Chapter 76

Outside Paris

Methos gazed out over the deserted courtyard. From the wall of the old French fortress, now a museum, where he was stationed, he'd be able to tell when vehicles got there. Nervously he fingered his weapons. He had so many backup weapons on him... he felt even his back-ups had back-ups. Still... he knew it was likely for naught. He sensed Eleanor's approach.

Part of him wanted to curse at her for insisting on coming... but part of him had decided that she was likely right.

"Last time there were twelve of you and only eight of you survived. What chance if there's only you?"

"I won't be alone. MacLeod and Phillip will be there."

"That's three."

"Ian will be there."

Eleanor had shaken her head. "His job will be to get Alisaunne out of there once you've lured Nestor in. He's not a factor."

"I don't want you there."

"Tough..." she'd smiled then and he'd seen the flash in her eyes. She could do what was necessary but still...

"It's too dangerous... You need to remain here with Derrick."

"I need to be with you. I can distract him."

Methos had stared at her.

"He'll know Alisaunne is there you say... What if he sees me? I don't intend to be a victim... But if I can distract him just long enough for Ian to get the girl safely away... It would give you three a chance at containing him. He'd have his eye on me."

"You can't leave Derrick alone."

"Monsieur Bouchet will watch him."

In the end she'd had her way.

Now she climbed the stone stairs. As she stopped next to him Methos put his arms around her and held her... fearful to have her here. She might well prove a distraction... but a distraction for whom. She was his Achilles heel. Eighteen hundred years ago the group facing Nestor had not much cared about one another. They'd been united only in their need to stop Nestor. And it had cost all of them a piece of their soul. And they had been the lucky ones.

Of the eight survivors who'd walked away, Marcus Constantine and Darius had returned to their armies trying to drown the horror in the thrill of combat. In the end... both had turned from all of it... sickened at the death and slaughter. The two, later known as Ramirez and Ashe had focused on living... much as Phillip had. The three had taught their skills and cut a swath through time of lovers and gallantry. Ashe and Ramirez had died long ago. Phillip... well Phillip still lived... but even he had sickened of it all. To him... it really was a game. One he could win... but one he no longer cared to win. He spent too much time in search of oblivion in alcohol. Rebecca had focused on teaching and helping others. Certain that somehow... she could make a difference. Ursa... Ursa had little mind left after what Nestor had done to him to understand anything other than that Nestor was bad. And Methos himself had withdrawn from much of life, content to watch it change around him. The killing and the game still fascinated him... but long before facing Nestor, Methos had decided to participate only sparingly if he could help it. If the experience with Nestor had taught him anything... it was that dark quickenings existed and that any of them could fall victim to one if they did not stop. So cut off from life had he been for a number of years after Nestor's binding... that it was only his loose association with Phillip and Darius over the years that had brought him back to a love and appreciation of life. And then, of course, there was Aella... In his heart she was still his Aella... his immortal wife whom he'd failed so miserably... whom he had wanted to save from this life... whom he had wanted to help survive once she'd been forced to enter it.

"They come," Eleanor murmured, shifting in his embrace.

Methos nodded watching the set of headlights approach. He prayed to all the powers that had ever been that it was MacLeod and Phillip. It was. He could vaguely make them out as they entered the courtyard and sequestered themselves in the shadows.

Methos whistled for Ian. The boy and Alisaunne came forward from the shadows to stand in the center of the courtyard.

Methos had tried to explain things to the girl.

"We cannot call the police. They cannot stop him."

"But why not?"

"Because he has ways of getting past them. He has tricks." Methos had handed her one of his Lugers. "If he gets past us... If he comes toward you... can you use this?"

Alisaunne had looked at it distastefully. "I can fence... what if I use a sword."

"No!" Methos, Ian, and Eleanor had said as one. So Alisaunne had taken the gun. Methos had given her a few lessons and let her test fire it to get the feel.

"He'll be close enough you won't miss. Aim for his chest... then his head. Keep firing until you have nothing left." He had to hope that if it came to it... Alisaunne could stop Nestor long enough so that they could get to him.

With a sigh, Methos whispered to Eleanor, "We need to take our places. I somehow doubt he'd be so foolish as to drive up with his lights on." Eleanor nodded. He kissed her hoping it would not be for the last time.

She kissed him back and then gave him a peck on his nose teasingly. "Don't be long..."

Methos climbed higher into the fortress. It was important that the three of them hide out of Nestor's sensing range... but he worried that it would be too far.

Below him, Eleanor went down to join Ian and Alisaunne. From there she could sense none of the three.

"I wish I knew why this was happening to me." Alisaunne felt as if she had aged ten years in the past few days. Why am I so special?"

"Because you're a lovely lass and he has excellent taste," Ian joked. But his attempt at levity seemed to fall flat. The boy stood behind her and wrapped his arms about the girl from behind.

Eleanor envied them... then realized that she could sense Methos behind her... staring over her shoulder... focused on what she saw. "I love you!" she seemed to hear him say. Eleanor smiled and sent the same back. She could almost feel his chuckle and his kiss on her hair. She focused on the gates. They'd closed them... but they were not locked. When they'd open... that would be the sign to move. Hopefully they'd sense him long before he reached the gates. By the time he got into the courtyard... MacLeod, Phillip and Methos would be on their way.

Eleanor shivered a bit and went into her warm-up, stretching and shifting as Phillip had long ago taught her. Still and small she would wait... then she'd move... swiftly and silently. Methos had warned her not to behead him. "Kill him quickly if you need to, but don't take his head. We need him alive."

In the darkness... time seemed to stretch interminably. Finally Eleanor thought she could sense him... but he seemed closer than the gate... Worriedly she turned about. She caught Ian's eye. He felt it too. If this was Nestor... he was within the courtyard already. He had found another way in. He was close and the others were too far away. Eleanor focused her fear and sent it to Methos... and felt his rage at having missed something... at having underestimated the madman and put them all at risk.

When the shadow along the eastern wall moved, Eleanor signaled Ian to take Alisaunne and run back into the fortress. She drew her light short sword in one hand and drew one of her knives in the other. She focused on the shadow and moved swiftly to intercept. As he tried to pass her by she swung her sword at him and felt the clang of steel on steel. Eleanor twisted and attempted to drive her knife into his gut. He grasped her hand and shifted, catching her within his grasp.

"I know that move," he sneered. "Phillip taught me that one. Later my dear... Right now... NO... dis... trac... tions." She smelled his fetid breath as he breathed on her face and licked his tongue across her mouth. "Mmmm!" Then he bit her face as she twisted in his grasp attempting to get leverage. She almost worked loose, and then she felt a knife enter her heart. "Later!" she heard him say as he tossed her to the ground and vanished into the fortress in pursuit of Ian and Alisaunne.

Eleanor attempted to rise, but knew it would be a while. She sank into oblivion with a sense of foreboding.