Author's Notes: The Highland Haunted Tour is the creation of
SouthernChickie. I borrowed it with her permission. The tour guide's only
direct quote, is a direct quote from the story the tour originally appeared
in.
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September 13, 2001, Glenfinnan, Scotland
Rachel MacLeod regarded Duncan in silence. It was late morning. Alec Callaghan had already left for the day, and Duncan still sat at the kitchen table, dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a ratty tee. His hair -now long again, even though he had chopped it off before leaving Seacouver several months earlier- was loose around his shoulders. The Highlander hunched over his coffee mug and uneaten breakfast, his complexion pasty, and his hands clenched around the mug.
After she had met him in his hotel room a week before, upon hearing Duncan's story, she had first cursed him, then invited him to stay at her place while he visited Scotland. She assured him that Alec would not mind. But now, she wondered if this was the right decision. Duncan had hardly spoken since arriving there, and he barely left the house. He had eaten hardly anything, and he had not showered in almost four days. It had only got worse since they had heard on the International news the events of two days prior.
"Duncan," Rachel interrupted quietly. She noticed he looked up, and she saw his eyes flinch briefly over her mug of coffee, but he didn't answer. "You cannot stay like this."
"Says who?" he spoke quietly. He swished the coffee in his mug. "I'm in mourning."
"Still?" Her voice held only remorse, an understanding, but also an aloofment. "For who? Or, for what?"
"This." Duncan gestured to outside. "For what I left behind. For those I have lost."
"Duncan-"
"Have I ever told you about Rachel Eisenstein? She's Connor's daughter. Married a man by the name of Brian Eisenstein. Married for thirty years when he passed away. She's Jewish. They work in customs, the Jews. Mourn for a week; remember for a year. I haven't yet had a year, Rachel."
"You're not Jewish."
"A minor technicality," Duncan differed. "I wish I could call him."
"Adam?"
"Yes."
Rachel frowned into her coffee. Since his truth-fest a week before, she had failed in her attempts to get Duncan to reveal more information. She knew he was eating little, and that he slept less. And, she knew he had spent a night in Donner Woods his first night here; she knew he had crissed- crossed the globe since first leaving Seacouver last January. She knew that he had left his friends behind, that he had left his lover behind. She sighed. She knew he was Immortal.
"Does this have to with Richie?" she asked. Her voice was still quiet.
Duncan looked up. His eyes looked wild. Briefly, he caught her straight gaze, and briefly, he felt ashamed of what he allowed to happen to himself since leaving. He had not even felt the rain. . . But, no, he shook his head, and he looked back down. "Partly," he answered. "I almost took his head."
"But you didn't."
"Explain that to him."
"That is not my place, Duncan. But it is yours."
"I can't go back, Rachel. Not yet. Still too soon."
"Waiting for the year?" she mumbled under breath. Outwardly, she frowned. "Come outside, at least? I have the day off. We could do something. . . together. . ."
"Like what?"
"We could do the Highland Haunted Tour. Features you and Connor MacLeod. You'd probably find it to be amusing."
She knew about Connor MacLeod too. In his tale, Duncan had mentioned the elder kinsman, who had been his mentor and his friend.
"That might be interesting."
"Good. It's settled then. Only Duncan?" The Highlander looked up. "Go shower first. You're starting to smell." She thought she detected a hint of a smile on his face.
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The tour began outside the Inn Rachel normally worked in. Duncan had showered, and he had also shaved. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, but Rachel supposed that was due to more of he living out of a suitcase for the majority of the past eight months, and not his own doing. He wore his hair tied back, in a loose half-ponytail, and he mentioned he thought he was due again for a haircut soon.
Three older couples and three or four teenagers already waited for the tour to start. "Tourists," Rachel whispered aside to Duncan. He simply nodded his agreement.
The tour guide appeared several minutes later, an older man Rachel knew. He looked to her in surprise, looking like he wanted to say something to her, but didn't. She shrugged. Instead, the tour guide (who introduced himself as Ian), explained the tour would take about ninety minutes, and to please follow him.
By the time, the group reached the place where Duncan MacLeod was supposedly killed, the real Duncan MacLeod was already smiling.
"This is where the most sightings take place," the tour guide explained. "This is also where Duncan MacLeod was killed. In 1629, in a clan war. There are also repots of his ghost trying to kill those who unwittingly wonder onto his lands in wearing unfriendly colors. And, he has also been known to warn passers by of rival clansmen hiding around the bend."
"Let's get out of here," Duncan whispered to Rachel. "I don't how much more this I can take."
Rachel nodded. She bit back her own laughter. She mouthed a silent 'thank you' to Ian before she followed Duncan strides down the hills again. Half- hour later, they found themselves in the bar, where they ordered some lunch.
"That bad?" she laughed. She referred, of course, to the tour.
"Worse," he countered. "For one, Duncan died in 1627. And, it had to have been five miles north of here."
"Well, you'll have to forgive an old village its mistakes. Neither men left too many clues to their after-death whereabouts."
"And, that's another thing," he added. "Connor never stayed in an Inn. He built his own hut about thirty miles from here, and he married a young woman named Heather."
Rachel bit back her laughter. "Again, you'll have to forgive us." She noticed the smile quirk at the corners of Duncan's mouth. "You did find it amusing then?"
"I suppose so," he agreed.
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September 13, 2001, Glenfinnan, Scotland
Rachel MacLeod regarded Duncan in silence. It was late morning. Alec Callaghan had already left for the day, and Duncan still sat at the kitchen table, dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a ratty tee. His hair -now long again, even though he had chopped it off before leaving Seacouver several months earlier- was loose around his shoulders. The Highlander hunched over his coffee mug and uneaten breakfast, his complexion pasty, and his hands clenched around the mug.
After she had met him in his hotel room a week before, upon hearing Duncan's story, she had first cursed him, then invited him to stay at her place while he visited Scotland. She assured him that Alec would not mind. But now, she wondered if this was the right decision. Duncan had hardly spoken since arriving there, and he barely left the house. He had eaten hardly anything, and he had not showered in almost four days. It had only got worse since they had heard on the International news the events of two days prior.
"Duncan," Rachel interrupted quietly. She noticed he looked up, and she saw his eyes flinch briefly over her mug of coffee, but he didn't answer. "You cannot stay like this."
"Says who?" he spoke quietly. He swished the coffee in his mug. "I'm in mourning."
"Still?" Her voice held only remorse, an understanding, but also an aloofment. "For who? Or, for what?"
"This." Duncan gestured to outside. "For what I left behind. For those I have lost."
"Duncan-"
"Have I ever told you about Rachel Eisenstein? She's Connor's daughter. Married a man by the name of Brian Eisenstein. Married for thirty years when he passed away. She's Jewish. They work in customs, the Jews. Mourn for a week; remember for a year. I haven't yet had a year, Rachel."
"You're not Jewish."
"A minor technicality," Duncan differed. "I wish I could call him."
"Adam?"
"Yes."
Rachel frowned into her coffee. Since his truth-fest a week before, she had failed in her attempts to get Duncan to reveal more information. She knew he was eating little, and that he slept less. And, she knew he had spent a night in Donner Woods his first night here; she knew he had crissed- crossed the globe since first leaving Seacouver last January. She knew that he had left his friends behind, that he had left his lover behind. She sighed. She knew he was Immortal.
"Does this have to with Richie?" she asked. Her voice was still quiet.
Duncan looked up. His eyes looked wild. Briefly, he caught her straight gaze, and briefly, he felt ashamed of what he allowed to happen to himself since leaving. He had not even felt the rain. . . But, no, he shook his head, and he looked back down. "Partly," he answered. "I almost took his head."
"But you didn't."
"Explain that to him."
"That is not my place, Duncan. But it is yours."
"I can't go back, Rachel. Not yet. Still too soon."
"Waiting for the year?" she mumbled under breath. Outwardly, she frowned. "Come outside, at least? I have the day off. We could do something. . . together. . ."
"Like what?"
"We could do the Highland Haunted Tour. Features you and Connor MacLeod. You'd probably find it to be amusing."
She knew about Connor MacLeod too. In his tale, Duncan had mentioned the elder kinsman, who had been his mentor and his friend.
"That might be interesting."
"Good. It's settled then. Only Duncan?" The Highlander looked up. "Go shower first. You're starting to smell." She thought she detected a hint of a smile on his face.
--------------------------------------------
The tour began outside the Inn Rachel normally worked in. Duncan had showered, and he had also shaved. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, but Rachel supposed that was due to more of he living out of a suitcase for the majority of the past eight months, and not his own doing. He wore his hair tied back, in a loose half-ponytail, and he mentioned he thought he was due again for a haircut soon.
Three older couples and three or four teenagers already waited for the tour to start. "Tourists," Rachel whispered aside to Duncan. He simply nodded his agreement.
The tour guide appeared several minutes later, an older man Rachel knew. He looked to her in surprise, looking like he wanted to say something to her, but didn't. She shrugged. Instead, the tour guide (who introduced himself as Ian), explained the tour would take about ninety minutes, and to please follow him.
By the time, the group reached the place where Duncan MacLeod was supposedly killed, the real Duncan MacLeod was already smiling.
"This is where the most sightings take place," the tour guide explained. "This is also where Duncan MacLeod was killed. In 1629, in a clan war. There are also repots of his ghost trying to kill those who unwittingly wonder onto his lands in wearing unfriendly colors. And, he has also been known to warn passers by of rival clansmen hiding around the bend."
"Let's get out of here," Duncan whispered to Rachel. "I don't how much more this I can take."
Rachel nodded. She bit back her own laughter. She mouthed a silent 'thank you' to Ian before she followed Duncan strides down the hills again. Half- hour later, they found themselves in the bar, where they ordered some lunch.
"That bad?" she laughed. She referred, of course, to the tour.
"Worse," he countered. "For one, Duncan died in 1627. And, it had to have been five miles north of here."
"Well, you'll have to forgive an old village its mistakes. Neither men left too many clues to their after-death whereabouts."
"And, that's another thing," he added. "Connor never stayed in an Inn. He built his own hut about thirty miles from here, and he married a young woman named Heather."
Rachel bit back her laughter. "Again, you'll have to forgive us." She noticed the smile quirk at the corners of Duncan's mouth. "You did find it amusing then?"
"I suppose so," he agreed.
