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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.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
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 III

John Dunbar awakened with a heavy dead weight across him. He saw Stands With A Fist's wiry hair and smelled her earthy scent but, in addition, his nostrils also detected a cloying odor of blood. He forced himself to a sitting position and shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog that still clouded his brain. Shumanitu then saw what his heart had already told him. His beloved Christine was dead. Wailing his sorrow loudly, he hugged her to him for a bit, but his remorse was soon replaced with blind hatred for the white men who'd taken the thing he loved most in the world from him.

John's shirt clung to his skin, causing him to vaguely recall the horse that had stomped him. Looking down at his chest, he saw his now tattered and bloodied buckskin shirt. John fingered the fabric aside but did not see any wound. In fact, his chest still hurt, but it was as if he'd not been touched. "What the hell," he muttered. He had to ask Duncan about that later. Right now, there was Christine; he'd lost her and he'd make those responsible for her death pay dearly.

He struggled to his feet and gently set aside his wife's body before grabbing a handful of mane from one of the milling horses and swinging agilely onto its back. Guiding the animal with his knees, he levered a shell into his rifle and rejoined the battle with a renewed sense of purpose, that of revenge.

* * * * * *

Mac felt the sensation of a nearby Immortal. He instinctively knew it was John Dunbar, but he didn't have time to ask questions. The man had obviously suffered his first death in this hell. He saw that Gall had mounted a horse and joined Dances With Wolves and Crazy Horse who were chasing after the now fleeing soldiers. Gall held his hatchet high, the blood of revenge glittering in his black eyes. He would take no prisoners today.

The Sioux gradually pushed their enemy back as the Indians' fighting unit was joined by many others who'd come when they heard the gunshots. Now there was a solid front of warriors before the village. The commander of the cavalry unit must have been spooked by the numbers now against him, for suddenly the men were falling back to a grove of trees and dismounting. The fighting was fierce and the bluecoats remounted to flee across the river and up to the bluffs. They stopped in a shallow bowl that was on the highest ground.

Another large group of soldiers soon joined the first and tried to break through the wall of Indian warriors but they were unsuccessful.

It was then that Crazy Horse saw another party of bluecoats across the river on top of one of the many bluffs along the winding Greasy Grass. They were further north of the first group. The war chief was determined that they would never get back together to fight his people. He motioned for some warriors to follow him. MacLeod, Dances With Wolves and Gall were among those that did.

MacLeod soon saw that Crazy Horse intended to go northward to the river's ford and cut off the soldiers that up until now had not seen any action. Many Cheyenne, Arapaho and others followed in the War Chief's wake across the sagebrush plain. Duncan heard the music of a bugle and saw the column of soldiers turning to the left to march down to the river. A number of Cheyenne and Sioux rode into the swirling water that was running bank-full from the winter snow's melting. Soon there were hundreds of warriors in the river and running up and down the ravine. He saw the army withdraw to the hillocks near the Indian village.

Mac then noticed a tall blond man dressed in a buckskin coat and pants. He figured the man had to be Custer or Long Hair as the People called him. Oddly enough, the man he saw now had short hair. Mac saw him motion part of his command farther along the ridge. Then, he ordered another group onto another small hill while Custer and the remainder of his men gathered onto the third one.

The first company dismounted and formed a skirmish line with each soldier fifteen feet apart. At first they were effective but the overwhelming numbers of Indians against them doomed their meager effort. The sagebrush covering the hillocks and ravines provided Crazy Horse's men cover to pick off the soldiers one by one. Soon, the soldiers panicked and lost all organization, as stark fear possessed them. Foolish, many began throwing away their weapons and raising their hands to surrender. Their efforts were for naught, however, because the warriors knew this was the answer to Sitting Bull's vision. These bluecoats would fall. The farthest hill of soldiers fell, then the second and finally, the only one left was that upon which Custer stood.

For a short while, MacLeod's focus was almost as a third party or a newspaperman watching an unfolding story. Gall assaulted Custer from the front, Two Moons from the rear and Crazy Horse on his flank. The celebrated Civil War hero was surrounded. A large cloud of gun smoke and dust whirled on the hill and then horses with empty saddles emerged from the murky haze. The soldiers fired many shots but the braves had better weapons and shot straighter, picking them off one by one.

Mac could see a good number of the bluecoats were green recruits that hadn't seen much action, because they shot their horses for barricades and had lost all cohesion of defense. A few even began shooting themselves. One time, Crazy Horse, who wasn't too far from the Highlander shouted, "I'm going to gallop past the soldiers. They will not hurt me!" He did and none touched him, which the Highlander silently figured was just dumb luck. Be that as it may, the War Chief's monumental image as the greatest strategist of the entire Indian Nations grew even more.

It was at that precise moment Duncan MacLeod spotted Sergeant Ben Travers methodically firing his rifle near the bottom of the hill upon which Custer remained. Hatred surged through MacLeod's consciousness. Forgotten was the battle and the death around him; he could only see that evil man's visage, smell his rank body odor and remember the mind-ripping pain of Travers and his buddies raping him.

Mac whooped a Highland war cry and pulled his skinning knife from its sheath on his left hip. He rode toward the Sergeant, who looked up in surprise. Travers sensed MacLeod's quickening and tried to fire a shot at him, but his rifle jammed. He tossed the weapon aside and drew a knife just as the Scot leaped from his mount, onto him, dragging the two of them to the ground. They rolled, each man grabbing the other's wrist to disarm his opponent.

Duncan lifted one knee and struck Travers in the groin. It wasn't a hard blow, but it was enough to shove Travers off to the side. Mac then leaped to his feet and flipped his blade up to throw it. Before he could, however, he saw his nemesis pick up a battered sword, dropped by one of the dead officers, and approach him.

"Well, if it isn't the squaw man! Didn't think you'd see me again, did ya? Our orders were changed and we were reassigned to Custer's Seventh Cavalry. Did ya miss me? You must want more of the same!"

"Not hardly," growled MacLeod as he deftly withdrew his katana from its sheath strapped to his back.

The Highlander could tell the man, for an Immortal, was not a proficient swordsman. Perhaps the man hadn't had a teacher. Who knew? In a way, he regretted it for he would've liked to draw the duel out. It only took him a few parries and cuts until he found the opening he wanted and gutted Travers with his katana. The noncom dropped to his knees, his mouth hanging open in shock that his life would soon end. Instead of taking his head, however, MacLeod blew out a long breath and wiped his bloody sword off on the front of the man's blue uniform. This was too public a place for a quickening. Travers, like Kern, would have to wait until another time.

Mac shook his head to clear it and backed off into the brush. Looking up, he wiped his eyes of the grit that had formed in them and saw Custer on his hands and knees at the top of the hillock. He'd been shot through the side and blood was coming from his mouth. He seemed to be watching the Indians moving around him and for a brief second, MacLeod thought he might be looking straight at him. There were four other soldiers sitting up around him, but they were all badly wounded. All the other soldiers were down. Then, the Indians closed in around him and Mac didn't see Custer anymore. He later heard that an unidentified Santee warrior had been the one to kill Yellow Hair, but no one seemed to be sure.

When the Indians began killing their enemies and committing grisly acts to make certain they never followed them into the spirit world, MacLeod turned his back on the carnage and suddenly felt emotionally drained. Everything before, Travers, Custer, even Kern, seemed unimportant. He was alive.
What else was new, he thought,
I'm Immortal. There will be another day to avenge Little Deer and Kahani, but not today. There had been far too many deaths. He only wanted to retreat back west to his island and the peace and security of holy ground.

Mac then thought of John Dunbar who was now a new Immortal. He'd take him with him if the man, also known as Dances With Wolves, would agree.

* * * * * *

Ben Travers surged back to life with a gasping breath but forced himself to keep still. He could hear the Indians all around him, killing and hacking his fellow soldiers to death.
Damned bastards! he thought. He hadn't any idea where MacLeod was off to, but if the sorry son-of-a-bitch thought he'd come back in the dead of night and take Ben Travers' head, he had another guess coming to him. He groped around and found the sword he'd been using against the squaw man.
I'd better take this with me, he mused.

Using the tall grass, smoke and confusion for a cover, Travers began crawling toward where he thought there was a ravine that would take him to the river. He could find a hiding place until nightfall and escape these red devils. Ben supposed he could see if any of Reno's or Benteen's troops were still alive, but he really couldn't see the need of it. Custer was a damned fool and had paid a fool's price. Splitting up his command and ignoring his scouts, who'd told him he was facing a hell of a lot more injuns out there than he thought, was plain idiotic. If old Yellow Hair had gone down and helped Reno when the major was attacking the village, he'd still be alive. Travers had heard him mouth, "No, let them fight. There'll be plenty of fighting for us to do." Well, there had been plenty of fighting. More than Custer ever thought of having.
Hope he's satisfied. Still, there were a lot of good men that had died with him.

Travers at last found the ravine and a hole that was just big enough for him.
I'll wait here until nightfall. Then, I'm on my own.

* * * * * *

A group of soldiers were still alive toward the south of the camp. They were the ones who'd first attacked the village. MacLeod had been told that Gall was in charge of keeping them pinned down. The Scot supposed he might ought to go help out, but he'd lost his taste for fighting. He caught up with Dunbar back in the tipi John had shared with Stands With A Fist. The man was sitting on the floor with her lifeless body in his arms, tears flowing from his eyes and down his cheeks. It reminded Duncan all too vividly of the same scene his kinsman Connor had happened upon back in '72, when in Mac's case, it had been him holding Little Deer on his lap. Knowing words wouldn't suffice or take away the pain, he instead eased himself down onto another palate and sat vigil with the grieving man.

* * * * * *

Later that evening, Christine Dunbar was placed on a bier along with Gall's family and the others who'd been killed in the fighting. It was sad that more time for grieving couldn't be taken but the bluecoats were still out there and the fighting would begin anew in the morning.

Sometime late that evening, Jim Kolt'ec returned from the council meeting. The two Immortals talked quietly for a bit about the events of the day.

"Sitting Bull is very disturbed about the People taking the enemy's valuables and dishonoring them as they did. He says Waken Tanka is angry that his words were not followed. He had commanded that nothing be removed from the wasicu. Sitting Bull fears that the People will pay for what they have done."

Duncan shrugged. "You know the army won't forget what was done here today. Nor will the real truth be told, that it was a battle and not a massacre."

Jim nodded. "You're right." He paused and lowered his voice so that the sleeping Dunbar wouldn't hear them. "He's an Immortal now." He'd felt the vast difference in the man's quickening.

"He doesn't have any idea what's happened to him. I think he's still in shock about Christine."

"When will you tell him?"

"I'm planning on returning to my island in the morning. I hope John will agree to come with me. That will give me time to explain our world to him." Mac stopped and ran his hand tiredly through his long hair. It had been a very long day. "It'll give him a chance to gather himself back together, too."

Jim looked into the Highlander's expressive face. The man wasn't just tired. Something had transpired during the battle. "What about yourself, Mac? What's happened?"

Duncan's upper lip lifted on one side. "I never could fool you, could I?"

Kolt'ec shook his head but did not speak. MacLeod went on to tell him about running into Travers."

"You didn't take his head." It wasn't a question. The Hayoka would've seen a quickening if there'd been one.

"No, not the right place. I'll catch up with him someday," Mac promised.

"What happened in that shed, Mac?" Jim asked. He'd asked that same question of the Highlander a long time ago, but the younger man hadn't been able to tell him about it. Perhaps he would this time.

Mac thought and then shrugged his shors. rs. He, at last, told his friend of the gang rape. Even so, he didn't share all the details of the dire experience. He didn't really see the need. Telling everything the men had done to him wouldn't change any of it. It was enough that he had talked of it to Kolt'ec. There was a prolonged silence before Duncan added, his voice hoarse, "It's happened. I can't undo it. It'll take me a while to heal. I'd thought all that was behind me until this trek. Seeing Travers brought it all back."

"I would think so," Jim replied.

"What about you, Jim? What are your plans?"

"Sitting Bull has asked me to stay with him for a while. If they do have to run, they'll probably go to Canada. I've heard it's nice up there."

"Take care of yourself, my friend, travel well."

"And you do, too, Mac."

Jim left the tipi to return to the council tent. Meanwhile, John had aroused and was sitting up sleepily. "Who was that?" he asked MacLeod.

"Jim Kolt'ec. He said Sitting Bull thinks things are going to get mighty hot around here in the next day or so."

"I'd think so, yeah," John agreed. "Grant won't stop until he's got all the tribes under control." His headache wasn't as bad for some reason. He then thought of his wound that had healed earlier that day. "Duncan?"

"What is it?"

"Earlier today, I was stomped by a horse. I was sure I died, but then I woke up and I hadn't."

MacLeod smiled, "You had your first death."

John, a puzzled look on his face, then asked, "But how did you know? Am I like you now?"

"Yes, John," Mac answered simply, "You're an Immortal, just like I am and just like Jim Kolt'ec is." The Scot noticed the shocked look on the other man's face. He also knew that Dunbar was emotionally exhausted. So, he asked, "Have you thought about what you'll do?"

"No, not really." Dunbar rubbed his forehead from the nagging headache he had and ran his hands through his thick light hair. "Now that Christine's gone, and with these new revelations about myself, I. . ." his voice broke and trailed off.

"Why don't you come with me?" Mac suggested. "I'm going back to my island. It's quiet there. You'll have time to think about what you want to do next."

Dunbar thought a moment or two and then shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you're right."

The man once known as Dances With Wolves then exchanged a silent warrior's agreement, forearm to forearm, with MacLeod. No words were really necessary. They'd leave first thing in the morning. John stood and started out of the tipi. "I'll go tell Kicking Bird and the others my decision."

When the new Immortal had left, Mac laid back down on his furs, crossing his arms behind his head. So much had happened in such a short time. The United States, no, the world, would never forget what had transpired on this lonely prairie along a previously unknown river. The fact that he, himself, had contributed to the demise of all those soldiers didn't set well with him. What happened to the resolve he once had with Darius of never taking part in another war? "So much for that," he mumbled and turned onto his side to go to sleep.

* * * * * *

The former Sergeant Travers waited until full dark before venturing out of his hiding place. Creeping along the ravine, he remained low until he was well away from the Indian village. Not until then did he poke his head over the edge. Good, he was near the ponies. Maybe if he was lucky enough, he'd be able to take one and be off. He looked down at the sword he still carried. He never did hold much with one of them. Kage never seemed to think all that guff about the game and the rules were worth anything, anyway.

The Immortal's luck proved to hold because not only did he catch up a horse, it was an army nag, at that, still saddled and bridled. The animal was a bit spooky but Ben quietened him down and led him toward the west until the way seemed clear. He then swung up into the saddle and proceeded to put some distance between the Little Big Horn and himself.

* * * * * *

Before daybreak the next morning, Duncan MacLeod and John Dunbar were saddled and ready to pull out. The supplies were divided between their two horses. John had told Ten Bears, Kicking Bird and the others his decision to leave with MacLeod the night before. Even so, his fellow tribe members stood outside their lodges to bid him good-bye. As the two men wound their way across the valley to the distant mountains, they could hear the booms of the resumed battle. Duncan couldn't help but feel that he'd just seen the last of a summer encampment by free Indians.

The two men rode silently for a long while, putting the miles behind them. It was just before they crossed the divide to leave the Big Horn Valley that Duncan looked back. The entire Indian village that had been camped along the Little Big Horn was packed up and on the move, headed toward the Big Horn Mountains. They watched the slow progress for a while, then Mac said, "Jim Kolt'ec told me last night that Sitting Bull and Gall were heading for Canada. He was going with them."

John nodded. "That means Ten Bears and Kicking Bird and the others will probably go with him, too. I'm glad. Maybe they'll be safer up there. They're all good men."

"What about Crazy Horse?" MacLeod asked.

Dunbar shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know for sure, but I'd bet he sticks around the Big Horns and gives the army hell." John blew out his breath and shook his head. "Crazy Horse is perhaps the finest general of our time, but he'll never be recognized as such. Perhaps in a century or two," he let his voice trail off.

MacLeod chuckled, "Yes, and we'll still be around to find out if they do. Who knows, maybe by then, the bluecoats will listen to the truth about what happened here."

John answered Mac's grin with his own. "Hey, there just might be some extra advantages to this immortal thing."

Dunbar nudged his horse ahead and laughed, "There surely are, John, there are many."

* * * * * *

Unseen by either Immortal was another horseman who'd stopped to watch the encampment leave the area. It was Ben Travers. As he sat chewing on some jerky he'd found in the saddle bags of the horse he'd taken, he spotted the other Immortals a mile or so away. They were well out of sensory range which meant Ben didn't have to move, not yet anyway. "So, there ya are, squaw man. We have a date, you and I."

* * * * * *

When MacLeod and Dunbar made camp that night, the Scot was uneasy. Some sixth sense told him there was danger around them and not in the form of soldiers. No, the blue coats would have their h ful full back at the river and chasing the two groups of Indians. It was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on.

"What's up?" John asked, automatically checking the surrounding area as he built a fire.

Duncan lifted a shoulder. "Don't know. Probably nothing."

The two men ate a simple meal and sat cross-legged in front of the fire. MacLeod removed his katana and began sharpening and cleaning it. Dunbar had retrieved a discarded cavalry sword and took out his whetstone to sharpen the dull blade. The only audible sound for a long while was the snap and crackle of the fire. Each one was absorbed in his own memories of the past few days.

Then, as if awakening from a dream, John asked the Scot, "Mac, what happened to Custer and all those men? After Christine. . ." his voice faltered and he cleared his throat to go on. "After Christine's death, I don't remember much."

Duncan paused from sliding the stone along his razor-sharp sword and reached over to pour himself another cup of the strong trail coffee. "It wasn't pretty, John. It was confusing, too. There was dust everywhere, shouts of dying men and celebrating warriors. I didn't see Custer get it. I'm not sure who actually killed him." Mac set aside his cup and recommenced taking care of his weapon. He kind of half-smiled, "I must admit, after I spotted Travers and we fought, I don't recall a whole hell of a lot more myself."

John nodded. "Who was Travers? Is he dead? Is he one of us?" Dunbar still hadn't gotten used to the thought of being Immortal and living for a long time. He'd never considered his life beyond Stands With A Fist and his Sioux family. Now, everything had changed for him.

MacLeod let out a long sigh. "Travers and I have some old business, and yes, he's immortal. He's not important right now, though. Your immortality is your main concern. Let me tell you about it."

The Highlander spent the next hour detailing how Dunbar would survive as an Immortal. When he'd arrived at a natural pause, he noticed the younger man was silent. "What are you thinking?"

John sniffed and shook his head. "I still think I'm going to wake up and discover it's been all a dream."

Duncan chuckled and laid down on his bedroll. "That's a standard response. It can mean a lot more, though, than just fighting someone. I've traveled to far off places, learned new languages and different ways of life. I've met people I'd never been able to in a mortal's span of years." The Scot turned onto his side and closed his eyes. "So can you."

MacLeod had been almost asleep when he felt Travers' presence. He was instantly on his feet, his katana's hilt held firmly between his hands when the ex-cavalryman stepped out of the shadows. He vaguely saw Dunbar scramble out of his blankets and get back out of their way.

"Hello, squaw man. I figured you'd been havin' more nightmares about me by now. So, I thought I'd go ahead and take 'em away from ya', permanently."

Ben Travers, his own sword at the ready, stepped out of the shelter of the trees and into the glow of the coals of the fire. Duncan figured it was somewhere around midnight. The moon hadn't quite risen. The two of them circled each other once, but then MacLeod attacked him with a slashing cut Travers parried easily. It would be a more difficult challenge than he'd thought.

"Hm, you were playing awhile ago, Travers. You're a better swordsman than you appear."

"Never show what 'cha got, youngster," he bragged.

Travers was bulkier in weight and at least an inch taller than MacLeod, but he didn't have the skill the Highlander possessed. John watched, fascinated, as the two men dueled. He'd never seen anyone battle quite this way. The fact that he would also do this very thing was also a bit daunting. Mac seemed to be toying with the bluecoat, pricking him first in the side, then the thigh. It seemed to Dunbar that it would be over in a matter of moments.

Ben paused and took a deep breath. "Hey, squaw, don't 'cha remember that blanket and yer nose stuck up in it while my cock was stuffed up yer ass?"

Duncan faltered a half step. His mind was suddenly bombarded with the images and smells and sounds of that small shed and the panting soldiers and a voice begging, "Please, no, don't..." He shook his head to clear his mind. No, I couldn't have begged them to stop. I'm a Highlander! A man! A braw lad doesna beg like some wee lass."

Travers realized MacLeod's distraction and stabbed him in his side. Mac went down to one knee but managed to parry his opponent's slashing cut. He knew his wound would heal within minutes, so he ignored it, but he couldn't erase the pain. Even so, Mac pushed himself back to his feet and countered Travers' attack with a flashing series of cuts, first left, then right, then left again. When the army sergeant stumbled back over a fallen log, MacLeod knew he had him. He drew back his foot and kicked Travers' sword from his grasp. Then, he straddled the tree trunk and said, "There can be only one," severing Ben Travers' head from his body.

John Dunbar gaped in shock as he saw the soldier's head plop heavily onto the ground and roll a few inches towards him. "My God," he muttered. He then stared as a column of white vapor escaped from the dead man's headless body to envelope MacLeod's panting form. Clouds seemed to form from nowhere as thunder rolled. And, there were lightning flashes unlike any he'd ever seen before. They struck again and again as the Highlander yelled, lifting the foreign sword into the air as the jagged bolts electrified his torso and sword. It was as if it might go on forever, but then, finally, it stopped and Mac collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

John hesitated a fraction of a moment, then crossed over to MacLeod and laid his hand gingerly on Mac's shoulder, as if he might still radiate electricity. "Mac?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm okay, just a bit tired, is all. Go check the horses. Make sure they haven't broken loose. I think we'd better take off in case the light show attracted anyone."

Dunbar nodded and went to do his bidding.

Duncan staggered to his feet and stared down at the now deceased Sergeant Ben Travers. The rapist didn't look so menacing now, but corpses never did. He methodically wiped his blade off with a handful of grass he plucked up. It would do until he could clean it properly. He then set it aside and dragged Travers body over further into the woods. He supposed he ought to bury it, but he didn't figure the man deserved an honorable burial. Let the animals have him. He was an animal; he deserved being fed to them.

MacLeod then started packing his few things and kicked dirt over the coals so they wouldn't ignite a fire. By the time he'd finished readying both his and Dunbar's belongings, John appeared with three horses. The third horse had been Travers. They'd now use it for a pack animal. If Dunbar disagreed with leaving the dead body, he didn't say anything. He just handed Mac his mount's reins and swung up onto his own horse, kicking its sides to move out.

When they'd gone, the campsite, other than the ground, which had been chewed up by the activity, was like the Lakota camps. Nothing was left but the coals from the now extinct fire. Three wolves had been watching from the shadows. When it was evident that the humans had gone, they howled to call the rest of the pack and began to feast.

* * * * * *

The two men rode for several days. Neither one spoke except when it was necessary. Dunbar remembered Stands With A Fist and the life he'd left behind. Duncan remembered that bitter day when he'd been raped and had begged them not to touch him. He had nightmares, but then, so did Dunbar. He didn't say anything to John about his, nor did Dunbar mention Mac's. It was as if they were both leaving one life and setting off on a new one.

When they arrived at Mac's island, the two of them tethered their horses on the mainland. They went across in the canoe, planning to return and check on the animals periodically. The first day or so was occupied with setting up housekeeping. John bragged on the good job MacLeod had done on the cabin. They slept; they ate; they hunted; they practiced with their swords. The one thing they didn't do was talk about themselves. John suspected what Travers had meant by his cutting remarks. He also knew they were plaguing Mac's mind and sleep. Yet, he couldn't help the man until Duncan was ready to talk.

As for himself, he knew Christine Dunbar rested peacefully. He would one day join her. It just wasn't going to be as soon as he'd thought. John grinned. They'd sure have some things to talk over when he did see her again. Dances With Wolves wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve and set aside the ax with which he'd been chopping wood. He looked over to the clearing near the cabin and saw Mac doing his kata. Wearing only a pair of buckskin pants, the man's powerful, muscular body glistened in the sunlight. It was almost a dance, Dunbar thought. As handsome as MacLeod was, he could see why men, as wel wom women, would be attracted to him.
Hell, I'm attracted to him, myself, he thought.

Duncan felt a pair of eyes on him and stopped his movements. He looked around to see John's green eyes watching him. Mac nodded and returned to his forms. He knew the new Immortal had been deeply in love with his wife and missed her terribly. Duncan would catch him every once in a while staring out across the lake, as if envisioning her walking near their grazing horses. He wanted to help him, but wasn't really sure how to do it. He still had his own issues. True, Travers was dead, but the man still shadowed Mac's thoughts and dreams. He wondered if he'd ever truly escape him and what he'd done to him.

"Mac?"

MacLeod paused in his reverie. "What is it, John?"

"Look."

Dunbar pointed toward where the evening sun was dipping below the hills. It took MacLeod a moment to find what the other man wanted him to see. Then, he did. Two wolves were standing on the nearby ridge watching them. Where there were two, there was usually a pack. He thought of their horses on the opposite shore. "Do you think we should go turn the horses loose, Mac? I'd hate to see them mauled."

Duncan came to stand by his friend. "Yes, we can always hike out of here when we get ready to leave." The Scot glanced at the twilight. "As late as it is, why don't we camp out over there tonight and come back over in the morning?"

"Sounds good."

Having decided their action, the two men returned to the cabin and packed the few things they'd need. Taking the canoe, they set off across the rapidly darkening water. As Duncan's oar swished through the calm water, he couldn't help but think of the time he took Kahani fishing and how excited the boy had been. The child had so wanted to hunt the bear, but MacLeod hadn't had the chance to take him.

Duncan felt wetness form in his right eye and shook his head. He didn't want any tears, not now, not with John Dunbar with him.
And, why not? asked a quiet voice deep within himself.
Because I don't want any more entanglements, he returned.
All I do is get hurt or have to give them up.

Their canoe had touched the land and John hopped out to help Mac drag the boat onto the shore. The activity was a welcome diversion from the unsettling thoughts Mac was having. It didn't take the men long to find their horses and open the makeshift corral they'd built across one end of a nearby glen. Neither of them worried about the animals foraging. After all, two of them were Indian ponies; they would survive.

Duncan checked one of his traps near there and found a dead rabbit. It would provide their evening meal. The first part of the night was uneventful. John made a small fire while MacLeod skinned the hare and skewered it to roast over the blaze. With their blanket rolls spread out, the Immortals sat down to wait on the food.

Mac watched John reach into his pack and remove a battered, leather bound journal. He then withdrew the stub of a pencil and sharpened the tip with his knife. Dunbar wrote in it for a while and then looked up at the myriad of stars in the summer sky. It came to Duncan's mind that he'd never been one to keep a record of his life. In his earlier years, he hadn't known how to read or write. After he'd learned, there didn't seem any need. He remembered every detail of his travels.

John's quiet voice interrupted Mac's musing. "You know I almost lost this journal, Mac."

"Oh? How?"

Dunbar went on to tell the Scot how an army corporal had found it hidden in Dunbar's quas, as, at the one-man fort where the lieutenant had lived. He'd not known of its whereabouts until a young Lakota brave, Smiles-a-Lot, had returned it. "I've kept up with it ever since." He smiled, his green eyes shining in the fire light. "Guess I'll have to get me another one, one of these days. I'd always thought the one book would last me until I died."

MacLeod returned his grin. "You probably will."

John finished his writing and stuck it back in his pack. By this time, the meat was done and they ate. Later, when they were both bedded down for the night, they heard a wolf's howl. The full moon was rising, its disc shape shimmering on the water. He missed Stands With A Fist, longed for her warmth alongside his and her infinite trust to "go where you go." John dreamed of her as he slept.

Duncan, on the other hand, recalled the shed, the sweating men and the defilement he'd suffered from Travers and his buddies. He dreamed, too. They woke each other up. John brushed a hand over his face and reached for histeenteen of water. MacLeod shook his head and laid his forehead on his drawn-up knees. He was trembling all over, and castigated by his thoughts.
God! Will I never leave that be? It's done! It's over! I should be able to put it aside!

"Nightmares, Mac?"

Duncan lifted his face to meet the other man's gaze. "Yeah. You, too?"

John nodded. "I just miss Christine. She's been my whole life for over ten years. The army killed my horse, Cisco, then my wolf, Two Socks. All I had left was Christine. . .the one most precious to me. Now, they've taken her, too."

Mac mumbled, "I'm sorry for your losses, John."

Dunbar nodded. "I've not been John Dunbar. I guess I never knew exactly who he was. I've been Dances With Wolves. Except, now that name doesn't seem to fit me either."

MacLeod lifted a corner of his mouth in an attempted smile. "You have time to decide, John. Not only who you are, but what name you'll use. Just because I still keep mine doesn't mean you have to do the same."

"Why have you kept your original name, Mac?"

Duncan stirred the embers of their campfire with a stick. "I guess because it helped me to remember not only who I was but where I'd come from. My father and mother had adopted me. I didn't know that until after my first death. I'd run across Ian MacLeod one day and he told me the truth. I was so shocked, but at the same time, I couldn't accept that I was any one, but Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. In fact, I drew my sword and screamed it to the sky. I've also kept the name to honor my mother." The Scot looked over at the other man as he spoke. "I was not born of her body but she could not have been anymore of a mother to me. She wanted me to always remember that I was her son, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." A sad smile quirked his lips as he softly finished, "And, I was to let no man tell me different."

"You know, you're still that same man, Duncan. It doesn't matter what anyone's done to you."

"Really? You don't know what they did."

John heard the pent-up emotion behind Mac's last words. "Why don't you tell me?"

Duncan realized that he could, now. So, in a quiet monotone, he relived that horrendous nightmare when he'd been forced to do things he never thought he'd do. He even spoke of Travers' demands he'd not told anyone else, not even Kolt'ec. When he finished, he found that John had moved over next to him and had his hand on hisuldeulder. Mac turned to the other Immortal and found his lips brushing his companion's.

MacLeod drew back suddenly, but John snaked that same hand that had held his shoulder around Duncan's neck, drawing him nearer. He murmured, "Don't go, Duncan. I need you tonight, and I think you need me, too."

The Highlander hesitated and in that space of perhaps a minute, John lightly kissed the Scot, darting a tongue toward Mac's closed mouth. Duncan found himself opening up and inviting this new Immortal into, not only his mouth, but his life. Their movements were tentative, almost shy, but each man dared to share a part of himself with the other. They both desired comfort and tenderness, if only for a little while. Duncan and John exchanged their needs through their bodies. John found a friend, as well as a lover. Duncan discovered that another man's sexual needs didn't have to hurt him, physically or emotionally. The two Immortals spent the night discovering each other.

* * * * * *

Early the next day, before sunrise, MacLeod eased away from John's warmth and walked naked down to the lake. He knelt and splashed cold water onto his face. He heard a sound and felt an Immortal's presence. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that it was Dances With Wolves.

The blond man squatted on his haunches and lightly kissed Mac's still swollen lips. "Good morning," he greeted.

"Yes, it is a good morning," MacLeod replied, drawing the man nearer to him.

Duncan had been about to kiss him again when his attention was diverted up to the ridge. It was the same place where they'd seen the two wolves the night before. The pair were there again, but this time, as strange as it might seem, they'd been joined by a grizzly bear. The animal trio gazed for a long moment at the two naked men. Then, at last, one of the wolves disappeared into the forest while the bear and the wolf walked off together.

MacLeod squinted his eyes and shook his head. "Surely I didn't just see what I did," he mumbled.

Dances With Wolves' chest rumbled with humor. "I saw it, too, Mac. That was Christine. She was letting me know I was going to be all right and that she'd be waiting for me, whenever my time is right."

"But, what about the bear?"

John drew near the Highlander and exchanged another long kiss. When he'd paused for breath, he softly answered, "She wanted me to take care of you, to help you. She was showing us that it was okay for us to be together, even if it's only fotimetime or a season. However long it takes us both to heal."

Duncan drew in a deep breath. For the first time since his rape, he realized that he had not only survived his attack, had had discovered what it would take to heal himself, his soul. He was, in fact, his greatest enemy when he doubted himself and allowed others to steal his inner peace. He now knew that both he and John would help the other back along the path of life. He also knew that, someday, he would again meet up with Little Deer and Kahani's murderer, Kern. He would avenge them. But, until then, he would enjoy every day as it came. He was the Highlander.

The End

fr/2003
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Enemy Of My Soul