RATED NC17 FOR ADULT THEMES & VIOLENCE. As always, The Highlander characters are the property of Rysher: Panzer/Davis. The character and circumstances of the birth of Sean MacLeod is being used with permission but should not be construed as making this story in any way a sequel to THE CHAOS CHRONICLES located at the HIGHLANDER QUILL CLUB This material may not be copied or distributed without my permission-I don't want R:P/D hunting me down--I have enough problems. Do not link, publish or post this material without permission.
It was well after dark when Kir finally roused from her nap. Connor had not returned and she chewed her lip for a moment. A Quickening would have awakened her so wherever he was the elder MacLeod still had his head. Sean was still sleeping restlessly when she heard a knock on the door...soft, so as not to disturb but to alert. She rose and answered it and recognized the woman with the talented hands from the bath.
"I didn't mean to wake you, but I came to inform you of dinner plans," she said.
"I don't even know your name and I wanted to thank you--" Kir began but the woman smiled, tilting her head to one side slightly.
"I'm Sofia and there is no need to thank me. It's what I do-- what it is my pleasure to offer," she said and Kir was almost too aware of the other offer beneath the words. Which brought her concentration back.
"Thank you anyway," she murmured and glanced back at Sean. "By the way, have you seen our companion, Connor?"
"He is...otherwise occupied," Sofia said with a grin and a twinkle in her eye. "But he should be...done...by the time dinner is served. Lady Alexandra sent me to inform you that she will not be joining you for dinner, nor will Adam. You are welcome to have it here or in one of the dining salons. She also said that if you needed to speak to Adam, she would arrange for it -- if you needed reassurance."
Blunt and cheeky, Kir thought but nodded. "I may at that. I think dinner here would be fine. Are Lady Alexandra and Adam occupied as Connor is?" she asked. She could be blunt and cheeky as well, certain her inquiry would make it back to Xan. Sofia did not so much as blink.
"When I saw them, Alexandra was working over her arrangements for the Pro-Counsel's diner and Adam was sleeping, I believe."
Kir thanked her, annoyed at herself for taking out her irritation on Sofia. The woman left telling her dinner would be brought up in an hour.
Connor had not reappeared by the time the food arrived. Despite her desire to let Sean sleep while he could, Kir woke him, pushing his sleepy self toward the bathroom just as the knock on the door sounded.
The young man and woman who brought the food seemed willing to remain and serve, but after allowing them to pour the wine and place the first course on the table, she dismissed them with polite courtesy. Their deference made her uncomfortable and with at least some of the cobwebs cleared from her mind with her nap, her thoughts turned to a slightly more suspicious nature. She would not feel comfortable discussing even the most mundane of topics while Alexandra's trained staff listened in on every word and probably reported back verbatim.
She did not wait for Sean, suspicions in place, the food looked and smelled wonderful and had been presented in a manner meant to please the eye as well as the palate. Were times better, Kir realized she could learn to like this kind of luxury -- for a time. Even as she bit into a sliced fowl so tender it almost melted in her mouth, her thoughts went unerringly to the food her people ate. Not horrible or even poor, but it was meant to nourish the body, not the senses. Food like this, wealth like this was a seductive companion.
Her next bite was significantly less tasty and she was glad when Sean emerged, clean and more awake. He sat slid into the chair opposite her and went after the food like the fuel it was. He ate quickly, glancing around as he bypassed the wine for water.
"Where's Methos?" he asked suddenly, surprising Kir with his level of agitation. The nap and shower seemed to have infused the younger Immortal with a great deal of nervous energy.
"With Alexandra," Kir said, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the elegant and ancient porcelain service. "And is apparently planning to stay the night."
"That's not...." Sean almost sounded angry. Finally recognizing his own agitation he took a couple of deep breaths and began again. "Do you think that's a good idea -- for us to be separated?"
"Not necessarily," Kir said. "But it seems to have been at his request. We can go--" Sean rose, pacing the room. "What is it?" Kir asked, forcing her voice to remain neutral.
"I...just think it would be better if we stayed together. You know the Dawn wants him...wants...Adam. What makes you so sure Alexandra won't turn him over to them for her own advancement?"
"I'm not sure, but Methos seemed to be. We can go and see him -- I would like to assure myself he is all right as well," Kir said, rising.
Sean stared at her for a long moment and then seemed come to a decision he didn't like. "No. He might...I would hate to interrupt their reunion," he said with a trace of bitterness. "Or he would think we are checking up on him...which we would be. God! What is wrong with me?"
"I think..." she smiled at him and caught both his large hands in hers. "That you are stressed and worried and have been trying to be too strong for too long. For Methos, for me...for your father," she added and let one hand reach up to brush his dark hair from his forehead. "Might be time to spend a little energy on yourself."
"Such as?" he asked, relaxing slightly.
"Whatever. We can spar if you like or a little meditation. I think I saw an indoor track if you wanted to run."
"I think sparring would be a really bad idea," he admitted. "I can't seem to concentrate on one thing for more than a few minutes at a time. Meditation seems...if I can seem focused enough."
"Want some help?" she asked and at Sean's hesitant nod, they settled cross-legged knee to knee on one of the rich rugs. It was a basic technique, and Sean let Kir's light, steady voice wash over him, guiding his breathing, helping to focus his thoughts as he consciously examined each one, no matter how trivial, then moved to the next. How many times had he done this with his father, or with Adam as he was growing up? It seemed like he had begun learning meditation from the time he could walk. Reassuring voices that carried him through whatever childhood trauma or anxiety assaulted him in the normal matter of course. Even as an adult he had been able to hear those memory voices in his silent and solitary meditations. He heard them now, washing over Kir's voice and supplanting it...Duncan's rich tenor, always with a hint of laughter in it or his brother's baritone, as soothing as the sound of seas washing over undisturbed sands. He sank deeper, finding that special place in his mind -- the deep dark rich feel of a forest around him, butting up against an unmarked beach...the two landscapes incongruous in real life but making perfect sense in his mind...always balanced between the two. One full of life and smells and the rustling of living things and the other, endless and patient, steady and fathomless. A bracing of comfort.
Only here, now, he felt as if the juxtaposition had left him perched on a high cliff, forest to one side, the long drop to the dark waters on the other. Contemplative, he felt no fear or anxiety at his location, just the precise and metaphoric geography for his emotional and mental state.
It always amused him that both he and his father had a tendency to think of Methos in relation to the seas when Methos had a true abhorrence for the vast expanses of water. But the analogy held for there was no predicting the sea or Methos, no controlling him or being able to grasp even a tenth of what was hidden between those frequently turbulent waters.
His brain did a mental hitch. Before that thought, Sean would have though of his brother more along the lines of calm waters: unpredictable, mischievous, yes, but more often than not, calm. That he should so shift his perception, teetering on the edge of his own subconscious, made him uncomfortable. Consciously he could acknowledge that Methos was stressed and strained, physically, emotionally and mentally, but that should have been a temporary condition. That his own subconscious should recognize the shift in his brother's personality alarmed him.
Or was it his own psyche that was shifting again? Kir had already made comment that the link among the Community was weakening and he was agitated, hostile even, unless he concentrated. His earlier need to know where Methos was had been less spurred by concern than missing Methos' presence -- the thrum and feel of the eldest Immortal's signature like a drug he had become addicted to.
Methos. Eldest. He had to check himself again. He had, in his long life, rarely referred to his brother as Methos. He had been "Adam" since Sean spoke his first words. Was his first word, according to his father and to Adam...mangled, but Adam's name had been the first identifiable attempt at speech. A fact that provided Duncan a great source of amusement and Adam a great deal of pleased embarrassment. Adam had taken care of him as an infant when Duncan had been hard pressed to keep his son and his friend from being taken or killed by people who envied the fact that Duncan MacLeod had sired a son. Parenting duties had become more evenly distributed as he got older; Methos, Adam surrendering his place without comment or protest to Duncan as their lives got easier. That distance had allowed Sean and Adam to become more like brothers at times, friends -- a fact that had been a great benefit to Sean as he entered his second decade. It had been fun to have a brother who looked his age...and, better yet, who frequently acted no older than Sean.
So when had he shifted from Adam to Methos?. Methos implied all those things about his brother that Sean would never know or understand. The oldest living Immortal, the sheer power inherent in his existence.
He snapped out of his fugue with a jolt, startling Kir as his sharp intake of breath.
"Sean?"
"I'm okay," he said quickly. "I think..." he unfolded his frame from his position, feeling stiffer than he should have from the depth of his trance. "I think I need that run after all." He could offer her no other explanation, grabbing up the loose clothes his hostess had provided and slipping into the bathroom again to change. Not from modesty but from shame. Methos had asked him when they started this insanity to either help him or stay out of his way. There was no way Sean would admit now that he himself might be the one to get in the way of finding his father if he could not learn to control this sudden lust he had, not for his brother, but for the power his brother held.
Kir had managed to follow Sean when he left, keeping out of sight, truly worried for the younger Immortal. Whatever Sean was fighting, she would not interfere unless he asked or she had no choice, but her concern left her feeling ragged and tired by the time Sean finished the equivalent of a five mile hard run around Xan's track. Leery of being caught, she scurried back to their room and picked up a random book, settling in with calm and aplomb by the time Sean returned, exhausted and sweating. Conversation was at a minimum as Sean showered and then sought his bed, not even inquiring about Methos or Connor as he read for a bit and then fell into another restless doze.
Kir kept watch for as long as she could, slipping into an oversize shirt and settling in a comfortable chair, her sword and her gun close by but eventually she dozed as well. A slight noise woke her and she reacted quickly as the door opened. It was light again, but just barely. Sean was still sleeping. Connor still missing. She was liking the situation less and less.
Nonetheless, she was relieved when Sofia entered quietly and gathered up a robe for her to wrap around herself.
"What's happened?" she asked softly, both women keeping their voices low so as not to disturb Sean.
"Nothing," Sofia said reassuringly. "Alexandra has business to attend to but she needs you for a moment."
Kir took the time to leave Sean a note before padding silently after Sofia to the lower level and following her through the familiar salon to the door to Alexandra's private rooms.
Alexandra was already dressed, not in the flowing gown of a hostess but in a sharp, tailored suit, probably fifty years out of style but no less striking for its age. "I may have news for you...a contact in a few hours," she said hurriedly.
"Do you need me to come with you? Someone to watch your back?" Kir asked.
Xan smiled, "Or just watch me? No. But I appreciate the offer, Kir. There is no danger in this meeting. An old friend...another old friend, yes. No, what I need from you is more personal," she hesitated briefly. " I know that you love Duncan MacLeod. I am not asking you to betray that love but I am asking you for a favor. Methos is asleep, still. All I need from you be here when he wakes. Do not let him wake alone. I would send one for my people but I do not want him to wake in the arms of a stranger."
Kir nodded. "Just to watch him? We have been--"
"Not watch. Hold. Do not let him wake to an empty bed with no one to hold onto. It is a simple thing, Kir," Alexandra said, her own confusion apparent. "You know he has nightmares?"
"Yes," Kir said cautiously feeling like she was about to be scolded. "We have been watching over his sleep, but it seems to help little. Sean has been...drugging him so he can rest."
Alexandra's perfect mouth tightened. "I see. Did it occur to none of you...No. Obviously not. If a child has nightmares, what would you do?"
"Wake them, comfort them, stay with them until they sleep again," Kir said, understanding what Alexandra was getting at. "But Methos wants none of us to touch him."
"For fear of showing weakness? For fear of being too much a burden? How can any of you have an idea what he wants? This all I am asking. He slept...and yes, Kir, slept, the night through with barely a murmur. You might remember that in the future," she said coolly and pushed past her with a shake of her head.
I was right. I don't think I have been though thoroughly scolded since I was a child, Kir thought wryly as she turned her attention toward the closed door and opened it. She spent a few moments with wide eyes. How could a woman with as much insight as Alexandra apparently had, be so caught up in such overdone trappings of luxury? She was not here to judge Alexandra and despite the woman's odd ways, Kir found she rather liked the elder Immortal.
She turned her gaze toward the bed, eyes softening. Methos was asleep, laying on his stomach arms wrapped around one of Alexandra's satin pillows, blanket and quilts and sheets pulled up snugly around him. Tucked in like a child, indeed. He stirred and Kir hurried, her Immortality disturbing his sleep. She was not fast enough and he jerked awake already rising without really acknowledging what had wakened him. Kir was at his side in a second, catching the hand that was reaching, most likely for a sword.
"It's all right, Methos," she said softly, soothingly. "Go back to sleep. It's Kir." Her touch calmed him and he flopped back down with a sigh as Kir rubbed at the broad, pale back, hoping to ease him back into sleep.
"Where's Xan?" he mumbled, rather coherently, voice deepened by sleep.
"She had to go out. Go back to sleep," she said and gave a little push, startled by her own daring for even such simple thing. For a moment she thought it might have worked as Methos relaxed, head against the pillow as Kir continued rubbing his back.
"Did she say how long? Or why?" he asked a few moments later and Kir sighed.
"No. She only said she might have a contact for us in a few hours. You can't do anything, Methos. I could probably get some breakfast brought in," she added already looking around for the bell pull.
He rolled to his back and stared at her for a moment. "What are you doing here?"
"Xan asked me to come...so you wouldn't wake up alone," she said meeting the upside down hazel eyes evenly. "She said you slept through the night -- no nightmares. No drugs."
He thought about it for a long moment, faint smile gracing his mouth. "I suppose I did. There's some other calls I need to try and make," he said and rolled again, this time out of bed, oblivious to Kir, his own nudity or anything else. Kir shook her head and pulled the bell. By the time Methos emerged from the bathroom wearinga heavy cotton robe, breakfast had been delivered. He glanced at it with distaste but ate some toast at Kir's insistence.
It was the middle of the next morning when Sean looked up as Connor entered, looking considerably the worse for wear, but with a distant, satisfied smile on his hard-edged face.
"You look like the cat who ate the canary," Sean remarked. "Where have you been? I was beginning to get worried."
"Just getting a tour of the facilities." Connor unselfconsciously stripped out of his rumpled tunic. "I learned some very interesting things."
"After over 600 years, Connor MacLeod, I didn't know there was much left for you to learn," Sean replied with an ironic twist to his lips.
"Oh, I always try to be open to new experiences, lad," Connor grinned at his clansman, "But actually I have an idea how we might use this place to our advantage."
"Appears to me like you already have," Sean laughed.
"I don't mean that! Although their facilities and personnel are quite entertaining, I must admit." Connor twirled his tunic into a long whip and snapped it loudly at the younger man before heading to the shower. "Let me get cleaned up and then I think we should find Kir and Methos and have a meeting with our hostess."
Xan had developed the knack over the centuries of entering a room and drawing every eye, stirring every heart, male or female. She was no less than magnificent. Particularly so when she had felt threatened, in this case actually [summoned], no less. This was her world. The four Immortals for whom she had generously provided sanctuary might be influential, powerful, even legendary, but she was - Xan.
It was therefore important to her that the request, no more of a demand actually, for Methos and his companions to meet with her be handled appropriately, to establish that this was her world, that they were here at her sufferance. Two young men accompanied her, slightly behind and to each side as she strode down the hall. She paused briefly before the double doors leading to the quarters she had specially arranged for her "guests", and the two bronzed gods opened them in unison, creating an arched portal for her to pass through as the lanky, light-eyed Scot, the golden-eyed youngling with the sweet smile, the dark and powerful Indian woman and the eldest of them all waited.
She paused just past the entrance, letting the living sculptures behind her reach in to close the doors, leaving her framed in the archway.
The corner of Kir's mouth twitched in admiration as the woman practically sucked the air out of the room just standing there. Sean was dumbstruck, Connor was clearly overawed, at least momentarily, while Methos appeared to be both amused and appreciative of the woman's consummate skill.
"You called?" she intoned with haughty disdain.
"We asked for a meeting," Methos said mildly. He had taken up residence in one of the soft chairs, nearby, his long legs stretch out in front, his elegant hands entwined together over his belt buckle.
"It may come as a surprise to you all," she said, her eyes moving from one Immortal to the next, holding their gaze and moving on. "But while this is a large, complex establishment, it is only one of many business concerns I run. I can spare you five minutes." She didn't move from the doorway and Sean had the vague feeling this must have been what it was like seeking a petition from royalty a few hundred years or centuries before.
But evidently Connor wasn't nearly so intimidated. "You said the E.D. was hosting parties here over the next few weeks, Xan."
"Yes," she affirmed coldly. "Which means all of you need to be out of here before then."
"I don't think so," Connor smiled. "I assume you can monitor any room in the complex?"
Xan didn't reply, but her arms folded defensively across her chest.
"I also assume you can rig those monitors so that they are in a room sufficiently removed from these . . . events . . . that if an Immortal attends then our presence will not be felt?"
Xan's eyes flashed and she looked to Methos. "No. You will put everything I have built for the last 100 years in jeopardy, all for the sake of a man who has only hurt you and will undoubtedly hurt you again even in the unlikely event you can find him and get him out alive."
That was too much for Kir. "A man who put a stop to the Game, to the Gathering. A man who made all this possible," Kir said with a dark threat in her voice as she gestured to the overwrought luxury that surrounded them. "For if he hadn't, by now there would have been only one of us left standing and it wouldn't have been you, Alexandra."
Xan's mouth tightened slightly. She was unaccustomed to any challenge to her authority. But these four were unlike any she had dealt with before. Intimidation was probably not her best weapon in this situation, she decided. The best she could hope for was damage control.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Storm, but the monitoring systems are fed into a control room at the center of the complex. Any Immortal in that room would be felt through most of the entertainment areas, especially someone like Methos." She uncrossed her arms and forced herself to relax her posture. "It seems you will have to rely on my people and my intelligence network." She crossed to the windows, facing away from the group. All those intense eyes made her uncomfortable. "I have found a safe place for you outside of town. I'll send word when I find out anything."
"I don't think so, Xan." She turned at the soft voice right above her ear, startled to find Methos standing only inches away. "Somehow I don't think you would pursue this with the required . . . dedication. You will set up an auxiliary monitoring room far enough away so our presence won't be felt."
"Methos, I . . ." she started to voice a protest.
"You Will," Methos stated flatly, his voice setting up a vibration in Xan's head that made her gasp and step back.
"Enough," Kir said quietly. When she turned her dark-eyed gaze on the other woman, she did so out of kindness. Methos' methods of persuasion these days were less than gentle. "The Community's ties are weakening, Xan, can't you feel it? There is more at stake here than the fate of one man."
A harsh laugh escaped Xan's wide, red lips as she moved away from them, back towards the door. "But it is his fate that drives all of you. You all reek of near panic to find him, as though he somehow held the key to your very souls. No one man should have that kind of power. No one will ever have that kind of power over me!" she insisted.
"He already does, whether you admit or not," Connor soft, sibilant voice finally insisted.
There was a long silence as the five powers, like the ancient mystical elements of earth, fire, water, air and spirit, contemplated one another.
"The meetings start day after tomorrow. The room will be prepared by then," Xan said softly. She swept out, taking a good portion of the oxygen in the room with her.
The four Immortals got increasingly restless over the next 48 hours, especially Sean, who seemed unable to dispel the irritation that seemed to ride just below the surface almost all the time. But finally Xan appeared at their door, inviting them to inspect the new auxiliary monitoring facilities she set up.
It was actually quite close, since she had already housed them away from the rest of the compound so their presence wouldn't be felt. Connor and Sean checked out the equipment in the make-shift room, finding it remarkably sophisticated and flexible, almost too much so since actually tracking the hundreds of conversations and activities throughout the compound was an almost overwhelming task.
"What I am providing you has never been seen by anyone outside of a very select few of my staff," Xan warned. "No one in the Eastern Dawn knows this equipment even exists, or I would be out of business tomorrow and dead the next day. The Council meetings start next week, but there are a lot of groups gathering to try to influence their decisions, and there's a big military presence." Xan touched Sean's arm and her eyes bore into his until he felt in danger of being nailed physically to the floor. "Do not act on anything you learn without checking with me first. There is much you do not know about the way the Eastern Dawn functions and one stupid move could be the death of us all."
She turned to leave, but Connor rose to stop her. "Hold on, Xan." Although softly spoken, and not imbued with the talents of his companions, there was enough command in that voice to make her turn. "Just having equipment isn't enough. We need to know the meeting schedules, the expected guests, the whole package."
"You MacLeods don't ask for much do you?" she said with an ironic twist to her mouth. "Alright, I'll see that you get the schedules. The next few days are pretty much business as usual, a few special interest groups, a little more activity from out-of-towners curious about this place. It'll give you some practice," she smiled coldly. "I'm sure you'll find it . . enlightening."
After she left, Connor instructed Sean to watch the monitors. They would work in six hour shifts, keeping an eye on everything that went on.
"But there's nothing going on with the Eastern Dawn right now," Sean complained. "This will be pointless."
"It will be good practice on how to use the equipment," Connor insisted. "And besides, Xan is right, lad. It will probably be enlightening. It might even be entertaining." There was an evil glint in his eye as he winked and left Sean alone to watch.
Sean was sound asleep, dreaming of a young graduate student he had dated a half-century before when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Not my turn yet," he mumbled. Having grown up in a different era, his long-lived male relatives had yet to establish the instincts in him that tended to rouse the warrior instantly out of a deep sleep.
"Wake up, little brother," Methos said, shaking him mercilessly. "Connor wants us in the observation room.
Sean looked blearily around, only to find Kir already dressed and headed out the door as Methos followed. He pulled himself out of bed, grabbing his pants and pulling them on as he went, padding barefoot down the hall to their makeshift observation room. It was more of a closet, really. Stuffy, hot, close and smelling of too much electronic gear packed in too small a space. He could barely make it in the door with the other three Immortals already crowded inside.
Connor had turned all the monitors onto one of the various gatherings that were in a perpetual state of forming and reforming throughout the complex. Tracking them and listening in on them had turned out to be far more of a chore than any of them had expected, and Sean had learned far more about bizarre sexual proclivities than he ever wanted to know, even as a trained psychiatrist.
"Wha's up?" he asked sleepily, stifling a yawn.
"It seems a guest at one of the parties has some inside info on Abbas," Connor replied. The sound equipment had been programmed to pick up and focus on key phrases, and Connor replayed a portion of the recording on one monitor.
A man and woman could be seen, but not well in the darkened room that pulsed regularly with strobe lights in time to pounding music. " . . . managed to get the prisoners all the way to Attica without an incident," the man was saying. "Abbas can get really nasty if the Nation even tries to attack, much less if they actually succeed in getting anybody back. Evidently the Council is really on his case about securing the Northeast corridor."
"Stop yer whining," the woman replied, shouting over the music. "Being head of prisoner transportation gets you all kinds of perks and everybody knows it, Phil. You sure wouldn't have been invited here if you hadn't managed to pull a few strings." She leaned closer and Connor bumped up the volume a little to pick up her voice. "And I know you transport more than just prisoners for the higher ups, and I just bet you manage a little black market for yourself on the side, don't ya?"
"Shut up, Maggie!" the man whispered.
The woman laughed at his nervousness. "This is Xan's," she waved her hand expansively. "There's no place safer, more confidential than here. You don't think the E.D. would allow anyone to record this kind of stuff do you?" she laughed, indicating the activity in the room.
For the first time, Sean's attention was drawn to what was going on on the dance floor. Couples were . . . well dancing was one way of putting it. They were mostly same sex pairings, and . . . Sean leaned closer to figure out what looked so odd about them, then stepped back. Even though he was over 150 years old and a psychiatrist, that kind of attire was unusual enough to bring a small smile of embarrassment to his lips.
A lot of leather, cut out in strategic places on both men and women. The foremost thought in Sean's mind was how uncomfortable it must be. He dragged his attention back to the conversation among his compatriots.
" . . . need someone to see what this guy knows about any unusual prisoner transports," Connor was saying. All eyes in the small room turned to look at Sean.
"Oh, no you don't!" Sean said, backing up to the door and reaching for the handle.
"Come on, laddie, you're the one who would look best in leather, that's for certain." Connor's smile had a distinctly evil cast to it. "And you're the psychiatrist - the obvious choice!"
It took all three of them a half hour of persuasive bullying, and another half hour to extract the proper attire from Xan's eclectic and extraordinary collection of costumes before Sean found himself entering the darkened room. The sound of the music was so loud it vibrated against his skin and he would have covered his ears except that to do so would have been distinctly out of character. He tugged self-consciously at the tight leather, flushing with embarrassment at the thought that Kir, Connor and Adam were now watching him on the monitors with his naked butt exposed to what felt like half the known universe.
He closed his eyes briefly, reminded himself of why he was here, and made his way to the dark corner where "Phil" had last been spotted. There he was sitting alone in a booth, ogling the young men serving drinks, dressed only in leather thongs and codpieces.
"Hi!" Sean flashed his best smile as grabbed a drink from a passing waiter and took a long swallow before he slipped into the both across from his prey. Phil appeared to be in his mid-fifties, a little over six feet, but big shouldered, big bellied and big-nosed. His face was flushed from a lifetime of self-indulgence and Sean could smell the liquor on his breath from across the table. This was going to be a real treat, he could tell.
"Hi, yourself," Phil smiled back. "You work for Xan, or just cruisin'?
"You have a preference?" Sean countered. Every move, every word felt awkward, like he was trying to move someone else's body. He felt himself squirm against the sticky leather cutting into his skin and the nervous sweat trickling down his armpits and his exposed chest.
Phil chuckled. "Well, I ain't no raging beauty, so the guys who invite themselves to sit with me are usually here specifically to entertain." He scooted around the booth to get closer, draping his arm across the back behind Sean's head. "So it's my guess you were told to find some lonely old sot and keep him company. Am I right?"
Sean was forced to close his eyes as the power of the man's breath made him dizzy. "That doesn't mean a man can't enjoy his work, now, does it?" he heard himself say even as he felt the man's hand grasp his thigh.
The hand paused and moved, reaching instead for the drink that had been left on the other side of the table. Sean chanted a mantra in his mind, keeping his father's face firmly fixed in his mind's eye as a goal as he leaned in flirtatiously. "Do you enjoy your work?" he asked. "Only the most important people come to these parties. It must be fascinating to work for the Council."
"The Council?" The man made a disgusted noise. "Those bureaucrats? Nah! I work for the military arm, escorting the really dangerous prisoners to their, uh, final destination." He took a long swig of his drink. "I once even escorted an Immortal," he said self- importantly.
"Really?" Sean widened his eyes. "Wow. What was it like?" But before he got an answer he yelped in surprise when he felt a hand reach down and grab his crotch, squeezing hard enough to hurt.
"It was real excitin'," Phil said, tucking his head into Sean's neck and nuzzling him. When Sean froze, Phil stopped and watched him for a second in annoyance. "Whatsa matter?" The flush and then the sudden paleness of Sean's skin gave him away and Phil pushed him away in disgust. "You're new at this ain't cha? Well, you're a little old for my taste anyway, so why don't you go tell Madame Xan to send me someone a little more willing, and a little more . . . tender . . . if you know what I mean. I didn't pay good money for some novice." Then he paused, looking at Sean closely, "Unless you're a virgin, of course. If that's the case, I might just be interested," he breathed into his face.
Sean's mantra fell apart and it was all he could do to get to and out the door before he lost what little he had had to drink into the nearest tropical plant. It wasn't the man's less-than-appetizing appearance, or his desires that had finally broken his resolve, it was his breath.
"Oh, that went well," Connor drawled, gray eyes dancing with a mixture of amusement and disappointment. The latter brought a dull flush to Sean's cheeks. "Don't worry about it," Connor said, reaching out to grip Sean's shoulder lightly.
"At least we know he's got something worth telling," Methos murmured and Sean's blush faded as quickly as it had come. "And what preferences will work to our best advantage."
"Wh...what are you doing?" he stammered. Methos had stripped down, pulling on a leather contraption even more revealing than Sean was wearing. Kir was helping him dress, tight-lipped but sure-fingered as she buckled a leather collar around the slender throat, attaching a long leash to the ring set at the front before turning to dress in leather outfit of her own, similar to those worn by the other female servants of Xan's household.
"Second team. It seems our friend Phil," Methos sneered the name, "wants someone who will bend to his will."
"You can't!" Sean snapped. "What if someone recognizes you? Or suspects?"
Methos gave him an odd look. "My name may have some recognition, Sean, but my face is not exactly plastered on post office walls."
"It might be," Sean said, knowing he was reacting irrationally. He had not known his inexperience and embarrassment would put his brother at risk.
"If it gets ugly, you and Connor can bust in and pull a Duncan and rescue my priceless hide, then," Methos snarled at him with more venom than Sean expected. After a moment, the harsh expression faded from the older Immortal's face as he took several deep breaths. "He knows something. It may be nothing we can use, but anything is better than what we have now. Which is nothing." His tone softened a bit. "It's not as if I am completely ignorant of this kind of...diversion." His tone was colored a little and Sean could find no other words to say...no arguments to use. He had been worried about Adam's ruthless use of other people to find clues to Duncan's whereabouts. It seemed that ruthlessness did not exclude himself.
When Sean remained silent, Methos handed the end of his leash to Kir. "Ready, my mistress?" he asked with an ironic smile. Kir was sheathed in a leather catsuit, neckline and back cut low without really revealing anything other than her natural curves.
"Come along, Fido," she said, trying for a little levity of her own and Methos chuckled following her out and into the darkened playroom.
"Does this scare you as much as it does me?" Sean whispered, eyes glued to the monitor as Kir and Methos entered, his brother's chameleon-like ability to change to fit his surroundings never so obvious as it was as the slender, boyish looking man entered the room, led by his stunning "mistress".
"Aye, it does. Maybe more," Connor said seriously. "I am afraid one of these days Methos is going to slip into one of these personality shifts and never emerge again as we knew him."
Sean swallowed heavily. That Connor, who had recently showed nothing but barely contained anger for Methos, should be so concerned, made his blood run cold. Then it ran colder still as the pair made their way to Phil; Kir leading her "pet" as if delivering a plate of fancy delicacies to the big man and then moving away to mingle and observe surreptitiously.
Phil seemed placated, even smug about having his "order" so perfectly placed, wrapping his big hand around the leash and murmuring a command. Methos went to his knees next to the man's bench seat, remaining still and quiet as the man examined him, prodding and touching as if examining a bit of livestock. Through it all, Methos seemed to have far more dignity and grace than his new "master".
The door opened quietly and Sean glanced up as Xan let herself into the room. She was also attired in leather, but white leather with gold trim, as elegant in the outfit as if she had been wearing lace and satin. "He was always one of my best," she said quietly, glancing at the screen.
Sean stared at her and she met his gaze evenly, almost coldly, seeming to enjoy the revelation her one comment had opened in his mind. She's enjoying this, he thought.
"Of course I didn't train him. He came to me quite...ready to use," she continued on blandly. "I have never seen his like before or since. Look at his posture."
Sean did, knowing he was learning a lesson he would never, ever forget. His brother was still kneeling, accepting a drink from the man's glass, a smile so devastatingly innocent Sean thought he would vomit again. Methos' thighs were parted, his hands remaining relaxed at his sides, back curved just enough to bring his pelvis forward slightly, much to the appreciative gaze of his companion. "I think he had to practice that sprawl of his to eliminate that posture. The perfect display of his charms," Xan said, her lesson as cold in its delivery as it was in implication. "Ahh, he has hooked his fish."
At Phil's gesture, Methos rose almost directly from his kneeling position, allowing the man to lead him onto the dance floor and draping himself across the man's shoulders, pressing close, the look on his face as if Phil were the most attractive man in the universe. "That is not training, that is natural talent," Xan said approvingly. "To make every customer feel as if he is the best thing to come along since indoor plumbing."
The music increased in tempo, Connor adjusting the sound to try to pick up whatever words might be exchanged between Methos and his partner but talking was apparently the last thing on Phil's mind as he turned his slender partner, pressing his ample girth and his own pelvis against the long lines of his dancing partner's back. The big hands came up, brushing across Methos' bare chest, taking a certain clumsy pleasure in trying to caress the pale skin as Methos leaned back to whisper something that brought a smile to Phil's florid face and his hands lower, fingers outstretched to cover the narrow leather triangle at Methos' groin. Methos reached back, his own hands beginning a steady kneading of the other man's ass, smiling in pleasure or something close to it as he was fondled, seducing the man with the movement of his hips and the music and the totally abandoned and wanton press of his body against the larger man's.
Sean did not miss the quick flash of pain that crossed his brother's features as Phil's groping became rough as his arousal grew. Nor the sudden spasming of the longer fingers as one meaty hand suddenly plunged beneath the leather for a more intimate touch. Others on the floor were noticing the pair with obvious signs of titillation, half-expecting to see the big man take his delicate looking companion in full view of them all. Sean stiffened, almost ready to intervene, but Xan laid a hand on his arm as one of the burly servants in red leather moved in close, whispering into Phil's ear. The pawing eased off but Phil was obviously not willing to give up the fulfillment of his pleasure. Gathering the leash tightly in his hand, he moved toward the small cubicles spaced evenly on the outside of the room, their curtained archways only semi-opaque, revealing the shadowy silhouettes of couples and sometime threesomes involved in any variety of sexual acts. Another red-clad servant directed Phil and his toy to an unoccupied cubicle.
"6-E," Xan murmured and Connor brought up one of the monitors to the appropriate view and stepped up the gain on the microphone.
"I feel like a voyeur," Sean said.
"You are," Connor returned in a flat tone, glancing at the first monitor to see Kir moving to just outside the cubicle, her face set.
"I can't believe he's going to..." Sean's voice trailed off and he turned away for a moment, nausea in his throat as Methos took off what little clothing he was wearing at Phil's breathless command. He closed his eyes as if shutting them would also shut out the sound of Phil's lips covering his brother's, or the rampant sounds of lust. Those sounds built to gasps, Phil's and he heard Xan chuckle.
"What?" he muttered and despite his disgust turned.
Phil, it seemed, had little stamina. Skilled hands touched him before he could even get his clothes off, already coming rather messily and just as obviously unable to stop himself from giving in to his talented companion's coaxings. He shuddered to a finish and Methos sat back on the edge of the bed, watching his "master" with the faintest hint of vicious amusement.
"You..." Phil struggled to sit up, snagging the leash and yanking Methos forward. "That's not what I wanted," he hissed into the suddenly innocent face.
"My apologies, master," Methos said, voice so burdened with disappointment Phil could hear no deceit in his tone. "You seemed to be ready and wanting..." Methos ducked his head, stretching out against Phil's thigh to pet and stroke in an abject display of apology. "Perhaps after you have rested, we can see that your desires, all your desires, are met?"
The anger faded from the big man's face as he dropped his hand to stroke through the dark hair. "That's better," he said then looked down at himself. "Shit! This is my best suit."
Methos sat up. "I can see your clothes are cleaned while we...wait for your desires to become healthy once more. Would you like a drink...some food? I can bring you whatever you need. And you can tell me about yourself and what's going on outside.. I don't get out much," he added almost shyly.
"Both...all of it," Phil said with a chuckle. "That's what I paid for. You come back, quick like a rabbit, boy," he admonished as he shed his soiled clothing. Methos smiled and kissed him, slipping back into the leather thong before gathering up Phil's clothes. He slipped beyond the curtain, manner changing as he passed the clothes off to the red clad guard and turned to Kir for only a moment before hurrying to fill the order for food and drink. Sean could not hear what he said, but Kir moved, coming toward them. A few seconds later she entered the monitoring room.
"A drug...something to make him talkative," she said quickly. Xan glared for a moment then threw up her hands, leading Kir out.
They reappeared on the monitor and parted as they entered the room, Kir finding Methos. The drink was quickly doctored and Methos disappeared once more into the small room.
"I was thinking you weren't coming back," Phil complained.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know what you would like so I got you a little bit of everything," Methos said in his most beguiling voice, offering the full platter of small foods.
"Set it down," Phil said modified. "And strip. I want something pleasant to look at while I get my strength back." He chuckled at his own joke, eyes sliding appreciatively over the muscled body as Methos removed the thong again, then picked up a warm, moist towel to clean his master's groin of the residue of his earlier orgasm. Phil let him finish then put the towel on the bed beside him and patted his bare thigh. "Here, boy. See if you can coax some life out of old Johnny boy here." He indicated his quiescent cock and took a long drink.
Methos lay down as indicated, hands once more moving to stroke the limp flesh. Impatiently, Phil pulled on his leash, spreading his legs so he could position Methos' face at his groin. "I'll talk. You have better things to do with that sweet mouth," he scolded.
Sean had to look away again as Phil did begin talking. Garbage mostly, going on about how he had saved to be able to afford Xan's pleasure palace. He hazarded a glance at Connor, his kinsman's face stony and impassive, eyes shifting from monitor to monitor but always settling back on the one that featured Methos sacrificing whatever was necessary to get his information.
"You must drive to interesting places," Methos voice sounded softly as Phil drank again and picked up one of the small canapés, eyeing it suspiciously before biting into it and nodding his approval.
"Nah, not much," Phil answered, voice starting to slur and seemingly unconcerned that his "boy" had returned to the use of hands rather than mouth to stimulate him. "Not the places anyway...but the folks..." he grinned and pulled Methos upward slightly by the leash. "I have moved some very important prisoners. They want somebody important to be moved from place to place, they call Phil. General Bar Abbas calls me personal, like," he said, chest swelling a bit when Methos looked suitably impressed. Methos clung to Phil as if he were somehow capable of protecting him from anything.
"Bar Abbas is Immortal, isn't he?" he asked in a cowed voice and shuddered for effect. It had the desired effect. Phil hugged the slender form closer, protectively.
"Yeah, but that's not such a big thing. Those Immortals...they'll end up killing each other off...the way they treat each other," he made a noise of disgust, hands beginning to roam again. "I moved this one fella, some big shot from those stupid Indians down south -- must have moved him three or four times. You'd a thought he was some kind of Houdini the way they had him guarded. Don't know what they were afraid of though...he looked like he couldn't crawl two feet under his own power." His hands moved down to cup Methos' ass, squeezing the firm flesh as his shifted his body under his companion, sighing as his cock finally showed some interest in the warm flesh pressed against it.
"Who was he?" Methos murmured, evenly, voice pitched low, the compulsion coming through even over the speakers.
"'Dunno. Never get no names. Moved him from Philly to Buffalo. Then again outside of Lexington." His mouth stopped Methos before the Immortal could ask another question, hand wrapped tightly around the leash to hold the other man still as he took a probing if sloppy kiss.
"That's not far from here," Methos murmured when Phil released his mouth.
"No. Ain't there no more..." Phil slurred and then before Methos could move or speak, took the leash and encircled the slender wrists with its length. "Don't want those clever hands bringing me off too soon again," he chuckled then grabbed up the cold, limp and soiled towel and stuffed it into Methos' mouth. Drug or no, Phil moved quickly when he wanted to and the tight tangle of limbs gave Methos no leverage although he kicked. "And don't want none of Xan's bouncers interrupting this time, either," Phil muttered, jerking on the collar sharply as he used his weight to pin his captive to the bed, bound wrists jerked up and behind Methos' head and then tied to his collar with the end of the leash. Methos bucked but Phil was too heavy to dislodge as the man dug his hands into the exposed thighs and spread them, his nearly erect cock sliding along the pale flesh of his victim's ass.
Sean had seen enough and heard enough the moment Phil bound his brother's wrists. He had no mind to his appearance as he pushed through the crowd on the dance floor, trying to catch Kir's eye, Connor right behind him. She saw them, alarm on her face, already turning toward the cubicle, when she stopped and Sean and Connor did as well, as did those people closest to the cubicle. It was not a shout and it did not affect the majority of the people, but the "No!" that rang out halted Sean momentarily as if someone had suddenly hit him in the face with a two by four. The compulsion passed a moment later and he surged forward, ignoring Kir's dazed look as he thrust the curtain aside.
"Damn it," Connor hissed and moved with Sean to pull Phil's near insensate form off of Methos, trying to ignore the moist sound of flesh parting from flesh. Methos was absolutely still beneath the larger man, body flushed with sweat until Phil was off him and then he began trembling violently. Connor cut through the leather leash rather than trying to untangle it, Sean unbuckling the collar to reveal his brother's bruised throat. "Get me something to wrap him in," Sean murmured, turning his brother over. The eyes were tightly closed, the flesh seeming to shrink from Sean's touch.
"Here," Kir said, sounding like herself. She had pulled one of the dark sheets free from another cubicle. Sean wrapped the sheet around his brother's naked body, touching cold, damp skin. Their eyes met, but all Sean saw no expression in that face, which could have been carved in alabaster. He kept his hand on Adam's arm, turning him toward the opening in the curtains only to find his way blocked by Xan, her face red with anger.
"What the hell was that?" she hissed, barely glancing at Methos. She swore softly and them moved past them to the rear wall, twisting the switch on the small cubby's single light fixture. "Not that way, here," she said. "I'll take care of Phil. Follow that corridor. Leads to the back hall...the rear stairs will take you back to your rooms." She touched Methos' face briefly. "I will be there shortly. Don't leave him," she directed at Kir who could only nod.
The passage was narrow and Connor led the way, Kir bringing up the rear. Sean held onto his brother all the way, fearful the man would once again start to come apart at the seams as he had many times in the weeks after they had brought him back from Rome.
They got to the rooms without incident, Kir sprinting ahead to start the shower. Sean did not even hesitate as the water was brought up to warm, stepping in under the stream without releasing his brother and Kir and Connor pulled the now sodden sheet from the trembling body. But Methos put his hand on his brother's chest, pushing him away.
"Let me be," he murmured. "Just let me be."
Sean tried to read his brother's mood, but met only a blank expression, so he stepped away, wondering what was really going on behind those now icy green-gold eyes.
Sean grabbed some fresh clothes, went into the other bathroom, gratefully shedding the soaked leathers, dried off, and redressed, emerging to find Methos sitting on the couch, wrapped in a terrycloth robe as Connor handed him a large glass of scotch.
"Adam?" he said hesitantly, kneeling close, wanting to touch but getting the distinct impression the man did not wish it. "Are you okay?"
The look he got chilled him to the bone. "Of course I'm okay, little brother. Did you think that toad could possibly harm me? Did you think anything happened that hasn't happened before? Your naiveté is . . . amusing." But the hand that held the whisky trembled slightly as he took a long drink, hissing as it burned on the way down.
His face changed and, just for a second, the Oldest Immortal looked like a lost child, his eyes full of despair and self-loathing, then the look was gone as Kir entered. She had changed out of her costume and she, too, crossed to Methos, touching his shoulder as though he were a talisman.
"Lexington," she said.
"Yes," Methos said, gathering himself. "Lexington. But he said he's not there anymore." He passed a shaking hand over his face, once again drifting back into that pale, childlike trance. "I'm tired."
Sean had to catch his arm as his brother rose, and escorted him to his bed, then tucked the blankets around him as the man instantly fell into either a deep sleep or a faint. Sean couldn't be sure which.
"Remember what Xan said," Kir whispered behind him, "stay with him, even if he tries to push you away." Then she turned as the presence of another Immortal made itself felt. Sean remained with Methos as Connor and Kir rose to meet Xan's wrath.
"Have you any idea how close you came to blowing what I have spent years building?" She said in a low, tight voice. "I have a dozen people questioning me, some of them in a position to report back to their superiors about what happened tonight. What the hell did happen?"
"You know. You saw..." Connor said evenly. "Should we have let that pig rape him?"
"He went into it knowing what could happen!" she snapped. "What did he do? What did you do?" she said, glaring at Kir.
She doesn't know, Kir thought, backpedaling her thoughts furiously. Alexandra thought Kir had stopped the assault on Methos.
"What was necessary," she said in her coldest voice, pushing that edge of control enough to make Xan step back. Let Xan continue to overestimate her, or underestimate her as the case may be. "We haven't time enough to play this nicely, Xan. Now, you can turn us in but I promise you--if we go down, you go down with us. Up until today we weren't even sure we could find Duncan. We still aren't certain, but there seems to be a trail here and you hold all the sign posts...think of it this way. The more you help us the faster we get out of your home. out of your business and out of your life. Which believe me, would suit us all just fine."
Alexandra studied her for a long moment, all too aware that both Sean and Connor were watching her. "Very well," she said, backing down. "There is a...function, in two days. Most of the senior councilors will be there and likely Bar Abbas as well, as head of security. It won't be easy -- there will be other Immortals present. You...we will need to be very careful."
Kir nodded, never easing her expression.
"If you would, when Methos wakes up, let me know," Xan added softly. "I will need to speak to him."
"For what?" Sean asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"To apologize. I am capable of it." she said and left.
"Why do I get the feeling she is apologizing before the fact?" Connor asked glancing at Kir.
"I don't know, but I get the same feeling," Kir said thoughtfully, then went to check her maps for the most direct route to Lexington.
The party was the first of what promised to be several long, tedious weeks of social and business gatherings of the Eastern Dawn power elite. It was a formal affair held at the very finest hotel in Boston with great fanfair, with everyone on their best behavior, and with security very, very tight and quite obvious. Not that it really needed to be, Abbas thought to himself. But he liked to put on a good show for those whose patronage mattered.
Abbas moved among the elegantly dressed crowd, smoothly greeting and talking. He felt their eyes on him, heard the hostile murmurs, but he had gotten used to it. He did not generally hold mortals in very high esteem. They rarely had the intelligence and experience to make interesting conversationalists, but they were useful. They frequently held the keys to power, if only by dent of family or other connections. It was simply easier to attach oneself to some wealthy mortal, using them, serving their needs, sucking them dry, than to directly acquire wealth oneself.
But they were usually so boring, Abbas thought with one part of his mind as he wittily entertained some vacuous socialite husband of a senior member of the Eastern Dawn council. But he was forced to pause in the middle of a naughty story about how many Immortals it took to .... when he felt the warning chill of presence of a member of his own Race. He finished the story to raucous laughter as his eyes began to wander the room, trying to pinpoint the source. He wasn't very good on directional sense, but he could certainly tell that a new center of attention was being formed just outside on the balcony of the hotel ballroom. He tried not to be obvious as he drifted in that direction, listening and watching for any threat, but all he heard was rough male laughter, colored with familiar overtones of sexual awareness that signaled that the human mating ritual was underway. It was a sound far older even than he was, and he was hardly surprised as he elbowed his way past the first layer of gentlemen, to find at its center a stunning and magnetic woman. Tall, black haired, dark eyed, lithe and gorgeous, dressed in a black dress that, where bare flesh wasn't showing, which was everywhere, looked like it had been glued to her fair skin.
Her eyes turned to meet his, widening with ...pleasure? Hmm, Abbas thought. That seemed unlikely, as he took her delicate hand and brushed it with a kiss.
"Amanda," he breathed, moving in to brush her cheek with another press of lips. "How delightful to see you again. It's been ...a long time."
"Sixty years or so, I believe," she said softly, out of the range of hearing of mortal ears.
"You are a clever one," Abbas said admiringly, taking her elbow and leading her away. The crowd of men gave over possession of their new prize reluctantly to the powerful Immortal. "Only you would dare crash a gathering of the E.D. council."
"A girl has to go where the action is, 'Bas," she said, leaning close and widening her eyes in a look developed over more than a thousand years and guaranteed to diminish the rational though capacity of any male of the species. "And you've always been where the action is, n'est ce pas?"
They had reached a modestly isolated portion of the outside balcony when the man's small dark eyes narrowed as he disengaged himself and stepped away, crossing his arms. "Actually, I think that description is more accurate when applied to you, Amanda. I assume you're here for a purpose? Perhaps the Nation is prepared to surrender and you're their envoy?"
Amanda's laugh tinkled like broken glass. "That motley group of fanatics? No style or flair at all," she derided, waving her hand dismissively.
"But you've been holed up with Constantine for the past few months, my dear. And I am not unaware of your little adventure during which two truck loads of E.D. munitions magically disappeared."
"Sorry, 'Bas, but a girl's gotta make a living. And 'Nardo kept me in champagne for a little while. But when he got taken out, it was either switch sides or get stuck permanently in bombed-out Paris with a bunch of talentless mortal thugs." Amanda self-consciously put one hand on a slim hip while the other carefully smoothed back her dark cap of silky hair.
"Then why are you here?" Abbas asked, aware of her expert manipulations and admiring their effect.
"Well, 'Bas," she moved closer, pretending to adjust the silk cravat at his neck. "Marcus is a very demanding partner and it became clear that any real business opportunities would inure to his benefit, not mine. Soooo, I thought I'd go look for greener pastures for my particular skills."
Bar Abbas disengaged from her gentle clutches, walked to the edge of the balcony and pulled out a cigar. Smoking was, of course, frowned on by the conservative Eastern Dawn council, and had become a completely illegal, and therefore extremely expensive habit, but they were hesitant about enforcing their strictures on Immortals. He went through the ritual of lighting it, and leaned against the railing, looking out into the muggy Philadelphia summer night and the overly cultivated hotel gardens being swept by security guards every five minutes.
"You know about MacLeod, of course," he finally said, turning to watch her reaction.
"Of course." She moved to stand beside him, facing the hotel and resting her elbows behind her against the railing. "The Community is all a-flutter about it, but Methos kept the connection together after Duncan's ...death." The pause was almost unnoticeable.
"He was your lover for a long, long time, Amanda. How do I know you're not here to kill me in revenge?"
Amanda's laugh was low and hard. "My lover abandoned me for that Indian bitch almost 40 years ago!"
"Oh, come on woman! MacLeod was every man's idol and every woman's fantasy. I've even heard rumors about him and Methos..."
That generated a genuine laugh from his companion. "Whatever you heard, 'Bas, it's irrelevant now. It's over. Done. Gone. A person has to move on, and you know me - always looking out for numero uno. Come on, 'Bas. You know I can be very..." she leaned towards him, enhancing his view of her small, perfect white breasts "...useful." His eyes turned cold and hard and the two Immortals battled wills for a moment. Neither backed down. "Don't underestimate me, Amanda," he whispered at last. "I'm not some foolish mortal for you to flummox, or even some oversexed Immortal looking for a good fuck. I'll take your lovely head in one heartbeat if you even think about double crossing me." The words were spoken in a casual, almost flip tone, which only emphasized their sinister meaning.
"You could try, Abbas," she purred. "But then it will never come to that. Why would I double cross my main meal ticket?" She drew a finger across his neck just under his chin and felt him involuntarily shiver at her touch.
He carefully moved her hand away, turned and faced outward, taking a long drag on his cigar and letting it out slowly. "And what did you have in mind to do for me, my dear? Sing for your supper?"
She chuckled. It was a throaty, sexy sound. "The intrigues among the leadership of the E.D. are well known, 'Bas. It shouldn't be too difficult for me to ...insinuate ...myself into some unhappy husband's arms, gather useful information, pass it along to you."
"Or the Cherokee Nation," he added.
"True. Except that you would pay me much better than they ever would or could. And you will have me watched every second so that I have no opportunity to do that, won't you?"
"Of course. You're not exactly known as trustworthy, Amanda."
"I'm not offended, Abbas. Intrigue is as much my stock in trade as ...relieving property from its original owners. So, who would you like for me to seduce?"
"Not so fast, young lady. But let me introduce you around while I give your proposal some consideration. Do you have an identity established?" He threw the cigar out onto the grounds, where one of the tightlipped E.D. security guards immediately picked it up in order to return the grounds to their immaculately groomed condition.
"Of course. I'm Emma Peel, widow of John Peel, late of Boston. Old money, you know."
"Emma Peel? That name sounds vaguely familiar."
Amanda laughed her tinkling laugh. "That's what everyone says. But no one can quite remember why, so they assume they've heard of me or my so-called family."
"Alright, Emma Peel. Let's go meet your public," Abbas said with a wicked smile as he firmly grasped her elbow and moved into the heat of the main ballroom.
Amanda settled into the 'quarters' Abbas assigned to her. The E.D. was famous for rhetoric promoting a spartan lifestyle but was more inclined towards self-indulgent luxury behind closed doors. So, while the hotel had a severe, dormitory-like façade, her room was all chintz and overstuffed furniture. Clearly the man intended to take her up on her offer, providing her with a spacious bedroom ideal for romantic interludes.
She stood at the window, looking sightlessly out into the night, forcing herself into a state of calm. 'Xan had told her she was insane to try this, to walk straight into the lion's den. Abbas was not a man she could seduce or fool with her woman's wiles, nor was she likely to best him in a one-on-one swordfight, given his reputation for being at least as dirty a fighter as Methos. He would have to be mislead, tricked, led step by step into revealing Mac's whereabouts. And he was older and more powerful and more utterly self-serving than anyone Amanda had ever encountered in her twelve hundred years on this earth. She was as scared as she had ever been in her life.
"I am a fool," she whispered to herself for the hundredth time since she had made the decision, against Marcus' advice, to hunt for MacLeod on her own. But she kept remembering that one night she had had with him in the barn, that glorious moment when he stood naked in the golden light of morning. She would always remember him like that, she decided, fixing that picture permanently in her mind. I will do this, she told herself firmly. He would do it for me, even on the slimmest thread of possibility. But she also remembered Sean escorting an ashen, shaking Methos from the room during the conference call. "But if you're wrong, old man," she whispered grimly into the darkness, "I'll take your head myself just for causing the pain of keeping hope alive."
She didn't even have a plan, yet. She knew his weakness - that he was totally self-reliant, rarely trusted any minion with any truly valuable information. And she knew what drove him. He wanted leverage over the powers of the Eastern Dawn. He wanted to be their frightening, sharp-toothed guard dog - a threat to their enemies, but an equal threat to themselves if they did not keep him well fed. So what she had to come up with was a plausible way to find some tempting morsel of information that he would desperately want, and trade it for what she wanted - MacLeod's whereabouts. If that did not appear to be possible, then she would simply have to insinuate herself so thoroughly into the Eastern Dawn power structure that she eventually found a way to get access to the information. It could take months, maybe years of living a lie, being a whore to the E.D., at the beck and call of a man she loathed.
Well, she thought, raising her chin, her lips thinning in determination, Not exactly an upward career move, but what the hell, it probably won't be boring.