Shelter from the Storm Chapter 6
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.
Shelter from the Storm/part 18
Totally spent, they lay holding each other as they gasped for breath. After a few moments, Duncan rolled to his side. With his leg still hooked over her thighs in a rather proprietary fashion, he gazed down at her, then brushed her hair back from her flushed face.
She reached up to stroke his cheek. "Don't hold anything back, now, darlin'," she said with a deep chuckle and a bad southern belle accent.
"But I didn't-" he began a protest, then he quickly realized she was teasing him. He got even by bending over to tickle her ribs just beneath the swell of her breasts.
"Duncan," she squealed in his ear, then she bit his shoulder to get him to stop.
He jerked his head up, then cast an indignant glance at the fading red teeth marks on his shoulder. "You bit me!" he shouted, failing to sound as quite furious as he'd intended.
"I could kiss it to make it better," she said with a grin, then she did just that.
He let her push him back, then he pulled a pillow under his head as she nibbled and kissed her way across his chest and up to his chin.
Keeping one arm tucked under the pillow, he wrapped the other around her shoulders, then drew lazy circles on her arm with his fingers.
"I wish I was a cat," she said, drizzling kisses over his chin.
"Why?" he asked, wondering how long he could lie still with her breasts brushing over his chest.
"So I could purr," she answered with a grin, her lips poised over his.
"Well, purr ,or no purr, I'm glad you're a woman, and not a cat," he said, kissing her gently before he settled her head on his chest. "Somehow I don't think it would be much fun making love to cat - especially one of your mangy crew."
She lifted her head and responded with a charming giggle that sent waves of pure pleasure washing over him. "I beg your pardon," she said with feigned indignation. "They're not mangy - of all the nerve, insulting my dear sweet kitties!" Without warning, she began to tickle him, running teasing fingers over his ribs and stomach.
He snagged her hand, then nibbled the tips of her fingers to keep them out of trouble. "Okay," he said, laughing. "I take it back. I love your kitties - each and every one."
Once more, he settled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. With his hand over hers to keep her from tickling him again, he rested both their hands on his chest.
As she nestled closer, then stirred the hair on his chest with flexing fingers, he felt rather like purring himself. Fully sated and perfectly content, he slipped easily into a light slumber.
* * * *The nightmare began as it always did with the dark abandoned race track and the paper streamers dangling in his face. This time he found the strength to fight it. Some tiny knot of neurons deep in his mind remembered Leyza was lying at his side. Remembered that it wouldn't do to wake up screaming in anguish.
Before the nightmare could lock its jaws around him, he woke up with a sudden jolt, then he realized that his arms were empty. Reaching out for Leyza, he found only rumpled sheets - but they were still warm in the spot where she had lain.
When he sat up, the reassuring tingle of her presence - which had been simmering in the back of his mind all along - finally seeped into his consciousness. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. But where was she?
Listening for sound clues that might give him a hint where she'd gone, he waited a moment for her to return. But the only sounds he heard were the normal creaking and groaning of the barge moving against its moorings.
"Leyza?" he called out. Only the sound of his own voice answered with a faint echo.
Still clinging to the hope of finding her nearby, he swept a glance around the empty room and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Instead of the cold hard floor, his bare toes touched soft fabric. Puzzled for a moment by the unexpected texture, he wondered what it could be - then he remembered.
He bent over and picked up Leyza's dress, then he smiled at the erotic memories this few yards of crepe conjured up. Holding it bunched in his hands for a moment, he let the memories fill his mind as he drew in the faint traces of her perfume that wafted over him, then he draped it over the end of the bed.
Quickly, he found his pants on the floor at the foot of the bed. He pulled them on, then skipping the stairs, he vaulted down to the lower floor. Remembering that he'd dropped his shirt near the bookshelf, he looked for it, but it wasn't there. He still didn't know where Leyza had gone, but if that was all she'd taken to wear, she'd probably be cold. Stopping to get an old quilt from one of the trunks, he went up on deck to see if that's where she'd gone.
And that's where he found her - sitting on the roof of the cabin with her knees hugged tight to her chest. From what he could see, all she had on was his white silk shirt.
"If you're going to stand watch, it's a good idea to dress in warm clothes," he said, walking toward her. She didn't turn her head, but he caught the edges of her smile as he gazed at her profile.
He sat next to her, then settled the quilt over both of them. When she finally turned to him her eyes glistened and he was sure she'd been crying.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, turning away again. With a faint sniffle, she rubbed a knuckle under each eye.
"Nightmares?" he asked, pulling her closer.
She shook her head. "I suppose you could call it heartache, or regret perhaps," she said, with a note of bitter resignation.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked quietly, as he stared out at the river flowing past the bow. Probing like this, could get him into trouble because she had a way of turning the conversation back on him - but it seemed like she wanted to talk. Wanted to share her burdens with him instead of the river. How could he resist?
She wriggled out of his embrace, took a few steps over to the gunwale, then stared down into the water. "Did you ever raise a child?" she asked. He could barely hear her over the soft burble of the water.
Watching the breeze alternately lift the tail of the silk shirt, then mold it to her thighs, made it difficult for him to concentrate. He took a moment to corral his thoughts and consider her question before he answered it.
"No," he said, finally. "Not really ... not in the usual sense."
"Smart move," she said, then her shoulders lifted as she sighed. "It can tear the heart out of you."
He got up, walked over to her side, then he wrapped the quilt around her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her, as well, and pulled her back against him.
"Her name was Solange," she said after a few moments of silence. "Her parents - her adoptive parents, Anna and Pierre - were friends of mine. When she was 18 months old, they were killed in a terrible fire. They begged me to take her out first, then when I went back to help them, part of the floor had collapsed ... I couldn't get to them."
Beneath his arms her chest rose, then fell as she took a deep trembling breath.
"The first day they brought her into their home, I went to visit, and I knew right away that she was destined to become one of us. When they died, I had no choice. I couldn't turn her over to anyone else - strangers who wouldn't know her potential - so I took her in and raised her myself."
Duncan didn't interrupt, and he didn't comment. Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, he moved the other up to caress her shoulder with a gentle massage as he thought of Kahani, and Ann's daughter, Mary - children he'd come close to raising before fate intervened. And he thought of Michele, and Claudia, and other children he'd watched friends raise - watched from the sidelines like a concerned uncle. And lastly, he thought of Richie.
Though Richie had already been 17 when they first crossed paths, he often felt like he'd raised him - they'd fallen so easily into the roles of father and son. They'd both suffered through Richie's Immortal growing pains, and then he'd watched with pride as his protege matured into a good friend. Then he'd killed him.
"I killed her," Leyza said, in a soft resigned voice that shook him because it so thoroughly mirrored his own thoughts. And shook him because it was the last thing he'd expected her to say.
His hands trembled and he found breathing difficult. He was caught in this conversation, and there was no way out.
Leyza pulled out of his embrace, taking the quilt with her. "Of course, Carlo Donatelli killed her first," she said.
She gnawed at the edge of her thumb as she paced before him trailing the quilt like the mantel of a queen. Despite his anxiety, Duncan had to smile at the image.
"I knew he had a violent temper and I warned her not to marry him. But she wouldn't listen - she was always rebellious and she never listened to me. After all, I'd only lived for 1700 years - what could I know that she didn't at the very august age of 26?" She turned to him and smiled, but she evaded his effort to take her back into his arms.
Resigning himself to that failure, Duncan sat on the edge of the cabin roof and watched her pace. A little distance was safer anyway - perhaps if he kept his distance, he could keep himself from blurting out any troublesome confessions.
"He killed her in a jealous rage," Leyza continued. "Plunged a knife into her heart before more than a hundred people at a gala."
Finally, she stopped before him, then she reached out to stroke his hair back from his forehead. "I'm sorry," she said, skimming her hands down to his shoulders. "You're freezing cold - and I've got your quilt."
She took it off, then started to drape it over his shoulders. He snagged her wrist, pulling her down next to him, then he wrapped them both up in the quilt's soft folds.
"We could go back inside," he said, nuzzling her neck.
She laughed, then turned to rub her nose against his. "But you've got nowhere to sit inside."
He tipped his head back as he laughed. "I guess, I could get a couch."
"Uh, oh, that will get you into big trouble," she said, linking her fingers with his. "Start with a couch and it could lead to all sorts of dangerous things--"
Leyza's lips tickled him as she smiled against his hand, then spread light kisses across his knuckles. "Things like chairs ... and lamps ... and coffee tables ... and the most dreaded of all ... knickknacks."
"I'll have to guard against that," he said, still laughing as he settled her head on his shoulder.
They sat for a time in silence, huddled together against the chill breeze that ruffled the water, then she sighed.
"I should never have let Jules Perrot see her dance, but she was so beautiful and so very talented. I thought perhaps it would give her wonderful memories she could look back on in a few hundred years." She turned to him with a sad smile.
As he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, a vague memory began to nag him - one of those odd flutters like the name of a song that teases as it hovers just out of reach. He let it linger in the hope that it would jell as he let Leyza continue uninterrupted.
"At first, Solange was thrilled with the idea of being Immortal. She wasn't crazy about learning to fight and handle a sword, still she took to the training with the easy grace of the natural athlete she was. She fully intended to defend herself, but she swore, she would never take another Immortal's head. She claimed it was too gruesome to imagine."
Leyza laughed softly as she shifted away from him. He thought she intended to get up again, but she simply moved her head from his shoulder to her bent knees.
"The trouble all started when I told her she couldn't rejoin the ballet company. She didn't understand, that people saw her die - important people. Carlo Donatelli was on trial for her murder. Balletomanes throughout Europe mourned her death. And she couldn't cope with the fact that the world of dance was essentially lost to her forever - possibly a very long forever."
A name finally joined the memories drifting through Duncan's mind. "Solange Laperriere," he mused, remembering, now, the headlines when she was murdered. "I saw her dance once ... in St. Petersburg - and you're right, she had an incredible gift."
The smile, and the glow of a proud mother that comment brought to Leyza's face told him more than words could ever tell him. He thought of Claudia Jardine, and how irresistible the urge to encourage that kind of talent could be - and how very wrong it could be if the talent belonged to an Immortal.
"For years she held on to the hope, that things might change ... that someday, somewhere a ballet master would accept a 28 year old unknown dancer with no verifiable credentials. With each failure she became increasingly bitter ... and she blamed me for every one."
"Why?" Duncan asked. "You didn't make her Immortal."
As she turned to him, Leyza laughed softly. "That's what May-Ling always said." She sighed, then she rested her head on his shoulder again while she toyed absently with a corner of the quilt.
"I don't know why ... not really. Solange had so much passion and she poured it all into her dancing. When she could no longer dance, the passion turned to anger, and she had no outlet for it. I guess, I was just the closest target. There's such a thin line between love and hate - doesn't take much of a shove to push some people over it."
"You can't blame yourself for that," he said, pressing tender kisses on her hand.
Those words echoed in his mind. Like a shout reverberating through a valley, they rushed back to taunt him. Perhaps he should listen to his own advice. Perhaps he should stop blaming himself for Richie's death - and so many other things he'd done. Perhaps Methos had the right idea. Perhaps it was time to forgive himself, time to let go of the guilt-ridden past, time to move forward with his life.
"I don't blame myself," Leyza said, as she lifted her head to stare at him. She stared at him as though she could read his soul, as though she knew what thoughts had scourged him throughout this long year.
To escape her scrutiny, he closed his eyes, tipped his head back and took a long deep breath. Leyza waited a moment, then drew his head back down with the gentle pressure of her thumb on his chin. Her fingers moved over his cheek with a light touch and she turned his head toward her.
"We all have our regrets, Duncan," she said, still searching his face with a penetrating gaze. "I've lived for over 1900 years - believe me, this is but one of mine. We all make decisions - some good, some bad. And we all react to situations - sometimes in a good way, and sometimes in ways that are not so good." Still stroking his cheek, she smiled as though she knew what he needed to hear
."But we do it with only the information, the skills and the experience we have at hand - at that time. May-Ling always said, 'Hindsight is a sharp sword.' Others have said that hindsight is always 20/20 - either way, it's unwise to judge with clear sight what you did with blurred vision."
Is that what he'd been doing for the last year? Judging the events of that fateful night in the brighter light of hindsight? Possibly. But how else was he supposed to view them?
Leyza sighed as she finally turned away. "I loved her, Duncan, and I gave her all I had to give. When she came after me the last time, I didn't know what else to do. She'd tried killing herself ... but that's a bit difficult for us ... she tried killing me - and if I'd thought it would have ended her pain, I might have let her."
Just the thought of that - of losing Leyza before he'd even met her - sent icy streams sluicing down Duncan's spine. "That's never an answer," he said, holding her tighter.
"I know that, but if you could have seen her after I'd disarmed her ... on her knees begging for me to end it all - her bitterness turned to despair." Leyza's voice wavered as she fought for control.
Duncan let his arms and his hands do as much comforting as she would allow. With tender caresses he let her know she could break down and he'd be there to catch her, yet at the same time he found a measure of comfort for himself in the wisdom of her words.
Her trembling shoulders lifted as she took a deep breath. "I tried to convince myself, that if she was mortal ... and lay in hospital bed, barely connected to life by tubes and breathing machines ... I'd pull the plug. So in essence, that's what I did."
He drew her across his lap, and stroked her hair. This time it was his turn to search her face, to look deep into her eyes. "And that's why you can't sleep - because you're haunted by the guilt?"
"No, Duncan," she said, softly, meeting his gaze with her own, then she smiled. "You're not listening. I set aside whatever guilt I felt, at first - but I still mourn her. Still miss her exuberance, her bright smile and the breathtaking sight of her spinning across the stage like a butterfly or gossamer leaf caught in a whirlwind."
She shifted in his arms, and Duncan thought she might get up again, but she didn't.
"While Solange lived there was still the remote possibility that she could dance again," she continued. "But now that faint hope is gone. That final heartbreaking image of her plays itself over and over in my mind. It's the loss I can't set aside, Duncan - that's why I can't sleep."
She sighed deeply, then nestled down in his arms as though she planned to be there for awhile. And he was about to tease her about it, but then she asked, "So what's your excuse?"
That question - so unexpected, so disarming - completely shattered his complacency. He thought he was helping her with her problem, helping her to ease her mind, but now - just as he'd feared, earlier - she'd suddenly turned the whole situation around. Now she held it pointed at him like a cocked pistol.
"Er .. nothing really," he said, disturbing her repose as he stood. He dragged his trembling hand down his face, then rubbed his chin as he searched for an exit - any escape at all from the trap she'd just sprung. "A little insomnia, that's all - too many things on my mind ... you know how it is for us. Too many years of living."
"Too many years?" she said, chuckling softly as she rose, then moved to his side. "Remember, you're talking to a woman who's nearly 2000 years old - and I don't believe that." She set her hand on his arm gently, then she gripped him with fingers that were anything but.
"Who's Richie?" she asked in a soft voice as she held him in a tight grasp. Held him so he couldn't escape.
