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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
- 5
- 6
Ravaged

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: NC-17, Slash, m/m, Beast, Tort, N/C, Bond, Humil, MC, Oral, Rim, Sp, language

Key: ****** Scene Change,
Italics Thoughts

Disclaimer: Alas, they still belong to Panzer/Davis

Warning: Violent Content. Do not read if this offends you.

Summary: Duncan and Liz are kidnapped, and the posse (Methos, Joe and company) come to the rescue.

Chapter 6

Reprisa>
>

"Joe? This is Adam. Can you talk?"

"Yeah, I'm alone," answered the grizzled, graying Watcher. "Where are you?"

Methos shifted his cell phone to his left ear and steered the van off the interstate. "I'm three hours from Seacouver. Priest is heading that way." The ancient paused. "I don't know if he's wise to Duncan living there or not. I'm not sure he even knows Mac is the same Immortal he held in his prison. I do know he's on to me trailing him."

Joe Dawson shook his head. "You've been after that jackass over a month, Methos. You haven't caught up with him yet?"

"Don't start, Dawson. I'm not in the mood," Methos caustically warned.

Dawson sighed into the phone. "I know. You're doing your best. Sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, Joe," the Immortal exhaled, "It's been a long chase."

"Why do you think he's coming up here?"

Methos swore under his breath. "I keep telling myself it's because Priest wants to enjoy the scenery and that he doesn't know that's Mac's home town, but you and I both know better, Joseph."

The Watcher hesitated. "Should I tell MacLeod?"

When Pierson did not respond right away, Joe repeated himself. "I said, do I tell Mac or not?"

"I'm not sure, Joe," Methos slowly answered. "How is he doing?"

"Mac's been better the past week or so. He had a long-lived visitor, Liz Mainwaring. It turned out that she's one of them that abused him back then. Neither one of them remembered each other at first."

"Dammit, Joe! I knew something like this was going to happen!"

Dawson held the phone away from his ear while the eldest Immortal raged. "Methos, keep your britches on!" he interrupted. "Mac's fine. Seems she was able to help MacLeod deal with some of his issues, I think that's what psychologists call it. Anyway, Mac stopped by earlier this morning with Shakespeare. He was taking the dog to obedience school."

"Obedience school? A dog?" The ancient chuckled. "Now, I've heard everything. Duncan MacLeod and his dog in obedience school."

Joe laughed. "Don't suppose he'll teach that poor pup how to make the bed, do you?"

Methos chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised at anything MacLeod ever did."

Before hanging up, Methos cautioned the Watcher to keep an eye out for Priest. He also asked him to wait until he got there before telling MacLeod of Lemuel Priest's imminent arrival. MacLeod would go into a rage and walk into a trap.

* * * * * *

"But, Mr. MacLeod, Shakespeare will be fine. It is our policy to separate the owners from our students for at least the first two weeks." Ms. Connie Snodgrass, owner and manager of The Pacific Coast Canine Obedience Training Center, adjusted her bifocals higher on her nose. The fifty-year-old salt and pepper, unmarried woman fisted her hands and rested them on her amply endowed hips. She had known it was going to be one of those days when she woke up late this morning. Mondays were always the worst.

"Ms. Snodgrass, I appreciate your rules, but Shakespeare hasn't been away from me for more than one night since he was a puppy." Duncan MacLeod's forehead wrinkled with concern over the woman's rule.

Meanwhile, the pet in question sat quietly on his haunches, looking from one adult to the other, oblivious to the controversy.

Ms. Snodgrass bent down and patted Shakespeare on the head. "Is he your first, Mr. MacLeod?" she queried.

MacLeod grinned sheepishly and replied, "Yeah, in a long while." Actually, the dog was his first pet in over three hundred years.

The woman touched MacLeod's arm. "We'll watch him carefully and let you know if anything comes up."

Duncan looked at Ms. Snodgrass, then down at his dog. "We-lll, if you promise to be sure and exercise him. And he eats a can of dog food and six large cups of puppy chow every day."

As MacLeod listed Shakespeare's needs, Ms. Snodgrass rolled her eyes.
First time pet owners are as bad as first time fathers, she silently thought.

After completing his lengthy list of instructions, the Highlander bent down and hugged Shakespeare. "It won't be too long, fella. I'll see you in two weeks." He hugged him once more and then stood to leave.

Shakespeare realized for the first time that he wouldn't be leaving with his master. The dog began to whine and whimper. Duncan turned back and debated whether or not to leave him.

Ms. Snodgrass sighed. "Go ahead, Mr. MacLeod. He'll be fine as soon as you leave." She added, "And you'll be very proud of him when he graduates."

* * * * * *

"Hey, Mac, how are you?" Joe Dawson greeted his pal, noticing the huge frown twisting the Immortal's usually bright face. "What's up, Mac? You look like you just lost your best friend."

"I have," MacLeod pouted. He had stopped by the club on his way home from the obedience school. "I have to leave Shakespeare there at that school for two whole weeks." The tall Highlander perched on one of the bar stools and began fiddling with a coaster.

Dawson burst out laughing. When his friend scowled that much harder, the tavern owner attempted to swallow his humor. "I'm sorry, Mac, but that's just a dog. It's not like he's your son or something."

Duncan snorted and complained, "Well, I'm all he's got. He won't sleep without me in the room with him." As he spoke, the Scot's familiar lower lip protruded further. "I miss him already."

The Watcher poured him a drink and pushed it in front of his friend. "It won't be that long, Mac. He'll be perfectly behaved when he comes home."

"That's what the owner of the school said," Duncan sulked. "It'll be a long two weeks, I know that."

Dawson did his best to suppress the grin and laughter that was bubbling inside him. "I never thought I'd see the day that Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod would be lonesome for his dog."

* * * * * *

"Hey, Mac. Can I see ya a minute?"

MacLeod walked to the dojo office. His manager, Eugene Lockhart, sat at the computer. "Hi, Gene; what's up?"

The burly man shut off compcomputer and got to his feet. The six foot four inch powerful black man stretched his shoulders and arms, his extension almost reaching the ceiling. He wore a white T-shirt, its short sleeves rolled up, and a pair of gray sweat pants. Lockhart removed his wire framed glasses and absently rubbed his bald head. Eugene looked thirty-five instead of his forty-nine years of age. "There was a guy stopped by this afternoon looking for you, Mac."

"Did he leave his name?"

"No, he didn't," Lockhart replied. "Just said he'd come back later." The African American paused. "Fella was around five feet, ten inches, blond with a pencil thin mustache. I didn't notice any scars or tattoos." Eugene's critical, detail-oriented vision had automatically noticed every iota of the visitor's appearance, making him a valuable asset to MacLeod's dojo.

Lockhart had recently retired from the Marine Corps after thirty-five years active service. Much of his time had been spent as a military policeman. He missed very few things.

Added to his other qualities, Lockhart had a brilliant mind, having graduated from M.I.T. He'd relieved the Highlander of the dojo's bookkeeping. Classes had resumed for martial arts students in addition to the Youth Group that met biweekly after school.

MacLeod paused. "I wonder who it could be?"

Gene moved through the door as the gym was invaded by more than twenty high school boys. "If he comes back, I'll let you know, boss man."

* * * * * *

"Why MacLeod?"

Lemuel Priest's thin lips curled into an evil grin, giving his face with its mustache a Satanic look. "He's the only one that ever broke out of my jail." The Immortal winked. "Besides, he's a great lay."

Butch Gunther's droll mouth dropped open. "He's a what?"

Lemuel chuckled. "That Scot's luscious body is made for love. Pet him in the right places and his ass practically begs to be fucked."

"Wouldn't want to share 'im with me, would ya, boss?" The six feet two inch, steel gray-eyed henchman leered.

Priest dropped the photograph of MacLeod standing in front of Da Salvo's Gym on his desk.

"Sure, why not. There'll be enough of him to go around. Always was."

The two men laughed. Priest picked up a phone and punched in a number. When the other party answered, he asked, "Did you get her? Good, bring her to the crematorium in an hour."

* * * * * *

Adam Pierson parked his van in front of 'Joe's Bar' and laid his aching head on the steering wheel. After chasing the elusive Lemuel Priest almost five weeks, the Immortal wasn't any closer to his prey. Methos missed the former sheriff by mere hours in every place. Every muscle in his tall, lean frame ached. His head pounded with an Excedrin headache number fifty-five.

Methos rolled his shoulders and climbed out of the van to enter the Watcher's bar.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Dawson quipped.

Pierson slid onto a bar stool and rubbed his eyes.

Dawson drew up a mug of beer and slid it over to the Immortal. "No luck, huh?"

"Not one damn thing, Joe," Methos sighed. "I've been a coupoursours too late in Phoenix, the Grand Canyon and Reno."

Joe picked up a rag and absently wiped the bar. "My people lost him in Reno. Priest's a slippery one."

Methos' featurerdenrdened. "Don't worry, Joe. I'll get him."

Dawson gazed at the old Immortal's stone face. In a grotesque fashion, he felt sorry for Priest. 'Death On A Pale Horse' would take his head, and it wouldn't be pretty or fast.

* * * * * *

Duncan MacLeod stepped out of the shower. He'd had a long day. The Scot had gone over to Joe's when he'd received a phone call from Methos. Dawson, Methos and Mac had eaten dinner and spent a quiet evening drinking a few beers and listening to Joe play his guitar.

Methos looked tired. The aged Immortal, who looked to be in his twenties, now seemed to show every bit of his five thousand years.

Another surprise for the Scot had been his lack of discomfort around the ancient Immortal.

Despite they're having sex and MacLeod's resultant nightmares, Duncan had felt comfortable around the other man. Each Immortal slipped back into the accustomed friendship as though that one night and day had never happened. Duncan wondered if he truly wanted to give up their newfound relationship ot. ot. He'd found himseot jot just wanting sex, but a more permanent one.

Methos had shared his chase of Lemuel Priest with him. The Highlander wasn't afraid of Priest. He had survived too many years since that fateful imprisonment back in the seventeenth century. Duncan had shrugged off Methos' concerns.

Besides, Mac had resolved his guilty feelings in the intervening weeks. With Elizabeth Mainwaring's help, the Highland warrior acknowledged his innocence of the macabre events of 1670. His unfounded guilt had even caused him to forget his incarceration.

Running a towel over his wet body, Duncan donned a robe. He padded barefoot to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of orange juice. Sitting down on one of the stools ringing the kitchen island, he sipped his juice. The loft's silence was almost deafening. MacLeod went to his stereo and turned on the local classical music station. The strains of Leontyne Price's aria from 'Madam Butterfly' floated throughout the loft.

He missed Shakespeare. Mac found himself listening for his dog's nagging bark signifying the animal's desire to go over to the park. Duncan grinned. He had never expected to become as attached to the pup as he had. Shakespeare had filled a void in his long life that had been empty since Richie's death.

Richie. Duncan's face saddened. If only he could turn back the clock, defeat Ahriman and prevent himself from slaying him his student, friend and surrogate son. The cocky redhead and his beloved Tessa had been his family.

Now, he had Joe, Methos and sometimes, Amanda. Most of all, however, he had Shakespeare, his gangly, black lovable pup who was almost a year old.

The telephone rang and jerked him from his reverie. "MacLeod," he answered.

"Duncan?" a hesitant, pain-filled woman's voice spoke. "This is Liz."

"Liz. Where are you? What's wrong?" he demanded.

Mac's ears picked up the woman's quiet sobs before she haltingly answered. "Lemuel has me. His goons surprised me at my motel room." The Immortal's voice broke into a scream of pain.

"Please, don't; no more," she begged.

"Duncan, he- he wants you or else he'll take my head." She swallowed another sob.

"Liz, where are you?" MacLeod demanded.

"Don't listen to him, Duncan! Don't let him take you again!" she yelled before her voice dissolved into yet another scream of pain.

"Priest, let her go!" he shouted into the telephone receiver.

A voice Duncan never expected to hear again cackled with laughter. "I know you too well, Duncan MacLeod," the former sheriff gloated. "Come to the 'Haven of Rest Cemetery' on the outskirts of town."

"I know where it is," MacLeod growled.

"Come to the crematorium in the rear of the building." Priest laughed. "Don't think of telling anyone, Highlander. You won't like what I do to this beautiful woman. I can be very inventive, if you'll remember."

MacLeod remained frozen for a moment after Priest disconnected the line He quickly dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt and his tan duster. He then fitted his katana into its accustomed position and rapidly took the stairs to his car.

* * * * * *

Driving to the cemetery, Mac's mind was flooded with images of Lemuel Priest's abusive and seemingly disinterested sexual activities. He recalled Liz' face when he'd been forced into sex with the pony and the gut-ripping agony that accompanied the deplorable act. Yet, along with the flashbacks, he also remembered her holding him in the loft when he had awakened from his nightmare of Priest. He then faintly smiled with the recollection of the peaceful, final encounter he'd had with her and the revelation she helped him discover. "Priest won't get away this time," he resolved.

It didn't take the Scot long to find the 'Haven of Rest.' The funeral parlor and crematorium was located behind the cemetery and well off Holy Ground. The car tires crunched on the graveled driveway as he pulled up in front of the building. Two automobiles and a pickup were parked nearby. MacLeod got out of his car and went to the main door. Withdrawing his sword, he opened id std stepped inside. The entrance was carpeted, and he could see doors leading to several viewing rooms on either side a long hallway. As he neared the door at the end of the hall, he felt the unmistakable presence of Immortality. He was walking into a deathtrap and he knew it. But, he couldn't leave Liz in Priest's hands, not without a fight. Duncan took a deep breath and kicked open the wooden entryway.

Mac checked either side of the door before stepping inside. The area was used to store caskets, its space even larger than the dojo. Several flood lights hung from a high ceiling that illuminated the interior. Further back were shadows and other doors that led to other work rooms.

Liz was tied to a chair in the center of the room. The beautiful blonde was naked, except for a black lace teddy. Ashes and splotches of blood covered her arms, legs and chest. Several cigarette butts littered the concrete floor, attesting to Priest's having burned the woman to get information from her.

Liz' face hung down. Feeling the Highlander's presence, she lifted her tear-streaked, dirt-smudged face. "Don't, Duncan. Run. It's a trap," she huskily whispered.

Lemuel Priest's laughter floated across the room to the Highlander. "Of course it's a trap. I'm sure my dear little Baby Duncan wouldn't expect anything less." Approaching the other two Immortals, Priest rubbed a riding crop across her breasts.

"You won't get the same responses from me this time, Priest," Mac growled. "Draw your sword!"

Belatedly hearing a footfall behind him, the Scot jerked swung his body in a lightning move and pointed his gleaming katana sword at his abuser's chest. "Let her go, Priest, and fight me!" he angrily challenged. Taking a step toward the bound woman, he removed his duster and balanced himself in an attack position.

The former sheriff laughed. "You didn't really think it would be that easy, did you,

MacLeod?"

Duncan heard a gunshot and felt a stab of pain in his chest as he crumpled to the floor. He vaguely heard Elizabeth scream his name before blackness enveloped him.

* * * * * *

A sudden expansion of his lungs signaled MacLeod's return to life. He found himself sprawled across a metal casket. His wrists were tightly bound in leather restraints that were anchored to rungs built into the base of the coffin. His legs were widespread and bound in the same way as his wrists. Duncan felt goosebumps arise as refrigerated air breezed over his naked body.

"Ah, you're awake," Priest purred.

MacLeod couldn't suppress a shiver of dread. He began feeling the too familiar caress of Lemuel Priest's hands on him. The other Immortal floated his mesmerizing fingers and hands all around the Scot's beautiful rump, then down the crack that led to the star burst opening. "I won't be so easy for you this time, Priest," Duncan promised.

Priest grinned and replied, "We'll see, youngling."

Inwardly cringing, MacLeod felt the other man's seductive fingers circle his anal opening. They dipped within the cavern of the Scot's warm depths until they touched the prostate gland. The Highlander gasped as Priest massaged the sensitive place several times. Duncan fought the hard tremors streaking through him even as Lemuel drifted his left hand between his legs to caress and squeeze the warrior's pendulous scrotal sacs.

As Priest bombarded Duncan with his beguiling strokes, Mac's traitorous shaft burgeoned out hard and stiff against the metal sarcophagus.

Priest chuckled with Butch Gunther and his four companions joining him.

"Boss, you're so right. This boy's ass is made for fucking," Butch blurted out.

Hot tears of frustration welled up in MacLeod's eyes. He swallowed hard and fought the urge to succumb to the weakness and futility he'd felt all those many years ago in the English jail.

Duncan felt the other Immortal jerk out his hand. He twitched when Priest popped his butt with the flat of his hand, but otherwise didn't react.

"Don't worry, boy, I won't bind your pecker this time. We're just interested in your butt."

MacLeod's body jolted as a rod was inserted into his anus. The long shaft extended into the colon until only its tip protruded. He screamed as an electric shock jolted him from within. Again and again and again, the instrument, meant for arousing sexual stimulation, sent hot shots of electric current pulsating into him. He was determined to not make a sound.

"The discovery of electricity has given me more toys to play with," Priest commented.

After a while, the rod was removed. It was replaced with his tormentor's hardened shaft. Duncan felt Priest's groin and sacs slap against him. Onhe rhe rock hard shaft was plunged to its limits, semen momentarily flooded Mac's insides.

When Lemuel softened, he jerked himself out and stood near his captive. He lashed Mac's bottom several times with the same riding crop he'd used on Liz Mainwaring. "Something tells me, Highlander, your heart just isn't in your work."

He continued to strike MacLeod's privates with the hard leather and smiled when he at last was rewarded with a loud moan from his captive.

Lemuel soon tired of that game and began another. This time he had Butch and the others bring in a bucket of ice cubes. One by one, he inserted the frozen water chunks into Duncan's vulnerable opening. When the Highlander's colon was full and he was trembling from the cold, one of Priest's henchmen brought in a set of battery cables attached to a charger. He clipped them to the inside of Duncan's anus, near the ice.

When the switch was turned on, hot jolts of electricity convulsed Duncan. He helplessly screamed each time the switch was flipped. His body spasmed until urine poured out of him.

One of them, a guy with curly red hair, laughed and pointed a bony finger at the prisoner. "Hey, look, boss; he's peeing on himself." Gunther and the others joined his gaiety while the helpless Immortal was shocked again and again until he mercifully passed out.

Upon Lemuel's order, the third hired thug removed the cables from Duncan's inert form. Priest waited until MacLeod had regained consciousness, then lifted him by his hair and taunted, "It's just like old times, isn't it, youngling."

The former sheriff then had an enema bucket brought over and rammed the rubber hose as far as it would go into Mac's aching body. Several buckets of water were poured into his colon. Then, a plug was inserted to prevent its expulsion. His men had fun pushing MacLeod's sto dow down against the cold, metal casket to torture the Immortal until Priest grew bored with it and had them remove the tube.

Duncan couldn't believe this was all happening to him, again. Throughout the different methods of torture, however, he didn't say a word.

Priest frowned at the Highlander's lack of response. He looked over at Butch and the other men in his employ. "Okay, boys," Priest smirked. "I told you there would be plenty of this youngster's butt for all of you."

MacLeod swallowed another groan as the one called Butch slammed his rod into him. He inwardly cringed as the man snaked his hands around and pinched and pulled the Highlander's tits.

After what seemed an eternity of pinches, jabs, slaps and spasms, Gunther finally came and jerked himself out of Mac's tortured anus. Unfortunately for Duncan, Butch was only the first. Each one of the other four men took their turn raping him. Not once did MacLeod give the other Immortal

the satisfaction of a groan, sob or any other sound. Sometime during the last man's brutal pounding of his flesh, Mac fainted.

* * * * * *

"Hi, Gene," Joe Dawson called out as he walked into DaSalvo's Gym. "Have you seen MacLeod?"

Gene Lockhart paused from rearranging the weight rack and approached the visitor. The dojo manager shook hands with the bilateral amputee. "No, I haven't, Joe. He must have gone somewhere early this morning."

Dawson frowned. "Wonder where he went?" Joe checked his watch. It was ten a.m. Switching his cane to his left hand, he pulled out his cellular phone and keyed in a number.

"Hello," mumbled a sleepy voice.

"Adam? It's Joe."

"Do you realize it's only ten?" the Immortal growled.

"This is important, Pierson. Have you seen Mac?"

The ancient was instantly awake. "No, I haven't, not since last night. Is he missing?"

"I'm not sure," Joe answered. "I'm here at the dojo. Gene's not seen him either." The Watcher hesitated. "Do you suppose Priest has him?"

Methos was silent for a few seconds as a hard knot formed in his stomach. "My gut tells me he does. Do the Watchers have any ideas where he might be?"

"I haven't heard anything, but let me make a couple calls," Joe answered. "I'll be here at MacLeod's."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

* * * * * *

By the time Methos drove to the dojo, Dawson was in the office still talking on the phone. Lockhart sat in a nearby chair. Methos, who'd previously met the black man, exchanged greetings him. The Immortal sat on the edge of MacLeod's desk.

"Yeah, thanks a lot, Belle. I really appreciate this. Talk to you soon." Dawson hung up the phone. "Bingo! I've found them."

"Them? Where?" Methos demanded. For once he was so focused that he ignored the mortal in the room who didn't know about Immortals,h leh less Watchers. He had an instinct deep inside him that the man could be trusted. MacLeod was his only priority.

Gene wasn't sure what the others were talking about, but he didn't ask any questions, just listened. He'd learned not to, being a military cop for over twenty years.

"Elizabeth Mainwaring's Watcher, Belle Townsend,s shs she was kidnapped from her motel room by four men. She followed them to the Haven of Rest Cemetery. It seems they drove around the park to the funeral home. MacLeod arrived sometime after midnight last night. Neither one has left," Dawson finished, shaking his gray head.

Methos swore. "That means Priest's had Duncan for over eleven hours. God knows what the son of a bitch has done to him by now." The Immortal shrugged into his full length coat which carried his Ivanhoe and started for the double doors leading outside. He looked back and saw both Dawsnd Lnd Lockhart following him, so he turned around. "Where do you think you two are going?"

Joe stepped forward. "You're not leaving me out of this. I love that boy, too," he vehemently countered.

Picking up a shotgun he kept in the office, he glanced first at Dawson and then at the man he knew as Pierson. "I'm not sure just what's going on, but you'll need all the help you can get."

Methos nodded in assent anl thl three men left the building.

* * * * * *

Liz slowly awakened. Sometime after Duncan had feinted, she had fallen asleep. She hadn't been touched since MacLeod's arrival. Evidently, Priest was through with her until he took her head. The former sheriff and his goons sat across the room drinking Styrofoam cups of coffee. Duncan was still inert and tied to the coffin. Dried blood and crusty semen coated his buttocks and legs. Elizabeth couldn't see if he was awake.
I wish I could help him, she thought,
he's suffered enough.

Lemuel looked her way and quipped, "Well, I see one of my toys is awake." Crossing over to her, the Immortal caressed her breasts and groin.

"Leave me alone, you bastard!" she raged. "I'll get you for this."

Priest laughed. "My dear, you'll have to stand in line." He laughed and brutally kissed her lips.

"Hey, boss, our boy toy over here is waking up," Butch Gunther called out, as he slapped MacLeod's buttocks.

Priest returned to MacLeod and lifted his head, his fist wrapped around a hank of the Scot's hair. "My, my, I see you're ready for us again."

MacLeod glared at his captor and spit out, "Do what you want, Priest. I'll still get you."

Lemuel merely laughed and motioned for his men to come closer. One of them held a small cage with a gerbil inside. "You just might do that, but until then, I'm going to have as much fun with your sweet ass as I can." Taking the cage from the other man, he held it out for the Scot to see its contents. "There is a new fad going around that I just had to try out. I've heard it's a unique experience."

Butch walked up to the Highlander. He poked pieces of raw vegetables into the Scot's rectum, while the others gathered around to watch Priest remove the rodent from its cage. Before Duncan realized what was happening, Lemuel crammed the living gerbil inside him. One of the other men pinched MacLeod's butt cheeks together so the animal couldn't be expelled.

Liz hollered, "No-ooo!"

MacLeod felt the gerbil's four feet climb into his colon. He could hear it making noises and gnawing the raw food. Mac fought his rising panic and attempted to distance his mind from what was happening inside his body.

The animal climbed higher and higher into the Immortal. Sometimes it even nipped MacLeod. Duncan couldn't help but moan and cry out as the small creature feasted on his inner flesh. The men laughed.

Gunther reached over and jerked Mac's limp, dangling sacs and suggested, "You suppose we ought to cut these off and feed them to the rat, too?"

The men guffawed at Gunther's sadistic joke.

Priest leaned over and slapped Duncan's buttocks. "No, not yet. I do think my child needs a good spanking." Reaching for a leather belt, he folded it and began whipping the Highlander.

Mac's senses were overwhelmed with the simultaneous alien acts being committed to his body. The spanking he was receiving quickly faded to the outermost regions of his awareness. Instead, the presence of the animal inside him countermanded any other sensation he might have felt. He continued to feel and hear the gerbil work its way further into his gut. The rodent paused, nibbled and progressed further and further within him. Duncan's attempts to stay focused and mentally remove himself from the macabre torture he was enduring began to crumble.
I can't stand it anymore! he mentally hollered.

Then, Duncan screamed when the creature bit a wall of his intestine. The grim, mental flashback pictures of his being fucked by the dog, goat and horse eroded the tiny shred of control to which he been clinging. He began pulling and jerking on his bonds and screaming, "Get it out o' me; dear Jesus, get i' out o' me! Please, please, I beg you, take i' out! I cannae take any more!"

* * * * * *

Methos, Dawson and Lockhart entered the mausoleum. Methos' countenance was rigid, his jaws and teeth tightly clenched. His hazel eyes glittered an almost black with suppressed rage. Dawson's face was twisted with worry for the closest person he'd ever come to having a son. His knuckles were white as he gripped his cane. Lockhart's brows were knitted together. He genuinely liked his boss and was determined to do his part to free MacLeod.

Methos, a.k.a. Death, gripped his sword in his right hand. Joe pulled a revolver from inside his coat pocket and checked the clip for ammunition. He flipped off the safety with a loud snap. Lockhart carried a sawed off, double barreled shotgun. He broke open the chambers and made sure both were loaded. The former Marine snapped the gun back into place and nodded; he, too, was ready.

The trio hadn't quite made it to the back room door when they heard MacLeod screaming and begging.

Methos yelled, "Damn, them, to bloody hell!" and kicked in the door so hard it fell unimpeded to the floor.

Lemuel Priest looked up in surprise to the sight of three men bursting into the room. The waves of sensation that one of them was a very old Immortal coursed through his body. Tossing the belt to one side and arrogantly fondlinc's c's naked buns, the blond taunted, "Wait right here, Duncan; I'll be right back after I take care of your boyfriend." The man reached over and slid his sword out of his coat lying on a nearby chair.

As Priest and Methos squared off on each other, two of Lemuel's hired men pulled guns from their shoulder holsters. Dawson instinctively pointed his revolver and shot one of them in the chest. Lockhart cocked both of the shotgun's hammers and dislodged one into the other man. The buckshot almost severed him in two.

Joe swung his gun to the left and emptied two rounds into a third man, a surly looking redhead. The redhead grimaced and doubled over in pain as the bullets struck him in his gut, blood streaming over his hands.

The fourth hired thug looked down at his three fallen comrades and stuck his arms into the air in surrender. Gene stalked over to him and backhanded him so hard he fell to the floor.

Joe Dawson stuck his gun into his belt. Switching his cane to another hand, he approached Liz Mainwaring and began loosening the ropes binding her. She was crying and shaking but appeared to be in good shape. "Are you okay, Liz?" he asked, as she rose shakily to her feet.

Tears continued to trickle out of her eyes. "Yes, Joe, I'm fine." She focused her blue eyes onto MacLeod who was still shackled to the coffin. "Joe, go to Duncan. Damn that sick bastard Priest! He did it again! He's ravaged him again!"

Butch Gunther, who'd been watching the two Immortals' duel, leered at Lockhart and sneered, "You're real brave with that shotgun. I don't think you could do much without it."

Gene glimpsed his boss' naked body tied across the coffin and growled, "I don't need one fucking thing to take care of slime like you!"

The tall black man handed his shotgun to Joe and started toward the other man. Hauling back his right fist, Lockhart buried it in Gunther's stomach. Butch gasped and grabbed Gene's head and butted him with his own. The ex-Marine shook his head once and stepping to the side, folded his right leg into a vicious kick to the other one's face. Blood spurted from Butch's broken nose. Both men grappled and exchanged slugs and karate kicks and chops for over five minutes. In the end, Gene stood weaving over the inert hulk of Gunther and his broken jaw.

Methos tried not to look at Duncan's still form. He knew he needed his focus on Lemuel Priest. The five thousand year old man parried and hacked away at his opponent. Priest refused to give any ground and met Methos' assault with equal ferocity. They traded blows, moving all over the large room. Once, their blades locked, but Methos shoved the other man away, not only from him but also from his beloved friend.

Priest taunted Methos with a snide, "What's the matter? You want a share of him? I'll let you have him for as long as you want. He's a good fuck."

Methos roared and spit out, "You'll not be able to do anything more to him or to anyone else when I get through with you!"

Both Priest and the ancient's shirts were bloodied with the nicks and stabs each one delivered to the other. Their fight led them to the front hall of the mortuary. Methos kept hammering away at his opponent with slashes and hacks, rather than his usual fencing skills. He was once again in the Bronze Age, battling to the death, beside his other Horsemen brothers.

Priest finally began to tire, and Methos knew he had him. As the former sheriff sluggishly lifted his blade to penetrate Methos' abdomen, the former Horseman saw his opportunity and slashed the other Immortal's chest wide open.

Lemuel fell to the carpeted floor and gasped, "Who the hell are you?"

Methos' lips parted in a wicked grin as he answered, the other Immortal being the only one who could hear what he saiI amI am Methos, one of the Four Horsemen. I am Death on A Pale Horse. I am Duncan MacLeod's best friend!" and severed Lemuel Priest's head with its horrified stare from his body.

The sadistic Immortal's torso knelt suspended for long seconds before crashing to the floor. Methos' exhausted arms fell to his sides, his bloody sword dragging the floor. The white fog of Priest's essence rose from the slain man and circled into the air before enveloping that of the victor. Methos yelled and streaks of lightning fused into his slim body. Visions of the atrocious acts the Immortal had committed upon MacLeod filled Methos' vision and mind. He was bombarded with Lemuel's myriad foul deeds he'd dealt to others in his long, disgusting life.

When the storm abated, Methos slumped to the floor and onto his knees for a brief few moments, tears trickling from his hazel eyes. He then pushed himself up and found a muscular black arm helping him to his feet. Methos glanced at Priest's body, then up into the questioning but accepting vision of MacLeod's dojo manager. "Gene, what you've seen...?"

"It's okay, Pierson. I'm not sure what I just saw, but I know you did what you needed to do."

Methos nodded and staggered back down the hall to the storage room, Lockhart close behind. The two men entered and saw that Joe and Liz had tied Gunther and the others and shoved them into a corner. Liz was kneeling near Mac's head, smoothing his perspiration-soaked hair from his face and attempting to free his restraints.

Duncan's panic had instantly abated when his friends had come crashing through the door.

Methos swiftly went to his friend and laid a gentle hand on MacLeod's bare back. "Mac?"

"I'll live, Adam," MacLeod grimaced again as the unwanted guest within him nibbled another piece off him. "Please, take that out of me."

Methos, puzzled, looked at Liz. "What?"

Elizabeth took a deep breath and mumbled, "They stuck a gerbil inside him."

The ancient drew in a deep breath and squelched the rage that filled him yet again. He was brought back to awareness when Duncan whispered, "Take it out, Methos."

The ancient hadn't any lubricant. A half-consumed can of beer sat on a nearby casket. He grabbed it and emptied it onto his right hand before inserting his fingers into MacLeod's rectum.

It was a slow painful process for both MacLeod and Methos. As long as he lived, Joe Dawson didn't think he would ever forget Mac's screams of pain or the tortured look on Methos' face.

When the ancient had removed the animal, Duncan's arms and legs were released from the leather straps. Gene lifted his boss' naked body gently off the metal casket and placed him on the floor. The Highlander was bundled up in a blanket by Liz who knelt beside him and gathered him into her arms.

MacLeod rested his exhausted head on her shoulder a long while before looking at his other three friends. "Thanks, Methos, thanks, all of you," he grated.

"Any time, Mac," Joe answered, his eyesight curiously hazy. The Watcher pulled out his cellular phone and placed a call to Watcher headquarters for a cleanup detail.

"I'll go get the van and bring it around to the back," Gene volunteered and headed down the hallway.

Duncan attempted a feeble smile. "I'll be fine, Methos."

His best friend grinned, "Yeah, Duncan, you'll be okay."

* * * * * *

Three days later, Duncan MacLeod sat on the couch in the loft, a cup of coffee in his right hand. Shakespeare had been rescued from the obedience school and now lay curled up, as near to his master as he could get. His sleek, black head rested on Mac's left knee while Duncan absently stroked his head.

Methos had stopped by and told him he was leaving town. Duncan had talked to him for hours, it seemed, since his rescue. It would take him a while to overcome the nightmares and flashbacks of his horrifying experience and Methos understood. Methos also knew the Highlander's strength. MacLeod would approach his healing as he did life, with every ounce of courage and daring he possessed.

"You know, Methos, Priest was mine," MacLeod commented as he sat his coffee cup on the low table and stood up.

Methos smiled that curious, cat-ate-the-canary grin of his and responded, "Yeah, but I got there first." He paused and looked at the lift. "Well, I've got to go. I have places to see and things to do."

Duncan wanted to somehow help his friend understand that he wasn't able to be anything else but be a friend, at least for now, to this Immortal who had saved him countless times. He still had other feelings of yearning inside him, but he didn't understand any of it, not yet.

Evidently, some of what MacLeod was feeling mirrored onto his face because Methos stepped over and placed his long fingered hand on Mac's sleeve. "Friendship is okay, Duncan. I'll always be here if you need me."

Duncan got to his feet and briefly hugged him. Holding up his right hand, he made a V-sign with two fingers. "Peace, old man, be safe."

"You know me, MacLeod. I always avoid fights, if I can."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you didn't avoid this one."

Both men's attention was diverted to Shakespeare, as the animal started barking and dancing around MacLeod's feet. They laughed as Mac answered his pet, "Okay, Shakespeare, time for the park."

The End

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