The concept of the Highlander universe and the character of Duncan MacLeod were created by someone else. They belong to someone else. Actually, they belong to a bunch of people - Gregory Widen, Peter Davis, William Panzer, the folks at Gaumont, and those at Rysher Entertainment, as well. They do not belong to me, and I'm borrowing them without permission. Because Highlander-The Series is my favorite TV show, and because this story has been written out of love with no hope of monetary gain - I hope they'll forgive the transgression.
This story is mine as are characters of Dallas Delany, Sukhe Khan and various minor players - so please don't take them anywhere without letting me know. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I'd love to hear your comments.
A Splash of Color - Chapter 9
Duncan's hand trembled slightly as he poured a large measure of Scotch whiskey into a glass. He willed it to stop, but it ignored his command. He hadn't intended to get this attached to Jake's child - he hadn't intended to get attached to her at all - yet here he was.
He had no idea what to do with her now. He couldn't raise a child - especially a little girl - on his own. A week ago, he might have been able to send her off to a school or place her in the care of another Immortal without much pain of separation, but these few days they'd spent together had changed that.
He remembered the gleam of trust in her eyes, as he held her on the stairs. She needed him, and perhaps he needed her as well. Dallas had lost her mother, then Jake. If he sent her away, now, she would see it as rejection, and it could cloud the rest of her life - a life that was already far from normal.
"So what are you going to do?"
Duncan shook his head, as Richie's voice intruded on his reverie. "I'm sorry," he said, stalling as he gathered his wits. Had Richie read his mind? "What did you say?"
"I asked what you were going to do ... about the Khan?"
Molten anger burned deep inside him. It burst into flames that leaped and roared at the mere mention of that name. "I'm going to kill him," he said, in a cold flat tone designed to dampen the fire within. Raging anger could get him killed. Cold fury would serve him best. He took a deep centering breath, and a mouthful of the whiskey, then he set the glass down.
"Are you so sure?" Richie asked. "What if you don't?"
Duncan laughed - a chilling laugh that held no trace of humor. "Are you questioning my abilities?" he asked. As he turned, Richie stepped back.
"Hey, no ... but he killed Jake, remember?" Richie held his hands out on each side - a gesture of appeal. "I just think we ought to consider--" He left the rest of his thoughts unspoken, and turned his head as the sound of footfalls and feminine laughter snagged their attention.
Amanda held Dallas's hand and they strolled through the living room, and both the woman and the child wore broad smiles. Duncan savored the swirl of warmth as he watched them. He wondered when they had become friends instead of rivals, and once again he found himself puzzled at the ways of women. If Dallas's eyes were brown, like Amanda's instead of blue, one could easily have taken them for mother and daughter.
Amanda stopped in the archway between the living room and the dining room, while Dallas approached Duncan. "Don't go," she said, quietly, slipping her hand into his.
Holding her hand, he crouched down. "I have to, sweetheart," he said. "It's the way things are with us. Jake must have told you that."
She didn't meet his gaze, but she nodded slowly, then she leaned in to press a kiss on his cheek. "Please, come back," she whispered.
"I'll do my best," he said, standing. "Now, I've got some things to do. Why don't you see if you can talk Amanda and Richie into taking you to get something to eat."
"Hey, that's a good idea," Richie said. "Wanna go to Mickey D's, Shortstuff?"
Dallas turned to look at Richie. "Okay," she said, then she turned back to Duncan. She gave him a long poignant look that twisted a knife in his heart, then she walked slowly to Richie's side.
In Jake's cellar workshop, Duncan ran a whetstone along the blade of his katana. Setting the stone down, he tested the edge with his thumb. Like a scalpel it drew blood before he even noticed the sting of the cut. As he wiped the blood from the blade, he sensed the presence of another Immortal - more than one Immortal, in fact. It was probably just Richie, Amanda and Dallas, but instinct kept him coiled, ready to strike until he heard the tap of Amanda's heels on the stairs. He didn't turn from his task as she drew near.
She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back.
"So how was McDonald's?" he asked.
"You don't want to know," Amanda replied, moving her hands slowly over his chest. "Dallas and Richie seemed to enjoy it, though."
He laughed. "There's no accounting for taste."
"Poor dears," Amanda mumbled, then she fell silent.
Her breasts pressed into his back as she took a deep breath. "I wish you didn't have to do this," she said.
He turned to face her, and leaned back against the work bench. "Amanda," he said, softly, taking her hand in his.
She sighed, then she turned away from him. "I know, I know ... it's what we do. He killed Jake, and now he's after Dallas ... and you can't walk away from a challenge ... but it's two days before Christmas. Can't it wait?"
He moved to stand in front of her, and he tipped her head up with the gentle pressure of his fingers under her chin. "No it can't ... and you know that."
She pulled her head away and stepped back. "You know, MacLeod," she said. "Sometimes Immortality sucks."
He reached out and coaxed her back into his arms. "Yeah, sometimes it does," he said. "But we are, what we are." He inhaled deeply, taking in the soft, warm, perfumed scent of her, then he kissed her gently.
She tucked her head into his shoulder. "I don't want to lose you," she mumbled into his shirt.
"That makes two of us," he said. "Don't worry, I can handle this."
She looked up at him, kissed him gently, then she escaped his embrace. "I'm ... ah, going to see if I can persuade Dallas to go to bed."
"Good luck," he said, chuckling softly as he turned back to tend his sword. For some odd reason, he couldn't watch Amanda go - even if she was only going upstairs.
Duncan pulled the collar of his duster closed as he stood on the hill. Though the day had been warm and pleasant, the unusual cold snap had returned with the night. Chill air tangoed with warm air and their union gave birth to a heavy fog that oozed up from the bay. It slithered around the trees and lay in an undulating coverlet of grey on the path before him. It muffled all sounds making them seem faint and far away. He was alone, waiting, senses tasting the night for the presence of the other.
Then suddenly the vibration wrapped around him like the fog swirling around his legs, but unlike the fog it filled him as well. He centered himself, lifted his sword, and crouched into readiness in one fluid instant.
"I thought perhaps, you might not come," a voice punched through the fog. Close and behind him.
He whirled to face it. "I'm here," he said, simply.
"Are you so anxious to die?"
The voice came from the left now, and Duncan moved to follow it, listening for every faint sound. Straining to separate the natural from the unnatural. "Are you?" he asked.
The singing whisper of a steel blade sliced through the thick night air. It came without warning. He barely had time to leap out of its deadly arc. The sword vanished as quickly as it came. Duncan turned in a slow circle. Where was he, damn it?
"Are you going to come out and fight? Or are you going to play hide n seek, like a coward?"
"A coward? Not I."
Suddenly, the blade was at his throat. He dropped to the ground then rolled to safety.
"Who's the coward now?" the Khan called from the shelter of the fog.
Duncan lunged in the direction of the voice. His blade met nothing but mist. He pressed his back against a tree, and waited, listening. Only the sound of his own breathing, and his adrenaline-charged pulse touched his ears.
"Why, Khan?" he asked. "Why go after the girl?" No response. The fog deadened even the echo. But his enemy was still here, he could feel him. If he could only see him as well ... This tactic was maddening, but surely that was the intent. He couldn't allow it to disturb his cold balance.
"She's just a child. She can't hurt you."
"Are you a superstitious man, Highlander? Do you believe in the portent of dreams?"
The Khan stepped into the clearing, twenty feet away. Duncan approached, walking cautiously. Now that he could see him, he didn't want him vanishing into the mist again. "Let's just say, I maintain a healthy skepticism. Why?"
"Because centuries ago, I had a dream that such a child would be the cause of my untimely death. I consulted a seer who told me that if I eliminate her, my path to the Prize stands clear. I've been searching for her ever since. When I saw her with Jake Pendleton, I knew she was the one ... the child in my dreams. She can not live."
"She's not even Immortal, yet. Walk away and leave her be. I have no quarrel with you. We can all live."
"No," he said, raising his sword as he stepped in to engage Duncan.
The clash of steel on steel rang out sharply despite the deadening effect of the fog, as Duncan parried the initial attack. He stepped back, twirled his katana into a more advantageous angle and launched an attack of his own.
"She has an awesome power. Can you not feel it, MacLeod?" the Khan asked as he met force with force.
"She has the same power every one of us has before we die our first death. No more, no less."
The Khan's relentless attack, left him breathing heavily. He forced the searing pain of several deep slashes to the back of his mind, yet the warmth of his own blood chilled him.
"Even if she lives to be old enough to defend herself," he continued with his argument as he continued to fight for his life, as well as hers. "She has far too many disadvantages to be any threat to you. Immortals born into this century, don't have the training we had."
"Oh, but she does," the Khan said, whirling away from a deadly thrust.
Duncan struggled to maintain his balance, then circled around a tree to regroup.
"Pendleton was teaching her to be a warrior, as my father taught me ... as your father taught you."
"Jake is dead. He'll teach her no more." Duncan drew strength from the cold fury over his friend's death.
"Ah, but you will," the Khan said as he closed in for another attack. "You will train her, and you will not see the viper in your nest until it is too late."
"Rubbish!" Duncan shouted as he lashed out with his foot. The blow caught his opponent's wrist, and knocked his sword free. Stepping into the swing, he struck swiftly, relieving his opponent of the burden of his head.
As he waited for the violent storm of the Quickening, it occurred to him that the man had seen his future correctly, though not quite accurately. While Dallas had not actually killed him, she had been the cause of his death. If he had walked away - if he'd left her alone, he might have lived to claim the Prize.
The glowing mist of the Khan's life force rose, mingled with the surrounding fog, then merged within him in a blinding flash. The earth trembled under his feet with the power of one of the city's infamous quakes, and white hot lightning crackled around him as it consumed the fog before it struck him.
The searing agony cut through him, throwing him back, then it knocked him to his knees as the vanquished spirit melted into his own. The surging energy of united forces lifted him and carried him into ecstasy, then swept away, leaving him spent, drained.
As he pushed himself up from the ground, the swelling vibration of another Immortal whipped around him. He reached for his sword, and staggered to his feet. Breathing heavily, he glanced around.
"Don't sweat it, Mac," Richie chuckled, as he sauntered into view. "It's just me and, I'm not here for your head." He twirled his sword, before tucking under his jacket. "Not today, anyway."
"What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay with Dallas."
Richie shrugged. "Amanda's with her, and I thought I'd back you up ... just in case."
He stared at Richie. The young Immortal was grinning, but Duncan wasn't sure how seriously he meant, just in case. The slightly snide, not today, didn't sit well either. Would Richie ever forget that he tried to take his head? Over the last few weeks, they had slipped into old familiar patterns, but Richie's tone told him they could never really repair the damage that dark incident had done.
There wasn't much point in discussing it now. Words couldn't heal the rift, but actions might build a bridge. "Come on," he said, clapping Richie on the back. "We've got two women waiting for us."
Richie chuckled, but he didn't slip away from Duncan's hand on his shoulder. "This
doesn't work out evenly," he said. "You've got Amanda, but I'll have to wait
until Dallas grows up."
