Shattered (02/07)

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"Shattered" ~ Part One in the Old Holly Ridge Farm Cycle
by Denise Underwood
c. 2006

Part Two

Some hours later, Methos had finally served dinner in the sitting room, 
where they ate curled up on the couch in front of a roaring fire. Now 
Triona was sitting at her desk behind the couch, correcting Latin essays 
written by her fifth year students, the long sleeves of the green velvet 
top she now wore pushed up to her elbows. "One of those wouldn't be for me, 
would it?" she asked as he came back into the room holding two glasses of 
dessert wine, wearing what seemed to be an identical copy of his previous 
clothes, except that these were dust free.

"I think one just might be," he agreed as she gratefully accepted the glass 
of Moscato he offered her and took a sip.  "Want some help with those?" He 
nodded towards the pile of essays.

"Really?" she asked delightedly. "If I can get them done tonight, my 
weekend will be free and clear."

"Really." Eyes laughing, he added, "I think you deserve some sort of reward 
for your stellar performance earlier."

She gasped in faux offense. "You're just lucky this is an excellent wine, 
or you'd be wearing it!"

Leaning over, Methos kissed her bottom lip, savouring the taste of the 
sweet wine on her mouth. "Then you'd just have to lick it off," he 
whispered, running one hand up across a velvet-clad thigh.

"You have a one track mind," she whispered back, shivering a little at his 
touch.

"We are newlyweds after all," he noted, smirking, as he straightened, 
taking half the stack of essays from the corner of the desk.

"Mmm-hmm." She shook her head, deciding not to encourage him, since it took 
very little to do so. Not that she was complaining, but sometimes it was 
hard to get any work done.

They worked in silence, the only sounds the crackling of the fire, the 
scratch of their pens, and the patter of rain against the windows. 
Finishing her last essay, Triona sighed, stretching out the kinks in her 
neck. Pushing back her chair, she looked over to where Methos sat in a wing 
chair to the side of the fireplace, watching the play of the firelight 
across his face as he worked on the last page in his stack. Reaching out to 
him through their blood bond, Triona caressed him mentally with her love 
for him. Smiling softly, he looked up, catching her eyes with his. "I love 
you too." He turned his attention back to the paper he was correcting, 
giving it one last red mark with a flourish. Setting it aside, he leaned 
back in the chair, holding out a hand to her. Accepting his silent 
invitation, she walked towards him, taking the proffered hand, and letting 
him pull her into his lap.

Reaching across to the lamp on the side table, he switched it off, leaving 
the room lit by nothing but the fire. Methos knew she preferred firelight 
or candlelight to electric. It was a vampire 'thing', she said. One of the 
affects of LaCroix's ill-fated attempt to bring her across nearly a decade 
before had been enhanced night vision. She saw much better in the dark than 
she did in the full light of day. "Thank you," she said softly, nestling 
into his arms as he stroked her long hair.

As she sat there in the comforting quiet of the night, Triona had the 
oddest sensation of two perspectives, then it was gone. "Methos, do you 
believe in ghosts?"

"Where did that come from?" he asked, surprise in his voice.

She shrugged. "Just now, I don't know... it felt like I was seeing this 
room, this place, through other eyes. And it isn't the first time..." she 
trailed off uncertainly.

"I've seen a lot of things in my life, but, honestly Triona, ghosts? No, 
sweet, I don't believe in ghosts." He rubbed her back softly.

"Etheldrida," she said suddenly, "your wife. Did you love her?"

"You are full of odd questions tonight, aren't you?" He sighed. "I was very 
fond of her. She was a fine woman, a good mother to the children, a good 
wife to me."

"And she loved this house." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"Is that what this is about? You think she haunts this place?"

Triona fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt. "No... maybe. I don't 
know. Immortals, vampires, why not ghosts?" She shifted, so she could look 
at him. "I know she was a widow, with four children, that her first husband 
died in an accident, but did she know about you?"

"You mean did she know I was an Immortal? No, but most of my wives didn't."

"What happened?" she asked. "I mean, when she began to notice you were very 
well preserved."

She felt him chuckle. "I know what you meant, love. The Third Crusade 
happened. 1190. Richard the Lionheart had promised his father before his 
death to join it. I used it as a pretext to leave. Our oldest children were 
grown and running a great deal of the farm as it was. They would take care 
of their mother after I 'died'. I arranged for her to receive word a few 
years later that I'd fallen in battle before the walls of Jerusalem."

"She must have missed you very much," Triona said, unaccountably sad at 
remembering the woman who had died here in this house many centuries 
before. She hadn't dwelt much on the 69 other wives that had come before 
her, but being here, in this house, was a frequent reminder. At least she 
didn't have to deal with a living ex ­ that had to be a bright side she 
supposed.

"We do what we must, Triona," was his only reply and they fell once more 
into silence, each alone with their own thoughts.

With a start, Triona realized she'd almost been asleep, and would have been 
if not for something on the edge of her awareness. Gently disentangling 
herself from Methos' arms, she brushed her lips across his before getting 
to her feet to look out the front window. Glancing over at the clock on the 
mantel, she saw it was nearly midnight.

"What is it?" Methos asked sleepily as she peered out the rain-slicked 
glass into the dark garden beyond.

Cocking her slightly to the side, as if listening to something, Triona 
didn't immediately answer.

"Triona?"

She looked at him, replying, "I'm not sure. I mean, it couldn't be...." 
Wrinkling her forehead in puzzlement, she said, "Nicholas?" Just as a knock 
was heard at the door. Despite herself, Triona jumped, startled.

She looked at Methos who shrugged. "It's definitely no one I know."

She switched on the porch light and pulled open the door, not totally 
surprised to see the last person she ever expected to see at her door: her 
erstwhile 'brother', Nicholas.

* * * * *

Momentarily stunned into silence, Triona just stood there with her hand 
still on the doorknob.

Smiling at her uncertainly, pushing back the hood of his raincoat, Nick 
said, "Hello, Triona. It's been a long time. Methos," he acknowledged, as 
the Immortal came to stand behind his wife.

"Yes, it has," Triona finally said. His hair was longer than it had been 
the last time she'd seen him, and was gelled in the spiky style quite 
trendy for men at the moment, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in 
several days. Though that might have been for fashion as well -- very 
metrosexual, a vampire version of Ryan Seacrest. Realizing that Nick was 
dripping wet and still standing on the front step, she quickly added, 
stepping back, "Please, come in."

"Thanks."

As he stepped into the room, Triona closed the door, exchanging a look with 
her husband. Shaking her head slightly, she mouthed, "It's fine." And it 
was. She and Nick would probably never be close, but Triona had made a real 
attempt to let go of the animosity she felt towards him. Mostly for 
LaCroix, but also because the reality was that they were part of the same 
family and would have to deal with each other over the years to come. They 
could at least be civil to one another, couldn't they?

"Nicholas, you're drenched. Let me have your coat," she instructed. "Can I 
get you something?" she asked as she took his wet coat from him. "I'm 
afraid all I have is what I keep for company." That sounded silly even to 
her ears. "What I mean is..."

Methos interrupted her. "What she's trying to say ­ very ineptly," he 
smirked at her, " -- is what our other vampire guests drink. No cow, I'm 
afraid."

"Pardon me for trying to be polite," she replied tersely. He could be so 
annoying, she thought.

"If you can't be rude to your family, then who?" he asked, not at all 
perturbed. "Right, Nick?" He turned his attention to LaCroix's middle child.

Laughing, he replied, "Whom indeed?" Then to Triona, trying to sooth her 
ruffled feathers, "Whatever you have is fine."

She quirked an eyebrow at that, but didn't comment; the last time she'd 
seen Nick, he'd been on a strictly bovine diet. She wondered what had 
changed. "Please, sit down. I'll take your coat to the kitchen to dry and 
get a bottle from the cellar."

"Thank you," he said, handing her his coat.

"You're welcome."

Methos pulled Nick's coat from her hands. "I'll do it. You stay here and 
entertain our guest."

She nodded before turning to Nick, who was looking around the cozy room. 
"You have a lovely home. Though, I was a little surprised a city girl like 
you would be living on a farm."

"I find I like the country life. It's different, but has its own charms. I 
don't really miss the city, and Methos makes sure I get to London often 
enough to not go into complete withdrawal," she said, grinning.

"Retail therapy?" Nick asked, seating himself in the chair Methos had been 
in earlier

"You know it!" she replied. "So, Nicholas, how have you been?"

"Good, actually. I spent the last few years in Seattle. Painting mostly, 
and giving piano lessons."

"Sounds relaxing," Triona said as she sat in the chair across from him at 
the other end of the fireplace. "A little mellow after being a homicide 
detective though."

"The change was good for me," Nick told her. "And Stephanie?" he asked 
after her cousin, now his 'sister'.

"She emails me fairly frequently from wherever she and LaCroix are in the 
world. Last I heard, they were in Rio de Janeiro, and Lucien was spoiling 
her terribly." Triona laughed softly. "She's happy, and that's all I care 
about," she added, forestalling whatever Nick might have been thinking of 
saying in response.

"I'm glad she's doing well," was all Nick said. "And you. I hear 
congratulations are in order. I hope you and Methos will be very happy 
together."

That almost sounded sincere, she thought, then felt guilty for her less 
than charitable reaction. Smiling, she accepted his good wishes in the 
spirit in which they were intended. "The change has been good for me too," 
she allowed.

"Speaking of which," Nick leaned down to the large nylon bag he'd brought 
in with him, unzipping it and removing a gift-wrapped box, "a wedding 
present," he said, standing and handing the box to her.

"Thank you, Nicholas," she said as Methos reentered the room, carrying an 
opened wine bottle and a glass. "Methos, Nicholas brought us a wedding gift."

Glancing over at Nick, he said, "Thoughtful of you," as he put the bottle 
and the glass on the side table at Nick's right hand.

"Thank you," Nick said, pouring wine cut blood into the glass. "It was the 
least I could do. It's not everyday one of my sisters gets married, after 
all." Motioning towards the silver paper wrapped box sitting on Triona's 
lap, he asked. "Are you going to open it?"

"Of course." Triona gently removed the wrapping paper as Methos came to sit 
on the ottoman at her feet. "Nicholas, it's exquisite," she said sincerely, 
looking down at the Art Nouveau style sterling tea set. She removed the 
teapot from the box, looking at it admiringly. Whatever else she might 
think of Nick, he had always had impeccable taste.

"It's Tiffany, 1901. I saw it and it seemed to have you written all over it."

Echoing her own thought, Methos said, "You've always had good taste, Nick 
-- and with a perfect gift giving gene or something. Maybe I should make 
you my personal shopper for spousal gift occasions." He winked at Triona, 
who lightly bapped him on the shoulder.

"Methos is right, you do have impeccable taste. Did they teach you that in 
Knight school or something?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

Methos groaned at her pun. "That was really very bad."

"He's right, that was very bad," Nick said, laughing outright. "I'm glad 
you like it."

"I do. Thank you again." She carefully set the box down beside her chair. 
"But somehow I doubt you came all the way to England to give us a wedding 
gift?" She was insanely curious to discover whatever the real reason for 
him being here was.

"True," he admitted ruefully. "I actually do need to speak to you about 
something as well." He leaned forward slightly, suddenly very serious. 
"Margaretta has asked me to take a teaching position at the school, but I 
told her I'd only accept her offer if it was okay with you."

Triona sat back, more than a little nonplussed. Of all the reasons she'd 
thought might have brought Nick here, this wasn't one of them. Margaretta 
Stamford was Triona's employer, Headmistress of the school she taught at, 
and a friend of Janette's, LaCroix's eldest child. It had been Janette who 
had initially arranged for Triona to meet with Margaretta when she had told 
Janette that she and Methos had decided to live in England.  Her offering 
Nick a job, she assumed it was the open history position, was surprising to 
say the least.

"I didn't realize you two knew each other," she said instead of answering 
his question. "Neither Margaretta or Janette mentioned it."

"How much do you know about Margaretta?" Nick asked.

Triona shrugged. "Not a lot. She and Janette seem like good friends, 
Smythly Hall was her home when she was mortal, and she despises LaCroix." 
That had been one of the stipulations of her employment: that her Master 
never set foot in the Headmistress's home. Triona had told Margaretta at 
the time that she couldn't possibly compel LaCroix to do anything, but that 
she saw no reason for the issue to come up. That had seemed to satisfy her 
at the time.

"True, as far as it goes. But did you ever ask her why?" Nick asked curiously.

"I've learned that inquiring too closely into a vampire's affairs ­ 
especially our Master's -- can be... unpleasant." Shifting slightly in her 
chair, so that her leg pressed against her husband's shoulder, she added, 
"She didn't offer and I didn't ask."

"Fair enough," Nick allowed. "Maybe it would be good if you had a little 
background?"

"I'm listening," she replied.

"Has LaCroix ever told you about Francesca?"

This time it was Methos who answered. "The Countess du Montagne? I remember 
her. I was traveling with Lucien about, oh 1345? She offered us the 
hospitality of her estate. A woman of varied 'appetites' if I recall."

"I so do not want to know what exactly that means," Triona told her 
grinning husband.

"What?" he protested all innocence. "You have such a dirty mind, Triona!" 
he tsked at her disapprovingly. She rolled her eyes. "I had other things to 
see to at the time, so I didn't stay long, but Lucien told me later that 
he'd brought her across."

"That would be her," Nick agreed.

Triona said, "I remember Lucien mentioning her. I was already living at the 
estate then, but as I recall, it had something to do with a case you 
working on at the time? A serial killer who claimed to be her reincarnated?"

"And didn't you kill Francesca?" Methos asked. Nick nodded stiffly. "He 
never did play well with others," he commented wryly, looking over at his wife.

She smacked his shoulder lightly, "Behave," she whispered sternly, though 
not looking very put out. He just looked at her innocently, as if butter 
wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Sighing, Triona tried to bring the conversation back to the subject at 
hand. "What has this got to do with Margaretta?"

Taking her cue, Nick explained, "Margaretta was related to the du Montagnes 
on her mother's side. She was the youngest child, the youngest daughter of 
three. Her parents sent her to France to be a companion to her cousin 
Francesca in 1740. A few months after arriving in Avignon, Francesca 
brought Margaretta across."

She sat back in her chair, pondering what Nick had just told her. "So, 
we're related. I had no idea."

Nodding, Nick continued, "After Francesca was dead, I wanted to take 
Margaretta with us, but LaCroix wasn't happy with me."

"For killing Francesca," Triona stated.

"Since it was something I wanted, he of course wanted the exact opposite. 
He refused to take Margaretta with us. Janette was living in Italy at the 
time, so I arranged for her to go there. Janette took Margaretta under her 
wing, and eventually, arranged for her to take possession of Smythly Hall. 
She's been living here ever since."

"And now, it seems she's going for a family reunion," Methos said airily. 
"Where do vampires hold family reunions anyway? The usual summer barbecue 
in the park seems right out."

Triona snorted, amused. "A Halloween cocktail party in a crypt, of course," 
she replied dryly, eliciting a matching snort from Methos. Nick smiled 
slightly, seemingly entertained by their banter. "Maybe she is looking for 
a reunion," she agreed. "But maybe she's lonely too." Triona paused, a 
thoughtful expression on her face.

"It's late," Methos said suddenly, gently squeezing her hand. "Nick, why 
don't you stay here tonight? The south wing is empty, plenty of room for 
you. We can discuss this further tomorrow ­ or later today, I guess it 
would be." He looked over at Triona. "I think that would be best," he 
squeezed her hand once more, looking at her intently, "don't you?"

Triona looked at him quizzically, then agreed, "It is late. Nicholas?" she 
asked, looking once more at the blonde vampire.

"That's very kind of you," he replied. "Thank you."

"I'll get you settled in, Methos said, standing up.

Triona decided to go along with Methos for now, though she had no idea what 
was on his mind, though obviously something was. "I'll say good night then."

"Till tomorrow, Triona," Nick said then followed Methos from the room.





            Ith *Ithildin@OnDragonsWing.com* Denise
             * Make Tea, Not Love ~Monty Python *
        * A & C  http://bittersweet.ondragonswing.com/ *
* HOUSE M.D. http://tv.groups.yahoo.com/group/DrHouse/ *
        * The Darkwood http://ondragonswing.com/tales/ *
             

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