And then she was gone, right before his very
eyes. He knelt beside her.
Meaghan held Catherine cradled within her
arms, but so very loosely now. Methos gently
pulled Catherine from her grasp. The young
immortal offered no resistence as her fingers
slipped free from the elder woman's body.
Mindless of the blood or the actual sight before
him, Methos set to work. He did not allow himself
the luxury of reflection or emotion. He needed
to attend to the O'Sheas.
Meaghan and him were leave Byrony behind.
It was the best thing to do. It was the only
thing to do. Kronos was still out there, waiting,
watching to see what should be his next move.
Methos knew his brother well.
Placing an unresisting Meaghan in the library,
he set her down upon the long couch. She
curled up on her side, her face partially
obscured beneath the curtain of her black
hair. He looked around the room, thought about
starting a fire but noted that they wouldn't
be at Byrony long enough to enjoy it.
Methos could not help himself from remembering
Meaghan's revelation. At the mention of
Kronos' name, he'd felt eviscerated, ripped
from knave to neck by a fear so intense that
proper thought could not actually describe
it. Kronos, here, at Byrony, and free from
where he had left him those many years ago.
Methos shuddered again as ice cold sweat
coated and itched its way between his
shoulder blades.
He shook himself. There was no time for
thoughts. No time.
Methos continued with his set task. He
didn't think about how easily the earth gave
against his shovel. Nor did he think about
how the garden seemed the most appropriate
spot to lay the O'Sheas to rest.
He did not think about the awkward weight
of young Liam, nor of his father, Thomas,
as he carefully laid them in their graves,
the ground moist and greedy. He did not
think upon Catherine as he gently touched
her already chilled cheek or when he bent his
head and squeezed his eyes against the pain
that looking at her now caused.
No, he did not think on those things.
As Methos continued to dig the graves, one
unrelenting thought had pushed its way to
the fore front of a mirad of contemplations
laying seige upon the oldest immortal. How?
How was it possible? How did Kronos get
out? How did he find him? Why had his "brother"
been playing such a game of cat and mouse.
And perhaps most important: Why hadn't he
killed him?
But Methos had the answer to that. Kronos
didn't kill him, opting instead to destroy
everything around Methos. Everything he
might have cherished, including the present
life he led.
It was what Methos would have done, and perhaps
that was why Kronos had done it, destroyed
Methos at his own games -- albeit games he
no longer played.
Kronos had known Methos well, and as such
Kronos must also know that within hours
Methos would be gone. One thing that his
brother didn't know was that he would not
be finding Methos again.
*********************
Later that evening, using the veil of
a moonless night, Methos packed the
unresisting Meaghan into a carriage and
stole away from Byrony.
Meaghan spoke not a word throughout the
following arduous journey. The two immortals
left Ireland from the port of Clonakilty,
sailing across to England. The journey
was short and desperately silent. They
had boarded the sailing ship, "Serenity's
Ghost" as Mr. and Mrs. Danbridge. It was
literally as if Methos kept company with
a doll. He did not trust the idea of
leaving her alone. Methos kept to himself,
attending to Meaghan rather then trifle with
any other passangers on the ship.
When they arrived in England, Methos bought
two horses and a riding gig. Throughout the
whole journey, Meaghan followed, did what
was asked of her, ate when food was placed
before her but remained ever silent. She
was a shadow, a living ghost. No amount of
talking, prodding -- anything would have
her respond to Methos. So he stopped trying.
Her wall of silence was unbreachable. Not
that he could really explain anything to
her, anyway. Explanations would not better
the situation and he wasn't willing to
volunteer them either. There was nothing
he could say. His past had come and wrapped
itself around him -- exploding. The
fallout had destroyed his present, making
a mockery of his relaxed sense of security.
It had been a mistake, something that
didn't often happen.
Finally they had arrived at their destination. It
was an estate set back among a bordering forest
of trees. Methos pulled up to the front door
of the grand house and dismounted riding seat
of the carriage. He left Meaghan inside as
he approached the door, the gravel walkway
crunching beneath his high boots.
Methos knocked upon the front door and
waited. Finally the door opened and a
butler stepped through the doorway.
"May I help you, sir?"asked the man.
"Yes, I am here to see your Master," Methos replied.
"Is he expecting you?"
"I highly doubt it."
"Who should I say is calling?" the butler
asked, unfazed.
"A friend."
"Very good sir, please wait here." The butler
closed the door and Methos turned to look
back at the carriage. There was no movement
from within, which was just as he expected.
Suddenly, he froze as a new thrumming sensation
of an immortal washed over him. Methos slowly
turned his head back toward the door, his
hand resting on the sheathed hilt of his
sword, ready to pull it free at a moment's
notice. The door opened.
"Sean, it's good to see you." Methos said,
reaching out and clasping the psychartrist's hand.
"Methos, it is good to see you once
again. You are feeling well, aren't
you?" The doctor asked, suddenly concerned.
"For the moment," Methos replied, trying
to smile but not quite managing it. "Come, I
have someone I want for you to meet."
"Of course."
Sean Burns followed Methos to the carriage. The
doctor paused but a second as Meaghan's
presence washed over him.
"I cannot help her," Methos began, opening the
door and reaching a hand in. Meaghan grabbed
it. He helped her out of the coach. "She
is. . . lost."
Methos felt his heart sinking, remembering
not too long ago when Sean Burns had helped
him to be found again. It was a long, hard
road that was not easy to think on even
though it had been more than three hundred
years ago.
"What happened to her?" Sean asked, stepping
toward her.
"Kronos happened to her."
Sean quickly whipped his head around and
looked Methos in the eyes. "Indeed?"
"Yes, I know some details, not all. I was
away when it happened. Meaghan is my
student," Methos informed Sean, answering
his silent question. "Her name is Meaghan
Marie Kineally. I found her in Ireland, she
has been with me over a year and been
immortal for just about as long."
Sean stepped toward Meaghan and raised his
hands to her face, looking in her eyes,
eyes that did not look back, lost in an
inward void. Methos turned away and continued
on.
"I don't know how Kronos escaped, how he
found me. I will tell you all I know. Kronos
was but the last of a long line of "experiences"
to happen to her." Methos concluded, for now.
"Let's bring her in, get her situatuated
so that you and I can talk and best determine
how to proceed with her." Sean suggested,
wrapping an arm around Meaghan's unresisting
shoulders. They walked into the house as a
livery boy came forth and led the horses and
carriage away.
* * * * * * *
eyes. He knelt beside her.
Meaghan held Catherine cradled within her
arms, but so very loosely now. Methos gently
pulled Catherine from her grasp. The young
immortal offered no resistence as her fingers
slipped free from the elder woman's body.
Mindless of the blood or the actual sight before
him, Methos set to work. He did not allow himself
the luxury of reflection or emotion. He needed
to attend to the O'Sheas.
Meaghan and him were leave Byrony behind.
It was the best thing to do. It was the only
thing to do. Kronos was still out there, waiting,
watching to see what should be his next move.
Methos knew his brother well.
Placing an unresisting Meaghan in the library,
he set her down upon the long couch. She
curled up on her side, her face partially
obscured beneath the curtain of her black
hair. He looked around the room, thought about
starting a fire but noted that they wouldn't
be at Byrony long enough to enjoy it.
Methos could not help himself from remembering
Meaghan's revelation. At the mention of
Kronos' name, he'd felt eviscerated, ripped
from knave to neck by a fear so intense that
proper thought could not actually describe
it. Kronos, here, at Byrony, and free from
where he had left him those many years ago.
Methos shuddered again as ice cold sweat
coated and itched its way between his
shoulder blades.
He shook himself. There was no time for
thoughts. No time.
Methos continued with his set task. He
didn't think about how easily the earth gave
against his shovel. Nor did he think about
how the garden seemed the most appropriate
spot to lay the O'Sheas to rest.
He did not think about the awkward weight
of young Liam, nor of his father, Thomas,
as he carefully laid them in their graves,
the ground moist and greedy. He did not
think upon Catherine as he gently touched
her already chilled cheek or when he bent his
head and squeezed his eyes against the pain
that looking at her now caused.
No, he did not think on those things.
As Methos continued to dig the graves, one
unrelenting thought had pushed its way to
the fore front of a mirad of contemplations
laying seige upon the oldest immortal. How?
How was it possible? How did Kronos get
out? How did he find him? Why had his "brother"
been playing such a game of cat and mouse.
And perhaps most important: Why hadn't he
killed him?
But Methos had the answer to that. Kronos
didn't kill him, opting instead to destroy
everything around Methos. Everything he
might have cherished, including the present
life he led.
It was what Methos would have done, and perhaps
that was why Kronos had done it, destroyed
Methos at his own games -- albeit games he
no longer played.
Kronos had known Methos well, and as such
Kronos must also know that within hours
Methos would be gone. One thing that his
brother didn't know was that he would not
be finding Methos again.
*********************
Later that evening, using the veil of
a moonless night, Methos packed the
unresisting Meaghan into a carriage and
stole away from Byrony.
Meaghan spoke not a word throughout the
following arduous journey. The two immortals
left Ireland from the port of Clonakilty,
sailing across to England. The journey
was short and desperately silent. They
had boarded the sailing ship, "Serenity's
Ghost" as Mr. and Mrs. Danbridge. It was
literally as if Methos kept company with
a doll. He did not trust the idea of
leaving her alone. Methos kept to himself,
attending to Meaghan rather then trifle with
any other passangers on the ship.
When they arrived in England, Methos bought
two horses and a riding gig. Throughout the
whole journey, Meaghan followed, did what
was asked of her, ate when food was placed
before her but remained ever silent. She
was a shadow, a living ghost. No amount of
talking, prodding -- anything would have
her respond to Methos. So he stopped trying.
Her wall of silence was unbreachable. Not
that he could really explain anything to
her, anyway. Explanations would not better
the situation and he wasn't willing to
volunteer them either. There was nothing
he could say. His past had come and wrapped
itself around him -- exploding. The
fallout had destroyed his present, making
a mockery of his relaxed sense of security.
It had been a mistake, something that
didn't often happen.
Finally they had arrived at their destination. It
was an estate set back among a bordering forest
of trees. Methos pulled up to the front door
of the grand house and dismounted riding seat
of the carriage. He left Meaghan inside as
he approached the door, the gravel walkway
crunching beneath his high boots.
Methos knocked upon the front door and
waited. Finally the door opened and a
butler stepped through the doorway.
"May I help you, sir?"asked the man.
"Yes, I am here to see your Master," Methos replied.
"Is he expecting you?"
"I highly doubt it."
"Who should I say is calling?" the butler
asked, unfazed.
"A friend."
"Very good sir, please wait here." The butler
closed the door and Methos turned to look
back at the carriage. There was no movement
from within, which was just as he expected.
Suddenly, he froze as a new thrumming sensation
of an immortal washed over him. Methos slowly
turned his head back toward the door, his
hand resting on the sheathed hilt of his
sword, ready to pull it free at a moment's
notice. The door opened.
"Sean, it's good to see you." Methos said,
reaching out and clasping the psychartrist's hand.
"Methos, it is good to see you once
again. You are feeling well, aren't
you?" The doctor asked, suddenly concerned.
"For the moment," Methos replied, trying
to smile but not quite managing it. "Come, I
have someone I want for you to meet."
"Of course."
Sean Burns followed Methos to the carriage. The
doctor paused but a second as Meaghan's
presence washed over him.
"I cannot help her," Methos began, opening the
door and reaching a hand in. Meaghan grabbed
it. He helped her out of the coach. "She
is. . . lost."
Methos felt his heart sinking, remembering
not too long ago when Sean Burns had helped
him to be found again. It was a long, hard
road that was not easy to think on even
though it had been more than three hundred
years ago.
"What happened to her?" Sean asked, stepping
toward her.
"Kronos happened to her."
Sean quickly whipped his head around and
looked Methos in the eyes. "Indeed?"
"Yes, I know some details, not all. I was
away when it happened. Meaghan is my
student," Methos informed Sean, answering
his silent question. "Her name is Meaghan
Marie Kineally. I found her in Ireland, she
has been with me over a year and been
immortal for just about as long."
Sean stepped toward Meaghan and raised his
hands to her face, looking in her eyes,
eyes that did not look back, lost in an
inward void. Methos turned away and continued
on.
"I don't know how Kronos escaped, how he
found me. I will tell you all I know. Kronos
was but the last of a long line of "experiences"
to happen to her." Methos concluded, for now.
"Let's bring her in, get her situatuated
so that you and I can talk and best determine
how to proceed with her." Sean suggested,
wrapping an arm around Meaghan's unresisting
shoulders. They walked into the house as a
livery boy came forth and led the horses and
carriage away.
* * * * * * *