AN – Thanks again for all the reviews. I saw the length of my replies and wrote to everyone I could by e-mail instead! For Sarai I'm sorry you found the time travel confusing, Its not really a feature of the rest of the story, which is much more about how Richie's relationship with this Mac and Tessa develops in the light of his knowledge of what is to come. Amanda and Rebecca will both feature in subsequent chapters.
Predictably, Connor had hadn't been overly impressed with the sleeping arrangements, muttering darkly about the feather beds that the Hotel was famous for and people who snored. Adam for his part hadn't seemed the least bit perturbed that they were to make themselves at home, although he did murmur quietly.
"He doesn't sleep too well in strange places."
"Nightmares," Duncan nodded. "He said."
Adam raised one brow in mild surprise, but accepted that without question.
In the event Richie slept deeply for almost ten hours, as his body desperately sought to replace lost energy. Not even stirring as the rest of the household got up and went about their day around him.
"Tess," Duncan tried to reason with her. "I just don't think it's a good idea right now."
"But I have an appointment to meet M. Dumas at the Gallery," Tessa paused in the action of putting on her coat. "If I don't go I will lose the commission."
"Couldn't you put him off?"
Her eyes flashed. "Is this how our life is to be now? Am I to be forever some sort of prisoner?"
"Its just for a day or two." Duncan tried to placate her.
"Actually," Connor cut in. "I was wondering if I might come with you?"
"As a body guard?" Tessa asked coldly.
"As an Antique Dealer," Connor corrected. "There are a number of new young artists in Paris whose work will become quite valuable in years to come."
"Such things are never certain," Tessa shook her head lightly, looking thoughtful. "But I could make some suggestions."
As they left Duncan mouthed 'thank you' to his kinsman behind Tessa's back and received a rankish grin in return.
"He's going to make an absolute killing." Adam observed, shrugging into his own coat.
"Maybe," Duncan shrugged. As Tessa said such things were never certain and most artists didn't come into their own until after they were dead. "Where are you going?"
"To see Darius. We need some sort of a plan."
"What about the lad here?" Duncan gestured towards the sleeping figure on the couch.
"He's asleep. He won't be any trouble."
"What if he wakes up?"
"Just try and keep him out of harms way," Adam advised "And don't let him have too much sugar."
It was almost ten am by the time Richie finally stirred, gradually coming to full consciousness with a stretch and a yawn that belied Adam's comment about his being uncomfortable in strange places.
"Sleep well?" Duncan asked, from where he was reading in the easy chair.
"Yeah, real good thanks," Richie glanced up at the streaming sunlight. "I thought we were going for a run?"
"We still can. You needed to sleep."
"I guess," Richie sat up, letting the blankets pool around him, twisting his neck slightly to work out a crick. "Where is everyone?"
Duncan told him, calling back over his shoulder as he ducked into the galley to fetch coffee and brioche and thinking of teenage appetites added some cheese and ham as well.
"Here." He put the tray down in front of Richie and took a cup of coffee for himself.
"You're not eating?"
"I already had breakfast." Duncan glanced meaningfully at the clock.
"Oh." Richie's face fell slightly.
Duncan bit back a grin. So, there was still more than a touch of genuine teenager in the lad.
"We can go to MacDonald's for lunch."
"Yeah? Thanks Mac," thus reassured Duncan watched as Richie dug in, assembling a towering cheese and ham sandwich and taking a large, satisfied bite.
"Do you call Connor that?" He asked out of curiosity.
"What? Mac?" Richie grinned and shook his head. "Not unless I want to be wearing my insides on the outside. Um. You don't mind, do you?"
Duncan shook his head.
"So," Richie looked up. "What's the plan for today?"
"I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble. Any ideas?"
"Well, I guess a trip to Flash is out," Richie named a particularly disreputable nightclub. "How about a workout?"
Duncan blinked. To workout with another Immortal required a serious show of trust. Even though Richie was apparently in some way Connor's student, although Duncan still wasn't exactly sure about that, he was surprised that the offer was so readily made.
"Alright," he agreed, reciprocating Richie's trust with some of his own. "But eat first, you're going to need the energy."
"Um," Richie spoke around a mouthful. "I'm going to need a sword too."
"You don't have a sword?"
"Well, I have one. Just not here, exactly."
"Where exactly?" Duncan spoke between gritted teeth. What the hell was Connor thinking of, letting the lad run around without a sword? It was the first lesson he had taught him. Keep it with you.
"It's a really long story," Richie looked away, his eyes hooded. "My Dad's using it right now and its not like I can just ask him to give it back."
"Oh," That made some sort of sense at least, Duncan supposed. He could easily imagine Richie impulsively offering his own weapon if his father had need of it. Still, his stomach churned slightly at the memory of Richie facing down Ares yesterday, without a sword to hand. Well, he could do something about that at least. Assessing the lad's height, build and reach, Duncan strode over to an oak chest at the back of the barge and started piling stuff onto the floor, until he had uncovered a large, flat, box.
"Here," As Richie finished his breakfast and wiped his fingers on his napkin, Duncan slid the box onto the coffee table. "Try this one for size." It was a hand and a half Gothic bastard sword, a sturdy workhorse of a blade that Duncan had picked up at a recent auction. It wasn't flashy and there was a little damage to the hilt, but it would serve its intended purpose well enough.
"Thanks." Richie nodded in gratitude, but Duncan had seen a flash of disappointment as he opened the box. No doubt he had hoped for something rather more glamorous. Come to think of it, Graham Ashe's sword would be perfect for him. But he quashed that thought. It was Connor's right to give him a sword.
"Go on then," Duncan encouraged. "Go get yourself ready and we'll see how well you do."
They started carefully, Duncan testing out Richie's style and stamina. The lad watching and apparently waiting for Duncan to fully commit to the fight, as he offered a range of attack and countermeasures. He was good, Duncan decided. He saw something of Connor in there, and Amanda, although the lad had clearly had other teachers, Adam he supposed and if he hadn't known better he would have sworn there was something of Fitz's influence in there.
They went back and forth at it for a while, falling into an easy rhythm, like Tennis players warming up before a match, giving each other the opportunity to attack and defence, advance or give ground, working moves, muscles and memory. After a good hour or so of this, Duncan decided to see what the lad was really made of.
"Alright," Grinning ferally he circled round, his sword at the ready. "Best of three?"
"Bring it on." Richie nodded, sharply, his eyes bright with excitement, it was an established sparring technique and one Connor would have used with him, the first to draw blood would win the point.
Duncan went in fast and low, hoping to unbalance him and force him to parry too broadly. But to his surprise, the lad was ready for him, blocking his blade and twisting under it to nick his side with the point.
"Blood."
Richie stepped back and stood ready. Duncan looked down and wiped his fingers over the rapidly healing nick. "So, I see," he acknowledged wryly. Still, the lad had done well. He nodded. "Very good. Let's see if you can do it again."
This time he went to the right, which he had noted was the lad's weaker side and used a little know Italian fencing move to slip under the lad's guard, nicking him decisively on the bicep.
"Blood. Two all." Duncan stood back and waited for the lad to collect himself.
"Oh man," Richie protested. "There goes another shirt."
"You don't want to ruin your wardrobe, don't get hit." Duncan advised without sympathy.
That might have been a mistake, he acknowledged, as Richie came at him again, with renewed determination. This time it took much longer, neither wiling to concede the final point and defeat. And then suddenly, it was over. Duncan went to feint right and Richie anticipated the move, dropping his blade and leaving himself wide open for a scant second, before twisting the blade at the last moment and taking Duncan's feet out from under him. Still, gasping slightly from the impact of the fall, Duncan felt the point of Richie's sword at his throat and looked up to see the lad standing over him, grinning broadly.
"Blood."
Duncan regarded him in stony silence, pointedly ignoring Richie's offered hand as he hauled himself to his feet and squared up to the teen.
"Hey, c'mon Mac," Richie's grin faltered. "I beat you fair and square."
"What the hell, were you thinking?" Duncan hissed, between tightly gritted teeth.
"What did I do?"
"What did he do?" Duncan muttered, starting to pace, unable to believe the lad could be so clueless. "What did he do?" He stopped and turned on his feet to face Richie. "Are you that naïve? Nine times out of ten that move will get you killed. You have to leave yourself wide open to make the attacking blow. It's reckless not to mention downright dangerous. You never use it, except as an absolute last resort and certainly not in practice with an Immortal that you barely know!"
"But I .." Richie started to protest. Then abruptly stopped. "You're right. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
Duncan studied him intently, as he worked to bring his own feelings under control.
"You'll do your Da no service by getting yourself, killed," he counselled. "He'd expect you to do your best to survive no matter what."
"You think?" Richie looked away.
"Of course," Duncan paused. Was there something else going on here? "You don't think so?"
"He left me," Richie's tone was flat. "He knew I needed him, big time, and he went off and left me."
"Alright," Duncan pushed away the last of the red and gold cardboard boxes with a sigh and sat back on the couch. "I'm done."
"Really?" Richie leant over and peered in one of the boxes. "You not eating those?"
"Go for it."
He watched indulgently as Richie wolfed down the rest of the fries. There was nothing wrong with the lad's appetite at least.
"You want to talk about it?" he offered casually.
"Not unless, I want Connor to fillet me like a fish," Richie shook his head. "He has this whole spy secret stuff thing going."
"And do you always do what Connor tells you?"
"Not even close," Richie shook his head.
He continued to eat and Duncan wondered if he was going to tell him after all. But he had the feeling that if he just waited and didn't press then it would come. Lord knows the lad needed to talk about this.
"My Mom and Dad weren't together when I was a kid. I grew up in a whole bunch of foster homes and none of the guys I called Dad ever stuck around for long. By the time I hooked up with him, my Dad had to work real hard to earn my trust. But he just kept at it. That's what makes it so hard. He knows the worst thing he could ever do to me would be to leave me, but he did it anyway."
"Then he must have had a good reason," Duncan wasn't quite sure why he was defending the man. Except if the lad loved him this fiercely he couldn't be all bad. "Did he know about Ares?"
"Yeah, we'd had a run in or two with him already," Richie ran a hand through his hair. "That's kinda why he left. Ares decided to go after this other kid. A pre-immortal. Which is cool you know, I mean, some one had to help the kid, but why did it have to be him? Didn't he think about me?" He swallowed hard.
"I'd say your Dad is very proud of you."
"So, he ditches me? How do you figure that?"
"He trusts you. He trusts that you'll be all right. That you'll know to do the right thing. He would never have left you otherwise."
"I guess," Richie bit his lip. "Its just, I miss him."
"I think you're supposed to," Duncan observed dryly. It had been almost four hundred years and he still missed those times when he could rely on his father's quiet wisdom and steady presence fiercely. "But we carry them with us. Everyone we've ever loved and everyone we've ever lost. They never leave us."
"Oh." Richie said softly, as if a long forgotten memory had just fallen into place.
Duncan nudged him gently. "Just because he can't be here right now doesn't mean he's stopped loving you."
"Yeah, I get that now." He gave him a warm smile. "Thanks Mac, you've been a big help."
Duncan felt a rush of affectionate pleasure that he had been able to make things better for the lad. Richie was a good kid he just needed a little guidance. He wondered if this was what it was like to be a father? Any man would be pleased to have such a son. Feeling unaccountably parental he fixed the lad with a stern look.
"What would your Da have done if you'd pulled a stunt like this afternoon?"
"He probably woulda had me sanding the deck for a week." Richie admitted ruefully.
"You have a boat?"
"When I was a kid we did. Seems like there was always something that needed painting or sanding, whenever I screwed up."
"Sounds like a man after my own heart." Duncan grinned as he gathered up the empty boxes and carried them to the galley to put them in the trash. Richie looked at his retreating back.
"Man, you have no idea."
They spent the rest of the day working companionably around the barge. Duncan was pleased to discover that the lad had soaked up a lot in his early lessons about boat craft. He worked him hard, watching as the tension leached out of the lad through the simple physical effort. By the time the others returned, he was once more flat out and snoring on the couch.
"Please tell me he has at least moved today." Connor observed, as he brought in the salad.
"Once he had a sword he did." Duncan frowned at him.
Connor gave him an odd look, but all he said was "Did you find him something?"
"Aye," Duncan picked up the sword and showed it to his mentor. "It suits him well enough, but he needs something better."
"You didn't think to give him Graham Ashe's sword?" Connor surprised him.
"I thought of it, but he's your student, Connor."
Connor nodded his acceptance but Duncan sensed that he was rather disappointed by the decision. He couldn't quite understand it. Connor knew how much that sword meant to him and when all was said and done he barely knew the lad.
"So, how did he do?" Adam asked, from where he was setting the table.
"He's good." Duncan acknowledged.
"He knocked you on your bum, didn't he?" Adam smirked.
"He beat you?" Tessa stopped putting out the plates to look with surprise at the sleeping form. "But he's just a boy."
"He's beaten all of us at one time or another," Connor remarked. "Even Adam here."
Duncan could well believe it. The lad moved with the natural grace of a born swordsman and he had been well taught. But he still had his doubts as to whether he had the steel to face an Ancient Immortal like Ares.
"Should we wake him?" Tessa worried as she looked over the dinner table to ensure that they had everything to hand.
"Better had. He gets cranky if he misses a meal."
Duncan watched as Adam woke Richie and paused to exchange a few quiet words that Duncan strained unsuccessfully to catch. Then Adam smiled and squeezed his shoulder firmly, in some show of support or consolation, before tousling his hair with an affectionate simplicity that made Duncan's heart twist.
As the meal progressed he tried to rationalise his feelings. He couldn't be jealous. It wasn't as if he was all that well acquainted with the lad. Yet out of the corner of his eye he found himself watching the lad's every movement as he ate and laughed and made conversation. Across the table he caught the soft sadness in Tessa's eyes and knew what she was thinking.
Was this what it would be like to be a family?
"You should not have to clear the table," Tessa protested as the meal ended and Richie reached for the dirty plates. "You are a guest."
"No, that's okay. I want to," He smiled at her. "You guys cooked after all."
"Actually, it is Duncan who does all the cooking," Tessa admitted as she helped him carry the dishes into the galley. "I usually get stuck with the washing up."
"Really?" Richie threw a dangerous grin in the Scot's direction. "You should get yourself a toy boy."
"Just for that. You can help." Duncan offered with a tight grin, as Tessa shook her head at their antics and retreated to the safety of the salon.
"Didn't they abolish slavery already?" Richie shook his head ruefully, as he rolled up his sleeves.
"Not in France." Duncan grinned as he scraped leftovers into the trash and passed the plate for Richie to rinse off under the tap.
And stilled
For there on the lad's wrist, clear as day, was his Clan mark. The symbol, which had been used for centuries to identify their dead and wounded on the field of battle, claimed the lad as a member of the Clan Macleod, kin as much as if he had been born to it. Following his gaze, Richie paled, his eyes growing wide and anxious.
"Mac .. I .." He trailed off uncertainly.
"What's wrong?" Connor asked from the doorway.
"Sorry," Richie glanced apologetically at him, tugging miserably at the sleeve of his T-shirt as if to cover the mark.
"You knew about this?" Duncan was aghast.
"His father asked for my blessing." Connor nodded carefully.
"And you didn't tell me?" Duncan fumed. "Damn it Connor, this is Clan business. You had no right to keep this from me. You know full well a decision like this affects the whole Clan. What were you thinking? You should have consulted with me before you adopted him. You had no business agreeing to any such thing."
"Duncan," Connor nodded warningly in Richie's direction. Too late Duncan saw that the lad had gone deathly pale and was looking at him with an achingly heartbreaking expression.
"Richie, lad."
He reached forward a hand, but Richie pushed it away and ducked past Connor out of the small galley. Moments later they heard the front door slam and his feet pounding across the quai. Duncan closed his eyes tight in despair. He hadn't meant to hurt the lad's feelings.
"You should probably know," He heard Connor sigh tiredly. "I wasn't the one who adopted the lad, Duncan. You were."
Duncan's eyes snapped open.
"What?"