*************************
PRESENT:
CLONAKILTY
CO. CORK, IRELAND
MAY 1847,
3 days after Catherine and Meghan's
conversation
*************************
And now, after leaving this Meghan Marie Kineally to heal upon Byrony's
holy ground - allowing her that time without the immediate onslaught of
immortality and the bag of tricks it contained - he was back, again...
Methos sighed heavily as he left the tree line road and galloped his way
through Byrony's land, stopping in front of the house. It seemed that
the fates had decided it was time to take on another student. He only
hoped that this woman had the capacity for the life she was about
to lead. He hated seeing his efforts go to waste.
Methos dismounted from his horse, pulling the saddlebags off and flipping
them over his shoulder. He grabbed a hold of the reins, directing the stallion
toward the stables. The immortal paused, hearing the distinct sound of
spraying gravel. Methos looked down the lane and caught sight of the
youngest O'Shea running up the stony path.
"Mr. Adams," the young boy called out, waving his hand frantically.
Methos watched the "young man" come barreling toward him. The oldest
immortal bit the inside of his lower lip with suppressed amusement,
careful not to offend the child's sensibilities.
"Hello Liam "Methos greeted. The freckled boy finally reached him,
leaning over to catch his breath. Methos looked down at Liam's
fiery cap of hair, waiting for him to speak.. His eyes narrowed suddenly
as suspicion snaked across his thoughts and colored his words. "Is there
some sort of problem?"
Liam shook his head, rubbing his pudgy hands against his dirtied pants.
"No Sir, I was just playin' down in the greens, bout a quarter a mile off
when I saw yea ride by. Here, let me take care of Fury for yea."
"There's no need to disrupt your games." Methos regarded the boy's
grimy clothes, evidence to his hard at play activities. Methos also noted
that, not only could part of the field be found upon the boy's clothing, but
his face was also smudged with it's dirt.
"Beggin' your pardon Sir, but 'tis me job." Liam interrupted. He was thirteen
years old and very serious. Methos remembered the first day he had arrived
at Byrony. He had seen Liam begging his father for some sort of responsibility
with the "new owner". Methos recognized the boy's need to be useful and so
walked over to the child, asking him to look after Fury whenever he was at the
estate. Liam hadn't hesitated and grabbed the proffered reins.
"Well, you had better take him then." Methos answered solemnly, handing
the reins, once again, over to the boy. He watched the child walk the horse
toward the stable with an air of grave concentration. A smile played about
the immortal's lips. He thought it good to see the young man anxiously
resume his new position at Byrony. Methos hitched up the bags that
lay draped across his shoulder and felt one of them hit the reassuring
weight of his Ivanhoe.
He absently reached into his riding coat to touch the sword's handle.
Then taking a deep breath, he looked up at Byrony's brick facade.
Methos shook his head. He told himself that he'd put off entering
the house long enough and with that mounted the front steps, crossing
the door's threshold.
************************~
PRESENT:
CLONAKILTY
CO. CORK, IRELAND
BYRONY ESTATE
MAY 1847
************************
"Where is she? She's not here!?! You didn't *let* her leave?" Methos
demanded to know as he thundered into the kitchen.
Upon entering the house, Methos hadn't sensed Meaghan's presence. At first,
he wasn't concerned but as he canvassed the interior of the building with no
sign
of her, the immortal became *agitated*, at least that is how Methos would
describe it.
He found Catherine in the kitchen. She stood at the center island, rolling dough
upon the wood block counter. "Mr. Adams." Catherine answered, looking up at
him and not giving a further response. They stared at one another. She still
rolling, and he *anxiously* awaiting an answer. She treated the immortal with
that familiar, patient manner he had come to associate with Catherine, but that
was when she dealt with her often hyperactive grandson... waaaiiit a minute.
Methos placed his hands on his hips and turned his stare to the floor. He took
a deep breath, letting it slowly whistle through his teeth. Taking another, he
met
her gaze. This time he spoke in the calm voice that, he knew Catherine was
waiting to hear.
"Where is she?" he asked. He found himself ducking his head, mimicking an
action that he'd seen Liam do with her. It was ridiculous, but true. Catherine
seemed to have the ability to make him feel about as young as Liam when the
boy was being loud and well, just loud. But Methos wasn't struggling between
childhood and adulthood. He'd passed through his angry adolescence long ago,
so long ago that he didn't - couldn't remember it.
She'd reverted to calling him Mr. Adams. It was a mode of address that she'd
used only during their initial acquaintance. He didn't like that.
"She is outside," answered Catherine turning her attention fully back to her
work, "probably be finding her by the lake." Methos laid his hand over her
flour covered one. Catherine ceased her work, meeting his gaze.
"I *am* sorry I yelled at you." he said. Amazing, it really was amazing, he
half suspected that Catherine was a witch. He *never* found himself getting
tangled in concern over mortals', well really anyone's feelings. The woman
seemed to have the innate ability to make him do things he normally wouldn't
do, such as apologize. But Gods if he didn't find himself wanting to stay within
her favor.
"Quite all right Mr. Evan," she answered smiling up at him.
Methos returned the smile. It was good to hear Mr. Evan again. Someday
he'd work on getting her to call him just "Evan". "Thank you Catherine."
******************
PRESENT:
BYRONY ESTATE
SAME DAY
MID -AFTERNOON
*******************
Meaghan sat on the bridge railing, her russet dress billowed about her dangling
legs. She tossed crumbs of stale bread to the group of ducks floating about
the lake. The birds had decided to make their seasonal home there. She didn't
wonder at their choice, particularly since she had begun to bring them food
every morning.
"Here yea 're, yea grubbers," Meaghan said, leaning over to toss
more of the crust. She watched as the ducks hungrily devoured the
proffered meal. Meaghan laughed at their antics as they fought amongst
themselves for the bits of food.
She raised her face to the warming sun, her laughter diminishing
into small chuckles. Suddenly her laughter stopped completely as
she grabbed at her neck, shaking her head to relieve the sensation.
"Whoa whoa whoaaaaa," She cried out, slipping from the railing
and falling into the water below. A scene of scattered feathers and
rambunctious quaking accompanied her arrival into the lake's depths.
She burst through the surface of the water, gasping for air, she could
feel her dress tangling around her legs. "Help! Help me!" She cried
out, flailing her arms and trying to remain above the surface.
A loud splash broke over to her right and she twisted her head to
see what it was. Suddenly strong hands gripped her around the waist
and a head burst out of the water. She didn't recognize him and she
didn't care. She was caught within a haze of fear.
"Please, get me out of here! I cannae swim!" she pleaded, gripping
the man's forearms to help hold herself above the water.
The man spit some of the lake water out of his mouth, and shook
his head, the excess water raining down into Meaghan's face. "Calm
down," He said as he began to pull her towards the shore.
Meaghan dug her nails into his arms, leeching herself to him. "Owww," he
cried, trying to pull her claws out of him.
"Stop. Stop it!" He yelled. They twisted around in the water,
him trying to save his arms, and she trying not to drown, clinging
to him with a death grip. Finally, he stopped moving.
"Ah ha." He called out triumphantly, holding her wrists cuffed
within his hands and away from his body. Both of them gasped
for air as they took a moment's reprieve from their over - exerted
struggles.
He began to rise out of the water like a hovering spirit. Meaghan
watched in stunned credulity. He was floating above her! He
leaned down to her face, his mouth brushing against the damp
hair that covered her ear.
"You can stand here." he whispered to her. Meaghan kicked
the cloying cloth of her dress away from her legs and stretched her
feet toward the bottom. She didn't have to move them far, because
she soon found herself... squatting in the lake. Her feet were now
placed firmly within the mucky floor.
Meaghan began to shoot herself up, out of the water just as the
man pulled her by the wrists. She rocketed towards him, into
him. Suddenly she felt her wrists being pulled... down as he fell back,
her momentum pushing him... and his grip pulling her along with him. She
landed on top of him, a big splash accompanying their fall.
"Bloody Hell!" She heard him cry out as they hit the water again.
Meaghan gave out a piercing scream to accompany their descent
into the now muck stirred lake. Meaghan soon found herself twisted
around, arms encircling her waist as both of them emerged from
under the water, coughing out its gritty taste. She gasped, trying to
suck in the air. Her hair fell into her face, gluing to her skin. She gave
a toss to her head to get the black strands out of her eyes.
"Watch it!" said the man who was trudging through the lake," You
just slapped me with that hair of yours."
"Sorry," she said, wiping the remaining hair out of her face. The water
made sloshing sounds as he held her. His chest against her back, he
walked them both to shore. They were three feet from the bank when
Meaghan pulled out of his embrace. " Thank yea."
"Thank yea!," She said over her shoulder as he still held her. She
was angry, well really humiliated more than anything. "I can make
it from here."
"You think," he asked. She could hear the sarcasm dripping from
his voice. But he let her go and she stumbled onto the bank, climbing
up to the bushy grass. She then proceeded to kiss the ground, then
tossed herself onto her back landing upon the green embankment.
"Ahh land, it be the best thing on earth," she sighed. Meaghan began
to cough as some of the remaining lake water demanded release
from her lungs.
She heard a thud beside her. He spoke, " An excellent idea."
They both just lay there, soaking in the heat, feeling the sun
beat down on them and begin to dry their soaked clothing.
"Gods," He muttered," I hope this isn't trend setting."
"What did yea be saying, " Meaghan asked turning her head towards
him. She saw that they lay side by side with only a bit of grass separating
them. She looked at his profile. It was striking. From what she could
see, he had high chiseled cheek bones and a rather large nose that seemed
to stab the sky. Well, it seemed that way from this angle. He lay there
with his eyes closed.
"Mmm." he moaned in answer, rubbing the back of his head against
the warm fragrant grass.
"Sorry for yea havin' to take a plunge. "Meaghan said, "Thank yea for
savin' me."
The man finally turned his head to face her, opening his eyes. She
gasped, that face. She remembered him now. He hadn't looked much
different from the first time that she'd seen him on that rain stormed day.
The lake water still clung to his black hair, leaving drops of it to slid down
his
angled features. Meaghan saw that his nose really wasn't as big as it had
appeared. It fit him.
She looked at his eyes... they had a rim of green, graduating to a hazel
sort of color in the centre*. They seemed to mirror the surrounding shades
of the flora. Her eyes traveled down his body. She couldn't help noticing
how his wet clothes ( from his black breeches to his white, now transparent
shirt) molded to his strong physique. He was a gentleman to be sure, if
clothes were anything to go by -- a very attractive gentleman. She looked
back to his face and found him watching her. She blushed, turning her head
away from his penetrating gaze.
"You're Mr. Evan," Meaghan said, staring at the patch of ground
between them.
"Actually ,yes. I am Evan Adams," he answered, grabbing her chin
between his thumb and forefinger. Meaghan shuddered, remembering
the first time he had done that. It was a totally different experience
then... too different. Her stomach felt funny and she didn't like that.
"You have healed. I wouldn't believe you were the same person if I
didn't know otherwise. And… you may call me Evan."
Meaghan hastily pulled out of his callused fingers. His hands certainly
didn't feel like the soft "gentlemanly" pads she'd expected them to be. She
scrambled to her feet, walking under the shade of an oak. She saw Evan
watch her from the edge of the river. He confused her. It seems, again, he
had saved her life. Would she ever stop owing him. She walked the distance
back to him. At her second step, she felt her head explode with sensation.
She fell to the ground, onto her knees.
"Ah," Meaghan gasped, holding her head. She heard a rustle of the grass
and then saw one of Evan's booted legs block her perusal of the ground. His
shadow fell over her. Suddenly she felt very afraid, inexplicably so. She pushed
herself backward, away from him.
"What is this?" Meaghan asked, fear coloring her words. "Who are yea
and what are yea doing to me?"
"I am not doing it to you." Evan answered. "Don't be afraid... of me
anyway."
******************
PRESENT:
MAY 1847
BYRONY ESTATE
LATER THAT DAY,
JUST AFTER DUSK...
*******************
Meaghan sat in the library stunned. What could she say? How? But he
said how didn't he, "No one knows."
She closed her eyes, and let her face fall to her knees. Meaghan began to
rock, trying to block out what he said. She wouldn't, couldn't believe him.
"No."
"Excuse me? What was that?" Evan asked. She looked up and watched
him turn from the window, leaving the newly darkened sky behind him.
"No. Yea must be wrong. Immortality... we are not angels." Meaghan said, her
voice taking on strength, then deflating. "We are not angels," she finished
in a whisper. They couldn't be. How cruel could God be to her? Take away
everything she ever loved, put her through such… such... only to have her work
for..."
"No we're not angels, but that doesn't make us any less than what we are,"
Evan said, interrupting her thoughts. He took a seat beside her. "Tell me, how
do you explain away your sensing me, your speedy recovery... no "mortal" could
heal as fast as you, none. Don't tell me you haven't thought it strange."
Meaghan's head shot up," I... I don't know....yea 're tellin' me I died. If I
did,
why wasna I aware of it? Tell me *that*."
"I can't say for certain, but you must have received some type of injury, add
that with the starvation and. . ." Evan sighed, she could hear his irritation.
"I'm sorry, do I upset yea? I wouldna want to intrude anymore on yea time. I'll
just
be leavin'." Meaghan flared and got up, walking towards the door. She finished
in a
whisper, "Yea crazy anyway."
Evan followed, gripping her arm and swinging her back. She crashed into his
chest
His tone was hard as steel. " Listen to me and listen to me good. If you leave
here
now, you will die. Yes! And I don't mean of old age or sickness... someone will
come
along and cut your pretty head from your shoulders. Yes! You... will ... die,
Yes! Just as
surely as I stand before you now and just as surely as I have described."
Meaghan struggled in his hold. She twisted her head back and forth, denying his
words. " I don't believe yea, I don't believe yea!!!"
Evan's hand brushed between their bodies as he reached down. He stared
at her, his eyes turning a darker shade of green with his intent. His eyes
seemed
to bore into her own. Meaghan froze, fear coming into her heart. He wouldn't...
No,
not him too, not him...
***********************************************************
FLASHBACK:
JANUARY 1847
WORK HOUSE
"Ya, you feel this ," asked the Work officer, pressing himself against her," I
tell
ya what, it's your choice. What would ya prefer?"
************************************************************
Evan continued to reach down, his hand brushing the side of her body. She
watched
his eyes, trapped within the hazel maze of fluctuating colors. Her body shook,
she waited for him to touch her... seconds crept by, the mantel clock sounded
with slow, heavy ticks.
He rose a booted leg. It slid up the length of her thigh. She shook her head.
She'd trusted him, or at least had begun to... She couldn't take it anymore. She
was all fearful confusion. He slowly lowered his leg, never breaking eye contact
with Meaghan. Evan raised his hand, holding it up to show her it. His palm was
not empty.
She began to struggle in earnest. She now saw, gripped within his palm,
a dagger. He must have pulled it from the inside of his riding boot.
She couldn't break free. His hand banded her to him.
"Shhh, don't be afraid," He told her. She watched him bring the dagger up...
higher and higher... raising it between them... and then he plunged it into his
heart.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH," Meaghan screamed as he feel back, finally releasing
her. She watched him fall against a chair. It skidded across the carpet and his
body fell to the floor.
"What have yea done!?! What have yea done!?!" Meaghan cried, falling
to her knees. She pulled the dagger out of his chest, and the blood began to
flow faster.
"I, ah ,I ah," she muttered to herself looking around the room , looking for
something to stop the bleeding. She looked down at the hem of her dress.
She bunched it up, straddling his body, she pressed as much of the material
as she could against the wound.
Meaghan was crying, senseless, afraid. "Oh God no, Oh God NOoooo." He
was dead, she knew it. She couldn't feel him, the sensation had slipped away
to nothing. Regardless, she couldn't stop pressing against the wound, tears
blinding her. She had to stop the bleeding... had to stop it. She saw blood
all around her.
"No, don't be dead, don't be dead, "She chanted.
Meaghan was suddenly bucked by the body beneath her, her head burst with a
sizzling hum, it overpowered her, disorienting at first. She screamed again,
sliding off of him and crab walking backward until she hit the far wall. A book
fell from the shelf, landing a few feet beside her. She yelped, then heard him
moan. Meaghan watched him turn to his side and curl up his body.
"Ugh," Evan groaned again. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. He was
living and breathing... again. It wasn't possible.. it wasn't!
Suddenly she got angry and crawled back over to him as he sat up. She
saw him look at her as she approached him. When she reached Evan,
she raised her palm and slapped his face. She made to slap him again,
but stilled her hand when she saw the kindling of anger within his eyes.
"Oh no, you won't get a second chance to do that again." He said gasping
as he continued to recover. She could see the red welt of her fingers on his
face and just as fast as she saw them faded away.
"How could this be? How could this be!?!" Meaghan cried dropping her head
against his shoulder. She felt him reach his arms around her, crushing her to
him.
She desperately needed his warmth, his reassurance. She paid no heed to the
bloodied mess around her. She was feeling cold as shock tried to intrude
upon her. Meaghan could feel the steady thud of his heart against
her own chest, a heart that should not have been beating.
Could what he said be true? How could she deny it? Meaghan's skin
tingled as if pin pricks rolled across her skin. Shock and the unreality
of it all had settled around her, but accompanying those two feelings
was acceptance. She accepted what Evan said as truth, a completely
disarming truth. She wept.
"Shh, " He said as he stroked her hair.
"Ouch," Meaghan cried. She tried to pull back from him. "Ouch!... "Don't be
movin... wait," she ordered, grabbing his shoulder. She then gripped his hand
and slowly began to extricate it from her tangled strands.
"Mphffff, hehehee," She heard him start to laugh.
"Wait, stop, it's caught around yea rin..hin..ggg hehe, yea ring," She
ended in giggles herself. "Ah, there," She declared with triumph, as tears
of despair slipped into a release of hysteric laughter. It took her a
moment to get herself under control and the warm chuckles of Evan
didn't help her attain it.
"You can let go my hand now." Evan reminded her. Meaghan blushed,
relinquishing his palm. She finally sobered, staring at him.
"So, it's true then, everything yea've said... holy ground, sword
fighting, ...." Meaghan pleaded one last time for him to
negate what he told her, "There can be only one?"
Evan shook his head and simply answered her. "Yes."
Meaghan took in a deep breath. It was too much. It was always too
much. She looked at him, cocking her head as a question clamored
within her, demanding to be asked. "How long have *you* been
alive?"
She saw him freeze, almost imperceptibly... then he answered
her. "Longer than a mortal life."
"What does that mean? How long have you kept your...
your head?" Meaghan let go of his arm, pulling back to look
fully upon him. "Immortality, it be forever. ...How long has forever
been for you? ...A hundred years? ... A thousand?"
She watched Evan's eyes hardened, but he answered
her." Longer than most."
Meaghan recoiled. She drug herself off the floor and walked over
to the room's fireplace. The cackle of burning wood drew
her gaze to the jumping flames. She was emotionally drained and
Evan's short, cryptic answers had stung her. 'Let him keep his
secret.' she thought. She was suppose to trust *him*?... with her life?
...and yet he was showing that he did not trust *her*? 'Well, so
be it.'
Silence lay across the room, stretching into minutes as
neither Meaghan nor Evan moved. Finally she turned from the
fire and walked back. She knelt before him. He watched her.
She had felt his persisting look even before she'd turned from
the flames, but she would face him when she was ready and
so... now she was.
She squared her shoulders as she pushed some more offending
hair out of her eyes. She returned his gaze. "Well, I suppose since
yea be choosin' to teach me rather than kill me, we should be
startin' the trainin'."
Evan stood up. Only the tell - tale sign of blood left
witness of his recent death. He moved without a hint of pain, and
she was sure that there was none. Evan held his hand out
to her and Meaghan clasped it. He spoke with edged steel. "If I had
chosen to kill you, you never would have lived beyond that wretched
storm." Evan's voice softened, " There are things that... I... It
isn't that I don't trust you... I know you think that. It isn't
you... I do not trust anyone, experience has taught me that
lesson."
Meaghan looked up at him, squeezing his hand... gone was the anger
and in its place, a sense of understanding. "That be very sad indeed. I
have had things happen to me within one year that could equal a lifetime
of heartaches, of mistrust... at least, a mortal lifetime... and yet, I am still
willing to trust... To trust *yea*. Perhaps one day experience will teach yea
a new lesson."
"Perhaps," was Evan's response as he pulled her to her feet. She
was beginning to think he would be always doing that. And damned
if that thought didn't come true.
PRESENT:
CLONAKILTY
CO. CORK, IRELAND
MAY 1847,
3 days after Catherine and Meghan's
conversation
*************************
And now, after leaving this Meghan Marie Kineally to heal upon Byrony's
holy ground - allowing her that time without the immediate onslaught of
immortality and the bag of tricks it contained - he was back, again...
Methos sighed heavily as he left the tree line road and galloped his way
through Byrony's land, stopping in front of the house. It seemed that
the fates had decided it was time to take on another student. He only
hoped that this woman had the capacity for the life she was about
to lead. He hated seeing his efforts go to waste.
Methos dismounted from his horse, pulling the saddlebags off and flipping
them over his shoulder. He grabbed a hold of the reins, directing the stallion
toward the stables. The immortal paused, hearing the distinct sound of
spraying gravel. Methos looked down the lane and caught sight of the
youngest O'Shea running up the stony path.
"Mr. Adams," the young boy called out, waving his hand frantically.
Methos watched the "young man" come barreling toward him. The oldest
immortal bit the inside of his lower lip with suppressed amusement,
careful not to offend the child's sensibilities.
"Hello Liam "Methos greeted. The freckled boy finally reached him,
leaning over to catch his breath. Methos looked down at Liam's
fiery cap of hair, waiting for him to speak.. His eyes narrowed suddenly
as suspicion snaked across his thoughts and colored his words. "Is there
some sort of problem?"
Liam shook his head, rubbing his pudgy hands against his dirtied pants.
"No Sir, I was just playin' down in the greens, bout a quarter a mile off
when I saw yea ride by. Here, let me take care of Fury for yea."
"There's no need to disrupt your games." Methos regarded the boy's
grimy clothes, evidence to his hard at play activities. Methos also noted
that, not only could part of the field be found upon the boy's clothing, but
his face was also smudged with it's dirt.
"Beggin' your pardon Sir, but 'tis me job." Liam interrupted. He was thirteen
years old and very serious. Methos remembered the first day he had arrived
at Byrony. He had seen Liam begging his father for some sort of responsibility
with the "new owner". Methos recognized the boy's need to be useful and so
walked over to the child, asking him to look after Fury whenever he was at the
estate. Liam hadn't hesitated and grabbed the proffered reins.
"Well, you had better take him then." Methos answered solemnly, handing
the reins, once again, over to the boy. He watched the child walk the horse
toward the stable with an air of grave concentration. A smile played about
the immortal's lips. He thought it good to see the young man anxiously
resume his new position at Byrony. Methos hitched up the bags that
lay draped across his shoulder and felt one of them hit the reassuring
weight of his Ivanhoe.
He absently reached into his riding coat to touch the sword's handle.
Then taking a deep breath, he looked up at Byrony's brick facade.
Methos shook his head. He told himself that he'd put off entering
the house long enough and with that mounted the front steps, crossing
the door's threshold.
************************~
PRESENT:
CLONAKILTY
CO. CORK, IRELAND
BYRONY ESTATE
MAY 1847
************************
"Where is she? She's not here!?! You didn't *let* her leave?" Methos
demanded to know as he thundered into the kitchen.
Upon entering the house, Methos hadn't sensed Meaghan's presence. At first,
he wasn't concerned but as he canvassed the interior of the building with no
sign
of her, the immortal became *agitated*, at least that is how Methos would
describe it.
He found Catherine in the kitchen. She stood at the center island, rolling dough
upon the wood block counter. "Mr. Adams." Catherine answered, looking up at
him and not giving a further response. They stared at one another. She still
rolling, and he *anxiously* awaiting an answer. She treated the immortal with
that familiar, patient manner he had come to associate with Catherine, but that
was when she dealt with her often hyperactive grandson... waaaiiit a minute.
Methos placed his hands on his hips and turned his stare to the floor. He took
a deep breath, letting it slowly whistle through his teeth. Taking another, he
met
her gaze. This time he spoke in the calm voice that, he knew Catherine was
waiting to hear.
"Where is she?" he asked. He found himself ducking his head, mimicking an
action that he'd seen Liam do with her. It was ridiculous, but true. Catherine
seemed to have the ability to make him feel about as young as Liam when the
boy was being loud and well, just loud. But Methos wasn't struggling between
childhood and adulthood. He'd passed through his angry adolescence long ago,
so long ago that he didn't - couldn't remember it.
She'd reverted to calling him Mr. Adams. It was a mode of address that she'd
used only during their initial acquaintance. He didn't like that.
"She is outside," answered Catherine turning her attention fully back to her
work, "probably be finding her by the lake." Methos laid his hand over her
flour covered one. Catherine ceased her work, meeting his gaze.
"I *am* sorry I yelled at you." he said. Amazing, it really was amazing, he
half suspected that Catherine was a witch. He *never* found himself getting
tangled in concern over mortals', well really anyone's feelings. The woman
seemed to have the innate ability to make him do things he normally wouldn't
do, such as apologize. But Gods if he didn't find himself wanting to stay within
her favor.
"Quite all right Mr. Evan," she answered smiling up at him.
Methos returned the smile. It was good to hear Mr. Evan again. Someday
he'd work on getting her to call him just "Evan". "Thank you Catherine."
******************
PRESENT:
BYRONY ESTATE
SAME DAY
MID -AFTERNOON
*******************
Meaghan sat on the bridge railing, her russet dress billowed about her dangling
legs. She tossed crumbs of stale bread to the group of ducks floating about
the lake. The birds had decided to make their seasonal home there. She didn't
wonder at their choice, particularly since she had begun to bring them food
every morning.
"Here yea 're, yea grubbers," Meaghan said, leaning over to toss
more of the crust. She watched as the ducks hungrily devoured the
proffered meal. Meaghan laughed at their antics as they fought amongst
themselves for the bits of food.
She raised her face to the warming sun, her laughter diminishing
into small chuckles. Suddenly her laughter stopped completely as
she grabbed at her neck, shaking her head to relieve the sensation.
"Whoa whoa whoaaaaa," She cried out, slipping from the railing
and falling into the water below. A scene of scattered feathers and
rambunctious quaking accompanied her arrival into the lake's depths.
She burst through the surface of the water, gasping for air, she could
feel her dress tangling around her legs. "Help! Help me!" She cried
out, flailing her arms and trying to remain above the surface.
A loud splash broke over to her right and she twisted her head to
see what it was. Suddenly strong hands gripped her around the waist
and a head burst out of the water. She didn't recognize him and she
didn't care. She was caught within a haze of fear.
"Please, get me out of here! I cannae swim!" she pleaded, gripping
the man's forearms to help hold herself above the water.
The man spit some of the lake water out of his mouth, and shook
his head, the excess water raining down into Meaghan's face. "Calm
down," He said as he began to pull her towards the shore.
Meaghan dug her nails into his arms, leeching herself to him. "Owww," he
cried, trying to pull her claws out of him.
"Stop. Stop it!" He yelled. They twisted around in the water,
him trying to save his arms, and she trying not to drown, clinging
to him with a death grip. Finally, he stopped moving.
"Ah ha." He called out triumphantly, holding her wrists cuffed
within his hands and away from his body. Both of them gasped
for air as they took a moment's reprieve from their over - exerted
struggles.
He began to rise out of the water like a hovering spirit. Meaghan
watched in stunned credulity. He was floating above her! He
leaned down to her face, his mouth brushing against the damp
hair that covered her ear.
"You can stand here." he whispered to her. Meaghan kicked
the cloying cloth of her dress away from her legs and stretched her
feet toward the bottom. She didn't have to move them far, because
she soon found herself... squatting in the lake. Her feet were now
placed firmly within the mucky floor.
Meaghan began to shoot herself up, out of the water just as the
man pulled her by the wrists. She rocketed towards him, into
him. Suddenly she felt her wrists being pulled... down as he fell back,
her momentum pushing him... and his grip pulling her along with him. She
landed on top of him, a big splash accompanying their fall.
"Bloody Hell!" She heard him cry out as they hit the water again.
Meaghan gave out a piercing scream to accompany their descent
into the now muck stirred lake. Meaghan soon found herself twisted
around, arms encircling her waist as both of them emerged from
under the water, coughing out its gritty taste. She gasped, trying to
suck in the air. Her hair fell into her face, gluing to her skin. She gave
a toss to her head to get the black strands out of her eyes.
"Watch it!" said the man who was trudging through the lake," You
just slapped me with that hair of yours."
"Sorry," she said, wiping the remaining hair out of her face. The water
made sloshing sounds as he held her. His chest against her back, he
walked them both to shore. They were three feet from the bank when
Meaghan pulled out of his embrace. " Thank yea."
"Thank yea!," She said over her shoulder as he still held her. She
was angry, well really humiliated more than anything. "I can make
it from here."
"You think," he asked. She could hear the sarcasm dripping from
his voice. But he let her go and she stumbled onto the bank, climbing
up to the bushy grass. She then proceeded to kiss the ground, then
tossed herself onto her back landing upon the green embankment.
"Ahh land, it be the best thing on earth," she sighed. Meaghan began
to cough as some of the remaining lake water demanded release
from her lungs.
She heard a thud beside her. He spoke, " An excellent idea."
They both just lay there, soaking in the heat, feeling the sun
beat down on them and begin to dry their soaked clothing.
"Gods," He muttered," I hope this isn't trend setting."
"What did yea be saying, " Meaghan asked turning her head towards
him. She saw that they lay side by side with only a bit of grass separating
them. She looked at his profile. It was striking. From what she could
see, he had high chiseled cheek bones and a rather large nose that seemed
to stab the sky. Well, it seemed that way from this angle. He lay there
with his eyes closed.
"Mmm." he moaned in answer, rubbing the back of his head against
the warm fragrant grass.
"Sorry for yea havin' to take a plunge. "Meaghan said, "Thank yea for
savin' me."
The man finally turned his head to face her, opening his eyes. She
gasped, that face. She remembered him now. He hadn't looked much
different from the first time that she'd seen him on that rain stormed day.
The lake water still clung to his black hair, leaving drops of it to slid down
his
angled features. Meaghan saw that his nose really wasn't as big as it had
appeared. It fit him.
She looked at his eyes... they had a rim of green, graduating to a hazel
sort of color in the centre*. They seemed to mirror the surrounding shades
of the flora. Her eyes traveled down his body. She couldn't help noticing
how his wet clothes ( from his black breeches to his white, now transparent
shirt) molded to his strong physique. He was a gentleman to be sure, if
clothes were anything to go by -- a very attractive gentleman. She looked
back to his face and found him watching her. She blushed, turning her head
away from his penetrating gaze.
"You're Mr. Evan," Meaghan said, staring at the patch of ground
between them.
"Actually ,yes. I am Evan Adams," he answered, grabbing her chin
between his thumb and forefinger. Meaghan shuddered, remembering
the first time he had done that. It was a totally different experience
then... too different. Her stomach felt funny and she didn't like that.
"You have healed. I wouldn't believe you were the same person if I
didn't know otherwise. And… you may call me Evan."
Meaghan hastily pulled out of his callused fingers. His hands certainly
didn't feel like the soft "gentlemanly" pads she'd expected them to be. She
scrambled to her feet, walking under the shade of an oak. She saw Evan
watch her from the edge of the river. He confused her. It seems, again, he
had saved her life. Would she ever stop owing him. She walked the distance
back to him. At her second step, she felt her head explode with sensation.
She fell to the ground, onto her knees.
"Ah," Meaghan gasped, holding her head. She heard a rustle of the grass
and then saw one of Evan's booted legs block her perusal of the ground. His
shadow fell over her. Suddenly she felt very afraid, inexplicably so. She pushed
herself backward, away from him.
"What is this?" Meaghan asked, fear coloring her words. "Who are yea
and what are yea doing to me?"
"I am not doing it to you." Evan answered. "Don't be afraid... of me
anyway."
******************
PRESENT:
MAY 1847
BYRONY ESTATE
LATER THAT DAY,
JUST AFTER DUSK...
*******************
Meaghan sat in the library stunned. What could she say? How? But he
said how didn't he, "No one knows."
She closed her eyes, and let her face fall to her knees. Meaghan began to
rock, trying to block out what he said. She wouldn't, couldn't believe him.
"No."
"Excuse me? What was that?" Evan asked. She looked up and watched
him turn from the window, leaving the newly darkened sky behind him.
"No. Yea must be wrong. Immortality... we are not angels." Meaghan said, her
voice taking on strength, then deflating. "We are not angels," she finished
in a whisper. They couldn't be. How cruel could God be to her? Take away
everything she ever loved, put her through such… such... only to have her work
for..."
"No we're not angels, but that doesn't make us any less than what we are,"
Evan said, interrupting her thoughts. He took a seat beside her. "Tell me, how
do you explain away your sensing me, your speedy recovery... no "mortal" could
heal as fast as you, none. Don't tell me you haven't thought it strange."
Meaghan's head shot up," I... I don't know....yea 're tellin' me I died. If I
did,
why wasna I aware of it? Tell me *that*."
"I can't say for certain, but you must have received some type of injury, add
that with the starvation and. . ." Evan sighed, she could hear his irritation.
"I'm sorry, do I upset yea? I wouldna want to intrude anymore on yea time. I'll
just
be leavin'." Meaghan flared and got up, walking towards the door. She finished
in a
whisper, "Yea crazy anyway."
Evan followed, gripping her arm and swinging her back. She crashed into his
chest
His tone was hard as steel. " Listen to me and listen to me good. If you leave
here
now, you will die. Yes! And I don't mean of old age or sickness... someone will
come
along and cut your pretty head from your shoulders. Yes! You... will ... die,
Yes! Just as
surely as I stand before you now and just as surely as I have described."
Meaghan struggled in his hold. She twisted her head back and forth, denying his
words. " I don't believe yea, I don't believe yea!!!"
Evan's hand brushed between their bodies as he reached down. He stared
at her, his eyes turning a darker shade of green with his intent. His eyes
seemed
to bore into her own. Meaghan froze, fear coming into her heart. He wouldn't...
No,
not him too, not him...
***********************************************************
FLASHBACK:
JANUARY 1847
WORK HOUSE
"Ya, you feel this ," asked the Work officer, pressing himself against her," I
tell
ya what, it's your choice. What would ya prefer?"
************************************************************
Evan continued to reach down, his hand brushing the side of her body. She
watched
his eyes, trapped within the hazel maze of fluctuating colors. Her body shook,
she waited for him to touch her... seconds crept by, the mantel clock sounded
with slow, heavy ticks.
He rose a booted leg. It slid up the length of her thigh. She shook her head.
She'd trusted him, or at least had begun to... She couldn't take it anymore. She
was all fearful confusion. He slowly lowered his leg, never breaking eye contact
with Meaghan. Evan raised his hand, holding it up to show her it. His palm was
not empty.
She began to struggle in earnest. She now saw, gripped within his palm,
a dagger. He must have pulled it from the inside of his riding boot.
She couldn't break free. His hand banded her to him.
"Shhh, don't be afraid," He told her. She watched him bring the dagger up...
higher and higher... raising it between them... and then he plunged it into his
heart.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH," Meaghan screamed as he feel back, finally releasing
her. She watched him fall against a chair. It skidded across the carpet and his
body fell to the floor.
"What have yea done!?! What have yea done!?!" Meaghan cried, falling
to her knees. She pulled the dagger out of his chest, and the blood began to
flow faster.
"I, ah ,I ah," she muttered to herself looking around the room , looking for
something to stop the bleeding. She looked down at the hem of her dress.
She bunched it up, straddling his body, she pressed as much of the material
as she could against the wound.
Meaghan was crying, senseless, afraid. "Oh God no, Oh God NOoooo." He
was dead, she knew it. She couldn't feel him, the sensation had slipped away
to nothing. Regardless, she couldn't stop pressing against the wound, tears
blinding her. She had to stop the bleeding... had to stop it. She saw blood
all around her.
"No, don't be dead, don't be dead, "She chanted.
Meaghan was suddenly bucked by the body beneath her, her head burst with a
sizzling hum, it overpowered her, disorienting at first. She screamed again,
sliding off of him and crab walking backward until she hit the far wall. A book
fell from the shelf, landing a few feet beside her. She yelped, then heard him
moan. Meaghan watched him turn to his side and curl up his body.
"Ugh," Evan groaned again. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. He was
living and breathing... again. It wasn't possible.. it wasn't!
Suddenly she got angry and crawled back over to him as he sat up. She
saw him look at her as she approached him. When she reached Evan,
she raised her palm and slapped his face. She made to slap him again,
but stilled her hand when she saw the kindling of anger within his eyes.
"Oh no, you won't get a second chance to do that again." He said gasping
as he continued to recover. She could see the red welt of her fingers on his
face and just as fast as she saw them faded away.
"How could this be? How could this be!?!" Meaghan cried dropping her head
against his shoulder. She felt him reach his arms around her, crushing her to
him.
She desperately needed his warmth, his reassurance. She paid no heed to the
bloodied mess around her. She was feeling cold as shock tried to intrude
upon her. Meaghan could feel the steady thud of his heart against
her own chest, a heart that should not have been beating.
Could what he said be true? How could she deny it? Meaghan's skin
tingled as if pin pricks rolled across her skin. Shock and the unreality
of it all had settled around her, but accompanying those two feelings
was acceptance. She accepted what Evan said as truth, a completely
disarming truth. She wept.
"Shh, " He said as he stroked her hair.
"Ouch," Meaghan cried. She tried to pull back from him. "Ouch!... "Don't be
movin... wait," she ordered, grabbing his shoulder. She then gripped his hand
and slowly began to extricate it from her tangled strands.
"Mphffff, hehehee," She heard him start to laugh.
"Wait, stop, it's caught around yea rin..hin..ggg hehe, yea ring," She
ended in giggles herself. "Ah, there," She declared with triumph, as tears
of despair slipped into a release of hysteric laughter. It took her a
moment to get herself under control and the warm chuckles of Evan
didn't help her attain it.
"You can let go my hand now." Evan reminded her. Meaghan blushed,
relinquishing his palm. She finally sobered, staring at him.
"So, it's true then, everything yea've said... holy ground, sword
fighting, ...." Meaghan pleaded one last time for him to
negate what he told her, "There can be only one?"
Evan shook his head and simply answered her. "Yes."
Meaghan took in a deep breath. It was too much. It was always too
much. She looked at him, cocking her head as a question clamored
within her, demanding to be asked. "How long have *you* been
alive?"
She saw him freeze, almost imperceptibly... then he answered
her. "Longer than a mortal life."
"What does that mean? How long have you kept your...
your head?" Meaghan let go of his arm, pulling back to look
fully upon him. "Immortality, it be forever. ...How long has forever
been for you? ...A hundred years? ... A thousand?"
She watched Evan's eyes hardened, but he answered
her." Longer than most."
Meaghan recoiled. She drug herself off the floor and walked over
to the room's fireplace. The cackle of burning wood drew
her gaze to the jumping flames. She was emotionally drained and
Evan's short, cryptic answers had stung her. 'Let him keep his
secret.' she thought. She was suppose to trust *him*?... with her life?
...and yet he was showing that he did not trust *her*? 'Well, so
be it.'
Silence lay across the room, stretching into minutes as
neither Meaghan nor Evan moved. Finally she turned from the
fire and walked back. She knelt before him. He watched her.
She had felt his persisting look even before she'd turned from
the flames, but she would face him when she was ready and
so... now she was.
She squared her shoulders as she pushed some more offending
hair out of her eyes. She returned his gaze. "Well, I suppose since
yea be choosin' to teach me rather than kill me, we should be
startin' the trainin'."
Evan stood up. Only the tell - tale sign of blood left
witness of his recent death. He moved without a hint of pain, and
she was sure that there was none. Evan held his hand out
to her and Meaghan clasped it. He spoke with edged steel. "If I had
chosen to kill you, you never would have lived beyond that wretched
storm." Evan's voice softened, " There are things that... I... It
isn't that I don't trust you... I know you think that. It isn't
you... I do not trust anyone, experience has taught me that
lesson."
Meaghan looked up at him, squeezing his hand... gone was the anger
and in its place, a sense of understanding. "That be very sad indeed. I
have had things happen to me within one year that could equal a lifetime
of heartaches, of mistrust... at least, a mortal lifetime... and yet, I am still
willing to trust... To trust *yea*. Perhaps one day experience will teach yea
a new lesson."
"Perhaps," was Evan's response as he pulled her to her feet. She
was beginning to think he would be always doing that. And damned
if that thought didn't come true.