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Enemy Of My Soul	By : highlandgirl Category: G through L > Highlander Views: 1401 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Enemy of My Soul

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: NC-17, Slash, rape, violence, lang, rape, X-Over

Key: ****** Scene change, Italics Thoughts, Sioux Language, *** Flashback

Summary: Duncan finds himself in the Battle of the Little Big Horn in 1876.

Disclaimer: HL The Series and its characters belong to Panzer/Davis. Dances With Wolves and its characters were created by Michael Blake. I merely borrow them for a time.

A/N: I would like to acknowledge Highlander: The Series for excerpts from the episodes 'The Gathering' and 'Something Wicked.' Also, Carmino Gadelica for the Gaelic Hearth Blessing.

Part II

"Are you two ready to ride?" Dunbar asked the next day as the sun's rays beamed over the crest of the mountain ahead of them. "We still have a long journey."

As they rode, Mac found himself watching the other man. Dunbar had an economical, athletic build and move to him. Duncan flushed and dropped his gaze. Another image and smell then bombarded his senses, that of his nose pressed into a pile of smelly saddle blankets while he was forcefully penetrated time after gut-wrenching time. He felt the blood drain from his face and glanced down to see that his hands were now sweaty and trembling.

"Duncan, are you all right?"

MacLeod jerked his face up and saw that Christine had eased her horse up beside him and was looking at him with concern filled eyes. He shook his head and squared his shoulders. "Nothing's wrong. I'm good."

Dunbar glanced back at them and smiled. If he'd noticed anything, he didn't acknowledge it but kept on riding.

* * * * * *

The couple guided him to a secluded island in the northwestern woods. Kicking Bird had shown it to Dances With Wolves when they'd gone on their journey soon after Dunbar had married Stands With A Fist. Hobbling their horses on the mainland, they constructed a roughly built canoe and rowed across the lake to the island. Shumanitu and Stands stayed with him a few days before heading back to their own clan in the Black Hills.

MacLeod saw that the island was holy ground. It would make a good place for him to live in peaceful seclusion and give him a break from the Immortal game. After being there a while, MacLeod sought out the local shaman and received permission to stay and build a cabin. He felled some trees and began working on his refuge.

* * * * * *

His kinsman and teacher, Connor MacLeod, soon learned of his whereabouts and appeared on the island one spring day. They ate and exchanged bits of news before Duncan resumed work on his log house. Connor watched him for a while. He knew why his former student had come here and that Duncan wouldn't appreciate him saying anything to him about it. Still, he cared too much for the young Immortal to remain silent. "You can't stay out of the game forever, Duncan. Men kill men, we kill each other."

Duncan sighed and answered, "I don't care who does the killing, I'm tired of it...tired of the endless, mindless fighting. Tired of death."

"You can't quit."

"I didn't ask for your permission, Connor." Mac looked at him a moment and then picked up his tools and resumed working on the cabin.

Connor stood there a moment and happened to glance down at a large boulder in front of him. He brushed off thcruscrusted lichens and saw ancient petroglyphs etched upon it. He smiled and turned back to his headstrong former student. "Now I know why you chose this island. It's holy ground."

"That's right but I did ask permission of the Old Ones to build my cabin here." For some unknown reason, he didn't mention his new friends that had led him here or what had happened on the trail.

"Really? And?"

"They didn't say no." Duncan exchanged a tight smile with his kinsman.

"No Immortal can fight here...ever." Connor glanced around at the scenery. The lake was smooth and reflecting the early morning light. Honking gulls were flying about the abundant growth of trees, both on the island and the shore. "Beautiful sanctuary."

"I'm glad you approve," Duncan retorted, flashing a grin that was half-ironic and half not. "Connor, the battle between Good and Evil can do without me for a little while."

"Maybe, but you can't stay out of it forever."

"Not forever, but for a while."

"They'll find you."

"Eventually."

Connor tarried with him a few more days to help his kinsman. Duncan had found a wide slab of dark slate stone that became the hearthstone for his cabin. He intended for it to face the north, as was Gaelic custom. After building a fire, Connor dug into his sporran and removed a small flat piece of iron. It was pointed at one end and had crosspieces like a knife. He held it out to Duncan. "Here, I'm not sure why I've been saving this, but it'll do to bless the hearthstone."

Duncan was touched at his old teacher's thoughtfulness. He took it carefully from Connor and nodded. "Thank you."

Standing near where the stone would be laid, Duncan held the knife up by its tip so that it formed a cross. He then quietly spoke the words of blessing.

"God, bless the world and all that is therein.

God, bless the eye that is in my head.

And bless, God, the handling of my hand,

What time I rise in the morning early,

What time I lie down late in bed,

Bless my rising in the morning early,

And my lying down late in bed."

He then touched Connor and himself with the blade and finished, "God, protect the house and the household. Let the fire of thy blessing burn forever upon us, O God." When he'd finished, he dug a small hole in the earth, placed the knife into it and covered it back up, firming the ground with the flat of his hand. Connor then helped him pick up the slab of rock and laid it into place directly over the buried iron.

The elder kinsman then stepped over to the fire and removed a burning brand from it. He walked around the cabin foundation, clockwise, three times. As he did so, he chanted the ages old Gaelic blessing on the hearth which had numerous stanzas to it. When he came to one of the four directions, north, south, east and west, he paused and swept the burning twig in a wide arc before moving to the next one. At the chant's final verse, he handed the brand to Duncan, who in turn, laid it in a pile of kindling he'd placed where the fireplace would be.

Mac ended the ritual by murmuring,

"The sheltering of the king of kings be yours.

"The sheltering of Jesus Christ be yours,

The sheltering of the spirit of healing be yours."

When he'd said that line, he exchanged a small smile with Connor in acknowledgment of their immortality, then finished with,

"From evil deed and quarrel,

From evil dog and red dog."

Later that night, Connor was awakened by Duncan tossing restlessly in his blankets and mumbling something unintelligible like, "No, don't." This wasn't the first night it had occurred and Connor knew something was on Duncan's mind. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to convince him to share what had happened. Duncan remained closed off, more stubborn even than himself, and that was saying something. Still, he tried again the next day to get him to speak of it. He was harshly rebuked.

"I said it was nothing, Connor! Now, leave it at that!"

The elder MacLeod did not respond further and resumed his journey the next morning. Sooner or later, Duncan would have to confront his demons. "Oh, well," Connor mumbled as he shouldered his pack. He spoke his kinsman's name in lieu of a good-bye and followed the trail back to civilization.
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Enemy Of My Soul