Elena's Journey
Chapter 3: Chance Encounters
After Cassandra had left, an exhausted Elena took a long hot soak in the tub. In spite of the strong coffee, she then slept peacefully, feeling safe for the first time in days.
When she finally awoke it was late afternoon, and she was ravenous. Good. For her, hunger was a sign of improved spirits. When she was truly miserable she stopped eating. And started drinking. Heavily. But she felt no need for alcohol at this time. Another good thing.
As agreed, Elena called Cassandra on the phone. "I'm awake," Elena said. "And starving."
"I'm glad to hear that," Cassandra replied with sincerity, for she'd been with Elena through some of those not-eating-but-drinking times. "Shall I come meet you at your room?"
"No need, thank you. I'm sure you're busy. Can I just get something from the kitchens?"
"The dining hall opens to the students at five, but teachers and guests can go in early. If anyone asks, just give them my name: Laina Garrison," Cassandra replied.
Elena left her sword under her bed. This was a fortress. Unless an enemy Immortal came with an army and high explosives he wouldn't get in. And she trusted the two Immortals here.
The dining hall, Elena remembered, was on the ground floor of the main wing of the ancient castle, not far from where she and Cassandra had first entered. Elena looked at the map on the wall then set out to retrace her path and reacquaint herself with the fortress.
The halls were long and the staircases many. Going around a corner, Elena nearly collided with a middle-aged woman with short gray hair, who stopped so abruptly that a package slid out of her arms. She had bags slung over each shoulder as well. "Perdon," Elena said, bending down to pick the package up from the floor.
"My fault," the other woman said. "I go too fast."
"So do I," Elena said, straightening. "My father always told me to slow down."
"So did mine," the woman said with a rueful smile. But as she took the package from Elena's hand, her smile disappeared. "Elena?"
"My name is Luz," Elena corrected immediately. "Luz Marina Gutierrez." But then Elena actually looked at the woman and recognized her as Sara, the daughter of Connor Macleod. Elena had last seen her over ten years ago, when they had been discussing financing for the movie about Nzinga, the Angolan queen. Sara's hair had been much longer then, without a touch of gray. Well, Elena looked different too, including the hair.
"Luz," Sara repeated, and Elena didn't miss the tiny irritated grimace or impatient shrug at the new name. "What are you doing here?" Sara asked in confusion.
Elena burst into tears.
"Oh, blessed earth," Sara muttered, then awkwardly took hold of Elena's sleeve and led her to a bench to sit down.
Sara walked over to a window, probably to call Cassandra, but Elena, embarrassed, called, "Sara, don't."
Sara turned back, looking just as suspiciously reluctant to come any closer as she had at the age of ten, when Elena had first met Connor's daughter in Edinburgh. Elena had been hunting then, looking for Peter Shaw, an Immortal who had beaten Lorenzo bloody over a gambling debt. Over Lorenzo's strong objections, Elena had followed Shaw to Scotland, prepared to fight to the death. But even after an unpleasant meeting with Shaw, Elena had decided not to fight, mostly because Lorenzo didn't want her to. He'd wanted her to come home and adopt his soon-to-be-born child. After some soul-searching, she'd agreed, and together they had raised a wonderful son, Roberto Marcello Ponti.
Thirty-nine marvelous years, and the best family Elena had ever had. Now that family was gone: her husband dead, her son off limits…
"Sara," Elena called again, and Sara came over slowly then sat on the far end of the bench. Elena took a deep breath and explained, "I lost my husband."
"He left you?"
"No! He died. In a plane crash, last Saturday."
"Oh," Sara said, and had the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Elena. I had no idea."
"My mother-in-law and my husband and I all went down in the Mediterranean. It's been all over the news." Those damn paparazzi. Ghouls.
"I've been on a business trip in Japan," Sara explained then took her own deep breath and added, "And my husband left me, so… when I hear that phrase, that's what I think of."
"Oh." Elena hadn't heard about that. "I'm sorry."
Sara shrugged. "It's been three years. I'm coping. So," she said, meeting Elena's eyes, "you're here to talk with Cassandra."
"Yes."
Sara gave her a crooked grin. "I knew you weren't here to talk with my dad."
Elena smiled for the first time since the plane accident. She hadn't run across Connor yet, but it would be all right. She was here to see Cassandra, not Connor. And she'd been welcomed. There should be no trouble with the Highlander. And if he made Cassi happy—Elena noticed Sara intently studying her expression and came back to the moment. A thousand retorts came into Elena's head, but all she said to Sara was, "No."
Sara nodded. "He doesn't like you either."
"It's—He can be complicated," Elena said, "and I'm not the easiest person… He has helped in the past, though. We're not enemies," she finished lamely.
"I know," Sara said. "Mom told us you get on each other's nerves. And when I was ten, he told my brother and me that you were trouble, and we were to stay away from you."
"And he told me to stay away from you," Elena said. In very strong terms. During that visit to Edinburgh, Connor had promised to take Elena's head if she came near his family, and she always took Connor MacLeod's threats very seriously. "But twenty years ago, he said I could work with you when we did the movie projects."
"I know," Sara said again. "We had a discussion. I told him I wasn't a child anymore."
Elena knew Connor was still protective. Sara would always be his daughter, no matter what age she was. Elena asked, "What about your daughter, Alia? A teenager now, right?"
"Alea," Sara said, pronouncing it with the stress on the lee. "She's nearly seventeen. She's here at the school. So is her brother, Will." Before Elena could say anything to that, Sara warned her, "Alea and Will don't know. About Immortality, or the Game, or that 'Sensei Mike' is their grandfather. And Cassandra is 'Sister Laina' to them."
"And I'll be Luz Marina Gutierrez, one of Sister Laina's old friends, here for a visit." In a quieter tone Elena added, "I can keep this secret, Sara. My own son is thirty-six, and he doesn't know." Lorenzo had insisted on keeping their son in the dark about Immortality, but if Connor had made it work with his children—
"Your son doesn't know," Sara repeated slowly, interrupting Elena's musings. "So now he thinks you're dead," she said bluntly. "Which is why you have a new name, and why you're here with Cassandra, instead of with your son as he buries his parents and his grandmother."
"I should be with him," Elena said, swallowing painfully. "I want to be. But Elena Duran-Ponti was sixty-seven," she explained. "I 'died' in that plane crash, too."
"Right," Sara said, standing up. "Eventually, you have to leave." Then she added, more to herself than to Elena, "My father died at sea, too."
Elena remembered hearing the news about that, ten years ago. Connor and Duncan had been sailing around the world together, and they had planned their disappearance at sea, taking a lifeboat with water and food, unlike her, seeing her husband dead, freezing to death in the pitch blackness and drowning over and over…
But she could clearly see Sara's hurt, even after all these years. So instead of trying to explain, Elena said, "Well, I hope to meet your son and daughter while I'm here." And, she thought, I also hope Connor will let me talk to his grandchildren.
After Sara continued on her way with all her packages and bags, Elena set out once again to find a snack. This was Austria, which meant rye bread, sausages, potatoes. Maybe strudel. Her mouth was watering as she neared the dining hall; but then she sensed an Immortal, which slowed her down slightly. It wasn't Cassandra, Elena knew, which meant it must be her time for meeting MacLeods. But this one, Connor… did she want to see him? Yes. She wasn't running anymore.
She took a deep breath and entered the dining hall. Nothing but rows of long wooden tables and empty chairs. Connor, she sensed, was in one of the small, private dining rooms along the sides. She opened the door built under a wide brick arch, and saw Connor sitting at a table with his back to the wall. He stood as she came into the room.
His hair style was different—longer than she remembered, braided in the back, and he wore a neatly clipped beard—but everything else about him was familiar—the grey eyes, the serious expression, and the way he moved, lithe and… well… deadly. Always. She tensed ever so slightly as he came directly to her and held out both his hands. She looked at them for a moment then grasped them in her own.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Elena," he said, and though those same five words were said often and by many people, when Connor MacLeod, a man who had buried three wives, said them with such earnestness and called her by name, they brought her to tears.
"Gracias," she replied.
"I liked Lorenzo," he added, direct as always, and kind now, too.
Elena nodded and closed her eyes. Connor and Lorenzo had met only once, nearly four decades before in Edinburgh. Connor and his wife Alex had sat with Elena's young husband, waiting hopefully for Elena to come back from her meeting—and possible fight to the death—with Peter Shaw.
Elena let the tears fall unabashedly. "Lorenzo told me he was glad you were not my enemy," she said, smiling.
"I'm glad, too," Connor agreed. He squeezed her hands lightly and pointed to a chair directly across from his. Elena wiped her face as she sat. Then her gaze went to the plates on the table. Two had only crumbs, but one still had several Austrian pastries—were those apple strudels?—on it.
He chuckled and pushed the plate of goodies toward her. There was also a pot of coffee on the table, and he left the room briefly. When he returned he had milk and sugar and a second mug and spoon. Elena had already consumed one of the delightfully light pastries.
"Glad to see you're hungry," he said.
She nodded, swallowed then added milk and sugar to her coffee. "I'm not feeling bitter, or full of revenge this time, just very… very sad," she explained. "There were no Immortals involved, no kidnappings, no murder. Just a terrible accident that happens to normal people."
Connor nodded in understanding, and Elena remembered that his second wife—Brenda, her name had been—had died in a car crash. He took another strudel.
"But… you know, Connor, Lorenzo landed that plane. On the water. Cono, he landed it!" Elena exclaimed, waving her spoon for emphasis. "You're a pilot—you know how hard that is!"
"I do."
"He should have survived! We should be together now—!"
Connor was silent, studying her in that way he had, but his eyes were soft, not judging.
Elena took a deep breath, composing herself. Lorenzo hadn't survived, they weren't together, they never would be, and whining about it wouldn't do any good.
Connor sipped from his coffee then said, "I hear you still have your sword."
"Yes," Elena said, a little relieved that Cassandra had already mentioned this to Connor. "It was a special gift from someone I respect," Elena told him, "and I would not part with it."
Connor merely nodded, but from the upward quirk of one side of his mouth, she could tell he was pleased. Connor had given her the magnificent German broadsword almost fifty years ago, after her sword, a gift from her father, had been snapped in two by Bethel, another Immortal. Bethel had also tortured Elena for weeks and removed her right eye. Connor had helped her recover from that ordeal, and later had taken Bethel's head. Elena had given Connor a katana in return, but the swords were gifts to each other, not merely trades. Her broadsword "spoke" to her, and it had seen much use, before and since. Elena treasured it.
"But you wonder why I didn't use it against that bald Immortal," Elena said.
Connor didn't quite nod, but he did tilt his head and raise both eyebrows, awaiting her response. Elena had once had a cat with a similar expression.
Elena shrugged. "My father taught me to fight with my head. At the time my head was preoccupied with other things. That Immortal would have killed me." She shrugged again. "So I ran." She looked right at Connor, waiting to see what he would say.
"Smart," Connor replied.
She was surprised then realized two things. Connor had to have at some point run from an Immortal, and he was absolutely not going to say anything against her, not now. He'd always been honest and blunt with her, and she hoped he wasn't feeling sorry for her this time. Or mushy. Connor, mushy? Elena dismissed that thought.
Still, she was very glad he hadn't mentioned Duncan being there and fighting the bald Immortal, because Elena wasn't going to lie to Connor and pretend she didn't know, but she also really didn't want to explain to him why she had run from Duncan. Actually run from two Immortals. Elena had seen first-hand Connor's passionate anger when he thought she'd done anything against Duncan. He wasn't protective just of his mortal children—he was protective of his favorite Immortal 'child,' too.
Connor looked at the now empty plate. "Still hungry?"
Later that night in her bedroom, Elena sat down to compose a handwritten message to Duncan. She'd been lucky once with Connor; she didn't want to have to explain to him why she hadn't even written to Duncan yet.
"Duncan, thank you so much for coming to help me in Menorca. You saved my life! and I appreciate your love and friendship very much. I know I can always count on you. I'm here in Austria with Cassandra being still for a while, mourning, and trying to accept Lorenzo's death and the death of Elena Duran-Ponti. I'm sure I'll see you again soon. Gracias, che."
And after some internal debate she signed it, "Elena." Not love, because while she was sure what she felt for Duncan MacLeod was lust, she wasn't sure it was love.
Continued in Chapter 4: Challenges