Killa’s Challenge-Pairing DM and Consone It's Not About Revenge I hate to admit how long this has been a Work in Progress. Computer disasters and Real Life conspired to make me crazy. Then I went to Walkabout… My roommate was a lady named Mischief and she continues to live up to her name. We talked about the story, a little then and a lot on the phone. She poked, and suggested and hunted down assumptions… I hadn't done anything on it for... well, too long. She fussed at me until I got off the dime and started writing and I thank her for that! I think Killa had about given up on ever getting on this, but she was even willing to beta it and I thank her for both the idea and the beta... Of course, any errors are my fault (and if you find them, please let me know.) This is a dark story, and rated R..
“He has to be stopped.” “But why his swords, his style of fighting? That’s crazy, Mac.” There was no response. MacLeod never paused in the controlled moves of the drill. “Remember what you told me, about revenge?” “It’s not about revenge.” “Then what is it about?” MacLeod kept moving, the steel weaving a bright pattern around him. “Stopping Consone.” Richie finally muttered something rude under his breath and left. For another hour, the sword and dagger continued moving faster, his focus only on them. No, not revenge. This wasn’t for Theresa. It was simply about Consone. He has to be stopped. It's not about the past, never about the past. This was for another young girl, Luisa…here and now. That’s all it’s about. Even to himself, he couldn’t admit any other possibility. The chill wind of the Parisian winter faded from his awareness, and he stood again in the late afternoon sunshine with the scent of the lemon trees around him. “Está la hacienda de Don Otavio Consone?” The old man at the gate looked like he’d been standing there forever. Tired eyes looked Duncan MacLeod over carefully. For a moment, Duncan remembered his mother’s expression when he brought something from the brackish edges of the lake for her to see. Finally, deciding that the young man in front of him couldn’t possibly be a threat to his padrón, the man opened the heavy iron gate and motioned the visitor inside. Inside the gate, a large, two story house presented a blank face to the street. The house had the look of something generations old. He followed the old man through a wide, dark wood door. An elegant courtyard was filled with the scent of lemon and Valencia oranges. Roses had been trained to climb around the archways leading into the rest of the house and a fountain made soft music. Duncan smiled; Hamza had enjoyed the fountains in his home, too. His guide pointed to a wide bench in the shelter of the trees. “Por favor, Señor. Se siente usted.” Duncan nodded and put the heavy travel bag down. A young woman in the dark dress of a maid brought him a glass of sherry. He sipped at it, wondering just how old this swordmaster he’d been sent to see really was. The fountain’s gentle sounds lulled him and he was nearly asleep when the approach of another immortal brought him quickly to his feet. Consone was tall, and moved with the arrogance of one born to wealth and power. His clothing was meticulously turned out. Duncan felt disheveled and more like a country bumpkin than he had in 200 years. The appraising look Consone gave him caused him to blush and hastily brush some of the dust from his clothes.“What business do you have here, extranjero?" “I have a letter of introduction, sir, from Monsieur le Baron Robert de Valicourt. He taught me the fine points of the French manner of rapier and recommended that I seek you out and ask that you teach me the skills of the Spanish swordsmen.” The long, assessing look Consone gave MacLeod seemed to lay all of his weaknesses out in front of him. “How old is this letter? I have not seen de Valicourt for many years.” Consone put out an impatient hand for it. He broke the seal with a casual gesture and took his time reading it. Duncan found himself shifting from one foot to the other like a cadet awaiting discipline from a senior officer. Consone refolded the letter and returned it to him. “Do you have clothing suitable for the salle, or are all of your clothes as travel-worn as the threadbare jacket you’re wearing?” “I have what was considered proper in France and Verona, but I would prefer to be guided by you as to the local propriety.” A grudging nod told him he’d gauged the man accurately. “My steward will show you to a room where you will stay while you are studying with me. You will do exactly what I tell you to do in everything. If your skills are acceptable, you will spar with me and anyone else I recommend to you. You will eat and drink as I command and you will study the languages and customs of the Spanish court. Is this clear?” “Yes, Don Otavio. Thank you, sir. I agree to your conditions.” Consone snapped his fingers and a distinguished-looking gentleman responded quickly. “Marco, take Senor MacLeod to the student’s wing. Have Carlos show him to a room and the baths. He can explain our customs.” He turned back to MacLeod. “Dinner is at nine, and it is formal dress. I assume you can meet that requirement. I will see you then.” Marco motioned to MacLeod to follow him and led the way through a long, pillared gallery to another hallway. Several doors opened off of it. The door of the last room was opened and Marco indicated that it was their destination. “My trunks should be along shortly, sir," Duncan said. "If you will let me know when they arrive, I will take care of them.” Marco frowned at him. “I am not a 'Sir,' Señor. I oversee the household for Don Otavio. I have held this position for many years.” He hesitated for a moment, “This is an old fashioned household, and if you will take a word of advice from an old man, the master has very definite ideas of propriety. Guests of the household have servants to wait on them. I will send Carlos to assist you as he ordered, and when your trunks do arrive, he will see that your things are brought to you, Señor.” MacLeod took a deep breath. “Thank you, Marco. I will do my best to follow the house custom. Please tell me if I give offense; it is not intentional, I assure you. Is there anything else I should know?” He nodded. “Watch everything he does. He has reasons for everything. If you can understand them, you will be safer. Be careful.” Without another word, he stalked away, and Duncan was left to inspect his new home and wonder just what he’d let himself in for.The room was not too large. Ten strides would take him all the way across. There was a heavy carved armoire next to the bed and a washstand next to the window. He opened the casement and the scent of rosemary and thyme filled the room from the kitchen garden. A tentative knock at the door announced one of the maids. Behind her came two young men with his travel trunks and another man who seemed to be in charge.“Señor MacLeod, I am Carlos. I will be seeing to your needs while you are here. If you will come with me, I will show you to the baths. Would you prefer to shave there or after you return to your room?” “What is the custom here in Madrid?” The other man smiled at him. “The baths would be more comfortable.” He looked at MacLeod’s hair. “I can send for the barber…” “Excellent. Thank you.” Two hours later, he returned to his room to find his trunks had been unpacked and his best suit was laid out for him. The mirror showed a distinct improvement in his appearance. His hair had been washed and trimmed, as had both his beard and mustache. He hung his dressing gown in the armoire and dressed. His boots had been polished and with one final look in the mirror, he settled in the armchair to look out at the stars. Carlos tapped the door, “Dinner is served, Señor MacLeod. The most important guest this evening is Don Diego Alvarez y Madera, who is Don Otavio’s partner in the largest bank in Madrid. He will be accompanied by his daughter Theresa and her dueña.” A little apprehensive, MacLeod followed him to the large elegant dining room. He was introduced as Consone’s new student, a visitor to Madrid. The service was extremely formal and Duncan was very glad he’d stayed with Robert and Gina so often. He’d learned different customs as well from Hideo Koto. The younger MacLeod had been a stranger to napkins and fine wines. The meal was wonderful, he was certain of that, but he concentrated on the mechanics of the tableware and listened intently to the conversation of the two men. He was careful to comment sparingly and only on things he had observed since his arrival in Spain. Don Diego’s daughter was a pretty young woman, with
wonderful The conversation went on through brandy and cigars. The moon was down and the servants were dozing out of sight of the master before the banker and his party left. Carlos was at his elbow and seemed pleased to find that his charge was sober. MacLeod let himself truly relax for the first time in hours. “Thank you for your help this evening, Carlos. Can you tell me what Don Otavio may expect of me in the morning?” “Mornings are spent at his bank, then to the sallé for sword practice. He will expect you to join him there promptly at eleven o’clock. Luncheon will be at one. Siesta follows that. He often returns to the bank or goes to a small gentlemen’s club before returning here to change for dinner.”Carlos pointed to the chair. “You will find suitable clothing laid out for you, Señor, do not worry. You handle yourself well. If you are as good with the sword…” “Carlos, how is it that Don Diego’s daughter is still at home? She’s a pretty girl. I would expect that some one would have asked for her hand before this.” Carlos tried not to laugh, “She…Her father allowed
her a great deal of
freedom and she has been educated by Jesuit priests instead of the
usual
convent school. It is thought that even with a considerable dowry,
she is… “Formidable…She seems intelligent and pretty.” “It is not for me to say, señor.” Carlos bowed and left. Duncan undressed, turned down the lamp, and fell quickly asleep with Theresa's laugh and bright eyes to keep him company. The next few weeks were busy. Consone put him through his paces to see what he knew, then began teaching him the traditions of the Mysterious Circle .He found the whole idea of staying within sword’s reach of an opponent, was both frightening and fascinating. The skeletal drawings on the floor of the salle were a grim statement of the outcome, if he failed to learn to Consone’s satisfaction.The rapier and main gauche were familiar, but the confines of the Circle worked against his usual style of fighting. He gritted his teeth and worked even harder to keep Consone’s blade away from vital organs, like his head. His shirts needed mending on a regular basis and his boots were getting worn as well. One afternoon, Duncan asked Carlos to recommend a good boot-maker. He thought for a moment, “If you don’t object to gypsies, there’s a good one in the small encampment near the river.” “I’ve known them in the past, traveled with them from time to time… horsemen and metalworkers. Good people,” Duncan grinned. “You would be wise not to speak of this to Don Otavio. He does object to them. They are only permitted to stay for short periods, and do not come into the city.” Carlos brought a pair of horses around and they headed outside the city. Duncan was startled to see a familiar caravan parked beneath an old oak. He wasn’t really surprised to see Irena and Jacob Galiti come running to meet him. “Duncan! You turn up in the strangest places!”
Duncan turned to Carlos, “Can you make my excuses? These are some of the people I traveled with a few years ago. I’d like to spend the evening with them.” “I will do what I can, señor, but…” “I have an idea, MacLeod," Jacob turned to his wife, "Magdalena
was afraid "Flamenco? What are you talking about, Jacob?" Irena laughed and ran off. Jacob motioned to MacLeod, "Sit, the king of this tribe is married to one of the best dancers I’ve ever met. She’s looking for a partner for an appearance at one of the cafés. Would that be an acceptable excuse?” Carlos smiled, “He will have to demonstrate his facility eventually. Your excuse might be that Don Otavio insists that his students should learn Spanish customs. Perhaps he would agree that the flamenco is a part of that. It seems to me it is one of those things that a well-traveled gentleman should know.” Duncan looked at Jacob like he'd lost his mind. "And you really think I can learn to dance well enough that I won't make a fool of myself in time for a performance? You're demented." "You forget, I've seen you demonstrate Russian steps." MacLeod shook his head, "I don't... Are you sure she'll be willing?" "We shall see, are you?" Carlos left to return to the villa and Jacob settled him with a glass of wine and questions as to what he’d been doing. A few minutes later, an elegant woman with a small fortune in gold at her throat and waist, followed Irena into the firelight. "Madame Magdalena, this is our friend, Duncan MacLeod," said Irena. Duncan stood and bowed, "I am honored to meet you, Madame." “Stand up. Turn around.” She looked Duncan up
and down as though deciding on a new horse. For a brief moment, Duncan
wondered wryly if the woman would demand “He knows a number of the court dances from France, Magdalene. He is learning the sword from Don Otavio Consone…that should reassure you.” “That is not reassuring, not at all, Jacob. Consone is a very dangerous man. His family has a dark reputation. Too many brides in the family die before their time.” She turned to Duncan. “Are you willing to work as hard at the dance as you do with the sword?” “Yes, Señora, I will try to make you proud of me.” She made a rude noise. “You will come here after the sun goes down. Jacob will play for us. Then, depending on how teachable you seem to be, I will decide whether to continue teaching you or to chase you from the camp.” She stood and Jacob and Duncan stood as well. “At least you have manners. Goodnight.” With a flounce of her skirts, Magdalena was gone and Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. “There is no better teacher, MacLeod, but she is right about Consone's reputation.” Duncan looked at Jacob, “He’s an Immortal. I know he’s strict with his students, but could this just be a rumor?” Jacob was unsure, “There have been stories… Otavio returned to Spain from Paris twelve years ago. His 'grandfather' left Madrid after a fight with his bride's family. A year or two later the family was told that she died in childbirth.” “Are you sure?” “MacLeod, it’s in my best interest to know all the local rumors. He, or his 'family’, are influential people.” Jacob leaned back against the oak tree. “This caravan comes to Madrid once a year, on the way to the horse fairs in Andalusia. We tell fortunes, shoe horses, make boots… and stay out of sight of grandees like Consone.” MacLeod looked thoughtful. “De Valicourt gave me a letter of introduction to him, but he admitted he hadn’t talked to him in quite a while. All we discussed was Consone’s skills with the Mysterious Circle.” “Oh, yes. He’s fought a dozen duels in the Circle, most of them mortals… But, Duncan, at least four Immortals have arrived in Madrid and 'left' in the middle of the night.” Duncan sipped at his wine. “Are you and Irena safe?” Jacob’s grin was infectious. “I doubt he even knows we’re here. He’d have no need of our services and one of the mortals goes into the city for anything we might need.” Irena had been silent, but now she came over to her husband. “We don’t have problems here, Duncan. We don’t stay long enough to worry anyone. We rest the horses for a few days, then leave. Magdalena danced here a few years ago. They want her to entertain again, but her partner, Rosario got a letter from his family in Tuscany. His father has chosen a wife for him so he must give up this foolishness and return to Italy.” Duncan laughed, “So that’s why you were so sure she would be willing to teach me.” “I was very glad to see you, I’ll admit. She would have danced ‘Solaris’ but the Biale Grande is really her specialty and for that, she needs a partner.” “I’ll do my best. Now, I wanted to have a pair of boots made. Will they do for the dance?” Jacob rolled his eyes and groaned,“I think you can afford a second pair, my friend.” Irena chimed in, “Always the Scot, Duncan. You need to give up that overly thrifty way of looking at the world.” “We’ll work on him, Irena. Duncan, we’ll be in the province for almost a month after we leave here. You can join us if you like.” “I agreed to study with Consone until he feels I will be a credit to my teacher. And… I’ve met an intriguing young woman.” “And you promised to be my second husband, Duncan. I’m devastated!” Irena said, laughing. Duncan patted her hand, and looked at Jacob, “But you have your first one, still. I can not share you, lovely Irena.” Jacob laughed, “You see, Irena, he is a man of principal! At any rate, Duncan, we’ll see you well trained and well shod before we leave.” “Magdalena and Alberto will know where we are. If you change your mind…” That evening, Carlos rode back to the encampment with MacLeod and
watched Alberto, the boot maker took Duncan’s measurements and they agreed on a price for two pair of boots, one serviceable, one of more formal design for dancing. Carlos took Duncan aside. “It would perhaps be a little safer for us if Madame Magdalena could work with you in the mornings, while the master is at the bank. It is less likely that he will find out about your lessons .” Magdalena shuddered, “By all means. I do not trust the man. Mornings, then, Duncan. Be ready to work, and work hard.” Duncan looked at Carlos, “I doubt it will make a difference. He has Marco to report back to him.” Duncan and Carlos spent many of their mornings for the next few weeks in the company of Magdalena and her musicians. At first, she found fault with everything he did, his clothing, his manners and speech. He had to remind himself constantly that his two mentors were hard on him because they wanted him to be the best. It wasn’t always easy to remember that with Consone either. He was one of the most arrogant men Duncan had ever met. In the sallé, though, that arrogance was justified. Duncan watched every move Don Otavio made and practiced by himself in the garden for hours. Carlos always warned him when Consone was expecting important visitors. His table had an excellent reputation and his banking connections were impeccable. Consone had created a careful history each time he returned to Spain and his ties with the older families were handled with great care. All of his acquaintances knew that he traveled extensively. Only a few of them had family members old enough to remember his 'grandfather'. There was one portrait of the grandfather, in the parlor, painted in Paris and Consone had carefully aged himself for that sitting. Almost in spite of himself, Duncan was learning more than swordplay from Consone. He was seeing ways to maintain an identity, about living for the long term as well as protecting his identity as an Immortal. The lessons, the Circle and the dance, continued for many weeks. Their movements seemed to merge in Duncan’s mind. Theresa accompanied her father to dinner several times at the Consone hacienda. They talked, with her dueña, Tireta, always close by. Duncan was intrigued by her. She was interested in everything and as time passed, quick to express opinions whether they agreed with her father's or not. Don Diego just smiled, "She is very like her mother and I could refuse her nothing". Duncan usually watched Consone’s reactions, but with Theresa hanging on his every word, he was not really paying much attention and failed to see his growing annoyance. “Otavio told my father that you have lived in Paris. What is the city like?” “Oh, Theresa, there are so many things I could show you… “, he paused, “Forgive me, I shouldn’t…” "Shouldn’t what, Duncan? I am not angry.”Her smile was the only thing he could see and her voice the only one he wanted to hear. They talked quietly about Paris and his Highland homeland. She told him about her family; the books she’d read and the fact that her father felt is was time for her to marry. He looked over at her dueña before responding. “Theresa, there will be time, but I must finish what I started here before I can make other plans. Please understand…” She smiled back, “I would love to see these places. It will be our secret, for now.”. The next afternoon, Consone was particularly brutal with his lessons. “You are still clumsy, extranjero. I hope your dancing is better than your swordplay. I begin to think you should be spending your time practicing instead of dancing with the gypsies.”Duncan tried not to react . Consone’s smile was feral, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out where you’ve been spending your mornings?” Duncan dressed, not wanting his annoyance to show, but his pride had been abused more than enough for one day. “Perhaps Magdalena and I can demonstrate what I've learned for you and Don Diego this evening.” “Really? Well. Watching you attempt flamenco should prove entertaining, at least. You will be ready?” “Yes, Don Otavio, I think we may surprise you.” The evening was all Duncan could have wished for. Magdalena nodded approval as they completed the dance and the reaction from their audience was gratifying. Don Diego was delighted and extremely flattering in his appraisal. Consone tried to make light of the impression they’d made but it was clear that everyone had enjoyed it. None of them had noticed Theresa sitting with her dueña until she came running up to Duncan, her eyes shining with excitement. If he'd had been paying attention to anything but Theresa, the expression on Consone's face might have been a warning. She began talking, and Duncan quickly turned to the attention to Tia 'Rita and gently teased her, "I dance to the woman of experience!" The poor dueña was terribly flustered. Duncan offered to escort her home with Theresa as her chaperone and the three of them walked back to her home. Tia ‘Rita stayed back to give them a little privacy, and Duncan promised to talk to her father the next day. Duncan walked on air all the way back to the Consone hacienda. The next day in the sallé, Consone pulled out all the stops. Duncan held his own until Consone sliced into his lung with the dagger. Consone held the dagger in place. "You're a good student, but you have much to learn." Duncan's voice was tight with pain. "That wasn't necessary." The other students were oblivious to the quiet lesson. Consone forced the thin blade in deeper, "Are you the master now?" "No." With one more vicious twist, Consone pulled the dagger from Duncan's torso. "You must be relentless. If this were a fight to the death, would you let a dagger in the ribs stop you?" Duncan pressed his hand against the wound to keep the healing hidden. "No, I would not." “The lesson is over for today,” said Consone, looking rather pleased . Duncan followed, finally resorting to taking hold of the glove with his teeth to get it off. Consone turned. "The art of the sword fight lies not only in winning, it lies in not losing. The champion is the man who fights until the final stroke." They settled into the steam room as usual to clean up after the lesson. Consone, relaxing on one of the benches, said, “You have good instincts. If I had another year, I could make a real swordsman of you.” Duncan looked over at the other man. "I'm thinking of staying in Madrid a little longer." "Are you? I thought you had a little too much of the gypsy in you?" "Theresa wants me to propose marriage." Consone’s laugh had very little humor in it. "A young woman of quality does not discuss such things." "This one does. I know marriage isn't an easy thing for any of us. How long can we go before someone notices that we're not getting any older?" Now, Consone’s voice grew cold. "Perhaps you fail to understand our custom." Heedlessly, Duncan went on. "I know, I know. We'll have to travel. She'll have to give up everything that she loves. She wants me to . . . give her children, I, I can't give her those." Consone straightened up. "Theresa is not for you. She is of noble blood." Duncan laughed and slapped his shoulder. "I'm the son of a clan chieftain." "You are the son of a barbarian. You are a foreigner, an extranjero. No. No, you forget her, my friend. She is not for you. I have already spoken to her father." Duncan said, quietly, “Perhaps you should have spoken to the lady first." "She will do as her father instructs." "You would ask her to deny her heart?" "Theresa deserves a gentleman!” He glared at MacLeod. “And if she does not love me now, one day, she will." Softly, "You're wrong, Consone. You're so wrong." Consone stood. "You are finished in Madrid. Leave tomorrow. Or you will die. The choice is yours."Consone was silent as he dressed. The anger seemed to grow in him but his voice was icy, “Get out of town, MacLeod. By tomorrow, all the doors I opened to you will be slammed shut in your face.” “If you no longer wish to teach me, I will leave, but if Theresa wants to be my wife, I will marry her.” Consone came at him, fists ready to pound him into oblivion, then stopped cold. “You are a barbarian. I will not soil my hands on you. Leave. If I see you again, I will cut you down where you stand.” Consone stormed out the door. Duncan was seething. This arrogant bastard was not going to dictate to him. He finished dressing. He would ask Carlos to bring his trunks out to the gypsy camp. They often had a wagon to spare and Theresa and her dueña could ride there. There were roads to Toledo and he knew of a sword smith there who would help them get to Paris. Darius would be delighted to see them married. Carlos was waiting for him. “I have everything. It is not safe for you to go anywhere near the hacienda. He is in a raging temper. He gave me orders to throw everything of yours into the city drains but I was able to get your trunks out after he left.” “Where did he go?” “I don’t really know. I must return before someone notices, Señor. He is very angry… You must leave.” Carlos handed Duncan his katana. “He has killed before, Señor MacLeod. People have disappeared.” “And the authorities do nothing?” “Who can stop him? All of the people who could do something are friends of his, old money and bloodlines. They would not take the word of a servant against one of their own.” “I see. Go Carlos. I will leave, but I have something I must do first.”Carlos shrugged. “I have cautioned you. You are good with a sword, but he is a master. You have been good to me, Señor. I thank you.”They shook hands, and Carlos left, moving quickly into the shelter of the buildings where he was hidden from hostile eyes. There was only one small cart available at the inn. Duncan had to buy the horse, an older mare with barely any hair in her mane and tail. He hitched her to the cart and put his trunks into it. Time was precious now. He made the mare move as quickly as her tired old bones would travel. Jacob was moving, sword in hand, when he saw the face of his friend.“Mac?" He looked at the horse and made a face, "What in the world? If I’d known you needed a horse, you could have bought one of ours.” He re-sheathed the sword and came over to take the horse's reins. “Something wrong?” “Consone. I’m no longer his student.” “Then you are in danger, Duncan. We can leave in about an hour. Come inside and Irena can give you something to eat while I pack up our gear. Everything else is ready. Magdalena will wait for us at the horse fair, but we need to hurry. Consone is likely to come after us if he suspects us of helping you.” Duncan accepted a cup of wine and some bread and cheese, but then put them down, “Irena, I have to go to Theresa.” “Are you crazy, Duncan? You’ve only known her a few months.”“I love her, Irena. She is intelligent and caring…” “And does she know what you are?”He didn’t answer. He went out to the cart and opened one of the chests. He took the sword and dagger Consone had given him. If he had to defend himself… He borrowed one of Jacob’s horses and headed back to Madrid, to Theresa’s home. She was sitting in the garden, pale as the stone fountain beside her. She didn’t move as he hurried over to her. “Theresa, we have to go. Consone…” Consone strolled into the garden as though he already owned it. “Her father agrees that we are well matched. The bans will be posted Sunday.” Theresa said nothing. "I warned you to leave town." Furious, Consone drew his sword and attacked. He scored first blood and Theresa cried out, “If you kill him, I’ll be in a convent by nightfall!" Consone took Theresa’s arm and led her back inside. MacLeod was left, bleeding from half a dozen wounds. He struggled to his feet and wrapped himself in his cloak to hide the lightning that healed him. The quiet voice that called so softly was familiar.“Tireta?” “You shouldn’t be here, but she said you would come. She loves you, Sr. MacLeod. And she will risk everything to be with you. You must go to the back of the stables. I will bring her to you and you must take her away quickly before anyone knows. I will go back to her room and lock the doors.” “But Tireta, he will blame you.” “No, I have problems sleeping so our apothecary made something to help me. I will be asleep and can honestly say that I know nothing about her whereabouts.” He smiled at the small woman. “You are a brave lady and I love you for it. I will do as you say.” He saddled the mare Tireta suggested. Then, he took it and the one he’d borrowed from Jacob to the back of the stables. There was nothing else he could do until she came to him. The hours seemed to crawl by as he waited with only the restless horses for company. Finally there was a whisper, “Duncan?” “I’m here, Theresa. Come, we’ll leave at once.”She came to his arms and they kissed, long and sweet, then Duncan’s good sense took over. Theresa had a small jewelry case with her, and Duncan fastened it behind her saddle. “These are mine, Duncan, from my mother. I cannot bring anything else as a dowry…”, “You need none, Theresa, I have money in Paris. It won’t take long for you to love the city.” Then, taking his directions from the stars, he led them to the road his gypsy friends had taken earlier. They rode quietly through the night, Duncan staying close to guard her. Suddenly, her horse pulled up lame. He stopped and loosely tied the horses to a nearby tree. Theresa’s horse had picked up a stone in the soft frog of her hoof. Duncan was able to remove the stone, but in the dark, there wasn’t much else he could do . Cautioning Theresa to stay still, he moved toward the hills. From earlier travels, he knew that there were caves in some of the hills nearby. He could make Theresa comfortable for the night and care for the horse in the morning. The moon was rising when he got back to his lady. They walked the horses to shelter by the small spring, unsaddled them and brought the gear inside, and Duncan brought wood in to build a small fire. “We’ll keep it hidden. The water will help and I think her hoof will be all right in a day or two. Jacob will wait," he smiled, "He'll want his horse back, and he might come looking for us.”He busied himself with the fire and soon a welcome warmth spread through the cave. “Who is he, Duncan?” ”Jacob? He’s an old friend. You’ll like them.” “I’ve never met gypsies.” “It will be all right, Theresa.” Duncan opened the saddlebags to find a bottle of wine, bread, some dried meat and cheese. "This isn't fancy. I'll do better tomorrow. He folded his cloak to make a place for her to rest near the fire. They ate, the excitement of the day fading with the warmth of the fire and the wine. “Please lie down, dear one. I’ll check your horse in the morning. If need be, you can ride in front of me and we’ll lead her.” “Yes… I think I’ll like that, like one of those silly princesses in a fairy tale.” She laughed, and snuggled next to him, one arm possessively around his waist. He gently draped her cloak over her. Within minutes, both of them were sleeping in spite of the odd accommodations. The sound of horses woke them. Then a man’s voice called, “We’ve found them, Señor.” Duncan was on his feet, putting Theresa behind him, when Consone, Marco and two more of his men entered the cave. “Well, extranjero, could you find no better place to stop for the night?" Consone looked around the cave. “As I thought all along, MacLeod. You are a barbarian.” He motioned to Marco and the other servant to hold on to Duncan. The other man waited for further instructions.“Come here, Theresa. He carried you away, didn’t he my dear. You must have been confused. Perhaps you drank some of that sleeping potion your dueña uses. Come here, and we will say no more about it.” “No! I do not love you.” “That is irrelevant. Your father has given his consent.” “Leave her alone, Consone. She doesn’t want to marry you!” “Gag him.”Duncan fought, but Consone’s men looped a rope around his neck and choked him into submission. Then Marco stuffed a bandana into his mouth securing it with another loop of the rope. Theresa screamed and tried to go to Duncan, but Consone took hold of her arm and laughed as she tried to break away from him.“You have put me to a great deal of trouble, the two of you. I am willing to be magnanimous, Theresa. But even my generosity has limits.” Duncan was struggling again, trying to break free. Suddenly, Consone practically threw Theresa into the arms of the other servant, “Take her outside and tie her to one of the trees.” He motioned to the other men, “Get him to another tree. Tie him spread eagled between two of them, then get down to the carriage and wait for me.” Theresa was sobbing now. Never, in her entire life had she been handled roughly. Now the man she had always respected as her father’s friend was revealed as a monster.As his men left to carry out his orders, he kicked the small fire apart and walked out of the cave and down hill to see how well his orders had been carried out. The moonlight turned everything into stark black and white around MacLeod. He heard Consone’s footsteps and turned to face him. Theresa called, “Duncan? Where are you?” “I’m afraid he can’t respond Theresa. We have something to discuss. When we have finished our discussion, you and I will return to my home. Your dueña will stay with you to maintain the proper appearances and we will be married with all due ceremony.”“I will never marry you! You are a beast, and I will tell my father everything!” “Ah, but you will marry me and you will say nothing to your father or I will present you with your lover’s head. Do you understand?” The only answer was another soft sob. Satisfied, Consone walked over to his horse and retrieved a well-used bullwhip. He let the whip uncoil behind him as he yanked the gag from MacLeod’s mouth. “You need to be taught a lesson. Theresa will promise to follow my orders, or I will kill you right here.” “Give me my sword, Consone. If I win, she comes with
me.” A
blow from the butt of the whip broke his jaw and in the dim light he
could see Consone draw the lash back for a strike . Consone was an
artist with the whip. Every stroke cut at MacLeod’s Slowly, systematically, Consone cut the skin of MacLeod’s back to inch- wide ribbons. Blood trickled down his body, black in the moonlight. Stopping for a moment, Consone took a silk kerchief and tied it around Theresa’s eyes. “I don’t want to upset the gentle Theresa more than necessary.” He came back to whisper, “And we mustn’t let her see you heal. I will make you pay for your insolence and still be certain of her silence.” Now Consone removed his coat and tie. The whip curled around
his victim’s Healing came more slowly and Duncan was dizzy from the loss of blood.
The blue The heavy butt of the whip left deep bruises and Duncan sagged against the ropes. “You are worthless, MacLeod. I will not soil my blade on you. You are simply a nameless outlander.” Duncan could barely see as Consone walked over to Theresa. “You will obey me in all things, Theresa. If you will promise that, I will let him live.” She bowed her head. “I promise. Otavio, please let him go.” "I will take you to the carriage. Your dueña is waiting." Duncan could hear footsteps going away. Then Consone returned, carrying one of the lanterns from the carriage. Marco was with him, leading his horse. "Excellent, Start back to Madrid. I’ll follow when I’m through here.” Duncan was trying to break the ropes that held him and Consone struck
him in the face again with the butt of the whip. Blood ran from his
nose and one badly cut cheek. His attacker tied the lantern to a limb
of the tree. Some of the whale oil Now he loosed the whip again. MacLeod shivered in the chill night winds. He still couldn’t do anything but moan as his shattered jaw healed. The whip slashed through skin already dark with congealed blood. It laid open his back and shoulders, then the heavy butt slammed into the cuts. Healing slowed as the severity of the injuries grew. Consone took a long pull at the cigar. The ash fell off and the tip glowed like a malignant red eye as he brought it up for MacLeod to see. He burned Duncan's face, small, vicious wounds that stung, and then became a deep ache. Growing bored with that, he walked around to Duncan’s back and amused himself by lighting the spilled oil and watching it catch the torn remains of Duncan's shirt. The flames ran along his shriveling skin. Duncan, his jaw now healed, bit down on his lip to keep from crying out. He refused to give Consone any satisfaction. By lantern light, Consone smile was frightening. “You sought to rob me of my wife. There are punishments for such a deed and I'm sure I can devise a fitting revenge.” Consone took off his shirt and folded it neatly. He laid it on his jacket and unfastened his belt, adding it to the other clothing. MacLeod watched with growing unease as Consone finished and picked up the whip again. “You will live, MacLeod. I promised Theresa that much. But you need a lesson in humility. You overreached yourself in thinking of yourself as my equal. I will remind you of your status: you have none.” Consone picked up the lantern and walked around Duncan stopping to stroke the slowly healing cuts with the bloody whip. Then he put out the lantern. "You will never know what my target will be..." Duncan could hear the whisper of the lash as Consone drew it back. First it cut across his legs, then higher, just missing his genitals. Then the lash struck hard across them and the pain blinded him. Again, Consone directed the whip, making deep slices into his chest, cutting across his nipples and back to his groin. Duncan tried to keep silent, but the pain was fierce . Consone walked around behind him, the whip whistling around his back. “Blood is the payment, extranjero. But there will not
be enough blood to Then, to his horror, he could feel himself growing hard, responding to the whip pressing into the pleasure point deep within him. Duncan's body seemed to have no conscious will to resist. In spite of the pain in his groin, his body pressed back, seeking easement of the growing arousal. Suddenly Consone discarded the whip. “Now you will understand that I am the power here. You are nothing, I am the master.” Duncan tried to pull away, but the ropes had been tied too tightly and Consone slammed into him, blood easing the way. His pain had roused Consone. He knew the man well enough now to guess that another's pain always did. Consone was heavily built and his strength had been polished by many years of swordplay. He pounded into Duncan and the pain spiraled, the arm across his throat cutting off his air. Finally, Consone climaxed and pulled out, making a pleased sound as Duncan slumped to the full extent allowed by the robes He took Duncan's shredded shirt to clean himself. “I must get back to Madrid, MacLeod, and my bride to be. Rest assured that if I ever see you again, you will die, most permanently.” Consone finished dressing and retrieved his whip. Once more, the butt of the whip slammed into Duncan's face, breaking a cheekbone and blinding him. Consone, loosened the rope, “I did promise Theresa that I would not kill you, after all. Never return to Madrid, MacLeod, or you will find this was just a taste of pain.” Consone then mounted his horse and rode away. Duncan's knees hit the ground as the rope parted. He lay still, his vision still distorted by Consone’s blows. He never knew how long he lay there in the darkness, but finally his sight returned and he was able to untangle himself from the ropes. It was raining and he opened his mouth to take it in. There wasn’t enough left of his clothing to cover him decently and he refused to even touch the remains of the blood-stained shirt. At last he was able to get to his feet, and slowly made his way to the little spring near the cave.He washed himself, scrubbing to make sure no sign of his degradation remained. He moved upstream a bit and drank deeply. The loss of blood had made him thirsty. He needed to find some way to cover himself. The morning winds
were up, driving the rain and his wet skin chilled quickly.The cave
was a welcome haven. He gathered the scattered wood and started a
small fire to warm himself. The cloak he’d used as a bed for Theresa
and the boots he’d taken off for the night were still there.
Under the cloak was the small jewelry box Theresa had brought with
her. He He was terribly hungry. A little of the bread, dried meat
and wine was left from the meal he'd shared with Theresa. He wrapped
himself in the cloak and ate what he could, knowing that his body
needed it to heal completely. He needed rest, too. He also needed
to decide how to get Consone away from his cronies in Madrid so he
could challenge him. Finally, he stopped shivering and in spite of
the bone-deep "What the hell happened to you? Irena insisted I try to find you. She was certain something was wrong, and I can see she was right. You got in a fight? ” The last thing in the world he wanted was Jacob going after Consone. His friend was a firm believer in an ‘eye for an eye’. He must never know what had really happened. “Theresa’s father sent some men after us. They stripped me, left me for dead and took her back to her father.” “It’s just as well, my friend. You would have had Consone and his friends after you. You’ll come with us, tease Irena, and before you know it, you’ll be in love again.” Duncan doubted that. The love he felt for Theresa was too powerful to simply fade away. But, he would have to leave, now. He couldn’t involve his friends in this. It would wait. He would bide his time. If Consone continued to live, they would meet again. Duncan MacLeod wiped down the sword and dagger carefully. Would he
be able He dressed slowly. Every item was chosen to give him ease of movement.
From So many years… be honest with yourself, Duncan MacLeod.
Yes, it is for The End Comments, Virtual Brandy and an occasional rosebud,appreciated. |
“Me? I thought you two were wandering around the south of France.
I certainly didn’t expect to see you here!” It took time
to untangle himself from Irena and let them know why he’d come
out to the camp. He was immediately invited to stay for dinner and
meet the rest of the travelers.