Shelter from the Storm Chapter 7

All standard disclaimers apply. This story is mine, as are the characters of Leyza Berard, Ray Garcia, Phillippe and Marie Vachon, Francine, Solange Laperrier and Jeremy Cole. Please do not borrow them without asking.

The Highlander concepts and the characters of Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson and May Ling Shen are not. They belong to Gregory Widen, Davis/Panzer, Rysher, Gaumont and probably a few others I've forgotten. I've dared to use them without permission, and hope they'll forgive the transgression, because this story is merely a labor of love. I'm not making a cent from it.


Beside him, Leyza stirred. Her shoulders shook as she shivered. "It's really cold out tonight," she said, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Yes it is," he answered. Wrapping both arms around her, he leaned back against the bridge railing. He pulled her closer, then he tipped his head and kissed her.

Still unsure of what he wanted from this relationship, he intended it to be a warm innocent kiss, one meant to express friendship, yet one that held a promise for the future. But Leyza surprised him.

Instead of pulling away as she often did, she leaned in, then she slid her hands up his chest. She clasped them lightly behind his head, and let her fingers play in the hair at the base of his neck.

The soft touch of her fingers on the sensitive skin stirred a hunger he'd been repressing far too long. He wanted more. He wanted her. Wanted her now - lying beneath him with nothing between them but the heat of their passion.

He moved his hand until it touched the curtain of hair that cascaded down her back. He deepened the kiss, then teased her lips apart with his tongue. She welcomed him with a passion that matched his own, and let him explore her mouth as her body melted into his.

Wrapping his hand around a thick strand of her hair, he pulled it gently to tip her head back, then he trailed kisses along her chin and down her neck.

"Oh Duncan," she whispered. Her warm breath tickled his ear.

He tunneled his hand through her hair and tangled his fingers in the silken strands as he inched his mouth back up her neck. Losing himself in the throbbing heat and the emerging sensations, he abandoned all conscious thought. He simply surrendered as he slipped beneath sensualistic waves of absolute feeling.

One thought did persist, however, and he let it stay because it fit his need. He thought about inviting Leyza back to the barge. But as he pulled back from a kiss to suggest it, Leyza pushed him away with the gentle pressure of her hand on his shoulder.

"Duncan, we shouldn't do this," she said, resting forehead on his shoulder. The folds of his coat muffled her voice.

He cupped her chin with one hand, then lifted her head so he could look into her eyes. He let his thumb caress her cheek. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"This," she said. She tried to pull away, but he held her to him with the arm he still had wrapped around her. She closed her eyes.

"This is wrong," she whispered. "I shouldn't have ... I can't--"

She pulled free of his embrace, then edged away to stand at the bridge railing. Approaching her slowly so she wouldn't bolt, he moved to her side. He placed his hand on her shoulder and circled his fingers in a gentle massage. He expected her to shrug it off, but she didn't.

"Duncan you need more than I can give you right now," she said, staring down at water below them. "I want to help you, but I can't. There are things you don't know." She shook her head. "Complicated things."

"I don't understand," he said, puzzled by her comments. What did she think he needed? he thought, but didn't ask.

Beneath his hand, her shoulders lifted as she inhaled deeply, then let the breath out in a long sigh. He slid his hand to her neck, and with a light touch, he kneaded the tense knot of muscle he found there.

When she turned to him, then reached up to stroke his cheek, he thought she would tell him what the complications were. He thought, perhaps she would tell him that some Immortal was hunting her, maybe one she felt she couldn't beat. He thought she would ask for his help, and though he had put his sword away, he would take it up again if she needed him to protect her.

Instead, she moved her hands to his shoulders. "It's a good thing you have such broad shoulders," she said, watching her hands as she slid them across him like a tailor fitting a suit.

He smiled at her cryptic comment. He had no idea where this conversation was headed. It was one of the things about her that fascinated him. She was completely unpredictable - he never knew what she would say next. "Why?" he asked.

She drew her hands closer together, then let her fingers caress his neck. "Because you carry such a heavy burden of sorrow," she said, gazing into his eyes. "I sensed it immediately that first night we met. It shimmers around you like a cloud of star dust. I just wanted to take you in my arms and hold you. I wanted to help you lay down that burden before it crushes you."

He didn't know how to respond. How could his internal struggle be so obvious to her when he didn't even feel it himself - except when the nightmares struck? How could she know of the fears and guilt he thought he'd banished to the deep recesses of his mind?

"I think you've been spending too much time with your gypsy friends," he said after a few moments.

"Don't deny it, Duncan," she pressed. "You hide it well, but burying it won't make it go away. You need to release it - not just cope with it."

He moved away from her, then he gripped the bridge railing with both hands as he struggled with the urge to do just that - struggled with the urge to tell her everything. All about Ahriman, and being the champion, and killing Richie, and the year he spent in hell. But he didn't. She wouldn't understand. How could she understand what he wasn't sure he fully understood himself?

"You're imagining things," he said on the crest of a sigh. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine, Duncan MacLeod," she said, moving close so their shoulders touched. "You're just kidding yourself if you think you are. And it doesn't take Rose Martuska's psychic gifts to see that."

She slipped one hand over his and held it tightly. "I want to help you," she said. "But I have some things that need to be dealt with first. Can you be patient and accept what we have for now? Accept a promise that I'll make it up to you later?"

This whole conversation left him feeling very unsettled and perplexed. He cherished the friendship they had formed, but he did want more. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to protect her, and shield her from whatever it was that troubled her. But she kept shifting the focus to him.

"Do I have a choice?" he asked with a smile, keeping his voice soft.

"Yes," she whispered without looking at him. "You could take your burdens and walk away as though we'd never met."

He pulled her into his arms and held her. "I don't want to do that," he said, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"And I don't want that either ... but I need some time," she said, easing him back far enough so she could look at him. "Will you take a rain check on this--" She touched his lips with her fingertips, then she grinned. "Until I can give it my full attention."

"Yes," he answered, then he tipped his head until his forehead touched hers. "But I can't promise I'll be patient."

"Good," she said, then she slipped out of his embrace. Taking his hand, she began towing him toward the end of the bridge. "Let's go ... I'm hungry."

"So am I," he countered with a lascivious grin as he fell into step beside her.

"I was talking about breakfast," she said, grinning back.

He chuckled as he snaked his arm across her shoulders. "So was I," he lied.

* * * *

Apprehension skittered along his spine as he walked to the center of the bridge the next night. Leyza wasn't there waiting for him as she usually was. Staring at the far end, he expected to see her emerge from the shadows, but she didn't. He couldn't even sense her.

When he reached their spot, he stopped, then rubbed his hands together to keep them warm as he glanced around. Probably got delayed, he thought, but that notion wasn't very reassuring - the delay could be another Immortal out headhunting.

He'd never seen Leyza fight. He had no notion of how skilled she was, and that added to his concern. Where was she? Why was she late? It wasn't like her to be late - after that first night, she was usually there waiting for him.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the railing so he could see both ends of the bridge. While he waited, he rummaged through the events of last night searching for clues. Could he have said something to upset her? Something to put her off? He didn't think so.

While they were eating breakfast, she had seemed in an effusive mood, laughing and joking as she usually did. And when they left, she had kissed him goodnight - simply a chaste peck on the cheek - but that's what she usually did. Nothing, he could think of, seemed out of place - nothing except the complicated things she'd mentioned.

He knew from the beginning that something troubled her, something spurred her to walk the night away. But they'd never discussed it - as they'd never discussed the nightmares that kept him awake at night. Despite what she said about letting go of the burdens, he couldn't do it. Couldn't talk about what happened that night over a year ago. He couldn't even discuss it with Joe - and Joe had been there. How could he discuss it with a stranger?

"I want to help you," she'd said. But how could she help? She couldn't take him back in time. She couldn't reverse what had been done. She couldn't bring Richie back. And she couldn't erase the memories that haunted him.

Perhaps she realized that. Perhaps she had decided he was a lost cause, and that was why she didn't come tonight. Quickly, he dismissed that line of thought. She hadn't struck him as someone who gave up easily. He suspected she had a stubborn streak that ran deep. One very much like his own. He smiled as the old cliche, it takes one to know one, spun across his mind.

As though mere thought could summon her, he glanced at the end of the bridge once more. Only a lone car tooled by - its engine whining as the driver shifted gears. He closed his eyes to concentrate his senses, and he tried to detect any trace of Immortal presence. He felt nothing but a deep penetrating cold.

Propelled by surging concern, he paced a short path along the sidewalk. As he walked, he made a mental list of all the possible reasons why she hadn't come. Some of them seemed innocent and logical, but others were more sinister and troubling.

He reminded himself that she had no way of contacting him if something had come up, but he wondered what could have come up in the middle of the night. Not business, surely - though he had no idea what business, if any, she might have.

He didn't know if she worked, or if she was independently wealthy. The notion that he knew very little about her took him by surprise. Up until now, It hadn't seemed important to ask, and he wasn't sure she would have told him if he had asked.

He stopped pacing and took a deep breath. This waiting was driving him nuts - he had to do something. He reached in his pocket to take out his watch. Flipping it open with a flick of his thumb, he checked the time. It was nearly 5 am. Phillippe and Marie would be baking bread about now - perhaps they had some answers.

He slipped the watch back into his pocket, then strode off toward the bakery.

* * * *

Phillippe poked his head through the curtain as Duncan closed the bakery's back door behind him.

"Ah, bon jour!" he said with a broad smile. "But where is the little one?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Duncan answered.

Phillippe stepped back from the door to let Duncan enter the baking area. "She did not come with you?" he asked.

"No," Duncan answered. He swept a glance around the room as though he might find her hiding there. "She didn't meet me, tonight. I thought you might know where she is."

Marie walked in from the front of the shop, carrying empty baking trays in her hand. "Where who is?" she asked, then she stopped when she saw Duncan.

She smiled at him as she tucked the trays under her arm, then tucked stray wisps of her hair under her cap.

Duncan couldn't help smiling back. It seemed like every time he saw her, Marie was tiding her hair. He thought it looked fine as it was, but apparently she didn't. "Leyza," he answered. "I waited for her, but she didn't show up."

"Perhaps she is ill," Phillippe suggested. "A little cold, a touch of the flu - so much going around this winter." He made a tsking sound with his tongue as he shrugged.

"She seemed fine last night," Duncan said, knowing for certain that no ordinary illness had detained her.

"Did you call her?" Marie asked.

A practical question for which Duncan had no practical answer. "I ... ah don't have her phone number," he said, a little chagrined to admit they hadn't exchanged the usual details. "I thought you could tell me how to get in touch with her."

Marie and Phillippe exchanged cryptic glances. "Leyza is a good customer, and we enjoy her company, Monsieur," Marie said with a shrug. "But there was never any need to get in touch with her. I don't even know where she lives."

At least, that explained the cryptic glances, but the revelation surprised Duncan. He'd assumed from their demeanor that Leyza and the bakers were close friends. Now he didn't know what to do.

He said good-bye, then turned to leave, but Phillippe and Marie insisted that he stay - at least long enough to have a cup of coffee. They took a break from their chores as they did every morning and sat with him awhile. Neither one seemed overly concerned about Leyza's absence - but they had no knowledge of headhunting Immortals.

"She used to come in every morning about 7 am - always dressed in jogging clothes - always slightly out of breath," Marie said, by way of explaining their relationship with Leyza.

"Then one morning last ... spring, I think," Phillippe picked up the tale, glancing at Marie for confirmation.

She nodded. "We heard someone knocking at the front door ... way too early for a customer."

"I went to the door to see who it could be, and Leyza was standing outside," Phillippe continued.

"She looked very upset," Marie chimed in. "Her hair was a mess. Her clothes were streaked with dirt, and she seemed confused."

"I let her in," Phillippe said. "We insisted that she have some coffee and tell us what happened."

"She mumbled something about an accident," Marie added. "She said a friend had been killed."

"She didn't want to talk about it," Phillippe said. "But we assumed she and this friend had been involved in some kind of automobile accident."

"We offered to call someone," Marie said. "But Leyza said she was all right - that she just needed a few minutes to rest."

Duncan sat quietly toying with the handle of his coffee cup, while the Vachon's told their tale. He suspected that Leyza's accident had been no accident at all. A beheading and a Quickening was a more likely explanation. But the bakers had no way of knowing that. And he wondered who had died - wondered who she had killed.

"A few days later, she knocked at the door again," Phillippe continued. "She said she couldn't sleep, so she went for a walk."

"She wanted to buy a few croissants and a loaf of bread," Marie interrupted, then she shook her head. "I told her it was dangerous to be walking around the city alone in the middle of the night, but she laughed and said she could take care of herself."

"We invited her in for a cup of coffee and she's been stopping by every morning since," Phillippe finished the story.

Duncan thanked them for sharing the story and for their kindness. He gave them his phone number so they could contact him if they heard from her, then he left.

The walk back to the barge seemed longer and colder than it usually did when he was still warmed by Leyza's glow. And he wondered again who she had killed, and where she was now.