A Highlander romance A Highlander Romance PROLOGUE:
1999©RoryV. Pascual
Methos, currently in his guise of grad student Adam Pierson, couldn’t help but glance annoyingly at his Scottish lover, walking silently at his side. Ever since they emerged from the movie theater, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod has been sulking up a storm. Dark clouds covered those expressive brown eyes that were earlier shining with light and laughter. Already, that lush lower lip couldn’t take further abuse from those even, pearly white teeth biting down on it.
"All right!" Methos declared when they were a block and a half away from the noisy throng milling around the theater. "I give up! What did I do wrong?"
"This is not my idea of a date!" Duncan complained softly, digging his hands inside his pockets as he glared down at his spit-shined boots.
The world’s oldest living Immortal stared at him aghast. "MacLeod…" Methos always called Duncan by his last name whenever he’s upset with the younger Immortal. "This is the ultimate evening date -- watching the most romantic film of this decade. Why, a lot of couples would give an eye and a tooth just to be among the first to watch ‘Titanic’!"
Duncan stopped dead in his tracks. "But that doesn’t mean you’ll have to stand in line for five hours just to get tickets! Then, the person next to you starts mouthing off the dialogue to you word for word, having seen said movie ten times since it opened three days ago. Adam, I already knew the story before I even stepped inside the theater!"
Patiently, Methos wrapped his arm around Duncan’s, patting his hand, urging the Highlander to a slow walk.
"You have to admit it was worth it though," he commented with a sigh. "Jack and Rose were sooo romantic! Imagine, even after so many years, Rose still remembered the first man she ever loved."
"In case you’ve forgotten, Adam," Duncan pointedly reminded him, "thousands of people died when the Titanic sank. All that romantic folderol merely served as a distraction to the tragic events that were about to take place."
"I beg to differ. That ‘romantic folderol’ greatly heightened the horror of that tragedy. The people who were on board the Titanic had dreams, MacLeod. Dreams of a better life in America. Dreams of being together with family on board a fabulous vessel hailed all over the world to be unsinkable." He looked meaningfully at the Highlander. "Dreams of finding the right person you would want to spend eternity with. So many dreams died that day when the Titanic sank to the bottom of the sea. I’m truly disappointed in you, MacLeod, that you don’t remember."
"Of course I remember!" Duncan exclaimed defensively. "It’s in all the New York newspapers back in 1912."
Hearing this, Methos stopped abruptly and looked at Duncan, shock registering on his handsome features.
"I don’t believe this!" he stammered. "You really don’t remember?"
"Remember what?" Duncan was already very confused.
"April, 1912? Southampton? The Titanic?"
"Like I said, I read about it in the papers. What the hell are you blathering on about? What’s there to remember?"
Methos shook his head in sheer disappointment. His voice was trembling, as he muttered, "No wonder you didn’t like the movie."
Seeing the sorrowful look on his lover’s face, Duncan quickly held Methos’ hands, clasping them warmly in his own. "Methos, I’m sorry for being such an ass about the movie! I’m truly sorry for ruining your evening!" Smiling, he playfully peered into the ancient’s downcast hazel eyes. "Let me make it up to you. I’m sure we could salvage this night up in the loft."
Pursing his lips together, Duncan was about to kiss the older man. But Methos turned away, pulling his hands out of the Highlander’s grasp.
"I’m sorry too, Duncan," Methos answered him, "but I can’t make love to you, not until you remember what happened in 1912."
"Are you saying I was on board the Titanic? I was never on that ship! I was in New York in 1912!"
Again, Methos shook his head. "I give up!" With an exasperated wave of his hands, he started to walk away.
"Adam? Adam!" Duncan ran towards his depressed lover, blocking his way. "Adam, please! I said I was sorry! Let’s talk about this over dinner! We could watch the movie again if you like."
"Mac…" Methos raised his hand, halting the Highlander’s desperate stream of words. "I’m going straight to the loft, pack my things and maybe hie off to Bora Bora. It’s rather nice this time of year. The balmy weather would do me a lot of good."
The Scot gazed at Methos in stunned silence. When he finally found his voice, it came out as a soft squeak. "You’re leaving me? All because of a silly movie?"
"I just want to give you time to think, Duncan. To remember." Caressing the younger man’s cheek, the ancient smiled cryptically. "The story of Jack and Rose…their romance brings back a lot of memories. They may not have existed but their tale was oh so real. ‘Titanic’ isn’t based on a true story for nothing."
Saying this, the world’s oldest living Immortal strode off, leaving a very confused and very unhappy Highlander behind him.
Duncan lay inelegantly sprawled on his bed, restlessly switching the channels on the flickering TV with the remote. Unwittingly, his finger pressed the numbers for the E! Channel. At once, Leonardo DiCaprio’s youthful face appeared on the screen. The young actor was about to enter yet another theater in a long stream of movie houses, premiering his blockbuster film. The Highlander let out a low growl. In a gesture that would certainly not endear him to Leo’s fans, Duncan hurled the remote at the actor’s smiling but, to him, exceedingly disagreeable mug. The Immortal grimaced as the remote fell short of its mark and, instead, hit the TV’s power button, switching it off.
With a low curse, he turned to the other side to stare at the soft glow of the lamp on top of the night table. But his mind constantly tormented him with images of a handsome man with alabaster skin and an aristocratic nose. Duncan closed his eyes, wanting to fix the image of his lover inside his mind. However, someone in the street below chose that moment to make an impromptu singing performance.
"NEEEAAR, FAAAAR, WHEREVER YOU AAAAAARE……"
Groaning, Duncan pressed a thick pillow over his head but that horrid, gritty soprano continued to jar his eardrums. The screaming alley cats in heat four nights ago sounded better than that voice.
At this thought, the Scot’s eyes blinked open. There weren’t any cats in heat screaming in the alley that night because… Duncan felt an embarrassed flush go up his cheeks, remembering that last, magical evening he had with Methos. The things Methos showed him and how wonderful it felt.
"MY HEART WILL GOOOO OOOOONNNNNNNNN!"
Exasperated, the Highlander jumped out of the bed, still clutching the pillow. He almost tripped as the blanket caught around his legs. Freeing himself, he stormed towards the window.
"Hey! You down there!" Duncan shouted furiously, opening the window with a bang. It was a miracle the glass didn’t break. "Can’t a guy get some sleep? If you don’t shut up, I’ll sink YOUR Titanic!" He even hurled the pillow out the window and at the singer below.
Closing the window, he slid down to the floor and covered his face with his hands.
"Damn you, Methos!" the Scot cursed under his breath. "How could you leave me because of a stupid movie!"
Suddenly, the door to the loft banged open. With a frown, Duncan gazed up to see a flustered Joe Dawson standing at the doorway. Tucked under his left arm was a carefully wrapped parcel. Clutched tightly in his right hand was the pillow. Judging from his mussed up gray-tinged hair, apparently, the pillow hit its mark.
"Do you have a problem with my singing, MacLeod?" the Watcher growled menacingly.
"That was you howling like a banshee down there?" the Highlander asked. He made an exaggerated shudder. "Take my advice, Joe. Please, PLEASE stick with the Blues. You’re no Celine Dion."
Joe snorted at this sarcasm, throwing the pillow hard. Duncan caught it before it could hit his face and threw it onto the bed. "Now I’m not surprised why Methos left you."
Hearing that remark, the Scot looked at the Watcher suspiciously. "You’ve seen Methos?"
"Three days ago…before he left for God knows where. Methos was very disappointed in you. Up to now, I still couldn’t believe you broke up because of a movie."
Duncan picked himself up from the floor and began pacing back and forth across the loft. "I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. I said I was sorry. But he kept going on and on about how I had forgotten what happened in 1912. I was never on board the Titanic, Joe!" Suddenly remembering who exactly he was talking to, he queried, "Wasn’t I?"
"To tell you the truth, there’s a blank in your Chronicles during that time," Joe revealed to him. "Your Watcher back then, a woman named Christine Jenkins, wrote that she last saw you in the company of your kinsman Connor MacLeod in New York. But after that, you two vanished without a trace. You resurfaced in France in 1917 as a WW I medic."
"What does it mean? That I was really one of the passengers sailing on the Titanic?" the Scot declared in disbelief. "Even if I were, which I’m damned sure I was not, how could I ever forget the horror of a sinking ship and its thousands of dying passengers?"
"Well, Methos believes there’s something that you should remember." Joe then handed him the parcel. "Here! This is for you. Rachel Ellenstein said that I should give this to you personally."
A thick brow lifted up questioningly. "Rachel? Connor’s adopted daughter?"
"Yup! It’s probably from your kinsman." The Watcher then eagerly prodded him. "Well? Aren’t you going to open it? I’ve been itching to see what’s inside since it arrived at my doorstep this afternoon."
"It’s for me, isn’t it?" teased Duncan. "Why should I show you what’s inside?"
Joe let out an impatient groan. "Come on, Mac!"
Duncan grinned, seeing the eager twinkle in Joe’s eyes. Cutting the ties with a pair of scissors, he began tearing off the brown wrapping. "It’s probably nothing, Joe. From the feel of it, it must be a canvas of some kind."
However, removing it from its wrapper, the two men saw it was a leather-bound sketchbook. Despite its obvious age, judging from its pristine appearance, Connor took great pains to preserve it. Even the gold clasp of the leather strap shone under the light. An envelope was tucked under the strap. On top of it, Duncan’s name was written in the elder Highlander’s florid script.
"What does it say?" asked Joe, peering over the Scot’s shoulder, as Duncan opened the envelope and pulled out a note.
For the Watcher’s benefit, the Immortal read the note aloud, "‘Duncan, an old friend of yours came to see me about a very important matter, someone who I never expected to see again. It took me quite some time to find this. But when I finally held it again in my hands, I felt a shiver run up my spine. I hope this will help you to remember, as your friend believes it would. It certainly brought back a lot of memories for me. Connor.’" The Highlander then exclaimed angrily, "I don’t believe this! Now Methos has gotten my kinsman into this mess! I feel like I’m in the middle of an ‘X-Files’ conspiracy!"
Joe looked at his friend thoughtfully. "I think you’re scared."
Duncan stared at the Watcher. "Me? Scared? What do I have to be scared about?"
"That maybe there is something you need to remember, something that has a direct bearing on your relationship with Methos." Joe patted his shoulder. "Look at it, MacLeod. That’s the only thing Methos and Connor want you to do. If it doesn’t jog your memory, then they’re wrong and you’re right; that you haven’t been anywhere near the Titanic back in 1912."
For a moment, Duncan hesitated, his hands on the leather cover. He glanced at Joe, who gave him a reassuring nod. With trembling fingers, he removed the clasp and pulled the leather strap free. Slowly, he opened the sketchbook to the first page.
The Highlander could hardly contain his gasp. Even Joe’s eyes widened in surprise. The sight that greeted them was a drawing of Duncan MacLeod, clad in a shirt, tweed jacket and trousers, leaning against the railing of what definitely appeared to be the upper deck of a ship. The artist was even able to capture the despair on the Scot’s face in the close-up on the next page. There was a sorrowful gleam in his eyes, a crystal tear on his cheek. An invisible breeze lifted his shoulder length tresses up like a veil.
Turning the page, the next sketch was that of Duncan in formal Scottish wear. The Highlander looked especially dashing in a loose shirt, kilt, tartan sash over his left shoulder and knee-high boots. Duncan’s glossy mane was even capped by a tam o’shanter adorned with eagle feathers. Still, there was sorrow in the Scot’s eyes.
The next few pages were face studies. Joe wasn’t sure if the Highlander noticed it but there were subtle changes in the expression of the handsome subject. A look of mistrust and fear turning to curiosity. A hint of annoyance in the way that brow frowned and those lush lips pouted. A shy smile giving way to such a joyful, playful expression. The eyes alone showed such a dramatic change -- from deep sadness to profound happiness. It was clearly apparent to the Watcher that Duncan had not wanted to be on the ship but, ultimately, found a reason -- definitely a "someone" -- to enjoy his stay. But it was the sketch at the last page that shocked them the most.
It was a drawing of the Highlander lounging back against soft pillows on a bed. Although a towel covered his crotch, probably to preserve a modicum of modesty, Duncan was obviously stark naked. But the artist captured the Scot’s beauty perfectly – from the broad chest to the firm abdomen down to the shapely thighs. His arms were raised, framing his handsome face, hands gripping the pillow beneath his head. There was such quiet repose on the Scot’s face. His eyes gazed warmly -- lovingly? -- in front of him. Joe wondered, at the artist perhaps? But something was missing in the sketch. It came to the Watcher immediately. Duncan was not wearing a necklace or any other form of jewelry. With the exception of the necklace, the sketch would have been an exact variation of the drawing used in the movie.
A broad grin formed on Joe’s lips as he teased the Scot, "Ooh! You know, Mac? You look a hell of a lot better than Kate Winslet does! The only thing missing is that blue diamond necklace -- the ‘Heart of the Ocean’."
"There was a necklace," was the Highlander’s tremulous reply. "It was a Celtic cross on a gold chain. The cross had a blood red ruby in the center. He wouldn’t let me wear it. He told me I was free, that no man owned me. But…but he was wrong."
"Who’s ‘he’?" queried Joe, noting the distant, yet troubled, tone in the Immortal’s words. "Are you talking about the artist who made these drawings? What’s his name? Never mind, there it is! The artist’s initials and there’s a date too!"
The Watcher had pointed it out with his finger, oblivious to what was happening to the startled Highlander beside him. "Uhmmm…’M.P.’ I wonder what they stand for."
Then, suddenly, he heard Duncan whisper, "‘Matthew Pierce, April 14, 1912.’" Looking up, Joe saw that the Scot had turned ghastly white.
Joe Dawson didn’t expect he would get to see it during his lifetime but it was an experience he didn’t want to happen to him again. As the Watcher gazed at his friend, he felt his heart stop beating as Duncan MacLeod dropped down to the floor in a dead faint.
