Amanda yawned. Methos had been quizzing Turner for a full hour, and he still wasn't satisfied. Lazing back onto the bed, Amanda studied Methos' expression and came to the conclusion that watching Methos was akin to having double vision. On the one hand, you saw Adam Pierson, mild mannered…whatever; then you blink and Methos is standing there - or, as in this case - glowering there.



What was making her uneasy, however, was the expression on his face. It was one with which she was familiar but hadn't seen in a very long time, over a millennia to be exact.



It was funny, really. Methos was still under the impression that the first time they'd met had been through Rebecca while Amanda had yet been her student. He still teased her about her initial intense dislike of him. Of course, Amanda knew that it hadn't been their first meeting; that had been a couple of decades earlier, on the streets of London, although he could be forgiven for not recognising her - she had been only eight at the time.



The world into which she had been born had been a very harsh place, and dubbed with good reason "The Dark Ages". Poverty and plague had been rampant in the London of her youth and the memory still left her with a bittersweet aftertaste. On the streets by the age of four, a thief at five years and a budding con artist by six, Amanda's childhood had definitely been spent at the school of hard knocks.



Methos' and Amanda's first meeting had been ignominious to say the least; he had caught her with her hand on his purse! At the time she had been astounded - she had always prided herself on being one of the best purse-snatchers in the city. What she hadn't realised then was, thanks to her pre–immortal hum, Methos had sensed her presence the moment she had stepped onto the street behind him.



He had seemed like the perfect target, appearing both harried and hurried. Methos had looked preoccupied, as if his mind was somewhere else. It had been, of course - he'd been concentrating on the immortal presence that had been dogging him all morning. With Amanda's presence added to the mix, his sense of self-preservation had kicked into overdrive.



"What do we have here?" he asked with a smirk as his hand snaked out and grabbed her by the shoulder and holding her at arm's length as he looked her over.



"Lemme go!" Wriggling in his iron grip, Amanda shied away from the 'mark's' strangely intense scrutiny. She had heard stories about men who took too much of an interest in the younger street kids.



"Oh, I don't think so," Methos had drawled, keeping his grip firm as he pulled her into an alleyway. "You and I are going to have a little talk about your misspent ways!" Redoubling her struggles, Amanda kicked him the shin. "Easy, child," he winced. "I just have a little proposition for you."



"What!" she squeaked. "Lemme go – or I'll scream!"



For a moment, Methos stared at her blankly before his eyes widened in understanding. "Not that kind of proposition, girl," he said exasperatedly. "I just want you to run a little errand for me."



Dumbfounded, Amanda stared at him. Having been caught red-handed stealing his purse, the best she had hoped for was a severe hiding. Glaring at him suspiciously, she stopped struggling. "What kind of errand?" she eventually asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.



Glancing out onto the street, as if looking for someone, Methos eventually pointed out a man that had just turned down the street. "See that gentleman?" Amanda nodded silently. "I want you to tail him," he told her. "Nothing fancy, I just want you to keep him within your sights and, whatever you do, don't let him get within arms reach of you. Do you understand?"



Amanda studied carefully the man pointed out to her. Richly dressed and of middling years, he looked like a rich merchant, or maybe a noble of low peerage. Normally when she saw such a person on the streets, she would make a beeline for his purse, but there was something about him that made Amanda nervous. Perhaps it was the scar that marred one of his eyes and ran down his cheek… she dithered, afraid this was some sort of trap but then again, she hadn't eaten yet that day. She had hoped that Methos's purse would rectify that, but that was not to be, it seemed. She came to a decision. "What's in it for me?" she asked shrewdly.



Jangling his purse, Methos pressed his lips together as if deciding what would be a good price. "I'll give you five shillings for your troubles."



Five shillings! Amanda could scarcely believe it. That amount of money would feed her for weeks! For a split second, Amanda felt a pang of remorse that she hadn't managed to steal his purse, if he was willing to pay her that to follow this man. Lord knew what fortune he kept in that seductively jangling bag. "I'll do it," she declared, holding out her hand.



Giving his new employee a wry smile, he pulled five shillings out of his purse and pressed them into her palm. "Do you know the tavern on Canterbury Street? It's called the 'Kings Arms'." Amanda nodded. "I want you to meet me there tonight and report where he went."



By then, the man had neared the alley in which they lurked; the stranger's steps faltered, as if he had heard something. Cursing under his breath, Methos drew them further back into the alley's shadows. A few heartbeats later, the stranger continued down the street. "Off you go," Methos had whispered into her ear as he pushed her towards her new quarry.



Stumbling forward, Amanda glanced back at her unlikely benefactor's face before she slipped into the crowd after the man, whom she had already dubbed in her mind as 'Scarface'. She had no intention of following him all afternoon, of course. As soon as she was out of spying distance of the alley she was going peel off and get something to eat. She couldn't believe the man had been so stupid as to pay her beforehand. There's a fool born every minute, she concluded gleefully.



Scarface was very peculiar, she soon discovered. Every few moments he would glare around him, slowing down whenever anybody stepped too near, and once he stopped dead in the street and cocked his head, as if listening to a conversation that only he could hear. Yes, he really was most peculiar.



Impatiently, Amanda looked up the street ahead of him; at this rate he'd never turn the corner, she thought sourly. Once again he stopped and, ducking into the doorway of a bakery, her stomach rumbled hungrily as she eyed the breads in their baskets.



At last, Scarface turned the corner and Amanda skipped after him. Any minute now, she would be free to desert him and eat her fill. Slinking around the corner, she came to a halt at the realization that her mark had disappeared. Turning around on her bare heels, she scanned the street.



"Looking for me, little girl?" a silky voice said from behind her. Turning around, she took a step back as Scarface emerged from a darkened doorway. Whatever you do, don't let yourself get within arms reach of him…with a sharp intake of breath, she ran for it.



His steps rung loudly on the cobblestone street as he chased after her. She was only a hair's breath beyond his reach as they turned around the next corner. Desperately, her eyes darted around her, looking for a way to escape, but saw none. A whimper escaped her lips as she tried to stay ahead of him, her little frame dodging around the other pedestrians. How had he known she was there?



It was then that she noticed the boarded-up house ahead. There were a lot of those in London that summer; the plague had taken a heavy toll amongst the population and many houses stood empty as entire families died off in one go. With a gasp of relief she noticed that one of the boards sealing off the doorway had been pried off, leaving a gap that was big enough for her slight body to slip through, but too small for him to follow. In a last mad dash, she headed for the opening and slid through it just as his hand reached out to grab her.



"Come out, little girl!" Pressing his face up to the gap, Scarface smiled nastily at her as he stretched his hand through the gap. Backing away instinctively, Amanda tumbled over a coal bucket and landed on her bum on the flagstone floor. Scrambling to her feet, she peered into the murky surroundings as Scarface rattled at the boarded-up door. "I'm coming to get you, child," he hissed through the gap while he pulled on the next plank. "My brother has done you a disservice."



Tears of fear and panic ran down her face as she looked for a way out. The house was a humble affair, one big room with a small loft at the far end for sleeping. Her eyes roved higher as she searched the roof for a way out, but there was none. In desperation, she sprang over to the fireplace, hoping to find a poker, anything, to defend herself with.



Stepping into the large, open, fire pit, she pulled a heavy iron ladle off the cooking bar, pausing as she felt the breeze. Looking up, her eyes took in the dim light at the top of the chimney and her quick mind worked overtime. Why not? she reasoned. Chimney sweeps did it all the time.



Hoisting herself up, she placed an arm and a leg on either side of the chimney and inched her way up. It was slow going; she was tired and hungry and, for all her experience, still a child. Eventually, though, she broke free of the flue. Crying with relief as she clambered out, she tested her footing on the roof and found it was sound. Without so much as a backward glance, she trotted as quickly as she could along the apex of the roof with her arms flung out to balance herself. Years later, looking back on it, she would joke to herself that it had been her first taste of the high wire.



With little effort, she jumped onto the roof of the next house and kept going, continuing on until she came to an adjoining wall that she could jump down to. With a snort of disgust, she broke her fall from the wall with a well-stocked midden. Wrinkling her nose, she examined her clothes, though not the sweetest scented child in the world, she did try to make an effort to keep herself relatively clean. One does not make a very good living at being a pickpocket if they can smell you coming!



Now that the first flush of fear was over, anger began to set in. Scarface's words came back to her as she stalked down the back alley; the man had set her up. With a determined look on her face, she made her way to Canterbury Street and the tavern. She had a few choice words to share with her 'benefactor'.



He wasn't there, of course, though it had taken a while for her to make sure of this. The innkeeper hadn't taken too well to her new 'perfume' and had ousted her almost immediately when she had entered. When she had protested that she was supposed to meet a 'gentleman' there, the innkeeper had not been impressed, especially as she did not know her 'benefactor's' name.



After lurking across the street for the bulk of the evening, the young Amanda had come to the grim conclusion that he had no more intention of meeting her here that night than she had of following Scarface all afternoon.



Time went by and Amanda's first death came and went. She had already been Rebecca's student for a number of years when Methos decided to pay his old friend a visit.



"Amanda, you're back, darling," called out Rebecca when she spied Amanda cantering into the courtyard from her morning ride. "Come and meet a very old friend of mine!"



Knowing what Rebecca's definition of an old friend was, Amanda cautiously followed Rebecca to her library, her senses picking up the foreign quickening before she entered the room.



Methos had played every inch the gentleman when Rebecca introduced him as 'her old friend, Guy De Courtenay', his smile only faltering a little when he saw the expression on her face. More importantly, though, was the fact that she didn't see even a glimmer of recognition. For a moment, she entertained the idea of telling Rebecca of her previous encounter with her friend but hesitated when she noticed the pleased expression on her face. In the end, she never did tell Rebecca. After a while, it just didn't seem to be important anymore.



Over the years, her mistrust and dislike of Methos faded, so much so that they became lovers for a brief time during the Renaissance. It didn't last long, but the affair cemented their friendship and it was during that time that Methos told her his true name.



But it was funny how old wounds never truly healed. Upon Rebecca's death, when everybody and their uncle seemed to be hunting for the Methuselah stone, something inside Amanda snapped when she learned that Methos also sought it. All those old memories came rushing back with a sharpness that was nearly frightening, and an unreasoning fear of what Methos might be capable of, came to the fore.



Looking back on it, Amanda couldn't believe that she'd allowed herself to believe that Methos could have had anything to do with Rebecca's death, but grief sometimes could work like that, distorting everything around you until you couldn't see straight.



What you had to remember about Methos was that, in many ways, he saw the world as simplistically as Duncan. The difference was that while Duncan divided the world up into 'good' and 'evil', Methos divided it up into 'him and his' and 'everybody else'. The moment Rebecca introduced them in that draughty library all those centuries ago, Amanda had leapt from the latter category into the former.



Which brought her back to the problem at hand: the expression on Methos's face, the one that said Turner had been relegated to the category of 'everybody else'.



Stretching as she yawned once more, she let her hand rest on the phone beside the bed. Lifting it onto her lap, she dialled the desk and asked to be put through to her room.



"Duncan MacLeod," said the softly burred voice on the phone.



Amanda smiled into the receiver. "Glad to see you're back, darling," she purred. "I'm in… Adam's room, we have a visitor. Why don't you come and meet him – and bring everybody with you." With that, she rung off and turned her attention to the heated discussion between Turner and Methos.



Turner had just finished explaining how he'd gotten the tape that originally raised his suspicions anonymously through the mail. Unsure about what to do because he didn't know how pervasive the conspiracy was within the watchers, he had turned to Methos because he remembered Don talking so glowingly about his new assistant, and also remembered his surprise when he learned that Methos was an immortal not long after Don's death. Methos seemed to be a little mollified by Turner's explanation because, for the first time since he entered the room, he sat down.



A wash of quickenings flowed over them and the two immortals turned to look at the door. On cue, there was a small, sharp knock at the door.



"Enter," called out Methos as he gestured for Turner to sit. The room filled and everyone was brimming with questions about the new addition. Methos briefly introduced them before he retreated into the bathroom to clean up.



"I'm glad to see you're alive," observed Joe as he shook Turner's hand. "When we couldn't track you down, we got a bit worried."



"It was touch-and-go there, for a while," Turner admitted. "But I eventually managed to give them the slip."



Everybody seemed to take Turner's appearance at face value and Amanda let out her bated breath, if the gang accepted him, Methos would be more reluctant to use him as bait. Congratulating herself on a job well done, Amanda rose from the bed; she was in desperate need of a shower and a change of clothes.



As she reached the door, a clean Methos wandered out of the bathroom, still towelling his damp hair. "You're off?" he asked.



"You're not the only bullet-ridden one here," she pointed out amiably. "I need a shower."



Methos nodded before he smirked at her knowingly. "Are you sure? You could wait a little longer and really make sure they all become best pals. Throw a party, perhaps," he teased her in a low voice.



Deciding to brazen it out, Amanda raised her chin as she looked him imperiously. "Whatever do you mean, Adam?" she asked archly as she opened the door.



In answer, Methos raised an eyebrow and nodded towards Turner. "Despite what you may believe, I wasn't about to throw him into the lion's den."



Amanda studied his face, then smiled. "I just wanted to make sure," she told him softly.



Methos looked at her intently before he turned away. "I can live with that."







He had been hurt, to tell the truth, but he really couldn't call her on it because, to a certain extent, she was right. For a split moment, while he stood there listening to Turner explain how he got his hands on the tape, he did consider using his presence in the city as a decoy while they got a head start on the watchers that he was sure were, right now, camped on their doorstep. The moment, however, had been fleeting and he had already decided against it long before the others had turned up.



Sighing, he decided to let it go as he turned to the rest of the room, disconcerted for a moment as he caught Amy watching him closely. Wondering how much of that brief exchange of words with Amanda she had heard, he gave her a small mile before raising his voice to address the room.



"People, we have things to do," he reminded them. "I'd like to be on the road in the next hour, so get your bags packed and ready to go. If you want something to eat before you go, do it now – order room service," he added.



"What about me?" piped up Turner.



"Are you checked in here?" asked Methos. Turner nodded. "Then pack your bags, you're coming with us. With a grin, Turner stood and left for his room. "Meet us down in reception in one hour," he called out after him.



"Sure thing," Turner answered from down the hall.



Within moments, the room was deserted and Methos was left alone with his packing. Calling down to the restaurant for some room service, he busied himself as he waited for the light meal he had ordered. Everything was neatly stowed away by the time the waiter knocked on the door.



An hour later, he stood waiting for the others to arrive in the lobby. In dribs and drabs they joined him, Amanda hurriedly bringing up the rear.



Luckily, they made it out of the city before the evening rush and, after a few hours driving through breathtaking scenery on heart-stopping roads that bent on the turn of a dime, they made it to the volcano just in time to see the sun set behind it.



"It's beautiful!" Amy exclaimed, hopping out of the SUV, her breath clouding the air as she spoke.



"Its cold!" remarked Amanda as she shivered in her sheepskin coat.



"We'll set up camp soon," Methos told her as he shouldered some of the climbing gear. "We just have to gain some altitude first."



"We're going to start climbing now?" asked Turner nervously.



"Everybody but Amy and Joe, who are going to camp further down the road. They're not coming with us to the summit. We're going to need them to keep an eye on our transport in case those watchers stumble upon the vehicles and decide to take them on a joy ride. We need to make a move, I want to ensure that we have the advantage of higher ground if we have any surprise visitors during the night," Methos explained.



A look of resignation spread over Turner's face as he bent to pick up some of the camping gear that Duncan was busy offloading from the cars. As soon as they had distributed the supplies among themselves, Amy and Joe fired up their respective engines and meandered back down the road.



"How do they know when to come back for us?" Turner asked worriedly.



"Well, you see, there is this nifty new invention called the mobile phone…" an amused Methos replied as he set the pace for the climb.



"Oh…yes…how silly of me," the watcher said, laughing nervously while he fell in behind him.



The short climb wasn't that steep, as they were still only on the foothills of the volcano and the really difficult terrain would be kept for first light. Nevertheless, it was no picnic; the entire volcano was thickly covered in snow, the only exception being the summit looming ominously above them. Presumably, the heat at the top was enough to melt whatever snow that fell, and it gave the volcano a strangely upside-down effect as one usually expected snow at the top, not the bottom. More so, the snow hadn't settled yet and was still powdery and difficult to walk in. Duncan cursed softly, berating himself for not thinking to buy snow shoes.



"Forget about it, Duncan," Robert told him as he apologised for the third time. "What's done is done."



At last, they reached an altitude that Methos was happy with and, after a little fumbling and much blowing on hands, they eventually managed to make camp. Duncan decided to make up for his gaffe with the snowshoes by starting a small cooking fire and throwing together, from the rations, a meal fit for a king.



"Definitely better than baked beans," Gina pronounced as she finished off her plate of winter stew. "My compliments to the chef."



A chorus of agreement went around the circle as they sat back and enjoyed the afterglow around the fire. Duncan began to reminisce about the last time he had camped in such weather and regaled the group with an amusing anecdote involving Conor, a mule, and the Rocky Mountains. Once the laughter died down, it was deemed time to turn in. A short but ridiculous game of rock-paper-scissors ensued as they decided who was to take first watch. Amanda lost.



"The game was rigged, I tell you," she grumbled only half-jokingly as the others made for their tents.



"But, of course," Methos told her mockingly. "Didn't you know? I had a third hand tucked up my sleeve all the time."



Sticking her tongue out in an unladylike fashion, Amanda made herself comfortable on her perch, which consisted of her rucksack. "You'd better toddle off, Methos," she whispered lowly so that Turner couldn't overhear. "You're on the next watch, remember?"



Giving her a mocking salute, Methos retreated into his tent.



"Do you want me to keep you company?" asked the ever-solicitous Highlander, wrapping his arms around her in a hug.



Amanda's eyes softened in response. "Get your sleep, Duncan," she told him gently as she pushed him towards his tent. "We all need to be rested tomorrow."



Soon, Amanda was alone with the stars. "It is pretty," she admitted to herself. "For a place with no shops."