Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own and didn't create the characters of Connor MacLeod or Duncan MacLeod, nor do I have any rights to the Highlander universe. I'm just dallying there a bit with them - without permission, of course. No profits have been made (by me anyway), and no pixels were harmed in the writing of this story. I also borrowed the song lyrics without permission. The characters whose names you don't recognize are mine, however, so please don't take them anywhere without checking with me first.
A Merry Little Christmas - part 5
Near dawn, however, he did doze - just a little. Then he awoke with a start as he felt the swirling hum of another Immortal. Abiageal Flynn most likely, but Connor wasn't about to take chances.
He slipped from the bed without making a sound, then took up his sword. Cautiously, he opened his bedroom door.
The first thing that hit him was the smell of bacon, followed closely by the heavenly aroma of fresh bread. The second thing that hit him was the sound of singing - a deep melodic rendition of an old wassailing song.
"Apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry, any good thing to make us all merry," Abby Flynn sang as she arranged plates on a table near the fire - and nicely crackling fire at that.
"If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do. If you haven't got a ha'penny, then God bless you," she sang as if she didn't know he was standing there in his night shirt - with a sword in his hand.
Suddenly, he felt quite foolish, then reason caught a hold of him, and anger set in. She hadn't had a penny the night before, yet here she was setting up a feast fit for a king - in his parlor, no less.
"Merry Christmas, cap'n," she sang without missing a beat."What do you think you're doing!" he shouted.
She stepped back from the table a pace, then brushed her unruly hair back from her face. A clean face. And she was wearing a dress, too, he noted. With her pert nose, full lips and luminous green eyes, she looked almost pretty. Not quite, but almost. Still she'd cleaned up nicely - especially in comparison to last night.
"I didn't steal any of this, if that's what you're thinkin'," she said.
"You don't want to know what I'm thinking," he answered, advancing on her with his sword lifted high enough for her to see.
She took another step back and knocked over a stool. "Remember, I told you there was a baker's shop next to the alley?"
"Mmm," he answered. He did remember some mention of a bake shop, but he still couldn't make a connection.
"Well, I know they're busy on Christmas mornings - what with cooking geese and turkeys for those who don't have ovens an' such. So I went back there 'cause I know sometimes they need extra help. That's another reason why I was waitin' in that alley. And the missus was even glad to see the likes o' me, let me tell you."
Connor frowned as the heat from the coal grate wrapped warm tendrils around him, and the rich aroma of the bacon and the bread beckoned him. He fought against it as he continued to stalk his guest.
Keeping a cautious eye on Connor's sword, Abby bent to pick up the stool, then she held her ground. "I'm an 'ard worker, when I set my mind to it," she said, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. "One of their regulars didn't show, so they were glad to 'ave me, and that's my pay." She indicated the table with a nod.
Connor's mind struggled to digest all of this, but his stomach refused to let it. It grumbled, protesting loudly.
Abby smiled. "Breakfast's all ready. I was about to pour the tea," she said, moving closer as though she wasn't facing a angry man with a sword in his hand.
"I found the coal in the alley," she continued, pushing past him. "Must 'ave fallen last time they got a delivery."
For some reason, he didn't quite believe the story about the coal, but the rest was plausible enough, he supposed. And who was he to turn down a free meal. "Why?" he asked, wanting to know her reasons anyway.
"Why what?" she asked, smiling as forked a fat slab of bacon onto his plate.
"Why are you doing this? Why did you come back here?"
"Share an' share alike, I always say," she said, sitting down in a chair she had pulled up to the table. "You shared your dinner, now I'm sharing my breakfast."
She poured tea into two cups, then lifted hers. "Happy Christmas, to you!"
* * * *Connor lifted his cup of Chinese tea and toasted Abiageal Flynn's spirit. "Happy Christmas, Abby," he whispered. "Wherever you are."
She hadn't stayed long, he recalled as a bobbing waiter set steaming plates of food on the table under Mrs. Lee's careful supervision.
Maybe a month or so, but she'd been waiting on his stairs the following Christmas Eve. Even though he'd moved twice, she'd managed to find him. And she was looking more prosperous that year, but then so was he. They'd toasted their success with a fine bottle of old Irish whiskey she'd brought with her. And that was how he'd found out where she came from.
"Donegal," she'd told him, matter of factly, after the level in the bottle had been reduced by a considerable measure. "On the coast near Culdoff Bay."
He'd also learned that she'd died the first time in a fall from a horse that her father had forbidden her to ride. But that was all he'd learned - directly, from her anyway.
He'd gathered, from things she'd said, and memories she'd shared, that she'd been born in the waning years of the fifteenth century, so she was a little older than he was. Her family'd had a horse, so more than likely they'd had substantial wealth as well - but that he could only surmise.
She'd been married, at least once, to one Sean Flynn. "Ah, he was a fine lad," was all she'd had to say on that subject.
But he'd known all he had to know, really. She supplied few facts, but she didn't ask many questions either, and that suited him at the time. She was warm, caring, and she made him laugh. She was also full of mischief and surprises. Connor could have done very nicely without the surprises, but he had to admit they were part of her charm.
He hadn't loved her - not the way he'd loved Heather, but he had cared for her. And after she showed up the third Christmas in a row, they'd spent the next seven years together. It probably would have been longer, but he couldn't persuade her to come to America with him.
"I'm a home body," she'd declared. "And I hate boats."
"It's a ship," he'd insisted. "A big ship."
"And it's a big ocean, you'll be crossing ... and one filled with sea monsters, as well!"
The last she'd added half in jest, but he couldn't win the argument, and she'd stayed behind, kissing him tenderly before he boarded the ship.
"It's time we moved on, Connor," she'd said, blinking back the tears that filled her eyes. "You know, that."
"Aye," he'd answered, knowing it was true. One tear escaped, and he'd caught it with his knuckle.
"Something to remember me by," she'd said with a smile.
And that was the last time he'd seen her.
