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Ravaged	By : highlandgirl Category: G through L > Highlander Views: 2655 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Ravaged

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: NC-17, m/f, language, humil, N/C, Beast, Het

Key: ****** Scene change,
Italics thoughts, *** Flashback

Disclaimer: HL and its characters remain property of Panzer/Davis.

Summary: Duncan meets an old acquaintance from his past.

Chapter 5

"… And After The Dawn"

Methos sat cross-legged on the graveled overlook. The hot Arizona sun beat mercilessly on the pale skinned Immortal. The five millenia-year-old man's cheeks and arms were already pink from the July noonday sun.
El Gran Canon had not changed much from his last visit some two thousand years ago. There were a lot more visitors in this century, even power lines and a huge dam. Back then, the only inhabitants were a few Indians. Historians call them Anasazis, or Ancient Ones. Frankly, Methos couldn't recall exactly what they called themselves.

I like warm weather, but 115 degrees in the shade is a bit ridiculous, he thought to himself. Methos removed his baseball cap and ruffled his short brown hair. Removing a neckerchief from his jeans' hip pocket, he wiped the beaded perspiration that dotted his forehead "Well, whatever it takes to find Lemuel Priest will be worth it."

MacLeod's revelation of his rape and torture had flabbergasted the old man. He'd not ever heard mention of such a thing happening to the Highlander. Methos had followed the handsome Scot's life and progress for some time before they met that fateful day in Methos' flat in Paris four years previously. The Highlander exuded a magnetism he had not seen in any of the Immortals he'd encountered. The ancient, given the opportunity, very easily could've become seriously involved with the flamboyant Scot.

"So much for that idea," Methos muttered. After listening to MacLeod, the ancient figured Duncan probably wouldn't be able to have a relationship with a man. Friendship was all MacLeod could deal with right now. Somehow, Methos had kept the rage within himself, the fury toward the despicable worm who would dare corrupt an innocent, caring individual like Duncan MacLeod. "I promise you this, Duncan. I'll find Priest and take his head. He'll not be able to do anything like that to you or anyone else," he vowed, "ever again."

The gravel crunched beneath Methos' hiking boots as he trudged up the Bright Angel Trail to the parking lot. He recalled stopping by Joe Dawson's tavern before leaving Seacouver. He'd not been sure just how to tell the Watcher what had happened to Mac and his own part in the debacle.

* * *

"Hey, Adam, how're things?" the bar owner and MacLeod's Watcher greeted as he filled a beer mug from the tap and eased the brew to his friend.

"Hi, Joe." Methos' shoulders were slumped and his eyes downcast. The ancient Immortal hitched his right hip onto one of the bar stools.

The happy hour crowd had begun filtering into Joe's and for a while, the owner was busy filling mugs and mixing drinks. By then, Joe noticed Methos' silence and the fact he was sipping his beer; he usually guzzled it. Something was wrong, so he asked his bartender to take over. Grabbing his cane and a beer for himself, Joe motiohis his friend to a quiet table across the room.

After a couple minutes of silence, Joe prompted. "So, Adam, what's up? Is it MacLeod?"

Methos shook his head as if to clear his muddled thoughts. "He's all right, Joe, mostly," he reassured his friend. "I, well, have you ever heard of Lemuel Priest?"

Dawson didn't quite believe Pierson's reassurances, but had to play along with his twenty questions' game. "I'm not sure, Adam. I'd have to look him up. He sounds familiar; why?"

The ancient circled rings on the table with his moisture-coated mug. "Mac met him back in 1670, in a jail in England," Methos sighed heavily.

Joe's forehead wrinkled as his photographic memory kicked into play. "I don't think I've heard of him crossing Mac's path. I know he's a mean son-of-a-bitch. He enjoys mindless sex games with his victims."

"Duncan was one of his victims, Joe." Methos paused and gulped some beer before continuing. "I sort of tricked MacLeod into going to the Blue Lagoon the other night, and, well, things got a little out of hand."

The Blues Man's brows furrowed as his jaw tightened. "What did you do, Adam?"

Methos nervously wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I got Mac into bed with me," he finally admitted, his English accented voice fading with the last two words."

"You did what!?"

"I didn't know it would come out like it did, Joe. Everything seemed fine yesterday morning. I mean, Mac acted like he enjoyed himself. It wasn't until yesterday afternoon that his memories came flooding back."

His anger rising, Dawson leaned forward in his chair. "What happened, Methos?"

"Priest arrested Duncan and held him in jail for six months. Mac was his 'boy-toy.'. It wasn't just Priest and his henchmen either. The scum invited customers every night. They paid him a hefty sum to do anything they wanted to MacLeod." The Immortal paused. Neither man hardly breathed. "They did."

As Methos shared a few of the details of Duncan's abuse, his voice hardened into a steel-like quality. His chiseled face became Death's Mask as it had when he'd ridden with the Four Horsemen. "Joe, I want that spawn of Satan. I won't rest until I find him."

The Watcher sat back in his chair during Methos' horrific story. His mouth was slacked open in shock. "I don't remember any of this in Mac's journals."

"It's not in the journals I've seen, Joe. I thought you might know where some were hidden." Methos leaned forward. "Please, Joe. You have to help me find this bastard. He'll pay for what he did to Mac."

* * *

Methos opened the door to his Jeep and reached into the back seat. He pulled a cold bottle of water from his ice chest. Swigging deeply, he chuckled at the thought of himself drinking water instead of beer. If MacLeod knew about his change in beverages, he would laugh. Methos had been on the road over two weeks tracking Priest. He had jetted to Egypt, then Hong Kong, Greece and finally, back to the good old USA. The former sheriff led finally him to northern Arizona and the Grand Canyon of all places.
It won't be long until I find him, the Immortal thought to himself.

* * * * * *

Duncan MacLeod's body dripped with perspiration. For the past two weeks he had been driving himself through one kata form after another until he dropped from exhaustion. "Ever since Methos left and I remembered Priest," he grimly reminded himself.

After he'd cried himself to sleep in Methos' arms, he didn't think he had any more tears. He was wrong. Joe Dawson had dragged out the most painful part of his imprisonment. His tears had flowed yet again. The sex and games were bad. The way he regressed into the mentality of a child, however, was ultimately the worst.

Duncan shivered. All his harsh bitter memories flooded back. There was almost always a woman in Priest's nightly clients who was nursing a child. Sometimes, they even brought in a wet nurse, making him nurse her. Afterward, they would pound his back and butt to make him burp.

The entire debacle with the diaper was the worst. When he was changed, they'd spank him for being a bad boy. Their reward was to use him however they wanted. The whole process was repeated again and again and again. He lapsed into sucking his thumb and curling up into a fetal position. In fact, the last weeks of his imprisonment were a painful blur. "If it hadn't been for the mysterious blonde, I might still be there."

MacLeod completed his kata anwed wed his head. His muscular, magnificently formed body shook from fatigue. He reached for a bottle of water he'd set on a nearby bench. Opening it and drinking some of it, he soothed his parched throat. Duncan also splashed it on his sweaty chest. He set the bottle aside, grabbed a nearby towel and wiped his face and torso.

His manager had long since gone home. The dojo, oddly enough, was paying for itself. MacLeod, in fact, was finding some difficulty in having the place to himself. Difficult, that is, unless he were here late in the evening, as he was now.

MacLeod slipped his arms into a light robe as bod body and head reacted to an approaching Immortal. Turning expectantly toward the door, he cradled his katana behind his right arm.

A tall woman in her early thirties entered the dojo. Her hair was blonde, cut short in the back and swept up off her face. She had dark blue eyes that reminded Duncan of the deep satiny pools of Scotland. Her fingers were long and manicured with a soft earthy toned nail polish. Her light blue dress hung just below her knee and was accented with a single strand of pearls around a slender neck. She wore beige high-heeled pumps and with a matching shoulder strap leather purse over her left shoulder. "Mr. MacLeod? Duncan MacLeod?"

"I'm MacLeod. What can I do for you?" he greeted.

The elegantly dressed woman reached out her right hand as she responded, "My name is Liz Mainwaring.a rea recommended you to me."

"Lisa?" MacLeod asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"Lisa Jondareau from Texas. I was coming this way and wanted a place to work out." She glanced around the empty room and added, "Lisa suggested your place."

MacLeod smiled, "Lisa, of course. How is she doing?"

"She's well. Lisa said to tell you she was still waiting for you and Shakespeare to come visit her." The attractive Immortal smiled. "Where is your dog, Mr. MacLeod?"

Duncan chuckled. "He's visiting a young friend of mine tonight." MacLeod's forehead crinkled into a slight frown as he commented, "I have to admit I miss him already."

MacLeod set up a workout with her for eleven A.M. the next day. The beautiful blonde soon left. Mac stared at her gently swaying, retreating hips. "She looks familiar, but I've no idea where I've seen her," he mused aloud.

* * * * * *

Promptly at eleven the next morning, Liz arrived at the dojo. She wore an oversized, pink sweat shirt and black leotards with white tennis shoes. Knee length leg warmers covered her shapely legs. "Mr. MacLeod?"

"Please, call me Duncan," the Scot replied.

The woman flashed an open smile and answered, "Call me Liz."

The next two hours were spent with the two Immortals working on a series of Tai Chi movements. Mac was impressed with her athletic ability. She was agile and a quick learner.

As they took a breather, Liz asked, "Lisa told me you've studied Chi Gong. I'd love to get into that."

Duncan smiled. "I know a little about it." He proceeded to spend the next hour demonstrating the basic fundamentals of the ancient healing art form.

When at last, the pair had finished their exhaustive workout, Duncan invited her into his office. Handing her a bottle of water and taking one for himself, he motioned her into the chair across from his desk. Settling himself into his chair and quenching his thirst, he commented, "I know this might sound like a come-on, but you look familiar to"
"

"I've been thinking the same thing, Duncan," she answered. Liz' penetrating blue eyes noted the Scot's dark brown ones having a sadness in them. He also had black circles beneath them and a gaunt look in his face.
He hasn't been sleeping well, she thought to herself.
Something's bothering him. She asked, "You're from Scotland?"

MacLeod nodded. "Yes, a little over four hundred years ago. And you?"

"I'll be 362 next month," she replied. "I'm originally from Britain. I moved over here to the new world in the early 1700's. My accent is pure American these days."

* * * * * *

Over the next week, Duncan and Liz exercised in the dojo. They took Shakespeare to the park and even went to a movie. Liz often wondered why MacLeod hadn't made a play for her. It seemed he was content with their friendship and enjoying each other's company.

What Liz didn't know was that MacLeod continued to have nightmares. The Scot would awaken from dreams of Lemuel Priest spanking him and doing other degrading acts to him. His face grew more haggard each day she saw him.

"I wish I could help him," she murmured, as she watched the Highlander closing out a form with a salute to an unseen enemy. They were alone in the dojo and were completing an extended session.
He reminds me of somebody, she thought.
I wish I could recall just who.

Liz approached the Scot. "That was incredibly beautiful, Duncan." She gently ruffled the moist hair on the man's chest and trailed her fingernails down his torso to his navel. The blonde's long nails danced around the elastic waistband of the sweat pants slung low on his hips. "Do you know how big a tease you are?" she murmured hotly into his ear.

"I'm a tease, am I?" Mac chuckled as he bent his lips down to her breasts peeping above the low cut leotard.

The woman's nervous system delightfully shivered as his questing lips and hands nuzzled the offending fabric down below her ample breasts. His mouth absorbed one of them into his heated mouth. He laved, sucked and nibbled it.

"It's about time, Highlander," she purred.

MacLeod stripped her garment off to the floor.

She reached over and slid his pants down. "My, my, you aren't wearing underwear. Were you anticipating this, Duncan?"

"Maybe," he huskily whispered.

When they were both naked, he eased her down onto the exercise mat. Starting with her full mouth, MacLeod delved deeply into her erotic depths with his lips and tongue. He teased her body in tiny increments and slowly progressed to her abdomen.

Liz finally growled and shoved the Scot onto his back. "Not so fast, Highlander." She straddled her slender body across his hips and bit down on each of his nipples, tantalizing them into tight protruding tits. Liz licked her own sizzling path down the center of his chest to his groin and grabbed his enlarging shaft into her thirsty mouth. She used her nimble tongue to bathe every inch of his hardened sex.

After what seemed an eternity of erotic bedevilment, Liz settled her invading orifice onto his firm sacs. Duncan, at this point, had reached his limit of arousal, so he reversed their positions and penetrated her womb with his weeping cock. They climaxed with prolonged shudders of sensual aftershocks.

* * * * * *

Sometime later, the couple took the elevator up to Duncan's loft apartment. The Highlander let Liz shower first. When she came out wrapped in a large towel, he smugly commented, "You know, we could've conserved water and taken one together."

Liz laughed. "Yes, but then I couldn't have watched your gorgeous, naked body. I would've been otherwise occupied."

Duncan kissed the tip of her nose. "Yes, you most definitely would've been occupied," he assured her. "I better take one myself." Duncan grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom.

As Liz dressed, she browsed through some of the displayed photos and books in MacLeod's spatial room. She saw pictures of the Highlander with a tall beautiful blonde woman. Another one was of Duncan, the woman and a redheaded young man, all three of them laughing.

Before long, the Scot came out of the shower and walked over to an armoire. He removed a brown shirt and a pair of loose fitting slacks. Duncan tossed his towel onto the bed and leaned over to pick up his briefs. Liz' eyes absorbed the tantalizing view of the naked Highlander's back and buttocks. She slipped up behind him and grabbed his right buttocks with her palm. "Did you know you have a delectable dimple right here?" she teased, pressing her warm hand onto the topic of discussion.

"Oh, really?" he quipped, as he twisted around and gathered her into his arms. He kissed her very tenderly. "Say, I have a friend who owns a tavern here in town. How about dinner and some good music?" he suggested.

"Sure, why not?" she agreed. "We can continue this discussion of your fanny later tonight."

* * * * * *

"Hey, Joe," called Duncan as he and Liz entered the tavern.

Joe Dawson, at the tap filling three beer mugs, grinned and waved. He watched the Immortal pull out the chair of a nearby table for the blonde accompanying him. She wore navy blue slacks, a low cut light blue, V-neck shirt and sandals. Grabbing his cane, the bilateral amputee made his way around the bar and over to the couple's table. "Mac, it's great to see you," he greeted, clapping him on his back. "Good to see you tonight. Who is this beautiful young lady?"

MacLeod reached over and pushed out a chair for the tavern owner. "It's been too long since I got out," he mumbled. "Liz, this is Joe Dawson. Joe, Liz Mainwaring."

Liz had heard Duncan's quiet comment which she pretended not to have heard. She smiled, too, smiled as she acknowledged MacLeod's friend. "Hi, Joe. You have a nice place." The attractive Immortal pushed a lock of her hair up off her forehead as she glanced around the club.

MacLeod smiled at his companion. "Joe's a great blues man. He plays a mean guitar."

Liz leaned over and brushed some unseen lint off the Scot's dark brown shirt. "Will you play tonight, Joe?" she asked.

Duncan lifted Liz' hand and pressed his lips lightly onto her palm. Dawson smiled at the unspoken interchange between the couple and answered, "Sure will. The band will be setting up any time now."

Liz Mainwaring and Duncan MacLeod spent a pleasurable evening listening to the talented Joe Dawson and his band. The woman enjoyed the Highlander's relaxed chatter and easy demeanor. Liz smiled as she watched MacLeod laugh at one of Joe's jokes.
Now this is what he ought to be like all the time, she thought.
What happened to bring so much sorrow into his life? Liz silently wondered.

"Liz? Are you all right?" Duncan asked. He leaned over to her and caressed her soft cheek with the back of his fingers.

Liz grinned. "I'm fine; I'm wonderful." The blonde bent toward MacLeod and kissed him. "You're wonderful," she whispered.

Duncan returned her compliment with a blush anbrilbrilliant smile. "You're good for me, Liz." He glanced around the club. "I haven't been out like this and enjoyed myself in a long time."

Liz nibbled the Scot's right ear. "I'm glad."

When did I start caring so much for this man? Why am I so protective of him? Where have I seen him? Her silent questions mulled about in her mind. Liz almost missed MacLeod's proposal for them to go home.

MacLeod opened the passenger door while Liz stepped into the convertible. He then slid behind the wheel of his vintage black Thunderbird. As he started the engine, the Scot looked over at his companion. "Is my place okay with you?" A light evening breeze ruffled the Highlander's hair.

Liz slid across the seat and laid her head on his right shoulder. "Your place is just fine," she replied.

* * * * * *

MacLeod was finally dozing off in the bed beside her. Liz mused, "He is a fantastic lover." She gently stroked the sleeping man's chest. "I haven't been this interested in someone in over a century."

Liz drifted toward sleep with tender thoughts of the Scotsman beside her.

Momentarily, she was roused to wakefulness by Mac, restlessly tossing his head. She leaned over the dreaming man. He was having a nightmare. As the minutes ticked by, he twisted and turned, his arms above his head as if they were tied. Liz reached over to wakim. im.

Before she could do it, however, Duncan shouted, "Nae, Lemuel Priest, I'm no a youngling!"

Elizabeth Mainwaring's face paled. She jerked back her outstretched hand. Her mind flew back to 1670 and the prisoner who had provided her friends and her with nightly sexual diversions. The naked man's buttocks were perfectly proportioned as was his body. He also had a dimple in his right buttock. She remembered fondling him often in that delectable spot before kissing it and his exposed bottom. He had a dimple, just like Duncan MacLeod's. Her mouth dropped open. "My God, Duncan, that was you!"

Her voice was loud enough to awaken the Highlander. He bolted up in bed, trembling, tears streaking down his face. Liz shook herself into action. She reached over and gathered the shaken Immortal into her embrace. Elizabeth smoothed back his sweat-soaked hair and placed soft kisses on his face.

The Scot leaned into the reassuring warmth of the woman's arms. "I . . . I'm sorryawakawaken you, Liz." MacLeod raised himself and pulled his knees to his chest, gripping his bronzed arms tightly around them.

Liz rubbed the Highlander's back. "Duncan, it's okay. You're okay. This is now, not back then."

Duncan froze as his befuddled mind focused upon what his companion had just said. "Back then?"

Elizabeth pulled back and drew the sheet up over her naked breasts. She leveled her blue-eyed, misty gaze onto the Highlander. "Yes, Duncan, back then. My full name is Elizabeth Penworthy Mainwaring." She paused, swallowing a sob. "I was one of Lemuel Priest's customers."

MacLeod's deeply tanned face paled in his shock of remembrance. All of the nights of endless sex games and mindless torture blurred through his memories. All of the clients' faces were a hazy hodgepodge except that of one woman. She had long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and sharp fingernails. Her beautiful face had always been covered with a black lace mask.

"It was you," he whispered. Reaching for his robe, Duncan shoved his arms into it and stumbled over to the window. He raised the glass and hung his head out of it, allowing the cool night air to wash over his sweaty body.

Liz slipped into a nightshirt MacLeod had loaned her. Rising up from the bed, she approached the silent man. Mentally, she prayed,
Please, God, help me to help this man. Even if it means I will lose him. "Duncan?" Liz asked but didn't try to touch him. "Are you okay?"

"Hm-m? Sure, I'm fine," the Scot answered and shrugged. After a brief hesitation, he jerked around and angrily snapped, "How am I supposed to feel? Tell me that! You tied me up! You shoved things up my aYou You whipped me! You put clamps on my breasts! You gave me enemas of God knows what! You forced me to suckle milk out of women's breasts!"

As Duncan shouted, he slowly advanced on the retreating woman. "You did every conceivable type of torture and abuse to me for six--long--months!"

Liz backed up against the kitchen island.

Duncan glowered in her face, their noses almost touching. In a raspy whisper he spit out, "You even made me wear diapers like a bairn. Did you know I even sucked my thumb and curled up like a babe at the last!?"

Elizabeth's ashen face and gaping mouth remained immobile. A tear formed in her left eye and trickled down her cheek. She was at a loss of what to say. After a long silent moment, she huskily replied, "Duncan, I'm sorry." She extended a shaky hand toward the Immortal.

Duncan brushed her arm aside. Stalking over to his clothes closet, he wordlessly slipped into a pair of sweats and shoes. He hauled up the elevator's gate, banging it loudly against the top, and stepped onto the lift. Liz' last glimpse of the Scot was his glaring eyes as the elevator took him to the dojo downstairs.

When Elizabeth's ears heard the clanking noise of the lift reaching the lower level of the building, she slowly slid down the island until she sat huddled on the floor. Wrapping her arms around her trembling body, she raggedly repeated over and over, "My God, what have I done? My God, what have I done? My God, what have I done?"

* * * * * *

Over an hour later, MacLeod hadn't returned to the loft. Liz showered and dressed. Her thoughts were a jumble of all those nights she and the others had abused Duncan. For that's what they'd done. They had horribly abused the young Immortal. Heaven only knew what Lemuel Priest had done to the Scotsman when she wasn't around. "It's a miracle Duncan's mind isn't twisted," she murmured aloud.

She sipped some of the hot, black coffee she had made. "We must talk. I must get Duncan to see that none of it was his fault." As if a light bulb had switched on in her brain, Liz realized guilt was MacLeod's biggest fear. Somehow, he felt responsible for all the vile things that had been done to him all those centuries ago.

"Um-hm, that's what I'll do," she decided.

Walking into the kitchen area, Liz pulled another mug from the shelf. She filled it with coffee and took the rickety elevator to the dojo and Duncan.

* * * * * *

MacLeod pounded the body bag with his fists and knees. He kicked and kneed and banged his Immortal body into the leather. Duncan kept visualizing Lemuel Priest's leering face and seductive hands. He saw Elizabeth's long hair and that black lace mask she always wore. Mac could feel her fingernails tracing down his back and between the cheeks of his butt. He paused in the brutalizing of his physical body. A rigor coursed up his spine as he once again felt the inhuman pain of his ass being penetrated by that pony. Clinging to the punching bag, he allowed hot tears that had formed in his eyes to finally trickle down his flushed face. Duncan sobbed, "I should've stopped them. I should've broken out of that jail. It's all my fault."

"No, Duncan, it's not your fault. None of the atrocious things we did to you was your fault," Elizabeth whispered. Setting aside the untouched coffee, she approached the Highlander and laid a tentative hand on his heaving shoulder. He didn't answer her; he just kept on shaking his head while tears coursed down his cheeks. The woman turned him around to face her. MacLeod fell to his knees and held out his arms in a frustrated gesture.

Liz was now also crying. She wrapped hers ars around his trembling body. Stroking his back and shoulders with one hand, she pushed his sweaty hair from his face and allowed him to ventilate his pent-up tears and anger.

* * * * * *

It was midmorning at Seacouver Seacoast Park. The deep blue sky and bright sunshine allowed

the city's inhabitants to wear short sleeves. A couple of women with a baby carriage watched a small child play on the slide. For the most part, however, the area was idle.

MacLeod sat on the green grass overlooking the Pacific Ocean. His right leg was folded underneath his other one. The Scot's muscular left arm rested on top of his left bent knee. Mac absently slapped his dog's leash against his leg. Sunglasses shaded his brown eyes from the glare. They also provided him privacy from prying busybodies that might comment on his reddened, dark circled eyes.

Shakespeare was across the park chasing whatever the animal he'd seen. Every few minutes, the dog would look toward his master, making sure he was still there.

Duncan felt drained. So much had happened to him over the past few weeks. He was tired of crying. It seemed that's all he'd done of late. Mac had listened to Liz's insistence he wasn't guilty of causing his abuse, all that long time ago. The thing was, Duncan wasn't sure he believed her. She could just be saying that to make him feel better. His intellectual mind rebelled at that

conception, but his internal self still wondered if part of the guilt lay on his own shoulders. Perhaps God was punishing him for sailing on board that slave ship.

Hogwash! his intellectual self rebuked.

Mac smiled at his warring emotions. Three or four years ago, his life had seemed so simple. Things were either right or wrong, black or white. The intervening years had revealed to him far more shades of gray and shadows, rather than the clarity of before.

Duncan felt the presence of a nearby Immortal. Glancing toward the street, he saw Elizabeth Mainwaring walking towards him. She had gone on home soon after the scene in the dojo. Liz now wore a pair of white shorts, a green shirt and e sae sandals. Obviously, she wasn't carrying her sword.

Liz smiled and sat down near the Highlander. For the first little while, neither person spoke. The silence between them rapidly reached deafening proportions.

Shakespeare chose this moment to pounce upon Duncan and begin licking his face. The Scot started laughing and fell onto his back. Shakespeare kept up his 'lick attack.' The man and his pet rolled and tussled in the grass.

Elizabeth commenced giggling, a grin on her face. "Shakespeare loves you, Mac."

Duncan sat up and continuettietting his dog. "And I love him, too. He accepts me, just as I am, no frills, no expectations."

"That's very important, you know," Liz interjected. "Being accepted of others, but mostly, accepting yourself as a good, decent person."

Shakespeare flopped down beside Duncan, his long pink tongue dangling off the left side of his muzzle.

MacLeod stroked the animal along its side and flank. Eventually, he elevated his visio meo meet that of his friend's. "I just want to know one thing, Liz," he quietly asked. "Why? Why all of that? Why me?"

Liz dropped her eyes as her fingers nervously plucked blades of grass and shredded each one apart. "I know this sounds callous, but why not you? You were just another prisoner, another toy to play with." The woman paused and leaned forward onto her bent knees. "I don't really know why, Duncan. I have no real excuse for the degrading things I did to you."

MacLeod removed his sunglasses and chewed on one of the tips before responding. "All of the sex was bad enough, Liz, but why did you let animals fuck me?"

"It was something to do, Duncan. My mind, my life was perverted and sick back in those days. I had too much money and too much time on my hands." Liz paused and took a deep breath. "I had no idea I was an Immortal. I grew up in a large family and was sold into a loveless marriage when I was eleven years old. My husband was sixty. I did perverted things to you because he did perverted things to me. I had no idea there was any other world besides my own distorted one. Duncan, I wish it had never happened. If there were any way I could turn the clock back and erase those six months, I would gladly do so, no matter the cost."

She leaned over and laid a soft, moist hand on MacLeod's arm. "I want you to know one thing, Duncan MacLeod. You were a beautiful, innocent, compassionate, sensual man. You still are. It's what attracted me then; it's what attracts me now. Perhaps, in my sick mind, I was trying to pay you back for everything my husband had done to me."

MacLeod stretched out on the grass and shaded his eyes with his left arm. Shakespeare changed his position and laid his head on Mac's stomach. Long silent moments passed between the two Immortals.

Finally, Duncan whispered to Liz without changing his position. "It wasn't my fault, any of it. I couldn't have gotten away any sooner than I did. None of it was because of something I had done."

Elizabeth's face was shining with tears as she choked out, "Yes, Duncan, you didn't do anything wrong. You were a victim."

MacLeod, hearing the tremor in Liz's voice, sat up and embraced the Immortal. Eventually, the couple separated. Elizabeth and Duncan stood up. The Highlander snapped Shakespeare's leash onto his leather collar.

"Good bye, Duncan." Liz held out her right hand.

MacLeod clutched her hand in his and then pulled her into an embrace. "This is good-bye for good?"

Liz pulled back and held the Scot's hands in hers. "Yes, Duncan. It's for the best. You'd have too many bitter reminders with me around all the time."

MacLeod nodded and averted his gaze. He then looked back into the beautiful Immortal's face and said, "Thanks, Liz. Thanks for everything. Thank you for giving my life back>
>

Elizabeth separated from the tall Highland warrior. "Thank you, Duncan MacLeod…of the Clan MacLeod, for your sharing of your life with me, even for such a short time." With that, Liz Mainwaring walked away. Pausing at the edge of the street, she looked back and waved once more.

Duncan watched until her trim figure was swallowed up in the afternoon rush hour traffic. "Hey, Shakespeare, you ready to go home?" the Highlander asked his pet, a lift and excitement in his voice that had been missing for many days. He wasn't back to normal, but a portion of him was healing. It was enough for now.

The animal responded with loud barks and leaps up into the air. MacLeod laughed. "Well, come on then." With that, Duncan and Shakespeare jogged out of the park and down the street toward home.

* * * * * *

--To Be Continued--
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Ravaged