Promises to Keep
Chapter 6
The thirty minutes Duncan had given Sara to take out the guard on the deck ticked off slowly. He had caught the guard on the front porch with a clean shot twenty minutes ago, now all he could do was wait.
He felt guilty about giving her the more dangerous assignment, but he couldn't risk Kroeger sensing him. Waiting proved far more difficult than doing, especially since he had no idea whether she'd succeeded. Using the Bowie knife, he scraped dirt out from under his neatly trimmed fingernails as he leaned against a tree and watched the house from a safe distance.
"Don't worry about me, MacLeod. I'll be fine," Sara had insisted. But he worried about her - felt responsible for her. He couldn't help it. All his friends, Connor, Amanda, Methos - even Joe Dawson - told him repeatedly that he couldn't shoulder every responsibility in the world. Knowing his failures would far out number his successes, he tried, anyway. He didn't know any other way to live. Even if he wanted to he could never shake the deep-rooted shepherd instinct. Maybe it came packaged with his Highland heritage.
His thoughts drifted back to Sara again. She certainly seemed capable enough to deal with most any situation. He smiled, as her image flickered in his mind. Hands on hips, feet placed wide, chin lifted at an obstinate angle, green eyes blazing with determination. She would, no doubt get the job done, no matter how daunting or abhorrent it proved to be.
Though most of it was a blur, he thought about her hauling him off the ledge, and he winced as he remembered the pain when she dropped him. That memory was clear, unfortunately. He had no idea why she attempted it in the first place, but he was glad she had - grudgingly glad because admitting it forced him to concede that he needed help on this one. Sneaking up on another Immortal was virtually impossible. Without Sara he would have had to lead a one man cavalry charge against six. Chances of getting both Mei Lin and Kim out alive under those circumstances were dim.
A flash of movement and a flutter of white cloth at the corner of the garage snagged his attention. He grabbed for the binoculars, and lifted them to focus on the spot. Someone ran from the end of the house. Long black hair streamed behind her as she raced for the Jeep. Kim! Alive! She moved so swiftly, he would not have noticed her in the shadows if it hadn't been for the white t-shirt.
He let the binoculars drop. Swinging from the strap around his neck, they bumped against his chest. He barely noticed, as he reached for the bow. He pulled an arrow free of the tape that secured them to his waist. Fitting arrow to string, he pulled it back - ready to release it if anyone but Sara or Mei Lin followed. Kim disappeared behind the truck, then seconds later she reappeared inside. She ducked down in the back, and vanished from his sight. Closing his eyes, he whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. He didn't know if Sara had freed the girl, but Kim's release was definitely a good omen. He glanced at his watch. Time to begin the assault
Keeping low, he ran from the cover of brush to the side of the house. His senses hadn't picked up Kroeger yet, so he hoped the thick log walls would shield him. When he'd shot the guard, the man toppled over the porch railing and into some bushes, but Duncan hadn't wanted to get too close before Sara had time to complete her mission. He had to gamble that no one would relieve the guard in the meantime. He hefted the dead weight, draped it over one shoulder, then carried it into the woods to dump it out of sight.
Back at the edge of the yard, he did a quick survey of the grounds. All remained calm as he'd left it. He ran to the side of the house, hurried along the wall to the end, then craned his neck to peer around the corner. The deck ran past this room and around the large, high-peaked section that jutted out toward the lake. Sara had called it the great room. Great it may be, but it had too damn many windows. Duncan swore softly as he vaulted over the railing, then landed on the deck without a sound. Well, it wouldn't matter if they could see him, because Kroeger would sense him as soon as he stepped inside.
Sara flattened herself against the logs at the edge of the great room door. She didn't dare peek in through the glass to check out the situation, and she prayed that no one inside would look out. The sun had slipped below the level of the trees, leaving the deck drenched in shadows, but she felt completely exposed. Though the evening air had cooled, Sara's palms were slippery with sweat. Come on, MacLeod. She shifted the rifle from hand to hand, as she dried them on her shorts. Let's get this show on the road.
She concentrated on the voices filtering through the door. The first one she could understand had a slight foreign accent.
"Jackson, Go and relieve Richter."
Austrian? German? Swiss? She couldn't place it. MacLeod had called the leader - the other immortal - Wolfgang Kroeger. The name combined with the reports of Swastika tattoos, meant the accent was probably German - not that it mattered. Analyzing the voices just helped pass the time. Helped keep her mind off the task ahead of her.
She'd pressed MacLeod for details about this Kroeger, but he refused to say more. An expression of panic, bordering on terror, had flashed in his eyes when she'd handed him the picture. It had only lasted a millisecond, but MacLeod didn't strike her as a man easily intimidated. What events had passed between them, she couldn't begin to guess, but it couldn't have been pleasant.
Though Kroeger's face had looked handsome enough, even through the binoculars, she detected a savage glint in his eyes and an aura of evil. Then she'd attributed it to a trick of light, but now listening to the cruel tone of his voice issuing a simple command sent fear coursing through her. And the sudden chill came not from a slight drop in temperature.
A mumbled agreement - too garbled for understanding - followed the command. A chair leg scraped on the wood floor. Heavy boots clumped. No rush, just a routine obeying of orders. Sara hoped Richter hadn't been walking the back deck. She held her breath, and snaked her finger around the trigger just in case.
The footfalls faded toward the front of the house. Sara released the breath. MacLeod better be as skilled as he claimed. If he was still there, he was about to get company.
Two minutes later, Jackson's voice poured through the glass door, again. Clipped. Precise. American accent. "Richter's gone."
"What do you mean, gone?" Kroeger again. Cold. Slight trace of irritation.
"Just what I said, Chief. Gone. I looked around, but I don't see him anywhere."
A faint chuckle preceded the next comment. "Prolly went to take a leak."
Mr. Mountain man. No mistaking that voice.
"A man on duty never leaves his post," Kroeger said. Flat statement of fact. Teacher to pupil - a slow-witted pupil. "No matter what the reason."
"Hey, nature calls - a man's got to answer."
"Not one of my men." Definite irritation this time.
Kroeger might need Mr. Mountain Man, but he obviously didn't meet Kroeger's strict standards. The immortal would probably kill when him when the primitive woodsman no longer served his needs. Sara could almost feel sorry for the guy - an expensive emotion considering what she had to do.
"Go look for him ... and be quick about it." Kroeger again. "Whitman, check on Reynolds. See if he's missing, as well."
Sara swore as she eased away from the door. Reynolds had to be the guard on the deck - the guard she had killed - which meant that Whitman might come out this way. Keeping her eyes focused on one door, she reached for the handle of the other. It slid open easily, but the slight murmur of the bearings seemed to blare like the crescendo of a Beethoven symphony.
She slipped inside, and pulled it shut with one fluid motion, just before a man strode through the great room door and onto the deck.
Inside the house, the voices were clearer. "Redmond - go check on the girl."
"I just checked on her, Wolfie. She's fine ... snug as a bug in a rug."
Now, Mr. Mountain Man had a name - Redmond - and Sara was in trouble if he obeyed the order. She took two long strides to cross the room, then pressed herself into the wall next to the room's other door.
"Never question my orders." The sickening thwack of flesh meeting flesh sent chills ripping into Sara's gut. "I said, check on the girl ... now!"
Redmond's slow clumping shuffle grew louder, and his grumbled oaths grew clearer. Sara held her breath and gripped the rifle. She detected a flicker of movement at the doorway, and struck. Bringing the butt of the rifle up, she smashed it into him with every ounce of strength she had. Her hands jerked as the blow met resistance, then with a sickening crack the resistance diminished. Mr. Mountain Man slumped to the floor with a faint gurgle and a loud thump.
Oh jeeze - that'll bring the storm troopers. Sara tensed, waiting for Kroeger to rush into the room. Redmond groaned - a deep guttural sound. Sara struck him on the back of the head with the gun butt, then stepped over his legs and into the short hall that connected the room to the rest of the house. Might as well meet the enemy head on.
Kroeger's powerful aura enveloped Duncan as soon as he stepped through the sliding door and into Sara's bedroom. Knowing he had little time, and no element of surprise, Duncan shook off the flurry of vertigo and the disturbing tinnitus that accompanied it. The familiar buzz rendered stealth unnecessary. Kroeger knew he was here, now.
He crossed quickly to the bed where Mei Lin lay bound like her daughter, then sliced the ropes with four swift slashes of the Bowie knife. She trembled under the gentle pressure of his hand on her back as he helped her climb out the window. He whispered calm assurances that Kim was safely outside. He knew Mei Lin was a strong, intelligent woman. Though he hated to do it, he had to send her on her way alone.
"Be careful," he cautioned. The minute Mei Lin's head dropped from sight, he yanked the drawer of the bedside table open. Shoving his hand into the soft cotton of Sara's panties and bras, he grasped the gun, she'd told him he'd find there. He glanced down at it as he strode to the door, and smiled. A 357 Magnum. Nothing like a little overkill. But since overkill might be necessary, Duncan whispered his gratitude to that scout leader who'd taught her to be prepared.
Sara braced herself for the confrontation, but the bang of a slammed door and Whitman's announcement diverted it.
"Reynolds is gone too, Chief. Shall I ..."
"Shhh," Kroeger commanded. "Someone is here ... in the house."
Sara tiptoed to the massive stone wall of the double fireplace that separated the dining area and the great room. Whitman stood a few feet out from the corner.
"How do you--" he began.
"Because I can feel him." Kroeger interrupted his voice bristling with malice.
Sara inched up until she could see into the room. Kroeger, standing in the center, spun to face her bedroom door. At the same second, MacLeod stepped into the room.
"Well, well, if it isn't Duncan MacLeod!" Congeniality twirled, then settled like cloak around the malice. The normal tone of man welcoming a long lost friend. "You leave the door open and you never know who come will through it, do you? It's been such a long time."
Whitman leaned forward. Sara didn't wait to learn his intention. She jammed the barrel of her rifle into his back. "Not a good idea," she said. "Drop the gun. Put your hands up nice and slow."
MacLeod shifted his finely honed stare from Kroeger to her. A trace of a smile touched his lips, then vanished.
Kroeger turned to face her. A broad smile curved his mouth into a shark-like sickle. "Ah, I see you've brought company. And such a lovely lady, too. You know, Highlander," he said, turning back to MacLeod, "I always admired your taste in women."
Kroeger lifted the glass he held in a salute, then he took a sip of the amber liquid that swirled around tinkling ice. "You do seem to have a weakness for blondes," he continued.
Sara bit her lip, and the hand holding the gun quavered. What was going on? Were they planning to catch up on old times, first? She wanted this whole mad situation over with, but MacLeod seemed to be caught in a spell. In one hand, he held her pistol harmlessly pointed at the center of the room; in the other he held his katana loosely by his side.
"I remember that young woman in Berlin," Kroeger said, amiably as though they had gathered for an evening of chat. "What was her name?" He lifted his free hand to his forehead - a man deep in thought. "I've got it!" He snapped his fingers. "Marlena!"
MacLeod tightened his grip on the sword and lifted it slightly. A muscle twitched at his jaw. His eyes focused on Kroeger, once more.
"Such a pity - so young, so beautiful. You do have a way with women, MacLeod - she died screaming your name."
Clear across the room, Sara heard MacLeod's low rumbling growl build to a roar. He lunged - his sword suddenly held high. Kroeger dropped down next to the sofa, then sprang up again, meeting the thrust with a sword of his own. Steel clanged against steel.
But the scrape of rubber on wood behind her lifted the hairs on Sara's neck.
"Sara, watch your back!" MacLeod shouted as he vaulted over the sofa.
She looked over her shoulder. Redmond! His eyes blazed with anger. His jaw hung slack, and a rivulet of blood ran from his mouth into his beard. Whitman whirled, grabbed the rifle and pulled it out of her hand. Sara whipped her head from side to side, uncertain which was worse - the danger in front or the danger behind. Redmond advanced, his rifle gripped tight at waist level. The retort of a gun shot exploded over the cacophony of steel on steel. She turned toward the sound.
Whitman dropped to his knees, then fell forward with a loud thud. The pungent smell of gunpowder drifted across the room. Duncan dropped the pistol, then kicked it along the floor to her as he retreated from Kroeger's next thrust. It skittered to a stop, too far to reach, and Whitman's body covered her rifle.
Sara turned, again, as Redmond mumbled something unintelligible through his broken jaw. She started to back away, but he grabbed her. His callous-ridden fingers dug deep into her upper arm. She launched a rocket fist. With the normal support structure shattered, the hinge of Redmond's jaw gave as her fist smashed into it. With a loud groan, he relaxed his grip. Her knuckles throbbed from the impact. She shook her hand to disperse the pain as she stepped back out of reach.
Swords still clanged behind her, but she couldn't afford the distraction. Redmond came at her again. She retreated. Her foot hit something soft, then she tripped over Whitman's body. She stumbled, but bracing her hand against the rough-cut stones of the fireplace, she caught her balance before she fell.
Something hard bumped against her rib as she pushed herself up. The guard's gun! Eyes focused on Redmond, she grasped the unfamiliar weapon, and felt for the trigger. Redmond's eyes flickered to her hands. He lifted his own gun. Both fired simultaneously.
The submachine gun chattered in her hands. Bullets flew wildly, eating into the wall. She tried to aim, but the jolting recoil made it difficult to control. The glass door shattered, then Redmond doubled over, as he reached for the glistening red line that suddenly marched across his stomach. He fell to the floor.
Sara sucked in a deep breath, and grabbed instinctively for the searing pain that engulfed her left biceps. Her hand came away covered in blood.
"Run Sara," MacLeod shouted. "Get the hell out of here!"
Duncan tripped over an ottoman, as he ducked the whistling arc of Kroeger's broadsword. He recovered just in time to parry the next slash. He muttered curses as he banged his shin against a coffee table. Too much damn furniture! He need open space.
He pinwheeled the katana to hold Kroeger at bay, while he glanced over his shoulder to check if Sara had left. He caught a glimpse of her bloody arm just before she vanished from sight. A chill wind of concern brushed him, briefly. She's strong and capable, he assured himself. Didn't quite believe it, though he needed to. He lunged once, then jumped over the two bodies sprawled on the floor, and followed her.
"Don't run away, MacLeod," Kroeger shouted. "We've unfinished business."
Duncan skidded to a stop as he entered the large open cooking and dining space in the next room. A loud thud and some curses rumbled behind him. Apparently the furniture had fouled his opponent, as well.
Seeking the door, Duncan swept a glance around the space. He found it ... and Sara. She stood at the counter on the far side of the room with her hand in a drawer. The contents rattled as she rummaged through it.
"Sara! Get out - now!"
She turned. Flashed him a smile. The object she held up for his inspection jangled. "Keys," she said, tucking them into the pocket of her shorts. "Gotta have keys to start the getaway car."
Duncan spun to ward off the blow he sensed, rather than heard coming. Behind him, a door banged as it slammed into a wall. A wave of cool air washed over his sweat-drenched back. He followed the current as he lunged at Kroeger before retreating once more. Then he caught his heel on the end of an open staircase that jutted into the room from the loft above. He fell onto his back.
Instinctively, he rolled to his side as Kroeger's sword hissed past his ear. The blade bit into the floor. As he scrambled to his feet, his hand slipped on something wet. He glanced down at the red smear on his fingers. Blood! Sara's blood? No time to think about it, now. He had to get outside where there was room to maneuver.
Moving backwards, Duncan tried to remember the layout of the porch. Too late! Instead of solid wood, his heel came down on unstable air. He stumbled down the steps. Kroeger's sword sliced into his forearm as he struggled to regain his balance. Blood welled. Barely conscious of the pain, he ignored it. It would heal in minutes, anyway.
Out on the lawn, he felt in control again. Someone had switched on the outside lights, illuminating the driveway, and he could see Sara helping Mei Lin into the Jeep.
With two hands on the hilt, he brought his sword down in a powerful arc that connected with soft flesh instead of unyielding steel. Kroeger grunted, stepped back, then skittered sideways to gain better footing. A growing patch of blood stained the sleeve of his tan jacket.
He smiled as he retreated from Duncan's advance. "You could have saved her, you know," he said, slashing his sword in short arcs before him. "Saved her a lot of pain, if only you had told us where you and your friends were hiding those filthy Jews."
Duncan fought off the wave of guilt that swept over him, as he swept his sword up to ward off the next blow.
Marlena had been an innocent - the braumeister's daughter, serenely waiting tables in the biergarten. She had no idea that he and Connor were helping Jews escape the Nazi roundups. He should have told her. Could have warned her. Should never have gotten her involved in the first place. But she was young, and pretty with a winning smile that shone like welcome beacon across the dark sea that swallowed Berlin in those days. She had sustained him then, and he needed her like he needed air to breathe and bread to eat.
Kroeger seized the slight opening Duncan had left, as memories and guilt swirled around him - distracting him. He charged, slipping past Duncan's defenses. As Kroeger closed in on him, Duncan stepped back, and into a tree. Trapped, he brought his sword up between them, but he had no room to swing. The muscles in his arms quaked with the effort required to keep Kroeger's sword away from his neck. With their faces inches apart, they strained against each other.
Kroeger's eyes bore into with the cutting power of a laser beam. Duncan could never forget those eyes. Never forget how hungry they looked as he'd savored Marlena's screams. Screams that burned with an agony far worse than any of the atrocities Kroeger had inflicted on him. Screams that echoed in his ears for decades. Screams that echoed still.
Kroeger had forced him to watch while he tortured her. She'd pleaded with Duncan to make him stop. Begged him to tell Kroeger what he wanted to know, but Duncan couldn't do that. One life or twenty. The decision stood before him. Challenged him as nothing had ever challenged him before. He had to choose. He chose the twenty - and sacrificed the one.
He'd tried to protect her when Kroeger's henchman broke into the hotel and dragged them from the warmth of his bed, but he couldn't fight them all. He swore she knew nothing, but Kroeger didn't care. To him she was merely a means to an end. A wedge to pry information from him. In the end it didn't matter. Duncan had sealed her death warrant weeks ago, when he'd returned her smile as she poured beer into his glass.
Fierce blue steel anger pooled in the pit of his stomach. It fed on the vivid aching memories and it exploded in a firestorm of strength. Duncan flung his arms wide, knocking Kroeger to the ground. His broadsword fell from his hand. Gripping his katana in both hands, Duncan regathered his strength to deliver the finishing blow, but the loud chatter of an automatic weapon and the flare of pain in his right thigh immobilized him for an instant.
He clenched his teeth against the searing pain. He willed the muscles in his leg to hold him upright as they threatened to surrender to the wound. He swore and staggered as Kroeger scrambled out of range.
Armed with his sword, once more, Kroeger shouted to the man who had just burst through the brush. Intent on the battle, Duncan had lost count of the enemy. He had let the last man slip to the back of his mind. A grave mistake.
"Get the women," Kroeger shouted, then he returned his attention to Duncan, striking immediately. "This one is mine!"
His sword sliced through the lean muscle of Duncan's stomach, deep enough to make him gasp, but not deep enough to do serious damage. Duncan lunged. His leg gave with the pressure, but his sword found a home in his enemy's shoulder. Off balance, they fell together. Rolled. Jumped to their feet. Circled, each looking for a weakness - any opening. The throaty rumble of a car engine broke their concentration. Duncan glanced to the left. Kroeger did the same.
Sara slammed the door, then whirled to face Jackson. Behind her the Jeep lurched backwards, tires squealing as it spun away in a cloud of dirt and dry leaves, then the chatter of guns blasting swallowed the fading sound. Jackson fell ... so did Sara.
Duncan threw off the urge to run to her side. She would live, but he wouldn't if he didn't pay attention. He turned back to his own battle seconds before Kroeger did. That was all the advantage Duncan needed. Katana held shoulder high, he tightened his grip, stepped closer, then spun his whole body in a deadly pirouette. He barely felt the resistance as his sword sliced through Kroeger's neck.
In the slow aftermath of anger spent, he reversed his spin. A step took him closer to his vanquished foe. Looking down, he stared for a moment into the eyes of his enemy. They would wear that expression of surprise for all eternity. He closed his own eyes expecting to savor relief. To feel a surge of satisfied revenge. He felt nothing. Nothing but dense coldness. The cold of the dead. Until he remembered Sara.
He turned. Staggered across the lawn. Willing his legs to move faster. Wanting to reach her before the Quickening took him. He didn't make it.
Preceded by a rumble of distant thunder, the white mist rose from Kroeger's headless corpse. It spiraled and whirled, encircling him, enfolding him in its fog-like fingers. Ethereal fingers with the strength of giants - the strength of ages. The phantasmagoric storm burst over him in a shower of sparks, and white hot blinding pain sucked the breath from his lungs.
Jagged bolts of dazzling light cut deep, searing his soul. They crackled and roared as they danced around his head. They sizzled and thrummed along his nerves. And they lit the blackened sky with a violent display of lightning.
Potent energy-charged waves shook him. Took him. Brought him to his knees. A tree cracked, snapped, split, then burst into flame. Behind him every pane of glass at the front of the house shattered one at a time in a frenzied sequence.
Then the blistering agony ebbed. Sublime rapture poured into the void. The power of good met the power of evil head on in an ancient struggle, clashing as waves in a storm-tossed sea. The good triumphed. Pure power melded with pure power as the quintessence of Kroeger joined with Duncan's own soul. Sweet sating ecstasy flowed over him. He trembled as the energy of it filled him, consumed him. Joy, exultation and supreme satisfaction soothed him. Healed him. The power belonged to him. It possessed him, as he claimed it. Claimed it as his prize. Claimed it as his birthright.
There can be only one.
And then it was done.
Duncan lifted his head into the silence - deafening silence where there should have been the soft concerto of night sounds. His body ached, yet the aches contained not pain, but satisfaction. Not agony, just relief. He sat still for a moment, as his heartbeat returned to normal. A soft breeze chilled him as its cool breath brushed across his neck and his sweat-soaked shirt. Slowly, he stood, closing his eyes to ward off a crest of dizziness.
Then he remembered ... Sara.
Spent, drained of all energy, he staggered across the yard without conscious thought. At her side, he dropped to his knees. With gentle hands, he scooped up her warm, limp body, then pulled her into his lap. He cradled her in his arms. Cradled her as he had cradled the bodies of other women. Women who couldn't come back to him as Sara would. Little Deer ... Tessa. Women he'd loved more than life itself. Women who died before their time. Who died before he was ready to let them go.
Tenderly, he brushed silk strands of hair away from Sara's face. With the tail of his shirt, he swabbed a smear of blood from her chin. He lifted her hand in his, kissed her finger tips, her knuckles, then he pressed her hand to his chest as though he could transfer the beating of his heart to hers.
Did he love this woman? He didn't know. Could he love Sara MacKensie, who'd been willing to fight at his side for reasons she could, but partly understand. Maybe. Maybe he could. They had faced danger together and survived - an intoxicating combination. Emotions tumbled, tossed, and clashed. The maelstrom gave him a headache. He was too exhausted to deal with it. He only knew that a force deep within him welled up and flowed out to her. Plenty of time to answer those questions later.
He rocked her gently, waiting, knowing his patience would be rewarded. Knowing that beneath her blood soaked clothes, the wounds had already begun to heal. Then her body tensed in his arms. With a sharp inhalation, she returned from death. He smiled.
"Welcome back."
She blinked, wet her lips with a swipe of her tongue. "MacLeod?"
"Yes,"
"I'm alive?"
Closing his eyes, he nodded. "Yes, you're alive."
"I'm not dead?"
He gazed down at her, the smile spread into a grin. "No, you're not dead."
She struggled to sit up, he helped her. Pushed her gently upright with his hand on her back, then he slid his hand up to wrap his arm around her shoulder. He pulled her close, as he shifted to sit beside her.
A racking cough bent her double. He massaged the base of her neck, until she recovered.
"It hurts like hell, MacLeod."
He laughed softly as he pulled her close again. "It usually does."
She pulled her legs in, encircled them with her arms, and rested her chin on her knees. She turned her head slightly and narrowed her eyes.
"I was definitely dead?"
"Most definitely dead," he confirmed.
"You got credentials, MacLeod? Are you qualified to make this medical diagnosis?"
He shook his head. At least her mind was fully functional again. He felt an argument coming on. "I've lived for over 400 years. I know about Immortals. That's all the credentials I need. Would you like me to kill you again to prove it?"
She shuddered. "No thanks, I think I'll take your word for it."
He laughed. "How kind of you."
She smiled, then crinkled her forehead as she frowned.
"So you're telling me that I'm ... Immortal ... like you."
"By George, you've got it."
Sara punched him lightly in the arm with her fist. He laughed, as he leaned back to avoid a follow up punch. She dropped her hand, yanked a few blades of grass from the ground, then ran them through her fingers for a moment. "So did I get this ... this Immortality thing ... from hanging around with you?"
The laughter rumbled up from deep inside him. He wrapped his arms around her, hugged her, then rubbed his knuckles across the top of her head. "It's not catching, you silly goose. You've always been Immortal. You just didn't know it."
She pulled away. "But you did." She rolled to her feet, perched her fists on her hips, then glared down at him. "You knew all along ... and you didn't tell me."
He stood, faced her. "I knew," he confessed.
She spun away from him, and stomped off a short stretch. "You knew," she said, keeping her back to him. "Knew and you didn't think it important enough to tell me." She whirled back and charged him with her fist held high. "Why I oughta--"
He grabbed her fist as she came within range. "Ought to what?" he asked, softly, unable to hide his grin.
She pulled back her other arm, fist cocked and loaded, then her body shook with the force of a massive giggle that burst up from within her and spilled out in a spasm of laughter. She wrapped the arm around her stomach to hold it in. "I ought to kill you MacLeod," she sputtered, then collapsed into another fit of giggles. She backed away, one arm across her stomach. One hand at her mouth. "But it wouldn't do any good."
She turned slowly, then spread her arms wide. "I'm alive!" she shouted, laughing as she twirled.
Duncan stepped up and caught her from behind. He pulled her close, and held her. "Yes, you're alive," he whispered into her hair. Hair that still smelled like a spring meadow even after all they'd been through. He kissed her ear, moved his mouth down to kiss her bare neck.
She turned into his kiss, then she stopped. Stepped back from his arms. She stared wide-eyed at the front of her house. "Jeeze Louise, MacLeod ... what the hell happened to my house."
Duncan turned to share her view of the devastation. No pane of glass remained intact. Singed leaves and blackened branches marred most of the bushes. Black soil mixed with terra cotta shards and limp geraniums littered the porch steps. And one very large blue spruce lay felled, just a few feet from the garage.
How could he explain? He scratched his head, and scuffed his toe in the dirt. "Ah ... it was the Quickening."
Sara turned to look at him. "Quickening? What the hell is a quickening?"
He glanced back at the lifeless lump that had been Kroeger. He could barely make out the shape of the head lying just past it. She had so much to learn. He had so much to tell her, but he was far too weary to begin now. "It's an Immortal thing," he replied with a smile and a shrug.
He snaked an arm around her shoulder, and towed her along as he moved toward the house. "Come on. We have some phone calls we should make, then I'll help you clean up. I'll explain it all then."
Sara stopped, turned to face him. "Do you have any idea how much it's going to cost to replace all that glass?"
He had no clue, but he would be willing to bet that it would cost plenty. He shook his head.
"It's going to cost a fortune," she said, placing her foot on the bottom step. "I sure hope you've got insurance."
"Insurance?"
"Yeah," she said with a big grin. "You know, insurance ... quickening insurance."
Laughing softly, he stepped up to join her. "I ... ah, don't think they sell Quickening insurance."
"You don't think they sell it. But you don't know for sure - you never thought to ask?"
"No, " he said, picturing the expression on the insurance agent's face. "But don't worry, I'll p--"
"You're at this ... this," Sara interrupted, sweeping her hand to indicate the damage, "For 400 years ... and you never thought to ask?"
"No," he repeated. What was her point? "I never thought to ask."
She turned toward the house, raised both arms to the sky. "Men," she said. "Mortal ... Immortal - you're all alike - you never plan ahead."
THE END