Highlander 1. 1

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Author's Notes

This short story grew out of a writing exercise called the "Three Word Story" where I and some other writers were each adding three words to a narrative while attempting to create a story that actually made sense. I created the character of Abigail Martin... and then asked the others, once we had finished the section involving her... if they would mind if I wrote a real story using her... and her impact upon Duncan MacLeod and Darius. This story is set in the same universe as my original fan character Eleanor, but in a time she was not in Paris. For the events which involved her shortly before this story... and the reasons for Darius' apparent unhappiness I direct the reader to the long short story "Please Remember Me."

As always... I don't own **Highlander** or any canon characters... wish I did. For purposes of placement... this story occurs shortly before the flashback sequence involving Grace Chandel and Carlo Sendara. This episode may shed light on Duncan's apparent willingness to allow Grace to make her own decision and leave with Sendara.

I look forward to comments!

~elle-nora

Highlander: _Who Wants to Live Forever?_

~What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul~

__

Matthew 13:26, **KJV**

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*1*

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France, 1840

Duncan MacLeod leaned on the railing of the schooner _Clara Barstow_, and watched as the cliffs of Le Havre came into sight. He was home... or at least... he had returned to Europe... and the continent of his earlier lives. Duncan MacLeod was one of a race of men and women... who were immortal... they could not die... unless someone cut off their heads in what they called... for want of a better term... "the game."

To anyone noticing him, Duncan appeared to be about thirty years of age... which he had been when he'd died in battle in 1622... only to revive and be cast out of his village by his father. He'd wandered unaware of what he was until a mythological kinsman from his grandfather's time had shown up and taught him all about immortals... and the game. Duncan's appearance now was that of a modern businessman. His dark hair was neatly cut, and curled about his forehead. His deep brown eyes took in everything he saw... missing nothing. He was well dressed... evidently wealthy... and a gentleman. In his tall stovetop hat, he appeared to be even taller than his six foot one inch frame. His gentleman's clothing did hide the fact that beneath it... was the iron-hard and well-muscled body of a warrior... a fighter... a man of action. Currently... he carried a walking stick, inside of which was stout rapier. The _katana_ he preferred to use in challenges... was carefully wrapped and with his belongings for the trip across the channel. It would never be far... but in this day and age... it was increasingly more difficult to openly carry a sword.

He'd left Europe in 1817 for the Americas in hope of finding a land where old hatreds and prejudices did not run so deep... where there were not so many immortals. He could still recall the odd look on his friend Darius' face when Duncan had told him that. "I would not rob you of that hope," the immortal priest had said, as if he understood something that Duncan did not... that wherever men were... hatred still existed... and that immortals were found everywhere... even in the jungles of Peru... or in the untamed wilderness of the American west. Darius had once been a general... but had been a priest in Paris for almost fourteen hundred years... he was the oldest immortal Duncan had ever met... and a remarkable man whose calm presence had made an effect on the warrior Duncan had been. Darius had asked him to consider peace... rather than war... and while Duncan was not yet ready to entirely forsake the game... Darius' words had touched him deeply.

Although the new land had been broad and vastly under-populated as compared to Europe... Darius had been right. Wherever he had gone... Duncan MacLeod had found that things were much the same everywhere. He'd found men engaged in acts of pettiness and barbarity. New prejudices and new hatreds replaced old ones... or the old ones were imported into the new land. And... he'd found immortals. He'd faced a few... killed a few... and his life went on. While all around him... the mortals he came to know... aged and died. Nothing was different.

He'd returned to the British Isles in 1833... eager to see once more the lands of his birth. He'd planned on traveling north to Scotland... but he'd never made it. His identity as a businessman had kept him busy in London. Now it was that same business that took him once more to France. And in France was Paris... and in Paris... was... he hoped... Darius.

Behind him on the deck, Duncan could sense the small tingle of the pre-immortal Abigail Martin. He'd met her and her uncle, Joshua Martin in Boston before he'd left the states, seven years ago. Abigail had been nineteen at that time, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a heart-shaped face and a cupid's bow of a mouth that Duncan doubted had ever touched a man's. Quiet and retiring, Abigail was a shy young woman with a gentle smile and soft voice. When Duncan stood next to her... he felt like a giant.

Abigail and Joshua Martin were Quakers. They'd left Boston on the same ship as MacLeod for London and he'd gotten to know them on the journey over. Abigail would walk between the two of them... one gloved hand lightly on each man's arm... and laugh demurely at their comments. There were no other immortals aboard the ship... so Duncan... out of respect for the Martins' Quaker beliefs... had refrained from carrying his sword about the ship. For most of the journey across the Atlantic... Duncan felt a great deal of peace... as if immortality and the game were only nightmares... which could not intrude here.

And... Duncan found himself drawn to Abigail... He began to wonder if it were at all possible for an immortal to have a life with a pre-immortal woman, which did not end in murder and betrayal. His memories of Kate Devaney and what he'd done to her still haunted him. She had not forgiven him... and he'd made no effort to find her in the intervening years, accepting that he'd likely made the biggest mistake of his life in first marrying her and then taking her life... making her immortal. Now... Duncan was faced with another pre-immortal woman... one for whom he also felt desire and perhaps the beginnings of love. He'd determined to keep his distance... he had not expected to see the Martins once they arrived in England.

Then everything had changed.

During a storm at sea, Joshua Martin died. A frightened and fragile Abigail had clung to Duncan in the aftermath... mourning the loss of her only living relative.

"He took me in when my parents died of the fever," she'd whimpered to Duncan's chest as she sobbed. "He raised me... educated me... cared for me as if I were his own. He wanted so to see Europe and spread the word of our beliefs... What do I do now?"

Duncan had remained silent as they'd stood on the deck and watched Joshua Martin's shrouded body committed to the deep. He had no words for Abigail. What could he tell her... that one day, she might find herself having to fight for her life in the game of the immortals. No... he would tell her nothing. And... he swore to himself that he would protect her. No matter what she wanted or where she went... he would protect her.

So... he'd remained in London... a frequent visitor at the home of some Quaker friends of Joshua Martin... a couple who took Abigail in when she first arrived. Duncan had found the Quaker services to which Abigail took him, strange.

"I was raised a Catholic," he'd explained to Abigail. "I doubt I should ever feel really comfortable."

Abigail had nodded, her cupid's bow mouth parted slightly, "Tis a hard thing, Mr. Duncan MacLeod, to live a plain life."

That had been seven years ago. Now Duncan was headed to France... and as was Abigail. Oh not together... nor as a couple... simply as friends. Abigail seemed as unaware of her of her effect upon him as she was of her own beauty. He was simply "Mr. Duncan MacLeod... my uncle's friend" whenever she introduced him to other Quakers. For his part... Duncan had thought it for the best. Her life might be hard enough as it was... without his fears of being tempted to kill her before her time. She was alone, she was an orphan, and she was blissfully unaware of the dark underbelly of life... or of immortals.

During her years in London, she'd studied French, German and Italian. "My uncle had hoped to journey to the continent and spread the word. I shall do so in his place," she'd announced one evening. "To that end... I am learning languages." Though he feared for her, Duncan had helped her with her studies.

"I am familiar with Paris and will be going there soon on business. You can accompany me there. I shall see that you are properly situated." He feared what might happen to her if she went to Paris alone. There were always too many immortals in Paris. But that being said... there was also Darius. Duncan wanted to introduce her to the immortal priest... if he were still in Paris... and get his assessment of what Duncan needed to do about Abigail Martin. After what had happened with Kate... he feared to talk with Connor about Abigail... he knew what Connor would say... and yet... he did not wish to simply walk away from her either. If she died... she would need him.

Abigail leaned on the rail beside him, her dark eyes, surrounded by long dark, thick lashes, shining as she gazed at the cliffs. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "Is all France so beautiful?" The wind whipped about so that the ribbons on her plain gray bonnet tangled in the wind... and her cheeks were reddened. She clutched her heavy cloak tightly about her and attempted to keep the hooped skirt of her grey gown from rising up in the wind.

"Much of it is," Duncan smiled, "but as with all countries... there are also sad and horrible sights."

"When were you last here?"

"Oh... a few years before we met." Duncan knew better than to say when. Already he felt Abigail might already be noticing that he hadn't really changed in the last seven years. He likely needed to tell her something... but he wished to discuss his options first with Darius. At least the priest didn't know about Kate, or what Duncan had done to her... at least he didn't think so.

"You must have been a very young man."

Duncan chuckled. "Yes... I was." And he had been young... or at least younger. Indeed... the first time he'd come to France in 1634... he'd still been in what he might have called his first life. He'd only recently left Connor's tutelage to strike out on his own. He'd taken his first head... and he was "in the game." Unfortunately... being on his own was not as easy as he'd first thought. But... in just over two hundred years... he'd learned... he'd learned. Smiling at the eager fresh face of Abigail Martin... Duncan could not help but wonder if she would survive to see even one hundred years.

Two days later... they arrived by coach in Paris. After settling Abigail into an inn to rest after their journey...Duncan headed off on foot toward the old city... toward the _Rue Jacques_... toward Darius' church... eager to see if his friend was still there. Less than a block away, Duncan felt the familiar tingle of an immortal and smiled. Slowly he approached the church grounds, smiling as he passed through the gate and onto the property.

Darius was around back in the small cemetery... weeding the plots. He glanced up as Duncan approached and gave him a smile and a wave. The tall, brown-haired, rail-thin monk wiped his muddy hands on his robes and stood to welcome his former student.

"Duncan," he said holding out a hand. When Duncan clasped it, emotion and an overwhelming sense of relief passed through the Highlander. At that moment he realized how worried he'd been that Darius would not have been here... that he would have moved on... or worse... that he would died. Duncan's handshake became a hug. Then he stood back slightly red-faced.

"Sorry... I was just glad you were here," he mumbled.

"Where else would I be?" There was still that amusing tone of teasing in Darius' words... as if he were saying more than was immediately apparent. "How was America?" Darius turned to gather his garden implements to re-stow them and then lead the way into his quarters within the church itself.

"Beautiful and raw and untamed... and... much the same as here," Duncan finally admitted. "How did you know?"

"You are not the only one of my students who travels, you know." Darius winked. "Did you make it into South America? I hear the jungles there are fascinating!"

"I did... and found the remnants of old civilizations and indications that our kind were there... long ago."

"Did you?"

Duncan laughed. "Oh Darius... I have missed our conversations. You always make me think you know the answers to everything."

"Do I?" The priest smiled. He washed his hands in a bowl of water and dried them. "Would you like some tea?"

Duncan gave the priest a guarded look. Sometimes he wondered about the odd taste of some of the teas Darius brewed... but he hadn't the nerve to say much. "No... thank you... perhaps later."

"If you don't mind..." Darius set a kettle of water on the small brazier and then settled into a chair, steepling his fingers before him... "Now then, my young friend, what worries you so?"

Duncan paced uneasily about the cell. "What makes you think I'm worried about anything." He picked up a rock... noting the carvings on one side... reminiscent of some he'd seen in Peru... and then set it down.

Darius said nothing... merely waited.

Finally Duncan sighed deeply and turned to face his mentor. "I need your advice. I've met a young woman... she's one of us... or will be... I care for her... I don't know what to do."

A small smile crossed Darius' lips as he nodded his head. "Perhaps you should tell me everything."

Duncan pulled up a chair to explain about Abigail. An hour later, having finished... and having endured at least two cups of some strange tea, Duncan sat back and waited.

"Loving one of us is never easy Duncan. I have friends who try it. What you are essentially asking is if you should take this young woman's life... am I correct?"

Duncan felt his face redden... thoughts of Kate crossed his mind... he hadn't mentioned Kate.

"Ahh... I see..."

Duncan looked up sharply.

Darius smiled. "You have been down this path before and did not find it pleasing." When Duncan nodded, the priest continued. "Even if you had asked me this fifteen hundred years ago... long before I came to this place... I would have told you the same thing. No. I would not bring her into our world if she could have a chance for a normal life."

"But if I love her?" Duncan insisted.

"Then you have to let her go, my friend. Tell me... Do you think she would be the type to be able to handle our lives? Consider that."

"No... and she's a small woman... I fear she'd be an easy mark for any of us."

"And that is the reason you must let her go. Tell her nothing... not even of yourself... nor what might be possible for her. If it should happen on its own... although there is no guarantee of that... then it happens... Only then should you step forward to help her."

"But she'll grow old and die!"

Darius smiled. "And is that a bad thing?" When Duncan gave him an odd look, Darius continued. "Some of us die too young or too old to survive in the game. Some of us... especially some of the modern females... are too gentle to face the lives most of us lead. For these... what course of action should we follow? Where should they go... what should they do to survive? Should they survive?" Darius threw up his hands. "I would not force anyone into this immortal life... and it is not fair for her to even know of its possibilities less she hunger for it. Remember Duncan... in the end it is said there can be only one of us to remain. If that is so... then making her immortal is likely a death sentence twice over."

"But the possibilities... " Duncan began.

"And what happened to the other young woman you so longed to hold forever in a single moment? I ask you that," Darius said sadly. "Did she thank you? Did she remain with you even a single year?"

"Not even the night," Duncan finally admitted. "But what if I explained to Abigail..."

"Again... I say no." Darius leaned forward thoughtfully, clasping his hands before him. "Those who know... sometimes they don't come back. It is best to leave them be."

Duncan stared. "What?"

"When I was a young man... my first teacher told me of a pre-immortal he'd once taught. He'd lavished training and knowledge on him. Teaching the young man to become the most perfect warrior he could be. Getting him ready... and... when my teacher felt the moment was right... when his student was at a stage of physical perfection and his greatest strength... he killed him."

"And the point?"

Darius shrugged, "My teacher told me he simply died. Expecting his re-birth... prepared for his death and the glorious new life which awaited him... his young student did not experience the shock of death... and merely died. His immortality was not triggered. He told me this," Darius pointed at Duncan, "to explain why it was important we watch them... watch over them... befriend them if possible... but leave them be. If they are meant to join us... they will. If not..." Darius smiled, "then they may well be the lucky ones. Who knows what happens to all the untriggered quickenings of those who die and are not reborn?"

Duncan sat thoughtfully back in his chair. Finally he looked up to meet Darius' blue-grey eyes... like chips of granite... twinkling in amusement regarding him. "Duncan chuckled, "Would you meet her?"

Darius nodded as he picked up the teapot, poured fresh tea for himself and offered to a declining Duncan. "Of course... Bring her around someday soon. I am always happy for guests."

With that... their conversation turned to other things... news of immortals they both knew... the politics of the day... and chess.


	2. 2

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*2*

"A priest? You want me to meet a Roman Catholic priest? Whatever for?" When Duncan met Abigail at breakfast the following morning, served in the well-appointed dining room of the inn, she was clearly confused. "Why should I get to know one of the popists."

"He's a friend, Abigail... a very good friend. And if you recall... I too was raised Roman Catholic." Duncan was little startled at Abigail's response.

She eyed him curiously over the table and sipped genteelly on her tea. "Well... yes... but you are my friend... and you are not likely to attempt to convert me. I have heard it said that priests are agents of Satan himself."

Duncan threw back his head and laughed. "Please Abigail... come with me to meet Brother Darius... I think you'll see just how foolish that fear is." He sobered suddenly. "Besides, my business will soon take me elsewhere, I fear, and I would have you know someone in this city... someone I trust."

Abigail finally agreed. After all... there were too few Quakers in this city... which was one of the reasons she had come... and if this man were a friend of Duncan's... even if he were a priest... it might be nice to have a friend here once Duncan had left.

Some hours later, after having first insisted on going into the poorer areas of the city to see in what way she might be able to help, Duncan and Abigail came at last to _St. Julien Le Pauvre_, St. Julien of the poor, patron saint of those in need.

"Well... the name of the church is certainly appropriate," Abigail murmured as they approached the twelfth century stone church... plain in its appearance, not at all a grandiose edifice, as she had feared. Nor was the priest who served this church quite what she had expected either.

Darius seemed relatively young... perhaps Duncan's age, or a few years older. He was pleasant, friendly, and had a remarkable sense of humor. Abigail found herself immediately at ease... as well as discussing with him her plans for a mission in the area. Instead of being put off by her, as so many were, he began discussing with her the specific needs of the people in the area, ways that one could help if one had time and money, and other people she could contact to assist her. Abigail found herself getting lost in the man's blue-grey eyes... sensing only a kindred soul... one who lived to serve others... one who was plain.

For his part, Duncan MacLeod felt as though he were the outsider. Darius and Abigail appeared to have many interests in common. Each of them was fully committed to a way of life that Duncan could not wholly accept... a life of peace and service to others.

A few days later, when he stopped by the church, Duncan found Darius on a garden bench, a letter in his hands and a forlorn look on his face. He paused a few feet away, as the priest did not seem to acknowledge him... so lost in thought he seemed. Finally Darius sighed, folded the letter, placing it within his robes and met Duncan's expression with a haunted smile.

"My friend, so good to see you again." Though his words were as they always were, Duncan thought there was an edge of sadness in them.

"Is something wrong, Darius? Is there any way I can help?"

Darius shook his head. "Just word about an old friend. Not good news, I'm afraid." He gestured then for Duncan to accompany him inside and set about heating water, his words now on their on-going game of chess. 

Duncan watched his friend closely, seeking the answer to the puzzle that at times was Darius. But he learned nothing. Finally he spoke up. "So what old friend died? Grayson?"

Darius looked at him strangely then shook his head. "No Grayson is fine. He was here a few years ago... selling weapons to the insurgents. I believe he's in Germany these days." He fingered the white queen on the chessboard absently and then moved it, his eyes seemed focused not on things here but on some memory of long ago.

"So who?"

Darius glanced up and settled back into his chair... his face expressionless. "Why do you think someone has died?"

"You said your letter... that it was bad news. Darius you look like you'd like to talk about it. I wouldn't press if you don't... but you're obviously concerned about something."

Darius pulled out the letter... two pages written on fine vellum. His thumb caressed the expensive feel of the paper as he sighed thoughtfully. Suddenly he rolled the sheets and poked them into the brazier until they caught fire. Flames leapt up momentarily... and sparks lingered in the air before dying out. "The letter is nothing," he said curtly and turned to pour the water into the prepared teapot to let it steep. 

Duncan chuckled. "So... you are not always the calm and all-knowing one."

Darius regarded him quietly and then smiled as he settled once more into his own chair. "I am but human my friend... subject to all the devices and desires of other men. The paths we choose for our lives... are not always easy."

"An old love then?" Duncan moved a pawn.

Swiftly Darius shifted one of his. "An old student... one who is having a difficult time these days."

"Anyone I know?" Duncan paused his hand over a knight... and then moved to a second pawn, shifting it forward.

"I don't believe so."

Duncan leaned forward. "I am your friend, Darius, if I can help..." his voice trailed off in the invitation.

Darius chuckled as he shook his head. "I don't think so, my friend, but maybe someday. Now... tell my how your young friend Abigail Martin is doing."

"You're changing the subject."

"Is that what I'm doing?" Darius grinned. Swiftly his bishop took out Duncan's queen. "Checkmate!" 

In the weeks that followed, Abigail threw herself into her preparations for assistance. She gained an audience with some of the Parisians whose names Darius had given her and influenced them to help support the soup and bread line she hoped to create... and to help offer money so that she might rent a property where destitute families could find shelter.

Her dark eyes glittered with her plans... and Duncan hoped they would come to fruition... and not be dashed against the rocks. He found himself postponing his trip to Switzerland and Austria... and instead split his days between escorting Abigail around some of the seedier areas of Paris ("You will not go there alone!" he'd insisted.) and playing chess with Darius.

The chess games, Duncan had come to discover, were merely covers for the elder immortal to teach truths. He used the moves to discuss strategy, sacrifice, power, and history. 

"Nothing is ever as it seems with you is it?" Duncan had asked one evening.

"Perhaps everything is exactly what it appears to be," Darius replied as once again he checkmated Duncan's king.

Duncan ran his fingers through his dark curly hair and laughed. "Now why do I think that's not exactly the truth."

"You are too suspicious, my friend. Need everything one says or does have two meanings? Sometimes... we are no more or less than what we appear to be."

"Darius," Duncan said suddenly. "I know you remain here on holy ground... but would you accompany me tomorrow to see Abigail. Her soup line begins serving tomorrow. She speaks often of you and I thought it might please her if you came. I'll watch your back."

Darius laughed. "Just because I choose to remain here Duncan... does not mean I am helpless. But I will be honored to attend." He smiled.

"I'll pick you up just before noon if that's convenient. Abigail has some volunteers who will be working with her. They'll keep an eye on her while I'm not there."

Darius leaned back and rested one elbow on the arm of his chair... leaning one extended figure along the side of his face thoughtfully. The priest regarded Duncan carefully as if considering his next words carefully. "Very well... I shall await your coming."

The following day... once Duncan had seen Abigail to the location at the _Place de Maubert_ where Protestants had once been burned at the stake, he returned to _St. Julien Le Pauvre_ to find Darius ready to accompany him. The priest's garb was much as it was when Duncan had met him at Waterloo. His hooded cloak covered his face and the trailing fullness of it concealed much about the immortal's shape.

Duncan had also added a cape to his attire for the day... choosing to hide his beloved _katana_ within it... although he still carried the walking stick with its hidden blade. Duncan had wanted to be certain that if they ran into trouble... they would be adequately armed... although he doubted Darius would actually wield a weapon.

Reaching the edge of the _esplanade_, Duncan was relieved to sense only Abigail's light hum. The young woman was tirelessly moving along the bread line... offering bread, soup, kind words, a soft smile, or a helpful hand to those who had come for food. He did note some ruffians off to one side whose leers and raucous comments were of some concern. When he thought to chastise them, Darius placed one hand firmly on Duncan's arm and shook his head.

"Let them be. Her charity shames them. She does not need for you to defend her honor. Her deeds may yet win them over."

Duncan glared hatefully at the men, but withdrew, content to watch Abigail.

At one point she glanced over to see them, excused herself and walked toward them. "So... that's where you ran off to earlier... and here I thought you felt serving soup was beneath you," she teased. Then she beamed at Darius. "What do you think... Will I make a difference here?"

"One can only hope, Abigail. All of us must endeavor to make a difference... one soul... one life at a time. It is a beginning."

Abigail turned and noted the crowds of people lining up for the food. "I had no idea there were so many... or that the need was so great."

"The need may always be beyond our best efforts to assuage it," Darius continued... walking beside her. "How may I help this day?"

Abigail's face broke into a wide smile. She looked around. "Pierre Moreau could use some help with the cooking... we need to make more than we had planned... Can you cook?"

Darius shrugged, "Of course." Soon he'd found himself chopping produce to add to the kettles and chatting amiably with the cook, Pierre Moreau and his wife Sophie. He'd removed his cloak and seemed at ease in the duties... laughing and joking with the other workers as if he often did this sort of work.

Duncan could only gaze and chuckle. He allowed himself to help with serving bread... making certain to offer also a smile and a kind word.

The afternoon passed quickly. Once the food was gone... the poor had vanished. In the aftermath... Pierre stomped out the fires... began to order their equipment loaded onto the carts. Darius reclaimed his cloak and stood observing the clean up in the shadows... his eyes watching the faces of passers-by... and peering at the side streets which opened onto the _esplanade_.

"Did you sense something?" Duncan asked him... his hand already gripping his walking stick once more.

"Perhaps... I'm not certain... it was only for a moment," Darius murmured. "I need to get back, however."

"Give me a moment and I'll go with you," Duncan assured his friend. Turning to Abigail he smiled. "We have to be going. Shall I see you later?"

Abigail looked tired. But she nodded. "I have to make plans for the next time... but I would welcome your company over a light meal. I fear seeing how hungry some of these people were makes me feel guilty about leaving here to dine at some _cafe_. Thank you both... your presence here meant the world to me." She squeezed Duncan's hand then turned and seemed at a loss as to how to thank the priest. "You have been a great help... "

Darius reached out one hand to pat her shoulder lightly and then his hand vanished once more into his cloak. "No matter our differences... helping those less fortunate is truly a charity."

"You could come with us?" Duncan suggested. "Let the others finish up... you're exhausted. We'll drop Darius back at _St.Julien_ and then I can take you back to the inn for an early meal... and then you can retire."

Abigail turned and watched the carts being loaded. There was truly nothing else for her to do here... and she was tired. Agreeably she turned back and nodded. "I think I may."

Together the three set off towards the church... Duncan listening to Darius and Abigail speak of other ways and means help could be brought to the poor. Darius was urging her to concentrate on one area... rather than attempt to cover the entire city. "It cannot be done. It is better to make a difference in one small area... help those who cannot help themselves... teach them how to stand once more on their own... and only then move on."

As the talk between them continued, Duncan began to sense occasionally someone on the edge of his perceptions... another immortal... not in plain sight... following them in the shadows of the late afternoon. His unease began to grow. Catching Darius' eye, the Highlander knew the priest had sensed the other as well. They sped up.

Arriving at the gate to the church property... Darius offered hospitality... a cup of tea perhaps... a few moments of rest... Abigail looked as tired as if she were ready to collapse. Adrenaline and excitement had kept her going all day... now it was fading... and she was truly weary.

"Come inside."

"Darius makes excellent tea," Duncan insisted.

Abigail looked at them both strangely. "No... I'm really tired, perhaps another time. Duncan... please escort me back to the inn. I rather feel even a meal is beyond me at this point."

Duncan agreed, not certain if he wished the unknown immortal would remain here at the church... watching Darius... or follow him back to the inn. Still... he needed to get Abigail to safety.

Saying his farewells, Duncan took her arm gently and led her away.

In the shadows of the coming dusk... Darius gazed after them thoughtfully as his eyes attempted to see shapes in the shadows. But he saw no one there... and no one stepped forward. Finally, Darius turned and quietly entered his church.

An hour later, Darius felt a presence in the nave. Carefully he rose to open the door of his cell and peer into the candlelit gloom of the old church.

"Denis," he murmured sadly.

"How strange to have seen you wandering the city in broad daylight, old one. I assume that young Scotsman was your bodyguard?" Denis stretched out his long legs and propped them on the back of the chair in front of him, casually assuming a position of boredom. He trailed one long hand on the flagstone floor and sighed as he gazed petulantly at the priest.

Darius shook his head and settled into a chair next to his former student. "I do not require a bodyguard as you well know... but he insisted."

Denis regarded his former teacher patronizingly. "Oh... you might once have been able to trip me up so that I would lie sprawled at your feet... but somehow I don't think you could anymore. When was the last time you raised a hand against anyone... for any reason?"

Darius said nothing, merely continued to gaze at Denis sadly.

The young immortal plopped his feet on the stone floor, slapped his thighs and laughed. "I knew it! You have been here too long. One would think you are actually starting to believe all this talk of goodness and sacrifice! One day one of us will come for you... and you will either have to die... or fight back... and I'm not certain Darius which I'd prefer."

"As someone did for you?"

"I was a fool to embrace peace!" Denis shouted. "When they came for me... it was kill or be killed! Don't judge me for choosing to live. I hope I live to see the day they come for you," he finished softly, rising to his feet and striding about the nave. "Will you fight? Or will you kneel and let them take your head?"

"That remains to be seen," Darius answered. "I do not judge you for wishing to live... I merely indicate my sorrow that you have embraced once more the darkness of the game."

"What about the Scotsman?" Denis said turning with a smile and circling about Darius like a vulture. "Is he a man of peace? If I come for his head... will he fight me?"

"That would be his business... not mine," Darius answered levelly.

Denis hopped onto a chair and crouched before the priest. "Then perhaps I shall pay a call on him... or not." Laughing he jumped once more to the floor and sauntered out... letting the great oaken door slam loudly.

Slowly Darius rose and returned to his cell. Denis had been one of his greatest hopes... and one of his greatest losses. The immortal had died during the eighth century... a victim of a fire. He'd lost his wife and her parents at the same time. Uncertain of the immortal life... once he'd healed, he'd wandered lost about the streets until Darius had found him... taken him in... taught him... not just about immortality and the game... but how to read and write... and had been pleased to watch Denis take holy orders... offering himself to also be a beacon of peace for the world.

Less than a century later, the superstitious congregants of his small parish came for him... to burn Denis at the stake for witchcraft. He'd fought his way free... and had turned his back on helping men after that. Denis wasn't necessarily evil... just back in the game. He delighted in coming to Paris every few decades to taunt Darius and show him how well he was doing... how successful he was... how many heads he'd taken. Denis had been lost to Darius long ago... but he still keenly felt that loss. Indeed... he felt the loss of all of them... all the ones who embraced peace for a time and then moved on.

Within his cell Darius slumped in the chair by the chessboard as his gaze fell once more on the white queen... Slowly he picked the carved stone piece up and fingered it softly. Then he re-set it once more on the chessboard. Sighing... he blew out the candle and crawled into bed already knowing that sleep might prove elusive this night.


	3. 3

****

*3*

In the weeks that followed, Duncan accompanied Abigail everywhere... as if worried that whoever he'd felt that evening near the _Place de Maubert_ might be around... might be stalking her. For her part, Abigail seemed pleased at his sudden attentions... but unaware of the dangers swirling about her.

"You cannot always be there to protect her Duncan," Darius told him sadly one night. "Eventually you must let her go... and let fate decide her life... or death." They'd continued chess games when the weather was poor... or in the evenings after Abigail had retired for the evening. "She is a bright light who I fear will burn all too briefly in our lives."

"And if she dies... becomes immortal... what then?" Duncan glared at Darius.

Darius gestured widely with his hands... "Then if it is here and she lets me... I shall guide her, teach her what she must know. But her choices must be her own."

"Would you teach her to fight?"

"If she wishes to learn... I know many immortals trustworthy enough to teach her." He shook his head sadly. "But I do not think she would embrace that path."

Duncan sighed. "I know... and that's what frightens me so."

And so Duncan had continued to watch over her, realizing his own feelings for Abigail were growing and changing and that just perhaps... so were hers for him. Her smile brightened when she saw him. She'd even dared to plant a kiss on his cheek recently and then drawn back... her face within her bonnet blushing and her eyes closed. He had raised one of her gloved hands to his lips and, turning it over, lightly kissed her wrist... blowing upon it ever so slightly. Duncan was beginning to fall in love with her... and she might be falling in love with him. If he wanted to remain with her... he'd have to tell her something... and risk her leaving him. As yet... he held his tongue.

He'd felt no further immortals in the area... and Darius had not mentioned seeing any... so Duncan was beginning to relax a bit. 

"I have a meeting with some bankers this afternoon... it will be very long and very boring... Will you come?" Abigail dabbed her linen napkin at her lips and gazed at him across their luncheon table. Her dark eyes sparkled in amusement.

Duncan chuckled, "Perhaps I will see you there and then go see Darius. I haven't seen him in a few days. I could come back to collect you after a few hours if you think it will take so long."

"Duncan... don't be silly... go... play your silly chess game with Darius and don't worry. I'm certain my French is good enough to get me home safely. I promise," she continued above his objection, "to allow the bankers to call a cab for me. I will not wander the streets alone. Despite what you sometimes seem to feel... I am not a fool. In fact... why don't I just take a cab there."

Duncan grinned, "I think I shall ride over with you anyway... just to be certain you arrive. And I do wish you would wait for my return."

"Oh... very well," Abigail sipped her tea and smiled, a blush on her cheeks. "My knight in shining armor."

"Your servant," Duncan said with a slight bow and a toast of his own teacup. "Always... your servant."

Upon his arrival at _St. Julien_ Duncan was surprised to see a rather flustered Darius. "Where is Abigail?' the priest asked.

"With the bankers... I just left her there... why..."

"I fear someone has noticed her... We need to get her quickly."

"Who?" Duncan grabbed at the priest's arm as he headed out of the church.

"Someone who may not have her best interests at heart... Now hurry!" Darius strode purposely off the grounds... paused a moment in the street and then hailed a cab. "Give them the address and tell them to hurry."

Duncan did so then climbed into the cab opposite his friend and stared at the face of the priest... pale and drained of color. He noticed that Darius had grabbed his cloak and was even now shrugging it about his shoulders and clasping it at the neck.

"Who is after Abigail, Darius?"

The elder immortal met his gaze and nodded. "An old student of mine... He has seen her with us... he has felt her latent ability. He came to me less than an hour ago to drop hints about her... wondering what sort of student she'd make."

"He'd kill her?"

Darius nodded. "I fear that may be his plan. Would she be so foolish as to leave the bankers without you?"

"She promised to wait," Duncan murmured.

"Then let us hope she does so." Darius leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

"Tell me about this Denis?" Duncan persisted.

"About a thousand years old. He's not an evil man, Duncan... he's just misguided. I taught him much of what I taught you... but when men came for him... to burn him at the stake... he lost his balance and now strikes out at men... or other immortals... who do evil."

"Why would he hurt Abigail?"

"I'm not certain he would. Perhaps he said these things to tempt me to protect her. He may very well wish me to stop him... to forsake what I am and what I stand for..."

"And would you?" Duncan felt a small tendril of jealousy for Abigail's friendship with Darius. Did his friend have feelings for her?

Darius smiled. "I would attempt to protect any of us Duncan... with my life. Let us just say that in some ways, Abigail reminds me of another one of us... one I failed to protect." There was a great sadness in his eyes and in his expression that made Duncan curious.

"Would you tell me about her?" he asked.

Darius' head snapped up as he stared bleakly at Duncan.

"Was she the one who wrote the letter you burned?" Duncan continued.

Darius lowered his head, closing his eyes. He seemed to shrink within his great black cloak. His head nodded briefly... hardly at all... but it nodded.

"I won't push... but someday... I do hope you tell me about her." Duncan glanced out the window of the cab, relieved that it had arrived at the banking district. "Wait here for me," he said and alighted even before the cab stopped moving to bound up the steps into the bank.

Deep in the cab Darius waited. He felt no one in the immediate area besides Duncan... and he was worried whether that was a good thing... or a bad thing.

* * *

Duncan flew past the intermediaries and flung wide the great carved doors to the banking president's inner office. There was neither sign nor sense of Abigail anywhere.

"Where is she?" Duncan grabbed one of the bankers by his lapels and propelled him against one of the walls to the consternation of the others in the meeting.

"I assure you, _monsieur... Mademoiselle_ Martin is in good hands.

"Where is she?" Duncan's voice rose in intensity as he growled menacingly at the hapless banker.

"_Pardon monsieur_, one of our patrons, _Monsieur_ Burgoyne has offered her a piece of real estate for her shelter for families. They have gone to see it."

Duncan let the man go and stepped back. "_Monsieur_ Burgoyne?"

"_Oui_... He has had accounts with us for years. He was here when _Mademoiselle _Martin arrived and was quite taken with her ideas."

Duncan stared numbly about the room... at the old men who had no idea what they might have done. "What is the address they went to?" 

One of the bankers opened a folder and wrote the address down, handing it to Duncan. "Apologies, _monsieur_... we did not know you did not wish the _mademoiselle_ to go anywhere unescorted. _Monsieur_ Burgoyne is one of our most illustrious clients. A true gentleman!" The banker sniffed as if indicating that Duncan's behavior in this matter was far from acceptable.

Duncan had no time to apologize or even consider that the banker was right, he strode forcefully out of the offices and returned to the cab, shouting the address at the driver.

Inside, Darius' pale face regarded him fearfully. "I take it she was not there."

"This Denis you spoke of... does he use the name Burgoyne?"

Darius' eyes widened and he nodded. "His church was in Burgoyne. He uses that name sometimes to remind himself of his hatred for the men who would have burned him."

"I've known immortals who were burned Darius! I've been burned. It's never pleasant... but we survive... why did this Denis fear this death."

Darius sat back and shivered in the shadows of the cab. "Burning is one of the most horrible of deaths we can suffer Duncan. Denis' first death was by fire. He fears it even now. The pain can drive one mad if it is severe enough." Once more Duncan heard a deep sadness in the priest's tone. "I fear it prevented his clear thinking at the time."

"What would he do to Abigail?"

Darius looked at him sadly. "I don't know. As I said earlier... he might only be trying to draw me out for his own reasons. He has never overtly threatened my life... He merely enjoys sharing with me tales of his battles... the immortals he's killed... how glorious and life-affirming he finds the experience. As if I could not remember it clearly enough for myself."

"Do you still remember them."

"All the ones I killed in my first four hundred years? Every one of them! Every face... both mortal and immortal. I remember them all. They are etched indelibly on my memory. I would not add another one to that count for any reason."

"Not even to save a life?"

Darius smiled. "What profit to save a life if I lose my soul."

"Not even Abigail's life?"

"I would not let him kill her... but I would find another way rather than killing him. How would he learn mercy... if I do not show mercy."

"I'm sorry... If he has harmed her in any way... I _will _kill him." Duncan met Darius' pained expression, refusing to let the priest's words sway his intentions."

"Then let us hope he had not harmed her."

Moments later the cab stopped at a deserted warehouse. Both men jumped out, Duncan hurriedly paid the driver and followed Darius into the building. Already they could sense an immortal. 

In his hurry, Duncan passed Darius and raced into the cavernous warehouse... staring bleakly around at the empty room. He pulled his _katana_ from its hiding place in his cloak and tossed Darius his walking stick. The priest caught it with a puzzled glance and then nodded as if he understood. He smiled... hiding his hands and the stick within his cape.

Assuming positions as familiar to him as walking or eating... Duncan carefully eased further into the room. "Abigail?" he called. His voice echoed in the empty room. Duncan closed his eyes... attempting to focus on the location of the buzz he could feel here... close-by.

A box shifted to his right. Duncan swung in that direction and paused... his eyes widened. "Abigail?" He raced forward to kneel at her side. She sat on the floor dazed... and clearly immortal.

Gazing at him in confusion, she whispered, "Duncan... what are you doing here? Where is _Monsieur_ Burgoyne?"

Gently Duncan brushed the hair from her face and wiped a trickle of blood from her forehead. "At least you're all right... he won't get away with this." Duncan hardened his jaw... clenching his teeth. "Watch her," he snapped angrily at Darius as he stormed away... his _katana_ flexing menacingly in his right hand... searching for Denis.

Darius knelt beside Abigail.

"What is he talking about Darius? Who is he after?"

"I fear he's after _Monsieur _Burgoyne for hurting you."

"_Monsieur_ Burgoyne? Why would he hurt me? I tripped on something and hit my head. _Monsieur_ Burgoyne said he was going for help. My head hurts... There is this horrible buzzing in it and I can't seem to make it stop."

Darius stared at Abigail and then looked vainly around for Duncan. "Quickly... can you stand? We must get to Duncan before he makes a terrible mistake."

"Mistake?" Abigail clutched at Darius' arm as she rose. "He wouldn't hurt him would he? Oh dear... he was carrying some kind of sword. Quickly Darius, we must stop him before he does something horrible."

The two exited the empty warehouse and gazed up and down the street. Darius closed his eyes a moment to focus... trying to recall the layout of this part of the city... Where would Denis go? "_Le Cimetiere du St. Sulpice_, " he breathed. "Follow me." With one hand Darius grasped Duncan's walking stick beneath his long black cape... and with the other guided and urged Abigail to hurry along. He feared they would be too late.

Several blocks later they came to the small overgrown cemetery. Abigail wailed at the sudden feel of two additional immortals. "You will be fine... come along," Darius urged gently. "I know it's distracting... but only you may be able to get through to Duncan before he makes a mistake, nor dare I leave you behind."

As they threaded their way amongst the weedy and tumbled stone graves, Darius tried vainly to see either Duncan or Denis. They were here... he could sense that... but where. They he saw them.

Abigail gasped at the sight.

Denis was on his knees as Duncan held a sword at his throat. All the while he was dragging the French immortal towards the edge of the cemetery, his voice rang clearly in the late afternoon air. "You will pay!"

"Duncan... no... you cannot do this!" Darius called out. His grip on Abigail's arm faltered as she twisted free. "This is holy ground, Duncan."

"Not forever," the Highlander snarled as he continued to drag Denis toward the boundaries.

"Duncan," cried Abigail running forward toward them. "What are you doing? _Monsieur _Burgoyne is a friend."

"He's a monster!"

"You are the monster... put that horrible thing down." Abigail reached to drag his arm down and away from Denis' neck Duncan attempted to shrug her off. Abigail tried once more to grab his arm.

"You cannot interfere!" yelled Duncan. "Darius... get her out of here!" Darius stepped forward and attempted to pull Abigail back.

By this time Duncan had pulled Denis off the cemetery property and was ready to deliver the _coup de mort_. "There can be only one!"

Abigail launched herself into the space between Duncan and Denis. "I most certainly will interfere Duncan MacLeod. You are acting like a madman!" ... but it was too late. The _katana_ fell... its blade one of the most lethal killing machines ever created by the hand of man... propelled by the force and strength of a man determined to make another pay for having hurt the woman he loved. As the blade connected... Abigail stared uncomprehendingly into Duncan's eyes... and then her head fell to one side and the quickening began to rise like a fine mist.

Duncan staggered back. "No!" he screamed into the sky and attempted to flee... but the lightning caught him and plummeted into him. Blasting him with power. For a moment her gentleness and her dedication to helping others flowed through him... and he wept for all the people who now would die because she was not there to help them. Duncan fell to his knees as the quickening subsided.

Denis scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his own rapier from where it had fallen and considered taking the Scotsman's head. 

Suddenly a rapier was at his throat.

"I cannot let you do that Denis. Leave now... before he recovers." Darius held the rapier from Duncan's walking stick expertly... as if he'd never given up arms.

Denis met his old teacher's eyes and nodded. "I didn't kill her. She was remarkable. I would have spent my life protecting her. She had such a gift."

Darius nodded. "I know. Now leave... and remember always her sacrifice to save you. Make certain your life from this moment on is worthy of her sacrifice."

Denis bowed his head and walked slowly away.

Darius bent over and pulled at Duncan's lax arm. "We need to go my friend... this was in daylight... within the city... people will come."

"I can't leave her here."

"You must for the moment. Come. We shall claim her body later... as her friends." Darius secured both weapons beneath his cloak and hurried Duncan away from the cemetery and into an alleyway where he let the Highlander weep in the shadows while the priest kept an eye on the activities about _Le Cimetiere du St. Sulpice_. Finally, when Duncan had fully recovered, and the crowd had lessened, Darius led Duncan out onto to the _Rue du Four_ and back to St. _Julien Le Pauvre_.


	4. Epilogue

****

*4*

Some days later, having reclaimed and buried Abigail's body in one of the Protestant cemeteries of Paris, a still mourning Duncan MacLeod sat slumped dejectedly in a chair in the cell at _St. Julien Le Pauvre_ while Darius watched him intently.

"You must move on, my friend, and you must accept what you have done. Let her spirit be a part of you and guide you always."

"How can I?"

"Right now my words would mean little to you. But in some far off time they may. You must learn to control your emotions and not let them control you... or the game and the search for the prize may one day pull you into a darkness of spirit that will forever claim you. Let Abigail's gentle nature and forgiving heart guide your hand and your choices."

Duncan looked at him blearily. "Is happiness and normality something we can never have? Everyone I love... everyone whose lives I touch seems to die."

"All living beings die Duncan. That is the way of it... even our way. The question you should be asking... is how you will live the time you have? What difference will you try to make in the lives of those around you? How will they remember you when you are gone?"

Duncan nodded. "But it all seems so hopeless sometimes."

"Yes..." Darius leaned forward to clasp the Highlander's arm, "Abigail said much the same. I tell you what I told her. We cannot change the world all at once... only one soul... one life at a time. Her sacrifice may have saved Denis... only time will tell."

Duncan looked up and stared into Darius' eyes. 

Darius smiled, "She would not want you to grieve, Duncan. She would want you to live. Find the best that life has to offer... look for joy, unselfish love, sacrifice, and nobility of action... That which we seek... we find. If we look only for darkness, depravity, and death... that will be our reward. But... if we seek the light... then one day... we may find it."

Darius rose and rearranged a stack of books, carefully moving them aside. From behind them he carefully pulled a small covered cask from its hiding place and dipped a tin cup into it. "Here, my friend, drink this," he said sadly.

"What is it... another strange-tasting tea?"

"It's mead," the priest said simply, but a small smile crept onto his face. "I brew it for special occasions... but I think you need something stronger than tea at the moment."

Duncan sat up a little straighter and curiously grasped the cup. Taking a sip he nodded. "Tis quite good... How did you?"

"Oh... I've learned many things in my long life. Many of my students teach me as much as I teach them. One taught me about mead...." He leaned forward with a wink. "It's brewed from fermented honey." 

A few hours later... the atmosphere lightened... and Duncan, a little more willing to embrace life once more... Darius bid him "_Bonsoir, mon ami_," and watched him leave. Once he was alone... Darius sat thoughtfully at his desk... gazing at the single candle that dispelled the darkness of his cell. He carefully dipped the quill into the ink and hesitated for a moment over the sheets of vellum on which he often wrote his sermons... but it was not a sermon he would write this night. Carefully he began to write... and smiled warmly as he did so... "_Eleanor, ma cher_..." One soul at a time... one day at a time... one word at a time... forever.

#30#


End file.

Highlander, Adventure, Romance