New fanfic: HIS BETTER HALF: An Elena Duran Story 7/8
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@ADELPHIA.NET)
Sun, 3 Jun 2001 05:20:53 -0400
HIS BETTER HALF: An Elena Duran Story 7/8
by Vi Moreau
vmoreau@adelphia.net
for thanks and disclaimers, see part 0
"Nice to see you, Simon," Connor said.
"I've been waiting for this day, MacLeod."
Connor stood a few meters away from his opponent. In the hollow, about one
hundred meters behind Simon, was the Gordon farmstead, where Elena was
being held. Dammit, they were too far away! Simon's man could easily
behead
Elena before Connor or Duncan could get to her. They had to get closer.
Plus, there was something else Connor had to do. He had to carry on a
conversation with Simon Andrew.
("Keep him talking," Duncan had said, before he disappeared into the trees
with Connor's hunting rifle. "Give me as much time as you can.")
"I understand how you feel," Connor ventured to Simon.
"No, you don't. But you will, when your wife dies right in front of you!"
Simon replied savagely.
Simon's wife had not died in front of Simon, but Connor let that go for the
moment. "I've had wives die in front of me before, Simon. Friends.
Lovers. Comrades. So have you. It's life; and the Game."
"She didn't have to die. You could have let her go."
He was still holding onto that; and Connor was still the bad guy. Not
surprising. Connor wondered if Simon knew that Lillian had shot Connor
three times. Probably, considering Simon was using guns, too. Connor
decided not to mention that, either. Instead, he ventured, "Well, here's
your chance to do what I didn't do. Let Alex go, Simon. She has nothing to
do with us."
"Oh, no. I want you to see her die. All I have to do is raise my hand like
this," he extended his arm, thumb pointing up, "and put my thumb down. Like
the Romans. My thumb goes down, your wife dies. And your face as you watch
it happen may be the last thing I see, but it will be worth it." He tilted
his head and studied Connor closely. "Tell me: do you love her very much,
MacLeod?"
Connor wondered if now was the time to let Simon know that Elena was not
Alex MacLeod--but that would probably infuriate the Englishman and maybe
cause him to give that death signal. So instead of answering Simon, Connor
said, "I'll fight you for her." It also occurred to Connor that that same
thumbs down gesture might be the signal for him to get shot by Simon's
rifleman.
("Keep him talking.")
Simon's eyes widened. "Fight me?"
"Yes," Connor replied, licking his lips, appearing more nervous than he
was--although he wasn't exactly happy. "You can't lose. If you win, you
get both our heads. If I win, you let her go and walk away. And I won't
come after you. Ever."
"And I can trust your word on this?" Simon asked, with some sarcasm.
"You know my word is good, Simon."
Simon didn't argue with that, but he shook his head. "If I wanted to fight
you, MacLeod, I would have done so in the first place. No. I have a
different proposal. You put your sword down, and I signal my man to release
her."
Connor smiled. "Sorry. Your word is not good."
Simon didn't argue with that either. "Then we're at a stalemate. And I
have no reason to let her live." Simon held out his arm again, fist closed,
thumb pointing straight up, and opened and closed his hand.
At that signal, Connor saw Elena and the tall mortal Alex had described,
Jake, come out of the farm door. Then it was probably Thomas in the woods
with a rifle. Elena had her arms behind her and her legs hobbled by a short
rope. His left arm was around her chest, holding her back against him. In
his right hand, held to her neck was a short sword, quite long and sharp
enough to do the job.
He could clearly make out Elena's face. She didn't seem worried. No
surprise there.
"If she dies, you die," Connor said simply. "I'll cut you down."
"It might almost be worth it." Simon's fist started to rotate downward, and
Connor took a step forward.
<No!> "Wait! You don't want her. You want me. I propose a trade. You go
back to where she is. We both start walking, meet in the middle."
("Give me as much time as you can.")
Simon paused. "Like those spies in the cold war, right? Very James Bond of
you, haggis!"
Connor waited, feeling helpless so far away from her, and hating it.
Simon continued, "But I thought you said you didn't trust my word to let her
go."
Connor explained, "You need to untie her first. When we meet in the middle,
I give her my sword and she walks away."
"And you walk to me, weaponless, helpless. I like it. First, however, I
have to make sure you don't have a gun."
Instead of bothering to deny it, Connor slipped off his coat and let it fall
to the ground. Holding his sword out to the side, he lifted his arms and
slowly twirled to show Simon he couldn't be hiding any other weapon in his
sweats. The weak late fall sun had hidden behind clouds again, and the
breeze chilled his exposed midsection.
Simon glanced down at Connor's feet, and Connor lifted the legs of his
sweats to reveal no hidden ankle holsters or weapons tucked inside his
running shoes.
"Very well. Shall we?" Simon asked, apparently satisfied.
Simon could afford to agree, Connor thought. Simon was counting on his
hidden rifleman to shoot Connor. Connor was counting on his own hidden
rifleman.
The two Immortals moved closer to the house, the Englishman a little ahead
of the Scot, each watching the other closely.
``````````
Elena chafed against Jake's arm around her. His left hand was clutching her
right breast painfully and he was pressing his hips against her ass. She
could feel how aroused that made him. Damn him! If she survived this,
she would kill Jake herself. If .... that short sword blade was awfully
close to her neck, and Jake was enjoying that, too.
Then he deliberately cut her neck! and she pulled her head back against his
shoulder, trying to keep her breathing under control. The cut was very
shallow but quite painful, and she felt a few drops of her own blood slide
down inside her shirt, burning her. At the same time he murmured something
hot and breathy in her ear that she didn't catch, but knew what it was and
didn't like it.
But it didn't matter. An Immortal had arrived a few minutes before, and as
soon as they got to the doorway she saw him, coming toward her with Simon
Andrew. At this moment she knew what the poets meant when they wrote that
their hearts leaped with joy.
Connor MacLeod, the Highlander, walking easily, confidently, katana in hand.
[!Gracias a Dios!]
And hidden by Connor's Quickening, somewhere in the trees, was Duncan. She
was sure of it.
She hobbled out, clumsily walking with Jake's chest pressed against her
back, her ankles chafing against the rough ropes. When Jake had untied her
from the beam and lifted her up, he'd let her coat fall to the floor inside
the house. Now, in spite of the heat of his body so close to hers, the dim
morning sun was back behind grey clouds, and she was freezing. She scanned
the forest behind Connor, knowing that if Duncan didn't want to be seen, she
probably wouldn't spot him anyway. Then she concentrated on the elder Scot,
trying to guess what he was going to do, feeling pretty much the impotent
lady in distress but hoping she'd be able to help somehow when the MacLeods
made their move.
Simon held up his hand. "Wait here!" he ordered, and Connor stopped five
meters away from Elena while the English Immortal came nearer to her and
Jake. She looked closely at Connor's calm face.
Connor saw that Elena was breathing a little hard, and that her neck was
bleeding from where Jake, had just cut her. <Damn the bastard!> Jake was
another one who would not walk away today, Connor decided. Now that Connor
was really close to her, he saw the fear she had hidden--it was deep in
her eyes, lurking like a snake ready to strike. He looked directly into her
eyes and gave her a little grin.
Elena saw Connor's grin but she saw something else, too: Simon within
touching distance of her now, winking. Why would he wink at ... he wasn't
winking at her at all, no, he was winking at Jake, it was a signal!
Jake immediately released his hold on her chest, stepped back slightly and
tangled his left hand in her hair. As he pulled sharply back at her head,
he put his instep into the back of her knee, forcing her to collapse to her
knees. She also saw the shadow looming over her right side, he was raising
his sword, she could see it out of the corner of her eyes!
Simon had drawn his own sword and turned to Connor, and suddenly Elena saw
the whole plan: Simon was not going to behead her. Jake would behead her,
while Simon watched Connor's face as his "wife" died. And to make sure
Connor didn't interfere: Thomas. With his rifle. In the trees.
Duncan was also in the trees; but he wouldn't be able to get to her in time.
Simon would keep Connor from reaching her. No time, she'd just run out of
time.
She was going to die in Scotland.
"No!" she called out. She wasn't going to die like this, handcuffed and on
her knees, while some [bastardo] mortal executed her from behind.
Connor thought, with some desperation, Simon was going to watch while he let
that son of a bitch Jake behead her!
Elena twisted her body as she fell, pulling with all her weight and using
gravity, which was working in her favor, for once. She twisted so hard she
managed to pull her hair out of his grasp, although he kept a good handful
in his hand, and she felt some muscle in her neck pop painfully with the
strain of opposing forces. She landed on her back, hard, knocking the wind
out of her, but still hoping to be able to kick Jake away, trusting Connor
would keep Simon busy.
Connor knew he could take Simon's head, but he couldn't stop Elena's
beheading. He couldn't.
But Duncan could. Duncan was behind him somewhere, or perhaps in front of
him. It didn't much matter where--Duncan was there.
So when Connor saw the maniacal glee on Simon's face change to dismay as the
Englishman stared over Connor's shoulder, he knew Duncan was there, and
Simon had seen him. And when Connor heard the rifle shot echoing through
the hills an instant later, he didn't even flinch, because he knew he hadn't
been shot.
Simon hadn't been shot either.
Jake, on the other hand, crumbled straight down like a marionette whose
strings had been suddenly cut, dropping his sword on the way.
With a stifled curse, Simon nevertheless reacted quickly enough to turn and
strike down with his sword at the prone Elena, right at his feet. But his
blade was blocked by the steel of the curved katana.
"Just the two of us now, Simon," Connor said, grinning. "Let's finish it.
And by the way," he continued viciously, no longer having to be careful of
what he said, and without a trace of sympathy for this coward, cheater,
murderer, "this woman is not my wife. You got the wrong one. Alex and my
son are safe." He pushed roughly at Simon's chest and the Englishman fell
down heavily on his back. "Using a gun didn't save your cheating wife; and
it won't save you, either."
By the time Elena wriggled her arms under her ass and in front of her,
Duncan had arrived at a dead run.
"Wait, Duncan, there's another man with a rifle--" she began, hurriedly.
"Not anymore," Duncan replied.
He took care of Thomas, of course, Elena thought.
He used his katana to cut her free, then picked her up bodily and hugged
her, hard.
"I thought I might lose you!" he whispered in her hair.
"Well, you saved me, [querido;] but now you're breaking my ribs," she
complained good naturedly. But he felt so good against her, she never
wanted to let him go again.
He released her, then they both looked over at Connor, who was watching as
Simon Andrew got to his feet.
"You're sure you're all right?" Duncan asked her. At her nod, he said,
"I'll be right back. Wait, Connor!" he called out.
Connor paused, still keeping an eye on the Englishman.
"I told you he was mine!" Duncan yelled.
Elena shook her head in exasperation, then started fishing in Jake's pockets
for the key to the handcuffs.
Connor shook his head. "Too late, Duncan. It's already begun, and you
can't interfere," he said. At the same time Simon cried out, "No, MacLeod!
You fight me!"
"Listen, Connor--" Duncan began.
A long, piercing whistle made all three of them look at Elena.
She took her fingers out of her mouth and said, "First of all, you haven't
quite begun yet, so I *can* interfere. And secondly, Connor, although your
quarrel is older, mine is more ... immediate. So, senores, since I was the
one kidnapped, I should take the Englishman's head. I've been chained up
for hours, and I could use the exercise." She rubbed her chafed wrists as
she spoke, and started to jog in place, loosening her shoulders and the
muscles in her legs, getting warm, getting ready.
"Elena--" Duncan began again, and she turned to him.
"Did you bring my sword, Duncan?" she demanded.
"Yes, of course," he said, pulling it out of his coat and handing it to her.
"Gracias," she said, drawing it out of its scabbard, hefting her blade,
getting the feel for it again, feeling her blood sing in her veins in
anticipation. She said to the MacLeods, "If you two will excuse me?" She
shook herself once more, like a shuddering horse, then assumed the en garde
position in front of Simon.
Connor and Duncan looked at each other.
With a slow grin, Connor saluted her with his katana and withdrew from the
field.
"No!" Simon cried out. Connor ignored him.
Duncan looked at Simon, then from Connor to Elena, and finally shrugged.
Sighing, he bowed to his lover and took a step back.
"Shall we dance, Simon?" she asked.
But Simon was intent on Connor, death in his stare. "I see, MacLeod, that
not only do you murder women; you let them fight for you, too! You are a
coward!"
"Simon, my dear--is that the best you can do?" Elena asked sarcastically.
Then, with a cry, she attacked him.
``````````
The instant Simon's head fell, Duncan breathed a sigh of relief, and said to
Connor, "I'll go bring the car. Be right back."
He turned away just as the lightning began.