Thunder pounded the skies as though the angels in heaven were in the heat of battle and firing a barrage of canons at the devil. The constant flashes of lightning momentarily lit up the night warning of the celestial artillery that was to come. The rain was beating down hard on the countryside miles outside of Seacouver forcing people indoors and into the safety of their homes. Everyone was taking cover, except for a lone, rain soaked figure standing out in the middle of a road on a hill.
The lane was a private drive that led to a ranch with its stables and elegant log cabin. The property with its many miles of acreage was owned by this one person and rarely did anyone travel out this way. Most didn't even know it existed. The sole occupant was a woman with large sparkling black eyes that stared up at the storm above her in wonder. Her arms were raised to the night sky and with every flash of lightning she shuddered as the power pulsed through her. Perhaps it was not as strong as the Quickening but the surge of energy was still intense and not to be wasted. This was a lesson she had tried to instill in those rare immortals she had deigned to take on as students. Few had ever listened. She cried out in ecstasy as another pulse of electricity danced through her fingertips making her feel so alive. She could have stayed there all night, but before another bolt could strike she noticed headlights off in the distance.
The vehicle was driving erratically in her direction and that coupled with the fact that no one ever came up to her ranch made the woman suspicious. Immediately she ran down the road back to her cabin. She was hoping the driver would realize they had taken a wrong turn onto private property and turn around, but they didn't. As it approached her drive she was unable to identify the car as a black Thunderbird, but not who was in it. She didn't have to ask if the driver was immortal because she could already feel that familiar sensation running through her every nerve.
She left the front door unlocked and slightly ajar then ducked into the shadows of her living room. She went to her coffee table that was made from a long trunk and opened it, taking out a matching pair of Egyptian swords. Armed and ready, she backed into the shadows and waited for her opponent to approach. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but logically anyone coming to her home on such a night as this could only be there to try and take her head. Over the centuries many had tried and many had failed. One thing she knew was that each challenge had the potential to be her last. If it was then so be it, but she would at least make the victory a well earned and costly one.
Through the narrow window she could make out a tall, muscular figure approaching the door, but they didn't seem armed. In fact, they seemed to be drunk and staggering. Even stranger, they actually rang the doorbell. Opponents looking for heads don't announce themselves by ringing the doorbell. Even so, she was not about to let her guard down. From her place in the darkness she watched as the handle turned and the door slowly opened, the figure stepping inside. In the flash of a second she swung her blades prepared to take out the intruder, only to stop as she recognized the man before her.
"Duncan!" she cried, stopping her swords centimeters before they could pierce his neck and throat. Never had she known his him to be so reckless and stupid as to come to her place unannounced and in the dead of the night. She was about to tell him so until she noticed how unkempt he was and that he reeked of alcohol. His long dark brown hair was loose and disheveled, his clothes were wrinkled and looked as though he had slept in them. His eyes were puffy and he had dark circles around them. She dropped her weapons just in time to catch him as he fell into her arms.
"She's gone," he told her, fresh tears appearing in his tired eyes. "Tessa is dead. Killed by a mugger. There was nothing I could do Anya, nothing I could do."
"It's alright," she told him, holding him to her as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. "You're safe here. I've got you."
The two immortals sat there in each other's arms for what seemed like an eternity. Duncan never noticed that Anya's long white nightgown was soaked from the rain. He only felt the pain of his loss and the endless tears that fell from his eyes. For her part, Anya did not feel like she was holding a powerful Highland warrior, but a fragile soul that was tired, shattered and possibly beyond repair. No brokenness can ever truly be fixed, but the pieces can be mended and the vessel made mostly whole again.
Gently she helped him to his feet then guided him up the stairs to one of the spare rooms. All the while he spoke of Tessa and how he had asked her to marry him and how hard he had tried to protect her. Anya assured him that she knew he had. Seating him on the bed she brushed his long dark hair out of his face and promised him that things would get better.
"No, no, it won't," he argued. "You don't know what it's like. You've never been in love, not with anyone."
These were stinging words, but she did not correct him. For as long as he had known her he had never seen her with any sort of sweetheart or even show interest so why would he believe she understood his broken heart. The truth was that twice in her life she had loved very deeply and even now the wounds of her last great romance were still raw and open.
Silently she undressed Duncan then tucked him into bed. As far as she was concerned he was welcome to stay as long as he needed so he could get back on his feet again. Softly she kissed his forehead then tiptoed from the room leaving him to sleep. Walking down the hall towards her own room, she thought how strange it was that they had been friends for centuries yet he knew almost nothing about her. The one thing he did know was that she was a safe haven where he could go and find a measure of peace. It had always been that way.
Closing her bedroom door, Anya changed out of her wet nightgown into a fresh dry one then sat down on her own and began to brush out her long black hair. Half dry, her large natural curls were beginning to reappear. She looked at herself in the mirror and marveled at how much her eyes had changed. They were the only things that changed. Thousands of years ago they were bright and full of optimism. Now they reflected a life that had lived too long and saw and experienced far too much. No one ever seemed to notice it though. All they saw was the gypsy wanderer and that was truly what she was. In fact, being a gypsy was how she had first met Duncan as well as the clan MacLeod. Funny, he had been crying then too.
Traveling through Scotland 1592 on her way to England, she had stopped along a river so her horse could rest and get a drink. Anya was just popping the cork out of her water skein when the peace was broken by the sound of a baby crying. She looked about expecting to see a mother also at the river, but there was no one there. Curious to know where the sound was coming from, Anya began to walk along the banks and discovered a basket in the tall grass. Lifting the lid, she found a small infant that couldn't have been more than a day or two old. A familiar sensation radiated through her, telling her that this child was destined to be immortal, like herself.
The baby had a shock of dark hair on it's head and was wrapped in two knitted blankets. Looking down at the innocent face she wondered how anyone could abandon anything so precious as this. She could only imagine that the mother must have been desperate to make such a decision. Lifting the infant from the basket, its tiny lips attempted to latch on to her finger and suckle. At the same time her nose was greeted by the tell-tale odor announcing that the wee one was in need of a change.
The latter she easily fixed and led to the discovery that the infant was a boy, but the former was not so simple. Being immortal meant she could never have children nor could she express milk. She had no goats or cows with her so she couldn't use their milk to feed the baby. Her only hope was that there was a farm close by where she could buy some. Following the rough cut road she did come across a cottage and there she was able to finally feed him as well as buy some to milk tide him over until they reached a town.
As she traveled, Anya found she enjoyed having a baby of her own. It was a pleasure she had prayed for since she had been mortal and held the rank of Queen and head wife to the Pharaoh Hor-Aha. Back then she had been known by another name, Anippa and it was her duty to provide him a son and heir, but she never conceived. Despite her failure her husband loved her and doted upon her even if she did not feel the same towards him. Because of his affection, Hor-Aha's second wife was jealous and wanted to usurp her rival's position. One night she pushed her off the balcony and watched with a smile as she fell to her death. It was at that moment Anya's life changed completely and she became a wanderer, and her real name forever lost to the desert sands.
Now after many thousands of years she had a child, a son. It was a joy she thought she could never have, but she also knew it couldn't last. She would not be able to give this boy what he needed most. He needed a home, a father as well as a mother, an education and a normal childhood. This was made even more important because she knew that once he had his first death and became immortal, nothing would ever be normal again. Looking down at the angelic sleeping face, she knew what she had to do. She had to find him a home.
It was late at night when she happened upon the small village of Glenfinnan. Most of its inhabitants were asleep inside their small stone huts, but there were a few of the men sitting around a fire with downcast eyes and sad expressions. As she approached, they turned their gazes up at her and stared with suspicion at the stranger as she carefully dismounted. The sleeping babe in her arms was hidden by the large shawl wrapped around her as was a dagger strapped to her side. Anya never feared anyone. She had encountered far greater adversaries than any of these Scotsmans with their broadswords. As she approached the men she could hear a woman crying from one of the huts and paused. Was this mournful cry the reason for their long faces?
"Can any of you tell me where I might find your chieftain?"
"I am the Chieftain," responded the man seated in the center. He was younger than she had expected with a thick red beard and narrow eyes that had an air of wisdom and shrewdness about them. "What do you want of me?"
"I wish for your assistance," she answered. "On a private matter." The men sitting with the clan leader chuckled between themselves over what the 'private matter' could be. She was after-all quite the beguiling lass who clearly had no husband of her own. The clan leader didn't seem to share in his friends' mirth and motioned them to leave him alone with the strange woman.
"I do not know what brings you to Glenfinnan, or what you are in need of, but my wife and I are in mourning. Come back another time."
"My apologies. No doubt you have lost a great warrior." At this description the chieftain's long face grew longer.
"Aye, no doubt he would have been," he agreed sadly. He glanced back at his house and could hear his wife's broken-hearted sobs coming from inside and his heart ached. He had no idea what this strange woman wanted and right now there were far more pressing matters for him to deal with than her. "Tonight my Lady delivered a stillborn son and I fear nothing can comfort her. Whatever it is you are needing, please seek it elsewhere."
"Perhaps I can help," Anya said, then without asking or gaining the clan leader's permission she boldly walked into his dwelling.
The chieftain's wife lay on their bed, her eyes red and swollen from crying. The midwife sat next to her and was doing all she could to console the poor young woman. Seeing the stranger come into her home, the lady of the house immediately grabbed a handkerchief and began to wipe away her tears, but there were too many and there was simply no stopping them. The midwife leapt to her feet and started to order Anya from the room, but the immortal stood firm and approached the chieftain's wife just as the clan leader came in to see what was happening.
"Nothing can ever replace your loss tonight, but I have something that might help." Anya sat down on the bed and pulling back her shawl revealed the sleeping infant in her arms.
"You would give away your own son?" The chieftain's wife asked, shocked at the very idea.
"No, dear mother, he is not mine. I found him abandoned along the road. If I could I would keep him and raise him myself, but I cannot give him all he deserves."
Suspicious, the midwife took the baby from Anya before she could hand him to the chieftain's wife and began to examine the child. In doing so the baby awoke and began to cry in hunger. Undaunted, the nurse studied his fingers, limbs, hair and lastly his eyes. She looked at Anya in fear then handed the infant back to the immortal woman. She strode over the clan leader and warned him against taking the infant. She said he was a changeling that had been left by the forest demons and should be cast to the dogs. Anya immediately denounced the nurse's claims and swore before God that the infant was no changeling. For a moment the chieftain was tempted to heed what the midwife said. After-all, he knew her well and she had delivered many babies in the clan. Her words were as good as gold.
He turned to Anya intent on sending her away, but then he saw the way his wife looked upon the baby and how her tears had stopped; he could only stand in awe. He watched the way she stretched out her fingers and touched the soft dark hair of the infant's head. Anya asked her if she wanted to hold him and the chieftain's wife could hardly hold back her 'yes'. His young bride looked so hopeful and so happy holding that baby that he knew there was no way he could ever part them. He turned to the midwife and immediately exiled her from the clan for her slanderous words towards his new son. With a look of shock and then a huff of indignation she left warning them that they would regret it. The chieftain went over and sat down beside his wife as she guided the infant to her breast where it latched and began to suckle. The new mother began to talk to her baby and tell him what a great warrior he would grow up to be and how he would lead his clan. The great future chieftain Duncan MacLeod.
"You came to me in need of assistance," the clan leader said, turning to Anya. "What is it I can do for you?"
"You have done it," she smiled. "I had hoped you could direct me to a couple who would be willing to take the child in. It seems I have found better than I expected."
With that she rose and with a smile, departed the village and Glenfinnan. After that it seemed that hers and Duncan's paths were always fated to be linked. He had never heard the story of how she had brought him to the MacLeod's, but he had always known that she was one of his truest friends. Whatever the circumstance, he knew he could come to her and she would take care of him. It was why he had come to her now that Tessa was dead.
The storm outside was dissipating and the lightning and the thunder had moved off into the distance. Anya rose from her table and went back to the spare room where Duncan was sleeping. She took the quilt from the foot of the bed then seated herself in the overstuffed chair in the corner and wrapped herself in it. She would stay close just in case he awoke and needed anything.