Carson Kearns' Highlander Fanfic

Lost in the Loving: Coming Home

Chapter 3

by Carson Kearns

 

The next two hours saw Mary bathed and made ready for bed but not without a bedtime story from her favorite Uncle. Amidst all the grown ups, she settled onto his lap in the main room, and Duncan breathed deeply of her baby smell. Into their midst came the cook, a service included with the rental of the property, who informed all and sundry that everything was “...perfectly in order wi’out interference from the gallery.” And thus happily relieved of any cooking obligations, all relaxed on various couches and arm chairs in front of the small fire

While Duncan was still breathing in Mary’s scents, Rachel MacLeod arrived, all freshness and sparkle and laughter. In rising to greet her, Duncan kept Mary firmly in his grip but that didn’t prevent him giving Rachel a very tender and welcoming embrace and kiss.

Ciamar a tha thu?” he asked, without realising he was speaking Gaelic.

She smiled, mischievously. “Tha gu math, Duncan.”

After introductions to Anne and Mary, she settled for a whisky and sank to the floor near Joe.

Duncan disturbed the group with a seeming non-sequitur by naming a Country. “Icelandic?” he threw at Adam.

Joe looked at both men and shook his head. “What is it with you two? That’s the sixth country you’ve mentioned in the past 30 minutes and Adam always mumbles something incoherent back at you.”

Bjor,” sneered Adam, in Duncan’s direction.

“It’s a private joke, Joe. Nothing personal,” assured Duncan, settling himself and Mary back into the large chair. Anne decided to take the opportunity to clarify something Duncan had said that afternoon.

“And what is behind the name Methos, Adam?”

The immediate coughing and spluttering of not only Duncan and Adam, but also Joe, alerted Anne and Rachel to the fact that a raw nerve had been struck. Joe determined to try and salvage the situation, since it was very obvious that neither of the (arguably) two most powerful Immortals in the world was sufficiently in control.

Feigning innocence, he asked “Where did you hear the name Methos, Anne?”

“Duncan called Adam Methos this afternoon. He said something about ‘...Methos threatening to go to Bora Bora...’ if Duncan got too morbid.”

Duncan closed his eyes, sinking further down into the chair behind Mary, attempting to avoid some of the rays from Adam’s furious glare.

Joe soldiered on. “It’s just a nickname, Anne. And one that Adam dislikes intensely, which is why Mac teased him with it.”

Anne looked from Duncan to Methos to Joe and finally back to Duncan. “Ohhkaaaay. Sure. If you say so, Joe.”. She hadn’t missed the silent interchange between Adam and Duncan, which was followed with a more obvious suggestion from Adam to Duncan.

“Duncan, there’s something I want to show you. Outside!”

“Can’t it wait?” He gripped Mary more securely, quite pleased to have something between him and the clearly unimpressed Adam.

“No, Duncan. As you would so colloquially put it, "No it canno'! Na rionnagan?” And standing, he awaited the Highlander’s pleasure.

Duncan finally accepted defeat and handing Mary to Rachel, assured them all that he would soon be back, that Adam had a sudden urge to show him the stars.

“Yeah, the ones you’ll be seeing when he’s knocked you out!” laughed Joe in quiet bemusement, more to himself than to either Anne or Rachel. He poured himself another drink, having long ago convinced himself that when Mac and Methos were around, one should never pass up the opportunity to lay down a protective layering of pure alcohol over one’s finer feelings and more exposed sensitivities.

In the wide hallway Methos seized the Highlander’s upper arm and steered him forcefully out of the house. Once outside and away from any possibility of being seen, Methos found a dark blank wall and, echoing the afternoon's sensual attack, pushed Duncan until his was firmly held against it. “Methos! I...” but he never got to finish as Methos’ mouth captured the remaining words, swallowed them, and closed in once again for the kill. Duncan started to feel his knees give, so unexpected was the sexual heat and passion of the man before him, particularly when he had mentally and physically prepared himself for an unpleasant shouting match. Minutes later, after every surface had been intimately re-explored and Methos had assured himself that all was safe and secure with what he called “...the most sensual and sinful mouth and throat in the world...”, Duncan gasped for air.

“What on earth was all that about, Methos? I thought I was in for a thrashing?”

“Oh believe me Duncan, you’re in for a thrashing all right. Just not right now..” Pulling back, he gazed at Duncan, then closed his eyes, as if needing to savour the sight of the stunning man, captured so securely at the end of his arms. Duncan’s hair was loose, falling in dark waves over his black pullover. It was only as he pulled the hair back to get a better angle for his lips that Methos noticed that Duncan was wearing the beautiful small Celtic stud ear ring that he had given his Highlander one wonderful December day in Paris the year before.  Its DM was nicely ambiguous and the small jewel at its centre was the flame atop a candle - a candle that he had used to light his lover home, after the tragic death of Richie Ryan.

Roughly grasping a handful of hair, Methos leaned in and smelled it so deeply that Duncan found himself incredibly touched by the intimacy of the act. Suddenly Methos’ hands were busy with Duncan’s belt and the fastening of his tight black jeans. He then let himself nibble on the pierced ear lobe and let his tongue caress the ear stud that proclaimed their union.. 

“Methos! We can’t! We’ll be missed. Mary’s waiting. It’s obvious Anne already thinks we’re freaks..well, you, anyway....Methos...”

“Shut up and start groaning. This will only take five minutes.” Falling to his knees, he seemed to have Duncan’s fully erect cock in his mouth before his knees even connected with the soft soil beneath him. Pulling back he looked up at the man now groaning above him, rolling his head from side to side against the red brick wall.

Methos laughed. “So much for your social conscience. God you’re an easy lay MacLeod. And by the way, I told the truth this afternoon. Didn’t think of you once throughout the day, .....never once saw your image in my mind, .......never wanted to feel you on top of me, .......or under me, .......or inside me..............and if I’d had to sit in that room for another minute without having you I would have gone insane.....” 

"God!  Use your mouth for what it does best and just suck!"

Since any response would have been totally superfluous Methos took total possession of the steel shaft now, weeping for release. Taking firm control of Duncan’s hips he proceeded to milk the cock until every last drop of rich, creamy semen had been seduced and enticed from the one body into the other.

But while Methos had firm control of Duncan’s lower body, he was unable to help the Highlander maintain effective control of his upper body and a solid thump signalled not only that the orgasm was finally over but that Duncan had almost knocked himself out against the bricks.

“Bloody hell, Duncan! Are you all right?” Methos quickly put the Scot’s clothing to rights and reached out to see what damage his lover had done to himself.  The Scot's breathing was ragged and he stood cradling the back of his head.

“Fucking hell, Methos. That was unbelievable.” As Methos tried to inspect the injury, Duncan took his hand and kissed it deeply. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m fine. We’ve got to get back or they’ll be sending out search parties.’ As he started forward he stumbled, his hand once again going to his head. “Well, you were right when you said you were going to show me the stars,” he laughed, even when his fingers came away covered in blood. “Damn! Damn. You go back in and tell them I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I’m coming with you,” Methos insisted.

“Promises, promises. And no you are not! This is already getting too embarrassing. The cut's healed but I need to clean up the blood. It’s nothing. It won’t take two minutes with some water and a hair drier. Now get back in there and try and be sociable.” They parted company at the foot of the stairs, Methos proceeding towards the parlour and Duncan hurrying up the stairs to their bathroom.

While Methos had been busy inadvertently knocking his lover nearly unconscious, in the parlour Anne took the opportunity to raise something that had disturbed her for months. Ever since Joe had told her of Duncan and his male lover.

Speaking quietly, so as not to disturb Rachel’s reading to Mary, but also because she did not want her questions overheard, she leaned closer to Joe. “Can I ask you something, Joe?”

He turned towards her, having an uncomfortable feeling about what was to follow. “Well, you can ask!” he offered, the noncommittal clear.

“Duncan, and this Adam - or Methos - or whomever. Joe, you know that Duncan and I were lovers. In fact, to be truthful, he’s the best lover I’ve ever had. I’ve never been with a man who loves women so intensely, so unselfishlessly.” She blushed, but was determined not to be put off. “I don’t understand this - this relationship with Adam. What power does he have over him? How long do you think it will last before Duncan is hurt again?” She saw the accusing look in Joe’s eyes. “I know. I know what I did to him. And I know why I did it and much as I beat myself up about it almost every day, I still believe that it was the right thing, Joe.”

“Anne. Adam isn’t some disease that Duncan has caught. Duncan's an adult. A 400 year old adult. I’ve never seen two people more committed to each other.” Self-consciously he checked to see that Rachel was fully engaged with occupying Mary. “When you’ve lived as long........”

“It’s not the homosexuality. I’m not that much of a prude. It’s Duncan in a gay relationship I just can’t come to terms with, much as I try. And I’ve tried. I want him to be happy and to have some stability and love in his life. And I know it’s none of my business after I broke off our relationship. It’s just....” She stopped, unable to express her pent up confusion any more clearly.

At that stage Adam returned. Joe couldn’t resist. “So? Where’s Duncan?”

Methos put on his Innocent Face. “I beat him up so badly that he’s had to go upstairs to wash off all the blood. He shouldn’t be long.” And so saying he sat down and casually poured himself another beer. Anne and Rachel looked to Joe for some cue as to how they should be reacting. It appeared that they should not be reacting at all.

Five minutes later Duncan appeared.

Joe checked him over as he walked into the room. “So, Mac? Adam tells us that you’ve been upstairs removing the evidence of his assault on you. In fact, now I look at you you're looking a bit flushed. What do you think Anne?”

Duncan didn't give her time to reply. “Nah. Just needed to go to the bathroom. Adam has that effect on people. But he did demonstrate his knowledge of ancient linguistic profanities, didn’t you, Adam? ”

Methos narrowed his eyes and continued to glare. “Whenever I think I’ve remembered them all you do something that uncovers another one.”

Duncan bowed. "Glad to be of service! OK, Adam, what about Slovakian?"

"Any educated fool would know, Duncan, that the answer is pivo!" Four highly educated 'fools' looked at each other in total bemusement, unable to fathom the private game being played between the lovers. But all, privately, wondered what the forfeit might be. Certainly there was no one in the room who dared ask.

Duncan laughed and reached down for Mary, pulling her back onto his lap. “ Now, Mary, where were we? It’s nearly time for your bed, sweetheart.”

“Not till you tell me bout the flag. You pwomised.”

Rachel continued to sit on the floor, clearly as intrigued as everyone else in the room. She revelled in seeing Duncan in Glenfinnan, so at home, so seemingly lord of all he surveyed. She was never able to put her finger on it but there was something about Duncan MacLeod that spoke to Rachel’s soul. And it told her that things were not as they seemed. But she had never pushed him to talk to her about who he really was.

“Madagassian?” Duncan threw at Methos, no doubt hoping to catch him off guard.

Labiera. Yawn yawn. Give it up, MacLeod. You can’t win,” Methos taunted. In truth however, he was enjoying the game.

Joe intervened. “Whatever you’re asking him, Mac, how do you know he’s telling you the truth? I mean, this is Adam we’re talking about. I wouldn’t put it past him to just make the words up.”

Duncan looked at Methos and smiled. “He promised me...”

“And as if I’d need to make up something so simple. I haven’t even had to think hard - yet.”

“You always were a bright boy, Adam.”

At Mary’s increasing restlessness, Duncan jigged her up and down and spoke to her of her glorious golden curls, to which she laughed, and he crooned to her in the rich, deep Gaelic tones of his childhood, stopping after each verse to tell her of what he spoke:

“Thugas gaol nach fàillinneach
Do rìbhjnn nan cuach fàmannach,
Gur bòidheach dualach àr-bhuidhe
Mar aiteal deàrrsaidh theud.

I have given unfailing love to the maiden
of the waving locks - beautiful,
curled and golden yellow,
like the shining gleam of harp-strings.”

Tickling her little legs, he continued:

“ ‘S i 's maoile glùin is calpannan;
Troigh bheag chruinn gun gharbhcalachd
Nach saltair garbh air feur.

she has the most perfectly rounded knee and calves;
well-rounded little foot devoid of ugliness,
which treads gently on the grass.”


Nestling her little head against his strong chest, refusing to be distracted, she once again insisted on hearing about the flag.

Leaning down to kiss her curls, Duncan started to weave a magical web for all of them. “Ah. The fairy flag of Dunvegan. Do you know, Mary, that not far from here is a magnificent castle, called Dunvegan. If we have time I’ll take you to see it. It’s the home of the MacLeods. And it’s said that there is no finer castle in all Scotland than that of Dunvegan on the Isle of Skye. From its towers one can gaze across tree tops and blue waters to the hills of Duirinish, MacLeod's Tables. The Fairy Flag is still to be seen hanging in a glass case upon the Dunvegan castle wall. It is no more than a faded scrap o’ cloth, yellow and fragile with age, ready, it would seem, to crumble to dust if touched by human hands.”

He stopped and took a sip of the liquid gold whisky, totally unaware of how spellbound the room was, and of how he was slipping into the brogue of his youth.

“No one knows, Mary, to this day, where tha Flag came from, but one tale tells of a Chieftain of the MacLeods who entered a fairy hill where he met a beautiful maiden. He fell in love wi’ her and begged her ta be his wife. The fairy maiden agreed, on th’ condition tha’ he would release her from mortal life at th’ end of twenty years. They lived happily in the great castle until the time came for MacLeod's lady to return to fairyland.”

“And one day, as they stood on a little bridge near the castle, MacLeod was dismayed ta hear her remindin’ him of his promise. He loved her dearly, and the thought of partin’ grieved him so much that he tried to hold her back. But the call of Fairyland in her ears was stronger even than the love she bore for her lord. She escaped from his embrace, ran into the woods before he could follow and was never seen again. MacLeod was left in sorrow, wi’ a scrap of her gown clutched in his hand, and this is said to be the magic Fairy Flag of Dunvegan.”

Mary had been patting his cheek throughout the telling, sensing his sadness. He smiled at her, and continued.

“Another tale claims that the Flag ‘tis part of a cover that the fairies laid one day on an infant Chieftain to preserve him from evil. But where e’re it came from, the Flag was known to have supernatural properties.”

Reaching down, Duncan circled Mary’s little stomach with his long fingers. “Three times could its owners wave it ta call for help in distress. It has been waved on two occasions. The first time an infant MacLeod was at the point of death; the Flag was waved and the child recovered. The second time it was waved, it rallied MacLeod's men to victory in battle.”

“What happened the third time? Did tha fairy come back, Unca Duncan?”

“The Flag has yet to be waved for tha last time. Meantime it sits in glory in Dunvegan Castle, a reminder of a promise given to the great chiefs of MacLeod by the mysterious wee folk hundreds of years ago. It has many small pieces cut from it about the size of postage stamps. MacLeod warriors cut these pieces to carry into battle with them ta protect them.”

“That’s you, isn’t it? Mummy says, 'Duncan’s a born worrier.' She says you worry all tha time..She says that she worries. She says that-”

“Mary! I don’t think that Duncan wants to hear ....” Anne tried deflecting the conversation before further intimacies were revealed.

“If you’re a worrier do you have some of tha bits of tha flag?” Mary looked up at the wonderful man who always smelled so yummy and who always played with her.

Duncan looked at her for a little while, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he pulled out a small, sealed translucent package and held it in front of Mary. “As a matter of fact, lass, I do. Yew canno’ open it, but yew can kiss it through the plastic. Being a great ‘Worrier’, it helps me stop worrying!” he smiled, looking at Anne. Quiet chuckles could be heard all around the room.

As Mary leaned in to kiss it, her eyes bigger than saucers, Anne rose to take her off to bed.

Oidhche mhath, Mary.

“Oikee vah, Unca Duncan, Madam, Joe. Good night lady..” she called in Rachel’s direction.

Duncan laughed out loud at her mimicking of his Gaelic. “Good night, sweetheart. We’ll have you talking Gaelic before you leave here!”

“Don’t think, Mac, that your wallet is going anywhere until we’ve all seen the wee bit o’ flag! Very entertaining,” Joe chuckled.

Duncan’ feigned outrage. “Entertainment! Did yew hear tha’, lass,” he said to Rachel. “I’ll have yew know, Mr Dawson, that’ yew are besmirchin’ the sacred history o’ me clan.” Taking th opportunity to lock eyes with Methos, he threw at him, “Persian?”

“Give up MacLeod. Ab-e-jow.”

***********
Within ten minutes they were gathered around a large table, ready to further enjoy each other’s company during the meal. Looking over at Duncan, Methos was thankful for the distractions that were helping the Highlander hide the weight of the next day’s burials.

Two hours later all agreed that the Scottish cook was to be kidnapped and imprisoned wherever Duncan and Methos were living. Fortified drinks while sitting back around the fire were the perfect ending to the unusual day. It had been a very satisfying evening, but still in keeping with the underlying sadness of the reason for the gathering.

Duncan was the hub for the entire group, Methos mused at one stage. Rachel filled Duncan in on the latest in clan politics, and the aftermath of the Kanwulf affair, much to Anne’s and Methos’ fascination. “And then I heard a sound, over near where the MacLeod sword is on display. And who should it be but Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.” She laughed. “I’ve never had a legend come to life before, Anne. And don’t ask me why I trusted this stranger wi’ the MacLeod heirloom. But I did. It somehow felt - right.” She looked over at Duncan, the care and tenderness evident for all to see.

Breaking the spell, Rachel further inquired why Duncan had chosen the grave sites he had, next to Iain and Mary MacLeod who had been dead nearly 400 years. “I know that it took quite some paperwork Duncan. It has me intrigued.”

No one else in the room quite knew where to look. All wondered what Duncan would say in reply. Anne knew from Joe that Rachel had been told nothing of Immortals. She remembered envying her ignorance.

Duncan said nothing for some seconds, then looked up at Rachel, raised his eyebrow and cocked his head and smiled. “Because, Rachel MacLeod, it joins three generations of the family. I want my wife and my son to be buried with my parents.” Once again, he raised his eyebrow and kept staring at her.

“But Duncan, I do no' understan’.”

“Anne named Mary after my Mother. I used my Father’s sword to kill Kanwulf. I didn’t lie, Rachel. This is my home. Ian and Mary are my parents. I was born here in 1592. And I am Immortal. And you must never ever speak of this to anyone. Joe can fill you in on the finer details.”

“He can?” spluttered Joe, the first to come out of shock at Duncan’s readyness to reveal his immortality.

“He can!” assured Duncan.

Rachel looked at Duncan, and ran the back of her hand lovingly down his cheek. Closing his eyes he revelled in the total acceptance implied by the gesture. “I believe yew, Duncan MacLeod. And at least now I don’t have ta worry about ya sproutin’ wings and flyin’ awa’.”

“Aye. True lass. That yew do no’. I told yew I was nae angel.“

“I want to hear more Duncan, but not now. I need some peace and quiet to think about wha’ yew hae told me.” Leaning up to him she kissed him full on the lips, pulled back and smiled, and quietly took her farewells.

Duncan took her out to her car, but none heard what was said, if, indeed, anything was. When he returned, Anne was already on her way to her room and everyone made arrangements to meet for breakfast at 8 am. “If Mary let’s us all sleep in that long!” laughed Anne.

“I’m an early starter, Anne. I’ll be up at 6am, doing some exercises in the Conservatory. Send her down to me.”

Assuring him that he didn’t have to twist her arm, she kissed him as tenderly as had Rachel and took her farewell. Turning back into the room, Duncan noticed Joe’s eyes sparkling.

What?” he asked, all innocence.

“Spill it Mac! You two are unbelievable and I know I'll never get it out of Methos. But I’m not going to bed until I find out what happened with you two earlier out there in the garden.” Joe threatened, settling back into the chair for an extended stay.

Methos burst out laughing and Duncan started blushing.

“I thought so! Jesus MacLeod ,you’re an open book. And relax, it ain’t going in your Chronicle!”

Duncan looked at Methos for assistance, always (he reminded himself) a futile gesture at times such as these. Picking up a whisky and a cigar he started to laugh out loud. “Well, let me summarize it by saying that I was leapt upon by a rampaging beast, certain body parts were savagely attacked and left high and dry, and in the throes of said assault I thrashed about so wildly I almost knocked myself out on the brick wall Methos had me pinioned against. Satisfied?”

Joe dissolved in laughter. “Well, he did promise you stars, Mac!”

“Yeah, tell me about it." He reached up to the back of his head and rubbed it tenderly. "Ma heid's still throbbin'. Still,” he looked from Joe to Methos, eyes shining, “I can think of worse ways to lose consciousness.”

Joe questioned Duncan on his willingness to reveal his Immortality and was satisfied with Duncan's telling both him and Methos that he believed that Rachel had guessed long ago that Duncan was not mortal and that he believed that if anyone deserved to know, then she did, having shown her unconditional loyalty so many times.  "I don't know why but it just seems important to me that some member of my clan knows about me.  It's been so long since I've heard from Connor...."  He said no more as a sadness permeated the room and thirty minutes later everyone was readying themselves for bed. Joe found himself wondering just how Duncan was going to conduct the internment. He had insisted that no priest be in attendance, and that he alone would deliver his loved ones into the safe-keeping of his parents.

For Mary’s sake, (although Duncan suspected it was more for her Mother's) and Duncan’s reputation in this local area (“Some things don’t change Methos!”) Duncan and Methos had a bedroom each, separated by a bathroom which could be accessed from either bedroom. A perfect solution, Duncan had insisted. As Duncan finished in the bathroom he returned to his bedroom to find Methos already warmly snuggled under the quilt. Leaning down he came within a few inches of Methos’ Guileless Face. “And don’t even think about starting anything Methos. These walls are make of tissue paper!” he whispered.

“You’ve got tickets on yourself MacLeod. I know that you find this impossible to believe, but I actually have some minutes in the day’s eighteen thousand four hundred where the thought of devouring you isn’t all consuming and/or overpowering. Now get in here and keep me warm.”

The look on Duncan’s face clearly implied disbelief, but he climbed in and immediately pulled the freezing immortal into his arms. “Sure, like in the garden before!”

“That was one of the five minute blocks when you do come into my mind.” Pulling back, Methos noticed that the Highlander was naked. “How you can sleep naked in this climate is beyond me Duncan. Hold me tighter.”

“It’s summer, Methos.”

“It’s still bloody freezing! Tighter.”

Arranging Methos’ head in the crook of his shoulder, Duncan chuckled. “How on earth do you pull out numbers like that? How could you just know how many minutes there are in a day?” Leaning down he kissed Methos’ hair.

“When you’re as old as I am, you’ve had a long time to memorize it, - recent though the invention of minutes are. Now, remembering how many sand grains were in a minute! There was a challenge!” He snuggled back against every part of the Highlander’s body that offered a warm surface. “Now stop rambling and go to sleep.”

“Swahili?”

Pombe. .Give up, MacLeod?”

“No way!”

And as Methos seemingly slipped into a deeper and deeper sleep, in the safest harbour of any he had ever known in his long life, Duncan started to think about what tomorrow would bring. And how he would really feel about saying goodbye again, and watching the soil close over Tessa for the second time.

And in Richie’s case, for the first.

“MacLeod?”

“Mmmmm.....”

Sleep!

“Soon.........”

Now. Remember those tissue thin walls? Go to sleep or I’ll fuck you so loudly you’ll be saying “Bless you” to everyone within a five mile radius.....”

“I’m already asleep.”

“Good.”

Methos was an expert at feigning sleep and had determined that this night, he would be the Gatekeeper for Duncan, a role that Duncan always assumed on their and everyone else’s behalves. Leaning up, he kissed the brooding Scot slowly, and deeply, and thoroughly. “Sleep Highlander, or watch the walls come down.”

Ten minutes later, Methos started to relax as he felt Duncan’s over-taxed body start to get heavier where its limbs secured and entrapped Methos and within another ten minutes both slept soundly, holding on to each other as they always did, to stop from falling into total oblivion and chaos.

 

Go to Part 4


Re-edited 28 December, 2000
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Copyright © Carson Kearns 1998-1999 Disclaimers Contact Carson Kearns:
carsonkearns@hotmail.com

The photographic montage banner is the work of and is owned by Killa
Source for The Fairy Flag. Taken from 'Folk Tales of the Highlands' by Gregor Ian Smith. Presented by Lady Nancy A. MacCorkill, f.s.a.s. of Clans Gunn & MacLeod of Lewis