Feeling some of the blood drain from his face, Methos, or Marteous Piers as he was currently known, drew in a ragged breath as he tried to take in all that the young courier was hurriedly telling him.  Lifting a hand he halted the flow of words and took out his fob-watch to check the time.  It was just after 11pm and he stifled a groan, not believing that he was awake let alone sober.

        He’d only just arrived back in London that morning after a harrowing eighteen months in the Italian Royal Court as part of the diplomatic entourage sent to smooth the transition of Cromwell’s decision to dissolve the English Parliament and divide the country into eleven districts.  With the affiliation of the two nations, suspicion was high especially as Sweden had just invaded Poland and some were still speaking of unrest in Scotland.  So the last thing he needed now was more bad news, or to be disturbed at such an ungodly hour.  He glared around for his steward and muttered an uncomplimentary remark as he knew Jefferies was probably deep in his cup by now.  Lucky bastard.  Both of them needed a break.  In fact if he never saw a Royal Court again for a decade or two he’d be ecstatically happy.  How on earth did he get himself into these difficult situations...?  Oh yes, now he remembered.  He’d been bored and Cromwell had intrigued him.  Well his boredom was well and truly satisfied....

        “My Lord?”

        Refocusing on the young messenger, Marteous softened his glare as he noted how the young man took an involuntary step back.  “Pray, just tell me again?”

        “The Lady Hargraves asked me to deliver a message.”

        “At this time of night?”

        “She was most specific my Lord.”

        Not liking this or not trusting that the controversial Lady in question would not drag him into one of her inner Court drama so quickly, Methos closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten.  Two hundred years ago the manipulative female would either be Queen or swinging from a rope....  Damn, but he had to stop encouraging her deviousness....  “Go on.”  He said in resignation as he saw the young messenger squirm.  He was new, as he’d never seen this boy before, so had to remember to treat the child kindly.  Hell!  But he needed a drink.

        “My Lord Dobson,”

        “Henry Dobson?”

        “Yes, my Lord.”  The messenger nodded.  “Lady Hargraves wanted you to know that he suffered a misfortune,”

        “How severe?”

        “Of the worst kind, my Lord.”  The young lad assured him.

        “I see.”  Methos sighed again.  “In another words he’s dead.”

        “Yes, My Lord.  Truly a tragedy, my Lord.”

        “Skip the pleasantries as I’d like to get some sleep this night.”

        “Yes, My Lord.”  The young messenger said instantly as he gave an apologetic smile, covertly looking over the slender man standing before him.  The Lady Hargraves had been most specific in her instructions and he was determined to carry them out to the letter.  Besides he’d heard so much about this man from the inner gossip circles that he was guilty of being a little awe struck to be actually standing before this dark-haired Lord.  And Lord Piers was nothing what he’d expected.  Not pompous like all the other Lords.  And terribly young.  So young....

        “Well?”  Methos prompted as the young messenger fell silent.  At this rate he’d be sleeping on the doorstep.

        “It seems, my Lord, that you were named as his benefactor,”

        Methos groaned.  He’d feared something like this.  In fact the news was not unexpected as he known Henry for over ten years and had warned him that his gambling debts would lead to a disaster.  “So now I have to pay his bloody debts,” he muttered to himself.

        “My Lord?”

        “Can’t this keep until the morning?”

        “Normally yes, but Lady Hargraves asked for me to give you this, in the cover of darkness.”  The messenger handed over a scrolled parchment.

        Taking it Methos opened it and scanned the letter before he cursed in Latin.  Then Greek.  It seemed Dobson’s creditors had cleaned him out, except for one possession, which was placed now in his hands.  A horse?  “What the bloody hell do I want with a horse?”  He asked out loud, forgetting he had an audience.

        “Pardon, my Lord?”

        Reaching into his pocket, Methos searched around for his coin purse and saw it on the side table.  Going to it he took out a generous amount and paid the messenger before closing the door and leaning against it.  “Damn!”  He said with feeling as he re-read the letter.  At the bottom Lady Hargraves had added an invitation to tea the following morning at 10am and he swore again before throwing the offending parchment on the nightstand and collapsing back down on the bow shaped lounge.  Why the hell had he agreed to return to London?  Was he deranged?

        The next morning dressed in his finest, Methos attended the Hargraves home as invited, and admired the elegant splendor before Lady Hargraves called him to one side and made small talk.  He endured it, rather liking the elderly woman even if she was always trying to set him up with one of the beautiful yet vacant-headed royal butterflies of English society.  He preferred to make his own acquaintances.  Besides after fifteen years in the Royal Courts he was starting to think it was time he vanished before someone started to question his appearance, especially as a lot of his original associates were getting obviously older.  Hating the idea of moving on and starting all over again, he gazed into the beautifully laid out gardens surrounding them before a hand on his knee brought his with a jolt back to the present.  “I’m sorry, my Lady,” he said instantly, really having no intention of being rude.  She was a valuable source of information, as she knew everything that was happening within the English Court's as well as in Paris and Italy.  A very apt student....

        “Horrible, news,” Lady Hargraves said as she broke easily into a new topic.

        Lifting a brow, Methos sipped his tea and nodded.  “Tragic.”  He tried not to make it sound too sarcastic.

        Patting his knee again Lady Hargraves leaned closer.  “Still he did leave you something.  I always told you, Marteous, that Henry had an eye for you, didn’t I?”

        Choking slightly, Methos covered his cough with a smile.  “You did.”  He replied serious.  It was not good to laugh at the Lady.  Not wise.  And not socially correct.  Gods!  But give him the French any day to the English’s appeal for snobbish, back-stabbing, stuffy protocol.

        “I hear the animal is quite valuable.”

        “As dog food?”

        “Marteous!”  She sat back and tried to look shocked before moving closer to him again and looking around conspiratorially.  “My dear boy, I over heard someone saying that you were recalled to London because of the horse.”

        Frowning, Methos looked genuinely puzzled.  “But why?”

        “Something to do with the animals lineage or something just as foolish.  It’s Scottish, I think.”  She waved the term away.  “But I can tell you the fact that Henry left the beast to you has set a few tongue waging.”

        I bet, Methos thought.  “So where is this nag?”

        “It’s a stallion, darling boy, and before you say anything more, it is a magnificent creature.”

        Surprised by this, he said nothing as he merely raised a brow.

        “And worth a very nice fortune.”  She went on.  “In fact I have the animal here if you are interested in looking it over.”

        “But what do I want with a horse?”  Methos asked, not very surprised to hear that she had taken it upon herself the look after his business dealings. What a treasure....  he would certainly miss her when he moved on.  “I can’t exactly parade it around in Court.”

        “You could race him.”  She offered.  “That would upset a few wealthy circles.”

        “And please you?”

        “Sweet child.”  She smiled and touched his cheek.  “No, I seriously believe there is more to this animal than just what we are being shown.”

        “Like what?”  He asked shrewdly, knowing that she would not say such a thing unless she’d overheard something.

        “I don’t know.  But you were called back for a reason.  I just wanted to warn you to be careful as rare finds like you in Court these days, are hard to replace.”

        A little stunned by that as her words implied some threat, he wondered if careless Henry had met with more than an accident.  Curious.... Methos decided as he sat up a little straighter.  “Still, it’s only a horse,”

        “My darling boy, it is more than just a horse.”  She corrected tiredly as she saw his eyes cloud over in thought.  “It could get you into the lucrative world or racing, if you so desired.”

        “That’s all I need,”

        “Think of who you could meet?”

        “I’m dying of anticipation.”

        Laughing gently she patted his knee again in affection.  “You are such a delight, Marteous.”

        “If I sell the stallion would that end the speculation in Court?”  Methos asked gently as he watched her face and saw the slight concern.

        “Lord Coven,” she stopped and peered at him with more than a bit of worry now.  “Do you know Lord Alexander Coven?”

        The tight arsed, eccentric fool who bedded everything between his front door and the far fence?  “Yes, I know of Lord Coven.”  Methos said politely.

        “Well he’s offered to buy the stallion, if you are interested.”

        To add to his menagerie?  He almost asked, but covered the comment as the maid offered more tea.  Lady Hargraves just shooed her away.  “I take it he approached you.”

        “Yes.”  She confirmed.  “He has indicated he will even pay double the stallion’s written value.  If....”

        Feeling his stomach tighten, Methos frowned.  “If?”

        “If you agree to deliver it in person.”

        Oh flippin’ bloody marvelous!  “I see.”

        “Lord Coven has even invited you to take the animal up this weekend as he is holding a ball in honor of his sisters marriage into the Royal Scottish Courts.  It seems he has finally found a Royal barbarian that knows how to wash.”

        Not missing the thinly veiled insult to their Scottish neighbors, Methos wondered for how long the truce between the English and the Scot’s would last.  It had held for a turbulent seven years already, but....  He definitely did not want to be around if war broke out again.  No way.  “I don’t think,”

        “You should go.”  She carried on, her fingers squeezing his knee suggestively.  “I believe the carriage ride up is even refreshing in a crude way.  The countryside is wild, or so I hear.”

        “My Lady,”

        “But of course if you want to be saddled with the stallion, by all means refuse his offer.”

        Groaning silently, he bit his inside lip as she started to giggle at her own words.

        “I think I just made a joke!”  She said as she laughed daintily.

        Politely conceding that she had, Methos felt like tearing his hair out as he extracted himself from her company an hour later.  Already she had made all the arrangements for his trip up north as she’d even taken the liberty of booking passage and informing the English Court that he would be unavailable for a few days.  Giving up, he had agreed, hoping that the change of scenery would give him a moment’s peace.

        He should have known better.

        Two days later outside the busy docks, Methos made sure he was dressed in his warmest, practical coat as the English autumn had already turned cold and blustery.  How he longed for the Italian weather....  Taking the reigns of the prize he had inherited, he glanced around for the carriage Lady Hargraves had arranged for him.  He still could not believe he was actually going to travel north into the cold high-country with this high strung animal all because the good Lady believed trouble was brewing.  Yet....

        Feeling the animal pull against the restraints, he tightened his hold and looked the beast over.  Against his better sense and judgment, he had to admit the animal was magnificent to look at, but also he’d had his fill of horses many centuries ago, and would not care if he never had to ride another beast again.  Galloping from settlement to settlement on a sweaty animal.... fighting to stay alive.... was not his definition of enjoyment.

        Around him the bustle of the busy area was spooking the animal and he gentled it as he waited for the cart that would take him and the animal away from London.  The sooner he could deliver it into Lord Coven hands the better.  And the quicker he could do it and get away from the mad Englishman was even more of a concern for him.  Something did not feel right in the English Court, it niggled at his sixth sense and he wondered if he shouldn’t just drop the animal off and then vanish?  But if he did then Lady Hargraves would search for him and more people than he cared for would get to know not only his name but also his appearance.  And that was a danger.  In fact being in London again was a major danger, as far too many Immortals seemed to gather in the larger cities these days.  And Immortals were even higher on his list of things to avoid.  So far he’d been lucky and avoided a challenge for over fifty years.  If he could keep that up, then he just might convince some of his former associates that he was well and truly dead.

        Suddenly as if thinking about such a thing had tempted Fate’s attention, Methos was engulfed in a strong buzz of presence and he cursed in an old language as he glanced around.  Inside his coat he had his sword, but also at that moment the stallion tugged on its reins as a steam whistle startled the flighty animal.

        “Damn!”  Swearing out loud as he fought to control the beast, Methos had trouble holding the reins as he felt the presence come closer until it was an annoying demand on his senses.  Battling the animal as he desperately searched around, he just caught sight of his opponent and felt his jaw drop in astonishment.  It was then that the stallion reared up and struck him with its nervous hooves, knocking him flying backwards into the mud.  “Oh bloody hell!”  He groaned as he numbly lifted his head and saw his outfit was ruined. Wasn’t this the precise reason why he hated these unpredictable animals!?!  Hadn’t he seen enough mud and squalor to last a dozen lifetimes??

        Getting up and shaking the mud and water from his hands and clothing, Methos swore again as he saw his idiotic horse rear up a second time before the stranger who had startled him captured the flying reins and pulled the animal down.  Glaring at the man’s back, Methos sucked a breath as he saw the obvious strength outlined in the long muscles of this man even though he was dressed in elegant satin and linen.  But that wasn’t all, as he found his eyes riveted on the powerful thighs, his gaze travelling up the tightly clenched backside until he blinked at the abundance of long curling hair that was pulled back and tied with a black ribbon.  All in all it was a spectacular sight, and that was only the back view....?  But still, this was an Immortal, and above all else he disliked Immortals.  Especially ones who caught him so off balance.

        Giving up on removing the wet mud from his attire, Methos watched with a critical eye as the other Immortal forced the nervous horse down and calmed it with infinite practice.  Quickly assessing the situation, he narrowed his gaze not sure if he should thank the man first before cutting off his head, or run his sword through him and kill him before thanking him.  Then he could cut off his head.  Decisions, decisions....

        Marching up to his now subdued charge, Methos reached over and glared at the stranger before yanking the reins from out of the other man’s steady hands.  “I thank you not to interfere,”

        “Why yew,”

        Raising a brow, Methos refused to be trapped by those beautiful brown eyes that blinked at him in shock and growing anger.  Oh my, but what a picture of moral perfection!  And Scottish too?  Christ, that was all he needed.  An Immortal barbarian.  The Scots were not known for their reasoning abilities.  Just for their passion and prowess in fighting.  Which was not necessarily a bad point, Methos admitted silently as he got a better look at this Scot’s remarkably handsome features. Damnit!  But he should have stayed in Italy.  “I didn’t ask for your help, and I don’t need it.  If you want a challenge then say so, otherwise mind your own business!”

        Caught off guard by the hissed words, the Scot sucked in a breath and straightened to his full height glad to see he was at least taller than the rude Englishman. This ill-mannered, mud splattered English servant’s dog!  “Ma name is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, I do no take yewr attitude kindly!”

        “I don’t give a damn about your opinions,”

        “Yew wha’?!”

        “Are you deaf as well?”  Methos asked sarcastically, hiding his amusement as he watched the emotions chase their way across this beautiful Scot’s face. Definitely primal.... Could be fun?  Dismissing the idea, Methos roughly pulled the horse closer and lay a hand on its nose.  The last thing he wanted was to start thinking about physical pleasures when he had such an agitated horse in front of him, otherwise he go flying into the mud again.   And that would positively ruin his composure in front of this Scottish masterpiece.

        Eyeing the dirty man, Duncan MacLeod just glared at him.  “I should have a word with yewr master, as yew need a flogging!”

        Scoffing at that Methos looked at him incredulously.  The child has spirit.  Plus confidence and pride.  I wonder how old he is?  Methos mused silently.  “And maybe I’ll just take your ignorant head.”  He countered instead, liking the way the other’s nostrils flared. Oh hell....

        “Yew can try!”

        “My Lord, MacLeod!”

        Hearing the urgent call, both men turned as a steward hurried forward.

        “Yes Phillip?”  Duncan asked politely as he raised his chin to give off a superior air.  He’d never met an Immortal before who was so arrogant and uncivil.  In fact he was amazed the man still had his head with such an attitude.  Amazed and a little confused as the hazel eyes seemed to laugh at him.

        “Your carriage is ready.  The Ladies are awaiting your arrival.”

        “Very good.”  Duncan responded with warmth.  “I shall be there presently.”

        “Very good, my Lord.”

        Turning back to the man beside him Duncan let his eyes travel over the slender man’s frame assessing his potential as a fighter, as well as trying to judge his general age.  He knew it was hard to pick the age of an Immortal, Connor had taught him that in the ten years they had stayed as student and teacher.  But usually attitude and confidence and the strength of a challenge were a good indication of age and power.  Only this man had not challenged him.  Insulted him yes, but not seemed interested in a physical fight.  Of which he was glad.  Still the encounter had disturbed him and he looked at the other man again as he heard a string of softly uttered curses in the distinctive baritone before the man tugged on the reins to quieten the nervous animal.  Seeing how the horse’s eyes flashed wildly Duncan knew the creature was far too panicked to just simply settle with words.  “That’s no how yew,”

        “I do not need a your assistance!”  Methos snapped, just wanting the other man to leave and not believing this pushiness.  Glancing up, he wished he hadn’t as he saw the large brown eyes look at him in curiosity and speculation.  But they were gorgeous eyes, and Methos hastily turned away, almost slipping over again as the animal refused to stand still, its head tossing in agitation as it tired to rear up a third time.  At this rate he was very tempted to kill the beast just to escape another embarrassing predicament.

        “Look I have a lot of experience in controlling horses,”

        “I bet you have,” Methos muttered mockingly.

        Closing his mouth, Duncan was tempted to just walk away, but then couldn’t as he saw how the other man was almost jerked off his feet when the horse bucked wildly, spooked by the children running behind.  Coming to an instant decision he reached over and gripped the reins again, helping to drag the horse closer as he braced his weight behind that of the other Immortal.  He accidentally covered the other man’s hands with his own and was shocked as an electric wave of hot Quickening energy shot through him, its feel both tempting and unnerving.  Then just as abruptly he got a face full of long, dark, muddy hair as his companion jumped and almost caused them both to fall.  “Let me,”

        “Will you bugger off!”

        “Will yew just accept some help!”  Duncan shot back as he yanked the reigns free, wincing as he saw the other man slip over again.  Ignoring him, Duncan forced the horse to move forward.  He coerced it toward the road, speaking to the animal in his native tongue until he got it to the roadside and tied the leather reins to the sturdy iron ring in the ground.  Then he turned and was not surprised to see the other man trying to wipe some of the dirty muck off his face and clothing with a once white handkerchief.  He looked totally unrecognizable and Duncan wondered how he could save the situation without now causing a challenge.  For that thrill of Quickening he had tasted had fired his curiosity as no other Immortal he’d ever touched or embrace had produced such a tantalizing curl of.... of what?  Desire?  No.  It was impossible.  It had to be just interest.  A thirst for understanding in learning all he could about his own immortality.  Wasn’t it?  But this wouldn’t be the first time he’d been drawn to another male’s slenderness.  “Look, I’m sorry,”

        “Save it!”  Methos spat as he pushed long hair out of his face.  He felt totally peeved and disgusted mostly with himself as he eyed the Scotsman and saw that not a hair was out of place.  Nor was his beautiful clothing dirty in any way.  It was immoral.  And damn annoying!

        “I meant no harm,”

        “Oh, now that’s a comfort!”

        “Listen,”

        Refusing to be humiliated a third time, Methos dismissed the Immortal from his mind as he walked away.  He just wanted to get the animal loaded and transported to Lord Coven’s Estate as quickly as possible so that he could forget this entire incident and get on with his life.  But hell, the barbarian was one good-looking son of a bitch.  Damn good looking....  In another time when he felt less harassed he might have done something about it.  But right now, he just wanted a bath.  And a warm ale....  And what was that spark of Quickening?  Where had that come from?

        Confused as the other Immortal just walked away from him, Duncan let him go as his curiosity increased.  Never before had he met such a mixture of arrogance and complacency.  Allure and chaos.  Vulnerability and strength.  “Dinna I even get a name?”  He called, but was not surprised when no answer was given.  Releasing a deep breath he looked over toward his waiting carriage and prayed that he was not going to regret going to Lord Coven’s in Connor’s place.  He didn’t know the English Lord, but he had heard rumors.  Rumors that stated the devious Lord was not as honorable, nor as committed to this alliance of their households through marriage.  Some even said he plotted to bring down the delicate peace agreement....  To bring down the Scottish Royal Court.   But that was not his concern.  He was there to represent Lord Colin MacCanon.  To honor the Clan’s rituals in this alliance and be present at the brides celebration dinner.  For within a month she was to be wed to Brian MacCanon.  So with him were two of Brian’s cousins sent to help Deirdre Coven to understand the ways of the Clan and to pay her honor.  How the hell had Connor talked him into this?  Last time he had done his old teacher a favor it had almost cost him his head. So what would be the price of this little farce?

        Three days later Methos handed over the reigns of the irritating horse he’d come to loath very quickly, to the master of the stables at Lord Coven Estate.  The place was a contradiction of art and pleasure blended eccentrically into the cold English countryside.  A royal conceit of money and wealth as everything from long-haired wolfhounds to full-breasted young maidens roamed the halls, with studious young male scholar’s discussing topical issues in the libraries and around the numerous fireplaces.  If anything, Methos was impressed at how thoroughly Lord Coven had set himself up and established such a pit of wanton pleasures.  No wonder he had the ear of the King and held the balls of the Royal Court in his devious hands.  Maybe Lady Hargraves was right, and something rotten was festering in the English Court.  But what?

        “My Lord Coven wishes to meet with you to discuss the arrangements for payment.”  The steward said.

        Nodding Methos just wanted to get it over and done with.  In all reality he did not want to get involved with more political intrigue or Royal murders.  Seen enough of that to last a dozen life times.  “Will that be this evening?”  He inquired softly.

        “No my Lord.  The ball in honor of Lady Deirdre is tonight.  Lord Coven will meet with you tomorrow before lunch.”

        Great, Methos intoned silently.

        “But you are expected to attend the ball.”  The steward went on as if reading his expression.

        Covering his slip, Methos nodded politely as the man gestured for him to follow the servants sent to escort him to his rooms.  Given little choice, he wondered if this was Lady Hargraves doing, or some other forces at work now.  What had she said?  That he was recalled to London because of the horse....  So what was it about the animal?  It had to be more than just the fact that the beast was an infuriating nuisance. And why was the Lord willing to pay so much for it?

        Speculating on that, he sighed.  Someone was obviously setting him up....  Gods!  But how he loved the English and there petty games.  Entering his room, he ordered hot water before collapsing down on the bed, wondering how he was going to get through this night.

        Meeting Lord Coven, Duncan introduced the two beautiful young Ladies who accompanied him.  They were to be members of Lady Deirdre’s betrothal party and were sent as a sign of respect and honor from the MacConon Clan.

        Accepting that, Lord Coven called servants forward and issued orders for the two lovely young women before inviting Duncan to sit with him.

        Watching as his charges were led away, Duncan had another stab of apprehension and really wished he’d talked more with Connor before agreeing to do this.  For unlike Connor, he was no up on all the niceties of the Scottish Royalty.

        “I am surprised to see you as I had expected Connor MacLeod.”

        “Aye.”  Duncan said politely.  “He sends his apologies.  I am his cousin and he asked that I attend in his stead.”

        “Cousin?”  Lord Coven lifted a curious brow.

        “It is a complicated family relationship.”

        “You Scot’s are all the same.”  Lord Cover laughed.  “How do you keep the Clan’s separated within the Court?

        Studying the man, Duncan plastered on a smile not missing the leer and devious eyes that drank in his form.  He’d seen it before on other faces and cursed Connor again for making him attend this ball.  More was definitely going on than he was aware of.  And Colin MacConon had said little as he’d turned up to apologize for Connor’s absence before rushing to London to met the two Ladies awaiting his escort.  And now to be confronted by Coven’s less than veiled invitation, he was really wishing he knew what was happening as more was being verbalized than just sexual interest.  Politics turned his stomach and he had absolutely no desire to encourage this man’s advances, thinking that his refusal would not damage the marriage proposal.  Still....

        “You will sit at my table this evening?”

        “I would be honored my Lord.”  Duncan said, before standing and giving a bow.  Then he turned and left not waiting for permission and knowing Coven would not call him on the rudeness.  At least not yet.  At this rate it was going to be a very long and difficult night.

        Entering the huge ballroom, Methos picked up a crystal glass of champagne and sipped it as he smiled politely at the other guest who looked his way.  He figured that if he put in an appearance and circulated for an hour then he could retire to his room having fulfilled his duty.  Lady Hargraves would no doubt chastise him when he got back to London, but after enduring the last few days frustrations, her administrations would be a welcomed relief.

        Raising the glass to his lips again he spotted the Lady Deirdre and wondered how a woman such as herself who was the sister of Alexander Coven had managed to get betrothed into the Royal Scottish Court.  Or as close as.  The MacConon’s were considered Royalty as they controlled vast holdings.  It had to be more that just politic involved.  Didn’t it?  But she was not unattractive, and luckily did not have her brother’s devious ways, or perversions, that he could note from a distance, but still the implications intrigued him.  Debating the possibilities he stopped mid thought as he felt the sweep of presence touch him and turned very slowly to scan the room.  His eyes immediately fell on the tall, immaculate figure of Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and he closed his eyes and groaned.  Bloody hell!  Hadn’t he left this man in London?!?  This was the last thing he needed now, and he just managed to put his glass down as he saw the man stride towards him with purpose and pride.  He made a splendid picture with his royal blue waistcoat, flowing ruffled silk shirt and dark trousers.  The Scot’s hair was loose this time, curling about his shoulders in a show of masculine strength that sent an unwonted shiver through Methos and the braced himself for a challenge. Christ!  But the power of this man reminded him of times long ago and he tried to banish the longing it caused in his body as he felt his knees weaken.  Turning away, he gripped the banister closest to him and battled to pull his defenses tightly in.

        Approaching the stationary figure, Duncan could not believe his luck as he recognized the narrowing eyes before he identified the man.  Last time he had seen those extraordinary eyes, they'd been firing angry barbs at him, as the man had stood wet, filthy and peeved by his much-needed interference.  Only then he’d believed the Immortal to be a servant by his clothing, but now, he had to admit the man was far more than he’d originally imagined. Obviously he’d misjudged....  Approaching the slender Immortal, MacLeod watched the other man turn away and was immediately taken with the length of long dark hair that played down the straight back.  He’d not noticed that before and reassessed this Immortal again as his mouth curved into a smile.  “So we met again,” he said by way of introduction feeling suddenly delighted with the night and its new activities.

        “Charming.”  Methos muttered as he stared out over the crowd in the room.  If he didn’t look at the Scot, then he wouldn’t have to react.

        “I do not wish a challenge, but I do want to apologize for the other morning.”

        Finding himself turning at those softly whispered words, Methos just caught his breath as he saw Duncan MacLeod lean closer and offer a sincere smile. No one should look this good.... his frazzled brain squeaked as he got a whiff of the others breath.  It smelt of brandy....

        “I am Duncan MacLeod of the,”

        “Clan MacLeod.”  Methos finished for him before looking back over the room.  “I do remember.”

        “Aye.”  Duncan inclined his head slightly as he saw the natural elegance in the body turned away.  “Can I have a name?”  He pushed as he moved around, just catching the way the hazel eyes dilate before this man looked down at the banister he held.  One strand of long, dark hair had escaped the tight ribbon and for some reason Duncan had the urge to gently push it behind the other’s partially covered ear.

        “My name is Me.... Marteous Piers.”  Methos said, not believing he had almost spoken his own name out loud.  It was a name he not allowed himself to speak for over a thousand years.  Banishing it as he banished his past.  Banished the memories.

        “Marteous.”  Duncan rolled the name over his tongue, giving it a new sound in his thick accent and letting his smile grown as he saw the other man turn to look back at him in amusement.

        “You make it sound like a Scottish moor weed.”

        “Never,” Duncan assured as he inched closer and then cursed himself.  Covering he action he liberated two glasses of champagne from a passing servant and offered one to his companion.

        Taking the glass, Methos willed his hands to stop trembling as he tried to think of a way to rapidly end this awkward conversation.  Hell!  They had hardly spoken two words, yet he felt gutted.  Totally devastated by this man’s heat and presence.  What was it about the Highlander?  After four and a half thousand year he would have believed he had better control of his responses.

        “So tell me, what brings you to Lord Coven’s sisters celebration?”  Duncan MacLeod asked politely.  “Are yew part of his inner Court?”

        Almost choking on his drink, Methos took a step back as MacLeod reached over to pat him on the back.  Lifting a hand to stop the gesture he swallowed and forced himself to meet the direct brown-eyed gaze.  Breathe.... just breathe....  “The horse,” he just managed to get out.

        “That magnificent stallion?” Duncan asked and just saw the other nod.  Again that overlong strand of dark hair caught his attention and he was reaching over without thinking.

        Startled Methos lifted his head and stared at MacLeod.  Christ-almighty and the defrocked-bastard-saints!  What in the blazers was happening to him?!  He could almost feel the other’s Quickening, taste his power and it both terrified and drew him like an enchanted addiction.  “I’m selling it,” he found himself saying before he took a step back.  Behind him he felt a cool breeze and saw someone had left one of the terrace doors open.  Thank the Gods!  He could escape....

        “Yew are selling that magnificent creature to this man?”  Duncan asked aghast.  If anything that sounded even worse than the fact he’d just handed over two of Brian’s cousins into Lord Coven’s care.   “Are yew mad?”

        “It’s a horse,”

        “Aye!”  Duncan agreed.  “But what a horse.  What spirit.  It reminds me of some of the wild ones from home.”

        “If you like it so much I’ll sell it to you,” Methos quipped starting to feel better as a little of his control returned.

        “I just might take yew up on that.”

        Oh great!  Methos intoned silently as he placed his drink carefully down.  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said as politely as possible, then turned away before the Scot could protest.

        Opening his mouth, Duncan closed it as he saw the other slip away out the partially open door.  Disconcerted by that and feeling the heat of the room, he decided to follow.  Besides there was something about this man that puzzled him.  “Marteous, wait!”  He called softly once outside and was relieved to see the other man halt.  Hurrying up to him, Duncan cleared his throat nervously, watching the smaller man like he was some sort of apparition that was likely to vanish with very little persuasion.  Stopping a few feet away from the silent man, he searched for something intelligent to say.

        “Yes?”  Methos inquired slowly.  Christ, but if he had thought this man looked good in the bright firelight and candle chandeliers of the ballroom then he was wrong.  As moonlight lit up MacLeod’s features to perfection.  He could almost imagine what this man would look like wet and naked, rising out of a lake in the moonlight....  Oh shit....

        “Can yew show me the horse?”  Duncan said the first thing that came into his head feeling oddly light headed as he watched mesmerized while this man glanced around apprehensively.  The light breeze had captured that stray strand of dark hair again, and he tore his eyes away from it as the temptation to reach out a second time and brush it off the Marteous’ face was almost overwhelming.

        “What now?”  Methos asked incredulously.

        “Aye.”  He nodded.

        “But you’ve seen the creature,” Methos protested.

        “If I am to buy it, I need a more detailed inspection.”

        “But,”

        “Unless yew intend to go back on yewr word and not permit me to consider the purchase?”

        Finding himself glaring at the infuriating Scot, Methos closed his mouth and swore silently, cursing all the Fates he could think of before nodding his consent. Bloody Scottish logic....

        Pleased, Duncan followed the slender figure along the garden track to the main stables.  He tried not to admire the other as Marteous lit a oil lantern, the warm flame illuminating his face and giving it an eerie quality of the old world before Marteous glanced up and gestured for MacLeod to proceed him.

        Finding no stable hands around, both Immortals relaxed a little as Methos stopped outside the stallion’s stall and indicated for the Scot to look his fill.

        Hiding his smile, Duncan eyed the beast, admiring it and turning back to it owner.  Again he was captivated by the enticing faeness of this man and longed to find out how old he was and what he knew.  His travels with Connor had taught him many things and he had seen and learned other more enlightening lessons after leaving his kinsman.  One of which was that you never turned away from pleasure.  Especially when such obvious interest was being thrown back at you.  Giving in to his urge, he reached forward and gently picked up the strand of loose dark hair and caressed it with his fingers before moving closer to Marteous.  He saw the hazel eyes darken to a vivid green in the firelight as he let his callused hand sweep the long hair back from the other’s face.  “So can we come to some sort of agreement?”

        “What?”  Methos asked, not believing this even as his body willingly absorbed the hot touches.  “Sex for the horse?”

        Letting his smile grow predatory, Duncan pretended to consider that even as he slipped his fingers behind Marteous' head and tilted his head back before softly touching the moist lips.  It was barely a caress as each savored the other’s hot breath, mouths a sigh away as the Quickening between them sparked enticingly, driving out sensible thought.  Then Duncan closed the distance feathering a ghost kiss on the open mouth, tasting the other’s essence, relishing it as he heard a faint moan whisper across his senses.

        “Duncan,” Methos breathed the name as he reached out with one hand to tangle his fingers in the warmth of the Scot’s shirt, dragging him closer still and pressing his lips and body to the beckoning heat that was driving him beyond rational thought and into wild need.

        Claiming the moist lips, Duncan used his tongue to push inside Marteous’ mouth delighted as he felt no resistance and he devoured the intimacy offered.  He fell into a sea of desire as his tongue was welcomed and then played with before the strong caress was returned, igniting his soul as he plastered himself against this bewitching being.  He sucked on the open mouth, demanding more, wanting everything instantly as he pressed them against the wooden stall, sliding a leg between firm thighs and feeling Marteous push into him erotically.  Lifting his head he blinked and looked down at the flushed face seeing the long lashes lift slowly until he was bathed in a burning passion of Marteous open stare.  It undid him and he brought up his other hand to cup this man’s face so he could hold him while he kissed and tasted that open mouth again.  Then he moved his lips over the upturned face to taste the Marteous’ eyes, his lashes, lips, cheek....

        “Duncan,” Methos whispered.  When he got no response except tender lips that nipped at his ear, he turned his head and awkwardly hung the lamp he was holding in a hook before he dropped it and started a real fire.  Accomplishing that task took all his concentration, as his body felt plundered by this weakening desire to surrender.  A feeling he had not felt for.... No!

        Lifting his head as he suddenly felt the tensing of muscles under his hand, Duncan tried to soothe this man as he would a startled animal, gentling him slowly with fingers and lips until the others’ incredible mouth opened without hesitation again.  The intoxication of that mouth was better than any wine or brandy Duncan had tasted and he moved back slightly to dragged the other down with him on the straw bundles next to the stalls.

        “Oh Christ,” Methos muttered, not believing this as he felt clever finger tug at his clothing.  He had not succumbed like a virgin in the stables since.... well before the Common Era!  Shit!  “Duncan,”

        Drawing back Duncan willed the other to just relax, not sure he was capable of stopping now as his loins ached with need.  “Aye?”

        Reading the silent question hanging between them, Methos debated the wisdom of this act, even as he raised a hand and tugged on the curling long hair to pull MacLeod closer.  “This is not wise,” he cautioned in a husky whisper.

        “It is whatever we decided.”  Duncan told him.

        “Really,” Methos breathed intrigued by that.  It was refreshing to hear such firm convictions still.  “How old are you?”

        “Why?”  Duncan asked.  “Will it make a difference?”

        “It might.”

        “I am old enough.”  Duncan said with firmness as he moved closer again only to be stopped by firm fingers over his lips.  “Marteous?”

        “I think we should go inside and talk,”

        “Yewr room or mine?”  Duncan asked making sure the other saw his determination.

        “MacLeod,”

        “Mine is closer.”  Duncan decided for them and stood in a fluid motion before he dragged the other man up with him.  Wrapping him in a fierce embrace he targeted the other’s mouth before Marteous could protest, pushing his hunger and desire deep into the slender frame.  When he was finished he gave a satisfied smile as he saw the dazed expression.  That was one technique he had mastered very early....

        By the time they got inside, Methos had gained control of his responses again and held up a hand to slow things down.  “Duncan,”

        Locking the outside door and then going to his internal door, Duncan locked it as well before he deliberately advanced on his companion.

        Closing his mouth as he watched the slow seduction move towards him, Methos had to admit he’d not seen anything like this in centuries.  It was flattering.  A powerful turn on to be caught and made the center of attention, especially as this man was so bloody devastating to look at.  A wet dream....  He licked his lips as he saw Duncan MacLeod deliberately unbuttoned first his vest and then his trousers, allowing them to drop in a slither of material to the floor.  After that his pulled the ties on his silk shirt loose, letting it glide unhindered down his bronzed body until he stood gloriously naked and very aroused.

        Oh Gods....  Methos found it hard to breathe as the figure before him was bathed in moonlight.  He wanted him, but was scared by his own intense reaction.  His own depth of desire.  There were worse things in the world to die of than sexual frustration.  One was standing right in front of him....

        “Marteous,”

        Hearing the whisper feather over him, Methos closed his eyes as he felt fingers trace a line over his jaw before the Scot was pulling the ribbon from his hair.  “Duncan, we should talk,”

        “Shhh,” Duncan barely let the sound carry beyond them as he undressed this man and drank in the lean beauty of the body being revealed.  The luxurious long hair and silken smooth skin.  Long elegant limbs and a hairless chest that drew his fingers and lips irresistibly.  He had never seen another man like this.  Never imagined one could exist who could create such a yearning inside him with so little effort.  It felt as if he’d known this man all his life.... a whisper of familiarity and deep understanding.  Caressing down the deceptively muscled arms to narrow wrists and long fingers, Duncan gently led them towards the massive bed and settle on it.  He moved to the middle and patted the feather coverings invitingly, dragging his partner closer as Marteous hesitated.  Then all awkwardness vanished as their mouths met again he groaned in delight as the smaller man accepted the inevitable.

        Rolling them over, Duncan stretched out under the warmth pressing into him, adoring the feel of the damp mouth trailing bites and kisses down him chest to groin while Marteous' hair embraced him in silky strands of gently warmth.  He arched up as the talented mouth swallowed him hotly, sucking him to a hardness that was both painful and shattering.  Then the heat left him and he dizzily lifted his head to see Marteous slowly sitting up and grin at him wickedly.

        “You like that,”

        “Aye,” he gasped, taken with the artistry of Marteous’ beauty and graceful movements as the other stretched sensually before dropping down to caress and kiss his burning flesh a second time.  Stifling a moan of pure hunger MacLeod sat up and pushed the other man flat, pouncing on him and hearing his husky laughter before he silenced the sound with a savage kiss.   Smothering the smaller man, Duncan set about to get some of his own revenge on this tease, savoring everything as each touch produced a tingle of addictive sensation.  Massaging the other man's engorged shaft with a hand, Duncan slowly wet the fingers of his other hand, making sure Marteous saw the action before he reached between the long legs and pushed against the tight opening.  He watched fascinated as the body spread before him opened further, the pale thighs parting invitingly in silent answer to the question.  Wetting as second finger Duncan repeated the gentle process, wanting this man to enjoy it.  Needing to give pleasure before he sated his own as he could perceive something infinitely special developing between them, as long as he carefully fed the embers of need.  Slowly twisting his fingers he reached deep inside the heat of his captive and felt, saw and sensed Marteous' complete surrender as the pale chest shuddered in a ragged breath and the long legs bent up in urgent need.  Pleased, Duncan withdrew his probing fingers, hearing a gasp from his lover, before he moved up to take the panting mouth in hungry desire.  “I think yew liked that,” he whispered, studying the dazed eyes as they tried to focus on him.

        “Bastard,” Methos just managed, wanting to scream his frustration as the fingers had been withdrawn.  Gathering in a breath, he only had a moment to wait before he felt his hips lifted and a much larger and hotter intruder was pushed into him.  “Oh Gods....” he moaned, clutching at the sheets, experiencing more than just the invasion of his body as he suddenly felt the invasion of his mind and soul.  He could almost taste Duncan MacLeod’s every essence and he threw his head back whimpering slightly as the feelings washing over him scared him.  Terrified him.  Yet also comforted him.  It brought them magically in-tune with each other for a scary instant of utter honesty.

        Groaning in sheer pleasure as he was swallowed by the incredible heat of this man’s body, Duncan reached down and dragged the other man up into his lap, joining them undeniably as he felt Marteous arch into his chest before wrapping strong arms around his neck.  The hips imprisoning him rose slightly and Duncan bit at the damp skin of his lovers neck, drawing blood as he clutched the narrow hips and dragged the other back down on to his engorged shaft.  It was like a dance of seduction.... a dance of courtship, as each movement built the need, fueled the passion, until their mouths met and literal sparks flew.  Suddenly they were both engulfed in the energy of Quickening power, its destructive heat finishing the slow build of desire as urgency overtook them both.  The gentle pleasure turned desperate as each climaxed so fiercely their Quickening merging for a single instant in a clarity that was awe inspiring.

        Collapsing down on the soft bed, Duncan could hardly move as he hugged the body under him so hard that he knew he’d leave bruises on them both.  Slowly as his erratic breathing settled, he raised his head and stared down into very bright eyes that were watching him in both wonder and panic.  “Methos?”  He said the name ever so softly as he allowed his mind to play back throughout the images he been shown.  It was too much for him to take in just yet, but one factor did stand out very vividly.  “Yew are over four and a half thousand years old?”  He asked incredulously, his mind already knowing the answers as he saw the other man close his eyes as a shudder ran through him.  “Methos?”

        “Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod....”  It was whispered like a benediction.

        “Aye,” he acknowledged.  If he had just been shown a brief glimpse of this man’s history he had to assume Methos was now aware of his short life span.

        “I can not apologize for what you saw, for who I was,”

        “I’m no asking yew to,”

        “What?”

        “I’m no sure what I’ve seen yet, but I’m no asking for any apologies.”  Duncan repeated as he saw the green eyes cloud over in doubt.  “How is it possible we touched Quickenings?”

        “I don’t know.”  Methos admitted.

        Levering himself up a little more, Duncan felt himself slip free from the cherished body and reluctantly allowed Methos to move away.  Following him over he wrapped an arm around his chest and pulled him back against his body.  “I think yew are right.”  He whispered.  “We need to talk.”

        “Before would have been preferable,” Methos muttered.

        Kissing the back of the damp neck, Duncan snuggled into the others long hair and dragged the covers up from the bottom of the bed.  “It can wait now until morning.”  He decided and was glad when he heard no arguments from his partner.

        Staring into the gloom as he felt the Highlander slipped into slumber, Methos could not believe this as Duncan MacLeod wrapped him in a warm embrace.  It was a confusion of mind and body that engulfed him.  Confusion and panic....

        Waking slowly, Methos tried to turn over and found he couldn’t as his mind slowly identified the persistent buzz in the back of his brain.  Holy shit....  Memory flooded him and he struggle to turn, only to be confronted by a very wet mouth the covered his.

        “Duncan?”  He drew in a shocked breath as he blinked his eyes into focus, seeing the stunning man of his dreams.  Only it hadn’t been a dream.... No one should look that good in the morning....  No one.  It was indecent!

        “Good morning.”  Duncan MacLeod said in a hushed tone.  “I was starting to worry that you would never wake.”

        “Oh Christ,” Methos muttered as he tried to sit up.

        “Where you going?”

        “Time?”

        “What?”

        “Do you know what the time is?”

        Letting him go, Duncan’s frown increased as he reached over and picked up his gold fob-watch.  “We might have missed breakfast.”  He offered, as he was amazed to see it was close to 9am.  He was also amazed no servants had tried to wake him yet.

        Gathering his composure, Methos floundered not believing this and wondered if he was still sleeping and just dreaming that he was awake.  Hadn’t he promised himself never to get involved with Immortals again?  Hadn’t he vowed that seventeen hundred years ago when he’s walked away from Kronos?

        Seeing the brief glimpse of endearing vulnerability touch the other man’s features, Duncan wrapped an arm around the pale chest and dragged him closer, giving him no chance to escape as he pinned him to the mattress.  “I have no regrets,”

        “MacLeod,”

        Raising a brow, Duncan refused to give an inch as he could well guess that the other was now trying to put distance between them.  “None.”  He whispered as he kissed a pale shoulder in emphases.

        Feeling his heart traitorously leap in his chest with that confident admission, Methos tried one last time.  “You don’t know me,”

        “I have glimpsed a little,”

        “And that was dangerous!”

        Sensing slight fear over this, Duncan did remember seeing dark shadows in this man’s mind.  Images of death, pain, fear, abuse and a sadness that lingered.  It was the last image that drew him more than anything else had and he wanted to hold this man and learn all his secrets.  All four and a half thousand years worth.  “Aye,” Duncan acknowledged, letting the other see his seriousness.  Stretching out he slid a thigh over narrow hips, welcoming Methos’ shiver as he captured the open mouth in a probing kiss.

        With his senses swamped by this man persuasive caresses and innocent beauty, Methos groaned and found he ached for the reassurance of the Scot’s warmth and honor.  It was such a liberating feeling to let go and truly experience the power and hunger of honest lust and he gave himself over to the pleasure a second time as large hands skimmed up his flank.  Callused thumbs paused over his hardened nipples, stroking them lovingly as he opened his mouth wider begging for more.  He was a prisoner of his own desires.

        Aroused beyond belief as this being completely abandoned all inhibitions under his hands, Duncan sucked on the swollen lips drinking in the overwhelming spontaneity offered.  Losing himself in the feel, taste and presence of this tantalizing creature, he was caught off guard and turned by unquestionable strength and pressed into the soft mattress.  Gazing up into the dark-haired tease now leaning over him, Duncan’s breath faltered as he took in the sight of the long silky black hair that framed the flushed face of his lover.  The smoldering gaze locked on him promised unimaginable pleasures before that seductive mouth claimed his and sent his brain into dizzying overload.  He lost himself in the talented hands and mouth, climaxing so hard he was sure his cries of release would bring the servant running.  Again in the shared power of their pleasure he got glimpses of the other’s long life, but this time he was shown how different the world had once been.  How exotic this man was.... How experienced....  And he gasped in delight as he remembered Connor had once tried to explain this concept to him.  The curse and blessing of immortality.  Only now he was starting to understand it.  Through Methos’ eyes.

        Falling back against the damp bedding, Duncan clutched at the body blanketing him, sending out a silent prayer to his guardian angel for giving him the gift of meeting this extraordinary creature.  His hands massaged the others long neck, tangling in the dark hair and using his hold to turn Methos’ face towards him.  Gently he touched the open mouth again, pleased as Methos responded without thought.  The pliant body molding to him subconsciously.

        Breaking the endearing kiss, Methos drew back and pushed hair out of his face. Hell, but he had not felt this content or satisfied in more centuries than he cared to speculate.  It was rejuvenating.  It could get very addictive and dangerous.  “I have to go,” he said, wanting to cover his fears.

        “Aye,” Duncan admitted.  “I to, have duties to perform.”

        “You are here to....?”  Methos let the question hang between them, feeling his gut tighten again as Duncan caressed a finger down his chest absently as the magnificent Scot’s eyes smiled.  It was a warmth that was instantly reassuring and protective.  No.... no.... he couldn’t fall in love with this man.  Couldn’t....  Wouldn’t.

        “I’m here in my cousins place to represent and honor Coven’s sister in her marriage into the MacConon Clan.”

        “And when does that little piece of political maneuvering take place?”

        Hiding his smile at that, Duncan gave a diminutive shrug as he saw Methos push the covers back and sit on the edge of the bed.  “In fourteen days.”

        “Here or in Scotland?”  Methos asked intrigued despite himself.

        “Scotland first.  At the Keep.”  Duncan said then added with a little disapproval.  “Then here.  With the joining of the two houses it is suppose to seal the peace between the border.”

        “I see.”  Methos murmured as he reached for his breaches.  Dragging them on, he didn’t look at the body spread in invitation still on the massive bed.  Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was too damn beautiful and the infuriating Scot knew it, he was sure.  “So it is a marriage of convenience.”

        “Maybe, but it will settle the peace.  Benefit all.”  Duncan assured him.

        “I hope you’re right.”  Methos judged.

        “Why do yew say that?”  Duncan asked a little apprehensively as he leaned up on his elbows watching with regret as the body he’s just been pleasure by, was slowly covered.  “Methos,”

        Straightening, Methos blinked at him.  He could get so used to hearing his name uttered off this man’s tongue.  “My name is Marteous,”

        Nodding slowly, Duncan understood the quiet warning.  “So what are yew doing this morning?”

        “Finishing my business with Coven, and then heading back to London.”

        “Just like that?”  Duncan asked a little shocked.

        “Unless you really want to by the nag?”  Methos asked trying to lighten the mood with a smile.

        “No.”  Duncan said as he swallowed.  “But I had assumed....” he trailed off. What had he assumed?  What could he ask?  “Will I see yew again?”

        “Duncan,” Going back to the bed, Methos sat lightly on its edge as he pushed his hair back off his face.  He had to find the tie, or maybe he’s just give in to the urge and cut it all off again.  “I still don’t think this is wise,”

        “You said that last night,” Duncan reminded him.

        “We are Immortal,”

        “Aye.”

        “Just,” standing up abruptly, Methos straightened his waistcoat looking everywhere but at those beseeching brown eyes.  “I have to go back to London.”

        “I see,” Duncan said with regret.  Why had he expected something more?  Why had he wanted more?  Pushing the covers back, he got angrily out of bed and turned his back on the slender man.

        Closing his eyes tightly as he felt MacLeod’s annoyance and disappointment all the way down his spine, Methos hardened his resolve and picked up his coat.  “Be well, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.”

        Refusing to turn, Duncan waited until the door closed softly behind the other man and his presence faded from his mind before he swore fluently in Gaelic from regret, humiliation and loss.

        Avoiding the spacious rooms of the Estate, Duncan MacLeod wandered down to the stables to look again at he creature that had started all this emotional heartache.  If he had not seen the Immortal battling the beast back in London he would have just walked away.  Wouldn’t he?  He would not have interfered.... Wouldn’t he?  Of course, it had to be that damn animal’s fault!

        Forcing himself to believe that, he stomped to the stables and was surprised to find one of the lovely women whom he had escorted the previous morning to Lord Coven’s estate.  Grace MacConon, one of Brian MacConon’s cousins.

        “Mr. MacLeod.”  She said politely as she glanced up from what she was doing.

        Inclining his head politely he glanced around and saw no servants and wondered why she was down here.  In fact he was rather amazed to find she was not only in the stables but was also unaccompanied and standing on a hale bale to look at the stallion that had brought him to the exact same spot.  “I take it that things are all right?”  He inquired with a spear of worry.  For since last night he had all but abandoned his charges as he’d pursued a different pleasure.

        Looking at him she gave him a frank stare.  “Yew are of the Clan, yew must know that there is no love lost between Brian and this English woman.”

        “Aye,” he sighed.  He should know by now that no Scottish female was backwards in stating the honest truth.  “But it will benefit all.”

        “Coven only wants to marry his sister off like so much cattle, so that he can claim more land!”  She told him pointedly.

        “Yew do not know that,”

        “I have ears and eyes.”  Grace snapped, gesturing around them.  “There is land north of here still unclaimed by either government, regardless of the fact that the Clans have been working those pastures for centuries.”

        “I know and the treaty states,”

        “The treaty is just a piece of paper.”  She gave him a dark eyed appraisal.  “Yew are young still, Duncan MacLeod, and yew have not been home as much as yew should have I’ll wager, so yew canna know the problems.”

        “I have heard of the raids.”  He assured her.  “But there is no proof.”

        “By making an alliance with Coven we will not stop the bloodshed.”

        Troubled by that, Duncan welcomed the new problem as it took his mind off his more personal dilemma.  Another English problem named Methos.

        “Take this animal.”

        Lifting a brow he gaze at the stallion in question that was now as calm as a tranquil lake at dawn.  It was standing near the door of its stall and allowing Grace to gently soothe its silken nose.  “He belongs to Lord Piers,”

        “Stolen.”  She cut him off.

        “What?”  He asked shocked, praying she did not make such accusations out loud and in the presence of the English.  That was the last thing he needed.

        “I know this animal.  Or at least one so similar.”

        “Surely not,”

        “It was a wedding gift to my cousin about eight years ago.  He was much friskier then, but he was given to Rachel by the man she loved.  By John Hannahon.  Only she was betrothed to another and this horse caused dispute between the two Clans.”

        Duncan sighed, relating well to the tension as he remembered his own dispute with his cousin over a beautiful woman.  “I can imagine,”

        “No yew canna!”  She told him as her eyes flashed fiery anger.  “Both men had been friends since childhood, and because of this horse they killed each other.  Then Rachel released this animal into the wild before she took her own life.  Both fathers of both devastated Clans swore to destroy the beast yew see, in order to avenge the loss and restore peace.  Until today I had believed the animal gone.  But now,”

        “It canna be the same animal.”

        “I remember it had a mark on the its left flank.  A small patch of brown in the shape of a star.”  She turned to him.  “Check and see if I am right.”

        Compelled by her eyes and feeling slightly challenge to refuse, Duncan muttered under his breath and he glanced around again for a stable hand.  But they were still alone.  Pushing the stall door open he glanced at the flank in question and shook his head.”  Nothing,”

        “Look harder.”  She hissed.

        Catching the look, he bent closer and ran his hand over the smooth hair, just catching sight of a small blemish.  Peering at it, he was stunned as he found a small patch of uneven hair a lighter color than the smooth blackness and it was in the shape of an uneven circle.

        “It’s there isn’t it?”

        “Aye,” Duncan said a little worried.  “But I still dinna,”

        “Duncan,” she broke in again.  “If news of this horse were to get back to Rachel’s father, it would open old wounds.  It would cause new heartache, as both sides would blame each other again for the tragedy.  All this animal will do is ignite mistrust and bad feeling between the Clans.  Something none of us need.”

        “Which Clan?”  Duncan asked slowly starting to see the problems.  If unrest broke out, then the English would take that as instability and march back into Scotland with troops.  Especially if that unrest took place within the Scottish Court.  Another civil war would start.

        “MacConon.”

        “Yew are joking!”  He said, knowing how powerful that Clan was.  It was the reason why Coven had initiated an alliance.

        “I wish I was.”  Grace said passionately.  “The MacConon’s and the Hannahon’s could destroy the peace if they re-opened the dispute.”

        Turning away, Duncan‘s mind raced.  Why had Lord Coven wanted to buy the animal?  From where had Methos gotten the animal?  Surely he hadn’t stolen the creature?  Would he be that unscrupulous?  Then he remembered the darkness he’d seen in the other’s aura and closed his eyes.  Had he been a fool to fall for the other man’s charming manners and false appearance of vulnerability?  A young fool who was now being laughed at by the older Immortal.  Damn!  The sick acknowledgment shattered all his inner feelings, as he privately admitted that the Immortal had touched more than just his body and mind last night.  He had claimed a piece of his soul.

        Needing answers, he hurried back up to the house wanting to know the truth.  Needing answers before another war was sparked between their two nations.  Checking his watch he saw it was almost lunch.

        Staring at the sword leveled at him, Methos re-evaluated the situation.  He was in Lord Coven’s private chamber and he’d just signed over the stallion to the shrewd man before Coven’s steward had drawn his sword and rested it under his chin.  “What is this?!”  He tried to put anger into his tone as he ignored the dangerous position he was in.  He’d bluffed his way out of worse situation.

        “I am sorry Marteous, but I have orders from higher up.  Please believe me when I say this is not personal, as I would like to have made your acquaintance more intimately.”

        “What,” Methos demanded as he ignore the implications of that and homed in on ‘the order from higher up’ part.

        “I can not allow you to return to London.  Though it will be made to look as you have returned.  Rather you are to be taken north eventually and used later as a peace offering between the warring Clans.  Your deceit has been proven beyond a doubt.  It was going to be Henry Dobson’s honored privilege to aid the Throne, but he left that task to you now.”

        Oh brilliant, Methos thought savagely.  Only thing was, he still couldn’t work out why.  Not that he’d been thinking too straight since last night. Damn his weak resolve....  He knew he should not get involved with Immortals.  For now he was paying the price of forgetting why he was up there.  Damn!

        “Take him away!’

        “Wait just one damn moment,”

        Feeling his hands roughly shoved behind him and shackled, Methos could do nothing for the moment as he was roughly taken out the back way before a bag was placed over his head.  Struggling he got a whiff of a strong herbal compound before a damp cloth was place over the bag and he was forced to inhale the potent drug.  Succumbing to the blackness that swamped his mind, his last thought was curiously about the exasperating Highland child.

        Being admitted to Lord Coven’s study after lunch, Duncan ignored the offered brandy as he got straight to the heart of his concern.  “I am curious about the stallion of Lord Piers,”

        “Do not concern yourself as I purchased the animal this morning.”  Lord Coven said easily wondering why the other would ask such a thing.  He did not want another complications.  Not at this stage.

        “Oh,” Duncan covered.  “I had briefly spoken to him last night about the beast and was interested in buying it myself.”  He gave a sigh to convey that his interest was purely financial.

        Relaxing slightly Lord Coven smoothed a hand over his immaculate waistcoat as he nodded.  “I understand.”

        “Do you by chance know where Lord Piers is?”  He hazarded.

        “Returned to London earlier this morning.  At first light I believe after we concluded our business.  He was required back in the Royal Court, I assume.”

        Nodding and giving another uninterested smile, Duncan just managed to control his instant suspicion as he remembered that Methos had been with him until well after 10am.  “And the animal?”  He tried to make it polite curiosity only.  “Will you race him?”

        “No.”  Coven gave a small grin.  “It is a wedding gift for my sister.  She had always adored the animal so I made Piers a very generous offer.  For her sake.  I’m sure you understand.”

        “Of course.”  Duncan said as he slowly stood.  Already his mind could play over the dangerous situation unfolding and he covered his thoughts by taking out his fob-watch and checking the time.  “I thank you for your time.”

        Dismissing the young Scot, Lord Coven waited until the door closed before calling for his assistant.  “Are all the arrangements in place?”

        “Yes my Lord.”

        “Good.  Make sure nothing goes wrong and keep an eye on Duncan MacLeod for me.”

        “Yes, my Lord.”

        Striding out of the estate, Duncan swore under his breath as he saw that Methos belongings were indeed all gone.  Even the servants said that the young English Lord had left for London at first light.  It was worrying and he’d decided to see if he could find more honest answers.

        Walking down the beautifully pebbled road way that led to the front of the Estate, Duncan put on a show of admiring the gardens of this wealthy Holding as he scanned the area for someone who would not be in on the conspiracy.  A ground’s servant, someone insignificant.  Overlooked.

        Spotting an older man who was clipping certain shrubs back, Duncan checked to make sure no one was watching him before he deviated off the path and went to the old man.  He inclined his head as the graying man straightened and looked around in apprehension.

        “Your boots my Lord!”

        Waving the concern away, Duncan tried to put the servant at ease as he smiled warmly.  “I was just curious as to how long you have been working so hard out here this fine day?”

        “Since dawn, my Lord.”  The man said politely, his Welsh accent very thick.

        “Then from here you would have a very good view of who leave’s and arrives at this Estate.”

        The other nodded hesitantly.

        “They would all be admiring your work I am sure as they ride past.”

        “Nay,” the other said.  “None stop to look.  All are too busy,”

        “It is a pity.”  Duncan assured him as he fingered the leaves of a shrub.  “Lord Coven must be very proud of your work.”

        The old man gave a reluctant smile showing a mouth devoid of teeth.

        “Tell me, do many carriages leave at dawn?”

        “Occasionally.”  The other shrugged as he pointed to another plant.

        Trying to look interested in the plants, Duncan pushed a little more.  “How about this morning?”

        “No.”  The old man shook his head as he considered that.  “About three left after breakfast.  That was Lord Attwell.  And the Lady Kentsworth and Lord Farns.  Then a few more left after lunch.  They were Lord,”

        “Were there any carriages you did not recognize?”  Duncan interrupted not wanting a list of all the guests.

        Thinking hard, the old man slowly nodded.  “Now that you mention it.  Strangely, one did leave just before that fiery horse was taken away as well.

        “Wha’!?”  Raising a hand to calm his anger and settle the old man, Duncan gave an apologetic smile.   “Please tell me.”

        “Not much to tell my Lord,”

        “Thank you.”  Grabbing the others hands he shook them and then hurried away, leaving a very startled servant behind him.  But he didn’t notice as his mind raced.  The stallion was gone??  Was it true what Grace had told him?  Would the animal ignite another war between the Clans?  Bring unrest and opening the way for the English to take more control?  As it was the truce was only barely tolerated.  Whatever the reason, he had to find some way to stop that horse getting to its destination.  Going to the stables he wondered if he could catch up the carriage and horse if he hurried.  The other question racing through his mind was even more crippling.  Was Methos part of the conspiracy?

        Finding no one in the stables again, he cursed, swiveling around as he felt movement behind him before a shovel came down across the back of his head.

        Waking Duncan shook his head to clear the pain and disorientation.  He was lying on the damp ground and saw that his clothing was smeared with mud.  Lifting his head he was not surprised to see he had company as Lord Coven watched him from the safety of his mount.  Around him were four of the Lord’s men, each armed with swords.  Grimacing, he noted that he was out in the moors well away from curious eyes and he didn’t need to be told what was going to happen next.  “I take this isn’t a friendly meeting?”  He asked with a trace of anger as he slowly stood.  The four men drew their swords and held him back.

        “You should not have interfered, MacLeod.  You should have minded your own business.”

        “Just as Marteous Piers did?”  He sneered.  “What, did you do?  Kill him as well?”

        “No he has another fate.”  Coven said in a flat tone. “And one that does not concern you.”

        “So how will yew explain my disappearance?”  Duncan demanded, as he clutched at that one fact.  Methos was not involved.  Somehow it righted his balance.  “I have relatives,”

        “They are of no concern to me either.”  Coven dismissed as he nodded to his men.

        “You canna,” Duncan protested as he backed away.  But he had no where to go and just gasped in a breath as he was run through with a sword.  He locked gazes with the steward who attacked him recognizing the man as the stable hand he’d been looking for earlier.  Cursing, he convulsed as the sword was withdrawn and he was shoved down into a gully to lie face down in a small stream of icy water.  Knowing he was dying did not help as he heard voice above him before death claimed him swiftly.

        Coming awake with a start, Duncan lifted his head and spat out cold water as he choked in a breath.  He was wet, cold and pissed off now as he studied his ruined clothing.  He was also stripped of all weapons, gold and his coat, making him curse again as he remembered what had happened.  Studying the afternoon sky he assumed he’d been out no more than an hour and hastily glanced around to judge his location and bearings.

        If he were to stop more deaths then he would have to move fast and go north.  He knew the way as he and Connor had traveled every inch of the Scottish moors together years ago.  Only problem was, it would take time.  Maybe more time than he had.  And what plans did they have for Methos?

        Not liking those thoughts as he remembered the two Scottish females back at Coven’s as well, he selected a hardy stick and hurried across the bleak countryside.

        It took him almost a full week of constant travel to reach the moors and find the MacConon fortified Keep.  He’d stolen a horse and that had been his only salvation during the harsh ride and cooling weather.

        Identifying himself he was taken straight to Colin MacConon, the Clan leader, he forced to explain his appearance and less then dignified entrance.  Sitting heavily on a wooden chair, he had decided days earlier to be frank and to the point.  So told Colin MacConon about the horse and then about Coven treachery.  Then about the English’s plan, or as much as he knew.  He could guess the rest.  He stressed that it would only work if the MacConon’s and the Hannahon’s allowed it to.  For the idea of a marriage alliance was still sound.

        Not saying anything for a very long while Colin MacConon just sat back and looked at him, considering all that had been said before he drew in a very large breath.  Around him, none of his men at-arms spoke either, their faces fierce with anger as the only sound in the massive room was the popping of the burning fires.

        “Aye.”  Colin MacConon eventually growled.  “That mongrel beast.  I have to admit it was a crafty plan and could well have worked.”  He said very slowly in a measured tone as he let his gaze refocused on Duncan MacLeod.  “For I lost my oldest son, as did William Hannahon eight years ago, because of that beast.  All in the name of passion.  Then to add injury to insult, Rachel took her life.  She was dear to us all.”

        “Yew all lost that day.”  Duncan said gently.  “Yew canna let it happen again.”

        “Aye, yew are right lad.  I must speak to William.  Settle this heartache before the wretched animal is delivered to us, as it had originally belonged to William’s son.  His gift to Rachael.”

        “And the wedding?”

        Hardening his eyes, Colin glanced at his son, Brian.  “I say we let Coven play out his hand,”

        “But father!”  Brian protested.  “I do not want to be joined with a treacherous English whore!”

        “Watch yewr tongue!”

        “I have seen the Lady Deirdre,” Duncan injected swiftly.  “And I do no think she is aware of her brother’s schemes.”

        Not pacified, Brian stood up and walked away.

        After he left the room Colin sighed.  “Do forgive my son, as this arrangement has not been kind to him.  And aye, we do appreciate yew taking Connor’s place in this.”

        Accepting that Duncan studied the older man.

        “So tell me, how does Coven intend to involve the English Throne in this plan of his?”

        “I don’t know all the details myself, but I do know he has set up one of the Lords from the London Court.  No doubt this Lord will carry the blame and be executed for treason.”

        “I see.”  Colin frowned.  “This could get very messy.”

        “Only if yew let it.”

        “Aye.”  Colin said softly.  “We’ve had enough trouble.  None of us need another war.”

        Nodding, Duncan fingered his clothing.  “Would it be possible,”

        “Aye.  But I warn yew, we have no refined silks here.”

        “I would welcome the feel of tartan.”

        Grinning Colin gestured for him to rise.  “Lad, you must tell me, how did you manage to survive with a stain of blood so great?”

        “Luck,” Duncan said.  “Have yew heard from the Clans up north?”

        “In the Highlands?”  Colin asked.  “Noh,” he shook his head.  “Yewr people, young Duncan, keep very much too themselves.  If it were noh for yew and Connor, we would noh even know of the MacLeod’s.”

        Wanting to keep it that way for a little longer as he was not sure how much his death was still talked about forty years later, Duncan let the subject drop.

        Being shown out of the main hall, Duncan he was led to another room and given food and hot water.  The hospitality of the MacConon’s was welcome as he sat on the bed and debated what to do next.  What he really wanted was to find Methos, but knew he had to settle this problem before he could chase the older Immortal and make sure he still survived.  Looking around the familiar setting, he fondly recalled how he and Connor had befriended the MacConon’s twelve odd years ago and had been made honorary members for their help.  It was still a pleasant memory, but one he would have to let go of soon as he was not aging.  This was one of the flaw with immortality and one Connor had warned him about, which never got easier to deal with.  Living and visiting the MacConon’s had given him a sense of home again, but soon he must step away.  He wondered if that was why Connor had declined the invitation to the wedding?  He would have to ask him next time he caught up with his cautious cousin.

        But first he wanted a wash and some fresh clothing.  Then some food before he went with Colin MacConon to visit William Hannahon.

        Two days later he found himself glaring at the wind hardened face of the old Clan leader, William Hannahon, and understood now why the hurt pain and passionate battle between the two Clans had been so enduring.  William had lost his only son, his only heir to the title of Chieftain, and with that, under the new laws, the Clan was being slowly absorbed by modern ways.  It was like watching a piece of history being consumed and lost for all time.  Even the huge stone structure of the Hannahon’s Keep was crumbling, and that was saddest of all.

        But the overtures were now in place as Colin had reached out and offered to embrace William Hannahon in unity against a greater threat.  For as the stallion had originally created the breech between the two Clans, now it looked like the stallion could maybe forge a stronger bond of kinsmanship.

        “So what do yew suggest we do?”  William asked in a gruff voice.

        “Wait.”  Colin said.  “Let Coven return ma two nieces with his sister and the horse before we react.  I feel we should openly accept the gift.”

        “Openly?”

        “He wants discord.  Let’s give him a celebration.”  Colin offered.

        “That would surely confuse him,”

        “Aye.”

        “And the beast?”  William asked.

        “It has been given to his sister as a wedding gift.  I will speak with the child.”  Colin offered.  “If yew like I can ask for it to be returned to yew.”

        “Aye.”  William only said.  But the depth of emotion behind his tone spoke volumes.

        The day of Betrothal party’s arrival with other English dignitaries was greatly anticipated as both Clans worked together inside the large holdings and Keep of the MacConon’s.  It was like a lifting of a dark curse as many thanked the gods for the opportunity of this wedding if it healed the rift on both sides.

        Not interested in the wedding proceedings, as he was supposed to be dead, Duncan asked his leave.  He told Colin MacConon that Lord Coven would be suspicious if he were present, so the elder MacConon had granted him leave.

        Which was what Duncan wanted.  He was concerned now with finding his annoying friend.  Methos.

        What would Coven have done?  Trying to think like the sneaky Englishman, it took Duncan a stunned minute to realize that the other Immortal would have to still be on English soil.  He was probably still at the Estate.... Damn!

        Borrowing a horse he had avoided the roads and made his way back to Coven’s before Methos was delivered to the Throne as a traitor.  He could almost picture it now, how Coven would beseech the King and state that Marteous Piers had plotted to throw down the throne of Scotland by inciting a civil war.  Then no doubt the King would order his soldiers in, to calm the unrest and take a firmer control of the Scottish Throne, before executing Piers as a traitor.  Politics!  How he hated it.

        It took him four days to reach the immaculate Estate and in that time his mind had played over every scenario as his imagination only got worse.  The biggest thing being, that out of everything he could remember of Methos, it was the provocative eyes and body that had pleasured him so greatly that filled his thoughts.  The memory of the long, luscious dark hair and seductive mouth and the feel of slender limbs stretched out beneath him....  Yet Methos had walked away.  Why?

        Reaching the Estate just on sundown of the fourth day, Duncan cautiously tethered his horse away from prying eyes and used darkness to get in.  He utilized his senses to try and find his friend, just praying he was not too late.  How Methos had affected him so completely was baffling, but one thing he did know and that was that he would kill anyone who hurt this man.  Anyone who threatened the ancient's existence.

        Avoiding the few servants he saw, he eventually felt a presence and smiled.  Now unless Coven had started to entertain other Immortals, he prayed it was the infuriating Englishman of his dreams.  He tracked the presence to the far side of the Estate.  A small downstairs room that looked to be run down and unused.  Old servants quarters?  It was hidden behind the stables.  He couldn’t imagine Coven letting too many people know he had a prisoner.  Especially one from the Royal Courts of London society.

        Forcing the door open, he listened for movement but heard nothing as he went through the first room and entered adjoining back rooms.  The entire area was dark, small and damp.  Mould had infested the old stone giving off a very unpleasant smell.  But he ignored all that as the buzz of presence was much stronger and he saw a huddled figure on a bed.  Checking to make sure he was not seen, he went to the bed and took in the slender limbs and smiled.  Methos.

        His friend was moving now and he could imagine his panic, thinking it was a challenge and set about to soothe him.  “Methos, it is I. Duncan.”  The other’s agitation settled and he firstly noted the thick shackle and blood stained skin at the other man’s wrists.  Attacking the locks, he quickly gave up the useless task of releasing them as he untied the bag and pulled it off the other's head.  He then removed the gage and helped Methos sit up as the other coughed and shuddered.

        “What took you so long,”

        The voice was barely a croak, but MacLeod got the general gist of the words and grinned at his pale friend.  He looked disorientated, rumpled and half-drugged, but damn beautiful, Duncan decided as he dragged the other man into a quick embrace.

        “Duncan,”

        “Shh,” he said raising a finger and covering the dry lips as hot breath assaulted his skin.  “Let me get these ropes off yew and then get us out of here.”

        “How,”

        “I started asking too many awkward question about yew and that horse.  Then I learned of the plot to start a civil war in Scotland....”  MacLeod explained in a soft whisper as he untied the ropes around Methos ankles.  “Now can yew stand?”

        “Try and stop me,”

        Grinning, he never the less helped Methos up, supporting his weight and massaging his shoulders in comfort. “I’ll see if I can find a key for those shackles,”

        “Forget it,” Methos offered.

        “Huh?”

        “I’m sure Coven has the key as saw him pocket it after they were put on.”

        Accepting that, MacLeod checked the other room and the door he’d left ajar.  He knew it wouldn’t be long until they had company and really wanted to be far away from this place when the alarm went up.  “Can yew walk, or should I,”

        “If you suggest carrying me, I’ll hit you.”

        Turning back towards him, Duncan couldn’t help but caress his face, reaching down to lightly touch the dry lips.  “I’ve got us a horse.  I’ll get us out of here then get those shackles off yew.”

        Nodding Methos released a sigh as he stumbled forward.

        Seeing the less than coordinated movements, MacLeod ignored it as he got them out of the room and then led his stubborn companion away from the Estate.  Once hidden in the safety of the trees, he gave up all pretenses and kissed Methos before throwing the other man over his shoulder and ignoring the protests.

        “Will you put me down?!”  Methos hissed even as he felt his light-headedness increase.  He really hated being carried like a sack of potatoes.

        Deciding not to answer, MacLeod just concentrated on getting them back to where he’d left the horse.  London was a few days away, but he knew someone who could help them who was half way between this Estate and the city of London.  He just had to hope Methos would be okay for another day.

        Getting the other to his horse, he gently lay his burden down, glad when he got no further protests and he just watched the other Immortal for a long while.  The dark-haired man looked exhausted and Duncan touched his face again in reassurance.  “I’ll be back in a moment.  Don’t move.”  Duncan instructed before he got a tired nod.

        Feeling MacLeod move away, Methos rolled onto his side and forced his hand from behind his back to the front of his body and groaned his relief as he eased the pressure on his spine and shoulders.  It had been over a week since he’d been able to straighten his shoulders and the strain had been painful.  Lifting his head as he sensed MacLeod’s approach again, he sat up and gave a tired smile.  Gods!  But it was insane to feel so happy to see the mad Scotsman.

        Seeing the other’s hands were now in front, Mac crouched down and held up a cloth.  He’d soaked a strip of his shirt in the pond not far away and wanted to moisten this man’s parched lips.  Gently he covered Methos mouth, feeling his lips open as the other brought his hands up to press the wet material greedily to his sore mouth in unbelievable delight.

        Hearing a faint groan of pleasure, Mac raised a brow.  “I’ll have to remember this for next time I have yewr stretched out on my bed.” He whispered suggestively.

          Then without waiting for a comment he hauled the other man up and helped him on to the horse.  Mounting behind him, MacLeod dragged his exhausted companion closer so glad to be able to use his protective instincts as Methos just dropped his head back on his shoulder.  It still amazed him that after only one night he felt so entwined with this man that to lose him now was terrifying.

        Stopping at dawn outside a small village, MacLeod found the stone house he was looking for and walked his horse forward.  In his arms Methos was still asleep and he absorbed the others warmth hungrily, not liking the idea that he was going to wake him, but knowing he had to if they were to escape prying eyes.  He was damn lucky to have made it this far without detection or without accident.

        “Methos?”  He called softly feeling the other man tense just before he lifted his head and woke properly.

        “Sorry, did I,”

        “Yew needed it.”  Mac assured him as he slid off the sweaty animal and helped his lover down.

        “And you don’t?”  Methos asked pointedly as he could tell how tired the other man was.  He still wanted to hear more about what was happening up north, as Duncan’s explanations yesterday worried him.

        Leading the animal around the back of the house Duncan ignored that comment as he glanced around nervously, seeing Methos do the same.  Knocking softly on the wooden door, he waited before repeating the action twice more.  Eventually he heard a female’s voice call out in annoyance.  “Maggie.”  He said with a smile as he glanced at Methos, seeing his skeptical look.

        “Yes!”  A woman demanded as she flung open the door to tell off who ever was there but stopped mid curse as her eyes fell on Duncan MacLeod.  “Laddie!”  She cooed as she drew him into a firm embrace.  She kissed his cheeks soundly and dragged him inside.  Only after she’d closed the door did she run her gaze over the second man.  “Where’s that crafty cousin of yours?”

        “Up north,” MacLeod said instantly.  It was better than explaining that he didn’t know where Connor was.  He looked at Maggie and noted she’d aged harshly this last year thinking she looked every one of her forty-eight years.

        “So who’s this?”  She asked instead as she pointed to the shackles in slight mistrust.  “Please don’t tell me you’re in trouble again, Laddie?”

        “No.”  Duncan assured her as he gave her his best smile.  “It’s a misunderstanding and I was hoping yew could....” he gestured to the metal binding.

        “I suppose.”  She said as her gaze drifted back over the man in question before she saw how the Scot looked at her then at the silent man.  “It won’t be until after the morning rounds.”

        “Anything,”

        “And you’ll have to stay hidden.”

        “There is a horse outside.”

        “God almighty!”  She said as she glanced out the window.  “You know where everything is so help yourself while I hide the animal!”

        Watching her hurry out the door, MacLeod turned back to his silent partner and saw that the green eyes were watching him patiently.  “She’s a gem, I promise.”

        “I don’t doubt it.”  Methos said slowly.

        Grabbing him by the cuffed hand he pulled him forward.  “Yew know I could get to like yew in chains as it makes yew compliant.”

        Feeling washed in hot desire, Methos shook his head.  “I wouldn’t get too many ideas, MacLeod.”

        “But I already have,” Duncan breathed into Methos’ ear as he stepped closer and ran a tongue over the cold lobe.  “Let me take yew upstairs and run us a bath.”

        “In autumn?”

        “I’ll boil some water.”  MacLeod promised teasingly.

        “And what about,”

        “Maggie?”  Duncan asked, before he let his grin grow even wider.  “She’s used to me and Connor being here, so she won’t mind.”

        “But,”

        “Shh,” Duncan coaxed as he dragged his lover up the st