Date: Fri, 23 Feb 1996 00:01:48 -0500 Reply-To: KaiSteph@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Steph Lutz Subject: A Little Night Music (3/7) NOTE: The song quotes are taken from "That River" - the title song on Jim Byrnes' album. All praises, flames, and virtual haggis to KaiSteph@aol.com A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC (3/7) By Stephanie Lutz It had been a long day, not to mention evening. The bar was closed, the cleanup was finished, and Joe was ready to unwind. He sat on his favorite stool in the center of the band area, the Hummingbird on his lap. The main lights were out in the club, just the dim ones near him shone down. There was still a bit of smoke and odor of beer in the air, but the laughter and voices were gone, the sound of his music the only noise, echoing in the emptiness. His fingers skipped nimbly over the strings with a life of their own, as he closed his eyes and let his thoughts fly. Fly as they might, they kept coming back to one person - Kate. He played louder, tilting his head to the side as he sang in a husky voice. No one ever loved that river, rain from the highlands, a mirror for the Cajun moon A road without a memory of anything that started out as blue Well you can pour me like a jug of wine Into the gulf of Mexico, honey Until the end of time but no one ever loved that river the way I love you... He was so intent in his music that he didn't hear the door open and close, but the clicking of shoes on the tiles in front of him startled him. Fingers slowing, he opened his eyes to see the object of his thoughts standing there, the warmth melting the snowflakes on her black leather jacket. "Don't stop," she said softly. Taking off her jacket, she pulled over a chair and straddled it. After a long look, he continued, his voice softer this time. Kate watched him and listened, mesmerized by his husky voice, the look in his gray eyes, and the way the dim light reflected off the sliver in his hair, and the thin chain around his neck... The barges pole for New Orleans You said you'd leave without a care But the rumour on the river is anything that touches you will be free but I know you can't be free Well, you know you can never leave this river without me Iona, ~800 AD Kate's eyes were fixed on the intricate pattern on the silver broach which held together the dark cloak of the man who knelt in front of her. His fingers gently plucked the strings of harp he held carefully on his lap. Finishing his song, he raised his eyes to her for approval. "Beautiful," she told him, with a wide smile. "I'm glad you think so," he answered, "because I wrote it for you - my Lady who cannot die." Kate's eyebrows rose. "You sang of a brown cow." He flushed slightly, the color in his cheeks bringing contrast to his snowy white hair. "Aye, well, I cannot sing the *real* words aloud - not the ones in my heart. "Twould not help keep your secret to have a bard proclaim it, after all!" His light eyes gazed earnestly into hers. "But the music - that is for you, my heart." She knelt, taking his hands in hers. "Thank you," she whispered, kissing him gently on the cheek, then drawing him to his feet. "Now come - the boats await." "Stay here," he said impulsively, his dark eyes intense. "Holy ground - you will be safe." "What?" she asked softly. "Have you tired of me at last, Aidan? After these thirty years?" "No - but" "Then where you go I go." Her voice was firm. "I was not raised, those two lifetimes ago, to be 'safe'." "There will be fighting - the Picts..." She folded her arms. "Which is far more dangerous for you than I, unless there are my kind among them. Perhaps I should be asking *you* to stay." "You know I must go. The King commands it." "Aye, then we go together; there will be just as much need for a healer as a bard ." He smiled wryly. "I should know better than to argue with you." She smiled back. "You should. Play for me again - the boats can wait a few moments more." The harp began to sing again under his touch, moonlight reflecting off the silver ring around his finger... Your eyes they flash defiance, they will not wait upon my word draw my eyes across the skyline like some long and graceful bird Your lips have known me better, honey and that satin ball of fire turns to blue I cannot leave this river, I will not leave this river without you no one ever loved that river, no one ever loved that river the way I love you As Joe's fingers finished the song, his eyes looked to Kate for approval. She smiled, coming forward to perch on a stool next to him. "Beautiful, but sad," she told him. "What story are ye telling?" Surprised, he gave her a questioning look. "All music tells a story," she said. " With words, or no. It has always been that way." She moved her stool over to the keyboard and switched it on. "Close your eyes," she said softly. Joe obeyed. "Now listen." She began to play a soft melody, three notes repeated slowly over and over. "Picture a young man standing in a garden the moonlight. The light is pale, soft, and the sky around it is filled with stars. The light bathes the young man's face, making it glow. He is waiting. "Now, from the other end of the garden comes a young woman, his lover." The first rhythm remained, but a new part was added, a slower melody all on one note. " He runs to her, catches her up in his arms. They kiss." The melody built to a higher crescendo. In his mind Joe could see the young lovers kissing in the garden as the two melodies wove in and out of each other, first louder then softer, then louder again. The song ended on a low wistful note repeated twice,and he opened his eyes to see Kate watching him. "That was beautiful," he told her. She came and stood in front of him, reaching out to pluck idly at his guitar strings. An eerie melody came forth. "Even what you call 'classical' music was new and exciting once," she said, "like your music is to you. And before that, before we had written words, it was the music that told our stories." "What story are you telling now?" he asked. "It's - something about a brown cow." At his raised eyebrow, Kate shrugged with a laugh. "It loses a wee bit in translation I think." Joe laughed too, and Kate leaned in closer to him. Their lips met lightly. Joe kissed her tentatively at first, then hungrily. She slid the guitar out from between them and moved against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Joe was the first to break away. He looked up at her shaking his head slowly. "Kate," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "Why? I mean, what can you possibly see in me? You're so.." "Young?" she asked. " Is that what you were going to say? Joe, ye know how old I really am." "Yes, but surely there are others..." "Oh, aye, there are hundreds of Immortals, younger and older, but I could never love someone I might one day have to face at swordpoint." Her lips curved. "Sounds positively medieval, aye? And there are thousands of ' young' mortals as well, all with no understanding or appreciation of life, who can see only a pretty face. And they will all grow old eventually, some will mature with time, some will not. "But you, Joe - you've lived. You've experienced life, good and bad, and yet it hasn't hardened you, or made you cynical. You can still see good in people, you still can dream. It's your mind I'm attracted to Joe," she ran her hand gently over the stubble of his beard. "And I like the package it comes in just fine." He swallowed hard. "It's late. Would - would you like to come upstairs?" "Aye," she answered, her dark eyes sparkling as she slipped his cane into his hands. "I would." To be continued.... =========================================================================