Gundam Wing: The Highlander
CHAPTER 9 - A New Love
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence, 4xU, 4xH.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dorothy narrowed her eyes at Quatre in frustration. Not only did he refuse to turn and face her, but the wrapped gift that he held just inside his overcoat was driving her insane with curiosity.
Quatre walked through the door and into his closed antique shop, followed close behind by his assistant.
"Would you listen to me for one moment, please?" Dorothy sputtered in exasperation.
A slight nod.
"You can't hide your feelings, from me, Quatre. I've known you for entirely too long--"
Now Quatre whirled around to face her. "What feelings?" he asked incredulously.
"How about loneliness?" Dorothy suggested, a hint of a smirk coming over her face as the blonde man made a desparate attempt to conceal his true reaction.
"I'm not lonely," Quatre recovered quickly. "I've got everything I need, right here in this shop." He gestured towards the array of shelves and display cases that surrounded them.
Dorothy shook her head violently. "You know you don't. You just refuse to let anyone love you."
The shopkeeper smiled in spite of himself. "Love is for poets, my dear. I have other things to do now," he said in a softer tone than he had been using before, and leaning down to kiss the woman on the forehead. "You're such a romantic, Dorothy. You always were."
Duo Maxwell was still suffering from his evening at Jolly Roger's as he sat in his car, parked outside a building somewhere in Murray Hill. His head felt as if it was about to explode.
Drawing one shaking hand up to his face, he felt the stubble that indicated his need for a shave. With a sigh, he precariously balanced a cup of coffee while trying to work an Alka-Seltzer into a small container of water, inadvertently hitting the horn with his elbow.
Duo gasped in pain and grabbed his temples as the blare resounded through the neighbourhood, completely forgetting the scalding-hot coffee and water in his hands. The coffee spilled all over his groin.
"Shit!" he choked, eyes watering from the pain.
He was so busy trying to overcome the tears that threatened to trickle down his face that he didn't notice as Quatre entered the building he was supposed to be staking out.
Hilde, clad in only a bra and panties, pushed the curtains just slightly aside to investigate the source of the sudden horn blast. She rolled her eyes as she saw Duo leap out of the car, frantically pulling at his pants and occasionally brushing at what she hoped to be a spilled drink all over the front of them.
After a few moments of reflection on the detective's incompetence, she sat back down at her dressing table, finishing her makeup and brushing her hair with a slight nervous touch to all of her actions.
She smiled in satisfaction as she made a final check in the mirror and slipped into a sexy black dress with stiletto boots, admiring the effect from various angles. A few shocks of her short, dark hair had fallen slightly out of place, and she quickly coaxed them back to where they had been intended to be.
Hilde smoothed a few wrinkles away from her narrow waist, then inspected her appearance one last time. The overall effect was very sleek, and most importantly, very sexy.
She walked out into her glass-and-chrome living room, which was openly connected to the dining area, adjusting the place settings that sat on the gorgeous table. Slightly agitated for some unknown reason, she opened the table drawer and gazed down at the pistol that lay inside.
Carefully she cracked it open to make sure that it was still loaded. Setting it back down into its hiding place and closing the drawer, she walked over to a nearby cabinet. The hidden tape recorder inside was all set to go.
The buzzer sounded, startling her out of her last-minute preparations and checks. The cabinet door opened as she quickly started the recorder, then closed it again, took a deep breath, and went to the front door.
Through the small peephole near the top of the door, she could see that Quatre Raberba-Winner was standing outside, dressed in a suit, tie, and overcoat, holding a gift-wrapped package and a bottle.
She opened the door in a cool, nonchalant manner, smiling at her guest.
Quatre was the first to speak. "Good evening, Miss Schbeiker," he said warmly, grinning with a hint of mischief back at her.
Hilde was taken aback as she gazed into those penetrating eyes, now fixed on her. She forgot everything; the plans, the dinner, and just stood silently for a moment, under a spell of sparkling blue that held some kind of terrible mystery deep under the surface.
"Would you like to dine in the hall, or shall we step inside?" Quatre laughed.
Hilde blinked, breaking away from the enchantment. "Come on in," she managed to say in an odd tone of voice.
For just a second as Quatre made his way into the apartment, the two were so very close to each other that Hilde's heart began to pound madly inside her chest.
"May I take your coat?" she offered, regaining some of the composure that had been lost at the greeting.
Quatre shook his head absently as he looked around the apartment. "No thanks. I'll just hold onto it."
Flushed, Hilde couldn't think of what to say next. She headed towards the bedroom on an impulse, wanting to escape the awkward situation as quickly as possible.
"Where are you going?" Quatre asked, voice brimming with amused curiosity.
"I'll be right back," Hilde stuttered. "The glasses are over there."
Quatre nodded at the retreating figure and set his gift down onto the coffee table, taking off his coat and calmly sitting down on the modern chrome-and-black-leather plush couch that sat in the living room area.
In the bedroom, Hilde stared at her rigid image in the dressing table's mirror.
"I like your place, Hilde," Quatre called. A moment of silence passed. "You never told me what it is that you do for a living."
The attractive woman watched in horror as her reflection's face went white. "I hope you know what you're doing," she whispered into the mirror. Her mind raced, searching for any answer...
"I...I work for the Metropolitan Museum," she improvised, closing her eyes in a desparate attempt to calm down. What had she just gotten herself into?
Back in the living room, Quatre noticed Duo through the blinds over the window.
"In Acquisitions," Hilde continued.
Quatre's eyes flashed. Covering the room with the ease and skill of a cat, he checked the table drawer, taking in the pistol that lay inside.
"That would explain your interest in ancient weapons," he noted in a slightly cold tone of voice.
His next hunch also paid off; he found a tape recorder in the cabinet.
"Yes," Hilde laughed, feigning confidence. "Particularly the Samurai."
Quatre didn't answer, but instead opened the bottle and once again took a seat on the sofa.
Hilde finally entered, sitting down next to him, a new burst of confidence evident on her pretty face. She smoothed her skirt over her small thighs, graciously taking a glass of the enticing liquid as the man handed it to her.
"Shall we have a toast?" Hilde suggested.
Quatre nodded thoughtfully. "Yes."
He raised his glass and cleared his throat. "To the child going to bed, and the man on the stairs who climbs to his dying love in her high room..."
Hilde was transfixed by his words.
"...Let us hope that tonight, he shall find no dying, but his love alive and warm," he finished.
"That's beautiful," Hilde said in admiration. "What was it?"
The two clinked glasses.
"Dylan Thomas," Quatre answered, taking a sip of his drink.
Hilde drew the glass up to her lips and swallowed a small amount, blinking as it hit her throat. She didn't know quite what it was, but she liked it quite a bit.
Seeing her smile, Quatre felt obliged to comment. "Brandy," he said. "Bottled in 1783."
She was taken aback. "1783? Jesus, that's old," she breathed.
Quatre smiled fondly. "1783 was a very good year. Mozart wrote his Great Mass...the Montgolfier brothers went up in the first hot-air balloon...and England finally recognized the independence of the United States."
"Is that right?" Hilde asked, amazed at his knowledge of history. Who was this man who fought scarred giants, drank two hundred year old brandy, and ran an antique shop on Hudson Street?
It seemed that he was staring into her soul, seducing her in unfamiliar ways.
She suddenly noticed the package. "What's that?" she asked.
"It's for you."
"Can I open it?"
Quatre leaned back and shrugged. "If you like."
Hilde picked it up and anxiously tore off the wrapping, then found herself staring down at a book.
The blood drained from her face as she read its title.
"A Metallurgical History of Ancient Sword-making," the writing across the cover said. "By Hilde Schbeiker."
"You bastard," she choked, gripping the book tightly.
Quatre remained calm. "It's odd," he commented. "Your biography doesn't mention the Met. It says you work for the police in Forensics."
A sinking feeling overcame Hilde.
"Are you and Yuy trying to set me up for something?" Quatre demanded.
Angrily, Hilde rose and moved away from him, gazing out the window. "I don't work for Yuy," she hissed.
Quatre nodded thoughtfully. "Then why's that hippie-reject policeman sitting outside, watching your apartment?"
Indeed, as she peered desparately through the blinds, she could see Duo sitting faithfully in his unmarked car.
"Surely you remember him," Quatre continued. "Yuy's had him tailing me."
Hilde knew she was trapped. She sat close to the table containing the pistol and watched him intently as he refilled his glass, drinking as if nothing had happened. The silence that permeated the atmosphere in the room was deadly.
"What are you going to do?" Hilde asked after a moment.
"The question is, what are you going to do?" Quatre chuckled as she frowned. "Are you going to turn off the tape? Or are you going to shoot me with the .38 first?"
Hilde shook her head. "You're a real piece of work," she sighed, crossing to the recorder and ripping out the tape. She returned to the table, removed the pistol, and emptied it, casting it aside without a second thought.
"I'm not looking for a killer," she confessed. "I'm looking for a sword."
Quatre blinked at her in wonder.
"The one used on Fasil," she explained quickly. "I found pieces of it under the Garden."
Quatre nodded and stood, getting ready to leave. But Hilde was adamant as she blocked his way.
"I only want to see the Samurai," she pleaded.
"Why?"
Hilde sighed and looked just to the left of the man. "Because it's not even supposed to exist."
Quatre raised an eyebrow.
"I dated the pieces of the blade at 600 B.C. The metal has been folded over two hundred times," she told him. "The Japanese didn't even start making swords that way until the Middle Ages."
Hilde's eyes were alight with her discovery. "So where the hell did it come from, then?" she asked, her energy uncompromising. "If I could verify the existence of such a weapon, it'd be like finding a 747 made a thousand years before the Wright brothers flew!"
She paused for a moment and smirked. "With a find like that, I could get onto 'Good Morning, America,'" she said drolly.
Quatre shook his head. "This is crazy," he laughed as he ignored the woman and headed for the door.
Furious, Hilde spun him around. Now face-to-face, Quatre could smell her perfume for the first time, and realized how crazy it was driving him...
"I want some straight answers, Winner," Hilde said in a quiet tone.
"Don't you ever think about anything except what you want?" Quatre whispered back.
Before he could stop himself, he had a handful of her soft, shining dark hair, pulling her mouth onto his, kissing her passionately.
Hilde was caught by surprise as she jerked back away from him. Quatre seemed to regain himself as what he had just done finally sunk in. He quickly released her, softly touching her cheek before he left.
A breathless Hilde sat down and allowed herself to sink into the couch as the front door slammed.
Quatre's footsteps echoed off of concrete as he descended a rear stairwell of the building. He stopped on a landing, shutting his eyes as memories came flooding back to him.
All in a single flash, Quatre remembered how he and Une had left Jedburgh after the attack and moved east, settling on a farm just outside Montrose. Years became decades as Une changed, her youth fading while Quatre remained strong and healthy, never once leaving her side.
And now Une lay in his arms, breathing her last and feebly clutching a sheepskin doll. She reached an arthritic hand up to stroke her husband's ageless cheek.
"My beautiful man," she rasped. "my husband."
Quatre nodded, fighting for control as he watched her eyes fill with tears. "I am that, my love," he whispered, smoothing her grey hair with a gentle hand.
"I have...never really known..." Une breathed, then winced in pain.
"What?"
"Why you stayed," she answered, her pain evident in her speech.
A single tear escaped the Highlander's eyes. "Because I love you as much now as the day I first met you," he choked desparately, cradling her head and holding her tightly as if to keep her in this world for just a little longer.
"And I love you," Une mumbled, tears spilling down the crags and valleys of her wrinkled cheeks as she turned her face away. "I don't want to die. I want to stay with you forever."
Quatre's soul felt as if it were being tormented in the very pits of Hell. "I want that too," he whispered as he kissed the top of her head.
"Will you do something for me, Quatre?" Une asked after a moment.
"Anything, blossom."
Une's breathing became even more laboured as she continued to fade. "In years to come, will you light a candle and remember me on my birthday?" she asked.
"Aye, love, I will," Quatre vowed.
The ancient woman's tears increased in number. "I wanted to have your children," she wept, her body sagging in his arms as she clung to him desparately.
"They would have been strong and fine," Quatre assured her in as husky a voice as he could manage.
Une smiled weakly. "Don't see me, Quatre," she said, struggling to speak. "Let me die in peace."
Quatre's heart shattered as he watched his wife close her eyes, her breathing intensifying.
"Where are we?" she gasped.
Quatre smiled through the tears that had escaped him. "We're in the Highlands," he whispered to her. "Where else would we be? Running down a mountainside..."
Une smiled, and for just a moment, she was young again.
"...The sun is shining, and it's not cold," Quatre continued. "We'll swim in the loch, maybe. You've got your sheepskins on, and the boots I made for you."
Une took a final shuddering breath, and then the rising and falling of her breast was replaced by stillness. Quatre squeezed her tighter, a river of tears now spilling freely from his eyes.
"When I met you at the fair, you said I was all muck and muscle. Then you smiled...what a beauty," he whispered fondly, his grief overwhelming him. He gently lowered her to the floor, closing her eyes and taking the doll from her hand. He kissed her cheek softly for the final time.
"Good night, my bonnie Une," he sobbed. "You were always beautiful to me."
Later, he had laid Une to rest at sunset on a hill above the farm, his horse faithfully standing under a tree, watching the sad scene.
Drawing his claymore, Quatre sank its blade deep into the soft brown earth, marking his love's grave.
He picked up Solo's Samurai, eyes raking the heavens, pleading for some deliverance from his sorrow.
"You were right, haggis," he said quietly. "There will never be another."
He grimly led his horse down the hillside, his claymore left behind, standing erect in the earth. Carved into the blade, a single name glowed in the dying sun.
"MacLeod."
CHAPTER 9 - A New Love
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Author: Ravena Kaiou
Email: KakyuuStarLt@aol.com
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Crossovers: The Highlander/Gundam Wing
Warnings: OOC, language, violence, 4xU, 4xH.
Disclaimer: This series is meant to be a novelization of the Highlander Movie using Gundam Wing characters. Some things have been changed a bit, others have not. Highlander belongs to Rysher Entertainment, Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise Animation. Don't sue me! *sobs*
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dorothy narrowed her eyes at Quatre in frustration. Not only did he refuse to turn and face her, but the wrapped gift that he held just inside his overcoat was driving her insane with curiosity.
Quatre walked through the door and into his closed antique shop, followed close behind by his assistant.
"Would you listen to me for one moment, please?" Dorothy sputtered in exasperation.
A slight nod.
"You can't hide your feelings, from me, Quatre. I've known you for entirely too long--"
Now Quatre whirled around to face her. "What feelings?" he asked incredulously.
"How about loneliness?" Dorothy suggested, a hint of a smirk coming over her face as the blonde man made a desparate attempt to conceal his true reaction.
"I'm not lonely," Quatre recovered quickly. "I've got everything I need, right here in this shop." He gestured towards the array of shelves and display cases that surrounded them.
Dorothy shook her head violently. "You know you don't. You just refuse to let anyone love you."
The shopkeeper smiled in spite of himself. "Love is for poets, my dear. I have other things to do now," he said in a softer tone than he had been using before, and leaning down to kiss the woman on the forehead. "You're such a romantic, Dorothy. You always were."
Duo Maxwell was still suffering from his evening at Jolly Roger's as he sat in his car, parked outside a building somewhere in Murray Hill. His head felt as if it was about to explode.
Drawing one shaking hand up to his face, he felt the stubble that indicated his need for a shave. With a sigh, he precariously balanced a cup of coffee while trying to work an Alka-Seltzer into a small container of water, inadvertently hitting the horn with his elbow.
Duo gasped in pain and grabbed his temples as the blare resounded through the neighbourhood, completely forgetting the scalding-hot coffee and water in his hands. The coffee spilled all over his groin.
"Shit!" he choked, eyes watering from the pain.
He was so busy trying to overcome the tears that threatened to trickle down his face that he didn't notice as Quatre entered the building he was supposed to be staking out.
Hilde, clad in only a bra and panties, pushed the curtains just slightly aside to investigate the source of the sudden horn blast. She rolled her eyes as she saw Duo leap out of the car, frantically pulling at his pants and occasionally brushing at what she hoped to be a spilled drink all over the front of them.
After a few moments of reflection on the detective's incompetence, she sat back down at her dressing table, finishing her makeup and brushing her hair with a slight nervous touch to all of her actions.
She smiled in satisfaction as she made a final check in the mirror and slipped into a sexy black dress with stiletto boots, admiring the effect from various angles. A few shocks of her short, dark hair had fallen slightly out of place, and she quickly coaxed them back to where they had been intended to be.
Hilde smoothed a few wrinkles away from her narrow waist, then inspected her appearance one last time. The overall effect was very sleek, and most importantly, very sexy.
She walked out into her glass-and-chrome living room, which was openly connected to the dining area, adjusting the place settings that sat on the gorgeous table. Slightly agitated for some unknown reason, she opened the table drawer and gazed down at the pistol that lay inside.
Carefully she cracked it open to make sure that it was still loaded. Setting it back down into its hiding place and closing the drawer, she walked over to a nearby cabinet. The hidden tape recorder inside was all set to go.
The buzzer sounded, startling her out of her last-minute preparations and checks. The cabinet door opened as she quickly started the recorder, then closed it again, took a deep breath, and went to the front door.
Through the small peephole near the top of the door, she could see that Quatre Raberba-Winner was standing outside, dressed in a suit, tie, and overcoat, holding a gift-wrapped package and a bottle.
She opened the door in a cool, nonchalant manner, smiling at her guest.
Quatre was the first to speak. "Good evening, Miss Schbeiker," he said warmly, grinning with a hint of mischief back at her.
Hilde was taken aback as she gazed into those penetrating eyes, now fixed on her. She forgot everything; the plans, the dinner, and just stood silently for a moment, under a spell of sparkling blue that held some kind of terrible mystery deep under the surface.
"Would you like to dine in the hall, or shall we step inside?" Quatre laughed.
Hilde blinked, breaking away from the enchantment. "Come on in," she managed to say in an odd tone of voice.
For just a second as Quatre made his way into the apartment, the two were so very close to each other that Hilde's heart began to pound madly inside her chest.
"May I take your coat?" she offered, regaining some of the composure that had been lost at the greeting.
Quatre shook his head absently as he looked around the apartment. "No thanks. I'll just hold onto it."
Flushed, Hilde couldn't think of what to say next. She headed towards the bedroom on an impulse, wanting to escape the awkward situation as quickly as possible.
"Where are you going?" Quatre asked, voice brimming with amused curiosity.
"I'll be right back," Hilde stuttered. "The glasses are over there."
Quatre nodded at the retreating figure and set his gift down onto the coffee table, taking off his coat and calmly sitting down on the modern chrome-and-black-leather plush couch that sat in the living room area.
In the bedroom, Hilde stared at her rigid image in the dressing table's mirror.
"I like your place, Hilde," Quatre called. A moment of silence passed. "You never told me what it is that you do for a living."
The attractive woman watched in horror as her reflection's face went white. "I hope you know what you're doing," she whispered into the mirror. Her mind raced, searching for any answer...
"I...I work for the Metropolitan Museum," she improvised, closing her eyes in a desparate attempt to calm down. What had she just gotten herself into?
Back in the living room, Quatre noticed Duo through the blinds over the window.
"In Acquisitions," Hilde continued.
Quatre's eyes flashed. Covering the room with the ease and skill of a cat, he checked the table drawer, taking in the pistol that lay inside.
"That would explain your interest in ancient weapons," he noted in a slightly cold tone of voice.
His next hunch also paid off; he found a tape recorder in the cabinet.
"Yes," Hilde laughed, feigning confidence. "Particularly the Samurai."
Quatre didn't answer, but instead opened the bottle and once again took a seat on the sofa.
Hilde finally entered, sitting down next to him, a new burst of confidence evident on her pretty face. She smoothed her skirt over her small thighs, graciously taking a glass of the enticing liquid as the man handed it to her.
"Shall we have a toast?" Hilde suggested.
Quatre nodded thoughtfully. "Yes."
He raised his glass and cleared his throat. "To the child going to bed, and the man on the stairs who climbs to his dying love in her high room..."
Hilde was transfixed by his words.
"...Let us hope that tonight, he shall find no dying, but his love alive and warm," he finished.
"That's beautiful," Hilde said in admiration. "What was it?"
The two clinked glasses.
"Dylan Thomas," Quatre answered, taking a sip of his drink.
Hilde drew the glass up to her lips and swallowed a small amount, blinking as it hit her throat. She didn't know quite what it was, but she liked it quite a bit.
Seeing her smile, Quatre felt obliged to comment. "Brandy," he said. "Bottled in 1783."
She was taken aback. "1783? Jesus, that's old," she breathed.
Quatre smiled fondly. "1783 was a very good year. Mozart wrote his Great Mass...the Montgolfier brothers went up in the first hot-air balloon...and England finally recognized the independence of the United States."
"Is that right?" Hilde asked, amazed at his knowledge of history. Who was this man who fought scarred giants, drank two hundred year old brandy, and ran an antique shop on Hudson Street?
It seemed that he was staring into her soul, seducing her in unfamiliar ways.
She suddenly noticed the package. "What's that?" she asked.
"It's for you."
"Can I open it?"
Quatre leaned back and shrugged. "If you like."
Hilde picked it up and anxiously tore off the wrapping, then found herself staring down at a book.
The blood drained from her face as she read its title.
"A Metallurgical History of Ancient Sword-making," the writing across the cover said. "By Hilde Schbeiker."
"You bastard," she choked, gripping the book tightly.
Quatre remained calm. "It's odd," he commented. "Your biography doesn't mention the Met. It says you work for the police in Forensics."
A sinking feeling overcame Hilde.
"Are you and Yuy trying to set me up for something?" Quatre demanded.
Angrily, Hilde rose and moved away from him, gazing out the window. "I don't work for Yuy," she hissed.
Quatre nodded thoughtfully. "Then why's that hippie-reject policeman sitting outside, watching your apartment?"
Indeed, as she peered desparately through the blinds, she could see Duo sitting faithfully in his unmarked car.
"Surely you remember him," Quatre continued. "Yuy's had him tailing me."
Hilde knew she was trapped. She sat close to the table containing the pistol and watched him intently as he refilled his glass, drinking as if nothing had happened. The silence that permeated the atmosphere in the room was deadly.
"What are you going to do?" Hilde asked after a moment.
"The question is, what are you going to do?" Quatre chuckled as she frowned. "Are you going to turn off the tape? Or are you going to shoot me with the .38 first?"
Hilde shook her head. "You're a real piece of work," she sighed, crossing to the recorder and ripping out the tape. She returned to the table, removed the pistol, and emptied it, casting it aside without a second thought.
"I'm not looking for a killer," she confessed. "I'm looking for a sword."
Quatre blinked at her in wonder.
"The one used on Fasil," she explained quickly. "I found pieces of it under the Garden."
Quatre nodded and stood, getting ready to leave. But Hilde was adamant as she blocked his way.
"I only want to see the Samurai," she pleaded.
"Why?"
Hilde sighed and looked just to the left of the man. "Because it's not even supposed to exist."
Quatre raised an eyebrow.
"I dated the pieces of the blade at 600 B.C. The metal has been folded over two hundred times," she told him. "The Japanese didn't even start making swords that way until the Middle Ages."
Hilde's eyes were alight with her discovery. "So where the hell did it come from, then?" she asked, her energy uncompromising. "If I could verify the existence of such a weapon, it'd be like finding a 747 made a thousand years before the Wright brothers flew!"
She paused for a moment and smirked. "With a find like that, I could get onto 'Good Morning, America,'" she said drolly.
Quatre shook his head. "This is crazy," he laughed as he ignored the woman and headed for the door.
Furious, Hilde spun him around. Now face-to-face, Quatre could smell her perfume for the first time, and realized how crazy it was driving him...
"I want some straight answers, Winner," Hilde said in a quiet tone.
"Don't you ever think about anything except what you want?" Quatre whispered back.
Before he could stop himself, he had a handful of her soft, shining dark hair, pulling her mouth onto his, kissing her passionately.
Hilde was caught by surprise as she jerked back away from him. Quatre seemed to regain himself as what he had just done finally sunk in. He quickly released her, softly touching her cheek before he left.
A breathless Hilde sat down and allowed herself to sink into the couch as the front door slammed.
Quatre's footsteps echoed off of concrete as he descended a rear stairwell of the building. He stopped on a landing, shutting his eyes as memories came flooding back to him.
All in a single flash, Quatre remembered how he and Une had left Jedburgh after the attack and moved east, settling on a farm just outside Montrose. Years became decades as Une changed, her youth fading while Quatre remained strong and healthy, never once leaving her side.
And now Une lay in his arms, breathing her last and feebly clutching a sheepskin doll. She reached an arthritic hand up to stroke her husband's ageless cheek.
"My beautiful man," she rasped. "my husband."
Quatre nodded, fighting for control as he watched her eyes fill with tears. "I am that, my love," he whispered, smoothing her grey hair with a gentle hand.
"I have...never really known..." Une breathed, then winced in pain.
"What?"
"Why you stayed," she answered, her pain evident in her speech.
A single tear escaped the Highlander's eyes. "Because I love you as much now as the day I first met you," he choked desparately, cradling her head and holding her tightly as if to keep her in this world for just a little longer.
"And I love you," Une mumbled, tears spilling down the crags and valleys of her wrinkled cheeks as she turned her face away. "I don't want to die. I want to stay with you forever."
Quatre's soul felt as if it were being tormented in the very pits of Hell. "I want that too," he whispered as he kissed the top of her head.
"Will you do something for me, Quatre?" Une asked after a moment.
"Anything, blossom."
Une's breathing became even more laboured as she continued to fade. "In years to come, will you light a candle and remember me on my birthday?" she asked.
"Aye, love, I will," Quatre vowed.
The ancient woman's tears increased in number. "I wanted to have your children," she wept, her body sagging in his arms as she clung to him desparately.
"They would have been strong and fine," Quatre assured her in as husky a voice as he could manage.
Une smiled weakly. "Don't see me, Quatre," she said, struggling to speak. "Let me die in peace."
Quatre's heart shattered as he watched his wife close her eyes, her breathing intensifying.
"Where are we?" she gasped.
Quatre smiled through the tears that had escaped him. "We're in the Highlands," he whispered to her. "Where else would we be? Running down a mountainside..."
Une smiled, and for just a moment, she was young again.
"...The sun is shining, and it's not cold," Quatre continued. "We'll swim in the loch, maybe. You've got your sheepskins on, and the boots I made for you."
Une took a final shuddering breath, and then the rising and falling of her breast was replaced by stillness. Quatre squeezed her tighter, a river of tears now spilling freely from his eyes.
"When I met you at the fair, you said I was all muck and muscle. Then you smiled...what a beauty," he whispered fondly, his grief overwhelming him. He gently lowered her to the floor, closing her eyes and taking the doll from her hand. He kissed her cheek softly for the final time.
"Good night, my bonnie Une," he sobbed. "You were always beautiful to me."
Later, he had laid Une to rest at sunset on a hill above the farm, his horse faithfully standing under a tree, watching the sad scene.
Drawing his claymore, Quatre sank its blade deep into the soft brown earth, marking his love's grave.
He picked up Solo's Samurai, eyes raking the heavens, pleading for some deliverance from his sorrow.
"You were right, haggis," he said quietly. "There will never be another."
He grimly led his horse down the hillside, his claymore left behind, standing erect in the earth. Carved into the blade, a single name glowed in the dying sun.
"MacLeod."