Date: Fri, 12 Dec 1997 17:17:43 -0500 From: Shannon R Hoyt Subject: Pack up the Moon (1/6) Standard Disclaimer: the characters of Duncan MacLeod and Brian Cullen don't belong to me; I'm not trying to be disrespectful and I'm not making any money so please don't sue me. Everyone else is mine (and I'm STILL not making any money.... oh, well). Introduction: This involves Brian Cullen, who showed up in one, count 'em, one ep. of HL, "Courage". For anyone who hasn't seen that, he was the best swordsman on the continent for quite a long time until the constant challenges got to him and he let himself go, turning instead to drugs, alcohol, etc. This story occurs before that transition. Thanks--and half credit, at least--are due Megan Grimm, for comments, questions, and the whole bloody idea; she made an innocent comment over email and lo, the story was born. Nicci Brossette deserves thanks and credit for the title, and for bringing Auden's poem to my attention. Finally, thanks also to John Pyper Ferguson, whose protrayal of Brian made us fall utterly in love with him even if he was a druggie psychopath.... Apology: some parts may top 350 lines since i added lines between the paragraphs. Anyone who has trouble reading these, mail me and i'll send you the compacted version, with deepest apologies (my editor won't let me do a lot with moving bits of text around, alas...) PACK UP THE MOON (1/6) by Shannon R. Hoyt IRELAND, 1807 The horse shied at her rider's sudden, unnatural stillness. Duncan MacLeod sensed Another. He wheeled the horse around, trying to calm her as he drew his sword. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he said loudly, to the unseen Immortal. "You are a scoundrel and a rogue, and it's been too long, y'great Scot," came a light tenor behind him. He slipped out of the saddle, a smile already etching his features, and came face to face with a broad grin under a light brown moustache, hazel eyes under long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. The man pulled him into an embrace. "Duncan! Don't stand there gawping, man, there's a pub around the corner..." Duncan found himself being tugged along toward the mentioned pub. "Brian... What are you doing here?" Brian Cullen let go of his arm, sighing. "I was going to buy you a drink, old man." "Last I heard of you, you were in Africa somewhere." "Aah, too bloody hot. Wanted to come back home for a bit, to someplace where it rains occasionally. Come on." It had been a long ride, and he didn't need much convincing to tether his horse and follow Brian into the tavern. They took a table, both of them grinning. Brian sat back, stretching his legs out under the table. "So what have you been up to? It's been, what, fifty years?" "Something like that." He shrugged. "I've been wandering. Wishing for a good ale, mostly." "Well, you're in luck, they've got one here. And a roast ox that's had the beasts lining up outside for the privilege of being cooked." They both turned as the barmaid appeared. Brian smiled up at her. "A couple of pints of the best, lass, and thick steaks for dinner." She dimpled prettily and walked back to the bar, returned in a moment with heavy mugs of ale. A shy smile crept across her face as she turned away this time, looking back over her shoulder at them. "That's a bonny lass," said Duncan. Brian sighed in affable exasperation. "It's always the same with you, MacLeod. Always a woman in the wings..." "Take another look," Duncan said over his mug, grinning as he watched after her. "Why, are there more of them to throw themselves at you?" The grin broadened, if that was possible. "No, because she's looking at *you*, you daft man." Brian's head swivelled fast enough to leave tracks. Sure enough, there she was, a cute little green-eyed brunette, looking directly-- ...at him. She smiled demurely, watching him through lowered lashes. And the wide grin settled itself back under his moustache, showing every indication of staying for a while. Brian grabbed his mug and drained it, then stood. "Another round, Duncan? I'm buying." Duncan drank his in similar fashion and handed over his mug with an encouraging smile. "Sounds good." It was a bit of time before he got the next round, though; Brian had stopped to flirt. He watched them for a while, deciding that it was only fair as many times as Brian had waited while *he* flirted with a pretty girl.... The pint he'd had had relaxed him a bit after riding so long, and he let himself enjoy the smell of dinner before it actually arrived--which it did before Brian, incidentally; served by a pleasantly buxom redhead. She made eyes at him as she brought the food, and he was only too happy to reciprocate. "Her name," Brian said, setting a mug in front of his friend and taking his seat, "is Brigit. Fine Irish girl." Duncan glanced at the brunette before letting his gaze wander back to the redhead. "She's still watching you, too." "I have a meeting with her later, for a nice drink after she's off work." Brian's smile brightened as he cut into his dinner, turning his head just a bit to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. "This might not be such a bad day after all." "Was it so bad up to now?" He took a deep breath, his expression suddenly somber; opened his mouth as if to talk, and popped a bite of meat into it. "Another challenger," he said finally, quietly. "Found me this morning. Why can't anyone want to be the best at something other than killing people?" The grin faded from Duncan's face in fellow-feeling. "*You* wanted to be the best." "So I could keep my head. Not so I could kill anyone who I thought might be better; just so they couldn't kill me. I *like* my life, Duncan. I don't want to lose it." "Have there been so many?" "More lately. There are always more... Always another young buck eager to die, and insisting that *I* be the one to kill him. They won't just hang themselves or go jump off a bloody cliff, no, nothing'll do but they've got to be killed by Brian Cullen," he growled, attacking his steak. Duncan watched him for a moment in silence. It wasn't like Cullen to be so morose. "How much ale did you have before I got here?" he asked. Brian didn't misunderstand the question, either. "I'm not drunk, MacLeod. Just tired. Very, very tired." The Scot nodded, sipping his ale. "Need a break from the Game? You could go see Darius, or Paul..." That one actually earned a laugh, though there was little humor in it. "Can you really see me in a monastery? No," he shook his head shortly. "This was to be my break from the Game. I'd heard you were heading this way, and wanted a drink with an old friend." He sighed, again, and took another bite. "One who wouldn't insist on crossin' swords. It's enough to make me wonder if it's worth it, sometimes." "It's worth it. There's so much to do..." "So many to have to do it to," Brian intoned, his earlier good humor evaporated like so much mist. "Hold on a moment." Duncan stood, making his way over to the bar and the tavernkeeper. Brian half-watched for a moment as he picked hisway through the rest of his dinner, before Duncan returned with Brigit following him and pulled out a chair for her. "She's got the evening off. Have that drink--" he put his hand on Brian's shoulder, carefully "--But not too much. And behave yourself; I had to promise our host that ye wouldnae take advantage of her," he went on, *sotto voce*. Cullen's expression had brightened a bit when he saw the girl again, and he nodded absently. Duncan took his own dinner to another table to finish eating--and to watch his friend, hoping that the girl would be enough of a distraction to snap him out of this mood. *** "Thomas'll be wanting to close up soon," Brigit said, looking at the innkeeper across the nearly empty tavern. "Your friend's already gone to bed." "Doesn't the inn have to stay open late in case of travelers or something?" "My brother will be worried if I'm not home, sir," she went on, smiling. "Brian, not sir." He grinned at her, and it settled in the region of his eyes and stayed there. "Are you trying to convince *me* the evening's over, or yourself?" "It is very late," she said, sounding as though she'd rather it weren't. Brian sighed, accepting the inevitable; stood and offered her his arm. "Allow me to walk you home, then?" She stood as well, taking the offered arm. "Thank you, sir--Brian," she corrected. "I'd like that." He found her smile echoed on his face as they headed for the door. "Good night, Thomas!" she called over her shoulder. "'Night, Brigit. Gentleman walkin' you home?" "Yes, Thomas. I'll be fine." "Good night, then." The man finished cleaning one glass and reached for another as they left. "He's fond of you," Brian said as they stepped into the night air. "He tries to look out for me. Keeps telling me it's no life for a good girl, serving ale to farmers and sots every night," she mused. "And what do you think?" "It's none so bad. They behave themselves, or he throws them out." They walked for a moment in silence, a light breeze tugging at their hair and clothing, and Brigit pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "It's a lovely night," she said after a while. "Thanks for walking me home." "My pleasure," he said gallantly, sounding utterly sincere. A tall shape loomed to the side; he thought he could make out a spire. "Is this the church?" "Aye. My home's only a little farther on, now. Just past the graveyard, and behind Old Mary's cottage." Brian looked, and saw the low hulking shapes of tombstones in the field to the side. He stopped walking, pulled gently toward the churchyard. "Can I keep you from home for a few minutes more?" "Sir, I'm not that kind of girl," she said sternly, but she sounded as though she were smiling. "Not--not to do anything. I just don't want to say good night to you yet." His tone was bare, suddenly almost pleading, and she found she couldn't believe ill of him. "Aye." She went with him, her step firm where his faltered over unfamiliar rocks, and they sat back against a large ash tree that grew at the edge. Her breath caught as she settled back, the moon suddenly visible through the tree trunks--a half moon, deep orange, just brushing the horizon. "Oh, look," she breathed. He was, but not at the moon. "Just a few minutes," he promised. "Until the moon's set, and then I'll take you home..." She shifted a bit, leaning back against his shoulder. "Why did you want to sit in the graveyard?" "Old habit," he said, shedding the rest of the day's tension. "It's a long story." She shivered as the breeze picked up, and he automatically put his arm around her; then realized what he'd done and almost withdrew it. But she didn't seem to mind, and he allowed it to stay there. "My mum's buried here, and my da. Died when I was young," she said quietly. "It's just me and Kieran now." "Kieran your brother?" "Mmm-hmm." "No other family?" Brigit laughed. "Thomas thinks he's my father, sometimes. But no, no other family." A small silence, then, "What about you?" "My... my family all died a long time ago, too," he said carefully. She sat up, turning to look at him with a concerned sigh. "Oh, Brian..." she breathed. "You've got no-one?" "No family. Duncan's a good friend, and there are others... but no family." "It must be awful to have no family." He looked at her, her pale worried face just visible in the last traces of moonlight. "I never used to think so." *** Duncan was up early the next morning; he checked on Brian but the Irishman's bed hadn't been slept in. His only real worry was that Cullen was still with the girl, and that shouldn't be too difficult to deal with.... His pleasant meanderings were interrupted by the sudden surety of another Immortal nearby. He turned with a grin-- Which dropped from his face as he beheld a shorter, swarthy man with his hand on the hilt of a Turkish *kilij*. "Pietr Stepanovich," said the man in a heavy, clipped accent. "Duncan MacLeod." Duncan turned a bit and leaned back against the nearby shop wall, looking past the man at the crowds in the street." You here for me?" Stepanovich shook his head. "Not unless you want to. I'm looking for Brian Cullen. I heard he was in the area." Duncan shook his head slowly. "Haven't seen him. What'd he do to you?" "That is my business, not yours." The man snapped into a bow. "Good day, MacLeod. I trust we'll meet again sometime," he said, and strode off. "Not if you find Brian," Duncan muttered when the other man was out of earshot. He watched after the Russian, lounging against the wall in apparent indifference until he was well out of sight. Then he went to find Brian. **************************************************** **************************************************** From: Shannon R Hoyt Subject: Pack up the Moon (2/6) (intro and standard disclaimer in part 1) Brian awoke to the touch of cold steel beneath his jaw, and his hand went automatically for his sword. What it found wasn't his saber. His eyes popped open, straining to look down even as he stretched away from the blade at his neck, and he saw a mass of dark curls spread across his shirt, Brigit's small head tucked against his breast. His eyes flicked upwards, following the arm that held the knife, and he looked into another set of green eyes, these full of anger. "Problem, friend?" he asked carefully. The man wasn't immortal, he could take him if necessary, but he didn't want Brigit in the line of combat. "What have you done to my sister?" "Ask her yourself," said Brian. "We took a walk, stopped to talk, and fell asleep." Brian's movement, and the voices, had awakened Brigit. She stirred sleepily, looking up. "What--? Oh. Mornin', Kieran." "What's he done to ya, Brigit?" She sighed as one will who expected better against all past experience. "He's not done anything. We only talked for a while, must've fallen asleep." "See?" said Brian. "In the graveyard?!" "Put down the knife, Kieran," Brigit said, exasperated. "I've nothing to fear from the dead, lad." "Brian, I'd like you to meet m'brother, Kieran." Brigit picked herself up and took her brother's arm, pulled it back. "Kieran, this is Brian, who never touched me last night...." "He was touchin' you this morning!" "Your sister's honor is intact," Brian said, climbing to his feet. The knife tracked his movements cautiously. "And the graveyard is a long story, and one I have no intention of telling with a knife at my throat." He froze, looking around; Duncan was behind Kieran, moving silently and reaching into his jacket. Brian narrowed his eyes a bit, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. Duncan understood, gave the barest nod, and gave up on silence as he covered the last several yards. Kieran jumped, turning so he could easily watch both men and keep Brigit behind him. She stepped away, standing closer to Brian. He glared at her briefly, then transferred his gaze to Duncan. "Whoever you are, stay back. This man defiled my sister, and he'll marry her or he'll face me." Brian's jaw dropped. "Kieran, I'm tellin' you, nothing happened!" Brigit said. Duncan almost laughed. "Are you sure you want that, boy? Don't you know who he is?" "I don't care who he is! He'll do the right thing by her!" Duncan plowed on without catching the quick shake of Brian's head. "He's the best swordsman on the continent!" Brigit's eyes widened; Kieran's echoed the gesture and then narrowed. "Then he'll have to kill me. But I will avenge her honor." She sighed. "Kieran, we did nothin', he didn't even kiss me--" Brian put a hand on her shoulder, and she stilled. "You say I've got to marry her or face you?" "Aye." Duncan drew a breath, thinking, Brian spent a moment looking carefully at the girl. "Then I'll marry her. If she'll have me. I want none of her blood--" his eyes flicked to Kieran before coming back to rest on Brigit's face--"even yours--on my sword." "Brian, what are you--" Duncan began, but Brian wasn't paying any attention. "...But I'll only marry you if you'll have me," he continued to the girl. "He won't force you into this if you don't want it. I swear." Brigit's mouth had dropped open a bit as she watched him, speechless. Kieran's knife slowly lowered. "You'll do right by her?" Duncan grabbed his friend's arm. "Brian, can I see you for a moment alone?" he hissed. "What is it, MacLeod? I'll be back in a moment," he added to Brigit as he let himself be pulled away. "What are you doing?" "Well, I *was* proposing, until you interrupted...." "You're going to *marry* the girl? You don't know anything about her! What happens when she notices you're not getting any older, not giving her any children--" Brian shrugged. "I'll tell her the truth." Duncan gaped. "Are you *insane*?!" "No. But I was happy, last night, just talking to her. And I won't kill her brother." "This isn't like you, Brian." Cullen's eyes were unreadable. "Maybe it should be. Maybe it *is*, and I just never noticed." "You can't do this." "I can if she'll have me." "*Think* about this, Brian--" Brian shook off his grasp. "I'm tired of thinking, MacLeod! I'm tired of being reasonable, and I'm damn well tired of not looking beyond the next young idiot out to make a name for himself. And I can think of a hell of a lot of worse things than looking at that face for the next fifty years!" Duncan unconsciously took half a step back, startled by the sudden vehemence in his tone, and Brian was gone, walking back to the girl before he could say anything more. He followed, after a dumbfounded moment. "What was that about?" Brigit was asking. "Duncan wanted to be sure I told you everything, before I let you make that choice." He took a deep breath, and MacLeod was shocked to notice that he was trembling ever-so-slightly as he took Brigit's hands. "There will be... there will be men, who come to fight me. They shouldn't want anything with you, and I won't allow them to hurt you. But they will come." Brian's words rang a bell in Duncan's mind, and he suddenly remembered the reason he'd come looking in the first place. Brian went down on one knee before her. "Will you have me?" She looked at him, a laugh lurking around the corners of her mouth. "Brian, what're you doing?" His own face held a hint of a smile, an expression Duncan hadn't seen there in a long time. "I've never asked anyone to marry me before... I want to make sure I get it right. Will you?" "Yes." Brian shot an annoyed glance at Kieran. "I wasn't asking you." She jerked her head toward the young man. "You're sure you can handle bein' related to my brother?" "I'd just have to learn, wouldn't I?" he said dryly. "Then yes." Brian's eyes closed briefly, and the smile that had threatened suddenly flooded his face. "Then I'm getting married. Duncan, will you stand with me at my wedding?" "Brian..." "Will you?" He took a breath, then let it out without saying any of the reasons why he wouldn't, choosing instead the one reason why he would: Brian looked *happy*. "Aye. But there's something you need to know--" "What could possibly be important right now?" "There's someone in town looking for you. An--" he broke off for a moment, searching for a way to say it around the mortals-- "an...older gentleman. Russian." "Does he have a name?" "Pietr Stepanovich." "Never heard of him. He can wait." "He looks the sort to wait forever," Duncan said, putting just the faintest bit of emphasis on the 'forever.' "You probably ought to handle it before your wedding." Brian sighed, the smile he wore becoming a bit strained. "I suppose I ought, at that. Brigit, you mind waiting for me for a bit? I won't be long..." Kieran gestured slightly with the knife, probably without meaning to. "If you're thinking to leave her--" Cullen looked at the boy, eyes practically glowing. "He'd have to kill me." Brigit reached up and touched his face. "Go do what you need to do. But be careful." "Go on, both of you, and wait for me. I shouldn't be long." Brigit left reluctantly, tugging a glowering Kieran with her. Mac and Brian watched them go. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Duncan asked again. "You'll be putting the girl in danger." "Anyone trying to hurt her has to go through me," he said, then clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Let's find this Russian who can't wait to meet me. I've got a wedding to get to." *** Pietr Stepanovich was in town, waiting. He looked them over as they approached. "Brian Cullen?" "Yes?" The man peered disapprovingly at Duncan. "You said you hadn't seen him." "Well, now I have," said Duncan, his grin threatening to become a smirk. "What did you want to see me for? Here I am," said Brian. "I have come to challenge you." "And what did I ever do to you?" "You are known as the best. I would like to rectify this." Cullen sighed heavily. "Now, how did I know you were going to say that?" "Are you refusing my challenge?" Brian shook his head. "Giving you a chance to reconsider. I don't want to fight you today." "Today or tomorrow, or a hundred years; you'll face me, Cullen." Brian's eyes flicked closed briefly, Duncan saw a quick expression of regret run across his friend's face before he opened his eyes again, mask firmly in place. "As you wish. Sky's bright, no rain... it's a good day to die. But if we can make it quick, I've a wedding to get to." "You'll be late." "Possibly." Brian looked over at Duncan. "If he beats me, make sure she knows what it took to keep me from her." Duncan snorted. "You won't need me to." Stepanovich looked down his nose at the Scot--no mean feat, considering that MacLeod was a good foot-and-a-half the taller. "Is your... friend... coming?" "If he wants. Call him my second, if you need to. He won't interfere." "I ... dislike having spectators." "He is my friend, and he'll come or go as he likes. And he won't interfere." The Russian looked at Duncan with barely-concealed distaste. "If he must." Duncan hadn't been planning to witness the duel until he realized how much it bothered Stepanovich. He grinned. "It's been a long time since I watched a good fight." **************************************************** **************************************************** Date: Fri, 12 Dec 1997 17:18:19 -0500 From: Shannon R Hoyt Subject: Pack up the Moon (3/6) (intro and standard disclaimer in part 1) Brigit pulled Kieran to their cottage and made him wait while she found and put on her best dress. "I suppose you think you know what you're doing?" her brother said from the main room as she changed. She leaned out, smiling in exasperation. "Now you're just being silly, Kieran. Stop it." "Oh, I'm being silly, worrying about my sister marrying a man she hardly knows?" She finished adjusting the dress and stepped out, came over to him and turned around, pulling her hair out of the way. "Would you help me lace up?" she asked. "I can't quite reach." He sighed, taking hold of the laces and pulling so that the fabric tightened around her body. "You're the one who insisted he marry me," she went on. "I told you nothing happened, but nothing would do but your honor be appeased... well, I'm appeasing, and so is he, and you've got no right to complain. No right at all." "Don't tell me what rights I've got." "Then don't tell me I have to marry, and then turn around and tell me I musn't. It's silly." "I never thought you'd do it. Especially not after he went and told you it was your choice, like that. What would da say?" "Da would say you were being a hothead," she said, grinning. "And he would have been right. But he would have insisted that Brian marry me, too. Even though nothing happened." "You see?" "See what? I'm doin' like you wanted, Kieran. I don't know why you're trying to talk me out of it now." "I don't... I don't know. I don't trust him. I don't *like* him." "Well, I trust him, and I like him, and *you*'re not marryin' him." "I just don't want to see you hurt." Brigit looked at her brother, the playful grin fading from her lips. "He won't hurt me." "How do you know?" Her eyes flickered closed for a moment while she took a deep breath. "Because he had a hundred chances to take advantage of me, and he never offered to. Because he's got an old soul, and an old heart, and he needs to feel young. Because I looked into his eyes at midnight and the only thing I could see there was myself," she said quietly, her voice low and almost inaudible. Kieran just watched her; such musings weren't like the Brigit he was used to. She shook herself, smiled brightly, and stepped past him. "Come with me to the church? I want to talk to Father Padraic before Brian comes back." "If he comes back," Kieran growled, but his voice held no real malice as he followed. "He will. And if it makes you feel any better, he's a fine catch." "And how do you know that?" "Because he's a gentleman of means. I work at the inn, remember?" She climbed carefully over a low stone fence and into the churchyard. "A gentleman?! After he kept you out like that--" he said, stepping after her and nearly slipping on a loose rock. Brigit caught his arm. "Careful," she said, looking at him sternly. "I've *told* you, he didn't do anything. And I don't want you hurt, you've got to give me away." "I've got to *give* you to him?" Kieran yelped, nearly losing his balance again. She stopped, putting her hands on her hips. "Da's not here to do it, is he? Someone's got to. If you're not willin' I'm sure mister MacLeod would do it. But I'd rather it be you. So stop being *silly*." "Brigit, this is too much--" "Nobody asked you to defend my honor, Kieran! Nobody asked you at all. You asked for this, you've got it, and I want you to stand by me!" Kieran's mouth worked soundlessly, and she turned on her heel and stalked off with a cry of strangled frustration. He watched her go for a moment, then shook himself and ran after her. He caught her arm and spun her around. "Just tell me *why*. You've never gone after anyone like this before." "I never met anyone like him before." "Don't tell me you love him--" "I--No. Not yet. But... there's something about him. He..." She broke off, searching for the right word, then went on, "he... needs me. And... I need him." "What do you mean, you need him?!" "I can't explain it!" She shook off the hand that still held her elbow, heading toward the church, and again he just watched after her for a moment before sighing deeply and following her. *** They finally got far enough away from the town that they were unlikely to be interrupted. Brian stripped off his jacket, handed it to Duncan. He swung his saber once or twice experimentally as he faced the Russian. "This is your last chance to walk away." "Only one of us walks away, Cullen." Brian nodded, saluting, but his fighter's mask was slipping a bit around the eyes. "En garde, then." *** The old priest greeted them at the door. "'Morning, Father," Brigit was saying. "Good morning, Brigit. What brings you here this early? Mass isn't for another hour--" "I'm getting married, Father." "Lovely news, child. Who's the groom?" "A stranger," said Kieran, coming up behind her. "A friend," Brigit corrected, with a brief glare at her brother. "But he's new in town; you won't know him. His name is Brian Cullen." The old man looked surprised. "That young man? The one who has half the boys of the county wanting to fight him?" Brigit nodded. "Aye, Father. But he doesn't want to fight all the time." "It's the life he has chosen, child." "It's the life that's chosen him. I--" She broke off, looking at her brother, and went on, "Can I speak to you for a moment alone, Father?" "Of course. Come in, both of you...." He waved them in, left Kieran by the door while he and Brigit went on in and sat toward the front. "Now are you sure you know what you're doing?" he said softly, so that Kieran couldn't hear. "I'll be fine if everyone will stop asking me that!" She took a deep breath and got hold of herself. "Father, I wanted to talk to you about Brian. He... he's got... a beast, riding him, eating at his soul. Could you work in an extra blessing or two during the service?" His brows crowded together. "I suppose I might. It's hardly usual." "I know. But I'd appreciate it." The old man sighed. "When do you want to have the wedding?" "Today." "Today? No, child, the banns must be sounded, there's not enough time--" "We'll sound them quickly. Kieran's got a pain in his pride, and he won't be happy no matter what goes on, so it might as well be soon." "But why are you marrying this man?" "Kieran seems to think he's taken my innocence--which he didn't," she added, seeing the expression on the old man's face. "And now that I'm willing, he's rethinking." Father Padraic sighed. "And you want it to be today?" "I want it to be before Kieran goes and does something stupid," Brigit said. "The sooner the better." The priest found he was nodding in spite of himself--he'd known Kieran for years. "Very well, child; we will read the banns today." "Thank you, Father. And pray for Brian? He doesn't want to fight all the time; it follows him. And he can't get away." "How do you know?" She shrugged just a bit. "He told me. And I saw his eyes when Kieran threatened to challenge him." He was silent for a moment. "I won't say I like the idea of you marrying this man, Brigit." "Neither does anyone else. But... it's *right*, Father. It'll work out." She grinned. "Have a little faith." *** Brian's saber held smears of Stepanovich's blood as it settled against the man's neck. The Russian's *kilij* was a few feet away, lying on the ground, and the Russian himself was on his knees, clutching at a deep and nasty gash in his abdomen. Brian was actually smiling, though it was edged with pain; blood fountained between the fingers of his left hand from a deep wound in his chest. "Walk away," he panted, wincing. "Never let me see you again, and you can keep your life." His hair had come out of its ponytail during the fight and a cut by his ear had bled heavily, plastering it to his face and neck; he tried unsuccessfully to toss it out of the way. Stepanovich shuddered, looked up. "Let me walk away and I'll always be behind you, Cullen," he grated. "You've taken my honor." "Damn." The word was barely whispered as the smile dropped from Brian's face. "I didn't want to have to kill you. Especially today." He stood there for a moment longer, then shrugged, a painful half-shoulder hitch. The saber flashed, and Stepanovich's head hit the ground. His body followed a moment later. A slow glow suffused the clearing, concentrated around the body of the fallen Immortal, and then the first rush of power arced to Brian. He burned with it, his saber falling from nerveless fingers as he recieved--and paid--the price for his victory. *** Kieran was the first out of the church, with Brigit and Father Padraic hard on his heels. There was another crash in the distance, a highly localized lightning play on the horizon. "What the hell is that?" "Kieran, mind your language," said Father Padraic, crossing himself. Brigit watched silently, with a sudden ache in her breast that she couldn't identify, and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. *** A cry tore through the clearing as the last bolt slammed into Brian, taking him to his knees, and he slowly toppled over. He never even felt himself hit the ground. And then air was slicing through him as he drew a convulsive breath. He fought his way blindly to his feet, synapses firing randomly. "It's all right, Brian." The familiar Scottish burr calmed him, initial panic evaporating. He pushed his hair out of his eyes just in time to see MacLeod, sitting against a tree with a smile on his face, toss a bundle of cloth through the air to him. It hit him in the chest; he caught it reflexively and looked down at it. "What--" "You don't want to go back in what you've got on," Duncan said. "You've got blood all on it. Someone would want an explanation." "You went back for my clothes? How long was I--" "Dead?" Duncan smiled, climbing to his feet and coming closer. "Nearly an hour. Stepanovich's blade went deep," he said, poking his friend in the sternum. "I almost thought he was going to win." "He almost did. But he didn't," Brian said, stripping off his sticky and blood-soaked shirt, then looking down at his sticky and blood-soaked chest and his sticky and blood-soaked hair. "Oh, yuch....is there a stream or something nearby?" "No. I've got a jug over there, though....." "Well, you think of everything, don't you?" The water was cold, and he washed off quickly, pouring the last of it over his hair, then stood shivering in the spring sunlight for a moment as he pulled on the clean clothes. "Gaaah. You wouldn't think the body could hold so much, would you? At least you got my good shirt..." "Had the devil of a time avoiding your lady-love, too," Duncan said. "She was getting a bit worried." "I didn't expect to die. If she wants to call it off we will." "And if she doesn't?" The Scot's tone was careful, and Brian paused in the middle of buttoning up his shirt, looking over at his friend. "Still trying to talk me out of it?" "Still trying to understand it, Brian." He concentrated on tucking in his shirt and pulling on his boots, studiously not looking up. "MacLeod, it's been a hundred years since anyone looked at me the way she does. Maybe longer. She's not seducing me so that she can claim the best swordsman on the continent as her lover; I know what that looks like. She..." His hands stopped in the lacings of his boot, and when he went on his voice was slow and distant. "She actually cared, Duncan. Last night, when we were talking... she cared. Not because of what I am. Because of who I am. I could see pain in her face for me--me!--and I'd have handed my head to the devil himself to keep it from coming back...." He shook himself briskly, finished the boot lacings and stood. "Thanks for bringing my clothes. Let's go--" He ran into MacLeod's outstretched arm. "You have to tell her," said the Scot. "I will." Brian started to walk on. Duncan's arm didn't budge. "You have to tell her *before* you marry her. Or you'll end up by hurting her." "I already died once today, Duncan. I don't really want to do it again." He held his friend's gaze for a moment, then broke away and grinned. "It's so messy." MacLeod's expression remained serious, silently staring Brian down. "I'll tell her, all right? Wasn't it just a little while ago you were saying I *couldn't* tell her?" "That was when I still thought I might talk you out of this." "I won't be talked out of it." "I noticed." "Will you stand with me? I need a best man." "Brian, I don't want to see you hurt." Brian shook his head just a bit, and smiled. "Then stand with me. Please." Duncan took a deep breath, and another, before smiling back. "All right. I'll even wish you well." Brian clapped his friend's shoulder. "Then it's time for me to get married." **************************************************** **************************************************** From: Shannon R Hoyt Subject: Pack up the Moon (4/6) Kieran was standing outside the church, staring off into the distance with his arms folded. "She's talking to Father Padraic," he said as they approached. "You'll not disturb her." "No, I won't," said Brian, taking a seat on the ground by the door and leaning against the church wall. He let his eyes flutter closed, his head fall back against the rough stone. "She'll be out when she's ready." Duncan took a seat near him, watching the young man alertly. "Cullen?" "Brian, lad. Call me Brian. We're about to be related." "Did you touch my sister?" Kieran went on, ignoring the last remark. "Not beyond an arm to keep her warm," Brian said, eyes still closed. "Then why were you curled up in the graveyard?" "I told you. We stopped to talk, and fell asleep. Nothing more." "But a *graveyard*...." "I've nothing to fear from the dead. The only people who ever did me any harm were very much alive at the time." He almost grinned. "Besides, if I had done anything, and *anyone* in that graveyard could have walked again, I imagine your da would have taken me down then and there.... Rest yourself, Kieran. She's a good girl." Kieran slid down the wall on the other side of the door. "Yes. She is. You'd better take care of her." "I will, lad. Anyone trying to hurt her has to come through me." "That's good. Because if you hurt her... I'll kill you." The kid's voice held absolute conviction. Brian raised his head and opened his eyes. "You know, I believe you'd try?" "I will. If you hurt her. If you hadn't come back, I'd have found you, just for hurting her." "She's lucky to have you as a brother." "I'm lucky to have her. She's the only family I've got." "Not for long." The door to the church opened, and Brigit stood there, looking down at Brian. "I thought I heard voices--" She peered at him, worried. "Are you all right? You look awful." He nodded, pushing himself to his feet. "Just tired." Duncan cleared his throat meaningfully. "Right, right," Brian sighed. "Um, Brigit, I need to talk to you for a moment...." "All right. What is it?" "Um... alone. I need to talk to you alone, for just a minute. Is there somewhere we can go?" She nodded. "I'll be back in a moment, Father. Come on..." She took Brian's hand as he stood, and the two went into the graveyard, back to the ash they'd fallen asleep under the night before, and far enough removed from the church that their conversation wouldn't be overheard. Kieran didn't care for this state of affairs at all, but Brigit glared at him and he stayed where he was, watching them intently as they moved off. thought Duncan. "Are we the entire wedding party?" he asked, a little louder than he really needed to, trying to distract the boy. "She's determined to do this today," said Father Padraic. "There wasn't a lot of notice. Still, God never said how many witnesses there need to be...." "What's he doing?" asked Kieran, edging closer to the cemetary. Duncan got in his way. "He's wrapping up loose ends. Leave them alone; she's perfectly safe." "What kind of loose ends?" Duncan moved a bit farther into Kieran's field of view; he'd caught sight of Brian pulling out a small knife while Kieran was glancing away. He just hoped that his friend would be bright enough to move to the other side of the tree. "She's got to be told... it's about his past." "And it's none of your business, unless *you* want to marry him," he went on with a smirk. There was a small feminine cry from the ash tree. Kieran jumped like he'd been shot, ran for about two steps before Duncan caught him. "Stay, lad. She's all right." Kieran tried to free himself, with little success. "Let me go, damn it!" "No." Duncan had to spare a hand to catch the Father, who had also started toward the graveyard. "She's not hurt, Father. Trust me." "We know nothing about you," the priest said, raising his voice to be heard over the threats and curses Kieran was spitting. "I know I've got no right to ask for trust. But I give you my word, he'll not harm her." Kieran's struggles stopped suddenly, and the boy was looking past Duncan to the graveyard. Father Padraic, too, was watching, and Duncan turned to look with them. Brigit stepped out from behind the ash, followed by Brian, both of them looking a bit pale as they headed back to the church. Kieran broke free, running over to her. "Brigit, what--" "I'm all right, Kieran. Calm down." "But I heard you cry out--" "It's nothing. Come on." He looked at her, and at Brian, and his eyes widened. "You're bleeding!" "Splinter," Brian said mercilessly, wiping off his hand. "It's fine now." "But what--" "That's enough, Kieran," Brigit said, squashing his protests. "Come on." They had pulled even with MacLeod and the priest; Duncan caught his friend's shoulder as he went past. "That didn't take long," he murmured, while Kieran and Father Padraic fussed over Brigit. "Just a cut. I hate that part..." "She understood? And she still wants to marry you?" Brian nodded. "I don't deserve her, MacLeod. She's stronger than you'd think, just to look at her." Duncan glanced at Brigit, who was watching Brian over her brother's shoulder. "Take care of her, Brian." "I will." He looked at the priest, and at Brigit. "Let's go in and have a wedding." *** "...Brian, do you take Brigit as your wife, to love, honor, and cherish, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?" Brian looked over at the girl. "I do." "And you, Brigit, do you take this man Brian as your husband, to love, honor, and obey, forsaking all others as long as you both shall live?" A faint smile settled on her lips. "I do." "If any man present has any reason why these two should not be so joined, let him speak now or forever hold his peace." Kieran opened his mouth. Brigit glared him into silence. Brian looked expectantly at MacLeod. "What?" "Nothin' to say, Duncan?" "I still think you're insane..." Brian gave a quick sarcastic smirk. "Thank you." Father Padraic raised his voice, smiling at the byplay. "Then having declared your love before God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." It took them a moment to sort themselves out before his lips touched hers, and he caught her to him and held her tightly, his arm around her waist. Kieran, Duncan, and Father Padraic watched this small tableau, amused by the utter oblivion of the newly-wedded couple. "I never thought he'd actually do it," Duncan said after a moment. "I never thought *she'd* do it," Kieran added. "He better not hurt her." "He won't. Not in any way he can help. Look at him, he looks twenty-five again." Father Padraic and Kieran both looked over at Duncan. "He looks twenty-five anyway. How old *should* he look?" "He looks like he *feels* twenty-five," Duncan said quickly, covering. "You get old early, when you never get any peace." "Aye," said Father Padraic, thinking of what Brigit had said. "I can see that..." Kieran stepped closer to his sister and tapped her on the shoulder. "*Ahem*," he said, loudly. "Don't you think that's enough?" They broke off the kiss slowly, turning to look at him, and Duncan stifled a laugh. "Lad, she may be your sister, but she's my wife," Brian said slowly, while Brigit tried to hide a grin. "And I'll kiss her if I please." He turned back to the girl, and caught her up for another--less lengthy--kiss, while Kieran glared at Duncan for the laugh and at his sister on general principles. Duncan grinned broadly. "You brought this on yourself, Kieran. Next time you insist on something, make sure it's what you want." *** The sound of smashing crockery floated out from Brigit and Kieran's house, wafting through the night air followed by a feminine voice saying, "Kieran, if you don't get away from my door, the next one's going stright in your ear!" Brigit lay back, cuddling into her new husband's arms as she listened to Kieran scurrying away. "Brian?" "Hmm?" he said sleepily, still smiling over the flying crockery. "Remember a little bit ago, when I said there was nothin' else I wanted in the world?" "Yes." "I've changed my mind. I want me own house." He grinned. "I think we can manage that." **************************************************** **************************************************** Date: Fri, 12 Dec 1997 17:18:58 -0500 From: Shannon R Hoyt Subject: Pack up the Moon (5/6) Approaching hoofbeats made Brian look up from the timber he was sawing. His face broke into a broad grin as he saw the rider and the tingle of another immortal cut across his mind. "Duncan! You're just in time for lunch," he said, standing barechested by his almost-completed cottage. MacLeod swung down from the saddle, tossed the reins around the sawhorse. "Brian, it's ten o'clock." "Okay, so maybe you're not *just* in time," Brian corrected, unabashed. "Still, you're welcome to stay. Pick up a hammer and help?" "I've worked on the place with you for a fortnight, Brian. You don't need my help anymore." "Aah, but the company's always welcome. Brigit's run into town for a bit, Thomas needed a bit of extra help this mornin'." Duncan pushed his hat back off his face. "I came to tell you good-bye, Brian. I'm headed to Paris." "Ah," Brian said, ducking his head briefly in the rain barrel. "If you see Fitzcairn, tell him I said hello." "If he's there. Last I heard, he was in Sicily." "He always comes back to Paris. Haven't seen him in... must be nearly a hundred years." He grinned again, moustache dripping, and picked up a towel to mop his face. "You can even tell him he's welcome to visit, as long as he stays away from my wife." Duncan returned the grin. "If I see him, I'll let him know. But I wanted to tell you good-bye. Brigit, too, though I guess I'll have to go back into town for that." "Aah, stay for lunch. It won't delay you that much." He wavered for a moment, then shrugged. "All right. Lunch." "Good. Now you're goin' t'be here a bit, you mind helpin' me with this crosspiece? I've got to have someone hold it steady while I nail it down...." Duncan sighed, shrugging out of his jacket. "I should have known you just wanted an extra pair of hands." "Aye. You should've," Brian said, completely unrepentant. It was almost noon before an approaching whistle made them look over and see Brigit, heading back from town. She smiled up at them, hefted a basket meaningfully. "I've got lunch. Good to see you, Duncan. Wasn't expectin' you today." "If there isn't enough..." "There's plenty. Now come on down and have something to eat." "Happy to. Come on, Brian." "I'm coming, MacLeod, if you'd get down the ladder." "I'm goin' as fast as I can." "If you were a sloth, maybe..." Brigit giggled, started setting food out on the tree stump that was serving as a table. "Come on, boys." They grabbed their shirts and washed off by the rain barrel; and Brian pulled Brigit into a quick kiss before they all settled down in the grass by the 'table'. "Duncan's come to bid us good-bye, darlin'." She looked dismayed. "You're leaving?" He nodded, taking a bite from the hunk of bread Brian passed him. "I only meant to be passing through. Didn't mean to stay even this long." "Can't we change your mind, get you to stay a little longer?" "Not likely," Brian said, reaching for a chunk of meat and trying--unsuccessfully--to fight a teasing grin. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod never changes his mind. Comes from always bein' right." Duncan gave a sarcastic grimace. "Thanks, Brian." "But the cottage'll be done in another week--don't you want to stay till then? See it finished?" Brigit asked. "I can get it done in three days if you'll help," Brian offered, with his most winning smile. Duncan looked at their hopeful faces, and melted. "All right, three days. But that's all." Brigit smiled. "Thank you, Duncan. It means a lot." "Why don't you get your brother to help?" "He's busy. Besides, he knows nothin' about building houses," Brian said. "And he keeps telling me not to look at my wife that way." "How have you been looking at her?" Brigit giggled, and Brian's gaze suddenly found the nearby trees to be utterly fascinating. Duncan nodded, fighting the urge to laugh at his friend. "Three days," he said again. "And then I've got to go on." Brian nodded. "Thanks for the help, old friend." *** "Thomas, three pints of the best!" Brian was grinning like a maniac as he piled into the tavern with Brigit and Duncan. "What's the occasion?" asked the innkeeper, pulling the requested drinks. Brigit sat down at the counter, Brian and Duncan taking seats on either side of her. "We finished the house today." "Good for you! That went fast." "Mister MacLeod helped a lot." "Mister MacLeod feels like he built the whole thing himself," said Duncan, rubbing awkwardly at his shoulder as Thomas set down the drinks. "Mister MacLeod will live." Brian grinned and took a long sip from his mug. "And Mister MacLeod should shut up and drink his ale." "Mister MacLeod is leaving town after this drink." "Oh, stay just a little bit longer?" asked Brigit. "You said that four days ago." "It worked then," said Brian mildly. Duncan's expression turned serious. "I can't stay any longer, Brian. I've got to go." Cullen sighed, "All right. You stayed an extra day to see it done, I can't ask for more." He stood, walking around Brigit to clap his friend on the shoulder. "Thank you, Duncan." MacLeod smiled warmly. "I was glad to help." "You know you're welcome to visit anytime; we'll be glad to have you--" He nodded. "Thanks. Next time I'm coming through, I promise." The conversation drifted to other topics as they nursed their drinks, and the day had wandered well into afternoon by the time Duncan stood with a sigh and went to settle with Thomas for the room. He was back in a moment, bags in hand, heading for his horse. Brigit and Brian followed him out into the nearly deserted street and stood watching as he saddled up and mounted. "Take care o' yourself, Duncan," said Brigit. "You too," he told her. "And take care of the lout there--" She smiled, dimpling. "I will." Brian stepped up to the horse and clasped arms with MacLeod. "Fifty years, Duncan. Don't let it be so long again." "I'll visit," he promised, grinning. He turned the horse around and headed off down the road, waving behind him as he went. *** 1809 (two years later) "Cullen! Brian Cullen!" A young man stood outside the cottage, brandishing a sword in one hand and a nearly empty brandy bottle in the other. "Come out here and meet your master!" There was a rustling and a muffled thumping from within, and Brian appeared wrapped in a sheet, bare-chested in the moonlight, his face obscured by long loose hair. He looked at the intruder, shaking his head. "Don't be an idiot, boy. You can't face me like this. Go home, find a lass, have some children, and keep your life." The kid's sword moved into a slightly more threatening position. "*Don't* call me *boy*!" he said, weaving slightly. "I'm the *best*. *Better* than *you*!" He brandished the sword again, swinging it wildly around and trying to keep his balance. Brian sighed heavily, and brought up his cavalry saber in his free hand. "If that's the way you want it, boy..." A hand appeared on his arm, small and graceful, and Brigit was in the doorway with him, having taken the time to get a bit more dressed. "Don't, Brian. He's drunk," she said quietly. "Then he won't feel anything." "He's just a boy." He looked at her, his eyes darker than the low light would account for. "Then tell him to walk away." She surprised him by doing just that. "Go home, now," she called. "Ye can't face him like this. If you have to challenge him, do it during daylight while you're sober, for the love of Mike." "I am Geoffrey Robinson, and you'll face me or be called a coward, Cullen, hiding behind the skirts of a *woman*..." Brian's face set like granite. "Brigit. Get me my pants, please." She looked at him, about to protest, and then shut her mouth and complied. It only took a moment for him to pull them on, and he handed her the sheet and raked his hair away from his face, treading lightly on the balls of his feet to where the kid stood and saluting wearily. "Whoever you are, this is your last chance." "Not mine, Cullen. Yours." Robinson said, setting down the brandy bottle and saluting in turn. The kid circled, watching; Brian just watched. A moment of sizing each other up.... And then Robinson was coming for him with a laughable overhand strike. Brian batted the blade away and his saber flashed to block the next blow, and then again as he brought the hilt around squarely into the boy's jaw. Geoffrey Robinson, would-be swordsman, folded to the ground, not quite unconscious, but in no immediate shape to fight. Brian went down on one knee, leaning over him; grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him up. "Your life is due to the lady, you young idiot. Take her advice and go," he growled, and dropped the man into a heap on the ground before returning to the cottage. "Thank you," said Brigit, standing by the door and hugging herself in the night air. "He's too young to die because he got a little drunk." "He's too young to think he can beat a good fighter at all. Especially drunk," Brian said with a touch of bitterness, watching the kid pick himself up and move off, then moving past her to go inside. She caught him, turning him around so that he faced her, and kissed him long and hard. There was a trace of the Brian she'd come to adore when she released him, a hint of a grin hiding under the moustache,and she ran her hand down his chest playfully. "Besides, he could never be the greatest... *swordsman*," she said, packing more innuendo into the word than he would have thought possible. He chuckled, distracted from the fight; pinned her against the wall in a tight embrace and returned the kiss with interest. She threw her arms around his neck-- And his senses screamed, the little danger-prickle racing across his scalp too late, too late-- The young man's blade pierced his back, shoving through his heart and his skin, and it kept going while he felt himself fall through encroaching darkness. There was the tiniest noise from Brigit, her mouth forming into a surprised little 'O' even as her eyes dulled; he tried to catch her but his arms wouldn't move. She slid down the wall with him, locked in an embrace neither could change as death claimed them both. *** He awoke cradling her body, already cool to the touch. The kid was gone. , Brian swore silently, a harsh sob ripping its way from his throat. It took him a while to let go of her, tears coursing hot and raw down his cheeks before he finally laid her down. He dressed deliberately, picking out clothes loose enough to fight in comfortably, lacing on soft leather boots, tying his hair back into its accustomed ponytail. Then he stowed his saber in his jacket and knelt to pick up her body again. It was half a mile to town along an uneven trail. He settled her in his arms, her head limply against his shoulder, and carried her there without stumbling, helped more by his own determination than by the moonlight that filtered through the trees. The tavern was still open, despite the hour; there were a few souls from town who were still drinking themselves catatonic. Brian brought her in and laid her out on one of the tables, kissed her forehead gently. "Here, what's this? What have you done to her--" Thomas bustled up, belligerence and shock overwhelming grief for the moment. The moment was all he got. Brian grabbed the front of his shirt and--to the infinite surprise of the portly inkeeper--lifted him several inches off the floor. "Geoffrey Robinson," he snarled softly. "Where is he?" "He--*he* did this?" Brian nodded, barely; his skin was white with fury and the tendons in his neck stood out like bridge cables. "Upstairs," Thomas squeaked, suddenly determined to be nowhere in the way of that rage. "Second room. Same one your friend had." Brian dropped him in a heap and headed up the stairs. He was back down in a moment, saber in hand. "He's not there." "He was, earlier; he may be in town somewhere," Thomas said quickly. He almost reached out to Brian's shoulder, but thought better of it just in time. "Brian--" Cullen stopped, body rigid. The innkeeper's voice was hard when he spoke. "Kill him. For Brigit." Brian shook his head tightly. "For me," he said, and he was gone into the streets. ************************************************** ************************************************** From: Shannon R Hoyt Subject: Pack up the Moon (6/6) Robinson wasn't difficult to find. Brian simply followed the cries of "I'm the best! The greatest! I beat *Cullen*!" and the sound of smashing pottery as people trying to sleep threw dishes at him. Quite a crowd had gathered, in spite of the hour. Brian approached the outer edges, started moving people aside with the flat of his sword... and those people looked at him, at the rage in his face and the blood on his shirt, and got out of his *way*. Soon there was a clear corridor to the young man, as people moved, then flowed back together once Brian was in the circle. "Robinson." His voice cut quietly across the night like the whisper of a blade, white fury stilling all other noises. The kid whirled, rapier raised... and all the color drained from his face. "You... but you're *dead*." "Do I look dead to you?" He raised his voice, addressing the crowd without taking his eyes from Robinson. "Do I look dead to *any* of you?" A murmur ran through the crowd, mostly consisting of 'no's. "You killed my *wife*, you coward. And now you face me, and she won't be there to stop me killing you this time." Another murmur through the crowd, one of shock and outrage. Everyone *liked* Brigit. "But... But I killed you... I know I killed you." Brian stepped closer, voice lowering until it was barely audible to the young man. "Try doing it to my face this time, *bastard*." Robinson swallowed and raised his blade; some part of Brian gave him a mark for courage. The rest of him was beyond caring, and the dance began--no salute this time, no exchange of honor. Just the fight. It began as before, Robinson circling, trying to find an opening; then attacking, aiming for Brian's heart. Brian dodged, hamstringing him on the backswing. "You already took my heart," he snarled as the boy fell, then moved in. Robinson managed to parry the first blow from the ground, sitting and attempting a defense... and Brian tired of the game. A sweep of his saber sent Robinson's rapier skittering off to the side, and Brian stepped up, holding the point of his sword to the kid's chest, pushing until he was flat on the ground. "Please," the kid said, his earlier bravado gone. "She wanted me to let you live," Brian said softly, in a voice that held death. "I ought to let you live. I ought to let you win. Let you see what happens to the best." "Please," he said again, panting, and then gave a little whimper of pain as Brian's saber pushed into his flesh just a bit. "It would be a short lesson for you, idiot," he went on, pressing a little farther. Some dark part of his soul, a part he thought had gone, relished the little cry the man gave, fed on it. "But I'm not that patient." He pushed, hard; Robinson's body gave no more resistance than water before the sharp steel, and the saber tip penetrated several inches into the ground. Brian stood there for a moment more, until the light faded completely from Robinson's eyes, then he reclaimed his saber and wiped the blood off on the young man's clothing, heading back to the inn. The townspeople offered shocked sympathy to him from a safe distance -- the rage fairly crackled off him as he walked, and no-one wanted to get too near. Once back at the inn, he sat at the table by Brigit's body, brushed her hair away from her face. Thomas was nowhere to be seen, having followed him to the fight and cleared out the tavern, then taken up guard duty at the door to see that he wasn't disturbed. "I'm sorry," he told her quietly, fury replaced by grief and pain. "I wanted to protect you. I should have protected you. I'm sorry, Brigit, I'm so sorry...." He laid his saber down on the table next to her and pushed it away, let his head fall onto his arms. There was a sudden commotion outside, a familiar voice raised in protest. Brian raised his head and looked toward the door just in time to see Kieran burst through, running toward the table. He skidded to a stop just short of the table, looking down at his sister's body, then up at Brian. "Who... Who did this?" he choked. Brian's voice was dull. "He's dead." "You were supposed to protect her." "I tried." Kieran dodged the table, grabbing Brian by the shirt and pulling him to his feet, shaking him. "You were supposed to protect her! You said you wouldn't let this happen!" Fire bloomed in Brian's eyes, and he caught Kieran's hands. "Damn it, I tried! I tried! Don't you think I'd have given my *life* to save hers?!" "Then why is she dead!" "*I didn't have that choice*!" The words ripped from him as Kieran struggled to free himself, and he held on more tightly. "I won't fight you, Kieran. I *won't*!" "You let her die--" "I can't bring her back! I can't do anything!" Kieran's struggles had finally stilled, his face gone grey and tears starting in his eyes. Brian lowered him to the bench, dropped down next to him. "Sit down, lad." He found himself staring at a mug of amber liquid, saw a similar one before Kieran, and shook his head. Somehow Thomas had been through without either of them noticing. It was a talent the man had, to know exactly when a drink was needed and deliver it without disturbance. Brian looked into it as an old friend, took a gulp and gasped as it burned away some of the pain. *** The morning dawned in splendor, flooding the tavern with golden light. Brian raised his head muzzily as Father Padraic came in; saw the old man look at him, and at Kieran's unmoving form slumped over the table, with slight disapproval--and more understanding than he would have expected. "Father. Thank you," he said quietly, resenting the beauty of the sunrise outside. "The young man who killed her has been taken to the church already, though there was some debate as to whether he could rest in hallowed ground," the priest said. "It seems most of the town believes he committed suicide." Brian closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgement of the mild joke, and stood to pick up her body. "I'll take her." "Nay, lad... Let the bearers do their job." "I want her buried under the ash," he said distantly. "The big one, by the west edge." "I'll tell the diggers," said the old man. "Do... do you want to talk, my son?" He shook his head. "No. But Kieran probably will, when he wakes up." "Aye. She was the only kin he had. Well, and now you." Brian shook his head. "I... I can't stay here." Father Padraic's eyebrows lowered in concern. "Brian, son, this is your home..." "Not anymore." The priest looked into his face for a long moment, then nodded. "Aye. I understand. He won't... but I do." A short silence, then, "You'll stay to see her buried, at least?" "Aye. Until she's buried. But I can't stay." *** "...Amen." Father Padraic made the sign of the cross in the air over the grave. Most of the town had shown up for Brigit's funeral; the churchyard was packed save for an empty circle around Brian. Kieran, with his young wife by his side, stood closer to Brian than anyone else, and even he kept his distance from the dark-eyed man. Brian bent down and picked up a handful of dry earth, scattered it over the coffin, and Kieran stepped away from his bride to echo the gesture. And the gravediggers stepped in with their shovels to finish the job, while the townspeople began to go back to their homes. Soon the yard was empty but for the gravediggers and Brian and Kieran, who had sent his wife home to come stand by his sister's husband. He reached out to briefly squeeze Brian's shoulder. "I'm sorry for... for the things I said. I know you tried to save her." Brian was silent, watching the hole fill with soil. "You'll be going? Father Padraic said you weren't going to stay." "Aye. I can't stay here," he said distantly. Kieran glanced away into the sunlight, thinking what a fine day it was, and that it had no right to be so, before looking back. "You can stay for a while....." "No. I can't." His tone was final, dull, and Kieran decided not to push. There was a moment more of silence, while both of them watched the movement of the earth before them. "Safe journeys, Brian Cullen," Kieran said finally, beginning to turn away. "Be careful." "Kieran." Brian's voice pulled him up short. "Yes?" He spoke slowly, staring into the distance. "I once told you that no-one would harm your sister unless they came through me." Kieran shook his head, trying to forestall the self-recriminations he could feel Brian slipping into. "No-one can do everything. I know you tried--" The man's eyes were unreadable, shadowed by the tree they stood under. "I kept my word." "What?" But Brian had turned, walking off toward the church, leaving Kieran staring after him. "What on earth was that supposed to mean?" *** The church door swung shut with a heavy, solid *boom* that shook the windows. Father Padraic finished his prayer and crossed himself, then rose to greet his guest. He was unsurprised to see that it was Brian Cullen who stood behind him. "Finish your prayer, Father. I didn't mean to interrupt." "I have, son. And God understands. Have a seat." He shook his head. "I'm leaving. I just came to say goodbye. And... thank you." The old priest seemed taken aback. "For what?" "For... for your friendship, these past two years." "You've got no shortage of friends in this town, Brian." "They don't understand." "Neither do I." "Yes. You do." Father Padraic watched him for a moment, then turned away, unsure of how to respond. "We never finished our last game," he said finally. "I'd like to play it out, if you can spare a little more time from your journey." Brian hesitated, on the verge of refusal, then nodded shortly. "One last game. Aye, Father. I'd like that." He followed the old man to the chessboard, still set up as they had left it a few days before, and took his seat behind the black lines. *** The game didn't last as long as Father Padraic had hoped. He had wanted it to be long enough that he could get a feel for how the lad was doing, but there were only a few moves before Brian was checkmated and took his leave. The priest sat for a long while after he left, staring at the gameboard and absently fingering one of Brian's captured pieces. The black knight in his hand had failed at the crucial moment to protect the queen, and had subsequently been taken by a pawn--and Father Padraic didn't like the symbology of that at all. But Brian had refused to stay; what could he do except pray for the young man, and hope that God would bring him through? He stood, walking slowly out to the mound of earth under the ash tree. "Brigit, my dear," he said softly, still holding the black knight, "That boy has death in his heart, child. I never saw the beast that rides him, eats at his soul, until now. I... I didn't believe you." There was silence from the grave. "I'm sorry," he said, and turned away, back to the church. *** NORTHERN ITALY, 1810--EPILOGUE Duncan MacLeod was wet to the bone when he reached town. He climbed down from his horse, headed into the tavern to find a place to spend the night out of the rain. And he looked around, experiencing the familiar mind-twisting of another Immortal. He sighed, slipping his hand inside his coat and wrapping it around the hilt of the katana as he stepped inside. The tavern was packed, locals and travelers alike seeking shelter from the storm by the huge fireplace. Duncan scanned the room carefully, homing in on the source of the sensation... There. Over in the corner, even in this crowd, was a man by himself, with the sort of empty circle around him that follows any truly dedicated drinker. Duncan edged his way over through the throng until he could see the man clearly. "Brian?" he said, more loudly than was really necessary, surprise overwhelming tact. "Sit down, MacLeod. Have a drink with an old friend," Brian said tonelessly, kicking out the other chair. Empty bottles on the table jumped and clanked with the movement. "I thought you were in Ireland! Don't tell me you left the lady already--" "Sit down, MacLeod. You're attracting attention." "Where's Brigit?" "Dead." He raised his voice, calling over the crowd. "Another whisky over here, and an ale for my friend!" Duncan's expression turned grave. "I'm sorry, Brian... What happened?" "Someone killed her. Killed me, too." He drained the last of his glass just as another one arrived, and tossed a coin to the serving girl. MacLeod was surprised; the wench was comely enough, and Brian hadn't even looked at her. And the flat, expressionless voice had him worried, as did the empty bottles. "Brian, how much of this have you had?" Brian looked directly at his friend for the first time since Duncan had walked in, and his eyes were dark and dull. "Not enough." ~~~ "The stars are not wanted now; put out every one: Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods: For nothing now can ever come to any good." --from "XX" by W.H. Auden