AN – Thanks for the reviews and the emails, its great to know that people are enjoying this. To Laura, hope this answers your questions, and to SC, of course, Richie will be fine, eventually. (evil grin).
***
In the passenger seat, Marc Renard bit his lip worriedly and looked over at the hard, angry, profile of his father. Now did not seem like a good time.
Still.
"I thought you were dead." He said quietly.
"I was dead." His father kept his eyes on the road.
Marc scrutinised his face to see if there was the slightest chance that he was joking. But both the grim expression and the circle of blood that still marked his chest indicated otherwise.
Besides, his father was not the joking type.
"Do I get an explanation?" he asked hollowly.
"Yes," His father took his eyes off the road, to spare him a brief, glance. "When you are older and more responsible."
"Older and .." March spluttered. "Dad, this isn't the birds and the bees. You damn well died!" he exclaimed.
"You watch your mouth, young man!" Walker cuffed him, hard enough to make him see stars.
In normal circumstances, his father's anger cowed Marc into obedience. But this time he figured seeing someone come back from the dead, didn't count as remotely normal circumstances.
"What I saw was impossible," Marc told him, his voice rising hysterically with each word. "It couldn't have happened!"
"Obviously, it could. Since you saw it." His father was unmoved.
"But .. what .. how .. who .." he stuttered incoherently.
"You know, this emotional response is doing nothing to convince me that you are mature enough to handle this." Walker gave him a disdainful look.
"I was mature enough to handle pulling that blade out of your chest," Marc shot back. "What would have happened to you if I hadn't come looking for you?"
"Eventually, the wound would have healed," Walker said calmly. "Pushing the sword back out of its own accord."
"So, what are we talking about to heal a wound like that?" Marc couldn't quite believe he was asking this. "Hours, Days, Weeks?"
Walker considered that. A small projectile, like a bullet, could be dislodged by the Immortal healing process relatively quickly, often only a few minutes. A sword through the heart was an entirely different proposition. It took some considerable time for the body to repair itself sufficiently to eject a sword like that.
"Maybe longer." He allowed.
"Longer?" Marc shook his head in disbelief. "So, what? You were just going to lie there? Taking a little nap? Until when? Until the rats started snacking on your toes? Or the local wino stole all your clothes?" His voice was rising again. "Or until Mom and I reported you as a missing person?"
"I highly doubt it would have come to that." Walker gave a thin smile.
Indeed, he was presently banking on that fact that Macleod would return to continue their confrontation at the earliest possible opportunity.
As they pulled up at the barge, Walker noted with some satisfaction that there was no Immortal signal present. And the Citroen was missing.
Marc blinked, suddenly focusing on his surroundings.
"What are we doing here?"
***
Tessa had only just settled back down to her reading, when she started slightly at a knock on the door.
"It is rather late for visitors," She frowned, looking over at Richie on the couch. "Where you expecting anyone?"
"Dressed like this?" Richie indicated the flannel pyjamas. "I do have a reputation to consider, you know."
"Of course, what was I thinking?" Tessa smiled fondly at him.
The knock came again, this time slightly more insistent.
"You don't think it is an Immortal?" Tessa worried.
"They don't usually knock." Richie pointed out. He struggled to extricate himself from the pile of blankets, only to tangle himself up even further.
"You stay there." Tessa laughed at his predicament. "I'll get it."
"Do I have any choice?" Richie glared at the offending bedding.
Tessa blinked at the unfamiliar young man at the door.
"Um, Good evening, Madame," he shifted awkwardly, addressing his enquiry to his feet. "I was wondering if Richie was home."
"At this hour?" Tessa said, a bit tartly. "I should think so."
"Oh," Then young man looked up, with a quick blush. "Its just .. he said he was coming to fencing club today and he never showed. I was just wondering if he was alright?"
"You did not miss him until this hour?" Tessa asked dryly, wondering if this was actually about some party or other.
"I had to go to work. I was just calling by on my way home, I'm sorry its so late." He apologised.
"Yes, well." Tessa thawed a little, in the face of his obvious concern. "Richie was a little unwell, this evening," She figured that was as good an excuse as any. "I'll tell him that you were asking after him. Monsuier ..?
"I don't supposed I could see him, could I? Just for a minute?" the young man practically begged.
"Well, he's not exactly dressed for company," Tessa smiled. "But I can ask him."
She raised her voice slightly, so that it would carry into the lounge room. "Richie?"
Getting no reply, she took a step back and turned to look at the couch.
***
The first thing she saw was the light, as it caught on the steel blade, pressed hard up against Richie's throat. Her gaze travelled upward, to meet the teen's eyes, wide and frightened in his pale face, and only then did she look at the man holding the sword. The same man that she had seen lying dead, in a pool of blood, only hours before.
"I let myself in," the Immortal inclined his head towards the door at the back of the barge. "I hope you don't mind."
At his nod, the young man stepped inside and softly shut the other door.
"Duncan, will be back at any moment." Tessa said, with more bravardo than she was feeling.
"Thank you for the warning," Wallker smiled. "Then I'd better make this fast."
Keeping the blade at Richie's throat he jerked it upward slightly, Richie flinched and bit his lip as a thin line of blood trickled down his neck.
"Up." Walker commanded.
"Maybe, if you moved the blade?" Richie swallowed.
"Don't play with me boy," Walker warned, dangerously. "Get up."
"He's trapped, the blankets." Tessa explained hastily.
With a contemptuous look, Walker grasped the blankets and pulled hard, rolling Richie off the couch, so that his head hit the floor, with a sickening thud.
"Richie!" Tessa stepped forward to help, only to find herself restrained by the young man at her side.
"Don't help," he murmured. "It'll only make him worse."
Hearing someone call his name, Richie rolled over onto his hands and knees and blinked groggily at the point of a sword.
"Hey, you moved it." He slurred.
He tried shaking his head to clear it. Not a good idea.
"I feel sick." He announced to no one in particular.
"You won't be feeling anything at all, if you don't get up." Walker threatened.
"Frankly, right now, that seems like a pretty good deal." Richie swallowed hard, against a wave of nausea.
Tessa watched as the Immortal's face went tight with rage.
"Richie, do as he says, petit." she encouraged softly, hoping to keep them both alive until Duncan returned.
Moving slowly, and with some difficultly, Richie lurched unsteadily to his feet.
"Alright," he swayed slightly, "Now what?"
In answer, Walker smoothly sheathed his sword and produced a gun.
"I had to ask, didn't I?" Richie groaned.
***
"Dad," Marc sounded distantly nervous. "You never said anything about a gun."
"First rule of business, son," Walker said smoothly. "Never leave any loose ends. Sooner or later they always trip you up. Like Richie here."
"You can't think that Duncan will let you get away with this." Tessa said icily.
"I'm not planning on giving him any choice."
"Look, if its me you want, I'll come quietly, alright?" Richie gabbled desperately. "Just leave Tessa out of this."
"Oh, I have every intention of leaving her," Walker promised. "Her kind have no business in our affairs."
"Yeah, right," Richie nodded, enthusiastically, before the splitting pain in his head reminded him what a bad idea that was. "I mean, she's French, right? There's gotta be a whole tribe of relations who are gonna be clamouring to know what went down if anything happens to her."
"Really?" Walker purred. "Then that will keep Macleod occupied for a good long time."
He levelled the gun at Tessa.
"If you take Richie," Tessa warned. "Duncan will not waste one second mourning over what cannot be changed. He will come for our son."
Walker arched a brow.
"I'm prepared to take that chance."
It was the look in his eyes that gave him away. Richie had seen that look before. So, he knew. Even before Walker began to put pressure on the trigger, he knew this man was deadly serious.
He was going to kill Tessa.
"Noo!"
Unfortunately, he was a little too groggy, a fraction too slow, and an instant too late, to do anything more than deflect the gun slightly as it discharged.
It was enough to save Tessa.
But beside her, Marc Renard, fell to the floor, crimson blood blossoming across his chest.
For a moment no-one moved..
"Oh, crap." Richie breathed.