duncan inclined his head to a sympathetic angle encouraging her to continue.  She sipped her tea to compose her thoughts and began again.

“After you left, Laura had a phone call.  She said it was Robert and that he had met you at the Inn, that you were going to talk a bit and would she like to come and visit together.  Laura said that she was going to the Inn and that all of you would be coming back here later for supper.  When I saw that you had returned and were alone, I thought maybe they had decided to go into town again rather than come back here.  I don’t care much for that Robert MacLeod and I think he has seen my dislike,” she added with a down turned grimace and a shake of her head.  “I know it is not the thing to do what with Laura marrying the man, but I have a bad sense of him and it chills me to m’bones.  I hope you don’t think poorly of me for it, Mr. MacLeod, but there you have it and now … well, you’re here and they’re not and you didn’t see them at all; so, where is my Laura?”

“Is there anything else that you can tell me?  Did Laura say anything or do anything that might shed some light on the matter?  Are you certain that Laura meant Robert had already met me, or that he was coming back and expected to see me at the Inn?”  Duncan hoped that there was something more, some other detail that would put everything into proper perspective and also help him reassure the older woman that her fears were for naught.  Somehow though, he also began to feel the same sense of displacement that had happened upon the hillside when the fog had obscured the surroundings.  There was no fog here in the quiet warm cottage, but the ethereal quality of time seemed to be bending and twisting in unaccountable ways.

Mrs. MacGavity, herself wishing to be reassured and scolded for being a foolish old woman, tried to think of something that would make the circumstances less foreboding.  Shaking her head at first, negating that she had forgotten to recount some part of the short conversation, about to pronounce that as fact, momentarily stilled, then, slowly turned to her tenant.  “Yes, there was one other thing that I thought peculiar but really, at the time, it seemed only natural.  Now, I don’t know.”

Gently Duncan coaxed her to share this peculiarity by pouring some more tea in her cup and asking, “What did you notice Mrs. MacGavity.  I’m sure it will help sort things out.”

She looked at him quickly and, as if ashamed to be thinking such terrible thoughts, took a quick sip of tea before answering.  “Laura was all ready to go out for the day when the phone call came.  She was dressed and all she had to do was take her coat and leave but, she rather went back upstairs to her room.  When she came down again she was putting on an old silver Celtic bracelet.  I noticed it because I hadn’t seen her wearing it before then and she doesn’t usually go for that sort of jewelry, her being such a modern young lady and all.  I asked her about it, just to make conversation, and she said that Robert had given it to her.  That it had belonged to Debra Campbell and had come to him with the sketch.  She laughed thinking it was funny that he had specifically asked for her to wear it today.  She made some comment about how Robert could be so old fashioned about such things.  But, she seemed nervous about it and kept twisting it about her wrist,” Mrs. MacGavity finished taking a final sip of the cooling tea looking steadfastly anywhere but at her guest.  “I know I shouldn’t be so concerned, but then I expected Laura and Robert to be with you and I have no way to contact her to see when she might be back.  It’s just the worry of a foolish woman I expect.  My Laura has been well able to care for herself these past years, but … well, it’s just that I don’t feel right about Robert,” she stated firmly raising a puzzled gaze toward her confidant.

Duncan did not know what to make of this turn of events.  He saw no clear course of action even assuming that Laura was in danger.  Though, given all the time that she had spent with Robert prior to returning to the Highlands were he a threat to her, he had certainly had ample time before now to act.  Eminent danger is not what had him so concerned rather there seemed to be a confluence of time and place and people and he seemed to have been cast in the play without so much as a by your leave.  The bracelet was a key, of that he was certain.  Though, he could not be certain that it was the same one that he had buried so long ago with Debra, and had re-buried only a few short years past.  No one knew the location of that grave with the exception of Methos and that was only today.  If it were the very same bracelet, how did it come to be in the possession of Robert to give to Laura.  But, even if it were not the same bracelet, why would this Robert give such a gift to Laura given the ‘ghost story’ that he had told her and the role such an item had played.

Too many pieces and the puzzle made no sense and yet Duncan knew that he was supposed to find a way to comfort Laura’s mother so that she wouldn’t worry about her misplaced daughter.  Of course, at the heart of the quandary were Duncan’s own questions about the young woman’s whereabouts.  Reasonably, rather than run into the night, searching for a missing person fully capable of taking care of herself, without some direction or plan would yield no gain.  Particularly when confronted with the real possibility that the young lady was, in fact, not in any danger and had merely decided to spend time with her fiancée without the disapproving scowl of her mother.  Given this reasonable analysis of the circumstances Duncan felt slightly more secure in his reassurances.

“I’m certain that it is nothing more than a slight confusion on everyone’s part,” he began gamely trying to put a positive spin on the questionable situation.  “Robert probably said that he planned to meet me at the Inn.  I would venture to guess that Laura had said I was heading that way.  You are probably right that, when they met at the Inn and I was no longer there, they simply decided to head into town for the evening.  Nothing sinister in all of that now is there,” Duncan stated in a somewhat less than enthusiastic fashion, looking at the concerned woman and hoping that his words were true despite his own building apprehension.  “There is nothing more that we can do about it this evening regardless.  We will have to wait for the morning and I am certain that Laura will have returned, or at the least there will be a phone call to explain everything.”

“I suppose you are right about that, there is nothing to be done ‘til the morn at any rate.  I hope that you have puzzled it out rightly, but I won’t sleep easy,” were her last words as she rose from her chair and gathered the tea tray and cups and took them away to the kitchen.

Neither will I, thought Duncan, very much concerned about Laura.  He should probably call Methos and apprise him of the change in circumstances, but at the moment it didn’t seem that it would help the ancient Immortal with his research.  What was needed was a clear head.  The imperative to find and talk with Robert MacLeod now had a second impetus.  Not only did Duncan need to confront the man with his knowledge of the old story but, he needed to find out what had happened, if anything, to Laura MacGavity.

Tomorrow beckoned with a promise of action.  He would meet with Methos in the morning, but not too early he reminded himself.  Hopefully, Laura would have already returned and that would ease one burden from his mind.  However, if that were not the case, then he would most certainly find her when he found Robert MacLeod.

That was for tomorrow, after a good night’s rest.  Before that, he needed to check his email and see if Joe had responded to him. If so, that would give him ample opportunity to bring the man up to speed with the strange occurrences, and perhaps ask if he was aware of an Immortal that fit Robert’s description.

It seemed very unlikely that his friend would have kept quiet about another MacLeod being Immortal, particularly after his last trip to Glenfinnan and everything that had happened then.  Yet, in retrospect, it was only shortly after that that Charlie had been killed because Duncan had allowed Joe to interfere in a Challenge with Andrew Cord.  When the dust had settled, Joe was persona non grata at Duncan’s insistence.  Maybe there had never been an appropriate time for Joe to share this information.  Or, probably more realistically, with everything else that had transpired over the ensuing years, it was not a piece of information that Joe wished to share.

Once again Duncan was forced to view the recent years as if they had been a crucible in which to burn the hubris from his mindset.  He was much clearer about who he was and his place in the grand scheme of things.  He should have listened to Methos all those years ago about the standard response to unforeseen circumstances.  Hindsight, being what it is, can only been clearly appreciated once the situation is over.  Despite all that the recent past had forced upon him, Duncan had, in fact, come out the other side realizing both the merits and obligations of being a friend.  He would not ask Joe to betray any secret that it was important to him to keep.  He would merely relate his concerns and leave it to Joe’s discretion.  The salient fact to keep clear for both of them was that the door could swing both directions, and Duncan would not willingly close it again, regardless.  Another issue for contemplation to be added to his ever-growing list he realized wryly.

Clearly aware of the potential inherent in the situation, Duncan ascended to his room to check his email.  He was pleased to find that all of his friends had responded.  Some with invitations to visit, some with the latest gossip and all with a warmth and sincerity that spoke of acceptance and forgiveness for whatever transgressions he might have imagined.  He answered each one carefully with special attention to not only what had been written but also to what was implied by the response.  He felt re-connected in a way that had been lacking for so long and he was glad that his time in the Highlands had allowed him this possibility.

His reply to Joe was carefully, painstakingly composed.  He acknowledged the many ups and downs of their tumultuous relationship and he took responsibility for the many times that he had placed Joe at odds with his scruples because of Duncan’s own lack of understanding.  All the while, putting perspective and understanding into his email realizing that the lifeless words would have to convey what was truly heartfelt.  Finally, he related the peculiar current co-incidences and his concern that the Robert MacLeod who was wooing his landlady’s daughter might have too much information about the past to really be who he says he is.

Duncan reread this last email several times, making small changes and corrections before hitting the send key.  He was satisfied that the man receiving it would be able to hear the words as clearly as if they were face to face.  Though, in truth, even if Dawson told him that Robert was Immortal, or that he was not, or that he didn’t have a clue either way; it would probably be too late to make any difference.  Somehow, Duncan knew that it was all going to come to a head tomorrow night, on All Hallow’s Eve.

Duncan was awake at first light or, more accurately, he finally convinced himself that sleep was not possible and rose from the mockery of his bed.  It was not that he hadn’t slept at all, but rather that the dreams which visited ranged from the simply confusing to the sublime, all with an underlying element of fear; fear of rejection and that of being lost, unable to find the way out.  His father figured prominently in several of them, always with a look of disgust upon his face and anger in his words of disavowal, Tessa had accused him but of what he was uncertain, Methos had stood still as a statue doing nothing at all and, even his mother had turned aside when he sought her help to find the proper direction.  It seemed as if all his self-doubts, the ones he thought he had finally come to terms with during his stay in the Highlands, were attempting to drown him once again.  There was no question that the matter of Robert MacLeod needed to be resolved, and quickly, or the man that Duncan choose to be would be compromised by the man that he had been.

While it was yet too early to expect that Methos would be up and about, at the least he could prepare for the day.  Feeling somewhat enervated due to the lack of restful sleep, Duncan decided that a brisk morning run was in order to jump start what might prove to be a very long day.  Preparing for his departure as quietly as possible, so as not to wake Mrs. MacGavity, he none-the-less stole a peak into Laura’s room hoping that he would spy a sleeping form upon her bed.  Disappointment was his only reward when it was obvious that the bed had not been slept in the previous evening.

Moving quickly down the stairs toward the front door he had almost exited the house when he realized that, peripherally, he had seen something in the front room that seemed out of place.  Turning, senses on high alert, stealthily he retraced his steps toward the room in question.  What he saw tugged at his heart; Mrs. MacGavity sat upon her favorite chair, wrapped in a blanket, bare feet exposed resting upon the floor, as she snored rasping hiccups, deeply asleep.  Not wishing to wake her from what had probably been a fitful night as well, Duncan silently turned to the front door and quickly left the cottage.  If not for his own peace of mind, then for the dear lady who had shown him such kindness over the last several months, he knew that the mystery of Robert MacLeod had to be deciphered.

Returning from his run, more at peace and balanced, Duncan came upon Mrs. MacGavity in the kitchen going through the motions of making the morning meal.  There were dark smudges under her downcast eyes and she seemed to have turned into an old woman over-night, her shoulders drooping and her now slipper-clad feet shuffling as she moved from the stove to the table to the sink.  She did not even acknowledge Duncan’s return and this, almost more than her demeanor, told a tale of hopelessness.

Not liking this turn of events in the least, Duncan made to ease some of her burden as best he could and thus put on a more cheery aspect than he himself felt and greeted her with, “Good morrow to you this fine day.  We had best be at deciding our plan for the day as it seems that Laura did not return last night.”

So engrossed in her own thoughts was the lady of the house that the sound of Duncan’s voice startled her and she dropped the pan she had been holding.  Fortunately, she had been in the process of lowering it into the sink and no harm was done, except to her sensibilities and she replied with more force than was her custom, “What do you mean sneaking up on a body like that young man, I should thrash you roundly for the fright you’ve given me!”

Duncan, chastened, quickly moved to her side to apologize and noticed that her hands, and indeed her whole body were trembling uncontrollably.  Not wishing to be the cause of any added discomfort, he gently took her shoulders and walked her to one of the kitchen chairs to help her sit.  “I am truly sorry, I did not mean to frighten you.  I didn’t realize that you hadn’t noticed my return.  Let me get you some coffee and you just sit there while I serve up this breakfast that you cooked.”

Suiting actions to words the next several minutes passed in silence as Mrs. MacGavity regained some calm while Duncan prepared plates for the both of them.  “We do need to decide on a course of action for the day,” he gently reminded her after another few moments of companionable silence as they slowly ate.  She looked up at him and he continued, “I believe that the best thing to do is for me to go to the Inn, meet with my friend there and also check with Rachel to see if she might know anything of the whereabouts of Robert and Laura.  I’m sorry that I didn’t think of that last night, it might have saved both of us some worry, but I really did believe that we would find Laura back home this morning,” he concluded hoping that the sincerity of his intent was conveyed by both his words and expression.

Nodding, Mrs. MacGavity looked back at her plate as she continued to move the food around, nibbling at bits but not really with any type of an appetite evident.  “Yes, perhaps that would do,” she agreed somewhat listlessly.  “I’m such an old fool I am,” she declared for no apparent reason, “here I expect you to be concerned when you don’t even know my Laura and all of this is probably just the way modern young people act, doing what they want, when they want with no regard for the concern of their mum.  You must think me ridiculous to carry on such over so little,” she stated with a shake of her head as she peaked a sidelong glance toward her audience, continuing, “but you have to understand, living up here in Glenfinnan all alone.  The old tales never quite leave you, nor do the superstitions.  For all that I hold no truck with ghosts and such things, sometimes it is hard to disbelieve.  I have such a sense of wrongness about Robert MacLeod; he shouldn’t be here, not now, maybe not ever.  Do you get my meaning, or am I doddering and making no sense?”

The look of self-doubt on the kindly woman’s face was so profound that Duncan was hard-put to add to her misery regardless of his own thoughts.  “No, dear lady, there are things in this world that can not be explained and the worry of a mother for her daughter is one of them.  The connections of family can bring about all sorts of premonitions.  Don’t berate yourself for your feelings, they are true and they are real.”  Unfortunately, in this case, they may also be correct Duncan thought to himself, but the last he would not say to the clearly distraught woman across the table.  What he did say instead was, “I will give you a ring as soon as I get to the Inn and speak with Rachel regarding Laura.  Let’s hope that that will clear-up the matter; or you may have a call from her by then and everything will be settled.”  At this point in time, Duncan doubted the latter, but it could do no harm to remind Mrs. MacGavity of that possibility as well.

With a lighter heart, Mrs. MacGavity began to clear the dishes from the table and made to finish the clean-up, shoeing Duncan out of the kitchen.  The better to speed him on his way she had said, but it was clear that she wanted to be alone should Laura call so that no one would be a witness to her reaction.  And, if Laura did not call, she didn’t want any witness to that reaction either Duncan supposed.

It was still early morning.  Too early to expect to catch even Rachel up and about let alone Methos, so Duncan decided a quick look at his email was in order.  After showering and changing into comfortable jeans and a warm, thick cable knit sweater he booted-up his laptop and connected with the world outside.  There were a few responses to the emails that he had sent in reply, nothing that needed his immediate attention.  Surprisingly though, there was a long email from Joe, one that Duncan was glad indeed to receive.  While there was no helpful information regarding Robert or an Immortal matching the description that Duncan had provided based on his youthful memories, the tone of the note was reassurance in and of itself.  He and Joe would be all right and that was almost more than he could have hoped.  The mortal had only a measured number of years and Duncan did not wish to waste them, but rather to enjoy them.  To that end, Duncan sent a quick reply promising to tell the “whole sordid story”, as Joe had written, as soon as it was over and there was a story to tell.  He ended his email with a promise for a quite dinner and drink, Duncan’s treat, at the best restaurant in Seacouver and hinted that he might bring an “old friend” with him just liven it up a bit.  With no other business that had to be attended to, Duncan closed-down his connection, shut off the computer and prepared to meet the day more optimistically than it had begun.

Going downstairs to retrieve his coat, he double-checked that his Katana was in place, and he went to bid a farewell of his landlady.  He found her in much the same position she had been when he left earlier on his run, however this time she was fully clothed, sitting comfortably and knitting to pass the time.  She looked up as he entered the front room and smiled wanly, “I suppose you are off to the Inn just now,” she stated the obvious.  “Give a call when you find out about Laura … no, give a call no matter,” her voice was matter of fact but her eyes told the true tale with the worry clearly written there, if one choose to look.

“I’ll call with any information that I can,” promised Duncan as he turned and left at a resolute pace.  This is one of those times that I wish I had a car here, or that Mrs. MacGavity had one that I could borrow, he thought.  It would take awhile to walk to the Inn and there was no use calling for a lift either, as no one was about who could offer one any faster then he could walk.  Well, he would simply use the time to try and review all that had transpired and to place it in a logical, reasonable order.  He still continued to believe that Laura was with Robert, and possibly would find both at the Inn having returned too late the evening before to come back to the house for fear of disturbing the residents.  Or, even more likely, they decided to spend the night together at the Inn and have some privacy rather than be separated for the evening.  He would certainly give Ms. Laura a piece of his mind for having worried her mother over nothing, but that would be that and he would finally have an opportunity to speak with the elusive Robert.  Yes, these seemed to be the most fitting possibilities regarding the engaged couple and, having satisfied himself with this logic, he turned his mind toward his own mystery.  At least he had Methos to help with that one.

With these thoughts working toward resolution, it was no great surprise that he arrived at the Inn almost before he left, or so it seemed.  As he was about to unlatch the door, he felt the reassuring thrum of Immortal presence that would, no doubt, be Methos.  Though he was unsure as to whether the man would actually be up and about as of yet as it was no longer early but rather mid-morning.  In any case, the likelihood of disturbing his friend was virtually nil given the nature of Immortals.  Therefore, he was somewhat ambushed by the scene that greeted him upon entering the Inn.

“There is the man himself,” Rachel proclaimed as if holding court and awaiting the last miscreant to appear for judgment.  “I’ll warrant he has an explanation for the doings here in the wee hours of the morning,” she accused while looking Duncan square in the eye but speaking to no one in particular.

“All right,” he began slowly, in a placating voice, “and what exactly is it that I am supposed to have done last night?”

“As if,” Rachel huffed, “don’t be giving me the innocent look Mr. Duncan MacLeod.  The Sword of the MacLeods is missing from where it has been since the last time you ‘borrowed’ it.  And who else would be taking it but the MacLeod himself.  Can you tell me that it wasn’t you,” she demanded not really expecting a denial.

At Rachel’s words, Duncan pivoted to look at the place where his father’s sword was kept on display and could see for himself that the blade was missing.  Drawn to the spot, as if touching the bare place would make the sword reappear on its own, Duncan was surprised to notice a small piece of cloth caught on the display peg.  He reached to take hold of the material but hesitated when he stood close enough to identify it without actually touching.  The cloth was not the MacLeod tartan, nor was it the Campbell colors as he had half expected, rather it was the blue of the kilt that both he and Robert were wearing on that fateful day.  Finally, laying his hand upon the cloth and removing it from the display area, he felt the damp grittiness of earth upon the material and the odor of the grave that hung in the air.  Feeling a smart tapping upon his shoulder he glanced in the direction of the Inn’s impatient owner and finally answered her question, “No, Rachel, I did not take the blade,” he stated in a voice filled with confusion.

“Well, if you are not the culprit, then I ask you who would be,” Rachel stated, expecting him to have the answer as if she were calmly wanting to know the time of day.

“I don’t know, but I plan to find out,” Duncan replied with conviction.  This was just too many coincidences and all pointing in only one direction.  While he had little hope that Rachel could shed any light on his investigation into the missing Ms. MacGavity, there was no time like the present to make his query.  With this in mind he turned fully to face Rachel and asked, “I don’t suppose that you saw Robert MacLeod here yesterday, or Laura MacGavity perhaps?”

Rachel just shook her head, not really understanding what the one thing had to do with the other, but she trusted Duncan in a way that had no explanation. If this were what he needed to know to find the MacLeod blade, then she would give whatever help there was to be had of her meager knowledge.  “Yes, actually I saw them both yesterday.  Robert had returned early in the morning and took up his room again.  To tell the truth, it is surprised I am that you didn’t see him yourself for he was here at the same time that you were.  Though,” she glanced around the still empty room, too early for even the most diehard of her customers, as if trying to get her bearings, “I suppose he could have been in his room; you both could have crossed in all the coming and going,” she concluded looking askance toward Duncan.

“And Laura, did you see her as well,” he pressed.

“Yes, that as well.  It was strange goings-on yesterday and all come to recall.  First came Robert, then you and while you were with Adam, Laura came and met up with her beau.  But, to think of it, she didna leave with him and he left of a hurry right upon your heels.  I thought that he had gone to fetch you back for the three of you to have a bite to eat, but that must not have been,” Rachel looked pensive as she replayed the comings and goings in her mind.  “Let me get it straight away,” she paused and slowly began again, “Robert went out after you and Adam left, but without Laura, whom I’ve not seen since yesterday.  He came back after the both of you returned and with nary a word or a by your leave he went right away to his room.  He should be there still for I’ve not seen him leave since last evening,” she concluded with a curt nod of her head toward the stairway as if giving permission for Duncan to beard the lion in his den.

Only too willing to take the cue, Duncan headed up the stairs toward Robert’s room.  At the top of the landing he was meet by another strange sight; that of Methos dressed in what appeared to be the same apparel as he had worn yesterday with a worried frown upon his face.

“Duncan, wait … where are you going,” he asked turning to follow after the determined man, catching him just as he was knocking loudly upon the door to Robert MacLeod’s room.

“I’m trying to solve this mystery and the man behind this door has the answers,” Duncan asserted while again knocking for admittance though it was plain to see that no one was in the room.  “I’ll have to get Rachel to open the door and see what there is to be seen here,” he remarked as he strode back the way he had come.

“Duncan, wait … I have to talk with you,” he tried to waylay the Highlander from his course, but to no avail.  “Well, I’ll just wait here then,” Methos remarked to the recently vacated hallway, “I’m sure someone will want to hear what I have to say after staying up all night to get the information,” he finished with a shout in the vain hope that MacLeod would somehow hear him.

Methos was just about to return to his own room at the end of the hall when he heard the return of, not only MacLeod, but with Rachel in tow as promised.  “I don’t know what the fuss is about now Duncan, I can’t be letting you into other people’s rooms without their say so now can I,” she reminded him.

Methos shook his head at Rachel’s naiveté in matters MacLeod when he had a mind for action.  “Rachel, I think it might be best for all concerned if you let Mac take a look in the room,” he added, “otherwise he might take a notion to break down the door and then your guest would have no privacy left at all,” was his reasonable conclusion.

“Aye, right you might be at that, Adam,” Rachel agreed pulling the master key from her pocket and opening the door, “but it is with me in the room as well.  I want no accusations against my Inn or against you Duncan.”  She opened the door as she concluded her comment and walked into the room with Duncan following on her heels and Methos choosing to remain at the portal as if on guard.

The room was remarkable in its normalcy.  There was nothing out of place or untoward and one might have concluded that the room was vacant if not for a small over-night bag resting on the floor by the bed; that and the paper left on the desk by the window held in place by a silver bracelet.

Rachel was the first to notice the letter, for that is what it appeared to be, and the bracelet.  She called to Duncan to point it out but heard a small gasp instead when he noticed it for himself.  Methos, alerted by the distressed sound quickly entered the room as well and, as no one else had moved to retrieve the objects, did so.

“Well, curiouser and couriouser,” he intoned as he perused the missive.  Then he read aloud for all to hear, “It is thanking you I am for the return of the real bracelet, and for the finding of her resting place.  All is as it should be and it is only waiting on you I am.  You will know the where and the when.  Don’t be coming sooner or you’ll not be finding either of us.  Signed, Robert MacLeod.”

“Duncan, do you understand the meaning of this, what is happening here?”  Rachel’s concern was evident as was her confusion.  “What is the meaning of the bracelet and what does this have to do with the MacLeod sword being gone?”

“The sword is gone,” demanded Methos, “when?”

“Last evening apparently.  I only just found out when I got here this morning to meet you and Rachel greeted me with the good news,” Duncan blandly informed his fellow Immortal.  “Of course, even more interesting than it being missing was what was left in its place,” at which point Duncan produced the blue kilt fabric and handed it to Methos.

They glanced from one to the other and then both focused on Rachel.  Not being slow on the up-take, Rachel said, “well, I’ll be leaving this to the both of you to solve, these matters are better left to other hands, hands which do not have an Inn to run.”  Fitting action to words, she walked to the door with her parting words an admonishment to both men, “and I’ll be expecting the blade to be returned in the self same condition it was in when last I laid eyes on it.”

“MacLeod, I really need to speak with you, now,” Methos’ voice brooked no argument as he left the room to return to his own at the end of the hallway.

Having little choice in the matter but to follow that is exactly what Duncan did, softly closing the door behind him while he too exited the empty room.  As Duncan looked toward his friend’s back he realized, belatedly, that Methos still held both the letter and the bracelet in his hands.  Mildly curious as to why the other man felt it necessary to take the items with him, Duncan hurried his pace so that he entered his friend’s room only a heartbeat after Methos.

“OK, I’m here now.  What have you found out, and why did you take the letter and bracelet,” MacLeod asked.

Not answering directly, Methos handed Mac the letter and waited, expectantly.  It did not take very long before the explosion came, though it was remarkably subdued from what it might have been had MacLeod seen the letter first.

“What is the meaning of all this,” he virtually roared.  “This isn’t what you read out loud a minute ago.”

“Actually, MacLeod, it is, after a little artful translation work,” smirked the older man.  “I didn’t change the meaning at all.  And, I do believe that I managed to get the cadence across rather well, don’t you?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” MacLeod angrily persisted.  “This wasn’t written in English, it was written in the old tongue.  You and I both know that if the person who wrote this were the ‘Robert’ of today then he wouldn’t know the language.  Or, if it were Robert MacLeod from my clan of 400 yrs. ago, he no more knew how to read and write than I did then.  So, tell me, oh wise one, what game are you playing at this time?”

“Me, you think I wrote this note?  Why would I do that?  One, just one good reason MacLeod,” an exasperated Methos turned his back and walked to the dresser, placing the bracelet down and then resting both hands upon the furniture, wearily letting his shoulders sag as he bowed his head.  “We really need to start this conversation with clear heads, MacLeod, are you done being an idiot for the moment,” a resigned Methos quietly pointed out to his guest.

Duncan looked up from the letter he was still holding to look, really look at his friend.  Already he was reacting rather than acting based on information.  He knew, truly did know, that Methos not only wouldn’t have played such a worrisome prank, but he really couldn’t have done it.  The room had been locked, and even giving that the old man had the knowledge to open that door, which he undoubtedly had, where would he have gotten the bracelet which now rested upon the dresser between his splayed hands.  The bracelet, Duncan had no question in his mind, was the one that Laura had been wearing when she left the MacGavity home.

He had just chastised the one man he could be certain of, the man he could count on for help, even when he didn’t realize he needed it.  Completely abashed, looking again at the letter so that he didn’t have to see what his thoughtless comment had caused, he also noticed the writing itself and realized that the hand that wrote the letter was not that of the ancient Immortal.  He was an idiot, and foolish as well when he belatedly remembered Methos’ shouted comment about staying up all night to find out what was happening.  Oh, he had heard the old man, the whole Inn had probably heard the statement.  Fortunately, there had been no one around other than he and Rachel.  Making an overture to peace, MacLeod moved toward Methos replying, “Yes, I do believe that I am done being an idiot for the moment; but, I hold the option open to act one again at the next inopportune moment available.”

Methos chuckled as he straightened, looking MacLeod in the eye and nodded.  Apology accepted, Duncan thought, again.  He really had to do better in the ‘look don’t leap’ department in the future.  Another item to add to the list of things to consider at length.  At this rate, he might never make it out of the Highlands, or, glancing again at his friend who had relocated to the laptop set-up on his desk and taken a seat, booting-up the machine, perhaps all he really had to do was stay in the company of one really old and irascible friend.  Shaking his head at that image, Duncan moved to stand behind Methos prepared to listen to what he had found during the night.

“I need to begin by letting you know that I don’t believe half of what I am about to say, and the other half is pure fantasy,” Methos stated, glancing briefly up into MacLeod’s bemused eyes.  “Right then; first off, Robert MacLeod, the modern one, and no mistake there is a current day Robert MacLeod, wrote the letter you have.”  Methos had stopped at this point fully expecting some derisive comment from MacLeod as he again looked toward the man almost defiantly.  When all he received in answer was a slight tilt of the head as if beckoning him to continue, Methos cleared his throat dramatically and did exactly that.  “Yes, all right.  As we both have figured out, the current Robert would not know the Old Gaelic, but the Clansman Robert would not have been able to write the letter.  So, what you have is a little case of spirit possession,” Methos quickly added to forestall any possible outburst, “at least that is what my sources are telling me,” he concluded defensively, and merely pointed at the picture displayed on his monitor.  “That is the current Robert MacLeod.”

Duncan could not have been more taken-aback if his father had just walked in the door and greeted him with a warm smile and words of welcome.  The picture on the monitor looked nothing like the Robert he remembered from his clan days.  Here was a man with a peaches and cream complexion, freckles and twinkling blue eyes and a shock of curly strawberry blonde hair; where he had hair that was because this man, though young, was nearly bald.

While the picture was only a face shot, probably hacked from a drivers’ license record, the other very obvious fact was that this man was over-weight and very likely in poor physical shape.  Duncan wondered what it was that Laura saw in this man then, quickly chided himself for the thought knowing full well that the little intrigue of their meeting would have been enough to start the romance.

Methos, watching Duncan closely, surmised that it was time for the next piece of the puzzle to be presented.  “Now, I take it from your reaction that that is not what you expected Robert to look like,” he verified accepting MacLeod’s nod as the confirmation it was.  “So, what seems to have happened it that this old spirit has been hanging around for a few centuries waiting for exactly the right moment, which would be tonight if you hadn’t guessed that yet, to make his possession permanent.”

At that point Duncan had to interrupt, “You mean it is not permanent yet?”

“As I was saying,” the old man continued clearly trying to ignore MacLeod’s impatience, “in order for said temporary possession to become final, all the causes that lead to cousin Robert’s death had to be brought together.”  Again, Methos cleared his throat as if having trouble saying the words that were really unbelievable in a modern context.  With no additional interruption from his ardent audience he began once more.  “As you can surmise, the spirit needed to have the cause of his death, which would be both you and Debra Campbell, as well as some physical item representing both of you.”

Duncan was nodding as he began to make sense of what was being described. While the modern Robert was a very real person, he was also the conduit for the spirit of the long dead Robert to try and live again but, to do so he needed Debra, or in this case Laura MacGavity, because of both her resemblance to the dead Debra as well as her lineage to the Campbell Clan.  It seemed he also needed a representative of Duncan MacLeod’s lineage and had happened upon a likely candidate in himself.  Duncan wondered at the cosmic joke being played upon the spirit of Robert in that it was not merely a representative of the line of MacLeod, but it was the very man himself.  He couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the irony.  He had come to the Highlands to bury his dead and to find himself, instead he had been found by his dead to be a champion for himself.

Hearing his companion’s soft chuckle, Methos continued the explanation, “So, as you can see the need for the sword, the bracelet and Laura.  I can understand how he met and enticed Laura, and the sword has always been available, but what I can’t fathom is how he got the real bracelet.  You re-buried that a few years back in Debra Campbell’s grave after it had been unearthed the first time, didn’t you?”

Duncan nodded his head in agreement, “I think I can explain that little anomaly.  Rachel told me that Robert had returned yesterday morning and he must have seen us when we were here.  He apparently left shortly after we did and, if you recall, we ended-up at Debra’s grave before returning here.”  Duncan walked to the dresser and picked-up the bracelet there giving it an expert perusal, “This is a fairly good facsimile of the original, but I suppose it wouldn’t have really done for the real thing in this type of matter.  He probably dug-up the original after we left the grave to return here,” MacLeod concluded replacing the bracelet on the dresser top and returning to stand behind Methos.

“And that, my friend, answers my last question as well as giving Robert the last part of what was needed for the possession to work,” remarked the enigmatic researcher.  “I was going to tell you that without knowing the resting place of the real Debra Campbell and Duncan MacLeod, no possession could take place.  Since, there is no grave for you my friend, and since only you knew where you had laid Debra to rest, I was certain that this was only an exercise in futility.”  Shaking his head at the serendipity of the life of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, Methos continued, “I had best tell you the rest of it then.”

With that said, Duncan listened attentively as Methos detailed his investigation and what it meant.  Based on the story that Mrs. MacGavity had told, it was not surprising that ‘Robert’ would believe that the body of Duncan MacLeod was also in the grave with Debra and that the current Duncan was a similar incarnation as was Laura.  With that as a given, then the spell would work as follows, according to Methos’ sources, at the stroke of midnight on All Hallow’s Eve, ‘Robert’ had to kill ‘Duncan’ with a sword thus re-enacting the original confrontation but with a different ending and setting to rights what, in his mind had been wrong.  Laura, wearing the bracelet of Debra, had to die as well, though no specific timing was indicated for this death.  This would allow the spirit of the dead Robert to return to the flesh while the spirit of the current Robert would take its place and a similar exchange would happen for Debra Campbell whose spirit would occupy the flesh of Laura MacGavity.  In order for the spirit of Debra to return however, it had to be willing and therefore, Methos posited, the spirit of Robert would return not to today’s Robert’s body, but to the newly deceased body of Duncan once the currently occupying spirit had vacated the premises.  The benefit of all this spirited movement, Methos jested with tongue firmly in cheek, was that the newly united flesh and spirit would live forever.

There was a flaw in the plan though, Duncan thought, I am not an incarnation but the original.  “What will happen when ‘Robert’ tries to kill me and fails,” he asked, relying both on his Immortality as well as his experience and expertise with the sword.

Methos looked at MacLeod, regretting his next words even before he uttered them, “Then you will kill the current day Robert and it is very possible that you will not be able to save Laura either.”

“What do you mean,” demanded a distraught Highlander.

“I would suppose that Laura has been drugged or given some sort of slow poison, probably yesterday,” Methos stated noting that MacLeod agreed.

“I think you’re right about that.  Laura has been missing since yesterday and has not been seen anywhere since arriving at the Inn that morning,” Duncan clarified.

“As I suspected.  In that case, even if you win the fight with ‘Robert’, you will most likely not have time to return Laura to a medical facility and an antidote, even if you knew what poison, if any, had been administered,” Methos finished quietly, allowing Duncan a moment to consider all that had been discussed.

“What if I simply don’t go,” was Duncan’s surprising comment.

“I wish it were that easy my friend,” Methos rejoined.  “Unfortunately, you will still have the death of an innocent girl to consider.  The only way to find Laura and possibly help her is to go where you are expected, when you are expected.”

“OK, so I go, and bring a medical expert with me,” he added looking pointedly at Methos, “and do whatever is possible to get her to a hospital alive.  I still don’t have to fight ‘Robert’ or kill him.”

“Possibly true, though I doubt that it will be as easy to do as all that.  In the first place, the spirit has been getting stronger and stronger as the day approaches, but the modern day Robert is still there as well, as evidenced by the letter which could not have been written if only the Robert of your clan life were in control.”  Methos presented his conclusions turning toward his concerned friend.  “Based on what I have been able to find, the spirit will not just evaporate when his plan is foiled.  The modern day Robert has to fight for his own right to live.  Somehow, a man who has been a puppet for as long as this Robert has been might not be able to win that fight,” he stated shaking his head.

“What you are saying then is if I don’t fight the duel, then it is still possible that both Robert and Laura could die.  But, if I do fight and win, then it is still possible that they will both die,” an exasperated MacLeod articulated as he began to pace the small room.  “Do you believe any of this, Methos?  Could it be true,” Duncan asked as if grasping for a lifeline in a surging ocean storm.

“I told you that I didn’t give much credence to any of this, but my sources are good ones and they seem to think it is possible,” he answered with sincerity. “Personally, I think it is all a ‘trick’ as in ‘trick or treat’ though to what purpose I really couldn’t comment.”

Duncan stopped pacing and looked at his friend as if he had grown an extra set of eyes, not believing the audacity of the thought.  Though, upon reflection, it could be the case given what he had seen of the way that Mrs. MacGavity had reacted to Laura upon the subject of Robert.  Shaking his head in negation, he didn’t really think that anyone would deliberately put another person through that kind of hell for a ‘trick’, particularly not one that you loved.  “No, I don’t think this is a trick, Methos, but it could be something else.”  Duncan began to pace again as he explained his reasoning, “Possibly, Robert has been so caught up in the old stories that, when he saw Laura that first time, he began to see himself as his ancient ancestor about to rescue a damsel in distress and be a hero.  Then, when he met the girl’s mum, who didn’t like him much, he had to do something to win her over as well.”

“I don’t see where you are going with this, but at least it makes more sense then a spirit possession,” Methos agreed.  “I’m listening.”

“What if, at that first dinner when Robert met Mrs. MacGavity for the first time, all the woman could do was make comments about her wonderful tenant, Duncan MacLeod,” Duncan suggested.

“Not very full of yourself are you,” was Methos’ snide rejoinder.

Ignoring the other man’s words as if they hadn’t even been spoken, “And Robert began to feel inadequate.  That wouldn’t fit with his image of the hero rescuing the damsel in distress.  So,” MacLeod continued warming to his subject, “he and Laura concocted this elaborate plan to make me out to be the ne’er do well using the ghost story as the bait and her disappearance as the hook,” he concluded looking at his sounding board for some response.

“It has some merit.  I’ll give you points for creative thinking,” retorted Methos, “but how exactly will Robert be the hero of this tale and you the fool?”

Duncan shook his head in confusion.  Even he could not see any resolution that didn’t bring the miscreants to light.  In the end, no matter what Laura’s mum had thought of Robert, Laura did not strike him as the type that would act in such a way that would cause the older woman such distress.  Perhaps he was blinded by her likeness to his past love, but all of his interaction with the younger Ms. MacGavity painted a kind and considerate person; certainly not the type of person to participate in such a ‘trick’.

“So, to paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, once you have eliminated everything else, no matter how improbable, what remains must be the truth,” stated an unhappy Highlander looking for an objection from his rational companion.

Methos merely nodded adding, “Unless you happen to know of a friendly witch in these parts to cast a spell and vanquish the spirit of Robert MacLeod while curing the possibly dying Laura, I think it is on your shoulders, Mac.”

Duncan wasn’t sure, but he had a suspicion that Methos was referring to another popular culture TV show of which he was unaware rather than the witch that they both knew only too well.  Accepting that he would rather chew nails than plead ignorance in this case he simply shook his head indicating no such person was currently available.

“I thought that might be the case,” Methos allowed.  “Just to add one more spice to this stew, you do realize that it is possible that Laura won’t be at the grave at all, or that she could already be dead.  It is only necessary that you die at midnight for Robert to inhabit your body.  There is no indication in all of my research that says that Laura has to be alive until then.  Of course, on a more hopeful note, there is no mention that she has to die at midnight at all and she may yet be alive and well until after Robert has successfully taken possession of your body.  Come to think of it,” Methos added, as an after thought, “that may be what Robert will need to do to make certain that the spirit of Debra Campbell is willing.”

Duncan glanced sharply at his friend and sat heavily on the bed, “So, what you are saying is that Laura could be all right, perhaps drugged but not poisoned.”  At Methos’ nod, Duncan continued, “Then all I need do is meet ‘Robert’ tonight, see if Laura is with him and if not, don’t fight, hoping that the modern day Robert has enough strength of character to oust the spirit Robert.”

“Can you,” Methos asked quietly, “can you stand-by and let someone fight for his life without helping?”

Duncan shook his head at the question, though whether it was in negation or confusion was unclear.  This was a dilemma that had to be faced.  While he would like to think that inaction would solve the problem, the reality, as unreal as it was, probably did not allow him that option.  “You think I will have to fight ‘Robert’ don’t you,” he finally accused the man across the room, “you believe that I will have to kill him in order to rescue Laura, to find out where she is.”
“I don’t know what to believe, MacLeod,” was the sincere response, “I wish I could tell you what to do, I really do.  The only option one of my sources indicated was that if you could get the spirit to leave the body before it was dead, then no harm would come to the man.  The problem with that solution was that for the spirit to leave, it had to believe that the body was dead,” added an equally befuddled Methos.

What was left of the day flowed around the two friends while they sat uncomfortably at Rachel’s private table.  Neither wanted to be alone, nor to wait in the relative confines of Methos’ small room.  Outside had no real appeal.  That left the tavern; on the one hand familiar in the smoky, noisy surrounds while on the other, claustrophobic as no real solution had yet presented itself.  The one possibility that neither had openly discussed remained unspoken just below the surface.  Duncan would look at his tablemate, as if to say something, start on a neutral enough topic but stutter to a halt without completing the sentence.  Or, Methos would make a coughing sound, a prelude to a momentous idea, and then would subside back into silence again having added nothing new, or merely ordering another pitcher of ale to lubricate the thought process.

Rachel joined them once, at the end of the lunch rush.  She didn’t remain long, the silence so oppressive that even her hearty chatter could not rouse the men from their pensive state.  The dinner crowd came and went and the tavern was slowly filled with the evening regulars.  There was a dart game in progress and the room was alive with the din of several conversations, louder than necessary, as the liquor loosened tongues competed with one another.  From time to time Rachel would send over another pitcher and remove the old one, though it appeared that even drinking wasn’t enticing the two Immortals.

As the evening became full night and grew later still, Rachel finally had a moment to take a break, seating herself at her table.  “If I didn’t know better, I would think that you two don’t like my ale anymore,” she chided them trying to get at least a smile from one of them.  It worked, but only momentarily when Duncan looked toward her with the beginnings of a smile upon his lips that quickly turned to a frown as his eyes lit upon the empty display column where the MacLeod sword should have been.  Rachel turned as well, knowing full well what it was that he had seen, or rather what was missing, but she used the gesture as an overture of sorts.  “I know that you want to get the sword back, and I really don’t understand what any of this has to with Robert MacLeod, but you need to be careful tonight.”

Duncan and Methos both looked at her carefully. They had not told her any of the particulars, but somehow she seemed to sense that they wouldn’t be at the festivities planned for that evening, at least not those being held at the Inn.

“I’ve heard some talk today that there was a hearse coach stolen from the next village over.  I canna believe that there was one of those contraptions still around these parts at all; but ‘tis the season one might say,” Rachel commented shaking her head.  “Another replied that not only had he heard such, he had seen the coach upon the hills across the valley.  Now what, I ask you, would be the need of such upon the hills where there is no grave yard.”  Looking at both men, making certain that they had caught her eye, she softly admonished them, “It is an ill wind that brings these tidings.  You keep a sharp eye when you go out.”  Having said her say, Rachel left the men to ponder her words as she stood and returned to her place behind the bar.

“I always knew I liked that woman,” Methos said, apropos to nothing in particular.  “MacLeod, we’ve spent the better part of the day avoiding the issue.  You have to make a decision and just about now would be a good time, unless you really do plan to do nothing,” he added needlessly.  Whatever else MacLeod would do, nothing was not on the dance card for this night.

“Methos,” Duncan whispered unnecessarily as no one was close enough to hear, “do you think Laura might be in that hearse carriage?”

For the first time that day, Methos began to feel a spark of hope.  “Perhaps,” he replied, “what are you thinking now?”

“If Laura is in that hearse, and if she is alive; no, I know that she is alive,” he asserted, “then you might have been correct that Robert won’t kill her until he has possessed my body.”  Even though it felt foolish to say such things in the mundane surroundings of Rachel’s friendly pub, there was very little time left in which to make a plan.  “If that is the case, then all I have to do is convince cousin Robert’s spirit to leave Robert MacLeod’s body long enough to get both Laura and him to safety and wait for midnight to pass.”

“I follow you to a point,” Methos allowed, “but that point being, how do you plan to get the spirit to leave?  Remember, the spirit will probably only leave if it believes that the body is about to die.  How do you plan on doing that without actually killing the poor boy?”  Then Methos voiced the one option that, by silent agreement, neither had presented up to that point, “You don’t plan on letting Robert ‘kill’ you do you?”

Having put the idea on the table, so to speak, both men seriously thought about the ramifications of such an action.  While it was unspoken that any death but decapitation would not be a true death, that was not the real concern regarding that choice.  Methos understood the very real danger to his apprehensive companion; and that was possession.  No one had had to deal with this terrible loss of self in more ways than the man sitting across the pub table had.  This was an evil and malevolent spirit whose only purpose was the destruction of Duncan MacLeod, an entity that had survived centuries to fulfill exactly that purpose.  Despite the Highlander’s demonstrated ability to fend off dream projection possession, dark quickening possession and to be the Champion against a millennial demon, could he retain his core self when the sole focus of the evil he had to fight was, and had been for centuries, the supplanting of Duncan MacLeod’s soul.

Duncan did not answer the unvoiced question except with silence as he allowed Methos to see the uncertainty written upon his open expression.  Rather, he choose to respond to the prior question by breaking the tense moment as he began to detail his plan, “I don’t plan on killing Robert, but you can, at least I hope you can,” Duncan stated.

“Duncan, no matter what I may have done in the past, a very distant past I might add, one that I thought we had managed to move past,” he emphasized, “I could no more easily kill this boy than could you,” was the indignant reply from the irritated Immortal.

“No, you misunderstand my intent,” Duncan quickly insisted shaking his head in negation. “And yes, I really do know that you could not kill him any more than I could.  What I want you to do is rig up some sort of fast acting knock-out drug and some way to give it to Robert while we are fighting.”

Methos looked at Duncan, startled, “So you are going to fight.  You do realize that there is no real challenge in this.  Even with the ability of cousin Robert, the modern day version probably can’t even lift the MacLeod blade.”

“Yes, that is what I am counting on.  The spirit of my cousin apparently doesn’t know that I am, in fact, skilled with a sword and is no doubt counting on my own ineptitude to factor into the challenge.  When confronted with the truth, that should confuse him sufficiently that, if you can dispense the drug at the moment that I appear to be about to behead him, then the spirit should leave thinking that I have delivered the death blow.  Then we take the drugged Robert, put him in the hearse with Laura and drive to safety,” Duncan outlined his plan and looked toward Methos for support.

“It might just have a chance at that,” he agreed.  “This presupposes that Laura is alive, but, if she is dead already, then there isn’t much that can be done about it,” he allowed.  “I guess it is the best we can do in these circumstances, and I just might have something that will work and a way to apply it.  It would be best if there was some pain involved to simulate the anticipated feel of the blade cut I think,” Methos suggested aloud.

While Duncan was not sanguine about that last idea, he knew that his friend was probably correct.  They were trying to force an evil spirit from the living body of its host. It had to seem as real as possible.

Duncan rose, ready for action now that there was a plan, a possibility and a direction.  He turned toward the stairway and Methos’ room to make final preparations for the night’s confrontation.  Methos also stood to follow Duncan to his room when Rachel returned to the table.  Tapping Duncan on his arm to gain his attention she told him, “Mrs. MacGavity is on the phone for you.  You can take it in the office to have a bit of privacy.”

“Go ahead Duncan, I can take care of what I need upstairs while you talk to the woman.  I’ll wait for you there and we can leave as soon as you come-up,” Methos told him already starting for his room.

Duncan followed Rachel to her office and thanked her for her kindness even as he took the phone off the hook to speak with Laura’s mum.  He had no real new information for the worried Mrs. MacGavity, but at least he was in a much better frame of mind than earlier in the day when he had called to tell her that Laura was not at the Inn, but that he was certain that she was with Robert.  He took a few moments to assure her that he would have an answer for her by the next morning and that she shouldn’t wait for him to call or return until then.  While he did not want to get the elderly woman’s hopes up, he also did not want her to have another sleepless night.  Without deliberately being false, he let slip that he was going to be meeting with both Robert and Laura that evening.  Relieved that he was asked no specific questions and therefore did not have to lie, except by omission, Duncan ended the call with a promise that either he or Laura would call the next morning.

Having finished, Duncan quickly exited the office, nodding to Rachel as he crossed the pub to meet Methos in his room.  When he got there, he was handed his coat and hurried back out of the room with his friend by his side.  They had plenty of time to walk back to Debra’s grave, but now there was a real sense of urgency in both men’s strides.  The plan was a good one, or at least as good as could be expected under the circumstances, but there were still too many unknowns for either Immortal to be truly comfortable.  They didn’t talk on the way across the valley and up the hill.  Each man was occupied with his own thoughts and neither wanted to distract the other by sharing his doubts.

The night was remarkably clear and still with only the pale sliver of a waning moon to light the way.  The stars twinkled brightly providing a false sense of gaiety.  Neither man really noticed the celestial display above as they remained focused on what was becoming more clearly a large dark object, undoubtedly the hearse, situated in the distance where they both knew Debra’s grave to be.  All for the better, Duncan thought, Robert would be waiting.

Turning to his shield brother, for that was what Methos was and had been almost since the first Duncan finally inwardly accepted, he suggested, “Perhaps we need to separate at the tree line in case Robert is watching us so that he won’t realize I am not alone.”

Without a word, Methos acknowledged the validity of the tactic with a short nod.  Once they were under cover of the first tree shadows, he silently left MacLeod’s side and melted into the darkness.  Even though Duncan had watched him vector to the left, he was hard-pressed to spot the elusive figure and felt re-assured that no one else would notice him either.  Without any appreciable delay, Duncan continued on the direct course towards the waiting confrontation.  This path was less obscured with camouflaging foliage and therefore it would appear that a single man had been going toward his destiny alone from the onset.  Duncan’s only clue that he was not, in fact, facing this trial alone was his constant awareness of Immortal presence.

Approaching the hearse first to check and see if their assumption regarding Laura’s condition was accurate, as well as to give Methos time to position himself, Duncan was halted short of his goal by Robert MacLeod.  The man stood with feet planted, shoulder width apart, holding the MacLeod sword with both hands upon the hilt and the tip resting on the ground.  There was menace in his demeanor and the face, which had looked so fresh and innocent upon the computer monitor, exuded roiling hate, the eyes nearly black as they narrowly watched Duncan’s approach.

Unsure of the choreography planned by cousin Robert’s spirit, the intrepid Highlander took the bull by the horns continuing toward the rear of the carriage after only a moment’s pause to regard his opponent.  The man continued to stand his ground as if he were a statue and not a living being at all.  Wary of the lack of confrontation, Duncan would not give his back to the threat even as he opened the rear doors to peer into the dark recesses of the hearse.  A glance was sufficient to answer all of his concerns regarding Laura; she was lying upon a pallet and the soft serrations of her shallow breathing at least spoke to the fact that she yet lived.

In the moment that Mac’s attention was diverted to Laura, Robert took the offensive by stepping quickly toward the rear of the carriage, lifting the great blade and slamming the tip against the open door.  The ruse was intended to catch the Highlander unaware and possibly to knock him senseless.  It might have succeeded but for the centuries old warrior’s reflexes that had responded at the crucial instant as he stepped away from the carriage, bringing his own blade to a defensive engage.

Still, no word having been uttered, with the only sound to disturb the velvet darkness of the night the fading reverberation of the carriage door and the quick exhalations of the combatants.  Duncan knew that he had to move the fight away from the hearse to allow Methos room to maneuver behind his adversary.  Despite the anticipated ineptitude of the physical body facing him, Duncan began to revise his assumptions regarding the ability his cousin could bring to the duel.

With a snarl born of pure revulsion, Robert pressed the attack in earnest, swinging the blade with a skill and intent that caused Duncan to retreat unexpectedly.  The Highlander began to doubt his own ability to control the fight without really inflicting wounds upon the body that he was facing.  While the physical form might not have had the knowledge or ability to offer resistance to the warrior that was Duncan MacLeod, the spirit within had complete control, and he loathed everything that Duncan represented.

Robert, it appeared, was not constrained by any obligation to see that the body he was manipulating be unharmed.  As Methos had surmised, it appeared that he had no intention to remain within it once he had won the battle.  Duncan, on the other hand, fought from exactly that disadvantage.  Where was Methos?  Duncan wanted to end this well before the midnight hour beginning to feel the first bud of superstitious fear eroding his confidence.

With his back now toward the hearse carriage, MacLeod glanced toward the dark glade that should have been the hiding place of his accomplice.  The brief lapse of attention should not have had any impact on Mac’s defenses, but what he saw forced him to gasp in shock.  As his mind deciphered what was so occupying Methos he felt the thrust of his father’s blade as it pierced his heart.  His dying thought was not for himself and his failure, but for his brother who had only come at his behest, to watch his back and was now fighting for his own Immortal soul against Kronos.

“Beware the love that turns to hate.  There be power that no man alone can defend.  Life calls to life and death to its mate.  Life must choose life or death will it overcome.”

The words of the prophecy whispered around him, but Duncan did not know where he was, or when.  There were many voices, indistinct yet familiar.  Trying to gather in details, the surroundings began to fill with color and shape and foggy mists cleared to be replaced by crofts of stone and a fence of branches.  More features imploded upon his senses as smells joined the feel of body and sight betrayed reality; he stood upon the village center, clad in the blue kilt of his youth, blade in hand facing his cousin Robert as his father and mother and the entire Clan looked on.  Though Duncan knew himself to be a 400 yr. old Immortal, he stood there none-the-less, faced with the choice to replay the scene as it had been, or perhaps not.

Somehow, Duncan knew that this battle was not only for himself, or the 21st century Robert and Laura, but for Methos as well.  He had traveled so far from this place, only to return here, to the beginning.  Yet he had grown, had changed, had learned from his experiences; hadn’t he?

Beware the love that turns to hate the prophecy insisted; and he could see that clearly now, Robert’s love for him turned to over-riding hate because of Debra, his father’s love turned to hate because of superstitious fear, his own self-loathing believing himself to truly be the demon.  Cursed with Immortality to try and right the fundamental wrong of his continued existence.  There be power that no man alone can defend the prophecy itched under his skin.  This too was seen as clearly as the trust in him gazing from ancient hazel eyes.  Life calls to life and death to its mate insisted the foreboding warning followed immediately by the closing admonition that life must choose life or death will it overcome.  That was the clue and the answer.

Duncan welcomed his memories and accepted them for the truth that they were.  As much as Methos was shaped by his past to become the stalwart friend and shield brother that he was now, so was Duncan formed in the forge of his innocence.  The Highlander did not stand among his Clan as the naïve son of the Chief, but as the man fashioned into an intricate tapestry woven by the strands of his Immortal years.

I choose life he thought.  Feeling a surging of power building within his center, almost the sense of a quickening.  He broke the oppressive stillness that had been the hallmark of this battle from the first moment that he had encountered Robert at Debra’s grave.  “I choose life,” he exclaimed aloud to the gathered throng daring them to say nay to his proclamation.

Duncan was not sure what he expected, or even that he had any expectations at all, but before the first reverberation of his statement could ripple among onlookers, Duncan found himself alone in the village center.  He had chosen, and fought with words and ideas but not with any weapon of death, so why did he remain.

As if the thought alone had the power to conjure, Robert appeared before him.  As before, he was dressed in the blue kilt holding his sword in a stance of challenge, but the look in his eyes was not that of burning animosity.  Rather, it was the chilling deep hurt of betrayal that colored his regard.  Robert had trusted him completely and unreservedly with the most precious possession that he had, Debra.  While it had not been deliberate, it was unthinking selfishness that Duncan had allowed himself in the arrogance of his position within the Clan, to desire that which was not his, and to pursue it.  Had the pursuit been another competition between the cousins similar to so many others that had defined their growing-up, this even Duncan could not truly answer.  However, having experienced the pain and estrangement that betrayal on this scale could bring, he also recognized that he was not the one wronged.

“I can not change what happened, and of that I am truly regretful.  Know that your death has been with me every day that I live and I can now honestly see myself through your eyes,” Duncan confessed to Robert in hushed tones.

Still without a word, Robert faced his best friend, his worst enemy, and finally lowered his sword.  His eyes searched the depth of his cousin’s soul and must have found some answer there because he closed his lids and lowered his head as if in deep reflection, or prayer.  When he again turned his visage to gaze upon Duncan, the glint of betrayal had subsided and, while no love shown from within those depths, the Immortal could read the acceptance of things that could not be undone and lessons that had been learned.

Duncan lowered his own head, unsure of what would happen next but hoping that he had prevailed.  His mind’s eye replaying the battle that had been his last conscious thought, worried for his friend and unable to help.

When he raised his head again, hoping to be surrounded by the darkness of All Hallow’s Eve, his disappointment must have shown because he was startled to hear a voice.  “Aye, I know who it is that you are worrying after my love,” Debra softly intoned.  “Be of good cheer, you have chosen life and death will have no dominion over you or yours,” she promised.  “I have only one message for you that I have been cherishing.  I followed my own heart.  The blame is not to be yours.  It makes no matter that I fell and you could not rescue me.  I forgive you.  You could never have rescued me because I had fallen long before that fateful day.  I knew as well as you that it was Robert I was to marry and, while the betrayal was yours for wanting me, it was mine as well for letting you want.  Forgive yourself Duncan,” she pleaded while the tears that had glistened in her eyes overflowed to stain her cheeks.

Duncan vehemently shook his head, not wanting to let go of his guilt, his responsibility.  He could still see the longing and trust in Debra’s eyes as she had reached out for his hand, help that he had been too late to give.  While there was truth in her words, forgiving himself was the one thing that he had had little success with over the years.

“Think of me my love.  It is not for you alone that I beg this favor,” Debra insisted. “My rest is uneasy.  It is your memory that ties me here.  Let me go,” she whispered. “There is another love waiting for you that is within your grasp if only you will release me.”

As her voice subsided, Duncan heard an echo of her words from behind him.  He turned to see Tessa standing there as well.  Her gaze drank him in with all the love she had ever felt as she repeated Debra’s words in her well remembered accent, “Duncan, let me go, there is another love waiting, fighting for you, release me.  Chose life.  Forgive yourself as I have forgiven you.”

Flanked by his lost loves, it was not the promise of a future that spurred him to acquiesce, but the belief in their plea that he had tied them to an existence in limbo by holding his memories as a barrier.  Accepting that understanding as it lessened his sense of failure, he could see the path to forgiveness.  Though he did not think it would be sufficient, apparently they did for both favored him with a bittersweet smile tinged with love and good-bye.  As he blinked the hot dampness from his eyes, both had vanished, yet he remained.

What else was left he wondered as he began to panic, recalling the confusion of his troubled dreams from the previous evening.  As if in answer to his unvoiced fear, the deep sonorous voice of his father stated simply, “I am what is remaining.”

“Father,” Duncan called aloud recognizing in his inflection the voice of his frightened, newly Immortal self.

“Duncan, you canna truly chose life and live to please me,” he chastised.  “Here am I held due to m’own foolishness.  Y’are all that I taught, y’are m’son be y’not of my flesh or noh. Y’are Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and y’have always been.”

“Take the sword, Duncan, it is yours,” his mother’s voice echoed in his memory.

Closing his eyes to all that surrounded him he felt himself begin to gasp toward life as his hands closed around the MacLeod blade still embedded within his chest.  With a strength that should not have been his, he managed to dislodge the sword that had killed him while Immortal healing, like St. Elmo’s fire, danced upon his wounds.

Coughing and struggling to stand, Duncan was gratified to find himself engulfed in the eerie dark stillness of the Scottish hillside.  Robert MacLeod lay prone upon the ground though, upon inspection, there was nary a wound upon him.  Lifting the mortal gently, he carried him to the hearse and shouldering open the partially ajar door, placed him in a sitting position within the carriage.  He checked Laura more closely than he had been able to before and was gratified that her breathing was not only regular in rhythm, but also deeper than it had been.  Her position had also change upon the pallet to that of a person deeply asleep rather than the comatose stiffness that he had first noted.

Satisfied that both mortals would survive this encounter, he retrieved the Clan sword placing it within the carriage as well.  Focusing more sharply as his concerns for the mortals were shunted aside, he realized, somewhat belatedly, that he should have been aware of Immortal presence.  Instead, there was none.  He again saw in his mind’s eye the deadly engagement between Methos and Kronos as he died.  Trying to picture exactly where they had been fighting, Duncan carefully made his way toward the spot.  The moment before he arrived where he expected to find his friend, he heard a muffled cough and was delighted in the renewed sensation that traced his Immortal senses. He began to hurry toward the now definite sounds of discomfort interspersed with his name being maligned in the familiar voice of his friend.

So concerned about responding to the obvious distress of the other man, Duncan almost fell into the open pit that was Debra’s grave.  Catching himself, barely in time, he was able to determine that Methos was, in fact, in the yawning hole at his feet.  Laying prone upon the ground he extended his hand calling, “I’m right here man, quit your thrashing about, take my hand and climb out of there.”

Only too happy to comply, Methos coughed a few more times trying to rid his mouth of the foul earth in which he had awoken and, grasping the proffered hand, levered himself out of the grave with Duncan’s ready assistance.  “It’s about time you noticed that I was missing, what took you so long and,” brushing the dirt from his clothing and glancing around in confusion, Methos continued, “care to tell me what happened.”

Duncan stared at Methos, completely at a loss.  “What d’ya mean,” agitation broadening his brogue, “I was fighting with Robert, waiting for you to sedate him.  When I looked up, it was you who were fighting with Kronos.  It was then that Robert killed me,” he recounted, “do y’noh remember?”

Methos shook his head as if to clear it and stared at Duncan.  “I don’t remember it because it didn’t happen,” he stated as surely as if he was saying his name was Adam Pierson.  “I was waiting for you to show up, and you took your own sweet time I might add, when the next thing I know I’m face down in that sorry excuse for a final resting place covered with dirt.”

It was fortunate that the light of the moon was not sufficient to read any meaning from Duncan’s expression.  With the old man still muttering about ungrateful whelps, and trying to brush the remaining soil from his person, the two friends returned to the hearse and climbed up to the drivers’ bench.  Releasing the reins and clucking a soft giddy-up to the two-horse team, Duncan considered what had happened.

This was the second time in his life that he had experienced something while dead.  As far as he was aware, none of his Immortal friends had ever had similar experiences.  To the best of their knowledge, many of who were significantly older than he, dead was dead.  The question then remained, was any of it real; or, perhaps an even a better question was, did it matter if it happened or not as long as Duncan believed it happened.  But did he believe?

Searching deep within himself as he occupied his hands with the mindless task of guiding the well-trained horses, he recognized that a heaviness he had carried around his heart had lifted.  Maybe it didn’t really matter what he thought happened, only that he moved forward with what he had discovered.  Glancing at his now silent cohort, he also remembered Debra and Tessa’s promise.  Vowing not to open himself to the ridicule that would be certain to follow if he detailed this latest excursion to the realm of the undead, he pictured returning to Seacouver, in the company one unpredictable, irreplaceable friend, even if said friend had to be shanghaied to accomplish this feat.

Relief further lightening his burden, he sat straighter upon the bench and chuckled at the picture they would make pulling-up in front of Rachel’s Inn. Methos glanced toward him at the sudden sound, laughed as well enjoying the bonhomie radiating from the charismatic Highlander and remarked, “Well another damsel rescued, a moral dilemma resolved and evil conquered.  Whatever will we do for excitement now?”

Duncan had returned to Seacouver shortly after “The Incident in Scotland” as Joe had begun to consider it.  He had brought the old man in tow as hinted in the email message.  Thanksgiving had come and gone and the snow, freezing rain and wind that heralded winter in Washington State was in full swing.  Another El Nino was wreaking havoc along the Pacific coast from Baja to the sound, changing weather patterns and blanketing the Northeast with freezing weather so intense that the snow was forced south into the orange grooves of Florida.

All in all, Joe was glad to be where he was and most assuredly relieved that his friends had returned safe and sound.  They had fallen into a well-worn pattern, almost as if the last several years had never been interrupted with the disastrous twists and turns of fate and circumstance culminating in the death of the elder MacLeod by the hand of the younger.

Duncan was only slightly more subdued than Joe recalled, but the quick humor which had marked his years with Tessa and, which had made Joe a Highlander junkie when he first began his assignment, had returned in force.  Methos would bait the younger Immortal, and Duncan would answer in kind.  At first, Joe had been surprised at the subtle possessiveness of Methos regarding MacLeod, but then he began to pay closer attention to their interactions.  Several weeks after their return, and not a few late nights spent after-hours helping Joe close-up, it finally dawned on him exactly what he was really seeing.  He certainly couldn’t say he was shocked, or that it was completely unexpected, but the fact that they were apparently more than just very good friends had to have a story; one that he planned to worm-out of them before too long.  Figuring that all of this had to have come about on the heels of “The Incident in Scotland”, Joe decided it was time to call MacLeod on his offer of a dinner at Seacouver’s finest.

Duncan was only too pleased to be reminded of his promise and the meal had been more than pleasant.  Not wanting to end the evening prematurely, the three men had decided to retire to the loft for a nightcap.  Though the suggestion had been Duncan’s, Joe had managed to engineer the invitation.  Methos’ sidelong glimpse in his direction indicated his willing complicity in the manipulation and Joe had a distinct feeling that he would get what he was after, finally.

If Joe hadn’t already had confirmation, at least in his own mind, that the two Immortals were shacking-up, as his Aunt Mildred used to say, the loft dispelled any doubts in that regard.  While there were no overt signs pointing to the bed with a  “we both sleep here” notice, there were no longer the telltale indications that Methos slept on the couch.  Joe had had enough experience with past times when the old man had encroached on the hospitality of the Highlander, and those indications were noticeably missing.  The other most telling clue was the lack of personal space between the two of them when in the intimacy of the loft.

Methos kept watching Joe watching them.  It was almost a game to see which of them would burst out laughing at the private joke first because Duncan, for all of his astuteness, seemed oblivious to the subtle forays that Joe kept making, trying to get them to say something about the relationship; in particular how it had begun.

Mellow brandy as an aperitif, the warmth of friendship renewed and the general lack of any other more pressing issues concerning them allowed Joe to broach the subject of his quest.  “So, what finally happened when you showed-up at Rachel’s place in the hearse,” he began, “and with two bodies?”

Duncan laughed at the memory as he replied, “Nothing really.  It was All Hallow’s Eve after all and everyone just thought we were part of the entertainment.”  Shaking his head at the picture in his mind’s eye he continued, “Though it was a bit tricky getting Laura and Robert into the Inn and up the stairs.  Fortunately the drug that Robert had given Laura had a beneficial side-effect, at least for them.”

“It’s called Versed,” interjected the resident medical expert, “and it seems that Robert had stolen it from a hospital in Edinborough in a lovely cherry syrup form.  That was how he got Laura to take it without knowing,” he added as he stood to replace his now finished brandy with a beer from the well-stocked refrigerator.  “And the benefit that Duncan alluded to is the fact that Laura doesn’t remember any of what happened,” he chuckled as he sat back down on the couch practically in Duncan’s lap.

Pushing the old goat off of him and onto the couch Duncan stood to retrieve the brandy, planting a quick kiss on the crown of his partner’s head, re-filling his own glass and offering another to Joe.  The act was such a natural expression of affection and so unselfconscious that Joe stared at Methos, doubting that Duncan even realized what he had done.

Continuing the story as he returned to his lover’s side, “The ironic part about all of this is that Robert remembers everything up to the point of the confrontation.  It seems that the spirit of Robert was completely in charge by then.  Or, that Robert was so traumatized by everything that had already happened that he missed the final act, so to speak.”

“Good thing about that,” interposed the voice of reason, “otherwise Our Noble Hero here would have had to explain a little matter of being killed but not being dead.”

“I suppose that might have made matters easier rather than more difficult,” Duncan added thoughtfully.  “At least that would have given him a job and something else to think about.  Right now Robert feels so guilty about what he did when possessed that he can’t even look Laura straight in the face, and she still loves him wholeheartedly.  I wish there was something that I could have done for them, but Mrs. MacGavity wouldn’t accept that Robert had rescued Laura from a night of over-indulgence,” Duncan sadly reported.

The lanky older Immortal merely snorted, “You should have seen the boy-scout trying to sooth Laura’s mum.” Laughing at the memory he continued between chuckles, “The more Mac said in defense of Robert, the more Mrs. MacGavity smiled at Duncan and frowned at Robert.  In the end all she had to say to Laura was how it would be wonderful if she dumped ‘her no good fiancée’ and married someone with character like Duncan.”

Looking decidedly abashed, Duncan quickly interposed, “Yes, well you certainly didn’t help matters any at that point,” he accused his room-mate who was clearly having too much fun at Mac’s expense.

“What did the old reprobate do?”

At that question, the two men both suddenly grew silent, casting a quick glance at one another.  Joe immediately discerned that this was “the moment”, the only question remained as to whether they were going to tell him or not.  He decided a not so gentle nudge might move matters in the right direction so, waiting what seemed a reasonable period, he prodded them with, “Hey, fellows, some of us are growing older by the minute here.  Would one of you clowns just finish the story.”

“He kissed me,” Duncan accused.

“I kissed him,” Methos smirked.

“And …” Joe prompted.

Sharing another very pointed look, the two seemed locked in silent communication for a brief moment before Duncan, with shoulders finally sagging a bit at the release of tension continued, upon receiving a clear indication by the slight tilt of Methos’ head, that it was his story to tell.  “I was so shocked that I just stood in Mrs. MacGavity’s front room with tall, dark and obnoxious wrapped around me.  Of course, my landlady was speechless at first, but then she just took everything in stride and proclaimed to the immediate world that she should have known I was ‘that way’.  What other man would have been as helpful with all the chores around the house, even to cooking occasionally.  Laura didn’t say a word, but she had a huge grin plastered on her face thinking that her mum wouldn’t object so much to Robert any more.  Of course poor Robert still didn’t have any idea what was going on at all.”

Duncan didn’t look any happier, and Joe knew that that was not the end of the story, but he wasn’t sure if it was exactly the right time to try to get closer to what had finally happened, so he decided to deflect the inquiry down another path for the time being.  “So what happened to you,” he directed to Methos, “when Sir Galahad here was playing with a pointed object?”

“The best we can figure,” Methos began, looking to MacLeod for confirmation, “Robert must had sensed me approaching.  If you believe that the spirit was in control by that time, I suppose it’s reasonable to ascribe some extraordinary powers of observation to him.”

“You just don’t want to admit that your stealthing leaves something to be desired,” Duncan chimed in.

“As I was saying,” continued one put-upon ancient Immortal, “Robert must have noticed me approaching and bashed me a sound one on the back of my head.  When we finally made it to my room later that night, the whole back of my neck and shirt were stained with dried blood and the sword had dried blood on the pummel so, it apparently was enough to kill me.  When I came back to life, I was partially buried in the grave where Duncan found me.  It seems that Robert was planning to bury all of the bodies in the same grave and, if anyone ever stumbled upon it, there was already an old stone marking the spot as an ancient grave.  No one would have been in the least bit curious,” Methos finished standing once more to replenish his now empty beer with a fresh one.

Joe sat enjoying the last of his brandy and the return to the ease with which the three friends could just sit and relax.  Even though he did not have the full details regarding the recent developments with his friends vis-a-vi their relationship, the topic had been broached and he was certain that at some time he would get more of the details.  He didn’t hold his breath that Methos would ever wax erudite on the subject, but Duncan was a different kettle of fish all together.  Someday, probably sooner rather than later, Mac would spill the beans.  Until that time he could wait, friends were worth the effort.

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