Author's Note: This story was original posted on the Seventh Dimension Highlander Fanfiction website in 1999. It also has the distinction of being the very first fanfiction I wrote. I decided to download the stories and post them here. Other than doing some editing to correct typos and to make it flow better, I've left the work pretty much the same as when it was originally posted. Hope you enjoy.
As always, if you like what I have written, please review or send me your comments.
Synopsis: During a trip to the island Duncan discovers a woman washed up on the shore. Little does he know she has been left there for a reason. Chronologically this story takes place sometime after the fifth season, but in a slightly alternate universe. In this universe, the "Ariman" storyline and the entire sixth season never happened.
Rated: M for violence.
BAITING THE TRAP
It was only about an hour after dawn when Duncan MacLeod jogged down the path that ran along the shoreline on the far side of his island retreat. A flash of color in the nearby water caught his attention. He thought it was probably trash discarded by some careless boater or camper. Even after four centuries of life, the immortal Scotsman couldn't understand the disregard some people had for nature. He decided to interrupt his morning exercise to retrieve whatever it was before some unfortunate animal came across it and was injured or killed.
Only it wasn't a piece of discarded trash Duncan found, but a woman laying half in and half out of the frigid water of Crystal Lake. He quickly pulled her up onto the sandy beach. The woman was mortal, and she was barely alive. Her breathing was so shallow it was almost undetectable, and her pulse was barely present. The temperature of both the air and the water were near freezing. Duncan knew without a doubt that, unless he got this woman to his cabin and warmed up quickly, she would die from exposure. He shed his jacket and wrapped it around the woman's slight body. It would provide her with some measure of warmth during the nearly mile-long hike back to his log cabin tucked away in the woods on the other side of the island.
Once at the cabin, Duncan quickly carried the unconscious woman upstairs to the loft bedroom. After stripping off her torn and ragged clothing and drying her off, he wrapped her wet hair in a towel and redressed her in a sweat suit that had been left behind by Tessa after her last visit to the cabin. He then tucked her underneath the down comforter and spread an extra blanket over her for added warmth.
MacLeod tried to keep his interest in the woman clinical. But while ministering to her he couldn't help but notice her small, slender body. She was no more than five feet two inches tall and couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds. Her curly hair would probably be dark auburn and shoulder-length when it was clean and dry. Her skin underneath its bluish tinge was porcelain with a smattering of freckles over her nose and shoulders. He estimated her age to be around twenty.
Duncan was slightly intrigued by the small, colorful butterfly tattoo located just above her right hipbone. However, he was greatly disturbed by the red welts that covered her back and the bruises that encircled her wrists and ankles. Those marks weren't created by anything she could have encountered in the lake. He didn't want to contemplate how she could have come by them.
Duncan broke from his reverie to go downstairs to retrieve several armloads of firewood from the pile just outside the backdoor. After building a roaring fire in the bedroom fireplace, he returned downstairs to start a broth using the meat from a deer he had brought down the day before.
He decided to radio the sheriff in Beaver Falls, the nearest town, to report finding the woman. The sheriff told the Scotsman that no missing person's report had been filed for a woman fitting her description. He promised to notify Duncan if one was filed.
That done, MacLeod returned upstairs to check on his guest. Her coloring was only marginally better, and her skin was still cold to the touch. Because he knew of nothing else he could do to warm her up in a short period of time, Duncan slipped off his shoes and crawled underneath the covers. He pulled the woman into the curve of his body and wrapped himself around her.
Between the blazing fire, the warm covers, and the shared body heat, Duncan soon grew drowsy and fell asleep. A slight movement from the body tucked so close to his own woke him a few hours later. Before he could extricate himself the woman screamed and a flailing fist caught him in the eye. Letting loose with a few choice Celtic curses, Duncan quickly worked his way out of the bed. The woman scrambled to press up against the headboard, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her eyes held the wild look of a trapped animal.
"My name is Duncan MacLeod. I promise I won't harm you."
She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was so dry she could only manage a weak croak.
"Don't try to speak. I started a venison broth a few hours ago. It should help you warm up some. It'll probably help your throat as well." Duncan slowly backed away from the bed. He didn't want to make any sudden movements and scare this young woman any more than she already was. "I'll just run downstairs and get you some."
When MacLeod returned to the loft bedroom, the woman was still pressed against the headboard. She had pulled the down comforter up under her chin. However, its warmth wasn't enough to keep her from shivering with cold. She shrank back even further when Duncan entered the room and approached the bed.
"Here, drink this." He set down the straight-back chair he'd carried up from the kitchen table and offered the large earthenware mug to her. "It should help you warm up a little." She tentatively reached out and took the mug from him and immediately returned to her huddled position. "Sip it carefully, it's very hot."
Duncan stepped back from the bed and turned the chair so that its back was to the bed. He sat, straddling the chair back, and watched as the young woman took a few tentative sips of the broth.
While she sipped the hot broth, she contemplated the man in whose arms she had awakened. He was tall with an olive complexion and long, nearly black hair that had been pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His brown eyes showed kindness and honesty. They also hinted at long buried pain and something else that she couldn't quite identify. She remembered the warmth and security she had felt laying in his arms before the overwhelming panic and fear had set in. She instinctively knew that she could trust this man with her life.
Finished with the venison broth, she eased away from the headboard and handed the empty mug back to MacLeod. Despite the warmth of the hot liquid she still felt chilled, so she pulled the comforter back up around her shoulders. "I don't mean to seem rude or inconsiderate, but where am I? How did I get here?"
"Early this morning I found you washed up on the other side of this island. You were nearly dead from exposure, so I brought you back here to my cabin. I dried you off and tucked you into bed. You… um… woke up in my arms because I was trying to warm you up using my body heat."
"I'm on an island? Where?" She had no idea how she could have come to be washed up on this island, much less where this island might be.
"We're on my island tucked away in the northwest corner of Crystal Lake, about ten miles from Beaver Falls, the nearest town. As to how you came to be here, I was hoping you could answer that question. By the way, I've told you my name, but I have no idea what to call you. I can't just call you 'Hey, You.' "
The young woman was silent for several minutes. During that time various emotions, including confusion and fear, showed on her face. She had allowed the comforter to slip down into her lap, and she watched her hands playing with the hem. "I'm not really sure what my name is, but 'Sarah' keeps popping into my head. I don't know if that's my name, or if it's someone I know."
Duncan moved to sit on the side of the bed. He took her chin in his hand, managing to hide his frown when she flinched away from his touch. He didn't let go of her chin, but rather raised it until her eyes met his. Green. He should have known her eyes would be a clear, grass green. "It's going to be okay. We'll just call you Sarah until we discover whether or not it's your name. Do you remember anything else, like where you're from?" Duncan released his hold on her chin and took one of her hands in his own. He rubbed his thumb gently over a section of the bruises circling her slender wrist. They looked to be marks left by something binding her wrists. "Or how you came by these bruises?"
Unbelievable fear filled Sarah. She pulled her hand out of Duncan's grasp and huddled under the comforter. Tears filled her eyes. "I don't know. I can't remember anything about myself. Oh, Duncan, I'm scared. Why can't I remember?"
Duncan pulled Sarah into his arms and held her while she cried. "You're safe. Nothing will happen to you here. I promise. As for your lack of memory, I wouldn't worry too much about that. I'm sure it will come back to you. Just give it some time." He continued to hold Sarah while she cried, whispering soothing sounds and comforting words until she fell into an exhausted slumber. He tucked her back into bed and, after feeding more wood into the fire, went downstairs to contemplate what he had learned about his guest.
It may have been true that her memory would return in time, but he wasn't so sure that it would be such a good thing. He suspected that her memory loss was due to some horribly traumatic experience. One that was undoubtedly responsible for the welts and bruises covering her body and her washing up on his island. Duncan made up his mind that he wouldn't rest easily until he discovered what had happened to this young woman who had so suddenly been placed in his care.
Over the next two or three hours Duncan spent his time reading and checking on Sarah. She was sleeping soundly with no apparent signs of ill effects from her exposure to the frigid water. He let her sleep, figuring that the rest would probably be the best medicine for her.
He soon became restless, his body yearning for activity. After shoving the living room furniture out of the way to make room for easy, unrestricted movement, Duncan stripped off his heavy flannel shirt. Dressed only in his jeans and socks, he began a series of stretching movements that soon became more and more complex and rapid. He ended one kata and began to move into another when a noise caught his attention.
It was Sarah standing at the top of the stairs. She was wrapped in the extra blanket from the bed. Even from a distance Duncan could see her swaying on her feet from weakness. He started toward her, intent on reaching her before she passed out and fell down the stairs. When Duncan reached the top of the stairs, he effortlessly lifted Sarah into his arms, blanket and all. "You're too weak to be getting out of bed on your own. You should have called for me."
Cradled as she was against his broad, muscular, sweat-dampened chest, Sarah felt a weakness that wasn't entirely due to the effects of her exposure to the elements. She sighed as she inhaled Duncan's scent – fresh air, pine trees, and that purely masculine scent that was uniquely Duncan McLeod. A sudden discomfort spreading through her abdomen reminded her of the purpose of her little trip. "Um, Duncan, I, ah, kind of need to use the facilities."
Duncan was slightly startled by Sarah's request. "I don't have in-door plumbing. The outhouse is about a hundred yards behind the cabin." He carried her down the stairs and laid her down on the couch, which had been shoved up against the far wall. "I'll just find you a pair of shoes to slip on, then I'll carry you out there. You're too weak to make it on your own." He returned a few minutes later carrying a pair of expensive-looking women's hiking boots. "These will probably be too big, but they'll serve the purpose."
Sarah wondered why this man would have women's clothing on hand. She pondered the question during the trip to the outhouse and back. After Duncan had tucked her back into bed and had brought her another mug of venison broth, Sarah asked the question that had been plaguing her. "Duncan, I've been wondering. Who do these clothes belong to? Is there someone else here I don't know about?"
A wave of overwhelming sadness washed over Duncan. He hadn't thought of Tessa Noel for several weeks. The agony and despair he'd felt after her death to a mugger's bullet came rushing back, momentarily paralyzing him, as it did whenever he was caught unprepared by the flood of emotions. "We're alone here. The clothes were left behind by my girlfriend, Tessa."
Sarah had watched has sadness swept across Duncan's features. She almost knew the answer to her question before she asked it. "Is she waiting for you at home?"
"No. She was killed during a mugging attempt several years ago. I just haven't been able to bring myself to get rid of her things. When we make it back to civilization, I'll buy you some things of your own."
Sarah nodded her understanding, silently telegraphing sympathy for his loss. "I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry."
Duncan smiled a sad smile and nodded his gratitude. "Thank you. Now I think you should go back to sleep. I'll be downstairs. Just yell if you need anything. Don't try and get out of bed on your own."
Sarah stared after Duncan as he abruptly left the room. She tried to follow his orders, but the thoughts and questions racing through her mind kept her awake late into the night. Why did she feel such a kinship to Duncan's loss? Had she recently lost someone she loved? If so, who was it and how did they die? Was that person's death related to her memory loss and how she had ended up on this island?
XxxxxxxX XxxxxxxX XxxxxxX
A week after Sarah had washed up on his island, Duncan decided she was strong enough to make the trip to Seacouver. He again contacted the sheriff in Beaver Falls to let him know they were relocating to the loft apartment over Duncan's martial arts dojo. Duncan wasn't the least bit surprised when the sheriff informed him that there still had been no missing person's report
filed for anyone matching Sarah's description. He fully intended to contact Joe Dawson and have his friend put his many resources to work finding any information he could on the young woman.
Sarah and Duncan left the cabin shortly after dawn and arrived at the dojo approximately eight hours later. Duncan was deeply concerned about her. During the trip home she had become lethargic and had developed a deep, chest-rattling cough. As soon as they reached the dojo, he tucked her into bed. After fixing her a cup of hot tea, Duncan placed a call to Anne Lindsey. She promised to come by in a few hours after her shift at the hospital.
While waiting for Anne, Duncan made a quick trip to the grocery store and fixed a light dinner. He roused Sarah from her nap, and she managed to eat a few bites before going back to sleep. He also placed a call to Joe. The Watcher listened to Duncan's story and Sarah's description and promised to find out what he could. Duncan could tell from the sound of his friend's voice that there was something Joe wasn't telling him, and it didn't bode well. Usually when Joe kept information from him, it meant there was either another immortal around or Watcher business was about to become dangerous for the immortals.
He had no sooner hung up the telephone after talking to Joe than the intercom announced Anne's arrival. Glancing over at the still sleeping Sarah, Duncan activated the elevator. When it reached the loft, he opened the grate and greeted Anne and her two year old daughter, Mary. As soon as she spotted her favorite "uncle" Mary held out her arms and launched herself out of her
mother's hold toward Duncan. He easily caught the little bundle of energy and settled her on his hip. One of her small hands clutched the back of his shirt and the other one clutched a ragged teddy bear. She grinned her most charming smile and greeted him, "Hi, Du'ca'." He smiled at her abbreviated version of his name. "How's my sweet Mary, hmm?"
Anne watched the interaction between her daughter and her former lover. She knew that she would never completely get over Duncan MacLeod, but she couldn't face the more violent and deadly aspects of his immortality. "I'm sorry, but Mary's babysitter cancelled at the last minute, and I couldn't find another one on such short notice."
Duncan settled Mary in a large antique chair and gave her a picture-filled magazine to keep her occupied for a few minutes. After promising Mary that they would play later, he pulled Anne into the kitchen area and told her everything he knew about Sarah. He then woke Sarah and told her who Anne was and why she was there. Taking Mary in his arms, he informed the two women that he was going to have a little chat with his favorite girl and took the stairs down to the dojo.
An hour later Anne took the elevator down to the dojo. Seeing that the main room was empty, she headed toward the office. She paused when she spotted her daughter curled up, fast asleep against Duncan's broad chest. A book of children's fairytales was lying closed on the desk. Feelings of pity and regret followed fast on the heels of the thought that MacLeod would have made a wonderful father.
She stepped into the office door and cleared her throat to get Duncan's attention. "Mac…" Duncan gestured for Anne to be quiet then stood and gently laid Mary on the office's couch. After covering the sleeping toddler with a light afghan, he took Anne's arm and led her back into the main room, closing the office door behind him. "Well, how is she?"
Anne sat on a weight bench. "She has a respiratory infection. I don't think it's pneumonia, but I can't really be sure without tests. When I mentioned the possibility of taking her to the hospital, Sarah nearly became hysterical. I don't think we should press the issue unless it becomes absolutely necessary. I gave her an injection, and I've written a prescription for a strong antibiotic. Get it filled tomorrow morning. She also needs plenty of rest and lots of fluids."
Duncan nodded. "What about the bruises and welts? Was she able to tell you anything about them?"
Anne shook her head. "She doesn't remember how she got them." She stood and walked over to a nearby window. Bracing her hands on the ledge she continued, "I'm not surprised that she doesn't remember. I've seen marks like those before on victims of abuse. The bruises are consistent with her having been bound hand and foot, probably with a thin nylon rope. They're almost completely healed, so I would just let nature take its course. The welts look like a leather belt or a whip could have caused them. They're still tender and are starting to scab over in places. Apply a lotion or cream containing vitamin E and aloe to them regularly, and it should help prevent any scar tissue from forming."
Anne turned back to look at Duncan. "That young woman is going to need psychiatric help, whether or not she remembers what happened to her. I'll give you the name of a good psychiatrist." She began gathering her things in preparation to leave. When she was done Duncan lifted Mary into his arms and followed Anne out to her car. After she strapped Mary into her car seat Anne turned to Duncan. "I'll stop by tomorrow to check on her. She'll be fine, Mac. You're too stubborn to let anything happen to her. And believe me, if she's going to recover from this, she's going to need all the help and strength she can get."
TBC