Far from over. . .Enjoy. . .

THWACK!

"Ahhh!"

"Get up you lazy cow! You aren't finished! Now you must do it all over!"

Mel watched with teary eyes as Arielle was on the ground, Belfeiro standing over her with a staff in his hand. His hair was still neatly in placer and he was dressed in all his finery. The woman, however, was on her belly, covered in dirt and grime and bruised along her fair skin. She wore a black chemise along with matching trousers. Her feet bare and just as dirty as the rest of her, not to mention scraped and bleeding.

She looked like hell. She felt like it as well.

"I said get up!" The Italian grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her upwards, it appeared she hadn't bathed in days. He thrust her forward, "You will keep doing it for the time I give you! Not a moment sooner will you fail. This is all for your own good my pet." His smile was a twisted one as she assumed her place over the fire pit.

He was having her balance on one foot on an unstable platform over a small fire pit with white hot coals and red flames. He claimed it would improve her focus and build her core strength, not to mention help her balance. She had to hold the pose for over an hour and a half and if she faltered he would strike in her head, back of legs with his staff, she would fall and if she was quick enough she would avoid the burning coals.

It had been three weeks since The Kurgan had left and Belfeiro had replaced him. In the first few days he was kind to Arielle, brainwashing her already fragile and soft mind to believe whatever he wanted her too. He had come up with such detailed accounts of her life that she easily fell into his trap and took in all his lies. She came to see The Kurgan as her enemy and had promised Belfeiro that upon the man's return, she would kill him.

In this time she had also taken up a new personality. One of roughness and anger. She had a new determination that the servants knew was wrong; they remembered how she was.

Mel had tried to convince her otherwise. The poor woman was scorned with a slew of horrible words and names. She knew it wasn't the mistress's fault for behavior, the words still stung but Mel was just as determined to stay by the young woman's side. If she was indeed young the servants didn't know for sure of her age anymore.

As Arielle took the position again with Belfeiro sitting in a comfortable chair, he stared at her with a dark gleefulness that his plan was actually working. He was successful in completely brainwashing her and molding her to what he wanted; his "immortal" pupil, a fierce warrior. He wanted to end The Kurgan.

Then again, who didn't?

It seemed the best way to do so was through his own mate. By turning her against him and ultimately have them fight one another, hopefully it would end in her death. The act would leave the mighty Kurgan wounded in many ways and give the Italian Immortal a small opportunity to strike. It would be a very slight window and he would have to be extreme precise in his timing and effective in his blow. As his "pupil" trained he would sit and sharpen his sword to get it excruciatingly sharp.

Someone would not live the upcoming battle upon the Immortal's return. . .

The Kurgan struck down another man in Scotland but his usual enjoyment of battle was gone. Blood and crimson gore coated his armor, painted his sword red. His eyes were dark, not with its usual love of death but with madness. Since his departure and the eminent installment of Belfeiro as master of his household, he had been feeling intense emotions from his mate. The emotions were confused, angry, fear, pain, all at once, even a subtle yearn for his return.

Something was happening to his mate, he didn't know what but whatever it was, was causing an extreme metamorphosis in her.

The battle was suddenly called back for the day as a horn sounded and men both sides receded. He lumbered back with his men. The victory was starting to lean on his side and women to entertain the men had come wondering into camp. The Kurgan brushed aside the eager ones with rough hands. He made his way to his tent and sat on his cot, taking his usual ritual of staring at the opposite wall until he fell asleep.

This night there was something different in his routine.

"Sir!" Came a shout from outside.

The man scowled and his dark glare turned to the tent entrance. He said not a word, he didn't need to speak to those lower than him in the way of life.

"Sir!"The voice came again. "There be a mon here who says 'e wishes to speak to ye. 'E said he'll be waiting in the glen ootside camp, the information he claims ta have he says is of great importance to ye and a woman they say."

The man who was speaking, a tall Scot with dark brown hair and blue eyes, reeled back when the flaps where suddenly flung back and The Kurgan towered above him.

"What woman?!" He growled.

The Scot blanched at first but then squared his shoulders, "He didn't say exactly. Just tha ye'd want to hear what he has to say." With that he looked at the Immortal expectantly for orders.

Instead of saying anything else the giant man strode outside the tent and quickly made his way to the afore mentioned glen. His normally docile heart was pounding and gave him a painfully sick feeling in his throat. He followed by the light of the moon to where he could smell, and glimpse, another man standing through some trees. The man he came face to face with was not who he expected.

He stopped short just twenty yards away from the other Immortal. His eyes grew wide and the narrowed back into his glare.

"MacLeod," he growled.

At hearing his name he smirked. "Hello Kurgan. How's life away from Arielle?"

"Shut your mouth, I'm in no mood to kill you tonight."

MacLeod was mildly surprised, he raised an eyebrow to go along with his smirk. "You? Too tired to fight your greatest enemy?"

"I'll still kill you any time any day," The Kurgan's glare deepened. What do you want?" He asked gruffly.

The Scot remained where he was, smirk and all. "To tell you that you should start thinking about going back. It's been over three weeks, that's long enough." He dropped his smug looks.

"What do you know of her?"

"She's alive and. . .somewhat alright. As far as I know he hasn't raped her yet. I'd say she needs another full month before you should come back." MacLeod with a calm seriousness.

The other Immortal stared back. "What is he doing to her?"

"Building her into he wants."

"And what is that?"

The Scot had fulfilled what he come to do, which was to inform his friend's enemy that she was alive and . . . well. He had nothing else he wanted to tell The Kurgan or say at all.

"She's almost ready, this war is almost over. I wouldn't waste my time if I were you." He began backing up towards the darkness of the woods.

The Kurgan allowed him to slip away into the night. It had been a long and tiresome day, what with his mate's emotions taking their toll. He had never been this far from her either and it was wearing him thin in many ways. He wanted to go back to her and see what MacLeod meant but he had a job to do here in Scotland first. Besides, he may have hated MacLeod and even always wanted to kill him, but he knew the Immortal was kind to Arielle and that he would make sure no serious harm befell her. He growled and wound up punching a tree trunk in his fury.

"Soon my mate," he whispered as he ignored his bleeding knuckles. "You yearn for my return and your want will soon be given."

They had endured three agonizing weeks away from each other, to him it felt more like years. He believed he could, and knew he would, wait one month longer to get back to his mate and see what she had become.

OK! I am not dead! My laptop troubles...*facepalm*...and I was sort of going for trying to make you feel like The Kurgan and Arielle were...Being away from each other for so long O_O