This story has been nagging at the back of my head and won't let me rest, so here's the next part.
Her heart was locked in a roundtower's keep . . .
"Well, Rona," Adam slapped his knees before rising. "I'm sure you'd like to get some sleep after your long journey. I'll take your things into the guestroom."
"It's fine, Adam. I can -" She bit back the rest of her protest when she noticed the look he gave her. "Yes, you're right; I should get to bed. Let me just put all this away."
"What was that about?" Joe asked once the old man was out of earshot.
Rona shook her head. "He tends to get overprotective of me when he thinks I'm in danger. Now that he's heard I'm being chased . . ."
"Someone's after you?"
"Possibly. It could be nothing more than a coincidence that he's been in the same cities I've been in the last couple of months."
"Anyone you know?" he asked as he handed her a container for the cheese.
"No. No, I don't think so."
"Could you describe him well enough for me to look for a photo of him?"
Rona gazed at him quizzically. "Why would you have a photo of him?"
"He really didn't tell you, did he?" At her blank stare, he huffed out a sigh. "There's a group of us who know about Immortals and the Game and the Prize - or we have a vague idea about the Prize - and we record your histories. Major events of your lives, who's killed whom, marriages . . ."
"You mean the lot of you are like our unauthorised biographers? You follow us around, even though it's fraught with danger?"
"Pretty much. We observe, record, never interfere. Well, officially, we're not supposed to interfere."
"And the Boy Scout Scotsman you're writing a biography about is . . ."
"Duncan MacLeod, the younger Highlander."
"Ah." She went back to arranging the bread in a large container.
"You know him?"
"Only by reputation. And what Adam's told me."
"Told you about what, Love?" Adam asked as he came back round the corner.
"Your friend, Duncan. Why didn't you tell me how much Joe knew?"
"Oh . . . I didn't want to prejudice you against him before you'd met him for yourself."
Joe smirked. "I guess he wanted me to win you over with my charm."
"Mission accomplished," she added with a grin.
Adam's eyes darted between the two. "Did something happen before I got here?"
They both shook their heads yet appeared to be holding back laughter.
"Fine, don't tell me," Adam murmured. "We should all get some rest. We can figure out who's stalking you tomorrow."
"All right. I'm too tired to argue. I'll see you in the morning, Joe. And thank you."
in the guestroom
"Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I go ask Dawson?" Methos demanded.
She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "Nothing happened. We just talked, and not even about much, at that."
"What did you talk about?"
"He thanked me for the apfelwein and the bread and cheese. And we talked about you."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Right. The bloke chasing you -"
"Could just be a coincidence."
"What are the odds of that?"
"People travel, Methos. He could be a random guy who just happens to be in the same city I am recently. He's never approached me. If he were a headhunter, we would have heard something about that wouldn't we?" Part of her wished she hadn't called him about this, but she preferred to err on the side of caution.
He mulled that thought for several moments. "Yeah, you're right. I'll have Joe look into that in the morning. Let him know all the places you've seen him. You might need to describe him to narrow down the possibilities."
"So this group of mortals who know about us and keep track of us - You trust them?"
"I used to work for them."
"Sounds like there's a story there, husband."
"Yeeeah . . . I - I made my way into the organisation so I could keep track of anyone I didn't want to run into. I got myself put in charge of the Methos Project."
"You have your own project?"
"Yeah. I was in charge of finding myself, and I made sure it never happened. Can you imagine if it got out, among mortals or Immortals, that the mythical oldest living Immortal was real? I had to leave for a while for the obvious reasons."
"Never aging. Never getting sick or wounded. Story of our lives, isn't it? Always moving. And this friend of yours who's coming to lend a sword?"
"Richard Ryan. He has to keep a low-profile here, though; he died rather publicly some time back."
"What happened?"
"Accident on the racetrack. Lots of people around. He hasn't been back in Paris since, except for one time, and that was under an alias and a bit of a disguise. He avoided running into anyone who knew him before."
"How young is he?"
"Mid-twenties. I've sparred with him; he's pretty good with a couple of different blades. He has the fire in him."
She nodded. "Good. If you trust him, I trust him."
He settled into bed next to her, his bag within reach, and let himself drift off to sleep soon after he was sure she had.
in the morning
Adam awoke, roused by the sensation of another Immortal approaching, unsure of where he was for a moment. 'Rona.' He realised she wasn't beside him and jerked himself out of bed.
Rona was emerging from the kitchen, a rather large knife still in her hand. "Your friend?" she mouthed.
He lifted a shoulder and went to the door to peer out. He lifted his sword and eased the door open.
"Whoa. Hey, man. I thought you called me out here to help," an American accented voice drifted in.
Adam chuckled. "Good to see you, Richie! Come on in. This is Rona Dubois. Rona, this is Richard Ryan."
"Ah, it's Ryan Shores now. Miss Dubois, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Mr Shores . . . You're the one I've been seeing everywhere I go."
Adam's eyebrows shot up. "W- Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure. This isn't exactly a face I'd forget," she replied, a blush slowly working its way up her face.
"You thought I was following you?" Richie asked, bemused.
She bit her lip. "I saw you in Dusseldorf. And Athens. Venice. Hong Kong."
He nodded. "So you got worried. Makes sense. Now that you know you're not in danger -"
"This is still a good place to get some rest," Adam interjected. "For all of us."
"Right," Rona concurred. "If you'll excuse me, I should get back to making breakfast."
"I'll lend a hand," Richie offered.
"That would be much appreciated."