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Five children, the youngest six years old and the oldest fourteen, peered around seats or propped their chins on their hands as they listened intently to the dark-haired woman in the center seat.  Everyone else might be on a plane over the Atlantic, but they were sitting on a field of battle near Camelot watching the great Sir Lancelot as he knighted Beaumains, King Arthur's nephew, who had just proven his skill at arms by defeating the ill-mannered Sir Kay.

"And that is the tale of how Gareth Beaumains became Sir Gareth of the Round Table."  Aidan sipped her water gratefully, throat parched from hours of story-telling.  The very wide-awake children around her promptly burst into questions.

"But if he was this big knight why did he have to wash dishes?  He shouldn't have been in a kitchen taking orders like that!"  Brett complained.

Aidan smiled at that complaint.  Some questions were definitely universal.  "Because he wanted to prove himself.  No one wants a warrior who can't follow orders.  Kay was acting the bully, there is no doubt, making Gareth do scutwork in the kitchens instead of having him honing his skills on the fighting field.  But Gareth proved he was willing to do whatever was needed, and whatever he had to do.  That can be much more important to a ruler than simply being good with a sword."

Beth looked openly skeptical.  "I thought they just wanted people who can fight."

"What's more useful?  A hothead with a sword who can do nothing except fight where and when he's told to fight?  Or a skilled, sensible helper who can fight, but can also be trusted to guard or build without needing a nursemaid to tell him what to do?"

"Aidan, I don't get it," said Knox.  For a six-year old he had been remarkably well behaved, listening intently and not fussing except when he needed to use the restroom.  Aidan had been resisting the temptation to steal him away with her when she got off  the plane.

"Try this question, then, acushla.  If you know your parents are going to hire a baby-sitter, do you want someone who'll come over, watch TV, and tuck you into bed at exactly 8:30?  Or would you rather have someone who'll help you finish your homework, teach you how to play card games, and maybe let you stay up an extra fifteen minutes if your room's clean?"

She watched comprehension dawn and grinned through her fatigue.  Kids could be such fun, although it was more fun when they weren't hers and she could hand them back to their parents.  Knox was adorable, but small children and students didn't mix, not with all the swords and daggers and other unhealthy things Aidan kept around her house and constantly used.

Speaking of handing them back, though, she thought gratefully, seeing the stewardess coming.

"All right, everyone, we're going to start descending in about fifteen minutes.  Time to get back to your seats and get your things together.  Tell Aidan thank you."  Kathy handed the young woman another bottle of mineral water and said, "If you can finish that in the next ten minutes, I'll collect it on my way back."

Aidan reached into her pocket for cash and the stewardess waved the money away.  "That's a thank you from me and Meredith.  We don't usually have five unescorted kids on a flight this long; you've been a God-send."

"Oh, not a problem, Kathy.  I enjoyed having an audience so good.  Brett, would you give Knox a hand in the restroom?  Beth, Michelle, Lynn, you'll want to use the restroom yourselves.  I promise, Customs takes long enough that you'll be grateful you did."

Knox leaned over and hugged her hard.  "Thank you for telling us about Robin Hood and King Arthur."

Aidan hugged him back, breathing in the sweet scent of clean hair and young child.  "Oh, you're welcome, Knox.  Thank you for keeping me company.  I hate long flights and I can never sleep on them."

After all the kids had headed down the aisle, chattering cheerfully about who was better, Gareth or Lancelot, Aidan sighed and drained the mineral water.  This was definitely worth remembering.  Saying she loathed flying was a bit like saying the ocean was damp, but five energetic minds had distracted her from the flight very nicely indeed.

Strong hands rubbed hard at eyes blurring with fatigue.  Someday, somehow, she would get even with Connor MacLeod for this.  He knew she couldn't sleep on planes.  He knew she had an eight hour flight from New York to London.  So what did the stubborn Scot do on her one-night layover between the Seacouver-New York and New York-London legs?  The night she had expected to use to catch up on gossip and let some of the jet-whine leach out of her bones and into a comfortable mattress in his guest bedroom?  Took her dancing all night, would not take no for an answer, and gleefully told her that if she was tired enough, she'd sleep.  Aidan moaned softly at the mere thought of blissful sleep.

Did no other immortal feel this?  The vibration of the engines rattled through the metal of the plane, the sound jarring along the edges of her consciousness like nails down a blackboard.  Prop planes weren't nearly as bad as jets, but they weren't good.  Maybe she'd try the Concorde sometime; even if it was equally bad, it would at least be over more quickly.

It should be coming up on eight p.m. in England; she'd been up for thirty-one hours now.  Not too bad, Goddess knew she'd stayed up four days straight before at need.  But enough was enough; her flight to Paris wasn't until tomorrow morning.  She had deliberately set up her trip this way, against the advice of the travel agent.  A night's layover in New York to see Connor, then another night's layover in London so that she'd be passable company when she met up with her two lovers in Paris.  Thinking of a nice soft bed in a warm hotel room made the inevitable delay in Customs over her 'antique weapons' much more bearable.

 "All your papers look to be in order then.  Going to be in England long?"  The clerk sounded frankly bored.  Only halfway through an eight-hour shift, not even a person with a sword seemed interesting.  After all, she was the eighth one through tonight, for God's sake.

"Just overnight.  I have a flight out to Paris tomorrow," Aidan answered patiently.

"Do you want me to check this through for you then?"

"No, thank you.  I'm being held personally responsible for the delivery," indeed I am, it's my head that would pay if I lost my blade! "so I'll be keeping them with my person."

The older woman manning that Custom's station gave her a suddenly sympathetic look.  "Ouch, ducks, they'd take a good many weeks' pay to cover, wouldn't they?  Doesn't your museum have insurance?"

Aidan blinked.  "Museum?  I'm just the courier for an antiques dealer."

"Oh, really?  We have some convention going on, there've been seven men through with swords and daggers tonight.  One brought a really wicked snake-like thing with him, called it a flamberge."  The woman stamped Aidan's passport without noticing the intent focus on her face.

"Really?  Sounds interesting.  Pity I'm going to miss it."  Aidan grimly hoped there really was such an event.  It sounded more like a group of immortals traveling together.  On the other hand, she reminded herself, it's rare for so many of us to move around together.  Most immortals are paranoid from reason and long experience.

She hefted her carry-on bag in one hand and slung it over her back.  Even for something as contained and controlled as a flight, Aidan hated to let her swords get away from her.  Her hand had just confirmed that she still had the ticket stubs for her luggage when she felt immortal presence wash over her from somewhere ahead and to the right.  Male, strong, and old... who in the many names of the Goddess?  He feels about two thousand.  That or he's been taking a lot of heads.   Immediately she began to scan the crowd for challenge posture or a familiar face.  She knew several immortals this old; some of them were even friends.

Then she heard a very familiar voice call out, "Over here.  How have you been, dear?"

"Marcus!"  Pleasure leant a false spring to her step as she spotted him standing with his back to a wall.  He still had the same short-cut dark hair and craggy face, the same deceptively calm expression and authoritative voice which came from two millennia of commanding men, whether in armies or museums.  Marcus Constantine had been a Roman officer for more years than she cared to think and a good friend for quite a while.

He reached out with both arms and caught her up in the European double-kiss, one to each cheek.  "I would say you're looking superb, but you aren't.  You look tired."

Aidan shrugged.  "What can I say?  A long flight."

"Really?  Where from?"  He smiled at her and switched to Latin, using the idioms and slang from the a couple centuries before the birth of Christ.  She would understand it and no one else in the crowd was likely to.  "I'm using my old name again, by the way.  No one even twitches at it.  They think I'm from an old and conservative Roman family."

"They're right," she murmured, greatly amused.  "I'm using the name Aidan Logan of late.  I'm not looking forward to changing it in another decade; I've gotten very fond of it."

He gave her a rueful smile as they continued toward the baggage claim.  "Better than abandoning all your possessions, too, I would think.  Besides, why not simply move?"

"I already have.  No, best I retire the name early next millennia."

Marcus found them a spot near the baggage claim by effortlessly staring down everyone who tried to oppose them.  Those level hazel eyes disconcerted no few travelers, and Aidan's tilted head and sardonic smile chased off the rest.  The Roman continued quietly, "You'll know what's best for yourself, I suppose.  But I think you go through more names than any other immortal I know."

"I doubt that," she replied, amused.  "But it's more difficult to keep up with the ones like me now that Darius and Adrianna are dead.  Gods, send them back to us soon."

"Ah, that we should be so lucky as to see their like again,"  Marcus agreed in English.  "So, are you here for the symposium?"

"There really is one?  Oh, good, I was worried."

His Irish friend appeared relieved, he noticed.  But she had grown her hair back out since he had last seen her in the fifties, Marcus saw, and all told she didn't look bad, only tired.  "Someone hunting you?"

"Not that I know of, Marcus.  I've just been awake too long."

"Well, plan on staying awake longer," he told her calmly, pulling his bags from the carousel.

Aidan waved him toward the door before answering plaintively, "Marcus, I have been promising myself a warm bed and a lie-down for the last eight hours.  Why am I not going to get one?"

"Are you in London for long?"

"Just until tomorrow's flight.  That's why I've only the carry-on.  The other bags are already checked through."  She studied him thoughtfully and finally comprehension came.  "Marcus, I know that I haven't seen you in thirty years, but we are not staying up all night catching up on gossip.  I need sleep, old friend."

"I remember when we both marched thirty miles in a day and still set up camp and hunted for dinner," he replied calmly, switching back to Latin.  "You can sit up to exchange news with me."

"Aren't you going to Connor's Christmas party?" she asked desperately.

"I don't know; some professional obligations may get in the way."  He handed her the lighter of his bags and motioned toward the door.  "Come along, Aidan, I'll even buy the coffee."

The tone of voice was unmistakable and she did groan as she watched much-needed sleep evade her.  There was nothing so implacable as a Roman with a goal.  Ah, Gods, what did I do wrong in a past life?

Marcus handed a business card with his Paris address and phone number to Aidan as they stood in the waiting area.  "I'll expect you to stop by the museum sometime and look me up before you go back to the States," he said calmly.  "But do tell Duncan and Adam I said hello."

Aidan yawned and tucked her braid under her jacket.  "I will, Marcus.  Just remember, you promised to buy my book when it comes out this spring and give me an honest opinion."

"When have I not given you my true thoughts on something?"  He sounded almost offended.

"Never that I can remember, but some people think writers can't stand criticism."

Marcus regarded her from knowing eyes.  "Some can't.  I didn't say you were one of them."  He had already made a note of her publishing house as he planned to call this evening, give his credentials, and get an early copy to review.  Marcus had enough notoriety in the field of museums and academia to give the volume a substantial boost in sales if it were any good.  The odds were good that it would be.

Since first meeting the Irish woman early in the fourth century AD, the Roman had seen Aidan go through easily two dozen professions.  She might occasionally turn out raw products, unrefined as yet by increasing skill, but her work was always the best she was capable of.  He was already looking forward to seeing how she had translated some of the nuances in Martial's scathing epigrams.

"So.  Your flight's being called," he noted.  "Aidan, get some sleep.  You didn't say if you were going to Paris for business or pleasure."

"Oh, pleasure," and she smiled at him, eyes lighting up as she shifted to a more comfortable stance.  Her shoulders eased down slightly from the tightness brought on by far too much caffeine and her determination not to sleep.

"Ah, indeed.  Did you neglect to tell me something?  I trust you'll introduce me at some point while you're in town?"  Her tone had been unmistakable, as was the joy on her face.  The mischief his question evoked, however, made Marcus Constantine rightfully wary.  He'd fought and trained Celts for too long not to know what they were capable of.

"Oh, I might," Aidan smiled.  "After I get some sleep, Marcus.  Trust me, old friend, I wouldn't dream of forgetting the introductions."  She picked up her carry-on and moved to the boarding gate.  Inhaling deeply, she reminded herself that there was sleep waiting in Paris and boarded her flight.

Marcus watched as vanished through the gate, eyes narrowed as her gait betrayed how tired the Irish immortal truly was.  Perhaps they shouldn't have stayed up all night talking.  Ah, well, it was MacLeod who was meeting her in Paris, after all; the Highlander would see that she stayed out of trouble.  Unaffected by his own sleepless night, the former Roman general strode off to his latest battle:  soliciting funds for his new museum exhibit.

 Joe sat in the waiting area and shook his head, a grin escaping onto his face.  Once again he had been talked into something he really should have had enough sense to avoid, but arguing down both MacLeod and Methos had been too much.  Besides, Aidan played pranks on, and set bets with, everyone.  Only fair that this time she got caught by one herself.  Prepped with his version of the current state of affairs in Paris, the grey-haired man stroked his beard and mustache with one hand to hide his growing smile.  This was going to be fun.

Aidan stepped out of the gate, carry-on slung over her shoulder, and glanced around the waiting area.  Her eyebrows drew down in a frown; why was there no trace of immortal presence?  Had she told Duncan and Methos the wrong day and flight?  The idea of arguing with a Parisian taxi-driver appalled her right now, although she'd have normally taken it as a challenge.  Then the immortal woman saw Joe waving and smiled in relief.

"Joe!  How are you?"  One arm knocked against a chair as she moved toward him and Aidan cursed softly.

Joe raised an eyebrow at her clumsiness.  He couldn't remember ever seeing her quite that ungraceful.  "Doin' fine, Aidan.  Damn, woman, you look like a couple miles of bad road."

That got a grin.  "You've been around Adam too much, you're picking up his tact," she answered, knowing that he agreed with her about Methos' penchant for razor-edged truth.

"Yeah, so?  What happened?  Partied too much in London last night?"

She rolled her eyes in disgust as the two of them walked to the Custom's area.  "No, but I am going to get even with Connor and Marcus for this.  I'm almost tempted to think there was a conspiracy afoot.  I'll tell you about it sometime when I'm less tempted to utter profanities as every other word, Joe.  Talk to me about something pleasant, why don't you?  How have you been?  You've not been the best of correspondents."

Aidan passed Joe the lightest of her three bags, keeping the blades in her own hands, and they exchanged gossip while working their way out of the airport. "So where are Mac and Adam?" she finally asked as they walked to Joe's car.  "Not that I object in the least to being picked up by you, Joe, but I thought one of them was getting me."

"Hell, woman, you just wanted to give the Parisians a show like you did in Seacouver," he laughed, referring to her extremely amorous send-off when MacLeod had headed to Paris.  "Besides, Adam's running the bookstore and Mac's packing."

Aidan blinked and tried to decide if she'd heard that right.  "Packing.  As in moving?"

"No, packing in as in getting ready for a trip.  Didn't he tell you?"  Joe asked innocently, knowing damn well Duncan hadn't.  It was all part of the devious plan that had originated in Methos' labyrinthine mind.

"No, Joe, he didn't.  Damn.  I take it my timing is abysmal?"

"I don't think so.  Gina and Robert de Valicourt are friends, aren't they?"

Aidan did frown now.  "Gina, certainly.  Robert and I have corresponded for years now but we've a slightly checkered history.  Amiable rivals might be a more honest description, Joe.  Why?"

"You knew Fitz and Duncan stood up for her at the first wedding, right?"  He waited for her nod then went on, "Well, the Valicourts need some appraisals done for tax purposes.  Mac has a good enough reputation as an antiques dealer, so he's going to do the work for them.  It's their entire estate, though.  Mac thinks it'll take a good three or four weeks, maybe more.  So Gina's putting him up and his unnamed companion -- I think Mac wants to surprise her with you -- and Adam.  Gina's very fond of Adam, and with his degrees from the Universite, he can handle the literary appraisals."

Aidan snickered.  "Oh, this should be good.  How are they, anyway, Joe?"

"They're both fine, darlin'.  They've got their heads, business is good at the bookstore, Adam's waiting to hear on his dissertation, and Mac found some silver pieces Connor had been wantin'.  Now, Mac did take a couple challenges, but I know damn well he called you about them.  Other than that, business as usual, you know?"  Joe opened the trunk of the car and slung her bag in.  Aidan dropped the other two in as well and slung her carry-on in the backseat when he unlocked the doors.

The Irishwoman snarled mentally.  Had Duncan just not made a pass at Methos?  She couldn't believe her teacher would be foolish enough to turn the Scot down; Methos had wanted him far too long now.  Damn it all, Joe was too observant not to notice if they'd become lovers and too good a friend not to mention it if  they had.  He knew she was sleeping with both Duncan and Methos; surely he'd want to avoid any possible problems or misunderstandings.  Damn, had Duncan lost his nerve or had the timing simply been atrocious?

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean," Aidan sighed as she momentarily gave up on that problem.  "And how have you been?"

"Other than having near heart-failure when Mike told me you got arrested in the bar?  Just fine."

"I knew it." The Irish woman covered her face and groaned.  "Joe, it was not my fault!  And I did not get arrested.  They just wanted to ask me some questions."

"Hell, darlin', I smelled Amanda's perfume from over here.  You robbed a museum?  Can't see it.  I hear that was one hell of a night though."

"Oh, I don't know.  First I got to defend your house drummer's honor, then I got to have the assailant arrested for assault and battery.  About the time I finally decided that I couldn't get it through the head of the ass's wife that no one had to take that kind of abuse, the second pair of officers wanted to take me in for a few questions about a burglary that had taken place while the first pair was waiting for my statement!"  Aidan shook her head and settled back into her seat, realizing that frustration had made her voice much louder than she intended.

"So it was not one of my better nights, no, Joe.  Tell me you haven't told Mac and Methos all about it?" she asked more quietly, but without much hope in her voice.

"Sorry, darlin', I told 'em last week after Mike told me."  Joe was genuinely regretful.  "So how much of it was Amanda's fault?"

"Don't even ask," Aidan growled.  "I have almost forgiven her.  Almost.  Mainly because I didn't have to go down to the precinct house after all."

"Oh, you mean all of it's her fault but you aren't discussing it."  Joe chuckled.  "Nice to hear Amanda still has her touch.  I take it she made herself real scarce so that you'll cool off?"

"I think she said something about the opera house in Sydney is lovely this time of year," was the muttered, almost sulky, reply.

Joe chuckled again, amused to see that Amanda could work her wiles on Aidan as easily as she did on all of the men in the area.  "But you got the book finished, right?"

"Ah, Gods, yes.  Over and done with, and the Speculum article as well.  I am on vacation.  I have no intention of doing anything except sleeping, spending time with you three, and seeing the sights of Paris when you're busy."

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda busy, Aidan.  Sorry about that, but between gigs at Maurice's and some research I'm doing, well, I met someone...."

Aidan looked up and studied his face with great interest.  Even through the haze of exhaustion, she caught a pleased, anxious note in his voice.  " 'Someone?'  Who is she, Joe?  Not a one of you has mentioned this!"

"Her name's Erin, she's a friend of Adam's through the University.  And she's really something."  He couldn't keep the pride out of his voice.  "University of Seacouver is trying to steal her for their Foreign Language department, too."

"Will she go?  Do you want her to?"  The immortal woman forced herself to stay awake and listen.  Joe was a very good friend; that made his happiness important.  He sounded both thrilled and a bit nervous to her.

"I don't know, and I don't know.  I like her a hell of a lot, but damn, Aidan.  At my age, you don't expect love to show up and blow you away like this.  You know?"  He hadn't expected the discussion to wander down this path, but the guys had wanted her distracted.

"Yes, Joe, I do,"  she answered softly.  "I didn't expect Dhonnchaidh or Methos, either.  Tell me about her.  How old is she, what does she look like, what sorts of things does she like -- I want to know everything."

Joe laughed at that.  "Hell, I don't know everything, but let's see.  Her name's Erin Shea, Doctor Shea to people she doesn't like, and she's a mass of contradictions.  She's thirty-nine, speaks and writes something like ten languages fluently, a couple of them old enough that she and Adam drive Mac crazy because he doesn't understand a syllable, and she does theater tech work for fun.  She's got a great sense of humor, and a well-hidden reckless streak, and I like her a lot."

Aidan smiled at that.  "Really?  I'd have never guessed.  Tell me more?"

"You can meet her tonight, Mac invited us over for dinner."

"Truly?  What time?"

"Seven-thirty.  And we're here."  Joe pulled the car neatly to a stop near the ramp to the barge and saw Mac come out after a few seconds.  Aidan straightened up from where she had been pulling bags out and smiled when she saw him.

"Dhonnchaidh!"

She didn't have time for much more before he got to the car, hugged her, and kissed her soundly.  When he finally let her speak again she only said, "I missed you, too."  She forced herself to step back and pick up two of her bags, because if he kept holding her up, she was going to let him.

Duncan reached out and tilted her face up to what little sunlight there was on a grey October day in Paris.  "Aidan?  When did you last sleep?"

The concern in his voice caught Joe's attention and the Watcher turned to look at her more closely.  No, that wasn't airport lighting; she did look that dragged out.

Aidan checked her watch, which was still set to Seacouver time, and thought about it.  "Umm... .  It's two in the morning in Seacouver -- I think it was two days ago?  Thereabouts?  What's forty-eight minus... four?"

Joe stared at her.  "Forty-four hours you've been awake and I was talking your ears off?"

"I wanted to hear it," she said tiredly.  "Besides, I did say it was Connor and Marcus' fault."

Duncan rolled his eyes, mildly exasperated that even from across the Atlantic his kinsman had managed to interfere in carefully laid plans.  "Never mind, tell us later.  Joe, you did tell her about dinner?"

"Of course I did.  Damn, Aidan, I'd have let you sleep on the way over from the airport if you'd told me!"

They headed into the barge and Aidan steadied herself on the bridge, nerves still hearing the shriek of jet engines.  "I'd have never woken when we arrived here, Joe.  Thank you, though."  She managed to look around the barge in pleasure, seeing all the light coming in through the windows, the clear areas and small mementos so like the way the dojo apartment in Seacouver was furnished.  Then her gaze fell on the bed.

Duncan caught the look on her face and grinned despite himself.  "Joe, give me a minute to get her settled and I'll walk back out with you."

"No need, Mac, I've got some things to do before dinner.  Aidan, glad you made it in."

"Joe, thank you for the ride."  She yawned widely and promised, "I'll be better company tonight, I promise."

Joe laughed and said, "You'd better be, or I'll take Erin off for bouillabaisse and we'll catch you when you get back from Gina's place.  Sleep well, Aidan, you can explain to me later how it's Connor's fault."

Duncan steered her toward the bed, having dropped her bags near the couch.  One gentle push dropped her onto the bed, completely off balance.  "Duncan!"

The bluesman chuckled to himself on his way out the door.  Your job now, Mac.  Good luck, buddy.

"What happened?" the Scot asked as he started peeling boots off her.  He knew perfectly well Joe would get the door on his way out.

"Connor took me out dancing and dropped me off at the airport after breakfast -- "

Dark brown eyes stared at her.  "Your flight left New York at seven in the morning.  He kept you out all night?"

Aidan sighed in relief as he peeled the socks off and started rubbing the fabric creases out of her feet.  "Mmm-hmm.  It's an old argument between us, and I'll get him for it later.  I ended up playing baby-sitter to five adorable children on the way to London and resisted telling them some of the true stories about Robin Hood...."

Duncan pulled her to her feet to peel off the corduroy trousers.  Now he had to ask, "Then you know some of them?  Were you in the middle of that mess?"

"A few here and there.  Ask Damien, though, not me.  I had nothing to do with it, but he can't say the same."  She pulled her shirt off and dropped it distastefully on the floor.  It smelled of stale airplane air, second-hand smoke from the airport, and too many hours of wear.  Of course, she thought ruefully, so do I.

Duncan looked at her bags, already packed; at his which were mostly packed; and around the barge which had been carefully cleaned to keep her from figuring out that Methos had been living there for the last month.  Right, he had time to help her shower and still run errands.  "If I get your hair and back, can you stay awake for another half-hour to get cleaned up before you sleep?"

She thought about that very seriously, weighing options in her mind.  "If you don't mind fairly cool water," Aidan finally replied.  "Hot water will put me to sleep on my feet, Dhonnchaidh."

"I think I'll live.  Come on."

The Highlander unlocked the door and stepped back into the barge, one hand full of keys and the other ready to go for his sword if Aidan woke up badly.  On the far side of the boat, she sat bolt-upright, dagger in one hand and tangled damp hair falling across a bare chest.  Once her eyes focused on him, she sagged a bit.  "Dhonnchaidh?  What time is it?"

"Six o'clock, you've slept the day away.  Feeling better?"  Now that he knew she wouldn't come for his head, Duncan turned around and brought in the two shopping bags.  "Ready to get up, or do you want to sleep for another half-hour?  There's enough time if you like."

She shook her head, stretching long and lazily.  "No, I'm awake.  Gods, dearheart, I'm sorry to have shown up on your doorstep and promptly turned into Sleeping Beauty on you."

That got a smile.  "No, I thought we cast you as Rapunzel."

Aidan pulled snarled, hip-length hair up to study it mournfully.  "Right now you could walk up this, I fear.  Ah, well, I'll pull on clothes and start de-tangling it.  Where are my bags?"

"They're right there," and Duncan pointed to a small pile of luggage against the barge hull near the couch, "and they'll stay there.  I have some clothes for you for tonight; no sense in you unpacking when we're heading out in the morning.  Sorry, I thought Methos told you Wednesday."

"No, he didn't, but I was babbling about the Speculum article."  She caught the bag he threw and spilled the contents across the bed to see what Duncan had bought.  A long, dark brown corduroy skirt trimmed with gold braid and a fitted gold silk jacket with dark-brown braid and what looked like tortoise-shell buttons -- even new lingerie and warm leggings to cope with the effects of late October cold winds.  Aidan considered the heap thoughtfully, ran a covetous hand across the gold velour bra and panties, and tried to hide her smile as she looked back up at Duncan.

"Gods, Dhonnchaidh, how did you do this?  They're even the right sizes!"

Duncan shrugged and chuckled.  "Well, let's just say that there's a saleswoman who told me to be sure my two ladies don't meet each other."

Merry grey eyes met his dark brown gaze, seeing the slight flush that told her the younger man found it both funny and a touch embarrassing.  Both of them started laughing, and Aidan moved to hug him, uncaring that she was nude and the barge chilly.  Duncan wrapped his arms around her; when she tilted her head up, he kissed her.

It was a leisurely exploration and reaffirmation, passion noted and regretfully put aside until later.  For now the simple comfort of touch was enough.  Aidan threaded her fingers through his hair, enjoying the solid muscle of his back under her arms, the warmth of silky hair in her hands.  Warm arms wrapped around her back and waist, sliding along her hair and occasionally against skin, a thoroughly comfortable feel of smooth cotton and body heat.  All the annoyances and irritations of the last two days faded under that unhurried kiss and she relaxed against her lover.

When Duncan finally pulled back, he said quietly, "I missed you, too."  Running a strong hand down her back, he chuckled and said, "And I hate to say it when you've just gotten into town... but you really need to pull on some clothes.  With temptations like this, I'll never get dinner done."

"That would make an interesting impression on Joe's lady, wouldn't it?"  Aidan laughed.  "Gods, man, I come into town, get out of your warm bed naked, and you tell me to put clothes on.  What's a woman to think?"  But her eyes were dancing as she stole clothes from him, unwilling to abuse the silk jacket with damp hair until she absolutely had to.

Within five minutes, Aidan was sitting at the kitchen island and working a comb carefully through her hair, wearing a pair of Mac's sweats that dwarfed her more slender height, bare feet dangling off the bar stool.  They talked companionably about his student, Rich, and Connor, and Marcus while Duncan made a pot of hot tea to finish waking her up, and put the finishing touches on dinner.  It took a good fifteen minutes to undo all the tangles and carefully French braid the mass back away from her face.

Careful hands were buttoning the jacket over the shortsword sheath as Aidan checked the effect in the mirror; she stopped in mid-motion then turned toward the door as she felt another immortal approach.  Male, incredibly strong, she suspected it was Methos even before Duncan nodded once and went to open the door.

The lanky form of the oldest known immortal, Duncan's friend and Aidan's teacher, walked on to the barge, cheerfully calling, "Candygram."

He nodded to Mac and walked over to collect a hug from her.  Rather than ignore the temptation posed by the half-open jacket, Methos ignored her squeals about cold hands and ran his fingers just under the bra-cups.  He smelled of cold wind and the wool of his sweater prickled against her skin as the oldest immortal kissed her as thoroughly as Mac had earlier.  He straightened up at last, mouth crooking in an appreciative smile as he took in her state of partial dress.  "If I'd known you'd greet me like this, Edana, I'd have closed down the bookstore earlier than I did."

Duncan laughed and handed him an opened beer.  "Here you go, old man.  And she was asleep until twenty minutes ago; you'd have seen more but it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun."

Aidan growled, "Aren't your hands warm yet?" as she pushed him away enough to finish buttoning the top.  Twisting in front of the mirror, she checked to be sure the sword hilt didn't show.  After testing the reach for the hilt a couple times, she nodded to herself and asked Methos, "So where is it?"

"Where's what?" he commented curiously, setting down his half-finished beer.

"The candy you just promised me," she replied calmly as she sat back down at the bar stool, legs crossed under the skirt.  "Duncan, should I assume Erin knows him as Adam?"

"Yes, she does," Methos answered her, "and I did not promise you candy."

"Then start getting offended, Dhonnchaidh, because he still hasn't pulled out your box.  But if it's marked Acme, throw it overboard."

"Damn, let the woman sleep while the rest of us are working and look what happens," Methos groused but he reached into his pocket and handed her a much-battered, cellophane-wrapped mint.  "Here -- happy now?"

"Well, it's not gourmet chocolate, but I will concede that it's candy.  Thanks."  Aidan dropped it into her tea mug and stirred carefully.  "I've missed you both.  Rich won't trade insults like this; he thinks females are delicate or something.  Duncan, I think you taught him a few too many manners."

"He's just intimidated," came the cheerful retort.  "You're only a hundred times his age and much quicker with a saber."

"Excuses, excuses," Aidan laughed, and took another sip of her tea.

Methos slung his coat on the coat rack and settled onto the stool next to her to finish his beer.  Curious, he leaned closer and sniffed at her hair, then nuzzled into her neck, which drew laughing protests.  Mac glanced over and commented, "Adam, quit that, Erin and Joe will be here any minute."

"One track mind, MacLeod, and I was confirming something, not necking," Methos replied with great dignity.  "Aidan, you smell wrong."

That drew a startled and slightly offended look.  "I what?"

"You smell wrong.  What did you wash your hair with, woman, Mac's aftershave?"

Aidan gave up and started chuckling.  "I did no such thing.  What in the world are you babbling about?  I was the one with jet-lag."

"You've made your own shampoo and soap most of the time I've known you.  Mind, I missed some years recently, but so far as I can tell you're still doing it.  For once, you don't smell of orange and rose; you smell of musk, and something I think is probably Duncan's aftershave, and heather.  What did you do?"

Duncan worked intently on dinner so that his grin wouldn't show.  Leave it to Methos to distract her so thoroughly from questions about what they'd been up to.  Joe and Erin should be here literally any minute, and then she couldn't ask, not without revealing that 'Adam' was an immortal.  Watching Aidan stew and try to decide if her two lovers had dragged each other into bed or not should be utterly priceless.

Aidan meanwhile was answering Methos indignantly.  "What do you mean, what did I do?  I but got a shower, you wretch!"

Duncan called over his shoulder, "With my shampoo and my soap, and then slept on my pillow.  Of course she smells like my aftershave, Adam, what do you expect?"  The Scot walked over and lifted the end of her braid to sniff at the tuft.  "You're right, she does smell odd."

Aidan yanked the braid back, bristling with exasperation. "Oghma's silver tongue, you two, at this rate I'm going to sleep on the couch.  It's narrow enough that I can push either of you off!"

Erin and Joe walked onto the barge in time to hear an offended female voice swearing by old Irish deities in a clear, carrying tone.  The red-headed scholar raised one startled eyebrow at Joe.  He'd told her on the way over that both Adam and Duncan were sleeping with the lady in question and made Erin promise solemnly not to give away that Adam and Duncan were lovers themselves.  Since Erin had helped Adam with mischief more times than either of them would ever admit to anyone else, she was perfectly happy to go along with this.  Besides, what kind of woman did it take to keep up with Mac and Adam both?  This should be a very interesting dinner indeed!

"All right, MacLeod," Aidan went on, her back to the two Watchers walking in, "hand me the thrice-blessed spoon and move.  I'll go deal with the pasta sauce.  Maybe if I smell like marinara instead of aftershave, you two will quit quibbling!"

Adam, who had a beautiful view of Erin's wide eyes and twitching mouth, snickered.  Duncan glanced over to see what had caught the older man's eye, saw their two guests and grinned himself as Adam reverted to type and baited Aidan a bit more.  Joe, sensibly, held still and listened.

"I don't know, aftershave or garlic and oregano?  What kind of a choice is that?  Do you have a romantic bone in your body?"  Methos could tell from the set of her shoulders that he'd goaded her just far enough.

In a deceptively gentle voice, Aidan replied, "Why thank you, kind sir, for so generous an offer.  I look forward to a bottle of perfume, since you dislike my current choices.  I'm sure your taste is impeccable as always."

Duncan fought for a second to control his laughter, managing to gasp out, "Two points to her.  Nice shot, Aidan."

Methos lifted his empty beer bottle in salute to her salvo, then got his own back.  "Very nice indeed, Aidan.  Erin Shea, meet Aidan Logan."

Aidan spun, wooden spoon in hand and a startled expression on her face, which shifted rapidly to chagrin.  "Ah, well, if it wasn't a good first impression," and she drew a deep breath, "it was at least memorable I suspect."  She handed Adam the utensil, the tilt of her head and eyebrow conveying an air of amused defeat, and walked over to meet Joe's lady.

Joe grinned and said, "Aidan, this is Erin Shea.  Erin, this is Aidan Logan, a good friend of ours."

Erin extended a hand to shake.  "Oh, it was memorable all right.  Most people don't score that many points on Adam.  Nice work.  Maybe later you and I will pour brandy down him and you can hit him during the few seconds he's vulnerable."

Aidan started chuckling at that and shook Erin's hand.  "I'm very glad to meet you.  These two wretches haven't said a word to me of you, for which I will get even with them, but Joe speaks very highly of you."

Erin gave her a bemused look, slightly startled by the strength of the young Irishwoman's grip.  "Well, Joe's full of blarney, and I think we both know it.  So what's for dinner, and who cooked?"

"Duncan cooked, pasta I'm sure of but no idea else, and I agree wholeheartedly, but not this time."  Aidan appraised the other woman with great interest, having deliberately convoluted that answer to gain a few seconds. This looked promising!  Erin looked to be in her mid-thirties or a little later and hiding it well, with fairly short red hair (short by Aidan's standards, a couple inches past her ears) and freckles.  Judging from the slightly rumpled air, she was prone to raking her hands through her hair; all in all, she looked intelligent, alert, and humorous.

Erin shook her head as she automatically switched clauses in her mind, long habit to someone who studied languages for a living.  Oh, this girl was going to be great fun.  She could and did score on Mac and Adam both, although with no real malice; she could obviously cook if Mac was letting her in the kitchen; and anyone who used such odd curses was either well-educated or pompous -- and if she was of the self-inflating variety, Adam would have skewered her with barbs ages ago.  He certainly wouldn't be sleeping with her, as Joe had sworn up and down he was.  Good God, though, what a head of hair.  That braid went down to her waist!

"Personally," Erin answered cheerfully, "I think he's so full of malarkey his eyes should be as brown as Mac's, but I might possibly be wrong.  Why don't the three of us sit down and let these two deal with dinner?  I mean, it's Mac's kitchen, and someone should make Adam do honest work occasionally before he forgets what it is."  She moved out of Joe's way to let him down the stairs while Adam gave her his best mock-wounded look.

Aidan crowed, "Oh, thank Gods, someone on my side of the verbal battles for once!"  She threw Mac a mischievous look and went on, "Can I borrow a goblet for a night, Duncan?"

"You are not putting out offerings to your Goddess for support against me,"  Duncan growled.  "Not with my own glass and bottle you're not!  Aidan, there's a limit!"

"Assuredly there is, and I'm at least a yard out," she replied.  "Spoilsport.  Ingrate.  Besides, how do you know it wasn't for a safe trip tomorrow?"

"Was it?" he asked bluntly as the oven timer went off.

"Well.  No.  Actually."  She shrugged, trying to look innocent, and turned back to Erin and Joe.  Then she called over her shoulder, "But it was more in gratitude for the help against Adam.  I can usually get people to help me pick on you."

Joe snorted at that one and said, "Aidan, quit that!  You're supposed to give it at least a day before you give them this much hell, or they'll decide it was nice and quiet without you.  I can't get free to take you back to the airport tomorrow."

Aidan sat up and arranged herself in the chair as demurely as a Catholic schoolgirl, ankles crossed under the skirt and hands arranged just so in her lap.  "All right, Joe, I'm sorry.  I'll behave."  The twitching mouth and dancing grey eyes gave the whole picture a slightly demented air, however, and her braid took a few seconds to quit swinging.

Duncan walked over and handed Aidan a glass of wine.  "You, behave?  That will be a new one, Aidan, right up there with the sun rising in the north.  Drink this; maybe if you're quiet for a minute or two...."

Erin took the other glass from Duncan and passed the beer to Joe.  "Duncan, quit picking on her, or she'll end up asking me for a ride to the airport at this rate.  Aidan, are you sure you don't want to go get dinner somewhere and let them fend for themselves?  We could make a girls' night out of it."

Adam considered that, shuddered hastily, and pointed out, "Dinner's ready, Erin, and you're in Joe's car."

"No, we're not, oh, male....  Hmm, male chauvinist is an outdated phrase, isn't it?"  Erin asked.  "Aidan, have you heard any good variants lately?"

"Oh, we'll think of something," the dark-haired woman replied.  "But let's eat first.  All participants in the ongoing battle of the sexes need energy.  Besides which, I'm starved.  I think I ate breakfast in London, but the only part I'm sure of is the eight cups of coffee."

Joe's eyes widened.  "Eight?"

Erin shook her head.  "Only the young can do that to their stomachs and survive.  By the way, why Oghma?"

"God of eloquence and they needed the help," Aidan replied cheerfully.

"Why not Brigid, then?  Since they needed a female viewpoint."

Aidan turned to look at her, pleased speculation on her face.  "Why give them the advantage of a woman's opinion?  Men are so much better at apologizing, having had more practice and all."

Methos opened his mouth to reply and paused when Duncan glared at him.  The Scot muttered quietly, "Let's not goad her too much, hmm?  Or she may not care how much audience she has for some questions you don't want asked yet?  This was your bright idea, old man."

"I'll just remember this when we finally let her find out what has or hasn't been going on."  Methos shrugged.  "If we kept tabs on every individual smart-ass crack, we'd still be tallying up three millennia from now."  The oven timer went off and his attention moved to getting the bread out of the oven.  Aidan held out one arm for Joe to pull himself back up off the couch, muttering as he did so about not being able to sit for one minute before he had to move again.

Duncan started serving out the food as people arranged themselves around the table and had to grin as he saw who had ended up where.  The Scot had the head of the table, apparently because it was his barge.  Erin sat to his right, and Joe to hers.  Aidan was on his left, and Methos on hers, facing Joe.  It satisfied all the old protocols of male next to female, but somehow sitting between two such mischievous women seemed only marginally safe, even for an immortal.

The conversation over dinner flew fast and furious, starting with Irish gods and their attributes ("Goibnu's anvil?  Aidan, that sounds painful!"  "It should, Joe.") and touching rapidly across Irish music ("Yes, Adam, Clannad is actually filed under rock and roll in the States, don't ask me why.") and sliding over to Irish actors.  Erin waxed rhapsodic about Daniel Day-Lewis, claiming that even if he wasn't entirely Irish he was close, Liam Neeson, and Peter O'Toole.

Aidan grinned at the last name and called, "Ah, the classics."

The dark-haired immortal and the red-headed Watcher spoke up in unintentional chorus, "Older men!"

The women clinked wine glasses and to Aidan's startlement Joe actually blushed behind the beard.  Adam got up to get more wine, and remove a temptation to laughter from Mac's way.  Older men, indeed.  Hard to get much older than five thousand!

Duncan and Joe traded amused looks, well aware of the implicit compliment in that chorus, and all too well aware that a single comment from them would unleash barbed female wit in their direction.  Adam, meanwhile, said cheerfully, "Nothing wrong with older women, either, you two.  Speaking of classics -- Mae West and Raquel Welch?"

Joe remarked contentedly, "God, Faye Dunaway as Milady DeWinter could still make D'artagnan grateful to challenge idiot nobles."

Duncan surprised Adam considerably by saying, "Oh, if we're talking about aging well, Kathleen Turner has better legs and a more sultry voice with every year that goes by."

Aidan lifted her glass and said cheerfully, "To classic vintages, then!  Slainte!"

Erin took a sip for the toast and grinned at Aidan.  "Do you speak Gaelic then, or just the odd bit?"

Aidan chuckled and said, "I've always been good with languages.  I speak Gaelic, and a few others here and there.  I make my living doing translations."

"Really?  Which languages?  And what journals?"  Erin perked up immediately, hearing a chance to talk shop.  "Is that how you met Adam?"

Adam cut in casually, trying to deflect this just a bit, and give Aidan a safe language to admit to.  "She and I have corresponded off and on for quite a while.  Some mutual friends knew we spoke a few odd languages."

Aidan answered in a deliberately casual tone. " Greek, Latin, a couple of the old Persian languages. This and that.  And I've written an article or two for Speculum and just finished a book of Latin translations.  Lucretius, Catullus, Horace, Livy, Ovid, Martial, Pliny, Tacitus, Juvenal, and -- Gods help me, but the publisher insisted -- Seneca."  She picked up her wine glass and promptly took a sip.  "That man can make good chablis taste dreadful," she muttered.

"What about Cicero?" Erin asked in great interest.  "And Caesar."

"Oh, I have a bit of their work in there, with a minimum of Augustus' as well simply because it 's necessary for the chronology to be effective, but everyone translates and reads that.  On the other hand, I had a great deal of fun blaming Victorian manners and mores on Cicero in an article I just finished.  I'm looking forward to the outraged letters, but that's why I always submit under my initials instead of my full name. "

Adam snickered.  "I'm looking forward to the howls of outrage myself.  You never have liked Victorian attitudes, Aidan."

Duncan shrugged and said, "Just because they didn't have enough sense to realize women had brains, despite being ruled by a queen...."

Erin promptly answered, "Victoria could have been worse, but she wasn't exactly a leading example of female intelligence and she knew it."

"Hey, c'mon," Joe pointed out, "she did at least have the good sense to prefer chloroform to natural childbirth."

Aidan snickered at that one.  "Point for him.  Erin, shall we destroy the whole liberated female myth and offer to clean up?"

Erin considered that.  "Well, Mac did cook..."

"And Adam helped," Aidan chimed in thoughtfully.  "I recognize his bread."

"... and Joe supplied the wine.  I suppose we should do the dishes."

Aidan looked around thoughtfully.  "Isn't there supposed to be a dog to lick the plates clean first?"

Duncan laughed at that and said, "Aidan, you volunteered, and I know you can clean up; I've seen your house.  You are not going to get out of this by pretending to be an idiot."

Erin giggled and said, "Curses, we're foiled again.  Oh, well, where's the soap?  And a towel?"

"Mr. Appesard?  I'm Sylvana Storm."  The woman who stood up to shake hands couldn't have been more than 4' 10", but she carried herself as she had an extra foot of height.  Blond hair fell in a riotous wavy mass to her shoulders and green eyes sparkled with will and intelligence.

"Ms. Storm, I'm pleased to finally meet you in person."  He shook her hand carefully, controlling his grip so as not to hurt her.  "May I say that your name suits you admirably?"

That drew a chuckle.  "These days I'll agree with you.  When I was younger, I hated it with a passion."  She noticed the hard calluses on his hands with a great deal of puzzlement and filed the details into her memory.  Intense curiosity was, she knew, one of the foundations (and the bete noire) of her personality.  "However, I'm afraid we'd better get down to business."

He nodded once and sunlight bounced and sparked off dark red hair.  "I rather suspected."  He sat down carefully into a chair which creaked under his weight.  "What information do you have for me?"

Stormy watched him thoughtfully, one part of her mind automatically appraising him for weight and threat level.  The man probably stood 5' 9" and carried at least two hundred pounds of sheer muscle, she noted.  He looked like he should make up half of the defensive line of a football team by himself, and he had a redhead's notorious temper, she was somehow sure.  But according to her hacker partner, Damien Appesard wrote some of the best programs in the city, and he was in better shape than any keyboard jockey she'd ever seen.  What were those calluses from?  Some kind of martial art or weapons training, she was fairly sure.

Regardless, he looked to be of the 'one agonizing rip' school of bad news, so she gave it to him straight.  "Crystal Beauchard is almost certainly spying on you for someone.  I have not yet been able to determine who.  I have the documentation for you in your folder, and I will tell you that I really hope that you'll change the locks on your house and reset any alarm codes immediately."

Rage burned across his face for a moment, his eyes dilating with the intensity of his emotion.  Almost as quickly, though, he controlled himself, although his jade-green gaze intimidated even a former military brat.  "I see.  May I see the documents, please?"  He kept his voice completely level as he reached for the folder, then nodded a quick thanks to her as he began to examine the records.

He looked back up after a few minutes.  "I would have to agree with you, Ms. Storm.  Damn it," and now his words were more for himself than her, "one of these days she's going to be wrong."

Before she could stop herself, Stormy asked, "Who is?"

He glanced up at her, obviously surprised, and then his attention focused on her with a sharp-edged intensity that rocked Stormy back in her chair.  This time he saw her:  every lock of hair, the smudge where she had rubbed absently at her mascara (again), the toned arms which had just enough muscle to move her little frame around but did that perfectly well.  She had the unnerving feeling that he was seeing other things, too:  her curiosity, her passion for honesty, and her loathing of what his lover had been up to.  Then he smiled, a lopsided expression that sat very well on that rugged face, and Stormy relaxed as the tension eased between them.

"An old friend of mine suggested strongly that I have Crystal investigated.  One of these days, Aidan's going to be wrong about something important and the sun will rise in the north."

"Oh.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean...."  Stormy stammered to a halt, flustered.

"Ms. Storm, I hired you to investigate Crystal because you're very good at what you  do.  It shouldn't surprise me when you turn out to be insatiably curious.  Most good investigators are.  I certainly can't be angry at you for being the type of person who can do the job for which I hired you."  He looked at the sheet again.  "And in answer to your advice, I changed the locks on the doors before I called you three weeks ago.  She has not been inside the house or my pockets to get to the key.  The alarm codes were reset the same day."

"If you knew, then why'n'hell did you hire me?  I'm not cheap, Mr. Appesard."

Damien met her gaze with those green eyes of his and said quietly, "Because I could have been wrong, and I owed it to her and me to be sure.  But if I was right, I'm in no mood to die this year."

She stared at him, surprised in some small corner of her mind by the way he phrased that.  There was something distinctly odd to that wording.  But most of her attention had gone to his reasoning, and she realized that for once she was tempted to date one of her clients.  Damien had already known there was no relationship, but he was willing to go to the expense of hiring her rather than break off on intuition.  Stormy knew her services weren't cheap, but she was very good at what she did.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a checkbook.  "Ms. Storm, I'd like to go ahead and pay the bill up to this date... but if you're willing, I'd like you to keep digging and find out a name or number on whoever Crystal's reporting to."

Stormy raised one hand to her face, resting her jaw on her hand.  The expression on Damien's face told her someone was going to regret spying on him.  But there was nothing illegal in her finding the man for him and she really, really hated liars like the little bitch who'd been in his bed to spy on him.  "Mr. Appesard, I'd be happy to.  And my friends call me Stormy.  'Ms. Storm' is my three-times divorced sister."

The movement of his pen on the checkbook stopped, arrested by her words and Damien looked up and met her eyes, amused and smiling.  "Three times?  Whoof!  Talk about tempestuous!  Nice to meet the other you, Stormy.  I'm Damien; my friends usually call me Damiano."

"Nice to meet you, too, Damiano."  She sounded the name again silently in her mind.  The short a's in the name surprised her as she'd always heard it with a hard sound to the first name.  But already Stormy could tell she was going to like this man.  "How much priority do you want me to put on this?"

Damien handed her the signed check and answered, "I'll pay whatever premium is necessary, but I think I'd better know as soon as possible."

Stormy nodded thoughtfully and said, "I think so, too.  Tell you what, we'll worry about a premium if it comes to that.  Right now, though, I'm putting this on the top of my list because the rest of my current assignments are routine and my partner can handle it all.  Where do I reach you when I have the answer?  I'll warn you now, I work odd hours when I go into bloodhound mode.  If I figure it out at 4 AM do you want the answer then or at 8?"

Damien laughed at that, but his voice was very serious as he answered, "I want to know where my enemies are.  Call as soon as you know, Stormy.  I write programming code and work odd hours myself.  Please don't be offended if I snap at you when you call, but I do apologize well once I get my first coffee."

She stood up and walked him out to the front door.  "Damiano?"  He turned to look down at her and she found herself wishing for a photograph just so she could laugh over the radical differences between them.  It had to be hilarious.

"What?"

"I am sorry to have to give you news like that, even if you already knew."  Her voice was completely sincere.  Being the bearer of bad news always depressed Stormy; much better to be able to tell someone that their loved one was alive, or that yes, there was a way to find what they needed.  Having to tell him his lover had been essentially a prostitute and spy had not made Stormy's day.

He smiled and shook his head.  "It's all right, Stormy.  Honest.  Thank you for doing good work so quickly.  I'll talk to you again, all right?"

"Yes."  Blond hair swung as she nodded and Stormy found herself wondering about the way he'd said that.  Was he talking professionally or personally?  Her heart skipped a beat and she was humming as she went back into the office and went to work.

After Joe and Erin had left to see a performance of Pirates of Penzance, Aidan settled herself in front of the fireplace, stocking feet up on a pillow to get more of the heat.  She grandly ignored Methos' comments about 'slug-a-beds'.  "So why did you two not tell me about Erin?  Are she and Joe as happy as I think?"

Duncan sat in a chair, cleaning his sword and checking it for nicks or wear, his own feet tucked up under him tailor-style.  The barge floor was cool, after all, and all three of them preferred to run around barefoot when possible.  "It was Joe's to tell, not mine, Aidan.  But he's been seeing a lot of her, and they're both smiling all the time."

Methos reached down with one hand from where he was sprawled on the couch.  He toyed with strands of hair that had come loose from her braid, but said nothing, apparently engrossed in a book he was reading.  For once MacLeod hadn't griped about feet on the sofa arm.  Aidan sighed and relaxed into the caress, eyes closed.  For a long while, the only sounds were the rasp of stone against steel as Duncan honed the edge on his katana and an occasional brush of paper against paper as Methos turned a page.

"Asleep?"

The oldest immortal sounded more amused than anything else, Aidan thought.  "No.  Just comfortable."  She wondered idly where she was sleeping that night.  They're both my lovers, but now what?  The last time I had two lovers, we just alternated who I slept with.  The time before that the two of them were married and it was never in question.  I suppose I could be blunt and ask if they've settled it out already.

Relaxed as she was, it took awhile to register the odd sensation the two of them gave off.  When it did finally click into place, the Irish immortal sat upright in surprise.  "How in the names are you two doing that?"

Duncan's hand paused in mid-stroke with the whetstone.  "Aidan?  Doing what?"

Methos glanced up from the book.  "You reach down, twine your fingers through the hair, and then smooth it back into place.  I thought you knew the technique."

"Methos, be serious.  Your quickenings are harmonizing.  I've never heard anything like it before!"

That statement did get a raised eyebrow.  "Really?  I'd suspected as much, but I did want to ask you about it.  Interesting."

"That's one word for it.  How?  When?  You weren't doing this in Seacouver."

Duncan said thoughtfully, "I think it's a side-effect of that simultaneous double quickening in Bordeaux, Aidan.  And I don't know why it wasn't doing this in Seacouver."

Methos shrugged and said, "I have some ideas, but no proof yet.  It has some interesting side-effects, but they aren't predictable."

"Such as?  Don't go coy and mysterious on me."

He shrugged, wicked laughter in his eyes.  "Still sleeping on the couch?"

"We'll come back to the quickenings, then, but I was going to ask where I was sleeping, actually."

That got a startled look from Duncan, who asked, "Where do you want to sleep?"

"Preferably with both of you, but with neither if that's necessary.  We need to sort this out, you two.  You've had enough strains on the friendship; I refuse to add another."

Methos said firmly, "Mac, you've been rubbing off on her.  Edana, quit being noble.  Do you still want both of us?"

She studied the two men, a very serious expression on her face.  "Yes, I want you both.  But I meant it, I'm not going to cause any more trouble between you than you've already had."

"Oh, really?  What do you call that rumor?" Methos changed plans in mid-stride quite cheerfully, deliberately masking his expression and roughening his voice.

"What rumor?"  The genuine puzzlement on her face made Duncan stifle a grin when he realized where this was going.  He caught her eyes and assumed his best look of 'it's not entirely my fault this didn't work.'

"The rumor that I was in love with him?  The one that made me choke on my wine?  That rumor?"

"How is it....  You....  I see.  That rumor."  Aidan stopped speaking and stared at both of them.  Her eyes narrowed as she studied them more closely now, then she pushed up to her feet and walked over to the stereo and stood there for a long minute.

Mac threw Methos an uneasy look, but the older immortal was trying to remember if she had a swordsheath under that jacket.  The answer, he realized, was yes.

Without turning around, Aidan spoke in a calm, speculative voice.  "I suppose I could make this easier.  Duncan, do you have a phone book?  It's early enough to get a cab.  There should still be a hotel room available on a weeknight."

Duncan said hastily, "You are not getting a cab, Aidan.  You don't have to go anywhere, love."

"Oh, I don't know.  I'd hate to have Methos get my blood all over your barge.  I can take a hotel room and he and I can handle this in the morning."  She turned around, holding a stack of CDs.  "Or you two can tell me what's actually going on."

"I thought I asked you that, Edana."

She shrugged calmly and answered, "You do realize you've put yourself in an untenable position, teacher mine.  There are now two alternatives.  Either you never said you were in love with Duncan and I deliberately lied to him -- or you lied to me and it's rumor indeed.  Which is it?"

"Well, there is a third alternative," Duncan pointed out.

"Oh, good, this sounds promising.  What have you got, Duncan?" Aidan asked, a slight smile on her face.

"I could have figured it out on my own."

The sardonic look from Methos spoke volumes.  "So what do you think it is, Edana?"

"Honestly?  Now that I think about it -- neither.  I think you said it, I think it's truth indeed, and I think you two have done a superb job of getting my goat."  She held out the CDs.  "Myself, I'm betting you've been living here."

Methos raised an eyebrow.  "Oh, this I have to hear.  Did you read it in the liner notes for La Traviata?"

"Methos.  Dhonnchaidh doesn't own Springsteen, much less listen to him.  Or Pete Townsend.  Or CCR.  So.  Where have you been sleeping lately, Methos?  Or have you been sleeping?  You'd better have made it worth the man's while to go to this much trouble cleaning up."  And now she was chuckling despite herself.  "Gods, you two, how did you get Joe to go along with this?  And what exactly does Erin know?"

Duncan flushed slightly, remembering how Methos had persuaded him to go along with this joke.  Not that the Scot had needed much encouragement to pull the practical joke on their lover, but Methos had made it a very long and memorable night.

Aidan saw his face and started laughing.  "Do you two have any idea how badly I've been on pins and needles all evening, wondering if Duncan lost his nerve, or you turned him down, Magister, or someone caused you to start fighting again?  And having Joe pick me up at the airport was a low blow!"

"Put the CDs down and come kiss us, woman.  What are you doing over there?"  Methos gasped for air as Aidan promptly pounced on him.  She landed on her knees next to him, then settled onto his lap to pin him to the couch.  Rather hazily he wondered why she thought he'd try to get away from her mouth, but most of his attention was focused on kissing her.

Duncan watched the two of them, enjoying the sight of them together, both so fair and so dark in the same ways.  Methos' hands were threading swiftly through her braid, loosening the hair, and the Scot would have bet money Aidan hadn't even noticed yet.  He repressed a chuckle, thinking that no one was going anywhere tonight. Wiping the katana clean, Duncan placed it by the bed and went to lock up the barge and bank the fire.

Aidan reached for Mac with one hand as he settled on the couch next to Methos.  When she pulled her mouth away from the older man's, the Irish woman turned to kiss her younger lover as well.  Their body language drew a startled laugh.  The Scot had settled just behind Methos, one arm wrapped around Aidan's waist where she was half on-half off Methos' lap.  With his other arm Duncan was stroking easily along Methos' back and shoulders, teasing up to the nape of the neck and back down again.

"Gods, you two, how did you control yourselves during dinner?"

Mac growled at her and pulled, leaving her just enough off balance to have the choice of trusting him not to drop her or straining back muscles to hold herself in place.  Aidan relaxed into his arm and kissed him.  Methos held her waist with one forearm, taking some of the strain so that Duncan could concentrate on kissing her after their month and some apart.  With the other hand, the oldest immortal pulled the hair-tie out of the Scot's ponytail, running his fingers through the strands and repaying the teasing touches along his own neck.

Duncan finally let her surface for air, smiling at the drowsy, cat-in-the-cream expression on Aidan's face as she relaxed in his arms.  Methos purred as she stroked his arm with one hand in a reflexive, unthinking motion.  The Scot twisted around to see his other lover.  That slightly parted mouth was irresistible; it had to be at least four hours since he'd gotten to kiss the older man.

He leaned in and nipped Methos' lip, then soothed the bite with his tongue, teasing his way into lover's mouth.  The quick, retaliatory bite from the other man drew a startled noise, then Duncan growled and decided to try to keep him too distracted to come up with any other such pranks.  The fact that it was probably a lost cause struck him as being an incentive to try harder, not a reason to give up the attempt....

Aidan pulled up just enough to rest her head against Duncan's shoulder and watch her lovers kissing each other.  Strength on strength, like to like... Gods, she hadn't found two partners this much a pleasure to watch with each other since her marriage in Armenia centuries ago.  Of course, her husbands then had been as dark as Duncan, with the same dusky gold skin, and as sharp a contrast to Methos' fair coloring.  Just because she wasn't sleeping with Methos hadn't been any reason for them not to, after all.  With three husbands, she certainly hadn't gone unsatisfied; neither had her 'brother' when he came to visit.

The Scot had one hand toying with the buttons on her jacket, managing to work another one free every few seconds despite his obvious absorption with the taste of Methos' mouth.  The other man had one hand buried in Duncan's hair and the other in Aidan's.  If those long fingers were teasing Duncan's ear the way they were hers, she thought breathlessly, no wonder he's moaning.

The Scot moved back from his lover reluctantly, but the hand pulling his hair was very insistent.  Methos struggled to catch his breath for a second against Aidan's talented fingers, which were stroking against the fabric over his cock and driving him half mad.  "Bed.  Now.  This couch is too bloody small," he growled, letting go of Aidan's neck to trap her hand before she could tease him any more.

Duncan chuckled against Aidan's neck as he nipped lightly below one ear and then nibbled at the same spot.  "Sounds good, but we'd have to move."

"Moving sounds good to me, Highlander, did you have something else in mind?" Methos answered as he pulled Aidan upright, settling her onto his lap again and off of Duncan's.

The dark-haired woman stood up and smiled wickedly at both of them.  "Dhonnchaidh?  Would this be enough reason to move?"  She backed away from them one slow step at a time, unbuttoning the jacket as she went.  A shrug dropped the silk off her skin onto the floor, but in the firelight she shone the same gold as the fabric.  The swordsheath went next, tossed carelessly onto the coffee table.

The men sat and watched, fascinated, as those clever fingers worked their way down the buttons of her skirt.  Rather than undo all of them, she waited until the fabric was loose and almost sliding off.  Once it was, she stepped half a step back, and started a slow undulation of hips and belly which worked the skirt off her hips to pool on the floor around her feet.

Aidan bent forward from the waist, her hair falling forward in a dark mass to obscure her movements as she worked the leggings off, silently cursing them. It's a nuisance to maintain the proper mood while dealing with pantyhose.  Garters and stockings can be impressive, but hose?  Still, long hair helps, she thought as she straightened slowly, head arching up first to lift her chest, then the entire torso rising smoothly in a sinuous motion that left long strands of sable hair across her breasts and bra and trailing down her belly.

One slow step back, then another, as she reached up and unfastened the bra, letting it slide down her shoulders and off.  The silver oak-leaf necklace came off next; even if it had to be tucked under a shirt, Edana tried to always wear it.  Still clad in gold panties, she backed up until one foot touched the bed and knelt on it facing them.

"Edana...."  Methos voice trailed off, then he took refuge in inanities as he tried to control his pulse.  Times like this, he remembered all too well that she had spent twelve years as a highly-priced slave in a brothel.  "Didn't you forget something?"  One hand indicated the bikini briefs.

She smiled at them, head tilted slightly to one side, breasts half-covered by her hair.  "I thought I'd leave you something to do."

Duncan glanced at Methos, already aroused at the thought of dragging both of them into bed and doing something this time.  The last time all three of them had been in the same bed, none of them had been lovers.  "Did that sound like a challenge to you?"

"Now that you mention it?  Yes."  Methos stopped talking as Aidan stretched on the bed, arms up over her head, back arched and pale breasts gleaming among dark brown hair.  She kept right on arching back, ending up sprawled on the bed, arms out at her sides.

Without looking away, Methos muttered, "And we were supposed to believe she was going to take a cab and sleep in a lonely bed?"

The sensual smile on Duncan's face held enough mischief to tell Methos that his lover had some kind of plan in mind.  Very softly the Scot said, "Didn't you once tell me that paybacks are the sign of a truly devious mind?"

"Something like.  Why?"

"Let's be devious then.  Follow my lead on this."  Duncan stood up and pulled Methos up by one arm, then led him toward the bed by the belt.

The older immortal licked his lips, trying to control his grin.  This should be interesting.  Duncan and Aidan both in aggressive moods in bed; I have definitely built up some good karma somewhere.

The immortal woman watched appreciatively as the Highlander began to undress their lover in front of her.  Tanned hands moving over pale skin and dark green wool, that sensual mouth teasing exposed skin, and Methos shivering under Duncan's ministrations....  Aidan purred and forced herself to watch.  Only fair, she'd done the same thing to them.  She found herself hoping she'd done half so good a job.

The Scot deliberately drew out what he was doing, knowing how much it had to be arousing both of them. He stripped Methos' sweater off, then began to slide off the t-shirt under it.  Skilled fingers teased as he moved the shirt up; the older immortal's short haircut gave superb access to that long throat and Duncan's tongue took advantage of it.  Methos shivered against him again, and Duncan didn't think it was from cold.

The younger man pulled the t-shirt off Methos and moved behind him.  Aidan couldn't see what he was doing at the older immortal's back, but she could see the reaction it elicited.  Pale skin flushed and Methos arched back as Duncan chucked wickedly.  "Something wrong, Methos?"

That drew a soft laugh, but the older immortal didn't bother answering the rhetorical question.  Duncan bit at the nape of the older man's neck while his hands wandered forward, trailing along pectorals and playing with already taut nipples.  Still moving on that same leisurely path downward, Duncan's hands began to play under the waistband of Methos' trousers, sliding along to unfasten the clasp and pull down the zipper.  Deliberately, the younger man avoided any contact with his lover's already erect cock as he unfastened the trousers.

Aidan sat up and then sprawled onto her stomach to watch them more comfortably.  Lying there, legs spread behind her on the bed, chin propped on her hands allowing only partial view of her breasts, she tempted Methos dreadfully, and he knew she had done it on purpose.  Equally deliberately, he arched up and pressed his shoulders back against Duncan's chest, hips pressing out.  Her grey eyes focused on the flesh framed by, and partially exposed within, the open fly, and Methos carefully restrained his grin.  Serves Edana right after a show like that, he thought.  Then Duncan bit at the back of his neck again and the older man quit thinking, body squirming under the assault of teeth and nails.

Duncan eased the pants down Methos' legs, kneeling to finish the job.  Not incidentally, he rubbed his face along one leg, knowing the feel of stubble rasping against skin, followed by softer hair, would drive the other man half crazy.  The teasing nibble at the back of one knee didn't hurt, either.  He raked nails back up his lover's thighs and sides as he stood, drawing a growl.

"MacLeod, you're overdressed," Methos muttered and pushed Duncan in front of Aidan to stand just out of arms' reach, had she reached.  He started with Mac's jeans, lowering them and enjoying the flex of muscles as the younger man casually stepped out of them.  One eyebrow raised and a wicked smile on his face, he asked, "When did you start going regimental again, Highlander?"

Aidan giggled at the term, but her mind started thinking about what Duncan hadn't been wearing under his pants and she got even hotter.  Then she heard his answer and her face flushed still more.

"I was hoping not to need them tonight."  The Scot shrugged, brown eyes mischievous and lecherous at the  same time.  "I'd say I was right."

Methos chuckled at that and began unbuttoning the flannel shirt from the bottom up.  When he reached the throat, he ran a feather-light touch along Duncan's collarbone and leaned in to nip sharply on the tendon.  While Mac was still groaning from the teasing, his lover began to unbutton the cuffs on his shirt, finally slipping the thick, soft fabric off to fall on the floor.

Duncan groaned again at the feel of those long, strong fingers running down his arms.  Not all that long ago, Methos had convinced the Scot to let himself be tied down to the bed.  The older man had spent half the night teaching Mac that his entire body was an erogenous zone, starting with fingers, wrists and forearms.  The orgasm, when Methos finally allowed it, had literally made Duncan pass out.  Ever since, Methos had only to smile with a particular gleam in his eyes and touch Duncan's arm, and the younger man was almost instantly, and almost painfully, aroused.

"Aidan, shouldn't you have warned me about his ideas of foreplay?"

That drew a soft chuckle and she answered, "Dhonnchaidh, I did.  Remember?"

Methos settled onto the bed beside her.  Leaning in to nip at her ear, he murmured, "Talking about me behind my back, Edana?"

"It was all flattering, Magister."  She felt Duncan move to her other side and press her thighs together.  Before she could get out a sarcastic comment, two warm hands slid under the elastic of her panties and peeled them down her legs.  It took a moment to realize that it was both men doing it.  Aidan gasped out, "Joint effort, you two?"

"Beats tag-team," came Methos' amused reply.

Someone moved her hair away from her neck and the immortal woman relaxed onto the bed as teeth settled over the nape of her neck.  Something in the bite, the precise placement or perhaps the very deliberate quality of the control, convinced her to lie still and enjoy whatever they were doing.  She gave herself over to them, submitting from her own strength not theirs, and heard Methos chuckle, Duncan growl deep in his throat, both knowing what she did.

This was the joy of bedding other immortals, the certainty and skill of their hands and mouths, the awareness and practice in their movements.  Even more than that, for Aidan at least, was the feel of their hands and bodies.  She had learned the pleasures of the flesh in older times, harsher days and more physically demanding.  Her first responses were to strong hands callused from weapons and constant work, bodies covered with the muscle of unending physical labor.  Assiduous weapons practice kept all three of them solidly muscled, their hands powerful and skilled.  She knew how much it aroused her and suspected it was part of what drew Duncan to both her and Methos.

Now there were four such hands traveling on her body, teasing and arousing, feather touches sometimes, raking nails at others, and she had no idea who was doing what.  Aidan didn't care, either.  Someone bit just below a shoulder-blade and she moaned; another mouth settled at the small of her back and licked down toward the curve of her ass, tracing a line along those sensitive nerves.  Involuntarily, her legs moved apart, trying to give him better access, whoever it was.

Duncan chuckled against her spine, sending shivers down her entire body.  "Oh, no, love, not that easy.  It's been too long, none of us would last.  Can't have you complaining in the morning that we neglected you."

Aidan moaned at the thought of them teasing her for an hour or so yet as they both loved to do.  A month and more Duncan had been away from her, four months since she'd had Methos in her bed and her body, and they were going to tease?  "Oh, Gods...."

Methos' voice purred across her skin, "We'll see if we can live up to that.  I live for a good challenge."

Pleasure rolled over her in waves, blurring thought and vision both, as they roused and soothed, bringing her to the edge of orgasm once, then again, only to hold her back from release each time.  She reached for the closer of them, needing to touch and caress, wanting to tug them into the abyss she hovered over, only to feel both arms caught and pinned, one by each.  Methos growled, "No, Edana.  Duncan, where are those ropes?"

Her protests weren't verbal; Aidan had gone past coherent speech a while ago.  It took both of them to secure her hands to the headboard, but neither was worried that her struggles were serious.  Both knew damn well that if she hadn't been willing to be tied up, their balls would currently be grateful for immortal healing.

Now that they had her sprawled on her back, Methos moved between her legs, nipping and licking everywhere except where she wanted him most.  Finally she shuddered and arched to press herself against his mouth.  Duncan drank her moan out of her mouth, kissing her with that singular focus and intensity he brought to sex.  All the concentration, all the clarity of purpose he put into his weapons training, put into what their bodies did to each other... kissing the Highlander was as intoxicating as good brandy.

Halting her at the edge of orgasm yet again, Methos moved up to curl alongside her shoulder.  Duncan lay against her other side, one hand curled across her groin -- not entering her, just cradling heated flesh to soothe her back down.  Aidan whimpered incoherent protests, body thrashing restlessly against the restraints of silk and bodies.

The older immortal spoke softly in Gaelic, not trusting her to remember French or English at this point.  "One or both, love?"

"Both the first time."  She shuddered, trying not to moan at the thought.  "Untie me, Methos."

Grey eyes met gold-green and a crooked smile crossed his face.  "Hajji's favorite?"

"No, mine, please."

Duncan waited to see what they were discussing, certain he'd enjoy it.  Their shared past never made him jealous; in an odd way, their mutual history was a security blanket.  The certainty of their friendship, the trust between them, had opened to include him from the moment Methos met back up with Edana.  It reminded him of being in the middle of his clan.

Methos said quietly, "Get her hands free, Mac."  He reached into the drawer under the bed where they kept various things they might want during sex and pulled out the massage oil that all three of them favored for a lubricant.

Duncan glanced over, hands undoing the knots swiftly and without conscious attention.  The younger man raised an eyebrow, grinning.  "So who's in the middle?"

Aidan, her hands free at last, twisted cat-quick and supple, tugging at the younger man to dump him onto his back in the center of the bed where she had lain.  "Not you, my own."  Before he could draw breath to reply, she went down on him, wrapping her mouth around his cock and stroking with her tongue as she moved down and then back up.

Methos watched for a moment, enjoying the sight of her paler skin against Duncan's gold skin, unaware that she had watched him and the Highlander earlier for the very same reason.  Recalling his original purpose, the older man moved closer to where Aidan knelt between Duncan's legs.  She groaned and pressed back against him as Methos began to tease her ass with oiled fingers, slowly opening and lubricating her.

Duncan heard her moan against his skin and gasped as the vibration added to the already intense pleasure she was giving.  He could see Methos doing something; he'd ask later what it was.  Aidan pulled back and switched her attentions to his inner thighs and belly so that he wouldn't come yet.  When that drew a gasping complaint, she just laughed.

"Pot and kettle, Highlander," Aidan chuckled.  "Methos?  Shall we?"

"I think you're ready, love.  By all means."  He moved to pull a couple of pillows under Duncan's head and shoulders, suspecting the younger man would appreciate being propped up a bit.

Aidan waited until Methos finished what he was doing, then she nudged Duncan's legs apart.  Straddling his waist, she guided his cock into her and slid down onto him.  Teeth clamped onto her lower lip as Aidan fought for control.  "Oh, Gods, but I've missed you two."

Duncan had closed his eyes under her from sheer pleasure.  Tight, slick heat wrapped around his cock, tiny internal muscles trembling around him -- he'd had Methos in his bed for the last month, and he was having trouble controlling himself.  He had no idea how Aidan was managing it.  Then he felt Methos move between his legs, spreading them farther apart.

Methos pressed down gently on Aidan's shoulders, murmuring, "Lean forward a bit, love.  And MacLeod, you get the hard part in this.  Hold still."

While Duncan was still trying to decipher that, the older man began to press forward, slowly.

Aidan cried out as she felt her body yield to Methos' cock, her hands tightening around Duncan's arms where she had braced herself.  He gasped, arching when he felt Methos slide into her ass, their cocks barely separated within her.  His movement brought a second sound from Aidan, one of pain this time, and the younger man immediately froze in place, already apologizing.

"God, love, I'm sorry!  Are you all right?"  Duncan reached for her shoulder with one hand.

Methos had also stopped, knowing just how vulnerable she was, trapped between the two men like this.  Now he asked, "Edana?  All right now?"

"Fine, loves."  She drew a slow breath, letting the last of the pain wash through her and away as immortal healing relieved strained tissues.  A wry smile crossed her face as she looked at Duncan.  "We should have warned you, Dhonnchaidh, I'm sorry.  He wasn't joking.  You get the hard part; you get to hold still."

Methos said dryly, "Grab onto the headboard if you have to, Mac, but hold still.  Trust us, you'll like this."  Aidan drew another deep breath as her older lover pulled back slightly then moved into her again.  Slowly, carefully, the two of them set a rhythm, Methos reading his cues from her movements where he lay against her back.  Duncan moaned under them and reached out to cup her breasts in both hands, hands teasing her nipples.

Aidan gasped and began to move a bit faster between them, muscles tightening around both of them.  Behind her, she heard Methos gasp out a profanity that drew a breathless laugh once she managed to translate it, but she knew he was getting close to the edge, too.  She tried to steady her rhythm and keep this going just a little longer....  It had been so long since she'd taken two men this way, and never two who matched each other so perfectly.  Duncan wasn't holding completely still, but his tiny movements paced Methos as exactly as if they had been sharing women this way for centuries.  Caught between them, she could feel the way their quickenings wrapped around her, harmonized to each other as they were, and it drove her half-crazy.

Duncan wasn't even aware that he was moving, his hips flexing upwards in rhythm with Methos.  All he knew was that he had never felt anything quite like this.  The slick heat wrapped around him was familiar, but the sensation of Methos moving so close to him was like nothing he knew.  The Scot had shared women before in his four centuries, but he and Fitz had never done this.  Taken turns with a willing barmaid, certainly; bedded the girl with one between her legs and another in her mouth, more than once; but this -- this was incredible.  And from here, he could watch both of his lovers, see the delight in their faces, the concentration in Methos' expression, the way Aidan bit her lip to distract from mounting pleasure lest it overwhelm her and she miss something.

The Scot noted the positioning of their bodies absently, part of his mind filing it away for later.  There was something inherently erotic about the sight of Aidan moving on his body and the way Methos was braced over her, his arms on the bed just beside hers, flexing in time with her as they moved.  Duncan was so intent on watching their pleasure that it surprised him when he shuddered and came.

Both of the others had known he was almost there.  Methos could feel it straining through the link they shared; part of his concentration had been the attempt to keep them both from sliding over the edge just yet.  When the younger man came, the older immortal managed a few more thrusts before he came himself, biting Aidan's shoulder rather than scream directly into her ear.  The flash of pain mingled with her pleasure and theirs; she pressed back against both of them, and gave in, letting the orgasm roll over her.

When he could think again, Methos realized Aidan was still coming, small aftershocks quivering through her body.  There was no way he could miss it, buried within her and wrapped around her as he was.  She had collapsed onto Duncan and Methos pressed back up onto his arms so that the Scot didn't have to take all the weight.  To his surprise, though, he could feel Duncan starting to rouse again inside her.

"MacLeod, you continue to amaze me," he murmured, beginning to harden again himself.  "She's going to kill us if she lives through this."

Aidan gasped as Duncan flexed against and inside her.  "I'm going to die happy and come back for more, though.  Oh, Goddess...."

Erin passed Joe a mug of coffee and the cream and sugar as well.  "So what did you think?"

"I think the girl playing Mabel could etch stone with that soprano," came the reply as he stirred cream into his coffee.  "But I'm sorry, the policemen stole the show every time they came on stage."

"They're supposed to.  But you know, I really have seen cats who moved about that quietly," Erin laughed.  She sat and thought for a little while, her face more serious than usual.

Joe was already getting used to her moods and the way they could shift so suddenly, although usually it was because of a word-choice or turn of phrase which had caught her attention.  This time he didn't know what had brought it on, so he sat and waited patiently.  Watchers got very good at that.

"Joe, I really enjoy spending time with you...."

She paused, trying to phrase something and Joe flinched inwardly, braced for the worst.

"Erin, are you saying you don't want to see me again?"

 She turned to stare at him, wide blue eyes shocked, then suddenly she was laughing despite herself.  "Oh, God, Joe, you'd think at my age....  No, you wonderful man, I'm not breaking up with you!  I... I think I'm going to take the job in Seacouver.  But I didn't know what you'd think, I mean I'm basically moving into--"

Joe pulled her toward him and kissed her enthusiastically.  When they came up for air, both were wearing incredibly silly grins and neither cared in the slightest.  "That's great, Erin!  Do the Watchers know yet?"

"Well....  No.  I decided this afternoon and you're the first I've told."

"Not even Adam?  Damn, woman, you're gonna overinflate my ego."

"You could use a bit more ego, Joe Dawson, you put yourself down too much," came the tart reply.  "I won't be moving until this summer anyway.  I'll start fall of '98.  But I didn't know what you'd think.  You are the Regional Director over there."

"Are you gonna quit the Watchers, or work part-time, or what, darlin'?  Been thinking about it, I take it."

"I'd like to try and stay on part-time.  Maybe help you keep an eye on Duncan, since we'll both be faculty at the same college, and work on the oddball cases during the summers over here.  Doesn't Duncan come over here a fair bit in the summers?"  Erin relaxed, feeling all sorts of tensions drop away as Joe confirmed that he still wanted to see her, didn't mind her being a Watcher in his territory.

"Yeah, he does.  And with him and Adam being an item, I don't know what they're going to do.  I don't think they're going to stay in Paris year-round, though.  I get the impression that Aidan has to spend time in the States."

"Joe, what's between them and Aidan?  I mean, all three of them?  Really?"

"That's what the guys say."  Joe shrugged and continued, "I was more surprised about Adam and Duncan than about both of them and Aidan."

Erin sipped her coffee and said thoughtfully, "You do know that you can tell me something is none of my business, Joe, or that you can't discuss it."

"Darlin', if it's that or lie to you, then I will.  But nothing says you can't ask.  So what's on your mind?"

"Is she an immortal, Joe?"  Erin studied him carefully, feeling tension in him, although his face gave nothing away.

"She's not in our databases, Erin.  And I've never asked her."  Joe caught her eyes with his own and said quietly, "This is why being Mac's Watcher gets tricky.  He's a friend of mine, and I probably need to know.  But I don't want to have to ask him, either."

"Well," Erin pointed out practically, "you couldn't ask him if you had a regular Watcher/immortal relationship, so quit kicking yourself over it.  Aidan knows that you know about immortals.  Could you just ask her?  From what I saw of her sense of humor this evening, she'll think the question's hysterically funny if she isn't."

"I could ask her, Erin, but for all she seems so open -- and mostly is -- Aidan guards some of her privacy ferociously.  I'm not always sure where the line is, either.  Same problem I've got with Mac; I'm a Watcher, but I'm also a friend.  Are you sure you're gonna want to help Watch Mac?  Now that you know how complicated this can get?"

"Oh, come on, Joe.  He knows I'm a Watcher.  He's going to assume I'm keeping an eye on him whether I do or not.  I might as well be blamed for something I'm actually doing!"  She chortled at that, leaning back in her chair as Joe relaxed across from her.  "Speaking of Watching Mac, are you going to follow him to the Valicourts?"

"Nah, their Watcher said he'd keep an eye on things, and Mac'll tell me anything important when he gets back.  One of the advantages to this, I gotta admit.  Between what Mac tells me, what Adam throws in, and a few leading questions to Aidan, I'll hear everything."

Erin chuckled and offered him some more coffee and cream.  "That's what I like about older men, Joe.  You know exactly how to get the most results for... energy expended."  She smiled wickedly and asked, "So, worn out from the evening?"

Joe chuckled, a lecherous light in his eyes to match hers.  "Nope.  Wanna try and wear me out?"

Aidan woke to a cool, empty bed and sat upright.  She knew instinctively she should have company, even if she was still sleepy enough to be unsure of who.  After a moment, she registered the feel of two immortals with harmonized quickenings.  A baritone voice and a tenor reply finished settling her back into time.  Now the sound registered as a shower running, not a rain shower, and reluctantly she pulled herself back out of her dreams.

Duncan was still toweling his hair dry as he walked out of the bathroom.  A smile crossed his face when he realized she was awake again.  "Put three men to sleep on a regular basis, hmm?"

She smiled at him and answered, "I'm out of practice.  Give me a few weeks to remember some of the tricks, hmm, Dhonnchaidh?  I'm sure you won't mind my testing some of them on you, will you?"

Methos poked his head out of the bathroom, saying, "Age before beauty, Highlander.  I'm volunteering first."

"Hmm.  He'd make a good demonstration model, Magister; are you sure you don't have a few things to show me?"  Aidan lifted the covers out of the way for them and purred as a warm body settled against her.

Duncan watched his lovers settle against each other, still too surprised by Aidan's comment to move just yet.  He had enjoyed seeing the two of them wrapped around each other, but it hadn't really occurred to him that she enjoyed watching them, too.  For that matter, she was talented enough in bed after spending her entire life bedding mortals.  Ideas spun through his thoughts, things Methos had been slowly teaching him....  The idea of being a demonstration tool and both of them using hands and mouth on him made him regret the fact that they all had to get up in the morning.

Methos smiled at him, "Highlander, did no one ever tell you that brooding is more comfortable someplace warm?"

"Who's brooding?  And you're hogging the covers again."  Duncan slid under the comforter and wrapped himself around Methos, one arm wrapping over the other man to catch Aidan's hand.  Methos growled a protest against cold feet when Mac threw a leg over his thigh and ran his foot along the other man's calf, but it was half-hearted at best.

Aidan sighed in contentment and briefly squeezed Duncan's hand.  Finally waking up again, she asked, "Wasn't my hair loose when you two put me to sleep?"

"Yes, but we're kind, generous men.  We braided it for you."  Methos yelped as she pinched his ribs and demanded, "What was that for, Edana?  We even cleaned you up and let you sleep while we got a shower."

"You'd have to, Methos, the shower isn't really big enough for three.  Well, maybe.  With some work.  Besides, how much is your kindness going to cost me?"  Aidan watched Methos' face, pleased to see how happy he was curled against Duncan and how well they suited each other, in temperament as much as looks.

"Tonight?  Nothing, I'm feeling charitable."

"Besides, he's already gotten what he really wanted," Mac threw in, grinning.

Aidan snickered at that and said, "No, we haven't put him in the middle yet.  Trust me, Hajji and Sayyida used to drive him half-mad."

Duncan blinked, then said curiously, "I thought you didn't sleep with immortals until a few months ago, Aidan.  What am I missing here?"

"She wasn't sleeping with me, MacLeod, but her husbands were, and eventually her sister-wives," Methos answered cheerfully.  "Come on, man, she had three husbands, she could spare me one when I came to visit."  Aidan elbowed him in the ribs, but she was chuckling as he continued, "And the men were so used to me in the bed with them when I visited, that Sayyida and Jahana just assumed it was normal and that I was another husband who didn't come by very often."

Aidan smiled at Duncan's bemused, aroused expression.  "Duncan, you know what housing was like until, oh, the last century or so.  We only had four rooms in that house, and for years just one very large bed for the lot of us.  The first night Methos was in with me and my husbands, Ishak said he was too beautiful to be neglected and the other two agreed.  Fairly simple, I think.  They wanted to make love and weren't going to leave Methos out unless he insisted.

"After Jahana and Sayyida joined us, they really did think Methos was just another husband, one who traveled.  Now, when Jahana got pregnant, we broke down and enlarged the bedroom and built a couple more beds as well.  She got irritable if she had more than one person in with her when she was heavy pregnant, but she did like having a warm body against her back, usually me because I'd rub the muscles out."

 "So, what, you'd be curled up with Jahana, and Hajji and Sayyida would trap him?"

Aidan gave him an amused look.  "Dhonnchaidh, you've known Amanda how long?  Three hundred years?  Did you never notice that women enjoy watching, too?  How do you think romance novels sell?"

Duncan did laugh at that, face going red as he remembered some of the scenes Carolyn Marsh, Terrence Coventry's mortal wife, had put in her latest 'bodice-ripping' romance novel.  Seeing his name attached to fairly... intimate descriptions had been arousing all right -- and extremely embarrassing.  Joe and Amanda hadn't let him live it down yet.

Methos quirked that sarcastic half-smile of his and answered, "Oh, he starred in one, Aidan, did no one tell you?"

"Methos, shut up."

Aidan sat up in bed, wrapping the blanket around her; Methos growled at the chill air on his exposed side.  She gleefully asked, "Oh, someone tell me.  What do you mean, starred in?"

"Bring the blankets back before I freeze, wench."

Duncan promptly wrapped both arms around the older man and offered, "You don't tell her about it, and I keep you warm."

"Tell me, and I keep you warm," Aidan immediately riposted.

"Fine.  You tell her and I warm both your backsides,"  Duncan promptly retorted.  To his annoyance, Methos immediately turned to Aidan to hear the counter-threat.

She, meanwhile, looked scornfully at the Scot.  "I am torn between the clichéd, if true, 'you and what army?' and the equally clichéd, 'Please, Bre'r Fox, don' throw me in that there briar patch.'  As if a spanking is a threat, MacLeod."

"Oh, I don't know, Aidan.  I'm so tired, I'd probably fall asleep as soon as I was through paddling you," he replied, a faintly malicious smile on his face.  Duncan was all too aware that, in the right mood, spanking Aidan aroused her no small amount.

Methos cracked a grin at that.  What the Highlander didn't know yet was that both of the older immortals enjoyed dishing out a spanking, too.  Serve MacLeod right if the two older ones pinned him down, warmed that gorgeous ass... and went to sleep themselves.

Aidan contemplated Duncan thoughtfully, then smiled sadly at him.  "Younger men -- no stamina.  Oh, well, Highlander, another time.  I'll just remember to ask Amanda all about you and the romance novel when I see her.  I'm sure she can tell me the full story."

Duncan sputtered for a second, then settled down to a serious pout over the 'no stamina' comment.  After a few seconds, he flipped over onto his other side, facing away from them and still muttering in a mimicry of Aidan's voice.  The Highlander had added a new item to his list of things never to do -- never piss off a writer who'd been his lover for a few years and knew all the revealing stories about him.  Actually, he was trying not to laugh at the idea of Amanda trying to tell Aidan about the whole fiasco of the romance novel cum revenge scenario.  Maybe he could bribe Joe to find a way to tape it?

Aidan stared at the younger man, surprised and a bit worried.  She'd never seen him like this before and wondered if he his feelings had truly been hurt.  His body language certainly looked offended and upset, lying there with his arms crossed and back to them, ignoring both her and Methos.  Duncan was many things in bed, but inattentive was decidedly not on the list.  Oh, hell, have I made one smart crack too many?

Methos, however, knew him better than that.  The younger man counterfeited agitation very well.  It may be one of the few skills Duncan picked up running around with Walter's acting company.  Well, that and a fondness for poetry, the older immortal admitted to himself.  However, definitely time to knock him out of this mood.

Methos sat up himself, having given up on getting the blankets back from Aidan, and swatted Duncan hard on the ass.  "Are you through worrying Edana yet, or shall we see who gets his backside warmed?"

The Scot twisted back over to evade another blow and found himself pinned by Methos, the older man leaning half over him as he held the Highlander's arms down.  "Are you through, MacLeod?  Or shall I spank you another few times to jar your brain into working?"

"Methos, leave be.  Duncan, did I actually hurt your feelings?"

She sounded concerned and the Highlander promptly dropped the act.  "No, Aidan, I was just getting even with you after that crack about my age."

"Oh.  Good."  She gave him a thoughtful look and said, "Dhonnchaidh, have you ever been in a three-way relationship like this?"

"I'd never taken a male lover before now, Aidan, what do you think?"

"Not even with two women, love?"

"No.  I went to bed with Rebecca and Amanda once, but that wasn't a relationship.  It was a friendly night's exercise -- well, for Rebecca at least.  Why?"  Duncan twisted his wrists sharply, dislodging Methos' hold, and caught the other man as he dropped.  When they had finished rearranging themselves, the older man was sprawled on Duncan's chest, one warm arm wrapped around him and their legs intertwined.  Aidan laughed and curled against the Highlander's other side, her arm thrown over the two of them, which brought a purring sigh from Methos.

"Because, Dhonnchaidh, I don't know what experience you have with... balancing would be the best word I think... balancing a relationship with two other people when you are trying to keep it equal between all parties."

Duncan cast back through his memories for anything close to what she was mentioned.  "Not much.  Amanda's always wandered in and out of my life, but she and I would kill each other if we lived together, and we both know it.  I don't think being an evenhanded officer for His Majesty's armies in the Napoleonic War is quite what you meant," and he tapped her lightly on the nose.

A soft chuckle answered that.  "No, not exactly!"

Methos snorted in derision.  "Oh, right, MacLeod, like we'd pay any more attention to your orders just because we're sharing a bed.  I don't remember that my sleeping on your couch gave you any authority."

"No, just an empty refrigerator," Duncan jibed.  "Seriously, though, Aidan, are you worried?"

"No, not yet.  Methos and I have both done this before, if not with each other.  The hardest part is the care required not to favor one lover over the other.  I don't want to think about a lover's quarrel when all three of us carry swords."

Methos kept his voice casual, threading fingers through Duncan's hair to reassure him.  "No, Highlander, there's no problem yet, Edana's simply trying to prevent one.  Nothing wrong with mischief and pranks back and forth, mind."

"Lady, no, not at all.  I simply don't want any of us hurt, if at all possible.  If we can last out the first few months, we'll get to the point where we compensate back and forth for each other almost automatically.  It's getting through those first few disagreements and the inevitable times when one of us puts her or his foot in mouth...."  She shrugged and sighed.  "It'll probably happen anyway.  But if I hurt you, love, tell me."  Aidan kissed his hand, then pulled the covers back over all of them.  "Deal?"

Duncan reached across Methos to stroke her shoulder.  "If you'll do the same.  No strong, silent routine just because you've done this before and don't want to upset us with a complaint."

"Deal.  Methos?"

He shrugged, knowing they'd both feel it.  "There's another way to do this?  Of course."

Aidan poked him in an available bicep, hard.  "I mean it, Magister.  You tell us if we're hurting you, or excluding you, or making you jealous.  Promise me."

His voice unexpectedly serious, Methos replied, "Yes.  I'll tell you if there's a problem.  I've waited too long for both of you to let any of us destroy this by accident."

Aidan sighed, content and sliding back down into sleep already now that this was resolved.  "Good.  Everything else is detail and can be hashed out later."

Duncan smiled against the top of Methos' head, still caressing Aidan's shoulder.  "Everything else?"

"Sleeping arrangements, students, who takes challenges....  As I said, everything."

Methos chuckled when she yawned in the middle of a word.  "No stamina, woman, but you're right.  We'll sort it out later.  Happy Samhain, Edana."

"Happy Samhain, Methos, Dhonnchaidh."  She yawned again and cuddled in between the two of them.  "This is a wonderful start to the new year.  Bless you both."

One long-fingered hand stroked her hair gently.  "Sleep well."  Methos smiled at Duncan in the faint light from the fire.  "You, too, Highlander.  Get some sleep.  We have to get up in a few hours and go see Gina and Robert.  And you two are driving the first leg."

"Us?"  Duncan replied indignantly. "Why us?"

"Because you two actually like mornings.  I'll drive in the afternoon."  Methos ran a finger across his lover's lips.  "Hush, MacLeod.  Sleep.  Tomorrow we'll talk."  The younger man kissed his finger, then wriggled to get more comfortable under his lover.  Methos fell asleep thinking that perhaps tonight he wouldn't have  nightmares.

The clatter of keys sounded almost like machine-gun fire.  Jirina entered data onto the spreadsheet on the left side of the screen, smugly pleased to see the numbers which appeared on the right.  Keeping two sets of books was something of a nuisance, but she needed one with the faked figures for government audits.  As for the other, well, the Slavic woman appreciated knowing how much money her black-market antibiotics and narcotics were truly generating.  Between the smuggling and the occasional service in providing passports, visas, and alibis, her finances were the best she had ever achieved in just over seven centuries of life.

Receipts and log entries shifted under her fingers as the pile of papers steadily diminished.  The peace and quiet of the small hours of the morning remained her favorite time to work.  No noises except rustling papers and clicking keys, no smells except the tea steeping in the samovar beside her desk -- this was the most productive time of her day.  At the bottom of one stack Jirina paused and stretched, flexing tired fingers, then reached for her mug of strong, black tea.

When the phone rang, she stifled an extremely obscene comment about the caller's sexual preferences and picked it up despite the late hour.  "Petesceu."

"Jirina, my dear.  I have a job for you."

The purring tenor on the other end of the line brought her to full wakefulness immediately.  Pale blue eyes narrowed and her thoughts kicked into overdrive.  "Owain.  To what do I owe this unexpected call?"

"Not a pleasure?  What a pity.  I want you and Lim to hunt an immortal for me.  I do not want him killed, but I want to know who's there, how he reacts... everything."

"You don't want him killed, or you don't want his head taken?" she asked meditatively, one hand playing with short, thick blond hair.

"I don't want his head taken.  I think I was perfectly clear, Jirina."  Owain's voice took on a chilling edge, although the expression on his face never changed. He tilted back in his chair, studying the sky with a small part of his attention.  The unbroken blue promised another glaringly hot afternoon in Sydney, Australia.  "Coordinate your arrival with Lim, but I want both of you in Paris by the day after tomorrow.  See to your own ticket and accommodations.  Your current finances can stand it."

Jirina tabled that matter for the moment.  He was right, although she was displeased that he knew it and presumed he could still order her about; Owain hadn't been her teacher for more than five centuries now.  In the same calm voice, she continued, "Then this is about your line-war with Cynthia.  Have you found that little bitch at last?"

"Not yet, but soon.  A pity you don't know what she looks like; I could use a portrait to circulate among our people."

Forgetting that her former teacher couldn't see it across the phone, Jirina shrugged.  "I never met her, Owain.  Heard about her, oh, yes.  Damiano and FitzCairn both raved about the bitch."

Owain spoke thoughtfully, "FitzCairn, unfortunately for this, is out of the Game.  Do you suppose Damien would know how to contact her?"

"With Darius dead?"  Jirina laughed contemptuously.  "I doubt it.  That old pacifist played meeting point and mediator for ten score of us, at least.  No, with Darius dead, and Adrianna as well, I don't think Damiano has any way of finding her."

"Would he tell you if he did?"

Owain's voice sounded exquisitely detached, which meant he was plotting furiously, Jirina knew.  "Did hell freeze over and I missed it?" came the acerbic reply.  "For some reason he never forgave me for trying to kill Amanda LeFauve."

"For some reason," Owain mocked her.  "Only that they had been lovers off and on for three decades."

Jirina shrugged again.  "Well, there was that.  So who am I not going to shorten by a head?  You do realize that I can only spare a few days away from business on such short notice."

"His name is Duncan MacLeod.  He lives on a barge called the Nobile, which is moored across the Seine from le Cathedral de Notre Dame.  Rattle him for me, Jirina.  Frighten him thoroughly and find out who he sees, who he knows.  But do not kill him or those around."

She wrote down the details, then said thoughtfully, "MacLeod?  What relationship to Connor MacLeod?"

"Cousin and student.  Does it matter?  You're not going to kill him."

"Connor is dangerous, Owain.  Have you forgotten that he took out the Kurgan?  I haven't.  I'd rather not offend him by accident."

Owain said dryly, "But on purpose?"

"For a quickening like his, it had better be on purpose," she said grimly.  "I will do this job for you, Owain, and I will handle my own expenses.  But when I get back, you will send me a summary of who in the line of Ramirez might help Cynthia, and who from our line is willing to oppose her.  I'm not a tool for you to test to destruction, old man."

"You will do as I say, when I say, Jirina," and now his voice was arctic iron, cold forged and bitter to the ear.  "I never taught you everything, woman.  You will hunt Duncan MacLeod for me.  You will do anything else I require to pursue this line war.  If you obey me, I will give you Duncan MacLeod's head, which will hurt Amanda LeFauve as badly as the death of Rebecca Horne did.  If you disobey me, I will give you to Enrique for his pleasure.  Which will it be, Jirina?"

Brought up short on a leash she had thought long broken, Jirina shuddered.  For a long moment she couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.  Memories of old sparring sessions with her teacher came back and the strength of five centuries' independence bled away, leaving her pale and shivering in her chair.  Even now she couldn't take Owain in a fight, and well she knew it.  The thought of being handed over to his pet madman, the immortal who had once been an Inquisitor....  She shuddered again, forcing down vivid memories of the human wreckage tied to stakes and burned during those times.  Oh, no, she was not letting Enrique get his hands on her.

Drawing a deep breath, she steadied her voice through sheer will and answered, "I said I'd hunt him for you, Owain.  But I will still want that information."

On the other end of the line, her teacher smiled.  He had heard exactly those tones many times before, when Jirina knew herself beaten and pushed for one more exchange in a chess-game or sparring match to spare herself a little pride.  Telling her those details had already been a part of his plan; he would give her the point to keep her firmly on his side.  "Of course, my dear.  I'll have Lim contact you to synchronize such details as hotel accommodations.  And Jirina?"

"Yes?"  She took another deep breath, held it, then let go.

"Call me when you're through.  I have a suspicion that MacLeod will be very important to this."  He hung up without waiting for a reply and laughed softly in his office.  "Oh, yes, the MacLeods will be very important indeed.  One way or another."

Gina de Valicourt waited impatiently at the best of times.  At the moment, though, she reminded her husband of a caged panther as she paced back and forth in the entryway.  Robert ran one hand through his short, sandy-blond hair and commented, "Dearest, they'll be here soon.  Wearing a hole in the marble is not going to tell you who Duncan's bringing, or why he said they would only need one room.  Which room did you give them, by the way?"

Three centuries in France had not eradicated the Italian accent in his wife's voice.  "I gave them the Gold Suite on the other wing, of course.  Just because they only need one bed doesn't mean they can't use a sitting room and a second room if someone can't sleep."

Robert nodded, remembering the way morning sunlight lit that entire suite of rooms.  The walls were palest gold with ivy painted up one corner to spill around the top borders, and deeper gold drapes made the room even brighter.  "You're putting Duncan in the suite with the huge tub."

"Well, of course," Gina replied indignantly.  "When is the last time he brought a special guest?  Hmm?  I just wish he had told me who!"  She spun around and began pacing again, skirt flaring around her calves.

Robert soothed her, saying, "Carissima mia, we'll know any minute.  And on the bright side, he said that Adam would be showing up at some point to do the book appraisals, and I know you've been looking forward to seeing him again."

Gina's face softened at that.  She had grown very fond of the young academic, even if he had helped Duncan's matchmaking by staging a duel with her husband.  "I am, Robert, and I am not.  I like Adam a great deal, and I wonder how he is handling Duncan's newest paramour."

"Hopefully, he's not handling her at all," Robert pointed out, then paused and looked at his wife.  "Why would Adam be having a problem?"

"Because he's in love with Duncan.  Don't you ever see anything?"

The exasperated look from those dark eyes told Robert he had obviously missed several steps in this chain of logic, or was that emotion?  Then the former pirate considered her words again and stared at his wife.  "In love?  Duncan?  Gina, Adam's--"

"What?  Male?  Oh, Robert, don't be so provincial."  She sounded disappointed with him.  "You and Duncan, both so convinced that you should only be attracted to one kind of person."

"I'm attracted to you, Angelina, bella mia," he murmured, bending to kiss her just under the point of her jaw.  "Besides, I was going to say that he was taking on a lost cause.  Duncan and another man?  I think the English will come up with decent cuisine more quickly."

"Perhaps, Robert.  Besides, I like Adam.  I would very much like to see him happy, and Duncan is too serious."  Gina pouted and continued, "I simply think Duncan could do much worse."

Robert sighed and said, "Well, you can tell him so tonight if you don't like this new woman.  However, I think that's Duncan's car pulling in now, dear, so why don't you smooth your hair and we'll go meet her."

They made it to the front door as Duncan was opening the passenger door on his car, his back to them.  Gina hissed in irritation when she still couldn't see his lady.  The laughing voice she heard was entirely unexpected and for a moment Gina couldn't place it.  Robert, however, walked forward with a surprised expression on his face

"Duncan?  How are you, mon ami?"  Moving smoothly around Duncan's shoulder, Robert confirmed his first suspicion and asked, "Aithnea?  Is that you?"

Aidan grinned up at him.  "Hello, Robert, you old rogue.  Stolen any good cargoes lately?"

Duncan watched Robert's jaw drop and couldn't stop grinning.  It was so rarely that he completely surprised these two.  Gina stopped staring and threw herself on her old friend.  "Sidra!  How are you, dear?!  I thought you were still in New York."

Aidan laughed at that.  "Only you could make New York sound like the outer edges of civilization, dear."

"The part of it you were living in is the edge of civilization," Gina shuddered.  "I mean, really.  Syracuse?  But what are you doing here?  You're always welcome, but we have been trying to get you back to Europe since before you took this last name!"

Duncan leaned against the car, brown eyes dancing with laughter.  It had been a toss-up as to whether Gina's manners or curiosity would win, and so far the Italian woman's feline instincts were in full ascendancy.  He glanced down at his watch, timing it to see how long it would take before his hostess said hello.  Behind him, he could feel Methos trying not to chuckle.  Robert and Gina were surprised enough by Sidra/Aithnea (and Duncan made a mental note to ask what exactly that cargo crack had meant).  Adam thrown into the mix should make for a very interesting dinner conversation.  Gina would undoubtedly try to be blunt, Robert would try to be polite, and a merry evening would be had by all.

Aidan huffed in exasperation.  "Gina.  I was in Milan not forty years ago, remember?  You and Robert had me shipping you wine on a regular basis, because I was investing in the vineyards you like so much.  I have not been living in the outer edges of nowhere and you know it.  And I'm here with Duncan, dear, how did you miss that?"

Now Robert did stare at her.  "Now, wait, Aithnea.  No, it's Aidan, now, isn't it?"

"How do you recognize my letters from name to name, Robert?" Aidan asked in utter seriousness.

"Your handwriting," he answered absently.  "I spent a month once learning to forge it, then gave up because your factors insisted on a face to face meeting before they'd give me the emerald mine."

Grey eyes glared at him indignantly.  "You tried to steal my emerald mine?!  Robert!  What ever happened to honest thievery!  You could have at least held a sword to my throat so that we could discuss it.  That's... that's--"  She paused hunting for a word and Duncan chipped in.

"What?  Swindling?  That's how he got a wife," the Highlander smiled.  "I seem to remember something about twenty thousand gold louis, Gina."

"He's paid it all back with interest, Duncan.  And it's very good to see you, but could you not have told us you were bringing another friend of ours?"  The Italian immortal wrapped her arms around her husband's waist adoringly, although she was still glaring at Duncan.

The Highlander shrugged, donning his best innocent look.  "How did I know you three were friends, Gina?  It hasn't really come up.  Aidan only got to France yesterday, and I forgot to tell her we were coming out here."

Aidan had not given up on the discussion about her emeralds.  "Now, look, Robert.  Just because I was the one who had to certify that your virgin Spanish noblewoman wasn't a virgin...."

Robert immediately replied, "I got a quarter of the ransom for her that I should have, Aithnea, and it was your fault!"

"Hah!  I told you to ransom the wench back to her family, but no, you had to try the consul's office instead for the quicker money.  It was not my fault!"  Aidan leaned in, fists set on her hips, enjoying this argument thoroughly.

Methos had unfolded himself from the driver's seat while Gina and Duncan were listening with great interest to this conversation.  Now he couldn't resist pointing out the obvious.  "Well, you certainly aren't equipped to deflower virgins, Aidan."  The meaningful smile he gave Duncan had the Scot ducking his head to hide a faint flush.

Gina turned at the new voice, then threw herself at him.  "Adam!  You're here early!"  She hugged Adam, who seemed almost embarrassed by her effusiveness.  "Duncan, why didn't you tell us?  We don't have a room ready for him.  Robert, what do you think about--"

In unison, all three visitors said, "No, Gina."

Gina kept right on talking to Robert, waving one hand absently to dismiss their protests.  "--the Forest Room next to the Gold Suite, yes?  The bed is certainly long enough for such tall legs."

Aidan promptly said, "No, Gina, we only need the one room.  I promise."

In the same instant Duncan said firmly, "Don't put your servants to the extra trouble, Gina.  Adam's going to be sleeping with us."

Gina turned, startled, to see that her old friend stood there with one arm around Aidan's shoulders and the other around Adam's waist.  Adam was leaning into Duncan's chest.  When he met her eyes, Adam gave a half-shrug, an amused and very pleased look on his face.  Aidan met the Italian woman's eyes and smiled, looking as content as a cat turned loose in the catnip.

Robert meanwhile studied Aidan, then Duncan, then Adam, and turned back to Aidan.  Turning to Gina, he said politely, "Excuse me a moment, dear.  Aithnea!"

The bellow startled Gina and Duncan both. The young-appearing Irish woman straightened her spine, chin coming up to an imperious tilt, and her shoulders went back in perfect parade-ground stance.  She glared at him for a long moment, then replied coldly, "Robert?"  The French pronunciation of the name nearly dripped ice across the ground between them, and left no questions as to what she thought of being yelled at.

"One room?"

She tilted her head to one side, poised and dangerous as either Robert or Gina had ever seen her.  She knew full well where this was going.  "Yes, one room.  One bed.  Is this a problem?"

The French (former) pirate stood there, hands on his hips, glaring at her.  "Three years I worshipped you, living to hear your voice, hoping for a chance to cross swords with you solely to see you.  The most fascinating woman I had ever met, and you turned me down every time I asked.  And why?"  He dropped to one knee in front of her, grabbing her unresisting hands as Aidan stared down at him, mouth slightly open in sheer shock.  "Because you had sworn never to bed one of our kind!"

He clasped her hands in one of his, the other palm cutting the air for emphasis.  "And then, then I meet the only woman of our kind who surpassed you.  My Gina stole my heart immediately!  But!"  And he paused dramatically, keeping her off-balance emotionally through long practice.  "Now, when I see you again, not only do I find you have broken your solemn oath -- but with a younger man?!  Younger men?!  How dare you, Aithnea!  I am shattered!  Distraught!"

Adam sagged against the Citroen, laughing himself half-sick.  Duncan glanced back and forth anxiously from Aidan's stunned expression to Robert's indignant look to Gina's half-horrified, half-angry face.  Oh, Lord -- Hiroshima was plenty.  Gina and Aidan drawing swords on each other would start off one hell of a chain reaction.

The Irish woman in question was still giving Robert a shocked look.  "You what?  But I--"

"And with a Scottish barbarian, my dear?  When you could have had a French nobleman!  When Fitz would have happily worshipped at your feet?  Haresh Clay would have made you a sultana!  And you choose a Scottish pup!  And an academic?  Both of them?!"

The academic in question was laughing so hard now that he had his head down on his arms, folded half over the car.  Gina threw one hand up to cover her mouth, dark eyes bright with emotion.  Aidan finally found her voice and started to say indignantly, "Robert!  Fitz worshipped women, period!  Besides, Haresh was joking, he was married!  And you!  We were always...."

Robert couldn't hold back his laughter at the appalled expression on her face.  He quickly wrapped his free hand around her wrists so that she wouldn't draw a sword, but his unrestrained mirth undid Aidan.  The Irish woman went from sputtering explanations in French to shaking, chuckling laughter, finally howling with laughter herself.  She ended up on her knees as well, leaning against Robert and wiping tears of laughter from her eyes with the back of one hand.  Gina smiled to see that her husband had reduced the Irish immortal to blushing.

Duncan glared at Robert when the Frenchman finally stood up.  "Pup?  Barbarian?  And just who had to come to who for help with his marriage?  Hmm?  'Please, Duncan, she's the only woman for me.  She's my life, what can I do?' "  The mimicry of Robert's voice and accent caught the pirate's intonation so perfectly that Gina wrapped her other hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she tried not to laugh outright at her husband.

"Worshipped her?  This from a man who tried to swindle her out of her emerald mine?"  Adam, who had finally managed to get himself under control, ducked his head and tried not to start back up again as Duncan continued to mimic Robert with irritating accuracy.

Gina finally caught her breath and said, "Inside, all of you!  Adam, stand up, try to remember how to breathe, hmm?  It would be dreadfully embarrassing if you laughed yourself to death on my doorstep.  Duncan, stop imitating Robert!"  She caught the taller immortal by one ear, twisting it unmercifully to get his attention, then let go again.  "Open the boot so the servants can bring your bags and come inside!  Robert!  Quit laughing and be useful!  Aidan, come along, you and I will get some tea and let the men work off this excessive machismo they seem to have acquired.  Now, what's this about an emerald mine?"  The smaller immortal woman swept Aidan up and inside the house from where she still knelt.

Adam caught Duncan's eye and muttered in Gaelic, "Younger?  Younger?  Oh, Gods!" and started laughing again, arms wrapped around his ribs.

Duncan sighed, still chuckling himself, and hauled the older man up by one arm.  "Will you quit laughing?  Do you really want Gina to come see what's keeping us?"

Methos leaned in, green-gold eyes mesmerizing Duncan from a distance of mere inches.  "Why should I quit laughing, Mac?  What do I have better to do?"

Robert stared in complete surprise as Duncan growled something unintelligible and trapped Adam against the car, kissing him.  For a few seconds, all Robert could do was watch in complete fascination as his good friend, possibly the most thoroughly heterosexual man he'd ever met other than Gabriel Piton, wrapped himself around another man.  Eventually, though, good manners reasserted themselves and the former baron turned around to consider whether his house or lawn needed any repair work.  He had worked his way through to considering mulching the roses, and was running out of topics, when Duncan tapped him on one shoulder.

"Shall we?  Gina and Aidan are waiting."

Robert sighed.  "I was waiting on you, Duncan.  Hello, Adam."

Adam gave him that amused, knowing half-smile which drove Robert mad, and answered, "Hello, Robert.  Worshipped her from afar, hmm?  Nice job of yanking Aidan's chain."

"Well, of course.  I've owed her something like this for ages over that whole Spanish noblewoman fiasco," Robert replied happily.  "But has she finally changed her mind?  No offense intended, Duncan, but that vow of hers was older than you are, old friend."

"No offense taken, Robert," Duncan answered, smiling a pleasant smile that immediately told the former pirate to watch his back.  Duncan wasn't offended, but he was going to get even for that somehow.

Robert noticed that his question hadn't been answered and resolved to find some way to ask Aidan.  Hmm, maybe Adam would be willing to tell me?  In the meantime....  "Come along, you two, I'll show you your rooms."  One raised hand forestalled any protests.  "It's a suite, Duncan, in case you truly snore as badly as Fitz always claimed."

Adam answered snidely, "No, actually it's more like a bass purr.  Rather soothing."

Duncan gave him an indignant glare.  "I do not."

"How would you know, Highlander?  You're asleep at the time," Methos pointed out reasonably, maliciously provoking Robert who was looking more and more appalled by this conversation.  He'd suspected that the former pirate was not going to cope well with this.  Having the other man know that Aidan had never intended to sleep with another immortal was simply additional leverage for mischief-making.  After all, Robert had come closer to making Methos lose his head than most.

"Well, at least I don't steal all the covers," Duncan retorted hotly.

"No, that's Aidan," came the immediate riposte.

Robert gestured them up the stairs and tried valiantly not to react to this ongoing competition to get the last word.  It was a doomed effort from the start.

"No," Duncan answered, "it can't be Aidan.  Else she'd not wake me up burrowing in for warmth at three in the morning."

"Oh, is that what you call it this century?" Adam asked with great and abstracted innocence.

"No, I think they called it bundling a few centuries ago.  These days, it's called conserving body heat."

"Well, you certainly get hot easily," Adam murmured wickedly.  The caressing tone of voice made Robert decide to pay close attention to the veins in the marble floor.

Duncan's eyes darkened as arousal spiked through him.  Deliberately, he reached for the link between himself and Methos and pushed the feeling of lust at his lover.  Methos gasped for breath, suddenly unsure there was enough oxygen in the room.  A faint flush colored his cheeks and Duncan switched to Gaelic to spare Robert's nerves.

"Oh, I don't know, gradhach.  Your mouth is certainly hot enough when it's wrapped around me, and those warm hands on my thighs as you kneel between my legs...."

Methos broke stride for a second, feeling Duncan's hand hot against the small of his back.  A sudden, very visceral memory of that exact position and action flashed through his mind, leaving him off-balance.  His lips thinned as he glared at Duncan.  "Highlander," Methos growled, also in Gaelic.

"Yes?"  The Scot caught him with those dark eyes and licked his lips, smiling to see the immediate surge of lust across his lover's face.

"Unless you just want to shock Robert, you'd better get him out of the room as soon as we get there.  Because sixty seconds after we get in that room, your clothes are coming off, and inside two minutes I'm going to be so far inside you that you're not going to remember a time we weren't lovers," Methos purred.

Duncan's eyes widened.  Since they had become lovers, Methos had rarely initiated things.  The younger man suspected that he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop or something, or that he was afraid of suggesting something that would shock Duncan.  This aggression both startled and aroused him.

Robert hadn't understood a word they'd said, but the tones of voice had been unmistakable.  Opening a door, he showed the two men into a sitting room where lamps were already lit against the first shadows of late afternoon.  "Duncan, Adam, this room connects to the bathroom there, and the doors on either side open onto the bedrooms.  I'll have the servants leave your bags here, so that you can decide which room you want."  Seeing the barely contained tension in both men, he hastily concluded, "I'm sure you want to clean up, so I'll just leave you now.  We'll be downstairs in the salon."

The Frenchman closed the door quickly behind himself and leaned against the wall for a moment, waiting for the embarrassed flush to fade from his face before he went to give the servants their instructions.  Ah, young love.  I wonder if Gina and I ever looked so impatient?  I hope so!  Through the door, he heard a bedroom door slam closed.

When he walked into the salon, Gina gave him an inquiring look.  "Where are Duncan and Adam?"

"They'll be here in a little while," he answered evasively, trying not to look at Aidan.

She smiled in open amusement.  "Cleaning up, are they?"  Her tone gave an entirely different meaning to 'cleaning'.

"Well, they'll certainly need to," Robert answered.  "I think young Pierson must be full of surprises.  Perhaps I should learn Gaelic after all."

Gina stared at her husband.  "What is going on, Robert?  Where are they?"

Aidan laughed merrily.  "Very, very busy, Gina.  They'll be here in a while.  Who started it, Robert?"

"Oh, Duncan started it, I think, but Adam seemed to have the advantage on points when I left them," he answered.  "Absolutely amazing, Aithnea, I do believe that...."

"Robert!"  Gina interrupted him, having finally translated her husband's evasive comments.  "Leave them some privacy!  And I want to hear about this emerald mine.  Sidra, when were you a pirate?"  She changed the topic decisively, not letting her husband continue down that train of thought.

"What's amazing about it, Robert?" came the laughing reply.  "That's older than both of us put together.  And I was never a pirate, Gina, that's nothing but rumor."

Robert rolled his eyes.  "Oh, of course you weren't a pirate.  Explain that sword I took from you in Cadiz."

"I left that sword in Cadiz, Robert."

Gina smiled watching them spat so amiably.  Both of them were smiling too much and too happily for this to be serious.  For the next half-hour or so, the three talked knowledgeably and sometimes hotly about swords, which led to smuggling, which led to brandy.  They were in the middle of an involved argument on the merits of various European wines when Duncan and Adam arrived downstairs, clean, still a bit damp, and laughing.

"For such light hair," the quiet voice commented, "you certainly blend into shadows well, Kyra."

"Practice, Jared, practice," the lanky blond murmured back without turning her head to look at the black-haired man.  "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see who you were stalking.  Is this just practice or did he annoy you?"

Kyra dodged that one, asking, "No, no, Jared, finish answering my question.  What are you doing here?  Following me?"

"I was going to ask you to dinner and didn't want to yell down the hall after you," he said equably.  "Then I saw the way you were moving and decided silence was definitely a better idea.  So are you available for dinner or shall we finish dealing with him?"

"We?" Kyra asked, torn between irritation at Jared, fury at the immortal who'd been stalking her for a day and a half, and laughter over Jared's cheerful persistence.

"Well, how else am I going to clear up your schedule to get you to Pepino's?" he asked reasonably, glancing over her shoulder.  "So who is he?"

"I don't know.  He's been following me since last night," she answered absently.  "Pepino's, hmm?  I hear they have wonderful cannoli.  That's a long drive though."

Jared shrugged.  "The little places have the best food.  Last night, hmm?  What did the consul records have on him?"

"Nothing.  I tried."

"Hmm.  Well, we could do this the simple way," the tall man answered, a dangerous gleam in his eye.  He stretched his shoulders, flexing and easing muscles under the warm leather jacket.

"What did you have in mind?" Kyra asked cautiously.  Jared's sense of humor never led where anyone expected.  Which was almost certainly why he'd had such an outstanding record with the Special Forces and still did with Interpol, she mused.

"I don't know about you," came the chuckled reply, "but I think he looks suspicious.  And he is waiting outside the Brazilian consulate, and has been for forty-five minutes."  Pulling a small Kodak camera and a satellite phone out of his pockets, Jared said pleasantly, "Who was it that said that intelligence is the first priority of war?"

"Sun Tzu, most likely," Kyra said irritably.  "You do realize I can take care of him myself."

"Of course you can," he answered, honestly surprised.  "Are your instincts acting up?"

"No," she grumbled, "not really.  I just can't decide what he thinks he's doing."

"Well, I'll call Tomas, since he's heading up the consul's security this month, then it'll be time for me to play tourist.  We'll run his picture through Interpol's records, too, and you and I can have a nice dinner while Brazil's most paranoid ask him all sorts of questions."

"Hmm.  I buy?"

"Of course not," Jared retorted.  "That might be interpreted as bribery, since we're going by my office after dinner to find out who he is.  On the other hand, I will let you cover the wine if I get to cover the food."

Kyra shook her head very slightly, an unwilling smile crossing her face as she watched the strange immortal get more and more uneasy.  This could be downright entertaining.  She could always challenge him tomorrow, when he was shaken up by the consul's scrutiny.  "Oh, why not?  But tell Tomas to chase him off, not question him.  I want to be able to find him tomorrow."

"Kyra."  Jared wrapped a strong hand around her upper arm and she turned to see concerned, light blue eyes studying her intently. "Are you in trouble?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you never did find your husband's killer," he said bluntly.

Not in a way or time that I can tell the authorities about, Kyra thought grimly.  That murdering bastard is out of the Game now, but that's not something mortal police are going to be satisfied by.  No wonder Jared's wondering what I'm doing.

"And because you want to be able to find this guy again," Jared continued, watching thoughts whirl through her eyes and frustrated when she gave away nothing of the emotions underlying them.  "Is there something you aren't telling me, Kyra?"

"Jared, you can't tell me everything."

"Comes of working for Interpol."

"Well, there are things I can't tell you either.  He might be one of them."

He nodded slowly. "If something goes wrong, let me know and I'll try to help."

"Aren't you going to ask if I'm doing something illegal?" she teased.

"No," and he answered with a crooked grin.  "I'm sure I don't want to ask."

A quick conversation in Portuguese brought a promise from Tomas to roust the lurker in five minutes.  With a last wave Jared headed off to play the quintessential tourist, camera and all.  He had time to snap a few photos of the brick consulate and shake his head at the lack of proper maintenance on the security systems before the call paid off.

He kept pointing and shooting the camera as uniformed guards swarmed out the front door and around the man he'd mentioned to Tomas, making sure to get both a frontal and a side shot of his target.  Some of the pictures of the Brazilian security hauling off the trench-coated Swede made a wonderful composition, he decided thoughtfully.  An aesthetically pleasing contrast in the coloring, and the whole impression of a pack of smaller hounds hauling down their larger prey.... Yeah, the last picture had potential.

Kyra waved at the immortal's back as security hustled him away, threatening him the entire time.  Jared sauntered up from behind her, saying thoughtfully, "You know something?  The man really doesn't like you.  I didn't think people used phrases like that any more.  Did you really swim after troopships?"

"In the Persian Gulf?  Are you kidding?  They like blonds over there, Jared."  The tall blond woman looped her arm through his.  "Let's drop off the film at your office and get dinner.  All of a sudden I'm hungry."

"Oh, come on, Kyra, you can manage a better distraction than that," he pointed out.  "Should he have known your name?"

"Who knows?" she shrugged.  "Besides, why worry now?  I'll worry when we check the pictures against Interpol records.  For now, I'm hungry.  I was so busy following him I missed lunch."

"Ah, your most dangerous weapon," the Interpol agent mused.  "Partial truth.  What the hell, Kyra, let's go eat.  I'll trick it out of you later."

That drew a flashing grin and she ran a free hand through blond hair, cheeks pink with laughter and the cool November air of Washington.  "I've got five dollars that says you don't!"

Gina actually studied the painting, for once, instead of simply admiring it, trying to see the details that Duncan was writing down for the appraisal documentation.  The Highlander finished his notes and asked over his shoulder.  "Who gave you this one, Gina?  It wasn't here the last time I visited."

"A wedding present from Constantine.  I love the Romans, such sensualists," she said dreamily.

That brought a knowing smile.  "How much history do you and Marcus have, Gina?"

"Oh, nothing like that, Duncan.  But their art, the works they commissioned from Michealangelo, from Cellini, from Rafael -- exquisite.  Not at all afraid of love of God or man."

The Scot put his clipboard down, a rueful smile escaping.  "I'm amazed you've held off this long," he said in resignation.  "Do I get something to drink with this interrogation?"

"Duncan!  It is not an interrogation," she answered indignantly.  "We have been friends for more than three centuries; surely an old friend can be worried about the state of your heart."

"The last time you and I dealt with 'affairs of the heart,' Adam nearly lost his head," Duncan pointed out wryly.  "He hasn't entirely forgiven any of us for that."

"But I didn't know he and Robert had staged the entire thing like some play!"

"Gina, you nearly took his head!  Of course you made Adam nervous!"

"I think I still make him nervous, and I can't imagine why.  I told him that there were no hard feelings, that I owed him a 'thank you' instead!"  Gina paused in indignation, then added, "I even sent him three cases of his favorite beer as an apology!"

"Is that where the 'housewarming party' came from?" Duncan asked, laughing despite himself.  "For an impoverished grad student, that was pretty good."

"He invited us, but we were still on our honeymoon in Greece," she admitted.  "Besides, I could not imagine a party to celebrate having an apartment back."

"We blasted rock and roll until the neighbors protested, then invited them in and gave them some beer," Duncan laughed.  "I met half of the Université's Antiquities department, I think.  Free beer will do that."

"Then I will send him some more so that you can meet the other half," Gina answered.  "But how did you two finally end up together?"

The Scot sighed, seeing she wasn't going to be distracted, then her wording caught his attention.  "How long have you known he was interested?"

"Since I saw you two together, of course."  Her tone of voice made it clear Duncan was an idiot to have missed it for so long.  "What happened?"

"Aidan," Duncan sighed.  "Aidan happened.  That woman is dangerous, Gina.  If she had known you and Robert were having trouble, you'd have ended up 'locked' in a bed and breakfast with no phone, no car, and no electricity, but plenty of chocolates, wine, and clean sheets."

Gina laughed at the image, but had to admit that Sidra might just do something like that.  "Mmm-hmm.  So where was this four-star prison?"

"No, she didn't do that to us," Duncan admitted, face getting a little red.

"Then what happened, Duncan?  I was afraid he would never tell you anything!"  She couldn't quite make out the mumbled answer to that, but she hadn't known Duncan could get quite so red.

"Duncan?"

"He didn't," the Scot gave up and answered, not quite looking at her.  "I did."

Gina quit pretending to study the picture and stared at him.  "You did?" she squeaked.

Duncan managed to laugh, even blushing.  "I didn't know your voice would go that high."

"I didn't know you could turn so red," she retorted.  "You told him?  I didn't think you even realized you loved him so much.  He certainly didn't think you did."

"Well, not that way, I didn't -- wait!  You talked to Adam about this?"

"We had to talk about something while we were waiting for you and Robert to get to the barge," she answered hotly.  "It was that or fight, and he had apologized so well, and been so indignant that you talked him into that little charade."

"Hey, he insisted on getting the barge for helping!" Duncan protested hotly.  "What do you mean, talked him into it?"

"I think the barge is not all he got," Gina smiled wickedly.  "But you are happy?"

"As long as I let him sleep late and get two cups of coffee before I say 'good morning'," came the rueful answer.  "A morning person he isn't."

"If that is your idea of waking him up, you have forgotten a great deal from your earlier days."  At his scandalized look, Gina laughed and said, "Fitz used to tell me the most amazing stories after two bottles of wine."

"Oh, I bet it took three," Duncan laughed, giving up on the fake indignation.  "And I think I'll keep my morning wake-up tactics to myself, thanks."

"Oh, come, Duncan, there might be something I could use with Robert."

"If we tried some of the things you and Robert have done, we'd end up with sheets down the stairs, swords in the balconies, and chocolate in Aidan's hair," Duncan replied indignantly.  "Not to mention stripping your garden of jasmine and freesia."

"Speaking of Aidan?  How did either of you get her into a bed, much less both of you?"

"That was a friend of mine you haven't met, Joe Dawson.  He yelled at her for being stupid until she listened."

"Someone called her stupid and he still has his head?  Of course, he was right," she added in an irate voice.  "I had been telling her the same thing for ages."

"She was leaving Robert for you," Mac suggested cheerfully.  "And he's not one of us, Gina.  He's a mortal friend of mine, my Watcher."

"Ah, the one you told us about?  When do I meet this friend of yours?  And you are not distracting me, Duncan MacLeod, I want to hear about this.  All these years and Aidan has never taken immortal lovers, and a mortal scolds her until she relents?"

"Did Haresh Clay really offer to make her a sultana?"

"He did, but he was already married at the time," came Gina's absentminded reply.  "Quit dodging, Duncan."

"Gina, take it up with Aidan.  That's as much as I'm going to tell you."

"But Duncan," she wheedled.  "You were involved, you can tell me."

The Italian pout should have worked, but three centuries had, Duncan reflected, finally given him a partial immunity.  Thank God.  "No, Gina.  I wasn't the one, it isn't my story, and I'm not telling you."

"She went to bed with Adam first?"

"No, Gina, get the story from Aidan.  I'm not telling you a thing."

"I could always ask Adam, I suppose...."

Duncan grinned at her.  "And get a three hour discussion on sexual mores among the ancient Etruscans, maybe, but not a straight answer.  Forget it, Gina.  I'm the only one you're going to worm answers out of, and I've told you everything I'm going to tell you."

"Not the most important answer," she said in an unexpectedly serious voice.  "Are you happy, Duncan?"

"Very happy, Gina," he said gently.  "I wouldn't have brought them both here if I didn't want you to know.  And we're very happy.  We'll fight, and squabble over petty things, and say things we don't mean, but so far Aidan's patched up one fight between me and him, and I've patched up one between them, and she and I have gotten through a couple arguments without too much outside help or blood drawn.  I think we'll be all right."

"All three of you are always welcome here," she said firmly.  "And if all of you get into a fight, then Robert and I will come patch it up for you."

Duncan shuddered at the thought and hastily controlled it, answering the intent behind her words and not the offer.  "Thank you, Gina.  That's a kind offer, but dangerous.  Aidan's awfully fast with a saber."

"She's a woman, Duncan, I can talk to her.  Don't worry so.  Have you told Connor yet?"  She paused, trying to imagine the older Highlander's reactions, then smiled wickedly remembering some of his escapades Fitz and Damien had mentioned to her.

"Not yet.  We'll tell him at Christmas.  I don't think....  It should be all right."

"Then we will come to the Christmas party and make sure of it," she said firmly.  "It will be fine, Duncan."

Aidan sighed contentedly as two sets of hands rubbed out her back.  "Not, mind you, that I'm complaining, gentlemen, but to what do I owe this unexpected pampering?"

Duncan chuckled and answered, "Softening you up."

Methos swatted her on the ass when she tensed up and growled, "Quit that!  I am not going to start over just because you can't recognize Highland humor.  You're the Celt, you figure it out."

"Softening me up for what, Duncan?"

He leaned in and spoke just close enough to her ear that the warm breath was a tease.  "Pay up."

That took a moment to register and then she groaned.  "Oh, no!  She didn't.  Please tell me you're joking."

"So Gina's curiosity finally beat out her manners?" Methos asked in interest.  "Hmm.  Did she mention playing marriage counselor for us?"

Now Duncan stared at his male lover, hands pausing on Aidan's waist.  "How did you know that?  You were on the other side of the house, I thought."

Methos chuckled and said pleasantly, "Pay up, Edana, you lost both bets."

Italian maledictions on Gina's ancestry, personality traits, and timing streamed out from under Aidan's hair, which had ended up draped over her face in one of Duncan's jokes.  It had to go somewhere else while he worked on her back, or so he claimed.

"You don't get out of it that easily," Methos insisted.  "Pay up."

"I can't pay up just this moment," Aidan growled.  "My harp is in Seacouver, remember?"

"There's a flute downstairs that I'm sure Robert would be perfectly happy to let you borrow.  But you bet me an evening's serenade and picnic and I expect you to pay it off tomorrow.  Pack food for three if you want to eat, otherwise for two."

"I did not bet that for two," she complained, then spoiled it by purring as a muscle loosened under their careful attentions.

Duncan assumed his best hurt look and griped, "I wouldn't dream of interfering in a friendship this old, or making you cook for one more person.  I'll just go tinker with the Daimler in the garage, I've been wanting to catch up on gossip with Christophe...."

Methos leaned on Aidan's shoulder as she tried to twist around to apologize to Duncan.  "No, stay there.  But you'd better say something quickly or I'm going to have to patch you two up."  Rather thoughtfully he added, "Take that as you will."

"Just because Gina couldn't wait one more day to ask you about the three of us!  I thought she had better manners than that," Aidan groaned.  "And of course you're invited, Dhonnchaidh, I'm just whinging, gradhach."

"What is it Joe says?"  Methos asked rhetorically, eyes dancing as he watched Duncan milk this for all it was worth.  "Gripe, gripe, gripe, woman.  I think that's the phrase."

"No, I'm not going to intrude where I'm not wanted," the Highlander sulked.  "I'll just go sleep on the short, lumpy couch in the sitting room so that I'll properly appreciate my hot bath with bath servant... if I ever get it, that is."

Aidan squawked in sheer indignation.  "When have I ever failed to pay off a bet, Dhonnchaidh?!  Methos, let me up, you wretch!"  She caught Duncan around the shoulders before he could get entirely off the bed and pulled him back down into a full body hug, using arms and legs both to catch him.

Duncan burst out laughing and hugged her back, then yanked Methos into the pile.  The older immortal chuckled, and spent a few seconds trying not to squash either of them.  When he could speak, Duncan pointed out, "I don't win them often enough to be able to say, Aidan."

"Oh, next you'll be saying my word's no good, MacLeod?"  Her voice sounded thoroughly offended, but they could both feel her still giggling where she lay between and partially under them.

The Scot tugged on her hair.  "Don't go twisting my words, wench.  Tha's nah wha' I said, and weel enow yew know it."

"Uh-oh," she muttered, "he's using brogue.  Methos, are you going to protect me?"

"Hmm.  On the one hand, your credit's good.  On the other, you are currently in debt to me....  Decisions, decisions...."  Almost absently the oldest immortal ran one hand along the gold waist chain that was currently her only clothing.  "I suppose you're good for it, though."

"One of you kiss me and I'll show you what I'm good for," Aidan offered dreamily.  "Otherwise, I'll just have to plan menus all night, I suppose.  Let's see, scones with cream and jam, roast chicken, Waldorf salad since the cook was complaining about needing to use up the apples, lettuce soup for the same reason, a selection of cold ales...."

Duncan pushed up on one elbow to look over Aidan's body at Methos.  "Do we let her talk or do we kiss her?  I have to admit, the menu sounds pretty good."

"I haven't heard the song list yet," the paler man mused.  "Shall we let her use her mouth for words for a little while yet?"

"Some cheese for afterwards.  Something sharp, I think...."

"She didn't specify where we should kiss her," Duncan pointed out.

"O'Carolan's Farewell to Music, Bach's Polonaise, Mozart's Adagio -- " Aidan broke off what she was saying rather abruptly as two warm mouths caught her attention, Duncan nipping at her collarbone and Methos rolling her waist chain between his tongue and her skin.  "Oh, Gods," she muttered, "I'll figure it out tomorrow."

"That will do nicely," Methos muttered, and turned off the light.
 
 

1) Gareth Beaumains, Gareth Fairhands, was Arthur's nephew, bedeviled in his younger days by Sir Kay, knighted by Sir Lancelot, and....  Wait, why am I telling you this?  You're not reading Highlander because you have no interest in fantasy or stories involving swordfights!  Never mind.

2) Anyone remember Grayson's blade in 'Band of Brothers'?  That's a flamberge, so named for the stylized flame shape of the blade.  A thoroughly nasty weapon, designed to cause maximum damage both going in and coming back out.

3) Said it before, saying it again:  Marcus Constantine is patrolling the river Denial, grousing about the sand and the heat in the prerogative of all old infantry everywhere.  I'm ignoring Zealot.  However, he did campaign against the Celts and trained at least one Celtic student:  Ceirdwyn.

4) Yes, I promise, I will write about Connor's Christmas party, honest.  Amazingly enough, the story should even be out in December.  (See Crystalline Patterns.)

5) Martial was a Roman satirist possessed of a deadly wit, a black sense of irony, and a razor-edged stylus.  I recommend him highly.

6) Aidan tried to convince Mac to quit fighting the mutual attraction and make a pass at Methos in the story 'First Harvests.'

7) The near arrest took place in 'When First We Practice.'

8) Speculum is the professional journal of medieval historians.

9) Every now and then Mac undoubtedly prefers to choose presents for Amanda rather than have her present him with the receipts and his 'borrowed' credit card.  But how many men remember women's sizes other than holding the hands apart and saying, "Oh, about this big around...."

10) Everyone does remember Bugs Bunny's famous Acme boxes of candy, right?  Hopefully? (If not, blame this on Blazing Saddles; it can take the load.)

11) Oghma was the Celtic god of eloquence, attributed with inventing the linear alphabet, Ogham.  Brigid or Brighid was the Celtic goddess of arcane lore and poetry, whose priestesses specialized in divination and prophecy.  She was also associated with healing and fertility, an appropriate intercedent for two men who wanted to get some from Aidan that night!  Goibhnu was the Irish patron of blacksmiths.

12) Faye Dunaway as Milady DeWinter.  Ah, the 1974 Michael York Three Musketeers.  If you haven't seen it, go hit your nearest video store.  Wow!

13) Slainté is the traditional Gaelic toast meaning 'Cheers' or 'To your health'.

14) Yes, Cicero is largely responsible for Victorian morals and behavior.  He wrote some dry as dust treatises on proper behavior in his later days and unfortunately, Cicero is one of the main authors studied for Classical Latin.  Since proper young gentlemen in those days read Latin....

15) Victoria wasn't the brightest English monarch, but she knew that and tried to compensate.  According to some of the excerpts from her diary (the ones I've seen anyway) the part she really hated was being compared to Elizabeth I, who was an exceptional scholar.

16) 'bete noire' is literally 'black beast'.  It's generally a habit or trait which is disliked or to be avoided, usually because it gets you into trouble.

17) Aidan had three husbands and two wives, and helped raise a dozen of their kids, in Armenia sometime in the 11th century.  She hasn't told Joe a date, so I'm not taking full responsibility.  The entire story is in 'Quarrels of All Kinds.'

18) The police in Gilbert & Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance  sing a line about 'With catlike tread' while shaking the stage with their steps.  Wonderfully funny.

19) Terrence Coventry, Carolyn Marsh, and the novel Blade of the MacLeods were in 'Dramatic License'.

20) Brer Fox (short for Brother) and Brer Rabbit are from old Southern folk stories.  Brer Rabbit laired under the briar patch and anytime he got in trouble, rather than endure whatever punishment was in the offing, he'd whine not to be thrown in the briar patch.  Anyone else would have been worried about thorns, so it took them a while to figure out what was going on.  (Now, Brer Rabbit may also be associated with the west African trickster, Hare.  Who knows?  Not I.)

21)  To the Celts, Samhain (Halloween) was the beginning of the New Year, a time to remember their dead and placate the wandering spirits when the curtain between the worlds was thinnest.

22) Carmel's stories have informed me that 'gradhach' is Gaelic for 'beloved' and if you haven't read them, they can be found here.  Great stories over there!  (I have since learned that it means 'loving one'; luadh/luadhe [m/f] is what my Scottish dictionary lists for beloved.)

23) Yes, Amanda LeFauve is one of Amanda's aliases, or so the Watcher CD informs me.

24) 'Carissima mia' = 'my dearest'; 'bella mia' = 'my beautiful one'

25) The deflowering comments are a joke running back and forth between Methos and Duncan from their first night as lovers.  (Well, in my stories, at least.  Prelude to the Storm, if you want to know.)

26) Cannoli is a wonderfully sinful Italian dessert consisting of ricotta cheese, vanilla, sugar and chocolate chips stuffed into a baked pastry roll and covered with powdered sugar.  Yes, there really is a Pepino's in one of the small Maryland towns north of DC, and it's as good as Kyra says, but I can't remember where.  Oh, I wish I could!  Kyra appeared in the sixth season episode, 'Patient No. 7'.

27) Sorry, folks, I'm re-reading Musashi, not Sun Tzu, but the concept that intelligence is the cornerstone of a successful battle strategy is his, if not the precise wording.

28) Whinging is a good Irish verb meaning whining, complaining and generally making a sulky nuisance of yourself.