========================================================================= Date: Sun, 10 Mar 1996 21:22:01 -0500 Reply-To: LC Krakowka Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: LC Krakowka Subject: Cardinal Rules 1/6 Note: If you haven't already, you might want to read Long Lost before you start this one...if only because Sarah's character and her relationships with each of our heroes are set up in there. I tried to make sure this one could stand on it's own, but I didn't want to waste space rebuilding a character that already had been formed. If you can't find Long Lost on the server, or on the HLFIC-L ftp site, mail me and I'll send it to you. enjoy. let me know what you think. don't be afraid to criticise...that which does not kill us makes us stronger. And, despite the fact that I am treating these fanfic stories as mind candy, I do want them to be as good as they can be within their realm. Lisa Disclaimer: With the notable exceptions of Sarah, Donald, and Ethan MacGreggor, the characters in the following story are the sole property of Rysher Entertainment, as is the concept of immortality used in the Highlander genre. (this plot, however, is mine) I've merely borrowed them for a while, and promise to return them unharmed, as soon as I'm done. No copyright interloping was intended...this is all in good fun. Cardinal Rules LC Krakowka Part 1 "Well? Was that what it was really like?" Richie asked, as the closing credits began to roll on the TV screen. Duncan got up to rewind the tape and Sarah flicked on the light next to the chair she was reclining in. They were in her apartment, on the fourth floor of an old Victorian mansion that stood in the hills surrounding Seacouver. "Close enough," Mac said. "Not even!" Sarah countered. "Robby Roy was nothing like that." "You knew Rob Roy?" Richie asked, slightly astounded. "I'm a MacGreggor, aren't I?" She responded, thunking her feet up onto the coffee table. "Wait, wasn't his wife named Sarah? That wasn't *you*, was it?" Richie asked. She shook her head, "Her name was Mary." Adam chuckled. "What were you doing in Scotland during the Jacobite rebellion, Sarie?" "What do you think?" "Your clan were outlaws." Sarah got up and picked up an arm full of empty beer bottles, taking the three stairs up out of the living room in a long stride and heading for the kitchen. "Only because we supported the true king." "And how many times did they hang you, Sarah MacGreggor of the clan MacGreggor?" Adam raised his voice slightly, so it would carry through the room and into the kitchen. Sarah leaned out the archway that acted as a window between the two rooms. "Just once." Adam laughed, only she could be so nonchalant about a hanging. Duncan, however, was not so relaxed. The day Sarah was hung was shortly after the day they met and he remembered it well. He had been sitting in an inn, weary from a long ride up from London when the buzz hit. A few moments later, she had entered the room in the company of a tall man carrying a sword and wearing the MacGreggor tartan. At first, Duncan thought the man was the source of the buzz, but he quickly realized that the sense of a very powerful quickening was coming from Sarah. She was one of the few female immortals he had encountered. The man headed for the bar, but Sarah excused herself from his company and approached Duncan's table. "You must be Duncan MacLeod," she said. "And 'oo are you to ask?" "Sarah MacGreggor, yer clansman Connor is a friend." He eyed her skeptically. "Aren't you gonnar ask me to join ye?" she said, sitting down. "Didn't yer ma ever tell you tis rude to refuse the company uf a lady?" Duncan continued to watch her, not knowing what to think. "Relax man, I've no sword under me skirts," she smiled. It wasn't the smile of someone who was after his head; though he was only a hundred some odd years old, Mac knew that. He looked up as the man arrived at the table, carrying three pints of ale. "Duncan MacLeod, meet Robby Roy MacGreggor," she said. "Your 'usband?" Mac asked. The man laughed and sat down, "Don't let me wife 'ear you say that, man. She'll 'ave me head." Duncan wondered if that was a veiled reference to their immortality, but he didn't have time to fish for more clues about this Sarah MacGreggor. Moments later, armed guards stormed into the inn and seized both Sarah and Rob. "What is their crime?" Mac demanded. "Stay out of it, Duncan," Sarah said, struggling against the pull of the man holding her. "These two outlaws are charged with thieving Lord Montrose's rents," the guard, an Englishman, said haughtily. "And the woman with treason to the crown." Sarah spat at him, "Bloody crown indeed." The man smacked her hard across the face with the back of his hand, leaving a red welt on her cheek. Mac reached for his sword, only to have several more drawn on him. "Tis not your fight, Duncan MacLeod," Sarah said evenly. "Don't make it so." Mac put up his sword, raising his arms to show he had no intention of drawing it again and Sarah and Rob were dragged off. "They hung you?" Richie's voice drew him back into the present. "Ow, you know that hurt." Sarah came back into the room and shrugged. "There are worse ways to go, believe me. At least a hanging is quick." *** The next day, while sitting around a table at an outdoor cafe with Duncan, Richie, and Adam, Sarah was approached by a young woman in a Federal Express uniform. It was mid March and unseasonably warm; vendors all over Seacouver had been taking advantage of everyone's Spring Fever with outdoor sales and dining. "I was asked to deliver this to you," she said. "And how do you know you have the right person?" Sarah answered, examining the envelope. "You're Sarah MacGreggor, right?" Sarah nodded, engrossed in the handwriting on the envelope. "Then you're the right person," the woman smiled and walked away, slipping into an alley. Adam made the excuse of looking for the waiter and followed her, catching her by the arm before she ducked into a doorway. "That was pretty risky, don't you think?" "And you having lunch with them isn't? Come on Pierson, you're not the only one allowed to break rules," she answered, pulling away calmly. He narrowed his eye at her. "You're Ryan's Watcher, right?" The young woman nodded. "Then what are you doing with a letter for MacGreggor, and who was it from?" "I was doing someone a favor," she gave him a half smile. "Now why don't you forget your delusions of grandeur and get back to the library and the Methos file?" She ducked through the doorway without looking back. "I'm closer to Methos than you think," he responded, spinning on his heel and heading back to the table. "I can't believe they are doing this!" Sarah said emphatically. "Doing what?" Adam sat down, "We should get our check soon, the waiter was scoping out the girls on the sidewalk instead of writing it up. All taken care of though," he smiled and returned to picking the slices of cucumber out of what was left of his salad. Richie looked over at the small group of women standing nearby and grinned. "Not a bad view." "Fire and the miniskirt are without doubt the greatest inventions of the past five millennia," Adam said without looking up from his plate. Duncan shook his head and chuckled. "Hello?" Sarah drummed the table to get their attention. "They're cutting down the Glenstrae Oak, doesn't anyone care?" "The what?" Richie asked. "The Glenstrae Oak. Glenstrae is one of the few places left in Scotland that the MacGreggors can still claim," she explained. "The Oak stands outside the clan seat...it's nearly four hundred years old." "What does that have to do with this lovely view we have here?" Adam asked. He was done with his food and had joined Richie in staring --not so subtly -- at the group of women. Sarah waved the letter in front of his face. "This is from Donald MacGreggor in Glenstrae, he wants me to come to the Gathering they're having about the Oak." "Why you?" Duncan asked. Sarah looked down for a moment, avoiding his gaze. "He somehow linked me to the same MacGreggors that were massacred in Glenstrae in 1068...says that since I'm the only living descendant of that clan, I should be at the gathering to represent them." "Are you going to go?" Mac asked. She nodded, "He wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. And besides, I planted that bloody tree!" "Can I come?" Richie asked suddenly. "To Scotland? Why?" Sarah responded, tucking the letter into her inside coat pocket. He shrugged, "I've never been and it's where you and Mac are from. I'd like to see it. You know, Rob Roy and all..." "Sure," she said, whacking Adam on the arm as he waved to one of the women. "But you won't be finding any girls dressed like that in Glenstrae." "What was that for? Now they think you're my girlfriend, or worse, my wife!" Adam exclaimed. Sarah laughed. "Do the words cradle robbing mean anything to you, Petey?" "It's not like it's never been done before," he answered. "Ah, there you are," Duncan said as the elusive waiter finally brought the check. "I'll take that." "I'll get it, Mac," Sarah said, reaching for it. "When's the Gathering in Glenstrae?" Mac asked, snatching the check from the waiter. "Four days." "Then we won't be able to take you out for your birthday, so I'll buy you lunch," he handed the waiter his credit card and waved him off. Adam scratched his chin and looked at Sarah, his eyes full of mischief, "Nine hundred and fifty four...that's a big one, Sarie." "Nothing out of you Petey, I swear, if you do anything like you did back in Ireland, I'll..." "You'll what? Kill me?" Sarah inhaled deeply and let it out with a huff, then grinned at him wickedly. "Spiders, Petey. Big, hairy, long legged spiders." Adam shuddered and held up a hand, " Okay, you win." The waiter returned with Duncan's bill and Mac signed it quickly, pocketing his wallet. "You're afraid of spiders?" Richie laughed, softly at first, then harder. "See if you don't pick up a few phobias over the centuries," Adam muttered as he stood. He helped Sarah on with her coat and the letter caught his eye again. Mac stood also, "I think the more interesting story here would be what happened in Ireland." Adam opened his mouth, but a sharp glare from Sarah shut it again. "So, when do we leave for Scotland?" Richie asked. "Tomorrow morning if we can catch a flight," Sarah said over her shoulder as they threaded their way through the tables and toward the exit. "Oh," she stopped suddenly and turned, crashing into Adam. "Easy there," he steadied her, taking advantage of the sudden opportunity to lift the letter. "Sorry. I almost forgot, Richie, you'll need a kilt," Sarah said. "What?" She laughed, "Gatherings are formal, Richie. You'll have to wear a kilt." "A kilt? I mean....couldn't I just wear a tux or something? Kilts are so..." He trailed off, looking for the right word. "Skirt-like?" Adam offered, pretending to fumble for something in his pocket. "Gum anyone?" "Yeah, skirt-like." Mac smirked, "I'd like to see you say that to Connor's face." *** The next morning, Richie and Sarah took the redeye to New York, where, after a layover, they caught a night flight into Glasgow on British Airways. Sarah was more fun to travel with than Mac and actually indulged him in his thousands of questions about Scotland. They arrived mid-morning and rented a car, heading for Glenstrae; a small hamlet located on Loch Lomand, about thirty minutes north west of Glasgow. The scenery was breathtaking. Rolling hills that mysteriously turned craggy--all the most verdant color green he had ever experienced-- and pocked with rocky stream beds and small farms. It was a huge contrast to the dirt and grime of the city they had landed in and unlike anything he had ever seen before. "Okay," Sarah said as they pulled through a set of iron gates set in giant stone pillars. "Now, you'll have to change into the kilt before we meet the Chieftain, do you remember how to put it on?" Richie nodded. Mac had spent the better part of two hours showing him the proper way to wear the MacLeod tartans that he had loaned him. "Which one do I have to wear? Please tell me it's the one with the buttons." She laughed, imagining the discussion that had occurred when Mac and Adam had tried to explain how to don the complicated belted tartan that was to be used for formal wear. "Yes, the one with the buttons, but put on a nice shirt and the waist coat, okay? And don't forget the sporran." He was going to answer, but found himself speechless as they rounded a corner and an ancient stone castle came into view. It was built in a similar style to the one Mac had showed him pictures of--Glenfinnan was it?--and sprawled across a giant lawn set near the shores of the loch. As Sarah pulled up through the circular drive, a guard, dressed in the tradition highland manner came to escort them inside. Once there, Richie stood gaping in the entry way, while Sarah conversed quietly with the man. She motioned for him to follow as a butler lead them through a winding hallway and up several flights of stone stairs. "For the young master," the butler paused, motioning to a doorway off of the long hall they had been walking down. "You'll find fresh linens on the bed. And if Lady MacGreggor would follow me, I'll show you to your rooms." "I'll meet you back here in an hour, okay?" Sarah asked. He nodded and wandered into the room, closing the door behind him. Richie had expected this trip to be something out of a movie and so far everything he had seen was just that. A great four posted bed dominated the room, ornately carved with images of animals and birds. There were thick rugs on the floor and tapestries hung on the walls. A small fire was burning in the flagstone hearth and the drapes were a heavy crimson material. He was mildly, yet pleasantly, surprised to find a most modern bathroom tucked into one of the corners. He showered off the grime of the trip, shaved, and got dressed; spending the remaining few minutes before Sarah's arrival looking out the window. His view was out the back side of the castle, looking over an expansive garden that was centered around the biggest tree he had ever seen. In the distance, wild hills rose into the foggy March sky. When she arrived Sarah inspected him closely, straightening his shirt and giving the waistcoat a good tug. She was wearing a kilted skirt in the reds and greens of the MacGreggor tartan and a white blouse, with a waist coat similar to his own. This is how he envisioned her that first night at Mac's apartment; with cheeks ruddy from the cold wind and sparkling eyes. This, he knew without a doubt, was where she truly belonged. "Are you sure it's okay that I have on Mac's plaid?" He asked as they made their way through the hall. "I mean, the MacLeods and the MacGreggors are friends, right?" She nodded, "Unless Mac has been stealing cattle again." Sarah lead him through the back stairways in the castle and they came out on the second floor, near a set of wooden doors that were guarded by men with swords. Above the door was a wolf pelt, acting as a backdrop for two crossed spears. "Is that a real wolf pelt?" He asked quietly. "That is the pelt of the last wolf in Scotland," one of the guards answered. "Bloody Camerons," Sarah muttered. (see author's note) Moments later, they were allowed into the room. It was smaller than he expected, and far darker, considering that it was broad daylight outside. A small fire was lit in a stone hearth and a very elderly man sat quietly on a raised seat opposite the door. As they entered, Richie had a strange sensation; almost akin to the buzz, but not quite and not nearly as strong. He looked over to see if Sarah had felt it too, but her eyes were locked on the old man. "Welcome back to Glenstrae, Sarah MacGreggor," he said. "And 'oo is this young lad you've brought with ye?" "This, sir, is my friend, Richard Ryan," Sarah nudged Richie forward and crossed the room after him. "Of the clan MacLeod?" The Chieftain chuckled. "Richard is the adopted son of a MacLeod," Sarah fudged a bit...they were close enough to be father and son. "Nice to meet you sir," Richie said. "You have a lovely castle here." At a closer look, Richie guessed the man to be nearly ninety. The Chieftain was wrapped in a tartan that differed from Sarah's, but Mac had told him that different groups within the clans had different plaids. He looked like the Scotsmen on the whiskey bottles in Joe's bar, thinning reddish hair, bulbous nose and all. "Ye should make yerself at home, Richard," the old man said. "I'll have someone show you around," he made a barely perceptible motion with his left hand and a girl, about Richie's age appeared from the shadows. "This is me gran-daughter Heather, she can give you the grand tour." Richie found himself flushing. The girl was wearing street clothes and sneakers and she had the reddest hair he had ever seen. If there was anyone that looked more Scottish than Sarah, it was this young woman standing before him with a crooked grin. "Come on then, Richard Ryan of the Clan MacLeod," she said with a lilting brogue. "Me gran-da needs to speak with Miss Sarah." He grinned at Sarah and allowed himself to be lead out of the room. Once they were gone, Sarah exhaled a deep breath and slouched a bit. "What do they want my tree for, Donald?" She asked. "You can relax, yer tree's in no danger, my bonny Sarah." [end pt 1.] copyright 1996, LC Krakowka. Author's note: The Camerons are credited with, among other rather dubious honors, killing the last wolf in Scotland. How do I know this? Simple. That C in my name....it stands for Cameron. We're one of the oldest highland clans, but that doesn't mean we were all noble souls. -- LC Krakowka hck1@cornell.edu