Chapter Forty-Three
Florence:

The jangle of the telephone interrupted the story she was regaling Gina with about the time she and Rebecca had decided to paint these rooms themselves just after the second World War. The villa had been used by occupying German forces, and Rebecca had wanted a clean slate. "Something bright and cheerful… to remind me of life," her teacher had laughed. They'd settled on yellow with blue woodwork to set off the antique marble and tile of the room. "When Duncan and I were redoing the place a few years ago… I still wanted the rooms to reflect her exquisite taste." Waving a hand cheerily, she indicated that Gina should continue the tour.

"Pronto," Amanda laughed as she answered the phone.

"Amanda."

Amanda sobered. "Duncan? Where are you? I've been frantic!"

There was a pause. "I lost my phonecard. I've been out of the loop. How are Robert and Gina?"

"Adam has Robert with him. I'm in Florence with Gina."

"Duncan laughed. "So I gather. I had assumed I'd just leave a message on the machine for you. But since you're there… you can do something for me."

"What?" she asked. Her lower lip jutted out in a small pout. Catching sight of that in her reflection in a mirror, she turned and managed to remove all trace of it. She wouldn't pout. She wouldn't.

"I've found the artifacts."

"Wait… the artifacts? I thought you were looking for…" she looked around and then whispered into the phone, "… Kate."

He laughed. "I still am… but I realized something… stopped by Waterloo and finally solved the clue."

"Duncan that's wonderful."

"I've made arrangements to ship everything to Phillip on Niebos. Can you let him know? I don't want anything to happen to them."

"Aren't you coming with them?"

Duncan paused. "No… I still have to find Kate." She could hear him sigh.

"Joe's worried. So is Adam. I think he and Robert went looking for you after we left."

"You didn't tell him anything, did you?"

"Of course not!" Amanda was hurt that he would think that of her. "You asked me to keep it a secret until you could get them settled. So I am!"

"Listen. I'll call Joe and if I run into Methos, I'll tell him. If he calls… tell him I'm fine."

"Why would he think otherwise?"

"I was challenged."

"Who?"

"No one important. But if he's concerned… tell him I'm fine."

"Duncan,' she said quietly, noting that Gina had returned and was looking at her quizzically. "I'm worried."

He laughed. "Amanda I'm over four hundred years old. I know how to handle myself. Why is this different from any other time we were apart?"

"It isn't," Amanda admitted. "And for the record… I worried then too!"

"Well don't. And since you're there… you can do something for me."

"Anything."

"Take the computer game and the books and other clues to Phillip. He may need them."

"I don't like the sound of this," Amanda said suddenly, feeling uneasy.

"It's nothing… it's just that I want everything to be there together. Listen… I've got to go. I love you."

"Duncan!" Amanda cried out as she heard the disconnect. "Duncan!" She began to cry and felt Gina's arms surround her in comfort.

"Oh cheri… It will be fine. He'll come back. I know he will. Duncan was always an honorable man." She took the phone from Amanda's grasp and hung it up. "Let me make you some tea. Or maybe a good stiff drink?" Her voice was soothing and Amanda thought that maybe a good stiff drink was just the thing she needed.

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Paris:

The strains of the blues rose in the air and emanated from the music room where Abigail sat at the piano. She was humoring her grandpa, and accompanying his playing on the guitar. He didn't play too much anymore… something about stiff fingers. In fact… he only seemed to really play these days when he was worried. Oh he played at the club sometimes… but seldom here at the house.

His voice sounded smoky and filled with pain… both physical and emotional. Abigail realized that accompanying him was the least she could do.

Above the music, she heard the phone, but kept playing. Dawson could get if he could pry himself away from his computer. Estelle was out shopping, so if he didn't get it… the machine would. The phone stopped ringing after three rings and she decided that the machine had picked up. She focused on the arbirtary and changing key of Grandpa's playing. It was one of the reasons that she'd never really cared for the blues… it changed everytime it was played… unlike Chopin… Mozart… Bach… Beethoven. Their music never changed… except in the way she learned to linger on some notes and dance on others.

Grandpa stopped playing. He was staring at the doorway at Dawson. Abigail stopped playing as well.

"It's Mr. MacLeod, Grandpa. He wants to talk to you… says it's important."

"Damn right it's important!" Joe said as he reached for the phone. "And don't tell your mother I said that in front of you1"

Dawson laughed and settled on the arm of the sofa. "I hear worse than that in school."

Abigail snickered. "And say worse."

He glared at her and stuck out his tongue. She returned the gesture.

"Mac… you sonofab…gun," Joe finished lamely. "Where the he… heck are you?"

"I'm fine Joe. Still on the trail of Craille."

"Yeah… well so is Adam. I gave him the same addresses after what I heard happened in Eastern France."

"What did you tell him?" the Highlander asked pointedly.

"What could I tell him? You were off on some crazy mission to find these two for God only knows what reason?" Joe's voice rose in accusation and then noticing the stares of his grandchildren he lowered his voice as he engaged the chair and headed into the hallway and then out into the garden. "Listen Mac. I was worried… okay. I have a vested interest in you. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I don't want anything to happen to me either, Joe. Listen… this isn't about that… I told you."

"Well what about Eastern France?"

"A chance meeting and a man who wouldn't say no. I'm fine."

"The police are looking for you. They impounded your car."

"Yeah… I know. I'm off the radar right now and hoping to stay that way."

"Well Adam called from Manchester earlier. The London and Manchester addresses were empty… had been for years. He and Robert were headed for Glasgow."

He waited while there was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "They're likely there by now."

"Yeah… they could be."

Another pause. "Then I'm headed east to Moscow. It's what I planned to do before things got complicated."

"You don't think they're in Glasgow do you?"

"I don't know. I do know I have to find them, and if Methos finds them first… it'll be fine. Not what I would have wanted… but it'll be fine."

"Well call me! Stay in touch!"

"If I can. Goodbye, Joe." There was a click on the line… and then the dial tone.

"Dagblasted sonofa…" Joe sighed, and felt like tossing the phone. He lowered his head onto his upraised right hand, resting on the arm of his chair and scratched at his scalp and beard. He tried the redial button.

"Hôtel Vincennes," came the pleasant female voice.

"Here in Paris?" Joe asked, surprised.

"Certainment, monsieur. How may I assist you."

Joe paused. "Do you have a Duncan Macleod staying there?"

"Non monseiur, we do not."

Joe held his breath. "Merci beaucoup," he replied and rang off. "Now what would bring him back to Paris?" He considered contacting the organization to put a field agent on him as he had when Mac had first left. Again he hesitated. MacLeod had earned Joe Dawson's trust. He dropped the phone into his lap and headed back toward the house.

"Everything okay with Mr. MacLeod, Grandpa?" Abigail asked. Dawson nodded his agreement with his twin's question.

"Yeah… what say we try that number again, darlin'," Joe grinned.

Abigail gave him a strange look as if she knew things he'd never told her. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "For you… anything." He squeezed her hand as he glanced at Dawson. "Want to join us?"

Dawson laughed. "Doing what Grandpa?"

"We could use a drummer," he suggested.

"Drummer? With what?"

"Ah Dawson, my boy. Anything works… even your hands and your thigh."

Dawson glanced at Abigail and then nodded. "Okay… sure. I can do that."

The three went back into the music room where the twins occupied their grandpa until their mother arrived.

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Duncan had waited until he was ready to leave before calling Joe. As soon as he was finished, he checked out. He'd spent the morning obtaining the proper forms to have bodies shipped to Greece and had paid handsomely to expedite matters from the funds he'd withdrawn from the bank in Geneva. He knew Joe would call back. In fact, he'd been checking out at the front desk when the clerk had answered the phone. He could hear Joe on the other end of the line. He'd be gone long before his Watcher could get a man on him.

Upon leaving the hotel, Duncan checked on the shipment at the small airport. Since flights couldn't land on Niebos, only chartered helicopters with clearance, he'd needed to let Phillip know. Amanda's being in Florence had saved him a phone call, although it had been rough to hear her voice and realize how much he was risking by this course of action. But he'd started something, and he needed to complete it… no matter what.

He watched the vaults loaded onto the plane and then watched it take off… banking toward the southeast. It was done… and it was no longer in his hands. At that, and feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted, Duncan climbed into the battered Volvo he'd bought, and hit the highway. He had a bad feeling about Moscow… and about Kate. He'd leave Glasgow to Methos… hell… he was nearly there. but he didn't think Alistair had gone to Scotland. Scotland would remind Kate of Duncan… where he was from… and Duncan didn't think Alistair would chance that. No… he'd go someplace else… someplace where Kate would think only of him… and their child.

Duncan discovered that thought made him jealous. It was his child too! At least… that was how he felt… even if biology said otherwise. Some part of him was in that child… and he was determined to find it… and its mother!

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Glasgow:

The Manchester estate had been deserted and in poor repair. Methos had felt almost relieved that no one was attempting to live there. He sniffed disparagingly as he'd walked the grounds.

"What's the problem?" Robert had asked.

"It's fine land. It could be very fertile. It's such a shame to see it like this."

"Absentee landowner," Robert had said with a shrug. "Just because you or I make an attempt to keep all of our properties in good repair, doesn't mean every immortal does."

Methos had nodded. "But it's a crime."

After seeing two of Craille's properties, Methos now did not hold out much hope that the third would be any different. The man was an acquirer… not a collector. Methos was old enough to know the difference. Craille wanted things… but once he had them… they held no interest for him. Methos feared that if MacLeod had made it possible for Kate to have a child… then Craille might not be too interested in her anymore. And if Craille were no longer interested, that damned Scots honor of MacLeod would make him step to the plate, as it were, and stand by Kate through this. Methos worried about that. But he said nothing to Robert.

By late afternoon they'd arrived at the property west of Glasgow. Surrounded by rolling hills, the small stone house looked quaint and well appointed. Unfortunately, a caretaker and his family lived there. They kept an eye on the fields, the horses, and the tor.

A walk around the tall stone tower that had once been the Scottish idea of a castle, convinced Methos that Craille had gone elsewhere. He motioned for Robert and drove to the nearby inn where he rented a room. Following dinner, he retired to their room, leaving Robert in the tavern.

The ancient immortal stretched on his bed and cleared his thoughts. He needed more than an occasional brush with Eleanor. He needed her. He relaxed until he felt as if he was floating… and she was there. He could feel her stretched beside him… hovering above him… laughing. He could feel her teasing touch, her kisses… soft as thoughts. He could smell her… taste her. She eased around behind him and held on while they galloped across the Scottish moors not far from here. It was summer… and the shadow of immortality had yet to touch her. He reigned in the horse and leaned to pat his neck at the top of one hill. In the distance, he could see the small stone church at the crossroads where he'd died.

She clasped him tighter, begging him to move on. "I don't like this place," she seemed to say. He could feel her shudder.

He pulled at the reigns and turned aside. Over the next rise was the desert… clean… and unspoiled. On the horizon three figures on horseback waited for him. Again he reigned the horse in. "Ride on," she whispered and he felt the darkness that still dwelt deep within her. "Ride on!" Methos shook his head… he had a better idea and pulled her to him… crushing her against him… seeming to turn with her in mid-air as if they were in the midst of a whirlwind and the horse had vanished.

Vaguely he heard the drums and saw above them the standing stones of legend looming as if guardians of the past. "We haven't been here in a while," he told her. She laughed and melted against him as painted figures danced about them beneath a blood-red moon.

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