Date: Tue, 21 Nov 1995 18:20:05 EST Reply-To: Lord Brian MacKenzie of the Clan MacKenzie Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Lord Brian MacKenzie of the Clan MacKenzie Organization: TEMPLE UNIVERSITY Subject: The MacKenzie Chronicles: Bonny Portmore, part two I know, I know.... *listens patiently to the gripes of everyone who's been waiting the next chapter... um... you can start talking and griping now... hello????* Comments are *always* welcome and *highly* encouraged (hint, hint). I apologize for the longer-than usual wait and length of this one, but I didn't want to break this chapter up any.... Also, this chapter is, well, probably PG-13 rated, maybe an R, a few little adult things here and there.... The MacKenzie Chronicles Bonny Portmore, chapter two by Brian Procopio Copyright 1995 Kaos Pictures, Inc. _______________________________________________________________________________ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "O Bonny Portmore you shine where you stand and the more I think on you the more I think long If I had you now as I had once before all the Lords in Old England would not purchase Portmore..." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- May 1, 1568 Loch Levon, Scotland -------------------- The twilight sun struggled vainly to break through the thick layer of damp, clinging fog which hung low over the lake. The smells of a late after- noon rain and of the forest clung to my nostrils as I inhaled. My senses were at a level which was new to me then, but it was a level to which I would grow more than accustomed to over the years. The smallest details of the wood- lands caught my attention, a glimmer of light off of a drop of moisture, the sound of hooves slapping across rain-soaked leaves, all of these things stick in my mind as clearly now as they did then. As we neared the treeline, my elder brother Kenneth slowed his mount to a halt, the deep brown horse releasing a slight bray of both relief and annoy- ance. My own mount reacted in quite the same fashion as I drew alongside my brother. Ahead of us, in the distance, laid Edinburgh Castle, with a mile or so of scrubland and small shrubery in between us. We both sat silently in our saddles for several minutes, watching the sun slide slowly beneath the horizons of the day. "Donna worry, Kenneth," I stated as I swung down from the saddle. "I'll see you when the sun rises again soon enough." I reached into my pack and withdrew the small pouch of charcoal and began to apply it liberally to my face and arms. Kenneth dismounted swiftly. "Who said I'm worryin about you," he leered. "Tis the Queen who occupies my thoughts." He reached over and cuffed me behind the ear playfully. I turned and half-growled in his direction. "Never a change, eh, Ken?" I inquired as I pulled a long dirk from my saddlebags and inserted it into my belt. Kenneth's face turned serious for a moment, and he reached over his shoulder and pulled his sword from its sheath. The blade of the broadsword caught the last flicker of the twilight's sun as he held it out to me. I shook my head and grinned slightly. It was a false grin, he knew it and I knew it, but I still had to keep up appearances. "I canna take it, brother. You've worked to hard to earn it. Besides, I'd reckon I canna sneak into the bloody castle with that bear strapped to me back!" He laughed as he replaced the weapon in its leather home and instead tossed a rolled bundle my way after removing it from his horse. "The Queen's things," he informed me. "Hide them well at the exit." I nodded. "Take good care o'her, Brian, and yerself too," his angular features appeared set in stone as he talked. "I'll see you in the morning when it's safe to ride." "Aye, that ye will, Kenneth, that ye will." I held out my arm to him and he clasped it tightly to his own. With that departing gesture, I turned in my blackened features and clothing and began to shuffle down the hillside and out of the trees... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Spiders. I hate spiders. Have I mentioned that I hate spiders? In a rather serious way? Of course the trapdoor under the clump of bushes was being guarded by a rather prodigous example of the eight-legged species. The wooden planking was nearly rotted away as it was, and I am quite willing to believe even to this day that the last person to have used the hidden exit was none other than my own ancestor Kenneth Og some sixty-five years before my own time. It had taken me more than an hour to creep the two hundred or so meters to the small rise in the hillside which hid the entrance, crawling over all manner of dirt and grasses until my knees were cut, abraded, and bleeding to come degree, making it a virtual pleasure to straighten up, even a few inches, behind the cover of the hillside. I reached down to pry the boarding up, a feat which, I was soon to realize, was much tougher than it seemed, for sixty years of erosion can cause quite a bit of buildup over a barrier. Despite the normal late spring sounds of insects, every miniscule sound seemed to carry for miles. If I listened closely, I could faintly hear the lapping of the lake's edge upon the beach well off in the distance. This did mean, however, that the horrendous *crack* which resounded when one of the boards snapped in half came extremely close to sending me into an instant cardiac arrest. I froze for at least ten minutes, but it seemed luck was with me, more or less, on that evening. The worst part of the experience, without question, was my descent into the tunnel below. Any light would instantly be noticed by even the most sedentary sentry, so I first had to lower the bundle of clothing and equipment down into the pitch-black cave and then myself, oh so ungraciously, to the floor two meters down or so. I paused, sensing nothing but seeing nothing at all as well. I slid my hands back and forth across the floor of the tunnel, trying to find my bundle of equipment. Something chittered loudly and a soft, furry sensation clamored across the back of my hand. I drew blood as I bit the inside of my lip in fear. It wouldn't do me to be *that* jumpy early on. Fin- ally my fingers scraped the surface of the tinderbox. A quick flick of a wrist later gave me my first glimpse of light in several hours and, after a moment of readjusting, helped me light a small, well-shielded lantern. It seemed that the cavernous ending of the tunnel was relatively empty, my furry friend had seemed to dissappear into some cubbyhole or crack in the wall. There were a handful of spiders, and these I was quick to stomp out with my booted foot. I gathered the few items I deemed necessary for the task at hand before retying the bundle and securing it near the opening. I then hunched down to squeeze into the narrow tunnel opening. The tunnels were small, tight, claustrophobic, constricting, and every- thing you could imagine a prison escape route to be. There were surprisingly few insects, of that I was grateful. Those few I did happen across were quickly put to the sole of my boot. I had (and still do to this day, although not to such a large degree) a not-so-high tolerance for anything which walked on six legs or more, and in my opinion the only good bug at the time was a dead one. The original diggers of the tunnel were nice enough to scratch markers in its walls every fifty feet or so, more, I would imagine, for their own moral support and encouragement than for practical purposes, but it was a nice feature all the while. Eventually, I began to find breathing, if not difficult, at least labored or such, and the lantern would flicker dangerously from time to time to boot, but at about the two hundred foot marker a cool breeze of less-than-stale air wafted softly through the corridor. Here I made a slight mistake, not the last one I ever would but one all the same. The breeze gave me a little too much enthusiasm, I believe, for I began to abandon caution and scamble along at a not-so-careful pace. As I turned the final bend my heart caught in my throat as my legs backpedalled and then collapsed out from under me. The lantern clanged against the floor of the open cell as a large meaty palm snared my neck, suspending me several good inches above the floor of the cell as its owner peered, nay, leered at me with a grin on his face. "Well, wat have we heeer," grinned, minus several teeth, a mammoth guardsman. A crudely-constructed bastard sword was being held by his off arm. His uniform consisted primarily of worn leather armor over his chest and torso, a wide belt holding up faded leggings that may have been orange, red, yellow, or any other like color in a previous wearing, and calf-high leather boots to finish it off. His arms were unclothed and several inches around, as I could easily tell by the strength of his grip on my neck, which was quickly becoming a choke hold as the seconds of examination slipped on by. "Ah, another patriot come to save the Scottish bitch, eh?" he questioned. My throat battled against the constricting hold long enough to allow me to gather a descently-sized ball of spit in my mouth, which I promptly sent into the face of my inquisitor. Needless to say, this seemed like a less- than smart, if emotionally called-for response, and I paid aplenty for it as a steel pommel crashed into my face. As the guard squinted tightly and wiped the mucous from his face, however, I slipped my hand into the folds of my kilt and came up with the dirk, which I slashed blindly into his face. He cried out more in surprise than in pain, I believe, but he did release his grip. I stag- gered to my knees for a split-second of relief before I jumped up again, driving the point of the blade up and into his trachea, continuing the upwards thrust until the long dagger had entered the guard's brain, killing him in- stantly. I slumped to the ground again, allowing myself several moments luxury to massage the feeling back into my neck. I tried to avert my gaze from the dead- ening corpse with no avail. I had trained for it, but I had never taken a man's life before. Did he have a name? A family? Would he be missed? I could not or, as the case may be, would not allow myself to answer those questions. I gagged then, the taste of bile rising up in the back of my throat until I could contain it no longer. The seriousness of it sunk in then, the realization that I had come that close to dying, the realization that I had killed... I doubled over in a dry, hacking, heave for several minutes after I had dragged the body back into the tunnel. When I came back into the room, I tried my best to cover the blood stains on the floor by kicking dirt over them, then made my way out of the cell and through the darkened and nearly empty dungeon. My ears told me that several creatures of the four-legged variety scrambled to and fro, but the chamber was vacant of human life. This did complicate things somewhat, for the initial plan to rescue the Queen entailed her being kept in the dungeon but fortunately the contingency of her containment in a upper level room was included in the plan. Indeed, I had pretty much assumed that would be the case all along. The thought of using the dead guard's clothing as a disguise passed through my mind but was quickly discarded. Not even factoring in the size differences between myself and him, let alone my soot-darkened face and arms, the idea of stripping the garments from the corpse threatened to shatter what little control I had at this point. The going was both easier and more difficult than I had imagined. The light, stealthy touch I had garnered over the years coupled with my ability to hug every nook, cranny, and corner I came across helped me slip unnoticed through seemingly endless corridors. I do not mean to say it was a cakewalk. Indeed, the charcoal which I had rubbed so thoroughly into my features must have been nearly nonexistant due to the constant rivlets of sweat dripping down my brow. The air itself bordered on stale in numerous places, and I was quick to build up heat as I moved through the castle. More than once I was forced to duck or cram myself into a space which was not meant for anything living larger than a stray cat. It was at one of these times that I had encountered the sole guard patrol of the night, a simple two man affair. I was squeezed as tightly as possible into a corner behind a not-so-large table. There was no uncer- tainty in my mind that they had discovered their dead comrade and were seeking out me and me alone. My eyes locked with one of theirs, but somehow his gaze passed cleanly over my huddled form. To this day I know not how he missed me but I am thankful all the same. A lone guard I would have had a shot at killing quickly, but the pair would have definately sent out a cry of alarm if, in fact, I was able to kill even one of them. I reached the third floor and, I hoped, Mary's room. A lone guard slept rather soundly in a chair before the door, and I expected his position was more a psychological one to remind the Queen of her internment rather than as an actual physical threat to be reckoned with in the event of any serious attempt to free the Queen of Scots. I did mention that my luck was extremely favorable that evening, didn't I? Well, it decided just then to change, much to my cha- grin. I crept up to the sleeping sentry and was about to reach behind him and put him into a choke hold when I chose that opportunity to step on the tail of an unfortunate rodent camped out underneath the guard's chair. I had never known that such a tiny creature could emit such a loud, piercing noise, and I completely froze up in shock, just as the now-awakened guard lanced out with a solid right jab to my well-bruised cheek. I stumbled backwards, trying to clear my head and withdraw my dagger at the same time. The small, tightly- wound guardsman lunged at my hand, grabbing it at the wrist. He then shoved me forcibly into the rough stone wall at my back, and pounded my weapon hand repeatedly against the wall until I was forced to drop the dirk. By this point I had been able to free most of my left arm and used it liberally against my foe's unshaven face, getting my hand up and around the lower half of his head and pushing with all of my might. His fists struck against my ribcage several times as we struggled up against the wall there. Finally my scrabbling hands found their target, and I squeezed my grip tightly, attempting to gouge out his eye sockets. He let loose a short cry of pain and backed away a foot, which was more than enough to allow me to get a knee up and into his groin. As he doubled over in pain I gathered his head in my hands from behind and quickly brought him to the point of unconciousness. Nowadays they would have called it a sleeper hold, but at that point all I knew about it was that my brothers had victimized me with it numerous times. I had my share of death for the evening, so I made every effort to subdue him without killing him. I dragged the body over to the wall and slipped a ring of keys from his belt. I rummaged through several keys as I tested each one in the door by trial and effort, finally triggering the lock. I slipped soundlessly into the darkened room and shut the door behind me. As I reached into the pouch on my belt for my tinderbox, I felt a length of cold steel press up against my throat and a sudden chill race down my spinal cord. "What are you here for?" a rough-sounding female voice questioned, the knife pressing more forcefully against my adam's apple. "Queen Mary?" I swallowed. "Aye, and answer me damn question before Aye feed ya to the moat," she growled. "I'm here to rescue you. My father, Colin MacKenzie, sent me," I ex- plained carefully. "MacKenzie? Oh...," the voice softened a good deal, and the knife at my throat released it's pressure. I heard the scratch of flint a split second before the warm light of a lamp glowed into being. In all honesty, Mary was not what I expected her to be. For starters, she was young, probably close to my own age, even though her regal bearing enabled her to exude an aura of auth- ority of sorts. She was pretty, in a cute, impish sort of way, with curly aubern-red locks tied behind her head and a smattering of freckles on her nar- row cheeks. Subdued green eyes and a short, upturned nose completed the face. She wore an expensive-looking robe affair over her thin body, and I tried not to let my eyes stray from her face all the while. Her eyes examined my kilt carefully for a moment before she addressed me. "Well, ye do wear the colors of your father, if slightly dirtied," she stated, the corners of her eyes crinkling a bit in amusement. "So, do ye go by any particular name or shall I just call you soot-boy?," she suppressed a giggle. I bowed my head deeply. "As you wish, my Queen." She took my head in her hands with a smirk. "Now we'll have none 'a that, lad. Now, are ye here to bring me a message or to get me out?" "Brian, then, and I'm sent to rescue you, your highness," I responded. "It's Mary, if you would be so kind. Day and night all me life have I had people calling me 'queen' or 'highness' or 'majesty' or some other stuck up title. Tis the least ye could do to call me by my given name, Brian." Her tirade over, the Stuart queen proceded to march over to her bed, sliding a bun- dle of clothing out from underneath it. "Your-- Mary," I corrected, "I have clothes and supplies waiting..." "Ach, do ye expect me to wear *this* in the escape?" she questioned as she gestured dramaticly at her robe affair. You can never plan for everything, you really can't. "Um.. well... not exactly," I explained. "Mmmhmmm, of course you didn't, m'dear Brian, that's why you're a male and I'm the Queen, you realize," she began to pull her stray locks up into a gathering behind her head. I accepted her words of wisdom at face value and made my way to the high slit windows of the room, peering out at the gloom down below. I spun quickly around at the sound of rustling fabric and, much to my surprise, saw much more of good Queen Mary than I had ever intended to. "Ack! Um... sorry... uh....," I stammered as I spun back around, trying to hide my blushing cheeks and focusing all of my attention on the suddenly interesting, if pitch black, landscape down below. "Problem, Brian?" I heard as a hand rested softly on my back. "We should get going," I instructed, trying feebly to muster up as gruff and disconnected of a voice as possible. "Aye, we should. Ready?" Mary asked. "If.. you.. are," came my quiet, forced, cautious answer. "Well let's go then, young MacKenzie. Some quick rescue you are..." Mary finshed her thought with a barely auidible, "men," as she turned towards the doorway. She had hurridly changed into a man's tunic and breeches, topped with a leather vest. Even then, she *still* looked better than I liked to think my Queen would. I sprang a step ahead of her and stopped, listening, at the wooden door. Light breathing could faintly be heard in the hallway outside, but that was all I could notice. The door creaked quietly open, and I saw the first signs of stirring in the guard on the floor. I pounced on him from the open doorway, slamming my right fist soundly into his jaw and cracking his skull against the stone hallway. Mary held the door open as I dragged the once again unmoving guard into the room, wherein he was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. As soon as I collected his sword from against the wall outside we were off. Our going went quickly down through the floors of the quiet castle. That is, quickly until we were about to enter the dungeon, when a gaggle of excited and angry-toned voices rose up the stairwell to meet our ears. Straining my ears, I could gather just enough of the conversation to tell that my "handi- work" had been discovered. Hurridly now we made our way up to the main level, ducking quickly into the nearest empty room we could find. I scrambled to the windows but to no avail, for their narrow width would not allow us exit. I turned to the Queen with an exasperated shrug. "Any ideas?" "Why don't we just try the front gate?" she questioned. "We could try bluffing our way past the guards..." "Oh, and, 'Hi, I'm the son of a Scottish Lord and I'm taking the Queen, whom you are holding here in your nice castle, to freedom' works *real* well, m'lady!," I growled. Slowly but surely I was beginning to feel like a cornered animal. "Look," Mary stated, placing her hand on the hilt of my dagger. "Let me take *this* and follow my lead," she winked as she slipped the dirk from my belt. As I started to protest she placed her finger to my lips with a warning look. "Ah-ah-ah, none of that. Tis now or never for Scotland, Brian. Don't worry about little ol' me now." Mary smiled, her grin almost bordering on sinister in its implied meanings. She turned then and darted into the hallway before me. I let a half second pass before tossing a solid rescue plan to the fates and entering the hallway behind her. We slid hurridly throughout the darkened passageways, finally reaching a corner. Torchlight from down the connecting hall could be seen flickering around the bend in the corridor. The violence of its flutter, in addition to the slightest of breezes across my sweat-soaked cheek allowed us to draw the conclusion that the exit was up ahead. "Are ye any good with that?" Mary whis- pered into my ear as she pointed at the bastard sword in my right hand. "I can hold my own, lass," I replied with a nervous shrug. In all actu- ality, I had had little to no swordfighting experience and my training seemed woefully lackluster at the time. "Good. Wait for a count of twenty before following me," she responded. With that, my assignment slipped suddenly into the well-lit corridor ahead of us. I began to count, my count too fast but, seemingly, not fast enough for my tastes. Two rough, male voices wafted to my position, along with Mary's. "Halt. Whaddya we 'ave here?" "M'lord thought ye might need some relaxing, good gents..." "A sweet thing she is, Hank." "Ooooo, that's quite a fine sword ye have there.. Hank, is it?" "What little you know, *lass*, heh..." "And you? Do ye have quite the weapon as ye partner?" As I hit fifteen I bolted around the corner, just in time to see Mary's hand slip the dirk into the back of one of the guards, sliding through his armor and severing his spine. As his partner stared at his crumbling form I charged, slashing the unfortunate guardsman cleanly across the throat, his rising blade clattering to the floor seconds before his body did, its face fro- zen in a visage of horror. I stared in shock for a few seconds more at the recent addition to my death count before Mary's furious yanking on my arm caused me to snap out of it. As we slipped away from the castle I noticed for the first time that my face was coated with a sticky liquid. Blood, I realized as my hand came away from my head. Not my own. The guards. I stumbled in midstep, crashing to my knees as the dry heaves wracked my body once more. Mary knelt nearby, her hand resting softly on my shoulder blades, attempting to cautiously comfort me. Eventually I recovered, and we somehow made it unde- tected to the treeline. Collapsing to the ground, Mary showed the first true signs of emotional duress of the entire evening. As I looked at her ragged clothing I realized that the bundle of her more formal clothing had been left back at the opening of the tunnel. "No ye won't, MacKenzie," she declared as I informed her of my plans to recover the materials. "Yer life is not worth clothing." "Mary, we canna have ye parading back into the highlands in *that*, I'll be careful...," I explained. With a sigh Mary bid me to keep to my wits and allowed me to slip back into the night. I nearly creeped on top of the sentries guarding the entrance to the catacombs before I heard them. Immediately I froze in my tracks and allowed the natural noises of insects and the like to resume before moving again. Ever so slowly I advanced upon them, two in number, facing away from me, my sack on the ground just behind them. I inched along, scouting the position of each and every spot where I laced my hand or foot, willing myself to be as light as humanly possible. As I stretched out my fingers towards the bundle, my left leg muscles shuddered at the continued strain. I overbalanced onto my right knee, causing that one to groan in protest to, sending me crashing to the grass beneath me. Both sentries turned in shock, springing from their places and drawing their blades in one motion. I looked up, grinned slightly, grabbed the clothes, and bolted for the woodlands, the guards hot in pursuit. As my feet entered the shrubs bordering the treeline I spun in my tracks, lowering my center of balance to drive my momentum downwards, my sword catching one of the following sentries through the stomach, his body stumbling to a halt as his entrails poured out over the dark grasses below him. Unfortunately, his forward motion also ripped my own weapon from my grasp, sending it skittering to a stop yards away. I backpedalled as the remaining sentry advanced, a lit- tle more warily than his comrade had. My hand closed on the jagged edges of a rock, which I hefted and threw at my opponent with all of my might. Not to my surprise, the stone missed its mark, barely deflecting off of the warrior's helm, but it enabled me to regain my footing. Once more I darted into the forest, this time a little more unencumbered by bundles or weapons. I heard the horrendous crashing of the pursuing sentry through the underbrush behind me, but, little by little, it slipped further behind me as I slipped lightly into the forest. From up ahead, though, a scream pierced the air, and I dove headfirst through a thicket, crashing into another guard and throwing both of us to the dirt. I rolled off of him and scanned the clearing. Mary was backed against an oak, a dead sentry at her feet, blood flowing from his chest. The sentry which I had bowled over appeared to be in considerable pain, clutching his kneecap franticly. Without hesitation I grabbed the Queen's arm, dragging her after me towards the far side of the woods. As the treeline broke ahead of us I slipped backwards, my feet trying to stop my fall down to the waters of Loch Levon some thirty feet and a steep and craggy cliff below us. "They're up ahead!!," a shout from behind us broke through the foiliage. "We're trapped!" exclaimed Mary as her eyes darted down to the water below. "Can ye swim, Mary?" I questioned in a panic. "I... I can hold me own but-- you can't be..." she scrambled. "Hold yer breath, lass!!" With that, I leapt, Mary's hands clutched in my own, off of the cliffside and down to the water below. Fortune smiled on us that day, for the dark waters of the Loch were deep enough to support our fall. As my head broke the surface for a drastic gasp of air I had already begun swimming deeper out to the center of the lake. Up on the cliff face, a trio of guardsmen stood, our forms already lost in the midnight gloom, even though sound still traveled clearly over the sur- face of the lake. "He'll 'ave our heads for this one for sure..." "'at he will, but do *you* feel like a swim tonight...?" Luckily, Mary and I had found one of the narrower portions of the Loch to attempt our crossing, which we exhaustedly did so, finally collapsing on its far shores a quarter of an hour or so later. "Do ye think they'll follow?" she inquired. "Nay. They know they wouldn't be able to find us now," I replied between breaths. "Come on, up ahead..." With Mary in tow I made my way to a small shoreline cave, finally dropping to my bottom on the soft sand beneath. "We can rest the night here. We'll find Kenneth, my brother, in the morning." Mary stripped her vest from her torso before tossing it down near the mouth of the cave. A sick *thud* of water-soaked hide sounded along with its landing. The Queen of Scots settled herself down next to me and, with an ex- hausted sigh, rested her head on my shoulder. "Ach.. I'm so tired of running anymore, Brian. Running from the English, from my own cousin Elizabeth for that matter... running a government for all of me life...," Mary vented. I placed my arm somewhat hesitantly, but protectively, around her should- ers. "Each of us has our lot in life, Mary. Yours is to be Queen of the greatest land in this realm," I comforted. "Aye, I know... What is *your* lot in life? Where does the path of Brian MacKenzie lead him?" she questioned, lifting her head to look up at mine. A released a long, drawn-out sigh, hedging my decision to visit an area which had been a sore one for quite some time. "I am the son of a Lord, that limits me somewhat to what sort of life I lead. Too far down to ever expect to hold the title of my father, yet still a member of a noble family, not allowed to pursue a 'less than noble' career," I explained reluctantly. "And what career do ye seek to attain?" the redhead asked. "The stage has called to me for years now. Given the chance I would make it my life, but my father would never allow it..." I mourned wistfully, closing my eyes as memories of painful fights floated through my mind's vision. "You could make your chance, Brian. You're young, *live* your dream. Nothing will ever come about if ye stay in the family castle ye whole life, never knowing what could have been. Your family will accept you back if you do not succeed, but at least you'll have *tried*!" Mary explained enthusiastic- ly. "Ah, but were it so easy, Mary!" I responded. "What about you, why do ye care of my dreams so?" "Because you're young and full of life and have all the chances I wish I had had in my years. I canna change my path as you can, for all of Scotland rests on my shoulders, but the weight grows heavy. Oftentimes I wish I could live the normal life that my twenty-two years but tis often not the case..." she seemed to run out of steam at this point, her shoulders slumping slightly in her water-logged clothing. A moment of silence passed before she grabbed my face suddenly in her hands, mashing her lips against mine in a forceful, in- tense embrace. Mostly out of shock I broke the contact, staring at her incredulously. "Bu-- your hus--- you're the Que---" at each of my attempts at complaints she shushed me with another kiss. Her hands slid down to my chest as she leaned over and straddled me, continuing her passionate kiss. Finally she stopped, a look of surprise passing over her own features. "You've not known a woman, have ye, Brian?" she asked incredulously. A devilish smile played over her lips as I mumbled incoherently something that resembled a "nay." "Oh tis nothing to be ashamed of, I just assumed..." she giggled. My cheeks flushed brighter still at this, and the young Queen tried unsuccessfully to suppress another giddy laugh. Her smile turned a bit more serious as she ran a finger silently down the side of my cheek. "I'm sure ye had no say in the matter, my rescuer," she commented quietly with a wink. She took my right hand in her own and raised it to cup her left breast. My fingers gave a slight, instinctive, squeeze, causing a shudder to pass through Mary's body. She leaned over to softly breathe in my ear. "Donna worry, I'll teach ye well, lad..." _______________________________________________________________________________ The early morning sun warmed me to the insides of my being as we stepped into the clearing, the forms of three horses and my elder brother in the dis- tance providing the reassurance of the Queen's safety at last. As I inhaled the dew of the early morning filled my senses, cleansing after the clinging stench of death that had haunted me the night before. I knew as I strided across the grassy meadow that my decision had already been made. I gave Mary's tender hand a soft squeeze as my Kenneth approached us. "Good day, you wouldn't have seen the Queen of Scots about, would you, dear sir? I hear that the English have lost her," he called out in jest. "My Queen," he bowed as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Well," she declared with a smile. "It seems that all of the MacKenzie's have the social graces of Brian now, doesn't it?" Kenneth shot me a look that bordered between questioning and accusing, to which I replied with a shrug. He addressed Mary again. "Your armies and Scot- land await your return, my Queen. Campbell, Buchanan, and Grant are ready to march, as is our own clan." Mary shook off the offered helping hand and mounted the horse herself, her red locks dancing about her features lightly. "Very good, Kenneth. We shall join them with all due haste." Kenneth jumped to the saddle and shot an inquiring stare in my direction. "Brian? Are ye planning on turning yourself in for execution or are ye joining us?" he smirked. "I'm not going back, Kenneth," I informed him silently. "What do you mean, brother?" he questioned quietly, the tension in the clearing tightening ten-fold. "I'm leaving, Kenneth. I am going to London, I cannot hold back my dream any longer," I informed him. Although I expected a fight, a strange calm settled over Kenneth's face. "There's no persuading you otherwise?" I answered him with a shake of my head. "Take good care of yerself, Brian, and come home in time. I'll try to stay father's anger," he offered. "Your supporting me?" I asked incredulously. "For what ye have done in the past two days ye deserve it, brother. Be- sides," he grinned with a wink, "Ye'd only be unhappy and grumpy and moody if we kept ye back in the castle anyway. Good luck, lad." Kenneth hopped down from his saddle and offered his arm. I did not ac- cept it, instead choosing to clench him in a deep hug. I would have kept him there even longer if I had known the fate which would someday befall him. Mary climbed down from her saddle at this point and I gathered her up in my arms once more. Our lips met in a quiet, tear-stained kiss which I reluctantly broke. "Live, Brian," she whispered, her light green eyes watering, "live for me." "As you wish, my Queen," I responded. I turned and made my way for the third horse and mounted it. Kenneth tossed me a small bag of coins and then, just like that, I was off on my own for the first time in my life.... _______________________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________________ As I said, comments always welcome!!! Hopefully Chapter 3 will be along tomorrow.... sync, Brian _ _ KAOS PICTURES, INC. (_)__(_) ------------------------------------------------------------ |KAOS,|/ BRIAN PROCOPIO | STEVEN DIBELLO |_INC_|› --PRODUCER DIRECTOR | --TECHNICAL DIRECTOR /› MACLEOD@VM.TEMPLE.EDU | STEVEN.M.DIBELLO@CYBER. / › HIGHLNDR@ASTRO.OCIS.TEMPLE.EDU | WIDENER.EDU =========================================================================