Promises to Keep

Chapter 3

Duncan focused on the death's head symbol adorning Wolfgang Kroeger's black cap. Anything to distract him from the blistering agony that vibrated along every nerve in his body. Anything to avoid meeting Kroeger's arctic blue eyes - the cruelest, most bestial eyes he'd ever seen.

For the first time in his nearly 350 years of life, Duncan really wanted to die. He would welcome the blade as it severed his head from his pain-ravaged body. But he would not beg. And he would not betray those whose lives depended on his silence. Cold steel pressed against the burning flesh beneath his clenched jaw. Do it, damn you, do it.

"You would like this, wouldn't you, MacLeod?" The blade bit into his skin, but not far enough to do any real damage. "You long for release. You yearn for me to take your head," the deep voice crooned - its soothing tones belying the speaker's intent.

"Cooperate - tell me where your friends are hiding, then you can beg for the mercy of death. This will be all over, and you can rest in peace."

Naked, with arms and legs strapped to a unforgiving metal table, Duncan seized the only weapon left to him. He found a trace of saliva, and with every ounce of strength he could summon, he spat at Kroeger. "Go to hell!"

"Tsk, Tsk," his tormentor said, removing the cap. He took a crisp handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped it along the brim of the cap, then swabbed specks of spittle from his face. "That was a very foolish thing to do, MacLeod. Now, you've made me angry - very angry."

Though he expected it, the force of the blow wrenched Duncan's neck, and the ornate gold ring on Kroeger's right hand tore open a gash on his cheek. Warm blood welled from the cut, ran along his face, then seeped into his ear.

"Friedrich," Kroeger called to his aide, as he removed his jacket. He draped it neatly over the back of a chair, then set his cap on the seat. "It seems our young friend, here, isn't ready to go home yet. Fetch me some toys, so we can play another game, will you?"

Snapping to attention, Friedrich quickly moved out of Duncan's view, but Kroeger crossed the room to a table by the wall. With his back to Duncan, he rolled up his sleeves. When he turned, he held an apple and a knife in his hand. He smiled as he gazed down at Duncan - the smile of a man about to enjoy a good meal or a beautiful woman. He began to peel the apple in one very thin strip.

Duncan couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, but hunger was so far down on the list of torments the Immortal SS officer had inflicted on him, the sensation of it surprised him. As the cold wet peel fell onto his stomach, he watched, hypnotized by the motion, and waited for the agony to begin again.

When it did, it caught him suddenly as it always did, and with a force that would have lifted him off the table if he hadn't been strapped down. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't prepare himself for the white hot blinding pain and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop the screams that scraped his throat raw.

To protect his sanity and to prevent himself from revealing the identities and whereabouts of Connor and their associates - very mortal associates - Duncan sought sanctuary deep in his mind. Using the ancient methods he had learned centuries ago in the Orient, he retreated to a place of peace where the flames of torture could not reach him. And he waited for the brief respite of temporary death.

---

The tap of soft knuckles on his forehead startled him, jerking him out of the past.

"Hey, MacLeod, are you in there?" Sara's honeyed voice rubbed away the haunting memories with a soothing balm. She knelt before him, her eyes filled with concern, her fist poised to rap his head, again. He smiled weakly, then reached up, and took her hand in his.

"I'm here," he said, with a sigh, holding her hand to keep himself connected to the present. The words came out ragged and raw, but the memory drifted away. "Sorry ... I was just thinking about something."

Sara didn't pull her hand away as she leaned back to sit on her heels. "I take it, he isn't a friend of yours."

Duncan stared at her as Kroeger's face vied with hers. "No ... not a friend." He exhaled the words slowly along with his breath.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No ... I can't." He shook his head. The memory was too real. He couldn't. "There's no time," he said, picking up the picture. He forced himself to look into the face of his enemy again.

Sara eased her hand away, then tucked her feet into a half-lotus. She juggled a rock from hand to hand as she watched him with an expression he couldn't read.

"They don't know we're here, MacLeod," she said, softly. "Another one of them came outside and they seemed to be just talking, calmly - like there was no threat. So what do we do now?"

"I have to think," he said, trying to do just that. Despite everything, she seemed determined to go on. He had to admire her courage. "Is there someplace we can go while I work up a plan. Someplace close by, but far enough away from the house that he can't sense me."

"How far is far enough?"

He shrugged. "I don't really know. The distance varies. It's like sight or hearing - some Immortals are more sensitive than others."

"Oh great!" Sara tossed her head. Blond silk swished as she looked around. "We can go down to the boathouse."

She pointed toward the lake, and he could see the peak of a small building at the edge. Seemed far enough away for safety. "That should be good", he said, with a nod and a sweep of his hand in that direction.

Sara moved soundlessly into the brush, and he followed. It took just a few minutes to cover the distance, then Sara stopped just short of their destination. "Damn," she swore softly. "I forgot, you can see the door from the house."

Duncan looked at the door mounted at the back of the small wooden structure, then back at the house. One of the men paced a large wooden deck that ran across the entire facade. "Is the door locked," he asked.

"No. There's just a latch keeping it closed."

"Give me the binoculars and I'll watch for him to turn his back. When I say, go, keep low and get inside. "I'll follow you. We'll just have to hope no one's watching from inside the house."

Sara nodded, as she crouched down and inched over to the edge of the brush. Duncan watched the man on the deck. He reached the railing, then turned and began walking toward the far end of the deck. "Go," Duncan commanded. He heard a mere whisper of sound as Sara moved behind him, then the faint squeal of a hinge. The man on the deck continued his tour without hesitation. Duncan waited until he completed another circuit, then crouched and ran for the door.

He stepped into the darkness, then paused a moment with his back pressed against the door as his eyes adjusted. The boathouse appeared to be empty. A slight scrape of rubber on wood made him look up - up into the barrel of a rifle ... and Sara's smiling face. "Nice to see you again, MacLeod," she said, jumping down from a broad beam that ran the length of the building.

Duncan shook his head in amazement. "You're full of tricks, aren't you."

Sara chuckled as she opened a cabinet in the corner. She took out a lantern, adjusted the wick, then flicked a lighter she had taken out of a vest pocket.

Duncan put his hand over hers. "Don't ..."

"It's okay. It's daylight, they won't see the light from the house."

Duncan's eyes had rapidly adjusted to the dim light seeping in under the double doors at the far end. He didn't need additional light, but he released Sara's hand, and let her light the lantern.

It cast pale shadows over a canoe mounted on the wall beside them. Across the way on the far wall, the supports for a larger boat stood empty. Underneath, extra paddles, a pair of oars and pile of canvas sail lay neatly stacked. In the corner, a rack held fishing tackle. A pair of bows and a quiver of arrows, leaned against it. A plan began to take shape.

He walked over to investigate. He picked one bow up and sampled the feel of it in his hand. It had been nearly a century, since he'd even held a bow let alone used one. Like riding a bicycle, he thought. Once you learn you never forget. But his skills would, no doubt, be rusty.

"Why did you kiss me," Sara asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Bow in hand he turned to face her. It had been an impulse, a reflex action, an instrument to calm her down, but the desire to do it had been lurking at the back of his mind since he'd seen her waving that hatchet back by the stream. He took a deep breath. "I don't know," he said, softly. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

He looked into her eyes, wishing they were in another place - under different circumstances, but he'd learned over the centuries, that wishing accomplished nothing. Crossing the space between them in two long strides, he stood before her. He stroked a lock of silken hair away from her face, and tucked it behind her ear. He let his finger trail down her face, then dropped his hand to his side.

"Oh," she said softly, taking a step back.

She paused a moment, gazing into his eyes, then she broke the contact. She took another step back, then lifted herself up to sit on the cabinet. Her action shook the lamp and it cast flickering shadows over her face. When the flame settled, it bathed her face with a warm glow, and she watched him with an unreadable expression, then she smiled, lifting the corners of her mouth slowly. The smile spoke of satisfaction and contentment, mystery and knowledge. It implied that she'd just read his mind.

Her boot heel tapped out a beat on the wooden door as she swung her foot. Her smile slipped into a grin. "So what do we do now, Chief?"

Back to reality. Duncan shook his head to chase the remnants of the spell. "Do you know how to use this?" he asked, holding the bow before him.

"I'm an expert, and I've got a collection of medals to prove it."

He lifted an eyebrow at her boast, then returned her grin. "Ever hit a moving target?"

"A moving target?" Why would I need--" Her foot stopped its drum solo and her eyes widened, as the implication penetrated. "Oh ... um ... well, I've never ... uh," she stammered, glancing down at her feet. "I guess, I could."

"Don't guess. There are six of them and only two of us. We need to take a few of them out without alerting the others."

Sara's eyes widened perceptively. Realization of the reality facing them flooded their depths. She inhaled sharply, but said nothing.

"I can't get too close because the other Immortal will know I'm here, so we have to do it from a distance." He waggled the bow.

Sara nodded, her eyes solemn.

"I've done this before, but it's been a long time," he said, pulling back the string and sighting down an imaginary arrow. He released the string. It snapped back into place with a twang, then he set the bow down, wrapping his hands around the top of the shaft. "If you don't want to come along, I can do it alone. You'll probably be safe if you wait for me here."

Sara shook her head, then she slipped down from her perch. "No way." Her feet punctuated the words with a soft thump. "I'm coming with you."

A cover of determination blacked out any fear or doubt in her eyes. Duncan had no idea what she was thinking, but he had seen that determined look before, and he remembered the woman who had hauled a man's dead body off a cliff. Sara MacKensie would do what she had to do. He was sure of it.