SIDE EFFECTS

While the hilt of the katana still reverberated in Duncan MacLeod's hand, the jolt of the Quickening wrapped itself around his body and gave him a mighty lurch. Caught within the throes of extreme pain and unfathomed pleasure, he didn't have the wherewithal to find the thought processes necessary to identify the person whom he'd just beheaded.

Everything had happened so fast, his warrior reflexes kicking in before his brain had had a chance to assimilate what was going on. Five seconds after the attack had begun, it had ended tragically and now Duncan was captured within the grips of a Quickening he didn't want.

The victim had been barely out of boyhood. In the instant he had to assay his opponent, Duncan had flashed on an image of Richie. Not the young Immortal he knew now, but that brash teenager who had broken into the antique store interrupting his and Tessa's lovemaking. But when the blade of a falchion had glinting off the streetlight and had reflected onto the young face, murder, not larceny, had been the sole intention in those cold eyes. Duncan had responded instinctively and the boy hadn't had the skill to execute a second parry.

Once the Quickening was over, Duncan struggled to his feet and made his way to the body. Still chastising himself for reacting so violently, he fished through the dead man's pants pockets, brought out an old, battered leather billfold and angled the driver's license toward the feeble streetlight in order to read it. Henry Bartholomew, aged nineteen, date of birth February 17, 1977...make that *barely* nineteen. Address: 1701 Sycamore Street, Seattle, WA 98103. Must wear corrective lenses.

Duncan's eyes clouded over in anger and frustration. Damn! Why did I let Joe talk me into that second beer. As if laying blame would absolve him of slaughtering someone who reminded him too much of Richie. Or belay the worries he always seemed to carry around about any future confrontation they might have. I killed a baby. He palmed the wallet and headed back toward the bar.

From inside the crowded bar, Joe had seen the flashing effects of the Quickening. Luckily, Seattle was experiencing typical nighttime weather for March, rain softly washed the city, and the lightning had been ignored by most of the customers. Only Mike and he had exchanged knowing looks. Therefore, when Duncan re-entered the bar and headed straight for him, Joe was not surprised. What did surprise him, though, was the expression on MacLeod's face.

"What's the matter?"

With silent disgust, Duncan flipped the wallet across the bar top toward the Watcher and waited while Joe opened then perused the contents.

Once finished, the grizzly bearded face looked back solemnly. "Who's this?" he asked in a confused tone.

"You tell me," Duncan implored somewhat forcefully. "I'd never seen him before." He paused as he replayed the events in his head. His reaction had been the only alternative, otherwise, it would be his head lying in a gutter not seventy-five feet away. "He bushwhacked me on my way to the car. Right on the side street where anyone could see us. I didn't have a choice ..."

Joe scrutinized the Immortal's expression again and saw the pain. Immortality should have implied eternal life but those afflicted (and Joe could think of no other word to describe what befell Duncan and others of his kind) saw more death and destruction than any person should have to. No one Joe knew took the gift of life more seriously than Duncan MacLeod, and indiscriminate beheadings just weren't in his nature. He killed only with good reason, to protect himself or those for whom he felt responsible. The Watcher, all too familiar with the Highlander's code of honor, understood the kind of blame Duncan would heap upon himself over this.

"Like you said, MacLeod, you had no choice."

"That doesn't make it any easier." Warm brown eyes pleaded silently. "Find out who he was, please."

"First thing in the morning," Joe promised. Knowing the grim task that awaited, he added softly as Duncan turned to leave, "Mike and I'll take care of everything. Go home, Duncan."

A momentary shudder swept across the Highlander's back. A slight shrug of those broad shoulders was the only confirmation that the offer had been heard and accepted. As Joe watched the retreating figure, he wondered if he should call Richie. More than likely, Duncan would resist moral support. After four hundred plus years, he'd obviously learned to live with his actions but having a friend around couldn't hurt.

As he reached for the phone, a commotion at the front door caught his attention. A woman rushing through the entrance had collided with Duncan. Losing her balance, she toppled a chair that had been pulled away from a table and was on her way toward impacting with the floor. Duncan's quick reflexes were the only thing that saved her. His big hands wrapped around her flailing arms and, within seconds, her feet were back under her and firmly set on the floor.

Kate Bartholomew glanced into the face of her savior but didn't have time for anything other than a clipped, "Thanks." She wiggled out of his grasp and, without a backward glance, continued her dash toward the bar.

"Duncan MacLeod?" she frantically tossed toward Joe. "I have to find Duncan MacLeod." There was desperation and worry in her tone.

Joe nonchalantly inclined his head toward the now closed door. "You just met him." The woman wheeled around to follow but Joe stopped her with a solid warning. "I wouldn't do that right now."

Kate froze. Tears well up in her eyes despite her attempt to quell them. "It's a matter of life or death. I have to talk to him." Her gaze dropped from Joe's face to the billfold laying on the bar-top. "Oh," she exclaimed and reached a tentative hand toward the supple leather. "I'm too late, aren't I?"

Joe followed her glance then, without considering that he was a total stranger to this woman, he gently tucked his forefinger under her chin and brought her eyes up to meet his. Between the dim light of the bar and the tears glistening in them, he couldn't tell what color they were but he could clearly see the overwhelming sadness in them. He struggled to find the right words as he watched her full lower lip tremble. With his free hand, he tenderly brushed a lock of dark hair away from her cheek and rubbed his thumb across the stream flowing from her lowered lids. "Duncan MacLeod is a good man. The best I've ever known. No matter what happened tonight, believe me. I know what I'm talking about."

Kate picked up the wallet and rubbed the worn leather between her fingers. "I'm Kate Bartholomew and my brother is dead," she whispered to herself then looked up at him acquiescently. "Only this time it's for real."

Joe, feigning ignorance, dropped his hands and regarded her quizzically. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter anymore." She placed her purse on the counter, opened it and put the wallet inside. "I need to talk to Mr. MacLeod, now more than ever. Will you tell me where he lives or at least give me his phone number?"

"I can't do that." Joe brought out a bottle of Chablis and poured the liquid into a wine glass. Placing it before her, he took her hand that was nervously clutching her purse and dragged it to the glass. "But if you wait awhile, I'll dial the phone for you, then you can talk to him." He glanced down at his watch. "Give him fifteen minutes to get home."

The way Kate wrapped her fingers around the bowl of the glass, it seemed as though she was hanging on to it for dear life. After a long pause, she came to some sort of conclusion. She exhaled a shaky breath and scooted onto one of the bar stools.

"Mike," Joe started, speaking nonchalantly over his shoulder to the other man behind the bar with him. "Would you please take care of that matter we were talking about earlier while we wait for MacLeod to get home?"

"Sure thing," Mike answered without pause. Wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he quickly exited out the back door to deal with the decapitated body.

Those fifteen minutes were some of the longest Joe had ever had to endure. Reeling over the possibilities that this early thirty-something woman knew what her brother had become, the Watcher in him kept coming up with more and more questions he wanted to ask. How long ago had it happened? What had been the circumstances of the young man's initial death? How had they learned about Duncan? But he voiced none of them and allowed her to mourn in silence.

When the allotted time had passed, he led the woman into the privacy of his office. Steeling himself for the difficult phone call, he settled into his chair behind his desk then dialed Duncan's telephone number.

"MacLeod."

"Mac, there's no easy way to begin this conversation so I'll just do it. Henry Bartholomew's sister is here and wants to talk to you. "

"Who?"

Joe knew Duncan wouldn't forget that name for a long time. Disbelief had prompted the question. "The woman who plowed into you on your way out is Henry's sister. She came here looking for you, probably to prevent what ended up happening."

On the other end of the line Duncan stared at the brick wall and drew in an unsteady breath. Unbelievable guilt pervaded his entire being. It was hard enough accepting responsibility for such a useless death . He didn't think he was capable of dealing with grieving family members who wouldn't even begin to understand why he'd done what he'd had to do. A glimmer of hope sparkled teasingly in the distance. "Does she know?"

"Everything. She saw his wallet on the bar."

The spark quickly died and he held back a moan of regret. "I'll be right there." He reached for the car keys he had tossed on the coffee table. "Don't let her leave."

"I won't." Joe hung up the phone despite the audible gasp coming from the woman's mouth. He met her panic-stricken eyes. "He's coming here, Ms Bartholomew."

Kate's head dropped and fixed on her hands as they folded protectively over her purse. Be careful what you wish for, it may come true, echoed in her head. Well, this meeting was what she wanted -- what she needed. A reason. A plausible reason why her brother had had to die. She would soon have answers to all her questions.

The drive back to Joe's felt like a trip to eternity and back again. It should have only taken eight minutes but Duncan managed to get caught at every red light, and the railroad crossing that had never seen a train the whole time Joe's had been open was clogged for ten minutes while six locomotives and seventy-two box cars took their own sweet time in passing.

By the time he arrived, Duncan was not only tied up in knots by the upcoming confrontation he knew he was about to face but by life in general. Pissed was a more apt description. Life sucks and then you lose your head or however the hell Richie had re-phrased the saying. Yet, the second he laid eyes on Kate Bartholomew all those feelings immediately disappeared and he knew he owed her more than just a brief explanation about what had happened between him and her brother.

It wasn't her beauty that swayed him although she possessed more than he'd seen in a very long time. It was her hazel-green eyes and the way they peered at him through a sheen of sorrow, revealing an inner strength that the tears did not dampen.

"Mr. MacLeod," she greeted softly and confidently extended her hand toward him.

Accepting her offering, Duncan felt awkward when his big hand dwarfed the delicacy of hers. And despite the strength of her grip, he was acutely aware of their differences in size. When she'd slid off the bar stool to stand directly in front of him, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. "Ms Bartholomew," he choked out. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about your brother..."

"You're not to blame," she consoled. "He came here with every intention of killing you. You had no choice but to protect yourself."

The Immortal glanced nervously around the bar. Not only were Joe's eyes fixed on them but several of the customers had decided they were going to be the evening's entertainment and, with the direction this conversation was heading, the fewer ears around the better. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee," he asked while sending a silent warning to Joe that this was to be a private conversation. "Somewhere else."

"I understand your need for secrecy, Mr. MacLeod."

"Call me Duncan."

She stared at him intently as though weighing whether she should accept the informality. After a pause she amended, "Duncan. Where?"

He would have preferred the loft where they could have total privacy but somehow that seemed wrong. There was something about her demeanor that brought out his latent conditioning in matters of propriety. "I know a restaurant that stays open twenty-four hours. We could go there."

"That'd be fine."

"I could drive then bring you back here to get your car later."

"I don't have a car. I took a bus here."

The conversation was becoming more stilted as it progressed and Duncan knew the problem rested solely with him. He couldn't seem to get over his feelings of awkwardness. After all, what did one say to the sister of a man you had just killed? So, instead of trying to find the words, he gently placed his right hand on her back and directed her out of the bar.

The ride to the restaurant halfway between the loft and Joe's was even more uncomfortable than he expected as they traveled the miles caught within the grips of an uneasy silence. However, once they entered the coffee shop and sat down in a secluded booth, Kate appeared to relax and struck up a conversation.

"The Highlander. That's what Henry referred to you as. Are you originally from Scotland?"

As she waited for him to answer, Kate used the time to inspect her companion. Benton's description of the man could have been better. Oh, his report about personality seemed accurate enough. Even after spending such a short time together, Kate knew that. Duncan MacLeod was an honest, highly principled type of person but Benton could have warned her about his looks. Tall, long dark hair and well built didn't even come close to the vision of masculine perfection that sat across the table from her.

Meanwhile, Duncan was trying to decide what to tell her. Only other Immortals called him by that moniker. From his impression of young Henry, the boy hadn't been immortal long enough to have learned it by himself. Where had they heard it? "Yes, a place called Glenfinnan."

"How old are you, Mr. MacLeod?" She paused, scrutinized him closely then averted her eyes. "I know that's a presumptuous question but my brother had only just turned nineteen. A miracle really when you consider that he *died* three months before his birthday."

Her reversion back to formal address was not lost on Duncan. "What do you mean by died?"

She confronted him directly. Her eyes never wavered from his in a deep, soul-searching gaze that probed beyond what was considered polite. "Please, don't play games with me. I was there when my parents and brother were killed in a car accident. I survived with barely a scratch and watched when Henry came back to life. We were close and shared everything." She broke her gaze. Picking up the paper napkin folded next to the silverware, she started to shred it into tiny pieces. "I know all about Immortals so, I repeat my question, Mr. MacLeod. How old are you?"

Before he could reply a bored-looking waitress approached their table. Without looking at them, she brought a pencil from behind her ear and impatiently tapped the point on the order pad in her hand. "What can I get ya?" she asked.

"Are you hungry?" Duncan inquired of his companion.

Kate hadn't realized that she was ravenous until he asked. With all the worries over the last three months finally coming to an end, she, at long last, had time to think about her own self-preservation. "I'd like a hamburger with mustard and lettuce only and fries well-done."

"You want something, mister?"

"Just coffee, thanks."

"What d'ya want to drink, ma'am?

"A chocolate shake and water, please."

With the waitress' departure they were again left alone.

Duncan almost took the interruption as an opportunity to ignore the question that had been left dangling but, for some unknown reason, he felt he owed an answer to her. "I turned four hundred and three last December," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Then Benton Hanshaw was right in his analogy," Kate said more to herself then to Duncan. She suddenly remembered that she had company and her statement had been voiced out-loud. "He used baby turtles to describe the survivability of an Immortal. If you could make it past the first few decades, you might have a chance but there are an awful lot of predators out there."

The corners of Duncan's mouth lifted in a small smile and his eyes closed at the memories. "Ah, Benton Hanshaw..."

"Run like the duncan, Dickin's or they'll be hopping our cheads off any second." Panic laced through the tone of the big, burly man who held a pickax ready for immediate defense.

Duncan scanned the rolling hills of golden grass dotted with oak trees and, in the distance, saw a column of dust rising from the hooves of several horses. "Relax, Benton. First of all it's going to take them another ten minutes to get here and second, I'll bet there's not an Immortal amongst them. Why would mortals want our heads?"

"To get our claim."

A hearty laugh rose from deep down then Duncan laid a hand on his large friend's massive forearm. "I hate breaking this to you, Benton, but this claim is worthless." He glanced at the idle sluice box sitting in the middle of a feeble trickle of water that couldn't even be called a creek. "We haven't found any gold in days." He shouldered the shovel he'd been leaning on then affectionately squeezed the bulky forearm under his grip. "I don't know how I let you talk me into this."

The huge, muscular giant who had a heart a large as his three hundred pound body gave Duncan a pleading look. The expression that crossed his face would rival any five year old trying to convince his parent that they had to do whatever he asked. Otherwise, his spirit would be crushed. "Because we're going to make our fortune, that's why, if we can keep these claim jumpers from taking it."

"We've already made our fortunes and, I'll tell you, amassing it over the last two hundred and fifty years was a hell of a lot easier than what we've been doing here for the past six months." Duncan released his friend's arm and turned back toward the rocker-cradle. "Let them have this worthless piece of land. We could go back to San Francisco and have some fun for a change."

Benton dropped his arms and let the head of the pick fall into the dirt. "You know, Highlander, your brogue gets thicker when you whine."

Duncan, unable to determine whether the Scot in him should be insulted or just the man, countered with, "Yeah, well, ye transpose letters and words when ye git nervous."

Benton laughed and pointed an accusing finger. "I know you, Duncan. It's not the hard work that's bothering you. It's the fact that there aren't any women up here."

"There be women."

"Whores don't count."

"Why not? They're women, too.

"Oh, never mind. There's no use arguing with you."

"If you'd of listened to me in the first place we wouldn't be arguin' a'tall. We could have invested all our money with Levi."

"The tailor? Be serious, Duncan. The only reason you got friendly with him was because you wanted to practice your German. If I hadn't stopped you, you would've given him your whole grubstake. Trust me, nobody is going to buy trousers made out of sails." He inclined his head toward Duncan's pants. "They look ridiculous."

"Yeah, well, he only used sailcloth 'cause his canvas got tied up back east. You've got to admit these have lasted a sight longer than those you've been wearing "

"I work harder than you do."

Duncan paused, took in deep lungsful of air then started shaking his head in disbelief. "Ach, we've been alone in this glen for way too long, friend. Before ye know it, we'll have killed each other and saved these hoodlums the trouble." He pulled his six-shooter out of his holster and checked the chambers before replacing it. "What'd'ya say we deal with them then head down to Columbia for a bit of town life?"

Benton exchanged the pick for the Sharp's rifle that he'd left leaning against a boulder and checked it as well. "Just as long as we come back eventually. I know we're gonna hit the Mother Lode."

"Fine." As best he could, Duncan wrapped his arm around the bigger man's shoulders. "I can compromise. That's what partners are supposed to do."

"...How is Benton these days? I haven't seen him in years."

"My brother took his head three days ago."

The blood drained from Duncan's face and a wave of vertigo passed through him. Not Benton. Not that lovable ox of a man who hadn't had the heart to hurt a fly, let alone fight another Immortal. When they had been together in 1853, it had been three hundred years since the giant had taken a Quickening. If sheer size hadn't put off an opponent, then his kind nature and his powers of persuasion had always protected him. But, in the end, they hadn't shielded him from a nineteen year old who hadn't known any better.

There can be only one!

Kate watched his color wane and sympathetically reached across the table to lay a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have blurted it out that way. I know he was your friend." She stared out the window and struggled to find the right words to continue. "It's just, I'm so confused."

Duncan's shock quickly turned to anger. "What happened?" he demanded and immediately regretted his outburst. Whatever the circumstances of Benton Hanshaw's death, there was no way this woman was responsible.

"I don't know." Frustration laced her tone. "Somehow. Mr. Hanshaw found us, or rather, he found Henry right after the accident. He was such a sweetheart. He explained what had happened and laid out the rules of the Game. He even taught Henry how to use a sword then gave him the falchion. After a month or so Henry started getting real cocky. He broke off all ties with Benton and wouldn't tell me why.

"With our parents dead, I became the sole executor of the estate. It wasn't very much but it would have seen the two of us through until everything settled down, but Henry kept taking money to travel all over the country by himself. When I quit my job and tried to go with him, we argued. He said he was over eighteen and didn't need a chaperon.

"During this time Benton and I stayed in contact and he finally told me that Henry was going around the country seeking out other Immortals and ambushing them. Now, mind you, I was thirteen when my parents adopted Henry as a infant. He was more like my child than my brother so I didn't believe it at first. Poor Benton was so upset, not only because he'd taught Henry the skills to murder but because I wouldn't believe him." She shook her head slightly, disgusted with herself. "My brother had turned into a monster and I wouldn't see the truth.

"The day before Henry killed him, Benton came to the house and we talked. We talked for hours about Immortals, the Game, Quickenings and, after awhile, I understood. When he finally got around to describing the sensation of a Quickening, I instantly knew what had happened to my baby brother. Like a sex fiend, he'd become addicted to the feeling. Benton wouldn't come right out and say it but it's like an orgasm, isn't it?"

The color that had returned to Duncan's face during her story changed direction and flushed bright red. "That's one way to describe it," he concurred without going into further detail.

"Only more intense and lasting minutes instead of seconds. I'm right, aren't I?" The flustered expression on his face confirmed her theory. "Don't you see? A nineteen year old boy with a relentless libido could easily be lured into getting as much as he could. Euphoria more powerful than any drug."

Duncan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This topic of conversation while sitting across from a beautiful woman was getting rather difficult. Not about the Quickening, he'd long ago learned to separate the sensations of a Quickening from sex but the other part, that was a whole different story. Images of thrusting naked bodies clouded his vision and he realized it had been a long time since he'd made love, not had sex with, but had made love with a woman.

Lucky for him, the waitress chose that particular moment to bring their order to the table.

"Hamburger and fries," she announced as she plunked a plate down in front of Kate then poured coffee into the mug Duncan was idly playing with.

"Um, I think I've changed my mind," Duncan began, knowing ahead of time that his amendment to their order would not please this particular waitress. But he needed a diversion and he needed one fast. He'd just killed this woman's brother. He had no right to be fantasizing about her, especially when he considered what she must be feeling toward him. "I'd like an ice cream sundae, please."

The tired blue eyes gave him a withering look before they turned away. Exhaling an exasperated sigh, she walked back toward the kitchen without saying a word.

"I don't suppose you come here for the service, do you?" Kate lightly asked between bites.

"No," Duncan tossed back with a chuckle. "I believe they have to pass a test in surliness before they get the job."

She picked up a French fry and waved it a couple of times before plopping it into her mouth. "I can understand why you put up with it. The food's delicious."

Within minutes, the waitress brought out a huge sundae topped with lots of whipped cream and a bright red cherry.

Speaking about relentless libidos, Duncan thought as he quickly dispatched the cherry to the ashtray and spooned the fluffy white stuff into his coffee just to get it out of his sight. It wasn't a cold shower, but hopefully, the ice cream would cool his blood.

Kate watched him through her peripheral vision and found his behavior surprisingly charming but a little silly. After living for four hundred years, a man shouldn't be uncomfortable talking about orgasms. After all, age should have taught him that sexual urges were as natural as breathing. And while Duncan's reaction hadn't exactly been embarrassment like Benton's had, it was still very
evident that he was not entire comfortable with the subject.

They finished their food in relative silence, the only noises coming from the clinking of silverware against china and glass or china and glass knocking against Formica.

The waitress returned to clear away the dishes and refill Duncan's mug. "Coffee?" she snapped at Kate without taking her eyes off the steaming dark liquid as she poured it into the ceramic.

"Please, if it wouldn't be too much trouble," Kate replied sweetly.

"Harumph, trouble is being a single mom with three kids in this day and age," the woman mumbled as she flipped the unused coffee mug over and filled it. Without another word, she left.

Kate wrapped her hands around the warm cup and peered at Duncan. "Speaking about this day and age...I know the changes I've seen in my lifetime of only a measly thirty-two years are extraordinary but, geez, the ones you've seen must be mind-boggling. How do you cope?"

"Cope?"

"Yes, cope. Not with the technological advances, Those are obvious transitions. What I'm talking about are changing attitudes and the constant loss of friends, both mortal and immortal. How do you manage to stay sane?"

Remembrances of how empty he'd felt when he'd held Little Deer's lifeless body close flashed through Duncan's mind. And, with that image, came the memory of the undiluted psychotic fury that had coursed through his veins when he'd seen Kern a hundred and twenty-two years later.

Then Darius...

And Fitz...

Ah, Tessa, I miss you...

He closed his eyes and released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Sometimes you don't," he divulged.

Kate had watched the sadness come over him. Obviously painful recollections resulted in a furrowing of his brow and a pinching of his lips. For the second time that night she had inadvertently hurt him and she hated herself for it.

Duncan shook off the melancholy. Shifting his weight to his left hip, he reached into his pant's right pocket. "It's getting late," he announced. "I should take you home." He pulled out a wad of bills, selected a twenty and a ten and threw them on the table before getting up. "Shall we go?"

As she slid out of the booth, Kate glanced at the twenty dollar tip given to a woman who hadn't deserved twenty cents and sent a silent blessed to whatever deity was looking after Benton Hanshaw. After all, before his death, the gentle giant had given her Duncan MacLeod. It was the least she could do.

In light of their conversation before they'd left the restaurant, the atmosphere inside the Thunderbird was a little tense. Less so than during the ride over, but there nonetheless. Kate used the time to observe the man Benton Hanshaw had referred to as the Highlander.

He appeared perfectly suited to the classic car. Not only by the ease with which he handled it but by the elegance and style it portrayed. The only other vehicles she could imagine him in were a Rolls Royce from somewhere in the twenties or one of those 1959 Cadillacs with the big fins.

She smiled to herself over that one. Her father had brought one of those home in the early seventies with the intention of restoring it then reselling it for a big profit. Poor Dad. How was he to know that after he'd invested thousands of dollars in that old gas guzzler the 1973 oil embargo would hit.

Funny, the places your mind goes to prevent you from thinking about unpleasantness.  She hadn't thought about that car in years.

Bringing herself out of her reverie, she realized that she hadn't told Duncan where she lived, however, he'd just completed the right turn that put them on her street. She experienced a moment of confusion but suddenly, she remembered. A pang of shame and guilt passed through her.

Henry.

Duncan stopped the car at the curb in front of 1701 Sycamore Street and swiveled in the seat to face Kate before he spoke. How he dreaded what he had to say but he couldn't put it off any longer. She needed to know that her brother was being taken care of. "The bartender at Joe's, Mike, has a brother-in-law who's a mortician..."

The tears rapidly filled Kate's eyes then spilled over and started streaming down her cheeks in a heavy flow. No matter how long she lived, she would never find absolution for what she was about to reveal. Her brother was dead and, for that, she was thankful. "I want you to know, Duncan, I came to the bar tonight to warn you, not to stop you." She muffled a dry sob before she could continued. "Benton was so torn up that he'd given Henry your name that he made me promise to get in touch with you if anything happened to him. It took me two days to find you and the whole time I was so scared that I'd be too late." Her body trembled as she tried to curb the tears.

In her present state, there was no way Duncan could leave her in an empty house to grieve alone. He quietly got out of the car, walked around to the other side and opened the passenger door. Offering a hand to her, he gently suggested, "Let's go inside, Kate."

Like a zombie with no will of her own, she allowed herself to be led to the front door. She opened her purse and tried to find her house-keys but the front porch was too dark and her eyes were filled with tears so she couldn't see. A strong hand relieved her of her handbag and, within seconds, she heard the jingle of her key ring.

Duncan held up the keys to the light streaming from the street, made a selection and pushed it into the front door keyhole. Success on the first try. The locked clicked and the knob turned freely.

He didn't pause to take in the decor. Instead, he instinctively guided Kate to the kitchen, settled her at a small glass top table and started rummaging through the cabinets for tea. Finding none, he decided on warming some milk. The term L-Tryptophan and how it helped one to sleep came to mind but he had no idea where he'd learned it. He pour the milk into a glass and put it in the microwave for ninety seconds.

"I suppose one of those things sure beats a wood burning stove," Kate pointed out, trying to lighten the atmosphere. She met his glance with a slight smile.

"You bet," he replied and smiled back. "Microwaves and washing machines, the best inventions homo sapiens ever came up with."

"What about computers and television?"

"Not much of a TV watcher myself, I'd rather read, but some of my best friends watch."

"Now, what sort of book does a man who was born during the Renaissance read?

"I might have been born at the time of the Renaissance but the Renaissance never really reached the Highlands. We were sort of stuck in Crusades mode only for different reasons and we kept most of our plundering and pillaging local."

"I still can't get over it. Immortality." She mulled over the possibilities. "What other inventions really impressed you?"

"Indoor plumbing was a real biggie," Duncan laughed.

The ding of the microwave announcing that the milk was ready interrupted. Duncan retrieve the glass and placed in front of Kate.

She looked down at the glass and wrinkled her nose. "I'm supposed to drink this?"

"It'll relax you."

"I'd rather have a brandy," she declared. "That would relax me, too."

He hadn't found a store of liquor when he'd searched through the kitchen cabinets. Possibly, she kept it elsewhere. He started checking the cupboards he hadn't investigated yet. "Okay. Where do you keep it?"

"I'm out." She returned his perplexed look with a sheepish grin. "I didn't say I had any, I just said I'd rather have it. Benton and I finished it." Recalled the hours spend sitting around the dining room table, talking and sipping brought Kate new pain. Nine hundred years of living, gone with the single stroke of a sword. "God," she sighed softly. "I'm going to miss him."

Duncan stopped his scavenger hunt and took a seat across the table. He didn't say anything. He just sat and waited patiently for what he knew would follow.

"I hadn't know him long but in such a short time he'd become a vital part of my life. It was only four months but I felt like I'd known him forever. He told me stories you'd never believe." She dreamily stared off into the distance for a moment then caught herself and directed her gaze back toward Duncan. She suddenly remembered that she wasn't talking to just anyone and a nervous little laugh escaped her mouth. "But, then again, you're one of the friends he was telling me about."

Duncan's rich chuckle filled her mind with warm memories. "Probably, but I'll bet his versions are considerably different from mine. He was quite the elaborator."

"Such a gentle man. Who would expect a man who stood six feet ten and was built like a brick shithouse to be so compassionate?"

"Well, in a roundabout sort of way, I suppose you could've called him that."

"Benton, as I recall on the trip down, it was *you* who warned *me* not to get into any trouble."

"Now is not the time for bickering over details, Highlander," Benton replied as he ducked away from a flying chair then dodged two sets of fists both directed at his face. "If you're not going to help then get her out of here."

Duncan wrapped a protective arm around the young girl's shoulders. Weaving his way through the mayhem, he led her out the swinging doors of the St. Charles Saloon to the relative safety of the Columbia streets. However, it didn't take long for the fight to follow.

First, a man came sailing horizontally through the entryway then came Benton, fists flailing against the same two opponents Duncan had seen him fighting off inside. A crowd of onlookers exited with them to watch the progress. Money quickly changed hands as bets were given and received.

As always, if he'd been betting, Duncan's money would be on Benton. The big man was having no trouble. In fact, he was holding back, keeping his punches light and never taking the offensive.

"Feel free to join in anytime, Duncan," Benton yelled over the din of encouraging shouts from the spectators.

"I don't think so," Duncan shouted back, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. "You told me to stay out of trouble and I *always* do as I'm told. Beside, you're doing just fine."

Two quick punches later, it was all over. Two men lay sprawled unconscious in the dirt and Benton wasn't even breathing hard. "Some friend you are," he accused Duncan as he wiped his bruised knuckles across his chest. His head darted around as though he was looking for something. "Where's the girl?"

"She's right..." Duncan turned to his left but no blonde-haired, blue-eyed, little slip of a girl was standing next to him.

"You lost her," Benton accused. "I give you one job and you can't even do that right. Where'd she go?"

Duncan scanned the crowd and, after a couple of seconds, zeroed in on a head covered with fair hair snaking toward the fringes. "There she is." He pointed the direction out to his friend.

Benton didn't pause. Immediately, he set out in pursuit, shouldering his way through the twenty or so men who had gathered around to watch the fight and were now settling their bets.

Duncan caught up to the mismatched couple one block south of the saloon. They were arguing in front of Knapp's General Store. A crowd of curious prospectors was watching the big, tower of a man kowtowed by a verbal lashing from the smallest woman/child in all of Tuolumne County. (Author's note: pronounced Twal-la-me, accent on first syllable.)

"...and further more, *Mister* Hanshaw, if I'd wanted saving, I would have asked for it. You had no right to start that fight. I was perfectly safe in there. Those men were just bein' playful. They've spend months up in the hills and they were only looking for a little entertainment."

"In your bed, missy. Why, you're barely out of girlhood. I'll bet you didn't understand half of what they were saying. Come on, Cora." Benton tried to take her arm but she quickly wiggled out of his grasp.

"I'll have you know I'm seventeen years old," she proclaimed with a vehement stomp of her foot. "That's plenty old enough to know what I'm doing."

"Why doncha go get a job on Waldo Street, then. I hear Madame Lucy's been having trouble keeping girls. At least she could protect you from the likes of those ruffians."

"How dare you!"

During their argument, Duncan had worked his way to a spot directly behind Cora in order to watch Benton's volatile facial expressions. The entire scene was so funny but the Highlander, not wanting to take sides, controlled his mirth. But when Cora, who stood less that five feet tall, tried to reach Benton's face to slap it for the second time, Duncan just couldn't contain himself. He wrapped his hands around her tiny waist and gave her the vertical boost she needed.

Cora, bless her heart, didn't even pause to investigate who was helping her. The sound of her open hand impacting against Benton's cheek reverberated through the crowd.

Benton took an exaggerated step backward, stared at her with a blank, unreadable expression and stood there froze with his mouth half open in astonishment.

The entire assemblage waited in mute amazement for the consequences.

Duncan had twisted his body to the side to move Cora out of harm's reach but he still held her suspended in the air. It was as though they were all waiting for a volcano to erupt, or really, since they were in California, for the earth to shift beneath their feet.

Five seconds passed.

Ten seconds...

It was like counting off the time between seeing a flash of lightning and hearing the crash of thunder. They all knew something was going to happen but they didn't know what it would be or how long it would take before the repercussions were felt.

Twelve...thirteen...fourteen...

The big boom they were all waiting for began to form. It started as a rumble from deep within Benton's chest and slowly worked it's way upward. By the time it broke the surface, Benton was laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach to keep it from hurting too much.

"Okay, Cora," he managed to get out between the guffaws. "You win. I was way out of line. You can take care of yourself." He pulled a leather pouch from his coat pocket and threw it toward the spot where Duncan still held her off the ground. "Take this gold and use it to your best advantage. Invest it or buy a stage ticket out of here. It's yours to do with what you please."

As Duncan let the girl down, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the pouch that was now grasped within her tiny hands. Six months of back-breaking labor. Six months of nursing sore muscles with nothing but hard ground for a bed. Six months of picking through crevices and shoveling up tons of dirt and gravel. Six months of standing or kneeling or wading in frigid water. Six months of fighting off vermin that wanted to strike it rich the easy way. "That's our entire poke, Benton." He couldn't keep astonishment out of his voice as he stated a fact that Benton had obviously forgotten.

Benton hadn't forgotten. While he nonchalantly dusted the dirt off his shirt sleeves, he replied, "You're whining again, MacLeod. If I remember correctly, you said we've already made our fortunes. What do we need more for?" He bent over and patted the dust off his pant legs. Once satisfied that he was again presentable, he straighten and regarded Duncan squarely. "Besides, my Scottish friend, I'd say it's a fair price for that stunt you just pulled."

The silence between Kate and Duncan dragged on for several seconds as both remained locked in separate memories.

"God, I want a drink," Kate complained as her eyes caught the now cooled, still untouched glass of milk. She placed her hands on the edge of the table, pushed her chair back then slowly rose to her feet. "Come on. Let's raid the buffet in the dining room and see what alcohol we can find." She stopped mid-step as though reconsidering her suggestion. "You do drink, don't you?"

"Absolutely," Duncan replied and followed her out of the kitchen.

The dining room, separated from the kitchen by a swinging door, was furnished in Duncan Phyfe copies, big mahogany pieces that made the formal room appear dark and heavy. In fact, as Duncan surveyed the attached living room, it appeared the entire house had been decorated in large, heavy, formal pieces, giving an overbearing feel to it. Thick tapestry drapes lined the entire wall behind a couch upholstered in heavy brocade. Dark, flocked wallpaper covered the others with huge, gilt-framed paintings of mediocre quality breaking up the monotony. The designer had tried for opulence but instead had achieved oppression.

Kate pulled a bottle of Jack Daniel's from the middle cabinet of the buffet. Reaching for two tumblers behind the glass doors, she caught Duncan's perusal of the decor. "My mother, God rest her soul," she explained. "She had her own ideas about decorating." Kate's eyes followed the same trail that Duncan's had. "It feels like a cave, doesn't it?"

Duncan relieved her of the bottle and glasses and moved toward the living room. He thought twice about sitting down on the couch, knowing exactly the type of person the woman had been who had chosen it. The entire room probably hadn't been used in years.

Kate saw him hesitate so she flopped down on the couch, kicked off her shoes and folded her feet under her. "I moved out of here eleven years ago and hated coming back even just to visit. I always felt as though I was walking into a black hole. A place where no light was allowed. She always worried that sunlight would fade the furniture." Her throat constricted but she wouldn't allow herself to cry. She swallowed the urge and vowed to herself that she wouldn't turn maudlin. "After the accident, I moved back to be with Henry. With all the problems that came up afterward, I never found the time to re-decorate." A plaintiveness crept into her voice. "I suppose I'll have it now."

Duncan sat next to her, carefully put the glasses down on the massive, hand-carved coffee table and broke the seal on the unopened bottle. After pouring two fingers worth into each glass, he lifted both of them and, handing one to Kate on his way, he settled into the plush cushions at his back.

"To Benton," he toasted and held his glass up in salute.

"To Benton," Kate echoed softly. Then, staring directly into Duncan's dark eyes, she whispered, "Who taught me about love."

Duncan's expression perceptibly changed. The crease between his eyebrows deepened and the corners of his mouth slightly drooped while he completed the move that brought the glass to his lips. But instead of taking a civilized sip of the bourbon, he gulped down a hefty swig, paused then gulped down another one. If Kate had known him better, she would have recognized envy. "Hanshaw was a lucky man," he mentioned flatly and silently chided himself for feeling anything with regards to this woman. He had no right.

Bloody barbarian that he was, he'd killed her brother and, no matter what she'd claimed earlier, they had no future. And he lamented the loss of potential, for here was a warm, charming, obviously caring woman with whom he could enter a relationship without secrets. Immortality, the Gathering, the Game, Quickenings. They were all known by her. Not even with Tessa had he had such an advantage to explore the natural progression of things.

Tessa had fallen in love with one man but had ended up with someone totally different. He would never forgive himself for that. After her death, he'd promised himself he'd never do that again but then there was Anne, and all too quickly he'd succumbed to that same web of deceit.

Immortals were doomed to a solitary existence but Duncan was not a solitary person by nature. Raised within the security of the Clan, he had a strong sense of the need to belong. He had a huge capacity to bestow and receive love but was forced to live like a tiger; wary and alone, seeking companionship only when need became to great. This was not living, it was merely existing and he hated it.

Kate mulled over in her head his bizarre comment and the tone in which it had been given. How could Hanshaw be lucky? He was dead. Whatever was he talking about? Slowly, the reason dawned on her. She'd made that brash statement out-loud. Oh, when would she ever learn how to keep her thoughts to herself.

Ever since childhood, she'd struggled with the neurological connections between brain and mouth that most people took for granted. It had been a real problem in her younger days but over the years, she'd learned to control it except when she got nervous or excited. And she was definitely both at that moment.

From the moment Benton had begun to describe the kind of man Duncan was, she'd felt the stirrings of feminine interest that her male peers had never generated. A man who lived by a strict sense of honor was almost unheard of in this day and age and the idea that one might exist had appealed to the romantic in her. Had she met Benton at a different time in her life, she might have fallen for him but the circumstances of their relationship and all the problems it had entailed prevented that so instead, she'd falling in love with the portrait he'd painted of Duncan.

"I didn't mean that the way I think you might have interpreted it."

Duncan waved a hand of dismissal. The thought of her and Benton together... "It's really none of my business."

"Oh, but it is your business, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

Duncan raised one eyebrow in response. "Benton didn't leave much out, did he?"

Kate took a sip of the sour mash and peered at him over the rim of the glass. Her expression was mischievous. "Not without major prodding, believe you me." Her gaze became fixed on his lower lip and her blood pressure rose a couple of notches. "I just wish he'd been a little more descriptive about how handsome you are."

The room was too dimly lit for her to see the blush creeping up from his neck but she could discern the bashful expression clearly. "Oh, be serious. I'm sure you've heard that enough times in the last four hundred years for it not to be a surprise anymore. This embarrassment thing's an act, isn't it?"

"How do *you* respond when someone tells you you're beautiful?

"I'm not beautiful. Okay, pleasing to the eye, acceptable maybe but not beautiful like you are."

"Let's come back to that one later." He leaned forward, swirled the liquor in the glass but didn't take a drink. Without taking his eyes off the amber liquid, he explained, "A man and a woman had sex one March night four hundred and four years ago. I never knew who they were and, even if I did, they've been dead for centuries. I had nothing to do with how I look. I can't take the credit for the way two strangers' chromosomes decided to combine. What am I supposed to say?"

"I believe 'thank you' is the acceptable response," she informed him lightheartedly.

"Thank you," he parroted.

There was a lull in the conversation as Kate tried to find a tactful way to pose her next question. Grabbing a quick glance, she saw that Duncan was still staring into the pool of Jack Daniel's. She cleared her throat in preamble then blurted it out. "It still bothers you, not knowing who your parent were?"

Duncan pulled his attention from the glass, met her eyes and smiled warmly. A conversation he'd had with Richie a few years before popped into his head. "It did for a long time but, after a couple of hundred years, I got over it."

A shiver ran up Kate's spine. Her thoughts were treading into dangerous territory again but she couldn't stop herself. "It really bothered Henry." A picture of her brother when he was seven appeared in her mind's eye; vibrant, happy, innocence not yet lost and then it metamorphosed into the contemptuous, morose, hateful person she'd seen last. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Duncan put down his glass and reached for her hand. "Let's not talk about this," he suggested. His eyes darted around, taking in the room. "So, what are your decorating plans?" he asked, trying to change to subject.

"I need to know, Duncan," she entreated.

He abruptly dropped her hand, jumped to his feet and started pacing. "What do you need to know, Kate?" he bellowed, anger fueled by guilt. "I took your brother's head before he could take mine. Do you need the gruesome details?" Bitterness and self-loathing stiffened his natural grace and he moved around the room jerkily. "I was raised a warrior and I have a warrior's instincts. Do you need to know he never had a chance?"

"Yes, that's what I needed to know," she answered. She stood up and went to him. Clasping him by his biceps, she tried to make him stop pacing. He shook her off the first time, however when she came back again, he ceased and met her gaze. "Don't you see," she explained as though the whole thing was extremely logical. "Someone had to stop him. I only wish you didn't feel so guilty about it."

"Damn it, he was your brother. He was a baby. How could I not feel guilty?"

Without thinking, she lifted her hands and pressed them against his stubbly cheeks to keep him from turning his head away. "Because you did what you had to do. That boy was not my brother. My brother died the day after Thanksgiving, the same day that I lost my parents. And no matter how much you or Benton or anyone else tries to convince me that an Immortal is the same person before and after their first death, the teenager who came back to life before my eyes was a stranger, a evil stranger who had to be stopped. And it doesn't make any difference that you didn't know that at the time you killed him. You know it now. Please, Duncan. Stop beating yourself up over this."

Before he could stop himself, Duncan leaned over and kissed her. A tentative pressing of lips against lips with no demands. But at the instant of contact he became overwhelmed by a wave of need first, followed by loneliness and the loss of what couldn't be. They all frightened him and he pulled back in response.

"No," Kate protested and shifted her hands to the back of his neck to keep him from moving away.

"This isn't a good idea," he warned.

"I think it's a wonderful idea." She grabbed his ponytail and gave it a gentle tug.

"You don't even know me."

"But I do know you. I know that you're a kind, considerate, gallant man who would do anything for a friend. You're honorable, highly principled and Benton desperately wanted you to be the one to win the Prize."

"Jesus, is there nothing that man didn't tell you?"

"You're disease free and I don't have to worry about getting pregnant. What more could a single woman in the '90's ask for?"

"I guess not," Duncan answered his own question, more to himself than to her. He could easily see why Benton had opened up to her. In a world filled with squalor, this woman was a breath of fresh air. He only wished they could have met under different circumstances.

"Let something good come out of what happened tonight," she urged as her hands dropped to his chest and she started rubbing him through his tee-shirt.

Duncan captured her fingers to stop the friction of the cotton against his nipples. The charge of the Quickening he'd taken earlier still surged through his body and as a result, it wasn't taking much to arouse him. A mere touch and already he was hard and he doubted Benton had told her about this little side effect of immortality. Kate had no idea what flames she was feeding. It was imperative that he gain back some of the control he was quickly losing. "Are you in the habit of seducing strangers?"

Kate reclaimed her hands and, gathering the material of his tee-shirt at his hips, pulled it from the waistband of his jeans. Dipping her fingers beneath the denim, she pressed her thumbs against his hipbones. "You're not a stranger, Duncan. Benton told me all about you. We just never met before."

When she rubbed against his erection, his self-restraint, already drawn into a taut, thin thread, threatened to break. His body screamed for release and, for an instant, he indulged himself in the fantasy of what she was offering. But the second he imagined himself thrusting into her body with the abandon caused by the Quickening, he abruptly broke away from her and stood there trembling.

He could still see the look on Tessa's face the first time a Quickening had affected his sex drive. Despite their history of a long-standing, loving relationship, she'd been scared. And, although their union hadn't exactly been rape, it had been as close to it as Duncan had ever gotten.

When it occurred the second time, she'd known what was happening and had adeptly taken control of the situation. Bringing him to a quick climax with her hands and mouth, she'd then channeled the rest of his energy to her benefit. With the urgency of release dealt with but adrenaline still surging in his blood, their joining had retained a hint of violence but it had been fed by both of them and the sex had never been better.

Kate Bartholomew knew nothing about any of this. She had a vague idea about the immediate effects of a Quickening but even that was distorted because, like an orgasm, there was really no way to adequately describe the feeling. And, if she knew the full scope of the aftereffects, she would turn tail and get as far away from him as she could, for at that moment he had lost the ability to resist her. His entire body was as hard as the penis that strained against his zipper and if he moved, it would be in only one direction...toward her.

Kate observed the stoic figure standing so rigidly an arm's length away. There was a war being waged behind those unseeing eyes and she didn't know what to do to help him. Her first instinctive response had been rejected not once but twice even though she knew that he wanted her. The evidence of that was easily seen by the hard ridge in his jeans but something was stopping him.

When she looked closer, she noticed that he was shaking. His chest was rising and falling as though he was panting but the only other symptom of his increased respiration was the flaring of his nostrils. Benton had told her that, no matter what, she should never be afraid of Duncan MacLeod but his words rang hollow in her mind as she gazed upon the man. He looked dangerous and she *was* afraid.

"Duncan," she said, trying to get through to him. "Duncan, what's wrong?"

His eyes shuttered closed then slowly opened again. Whatever had been there had disappeared so thoroughly that she wondered if she'd imagined it altogether. There was recognition in his look and his chest had stopped heaving.

Kate gave a nervous little laugh and walked back to him. "Are you okay now?" she asked.

The blood had stopped pounding in his ears and he'd finally gained control again but it was a fragile hold and could easily snap. "No," he answered and tried to smile in an attempt to break the tension. It came out more like a grimace.

"What's the matter?" She reached out to touch him but stopped herself when she heard him exhale a deep, shaky breath of despair.

Duncan rubbed a hand over his face and mentally searched for sanity. He found it, grasped it and cloaked himself *within* in it. Only when he could trust himself again did he open his eyes and look at her. "You have no idea," he finally answered her. He returned to the couch, poured himself another drink and downed it in one swallow.

Kate didn't take her eyes off his face as she took a seat next to him. She waited a couple of seconds for him to explain but when he didn't speak, she did. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No, I'm not," he replied and stared into her warm, beautiful eyes. He saw too many questions in the hazel-green depths, questions he didn't know how to answer. "Believe me, you don't want to know.  "You don't want to know how close I came to losing it.  Another shot of Jack Daniel's poured and downed. Maybe the alcohol would dull his senses and keep the lovely scent of her out of his nostrils.

What he should do was get up and leave but he didn't trust his shaky constitution enough to drive yet. He would survive practically any traffic accident but others, victims of his sure-to-be-recklessness, might not be so fortunate. He settled back into the couch with yet another shot and tried to relax.

Kate wished she knew what the hell was going on. She'd offered herself and he'd obviously wanted her. Why, in heaven's name, were they still sitting on the couch, growing further away from each other instead of closer? "Why don't you want to make love with me?" she asked unblushingly.

What was the point of trying to dull his senses with alcohol if she wouldn't let the subject drop? Didn't she know she was treading on thin ice? Why wouldn't she just let the subject die?

Because she didn't understand and she wouldn't understand until he explained it to her.

"Listen, Kate, I'm flattered, really I am but I'm in no condition to take you up on what you're offering."

She glanced down at his lap unashamedly. "It looks like you are," she mentioned.

"That's exactly my point. Benton might have alluded to the effects of a Quickening while it's going on but knowing him, I'm positive he didn't tell you about what happens to the recipient afterward."

"You're right. Benton didn't tell me, but from what I just saw, I think I can guess. You get horny."

If only that were the case, but horny didn't even come close to explaining what happened to him. The definition didn't describe the sensation as the blood boiling in his loins demanded release. It didn't describe the compulsive urgency he felt to sink himself into a woman or his obsessive drive toward completion. It didn't explain any of that and he didn't know how to tell her about them.

"Okay," Kate began innocently, after watching his facial features change into about a dozen different expressions over the span of a few seconds. "Maybe horny's not a good word, but I'm in the ballpark, aren't I?"

Duncan's initial burst of laughter unsettled her. "That, my dear, is an understatement," he finally managed to get out.  God, this woman is delightful. With all the ups and downs this roller coaster of a night had brought, it felt good to release some of the tension. Not exactly the release he'd been looking for a few minutes before but, for the time being, it worked. He slowly closed his eyes, took a deep, cleansing breath and was able to relax a notch.

Without the distraction of those soulful brown eyes that pulled at hers like a magnet, Kate was able to inspect the rest of Duncan MacLeod's face.

From the heavy eyebrows, down the strong line of a perfectly formed nose, to lips that begged attention, it was a potently masculine face with no feminine features whatsoever. The hard planes of his cheeks were peppered with more than a day's worth of stubble, calling attention to the fact that he hadn't shaved that morning.

Thinking about watching him shave brought a tingling sensation. Mundane tasks did that to Kate. She hadn't been in a relationship with a man in a long time, five years, seven months and an odd number of days, to be exact, yet she still missed running into the accouterments on the bathroom counter. The fact that she missed the masculine trappings more than the man was a good indication that ending the relationship had been a smart idea. But she was lonely.

Since her parents' deaths and with all the problems Henry had generated, her own personal needs had been forced onto the back burner. She'd been living in a fog for the past four months but now, due to the help from this Immortal, she'd be able to start putting the pieces of her life back together. And she desperately wanted him to be a part of it.

Benton's words came back to her.

"Katie, my dear." Benton's big, callused hand cradled her cheek and his sparkling blue eyes pierced hers. "If anything happens to me, I want you to find Duncan MacLeod. He'll know what to do."

"Henry wouldn't hurt you," Kate argued, trying to convince herself that her statement was true. "Nothing's going to happen."

"At this point, I wouldn't put anything past Henry." He rubbed his thumb against the corner of her mouth. "I hate saying this to you but you have to know. I'm sorry I didn't take his head the first second I set eyes on him. He's not to be trusted and even you won't be safe from him if he thinks you're going to try to stop him.

He pulled a business card out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. "The last I heard, Mac was running this antique store here in Seattle but the phone's been disconnected. He's either somewhere here or he has a barge in Paris, near the Notre Dame. Find him, tell him I sent you and explain everything. Listen to him, trust him with your life but don't take any shit from him. He'll keep you safe then do what needs to be done."

"This is stupid, Bent. Why don't we just find Henry and reason with him. He's a kid, not a cold-blooded killer." Fear caused her voice to turn shrill.

Benton's expression turned sympathetic and he brushed back a stray hair from her forehead. "But he is, Kate," he stated as compassionately as he could. "None of his so-called victories came from fair fights. He's ambushed five Immortals in the last month alone. No warning, no declaration of his intentions, he just cowered in a dark place then took their heads." He stared past her shoulder then closed his eyes in unvoiced agony. "And I told him about every single one of them." He focused his attention back on her. "MacLeod's the last one. Henry knows his name and knows he might be living around here."

If only to appease him, Kate nodded her head in consent. "Okay, but only for argument's sake and because you won't give up till I give in." A little mischief sneaked into an otherwise bleak situation as she fed him the straight line. "How will I recognize this Duncan MacLeod?"

A small, devious smile lifted the corners of Benton's mouth. "He's a short fellow, kind of puny."

The joke they'd been sharing for the last three months. Compared to Benton, everyone was short and kind of puny. Kate, glad that a little humor could still wriggle its way into the big man's soul, smiled back and waited for the real description to come.

"He's tall, about six feet, long dark-hair he was keeping in a ponytail last time I saw him and well-built. Looks like he's in his mid-thirties which has always been a sore point considering he was only twenty-nine when he suffered his First Death. And Kate, don't be put off by his attitude. He used to be a lot of fun in his younger days but from what I've heard, he's been taking things a little too seriously recently. So, no matter what your first impression is, remember, he's the most loyal and honorable man I've ever known."

He paused and reflected inward for a moment then his countenance shifted into one of fierce conviction. "Of all the Immortals I've met over the past nine hundred odd years of this great life of mine, he truly is the *only* one who deserves the Prize. And I don't want him to lose his head to some snot-nosed little coward who lurks in the shadows.

That same snot-nosed little coward who took the gentle giant's head in the middle of the night as he slept.

A small cry of sorrow escaped Kate's lips. Duncan's eyes snapped opened and, seeing her woeful expression, he sat up and opened his arms to her in a silent invitation. Without hesitation, she burrowed the side of her head into the curve of his shoulder and, for the first time in what seemed like years, felt a flood of security when those strong arms wrapped around her and held her close.

"I swore I wasn't going to cry anymore," she hiccuped into his shirt.

"Crying is healthy, Kate. It cleanses the soul."

"Ha. When was the last time you cried."

This evening. "Recently."

She lifted her head and looked at him dubiously. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Why would you doubt it?"

"You just don't seem the crying type. You seem more the stoic, carrying-the-world-on-your-shoulders kind of guy."

"I feel and respond to pain the same as you."

"But you've seen so much death. I would have thought you'd become callus to it after so many years."

He slipped his hand from her back, pressed it against her head and gently forced her back against him. "Never."

She grew quiet and, after several minutes Duncan realized her breathing had changed into the slow rhythmic patterns of slumber. He shifted his body slightly to move into a more comfortable position for her which elicited a little murmur of protest but she didn't awaken. He leaned forward, pressed his lips against the softness of her hair then leaned back and prepared himself for a long, sleepless night.
 

Hands. Warm, petal-soft hands. Stroking and teasing, awakening something within that he thought he'd quashed. Desire. Lust. Tenderness. All swirling together. Coalescing then breaking apart. All brought on by the ministrations of hands.

Lips. Moist, tender lips stirring his flesh low on his belly, sending sensations of delight coursing throughout his body. Hot, sensuous lips sparking an ember that still had a danger of flaring into an inferno.

Need.

Want.

Desire...

More.

Don't stop.

Duncan's eyes flew open. He experienced an instant of disorientation. Nothing around looked familiar to his foggy brain, not even the dark, hair-covered head bent over his stomach. Then he remembered. Kate. Then he realized what had awakened him.

Reaching down, he clasped her under her armpits and pulled her up to eye level, grunting in agony as her body dragged over his erection. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked angrily, teeth clenched to the point of pain.

"You're not a virgin, Duncan. You know damn well what I was doing." She brought her face closer and gently grabbed his lower lip between her teeth. "I want you," she whispered, pressing her thigh harder against his zipper.

A jolt of pure, unadulterated lust squeezed his testicles and, frightened by the intensity of it, he threw her off to get her away from him.

Unhurt, Kate paused where she'd landed on the floor between the couch and the coffee table then sat up and stared at him, perplexity written on her features. "I know you want me, too, so I don't see what the problem is."

"You don't understand," he growled

She folded her arms under her breasts and exhaled an audible sigh of impatience. Keep it light, she lectured herself before she spoke. Keep it light. "Well, then explain it to me, otherwise, I'm going to get a serious complex from all this rejection."

"Ah, Katie, I'm not rejecting you, I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm tougher than I look." She started to crawl back onto the couch.

"Not tough enough." Duncan shifted away warily

"How do you know how tough I am?"

"Exactly my point, Kate. We don't know each other. If I come at you like a rutting animal, you're not going to understand why."

She reached out a hand and laid it on his forearm. "But I do, Duncan. It's the Quickening."

"Logically you might know but..."

She snatched back her hand. "Don't tell me you've never been with a woman after taking someone's Quickening."

"I won't lie to you. I've slept with women afterward but they weren't strangers like you are."

"So your coming after them like a raging stallion didn't bother them?"

He had the decency to blush and this time she could see the color clearly. "That only happened once. She learned how to compensate."

"Well then, teach me how to compensate." She reached for him again and laid her hand on his chest over his heart. "Duncan, I want to make love with you. You, on the other hand, need to make love to me. I'm willing to learn. I really don't see a problem here."

"You don't give up, do you?"

"Benton told me not to take any shit from you. He told me I could trust you with my life. *I'm* only trusting you with my body." She dropped her hand to his waistband and gave his jeans a playful tug. When he didn't resist, she maneuvered her fingers under the shirt she'd pulled out earlier and touched the bare, taut skin of his belly.

Duncan frantically searched for a breach in her logic but he was quickly losing the ability to string two words together. That insatiable demon awakened by the Quickening sprang to the fore with a vengeance and he was losing control.

Every nerve-ending that her touch passed over sparked and fired until his entire being was alit and ready to explode. He couldn't move. He was a instrument of sensation and she played him like a pro.

He didn't hear the pop of the snap or the rasp of the zipper but he felt her fingers the instant she wrapped them around his penis and his body bucked in response. Reaching climax didn't take long, he'd been hovering on the brink for hours. He jerked within her grasp one last time and pumped his empty seed into nothing.

When he opened his eyes, he met the steady hazel-green gaze. She smiled tenderly and touched her forefinger to the end of his nose. "Better?"

He was still half erect and there was a crick in his neck but he did feel better. Better than he had since he taken Henry's head so he nodded his head in confirmation. Then, as he stood up to right his clothes and rub the sore spot in his neck, he gave her a sheepish, quirky grin and inquired, "I don't suppose you have a bed?"

"What, four hundred year old bones can't put up with making out on the couch?"

He gave her a devilish smile and raised one eyebrow. "Making out is hardly the term I'd use for what I plan to do to you, imp."

"Imp?" she exclaimed with effrontery . "I couldn't possibly qualify as an imp."

"Ah, but you are, lass. A wee demon." He took her hand and led her out of the living room and into the long hallway where he waited for her to take over the lead.

Continuing up the hallway, she turned into the second doorway on their right and led him into a large bedroom. The first word that came to Mac's head when she flipped on the light and he took in the decor was pink. Pink walls, pink curtains, pink comforter over a queen size bed with a pink dust ruffle. And white lace. Every pink frilly thing had a border stitched around it of white lace. The color, combined with the large pieces of red mahogany furniture, was again overpowering like the living room.

"Cute, huh?" Kate commented. "Imagining having to grow up in this room."

Duncan swiveled around and addressed her directly. "You don't seem the pink, lace and frills kind of woman."

"I'm not. I think my defiant nature came out when I furnished my first apartment. Chrome and glass all the way." She wrinkled her nose in distaste and giggled. "It was awful. Luckily, I quickly outgrew that obstinate stage. I had a lot of nice pieces in my last place but now they're in storage. I swear, I'm going to tear this house from limb to limb and bring some life back to it."

She walked over to the bed and yanked the comforter down to the foot, revealing ultra-feminine bed sheets of pink roses underneath. "It's really kind of funny. My mom was a warm, sweet, old-fashioned kind of woman. She kept the house, took care of my Dad, and raised me and then my brother. Your typical '60's kind of housewife. I have absolutely no idea where she came up with these dreadful decorating ideas and there was no stopping her.

"I was sixteen when she re-did this room. I'm listening to Elvis Costello and the Talking Heads and she decorates my bedroom in pink frills. Boy, did we go round in circles over that one."

"Looks like she won," Duncan chuckled.

"Yeah and it'll probably break my heart if I try to change it." The hole left by her parents' death felt like a huge gapping wound at that moment and she shuddered in response to the pain. She was so weary of the emotional yo-yos.

Duncan walked up to her and tenderly placed his finger under her chin. Tilting her face upward, he lowered his mouth to hers and began a slow perusal of her lips.

He felt wonderful. He kissed expertly. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply and Kate had to hold on for dear life as the strength to keep herself standing upright waned. His lips felt soft and warm, a strong contrast to the beard around them that abraded her skin. She was going to have some major whisker burn by the end of the night.

As though reading her mind, Duncan pulled away and gently brushed his left thumb over the sensitive skin right below her lower lip while his right hand rubbed the stubble on his chin. "I should probably do something about this," he said. Pausing for a second as his eyes searched her face, he then added with a smile, "Actually, a shower would be nice, too."

Kate pulled herself out the sensuous daze his mere kiss had put her into and inclined her head toward a door on the opposite wall from the entry. "Help yourself, but be forewarned, the razor's been used on, oh horrors, legs."

Taking a step toward the doorway, he grabbed the hem of his tee-shirt and stripped it off. "No problem," he answered, and before Kate could fully appreciate the pulchritude he'd unveiled, he disappeared through the bathroom door.

Kate debated with herself for all of thirty seconds before the sound of the water running in the shower and the imprint of that glorious back still glowing in her retinas propelled her into action. Fingers already freeing the first button on her blouse, she entered the bathroom.

She hastily added her clothes to the pile already laying on the floor and made her way to the glass door of the shower where she stood, enraptured by the form peeking through the mist.

His eyes were closed and he was shaving, her delicate razor looking ridiculously small in his big hand as he adeptly maneuvered it over his face. She broke away from watching him shave and followed the strong column of his neck downward. Past the hollow in his throat that beckoned to her, past the broadest set of shoulders she'd ever seen in person, her eyes finally came to rest on the splash of dark hair that covered his chest.

At that point, her resolve wavered momentarily.

Although her fingers itched to touch those well-defined pectorals, she suddenly realized that her presence could be interpreted as an intrusion into his privacy. However, when the sight of his partial erection came into view, she decided he'd probably welcome her company and opened the shower door to join him.

Duncan, startled by the noise, jumped in reflex. The razor slipped. He winced and yelled, "Ouch," simultaneously as the blade cut through skin leaving a path of blood extending three quarters of an inch along his jaw.

Kate was mortified. She quickly reached up to staunch the flow but stopped mid-motion as a tiny spark of light flickered across the wound and it instantly disappeared.

They stood motionless, eyes locked together while the water pour over them. Then a wave of hilarity hit her, sending her into gales of laughter. "I'll bet the people at Johnson & Johnson just hate you guys." She completed the move that brought her hand to his face and, with her thumb, wiped off the blood that remained.

His features brightened into a charming smile that made him look boyish. "In what magic place did Benton find you?" he asked before he lazily leaned over and took her mouth in his. What started as a leisurely tour quickly transformed into something different when he took advantage of her gasp of surprise and plunged his tongue past her teeth to the sweet warmth inside.

He tasted like Jack Daniel's and soap and something wonderful she couldn't identify. Wrapping her arms around his waist for support, she answered his quest with explorations of her own. Tongues and lips met, danced, then retreated, only to come back together and meet again. It was a mind-dizzying exchange and soon Kate's entire body was humming.

Duncan pulled back for a moment and regarded her intently, looking for a sign that he should stop, but there wasn't one. The expression that gazed back at him showed no trepidation, only desire mixed with something else he couldn't put a name to, and his heart lurched in his chest at the gift she was offering.

He accepted graciously and reverently lifted a hand to her breast. Lightly trailing his finger down the upper slope, he watched her eyes flutter closed in anticipation as he neared her already taut nipple. A shudder past through her when he made contact.

Kate wrapped her arms around his head when he bent over and flickered his tongue over her breast. The rush of pleasure washing through her settled low in her belly. His hand, callused along the palms, grasped her sides to knead her flesh and his ministrations, combined with the warm water pulsating over them, brought her whole body alive with sensation.

She was quickly losing the ability to think clearly, to remember to take a breath, to maintain control of her muscles. Her legs began to betray her. No longer able to provide support, she was losing the battle with gravity but the hands at her waist, sensing her need, transformed into arms of assistance. With no effort at all, he lifted her, pivoted around and backed her up against the shower wall.

"Better?" he inquired with a whisper.

She couldn't find the breath to answer. Instead, she arched her back toward him and sighed her contentment when he started to suckle her.

More. She wanted more. As if in answer to her silent plea, his fingers delved into that part of her that wept for him. Involuntarily, she lunged toward his touch, bringing her leg up to open herself more completely to him. One finger. Two fingers but they weren't enough and, in her craze for fulfillment, her movements became frenzied. Still, he held back from her.

She blindly reached for him, knowing that only he, Duncan MacLeod, could save her. Benton had told her so. She'd been promised so why wasn't he saving her now? Why wasn't he giving her what she ached for. She wanted him. She needed him. Where was he?

Her moan of anguish was smothered by his lips as his tongue invaded her mouth at the same instant of penetration.

She simultaneously imploded.

Giant waves of ecstasy undulated through her body and he rode them. Plunge and withdrawal, plunge and withdrawal. His thrusts were sure, strong and deep, never allowing her to recover from one climax before carrying her to the next.

Then suddenly his movements became frantic. He changed into that rutting animal he had warned her about but she was ready for him. Pressed against the shower wall like she was provided enough support from behind so, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, she shamelessly offered what he sought. She became what he had alluded to, a mere vessel for him to use as he succumbed to the effects of the Quickening.

He exploded into a series of pulsations that wracked through him with the same violence as a Quickening. Crying out from the extreme combination of equal parts pleasure and despair, his body rammed into hers with such force that the breath was ejected from her lungs.

And then there was calm. The sound of the water still pouring from the showerhead and his panting were the only things audible as he slowly backed away from the wall and let her down. His entire bearing conveyed remorse, from the way he avoided eye contact to the action of turning away and stepping under the now-cold stream of water alone.

Kate felt more shaken by his abandonment than by the chaos preceding it. She'd given herself willingly and he'd had the good sense to take what was offered. Although what had happened between them had its roots in violence, the intensity had been something shared and she wasn't likely to experience anything that torrid again.

Just thinking about it brought a blush to her face.

If she didn't know any better she would have asked him if they could do it again.

That thought and the way he was acting set her off in a fit of giggles. Benton had been right. Duncan MacLeod took himself way too seriously. The man needed a little frivolity in his life and she was just the woman to give it to him.

Punching him in that gorgeous backside, she met his glare, when he finally turned around, with a beatific smile and said, "Hey, MacLeod, chill out. The world didn't come to an end while you were finally taking care of your more basic needs."

He didn't answer her. He just turned back toward the faucets and turned them off. The quiet that followed was overpowering, sending Kate into a panic while she tried to think of something witty to add.

Duncan stepped out of the shower then scanned the bathroom looking for a towel with which to dry off. Not seeing one, he just stood there dripping onto the bathroom floor for several moments then picked up his clothes, stared at them disgustedly and dropped them again.

"I have towels," Kate announced from inside the shower. "But you'll have to look at me before I'll give you one." Standing there naked, she knew she must look and sound ridiculous, threatening him with nothing more than having to put his soiled clothes back on while still wet, but she was getting desperate. This strong, silent act was getting a little ridiculous.

She exited the shower, opened a cabinet door and retrieved two large bath sheets. She started to offer one to his outstretched hand but snatched it back when he still wouldn't make eye contact. "No way, buddy," she warned. "A deal's a deal."

"I don't remember agreeing to your deal." His first words were delivered in a flat monotone.

"Oh, grow up, Duncan." She shoved the towel into his hand then, realizing she was getting cold, began drying herself off. "Or are you just waiting for a critique on your performance? Trust me, it was great and you didn't break me."

"Maybe not, " he said with dread in his tone. "But I had to have hurt you."

She couldn't argue with that. She was definitely feeling a little sore in certain places. "I won't lie to you," she replied, remembering how that last thrust had literally taken her breath away but then she sighed and her insides clenched at the memory of what had come prior to that. "Oh, but let me tell you, the pleasure before was well worth it. You are truly a master."

She grabbed the terry-cloth robe hanging from a hook on the back of the door and, while putting it on, another amusing thought entered her head. "You know, hanging around with a guy like you is clearly going to have its advantages. Four hundred years worth of experience has probably taught you things about a woman's body that your average mortal man never learns." She turned back toward him and caught his scowl peeking out from under the towel he was drying his hair with. "Lighten up, Duncan," she laughed. "That was a compliment."

Bending over, she scooped up their dirty clothes. "I'll be right back. I'm going to go throw these into the wash." As she made the move to leave, it suddenly occurred to her that he was still standing there stark naked but for the towel dangling from his right hand.

His hair, still dripping and appearing darker because it was wet, fell past his shoulders in waves and clung to the sharp outline of his collarbones. As her eyes lowered and those well-defined pectorals came into view, her heart rate doubled and her blood pressure rose a few points. "You really are magnificent," she declared on a whisper, mesmerized by the vision. Then she shook her head, completed her aborted turn and left without another word.

Okay, MacLeod, what now? Duncan asked himself. He felt relieved that she'd taken his clothes because now he had a legitimate excuse for staying awhile longer. Staying would force him to resolve a few things in his mind, especially Kate's directive to lighten up.

She was right. Ever since being pulled back into the Game, he'd been wading his way through one crisis only to find another waiting in the wings. He'd become pre-occupied with death and, in the process, had forgotten how to live, especially after losing Tessa.

Eons had passed since the last time he'd questioned the purpose of immortality. There had to be a purpose. Otherwise, he would have died permanently that first time. He'd been allowed to remain walking the face of this planet for a reason and it couldn't be just to engage in one bloody battle after another. Immortality meant endless life or existence but what was the point if he just kept plodding along as he had been for the past few years? Life was not worth living if he had to spend it alone.

But *the danger* kept needling at the back of his mind as he left the bathroom and looked longingly at the bed. Anybody he became involved with would be exposed to danger. He'd made too many enemies over the past four centuries and, too many Immortals, both young and old, lived by the slogan, "There can be only one." Benton's revelations and analogy to Kate might have been correct but he'd probably omitted the fact that innocent bystanders could and had been hurt or killed in the melee.

Did she honestly understand all of the ramifications and was he, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, willing to sacrifice her, Kate Bartholomew, like he had Tessa Noel and all the others that had preceded her for a few blissful days, months, years?

Did he have the right to bring them into the Game just so he could experience happiness and love?

"What're you thinking about?" Kate asked as she returned to the bedroom and found him staring off into space. Coming up behind him and placing her hands on his bare back, she could feel the tension in every muscle.

He turned around to face her and smiled as he gently cradled her cheek in his big hand. "You are an incredible woman, Kate." He hadn't even left yet but already he missed her and knew he would for a very long time.

"But..." she prompted.

"No 'but'. You are." He rubbed away a drop of water that had fallen from her hair onto her eyebrow.

"Don't lie to me," she threatened. "I can recognize a leading statement as well as the next guy. There's a 'but' here so spit it out."

He heaved a heavy sigh and resigned himself to the fact that he'd never get away with half-truths and innuendoes with this woman. "As soon as my clothes are dry I have to go and we probably shouldn't see each other again."

"What're you talking about?"

"It isn't safe."

"What isn't safe? You? Me? This relationship we're trying to start?"

"There's no relationship, Kate," he said sadly. "There can't be."

"Well then, what was that little scene in the shower? A thank you fuck?" Pulling away, she folded her arms under her breasts and glowered at him. She began trembling with fury. "Hey, buddy," she mocked. "Thanks for offing my brother and now, for your big reward..."

"Stop it, Kate. You know I don't think that."

"How would I know?" Her tone was icy. "Like you said earlier, we don't know each other." She moved over to the foot of the bed and started fingering a piece of torn lace at one edge of the comforter. The rip became a little longer. "Well, let me enlighten you to something. I don't *do* one night stands." She turned back toward him but her expression was unreadable.

"That's not what this was and you know it," he tried to explain.

"My point exactly." Her entire demeanor change. The anger was suddenly gone and was replace by yearning. "I've been waiting my whole life for you, ever since I was a kid and I imagined what the perfect man would be like. If you believe I'm going to let you walk out my door just like that," she snapped her fingers, "then you have another think coming." She paused for a moment and looked at him imploringly. "I know this is going to sound trite, but I love you, Duncan. I really do."

"Ah, Katie," he moaned as he walked over to her and wrapped her in his arms. "I can't be your fantasy. I'm just a man. A man with real flaws and real problems."

She snuggled her face against his chest hairs and let out a weary sigh. "I know. Believe me, I know. Benton told me all about you. But, Duncan, one person cannot save the world all by himself. And one Immortal cannot protect all the mortals who inhabit this planet from evil. You do what you can do, but do you have to sacrifice your own happiness for strangers?"

Duncan pressed his lips against the top of her head. "What right do I have to put your life in jeopardy because that's what will happen if we continue what we started here. You, of all people, should know that." He gripped her arms and held her away from him in order to regard at her squarely before he continued. "Look at what happened to Benton. Or what about Henry? If he'd been a little faster or just a tad bit better, I'd be dead right now."

"All the more reason for you to grab what you can, when you can." She searched his face trying to find a way to convince him that a relationship between them could work, but then she suddenly wondered, was he really not interested and was she reading way too much into what had happened? "I'm sorry. Maybe I'm being presumptuous about this. I just thought..."

For some unknown reason, just by the changing expression on her face, Duncan knew exactly where she was headed. "Don't say it, Kate. It isn't true. I am attracted to you. And I know we only just met but already, I have very strong feelings where you're concerned. Don't denigrate yourself."

She smiled up at him exhaustedly. "Good. So we've established that you like me and I love you." She tossed a glance toward the bed and back again. "On that happy note, it's been a long day. Can we continue this discussion in the morning? I'm bushed."

Those strong, wonderful arms enfolded her in another hug. "Yes."

They slept.

And when Duncan awoke nine hours later with her warm, soft body snuggled up against his, he wondered if he would have the strength to leave her.

"Mmmm."   Slowly coming back to consciousness but with eyes still closed, Kate nuzzled her face against the solid warmth she'd ended up draped over in her sleep.  There was no instant panic of disorientation.  No lapse of memory about what had transpired the night before.  Endless dreams of wonderment had carried knowledge through to the morning and she had awakened in paradise.  "You're better than an electric blanket," she praised while stretching the kinks out of overused muscles.

That callused palm stroked down her bare back, letting her know that he, too, was awake.  "Thanks...I think."

Kate brought her forearms under her chin and, using his chest as a prop, levered her head up to look at him.  "Hope you don't have any pets."

He laughed and the vibration transferred from his body to hers where they touched.  "No, no pets."

"That's good.  I wouldn't want to be responsible for keeping you away from some poor, dependent animal."   She lifted her head to release her arms which she moved to either side of his torso.  Then, wrapping her hands around his sides, she pressed her lips to his skin.  "I could wake up to this every morning for the rest of my life."

Duncan suppressed his immediate reaction of apprehension and indulged himself in her ministrations. Her warm tongue lapping and suckling at his flesh brought him fully awake in more ways than one.  No side effects influenced his reaction to her, just plain, old-fashioned desire for this little sprite of a woman who affected him with a mere touch.

"Kate," he managed to say before he fell further into the sensuous trap she was setting.  "We were going to talk, remember?"

"Later," she replied as she ensnared his nipple between her teeth.

He'd learned the night before that "no" didn't seem to be part of her vocabulary.  Who was he to argue?  Submissively, Duncan splayed his arms out to the side and laid himself open to her.

Kate gave the bud a little tug.  "Shameless, aren't you?" she snickered.

"Would it do me any good to resist?" he answered lazily, the unseen smile evident in his tone of voice.

"Probably not."   Running her tongue down the center of his body, she stopped at his navel and lifted her head to regard him hesitantly.   "You do want to do this, don't you?"  she asked.  "You couldn't tell, Imp?"  he answered as he shifted slightly under her hand now resting on his upper thigh.

"That doesn't count.  Men are almost always ready first thing in the morning.  I was inquiring about your heart and mind."

"Yes, Kate.  I want to make love with you."  His recollection about their less than gentle coupling the night before caused his declaration to be stated a little forlornly.  "But are you okay?"

"I'm fine,"  she announced, then added with a giggle, "But soon I'll be finer."

Slow and sweet, Duncan told himself as her hands started  to roam. Slow and sweet.  His innate feelings about tenderness and the sanctity of the act influenced his actions now, not the boiling cauldron caused by a Quickening.   He hadn't lied the night before.  He felt genuine affection for her, stronger than he would have thought possible.  In such a short time, she'd become a beacon of light in an otherwise dark and forbidding world.  And as he reached for her, the desire to show her that the monster who'd been with her in the shower no longer existed, overwhelmed him.

Bringing her back up to face level, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a gentle squeeze.  "You know that comment you made last night about not being beautiful?  Well, nothing could be further from the truth."  He lowered his hands to cup her buttocks then flipped over, putting her beneath him.  He began to string a line of kisses from her jaw, down the slender column of her throat and around to the tender flesh behind her right ear where he lingered awhile.  Then his right hand came up and he reverently cradled her head.  "You're beautiful here," he whispered into her ear then delved inside with his tongue.  Moving his hand down, he pressed the palm against her left breast.  "And here."

Kate's muscles turned into the consistency of Jell-O.  Quivering, barely able to retain their form, she feared they would soon melt and she'd be left a puddle of trembling ooze on the bed.  Yet when he nudged her legs apart and navigated his way between them, she came alive.  And, as he slipped inside and started a gentle rhythm, she knew this was where she belonged. Her heart was his and the only thing left for her to do was to convince him that they needed each other.

It was a tender union.  No blazing fireworks, no mindless strive for the pinnacle, they came gently and held onto one another long after the tremors had faded.

Kate, mesmerized by the rhythmic thumping of Duncan's heart in her ear, had to struggle to pull herself out of her stupor.  "It's getting hungry out there," she announced, her growling stomach echoing her sentiment.

"Absolutely," Duncan agreed as he lifted his arms up over his head and stretched languidly.  He felt good.  Better than he had in a very long time and he realized the peacefulness had a great deal to do with the lack of secrets.

Kate Bartholomew knew what he was.  She knew all about Immortality and beheadings and Quickenings and the Gathering and the Game and the Prize.  He didn't have to watch every word or action around her, fearful that he would let something slip, ever conscious of what he could or couldn't say.  He was free to be himself, something he thought he could be only with Amanda.

"Earth to Duncan," Kate announced as she started crawling out of bed.  Once she pulled him out of whatever thought he was engrossed in and had his attention, she continued.  "The bathroom's all yours.  There's a new toothbrush in the left hand drawer.  I'll go get your clothes..."

She paused with one foot on the floor and the other suspended in mid-step.  "Shit, I never put them in the dryer."  A grin slowly spread over her face until all her features were alit with mischief.  "Oh," she crooned sympathetically.  "Looks like you'll just have to run around naked while they dry."  She scrambled back over the rumpled linens to the spot where Duncan had propped himself up against the headboard and ran a hand seductively down his chest.  "Or, maybe I won't ever give them back and I'll keep you trapped here as my own personal sex slave."

"Appealing as that sounds," Duncan said while tossing the sheet off and getting up.  "I think I can improvise."  He grabbed her terry-cloth robe from the foot of the bed and tried to put it on. He had to struggle to get it past his shoulders and once on, the arms were way too short, reaching only to a point halfway up his forearms.  The length only covered him to mid-thigh, and the width missed meeting in the middle by a good four inches, leaving him completely exposed.

"Give it up, Duncan.  Your improvisation just makes you look even more ridiculous.  Maybe I can find something for you in my brother's room."

The Immortal started at the unexpected reminder and waited for that statement to be followed by an aura of sadness but it never came.  Instead, Kate cheerfully left the room and returned within minutes holding a pair of gray sweats.  "These ought to do for the time being.  They're only mediums but they sure are better than what you've got on."  As she handing the clothing over, she casually added, "Oh, by the way, what's the name of that mortuary?  I ought to get Henry taken care of, doncha think?"

Duncan didn't take the sweats.  He moved to hug her but she took a step back and looked at him squarely.  Her eyes revealed no sadness.  "I'm okay.  Really I am.  My grieving for him ended last night, thanks to you."  She shoved the clothing into his hand then waited while he took off the ridiculous looking bathrobe.  "I'll use the other bathroom.  Meet you in the kitchen when you're done."

The second Kate left the room, Duncan made his way to the telephone and dialed Joe's phone number.  A funeral needed to be arranged and he didn't want Kate to have to deal with the details.

"Joe's," came the announcement over the receiver.

"Joe, it's Mac."

"Mac, where are you?  I've been trying to get you all morning. How'd it go last night?  Is she okay?"

"She's fine.  About her brother.  Have Mike's brother-in-law take care of everything and bill it to me.  Her parents died last November, the day after Thanksgiving.  Find out which cemetery and make the arrangements for Henry to be buried there, too.  Last name Bartholomew."

"Sure thing."  Joe stalled for a fraction of a second before repeating his first question.  "Now, where'd you say you were?"

"I didn't say, Joe, and it's none of your business."

"Well, Richie's been looking for you, too.  Seems you had an eight o'clock workout scheduled and when you didn't show up he called me."

Duncan glanced at the clock radio.  11:27 AM.  When was the last time he'd slept past seven?  "Could you call him back and apologize for me?  I'll re-schedule once I get everything straightened out."

"In case you've forgotten, MacLeod, I'm your Watcher, not your personal secretary?"  There was a teasing quality to Joe's voice, letting Duncan know the task would be taken care of.  "When do you want the funeral?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, I think, but I'll check with Kate."

"Kate?" Joe questioned, his curiosity clearly evident by his inflection.  "We're on a first name basis, are we?  What exactly happened last night?  Is that where you are?"

"Never mind," Duncan lectured while chastising himself for letting her name slip so easily.  "I'll call you later.  Gotta go.  Bye."   He replaced the receiver without waiting for a reply then headed for the bathroom.

As Kate climbed out of the shower, the smell of cooking bacon sent her empty stomach into a whirling mass of gnaws and growls.  Hastily throwing on her reclaimed robe, she dashed into kitchen to find Duncan standing in front of the stove cooking breakfast.  He looked almost as silly in her brother's too-small sweats as he had in her robe.  The pants only reached mid-calf and the top was stretched beyond taut across his broad back but, by his demeanor, he could have cared less.

"Almost ready.  Hope you like cheese omelets."

"I'm so hungry I could eat raw chicken," Kate replied as she walked by and, grabbing a piece of bacon off the plate where several were cooling, she made her way to the table that was already set.  A steaming cup of hot coffee beckoned to her.  "Geez, this is great," she declared as she took a sip.  "Do you do windows too?"

Duncan brought the frying pan to the table and scooped a perfectly fluffed omelet onto her plate.  "Only when forced."  He returned to the stove a began cooking a second one for himself.

"So, what're we going to do today?"  Kate asked buoyantly.  "Besides make arrangements for Henry."

Duncan didn't take his attention off the frying pan.  "Already taken care of, Kate.  Is tomorrow afternoon okay?"

"Okay for what?"

Duncan twisted around to look at her.  Without saying a word, he waited.

Understanding dawned.  "Oh, yeah, I guess.  I suppose we need to go to the mortuary and pick everything out."  She stared into the dark liquid, searching for the proper words without sounding too callous.  "It's like buying an outfit for someone you don't know very well.  What would this person want to spend eternity in?  First my parents, then Benton.  After what I've been going through for the past several months I've decided, when I die, I want to be buried in blue jeans and a sweatshirt."

"Benton?"

"Well, someone had to bury him and you guys don't exactly have family, do you?"

Duncan joined her at the table and began picking at his omelet. The reminder that Benton was dead triggered something long forgotten in Duncan's memory, a promise exchanged between friends almost a hundred and fifty years before.  "I need to go to Benton's place," he announced before taking a bite of food.

"Before or after the mortuary?"

"You don't have to go there if you don't want to.  I've already taken care of everything.  The funeral's tomorrow afternoon."

"I'd just as soon not have to deal with it.  I mean, it's not like it's going to be an open casket and great crowds of people are going to be there.  Henry divorced himself from all of his friends after the accident.  It'll only be me there."

"And me, Kate.  I'll be there with you."

"I know that."  She reached across the table to take his outstretched hand.  "I don't know why I said it that way."

"Probably because you've been forced to deal with all this by yourself."  He rubbed his thumb affectionate against her palm.  "But not anymore, Kate.  You're not alone in this anymore."

She immediately perked up.  "Does that mean you've given up fighting me, fighting this relationship?"

Duncan slowly reclaimed his hand and resumed eating.  "I don't know if I'd go that far," he said between bites.  "I was referring to..."

"Deaths and funerals and the clearing out of dead people's possessions.  Lawyers and wills and probate officers.  Straightening out affairs that I was never supposed to straighten.  God, you should see Benton's house.  It's just chock full of stuff.  I don't even know where to begin."

"That's why I have to go there today.  We made a pact a long time ago."

"Okay, Highlander, what's bothering you now?"  Benton pulled back on his horse's reins and waited for his companion to catch up.

"Nothing."

But Benton knew his friend well and was all too familiar with that pensive expression.  Duncan MacLeod was piecing together a puzzle.  Lord only knew what that puzzle was.  It could be anything from where they were going to bed down that night to the cosmic meaning of life.  "Hogwash," Benton declared.  "Something's been gnawing at you all day.  And I'm not going to ride all the way to San Francisco with a depressed mute so spit it out."

Duncan stopped his gray gelding next to a fallen log, dismounted and grabbed his canteen off the (wimpy western) saddle horn.  Slowly, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, he sank down to the ground and, using the log as a back rest, he took a hearty draft of lukewarm water.  "What's the point of having lots of money?"

"That's just about the stupidest question I've ever heard," Benton replied as he got down and dunked his bandanna in the small creek running behind the log.  Wiping the fine layer of dust off his face, he then passed the still sodden cloth to Duncan.

Duncan took the cloth and swiped it over his face.  "Even if I live a hundred more years, I'd never even put a dent in the amount I have.  What'll happen to it when I'm dead."

"Aren't you planning to live more than a hundred more years?"

"Yes, of course, but if I don't..."

"Getting a little maudlin, aren't you MacLeod?  What brought this up?"

"Giving Cora the gold.  It got me thinking that we have no heirs, no one will inherit the things we've amassed in our lives.  We've no one to pass ourselves on to.  What's the point?"

"You've been alive for over three hundred and fifty years and now you're worried about not having heirs?  You're nuts, Duncan."

"Doesn't it bother you?  Not knowing what'll happen after you're gone?"

"No.  When I'm dead I don't think I'll be worried about how my possessions are divvied up."

"I don't want mine to go to the government or for it to lay unclaimed somewhere for decades.  I want it given to those who need it."  Duncan looked up at Benton imploringly.  "Would you do that for me if you survive longer than I do?  Give everything I owned to someone who needs it?"

"Sure, " Benton promised if only to appease his friend.  "But if you keep investing in tailors there won't be much left by the time someone finally takes your head." The gloomy mood immediately lightened, exactly what Benton had planned with his jibe.

"Are you going to start on that again?" the younger Immortal defended as he got to his feet.

"Well, it's true.  Now can we get back on the trail?  As much as I'm tired of eating dust, we still have two days' ride before we make it to the bay."

"I'll do the same for you, Benton.  I'll give your stuff to someone who needs it."

"Good, now I'll be able to sleep nights.  Mount up, Highlander."

They'd met again ninety-five years later and Benton had been the one to remind him about their pact, making him promise as implicitly as Duncan had made him back in '53.  It was the last time
Duncan saw the big man.

After finishing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, they retrieved Duncan's clothes from the dryer and returned to the bedroom to get dressed.  Kate didn't know if her contrary nature made her pick out blue jeans and a sweatshirt to wear or if the choice was purely an act of defiance against circumstances.  Whichever one, those were what she chose.

Taking one last look at the rumpled bed and recalling the joy that had transpired there and knowing the sadness that would soon follow, Kate reluctantly followed Duncan to the Thunderbird.

She didn't want to think about Benton on such a glorious day.  The storm of the night before had passed, leaving the air crisp yet alive with a hint of the coming spring.  The trees were just beginning to bud.  A few early flowers were blooming.  The entire world around was emerging from the severity of winter.  It was not a time to have to deal with matters of death.

They sat in an uneasy silence for several moments before Duncan finally spoke.  "An address, Kate?  I don't know where Benton lived."

"1435 Cypress," she replied, her voice devoid of any emotion.

Duncan started the car but, before pulling away from the curb, he paused and looked directly at her.  Seeing the dread so clearly evident in her features, he reached out and took her hand in his.  "You know, if you'd rather, I could do this alone," he offered.

"No way, MacLeod," she responded adamantly .  Trying for a little levity, she added, "I'm not letting you out of my sight just yet."

Benton's house, a large, fully restored, late Victorian with every piece of gingerbread imaginable, was located on a quiet, upscale street not far from Kate's.  The front yard had been landscaped meticulously with shrubs, trees and the beginnings of a carefully ended flower-bed.  The porch, which extended all around the house, had strategically placed white rattan furniture, an abundance of hanging plants and large flower pots just starting to sprout.  If Duncan didn't trust Kate, he would have suspected they'd come to the wrong place.  Benton may have had a heart of gold but his domestic abilities had always left much to be desired.

The interior was as out of character as the exterior.  When Kate retrieved a key from her purse and opened the front door, Duncan felt like he'd literally stepped back in time.  The Victorian heme had been painstakingly recreated inside; period furniture of impeccable quality, wallpaper and wainscoting, hanging light fixtures with hand-painted globes, all the elegant clutter that had been so popular at the time.  The place looked like an elaborate museum.

If Benton had been in town long enough to do all this, why hadn't he contacted Duncan?  They might not have seen one another for forty-eight years but they'd always kept track of each other, a postcard, a phone call, messages passed on through a third party.  What had prevented Benton from telling Duncan he'd moved this last time?

Not voicing any of his questions, MacLeod made his way to an open roll-top desk tucked into a corner and began rummaging through a pile of papers stacked off to one side.

"What're you looking for?" Kate asked.

"Something that has to be here," Duncan replied, knowing exactly where he'd put his own version of what he was looking for.

Not finding it, he started rifling through all the little pigeon holes and then the drawers.  Tucked under a stack of legal looking papers, he found an envelope on which his name had been written in a hasty scrawl.  Ripping the envelope open, he pulled out a piece of yellow-lined paper that had a key taped to the bottom and read the contents.

MacLeod,

I'm assuming, if you're reading this that Kate found you, you're still alive and I'm not.  Pretty big assumptions but they're all I've got right now.  I hope you took care of that little pervert, Henry, for me.
I'm so sorry about him.  One of the great, no make that, the last great mistake of my life.  Try to do a guy a favor and he takes your head.  Oh well, at least you've still got yours.  Sorry, pal, but you're going to have to find a new executor for your estate.

I don't have time to leave a nice and tidy will.  I'm of sound mind, I know what I'm doing.  Yada, yada, yada.  Use this letter to give Kate Bartholomew everything.  She needs it and, after the crap she's been through, she deserves it.  Anything she doesn't want, sell and give the proceeds to Comic Relief.  A fitting charity, don't you think, for the likes of me?

The key goes to a safe deposit box at the First Interstate Bank around the block from here. All the legal papers are in there:  The deed to the house, stocks and bonds (I'm going to have to admit to something now that I never would if I was still alive.  Looks like you were right about that tailor back in '53.  I'd say Levi Strauss made quite a name for himself.  I never told you but I invested a few bucks in his company when we got to San Francisco.  Made quite a killing, so to speak.)

Yours and Kate's names are on the signature card.  I told them I'm going out of town for awhile.  Expect a hassle and have forty-two different pieces of ID on you.  It was the only way I could convince the suits to add you guys without you being there.  They fought me but I threatened to pull all my money out of their stinking bank.  Just like the old days, Mac, I was going to stuff it under the mattress.  Maybe you ought to look there first.  I'm so pissed right now I might have gone ahead and done it after I wrote this.

Finally, Duncan, I'm trusting you to take care of Kate for me.  She's a delight in a world where there aren't very many. Treasure her love.  You've been wallowing in grief for way too long, pal.  I never had the pleasure of meeting your Tessa but if she was anything like Kate then I understand why you've been carrying a torch for so long.  However, what's the point of fighting to stay alive if you're going to go through life alone?

Live long, Highlander.  Love long.  And win the Prize for me, okay?

Benton

Kate, who had been read the letter at the same time, turned an amazed face up to Duncan once she'd finished.  "Everything?" was the only word she managed to get out.

Duncan pulled the key off the paper and handed it to her.  "Everything," he confirmed.

"Who's Tessa?"

"The reason why you and I can't be together," Duncan replied sadly.  The cold reality of just seeing her name written on a piece of paper brought more pain than he thought he could endure.  It reminded him of happiness lost and the sight of his greatest love lying dead in the middle of a darkened street.  He couldn't and wouldn't ever subject himself to that huge of a loss again.

"She died, didn't she?  And it had something to do with your being Immortal."

He didn't have to answer her directly, the truth was written all over his face.  "Now do you understand?"

"A little, maybe, but not all.  What happened?"  Kate knew she shouldn't ask.  She knew from his expression that the memories hurt deeply but she had to know.  She had to understand why this man who was blessed with the ability to bestow so much affection kept himself isolated.

"She was used as bait," he spat out.  "I managed to rescue her but afterward, I sent her outside with a friend while I stayed inside to satisfy my idiotic curiosity about the man I'd killed.  She was shot by a mugger."

"So, it was a random act of violence that had nothing to do with your Immortality?"   Kate posed the statement as a question, hoping he would see how illogical he was being.

"She wouldn't have been on that street if I was just a stockbroker."

"But if you were just a stockbroker, she might have gone into a liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine for your twentieth anniversary dinner and a robber could have come in with a sawed-off shotgun."  Kate resisted the temptation to wrap her arms around him.  His rigid posture broached no intrusion into his private hell.  And while she respected that, intellectually, she was undaunted and continued, unmercifully.  "Or, you could have had your forty-odd years together but it wouldn't have made a difference because, no matter what, she was going to die.  I'm going to die.  It's something we mortals do.  There's no way to stop it, there's no way to prevent it and, unfortunately, this planet is just teeming with us.  Now, if I understood Benton correctly, you guys may be immortal but you're also human so, unless you're planning to spend the next four hundred years in isolation, which I don't think any human being is capable of, get over it."

Duncan frantically searched for a logical argument but everything he came up with fell short of contradicting her without looking foolish.  When he stopped long enough to think about it, there was no way to refute what she'd said.  She was right.  Period.  End of discussion.

"Okay," he replied sheepishly, his face a perfect imitation of a properly disciplined hound-dog.

"Okay," Kate echoed then looked around the room.  Such treasures, including the house, all worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, Benton must have been crazy to leave all this wealth to her.  The whole thing was too mind boggling to think about.  "Now what?"

"I guess we go to the bank and fight the suits."

"Got your sword handy?" Kate asked with a twinkle in her eye.