Notes & Disclaimers:

This was originally a much longer story, which just kept growing. To make 
it more manageable, a sequel(s) will be posted that takes place directly 
after the end of this story. Since I'm flaky that way, I'm going with 
calling it a 'cycle' as opposed to a 'trilogy', seeing as the third part of 
my other trilogy languishes on my hard drive :)

This is an attempt to fill in some more blank spaces. Over the years, we’ve 
made allusions to what happened when Divia came back, but never really said 
what that was. I finally figured it was time. And also, to finally explain 
Methos’ aversion to vampires. Finally taking care of that too.

This takes place a year after "Misguided Angel". The incident mentioned 
with Hakeem takes place in "Sands of Eternity". But it's not necessary to 
read either story to read this one.

Thanks to Tammy and April for beta duty!

Other stories in the series can be found on my archive, "Tales From the 
Darkwood" (http://www.ondragonswing.com/tales/). We also have an announce 
list for the Bloodties universe 
(http://groups.yahoo.com/group/BloodtiesArchivist/) if you'd like to be 
kept updated on what's new, or want to discuss the universe.

All Highlander (Methos) & Forever Knight (LaCroix, Nick, Janette, Divia, 
Vachon) characters belong to their respective PTBs. All original characters 
belong to their creators, myself amongst them.

And last, but most certainly not least: Thanks for reading! And if you 
liked this story, let me know if you would. It’s kind of nice to know if 
anyone is actually reading. Thanks!

I'd give this a rating of PG13

@__________@

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

Part One

The soft light through the windows of Old Holly Ridge Farm greeted her as 
she made her way up the path towards the twelfth century farmhouse on the 
outskirts of York, the warm glow of 'home' filling her heart. As she pushed 
open the back door, the familiar Immortal burr of her husband completed the 
feeling of homecoming. So content was she at that moment in time, that she 
even imagined the scent of dinner wafting past her as she dropped her book 
bag and long green raincoat on the bench next to the door. Even though he 
had thrown himself into the role of  'house husband' since they had come to 
live here after their honeymoon seven months before, cooking was not one of 
his many talents, so it had to be her imagination.

The scent caught at her nose again, making her stomach growl. She wasn't 
imagining it! It actually smelled... edible. Delicious actually. Maybe 
she'd walked into the wrong house? That must be it. Laughing to herself, 
she made her way down the hall towards the kitchen, unbuttoning the 
dark-rose coloured jacket of her wool crepe suit, revealing a silk camisole 
top of the same colour beneath. But instead of a peaceful homecoming after 
a day of teaching Latin and physics, bangs, curses, and a cloud of dust 
greeted her.

Triona stood, momentarily speechless, in the doorway. All she could make 
out were a set of jean clad legs sticking out beyond the edge of the stone 
hearth, the body hidden somewhere inside the fireplace. Then there was a 
loud crash that made her jump, followed by a cloud of dust and ash issuing 
from the chimney.

"Ah ha! That's got it," a muffled voice said. More dust followed, a few 
more bangs, and then the body attached to the long legs became visible as 
he rolled out from the large hearth, holding a small metal box. Catching 
sight of Triona, Methos propped himself up against the wall of the 
fireplace. "It really is that time," he said, glancing out the window 
across the room, seeming surprised at the darkness outside.

She formulated and then discarded several replies before settling for what 
she hoped was a suitably disapproving glare. There was stone dust and a 
fine covering of ash everywhere, over every surface, including Methos. She 
couldn't tell if his light gray flannel work shirt was supposed to that 
colour, or if it was dust. His short dark hair wasn't so dark anymore either.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"What?" She threw up her hands. "What do you mean what? Look at the mess! 
What on earth have you been doing?"

Glancing around the room, he seemed to realize that maybe he'd been a 
little too enthusiastic in his quest. "I was looking for something I'd left 
here." He waved the box he still held in his hand.

Triona sighed. She should have known better than to agree to buy a house 
that Methos had lived in ten centuries before. But she had loved the place 
at first sight and had decided that she could deal with whatever ghosts 
might still remain. Perching on the edge of the worn kitchen table, she 
asked patiently, "And that would be?"

"Oh, a bit of a rainy day stash. Some gold," he opened the box, peering in 
and moving the contents around with one long finger, "oh, and a very nice 
emerald." He held it up between two fingers. "Matches your eyes."

"Gee, isn't that fortuitous," she commented dryly.

He grinned unrepentantly, his hazel green eyes sparkling with laughter. 
"Isn't it?"

Shaking her head in fond exasperation, she noted, "I hadn't noticed it was 
raining..." she trailed off, an expectant look on her face.

Methos pushed himself up off the floor. "It was something to do. I wondered 
if it was still there, the box. I put it there when I built the fireplace."

"You built the fireplace?" she asked, disbelief lacing her voice. The 
hearth was a massive construct, talking up half the kitchen wall. It even 
had an inglenook, along with various holes, grates, and shelves that had 
originally been used for cooking.

"I did!" He walked over to where she sat, dropping a kiss in the tip of her 
nose, then turning to face the large hearth across from them. ""The 
original chimney and hearth, at least. The inglenook was added at some 
later date. When I married Etheldrida, the house still had a fire pit in 
the center of the hall. I moved us into the twelfth century and built a 
real fireplace. They'd become quite popular when I'd left London a few 
years before."

"And why was it you left London for the wilds of York anyway? Angry 
husband?" she asked, laughing.

"Something like that," he admitted.

"I bet you left a lot of angry husbands in your wake."

"You think so, do you?"

She snorted inelegantly, "Oh, I don't think, I know." Triona shrieked as 
she was pulled back, finding herself lying across his thighs and cradled in 
is arms.

"Take it back!" He began to tickle her with one hand, while holding her 
firmly against his body with his other arm.

"No!" She tried unsuccessfully to break his hold. "You're filthy! My suit! 
I'm going to be covered in dust!" She shrieked again as his fingers found 
the spot right under the edge of her ribs that was most ticklish.

"That's not all you're going to be covered in," he warned before lowering 
his lips to hers and kissing her deeply and thoroughly. Breaking the kiss, 
he asked, "Surrender?"

Ignoring him, she asked, "Did I actually smell dinner when I walked in here?"

"You needn't sound so shocked," he protested, placing her on her feet.

Leaning up, Triona kissed him on the cheek. "My darling, you are clever, 
talented, and exceedingly handsome, " she giggled at the smug look on his 
face, "but you can't cook to save your life."

"I'm not that bad," he said, pouting.

Triona threw her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. "If you say so."

He really did try; she had to give him that. They'd spent their honeymoon 
in places with long nights and short days to compensate for Triona's 
inability to be in the sun. But after nearly six blissful months, they'd 
decided to settle down and have as close to a normal life as they could for 
as long as they could. Janette had put Triona in contact with a vampire 
acquaintance that ran a girls' boarding school at her ancestral home, 
Smythly Hall, just outside of York, England. In the end, Triona accepted a 
position at the school teaching Latin and physics. They bought the old 
farm, the central portion of which was the original wattle and daub 
construction dating from the eleven hundreds, and a place Methos had called 
home back when it was nearly new. Two other wings had been added in later 
centuries, and now the dwelling had a vaguely organic Tudor look to it. She 
worked, and Methos spent his days keeping house, writing the book he always 
said he was going to finish one day, and fussing over the horses they 
owned. But when it came to meals, she usually came home to find beans on 
toast or Indian takeaway waiting for her.

"Fine," he said rather peevishly. "Yes, you do smell dinner - Shepherd's 
Pie -- courtesy of Mrs. Roberts at the end of the lane."

Walking over to the jade green Aga stove she looked over at him. "Mrs. 
Roberts?" Grinning, she continued, "Should I be worried? Isn't it a little 
early in our marriage for you to be stepping out on me? And I can't even 
say she's a little old for you, now can I?" Mrs. Roberts was in her 
sixties, and lived with her husband in the small cottage at the far edge of 
Methos and Triona's property. Her children were grown, and she occupied her 
time with knitting for her many grandchildren, gardening, and keeping track 
of her neighbours.

"You're so amusing, you should take your act on the road, " he said 
witheringly.

Chuckling, she opened the door of the farmhouse oven, peeking in at the 
bubbling mixture of mutton, gravy, and mashed potatoes. "It smells 
wonderful." Closing it again, she looked back at her husband. "Don't be 
grumpy!" she admonished. "What am I supposed to think when the neighbor 
ladies start bringing you food when I'm not here?" She was trying very hard 
not to laugh. "First it's food, and then they'll be wanting you to come 
look at their etchings."

Methos snagged a dishtowel from the table, balled it up, and threw it at 
her. She caught it neatly, the laughter she had been tying so hard to 
control burbling past her lips.

"Oh, go ahead and laugh, my pretty little wife. Just remember, I have a 
very long memory," he threatened ominously, the smile tugging at his lips 
quite ruining the effect. Triona just stuck her tongue out at him.  "I'll 
admit it was a little odd. I opened the door and she practically thrust the 
casserole in to my hands, with a look that would curdle milk. Said 
something about as much as you work, you'd appreciate something homemade."

Triona was suddenly very busy smoothing out the tea towel that she still 
held in her hands. "Odd," she agreed.

Suspiciously, he asked, "You wouldn't have an explanation, would you?"

"Who, me?" she asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"I knew it! Come on, Triona, confession is good for the soul."

"Okay, fine, maybe she took my attempt at humour this morning the wrong 
way," she finally admitted.

"And?" He gestured expectantly.

"And I ran into her this morning walking to work. I stopped and chatted 
with her for a few minutes and she commented on how I was always walking 
before the sun came up." She turned around, placing the towel over the rack 
on the counter, tugging at it absently. "I might have said something to the 
affect that you thought I was getting fat and needed the exercise," she 
mumbled.

"What?" he shouted.

"It was a joke," she turned back to look at him, "I didn't think she'd take 
me seriously!"

"That's just wonderful," he griped. "By the end of the week, it'll be all 
over town. That poor sweet Mrs. Pierson," he said in a fair imitation of 
the local accent, "and that nasty layabout husband of hers. Works all day 
she does and he doesn't even feed her properly."

"Oh come on, it's not that bad!"

"Ah, my naive young big city wife. Allow me to share the bounty of my 
wisdom. This is a small town, small towns thrive on gossip, and you've just 
provided many months worth."

"Oh, lord." She knew that tone; the one where he went all ancient and 
twelve year old at the same time. Inwardly sighing, and swearing to herself 
she'd never speak to another neighbour again, Triona settled in for the 
long haul.

Ignoring her interruption, he continued, "In two weeks, I won't be able to 
go into the shops without every woman there nodding and whispering when I 
walk by. By the end of the month, they'll all be convinced I beat you and 
keep you chained in the cellar!" The last was practically shouted.

Don't laugh, don't laugh, she repeated to herself, biting the inside of her 
cheek for good measure. Once she was sure she could keep her voice steady, 
she said in the meekest voice she could muster, "I promise I'll talk to 
Mrs. Roberts tomorrow and fix it. I swear."

"Don't bother. She'll never believe you."

"Of course she will!"

"No, she won't. Mrs. Roberts -- and her cronies -- will think I made you do 
it," he said, obviously disgusted. "That brute of a husband of hers making 
her come down to my house and try and excuse him. Poor wee thing," he said, 
once more mimicking Mrs. Roberts. "I can hear it all now."

Triona didn't immediately reply, instead folding the towel she'd been 
absently toying with for the last several minutes. She opened the oven and 
using the towel as a potholder, removed the casserole, placing it on a 
trivet on the counter. Turning around, she found Methos standing in front 
of her, still covered in fine stone dust, and looking rather pathetic. 
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her cheek against his chest, 
inhaling his familiar scent. "The poor wee thing would like to know why you 
care what anyone thinks? You never have before." She tilted her head back, 
looking up at him.

Methos ran one hand through her hair, removing the clip that held it in a 
loose knot, and tossing it on the counter, letting the long mass of her 
honey blonde hair fall free down her back.  Exhaling noisily, he replied, 
"Adam Pierson would care, wouldn't he? He'd be appalled to think the 
neighbours thought he abused his wife. Treated her as anything other than 
the light of his life."

"It's scary that that makes an odd sort of sense to me." She hugged him a 
little tighter. "Well, Mrs. Adam Pierson knows she's the light of her 
husband's life -- in all his incarnations," she stated firmly.

He kissed her first, then said, "Glad to hear it. Oh, and I'll be driving 
you to work and home again from now on. And we're getting a woman in to do 
the cooking and cleaning."

"Hey!" Triona protested, pulling away. "Wait just a minute! I like walking, 
and I don't want some stranger in my house!" Walking in the predawn and 
twilight hours was part of her workout routine and good for her mental 
health as well. She was still getting used to the fact that she had no 
choice but to stay indoors when the sun was out, and walking made her feel 
a little freer. And the thought of having someone take care of her house, 
touching her things, just generally creeped her out. She'd had to deal with 
it in LaCroix's household, both because Baker was a family retainer, and it 
was the ancient vampire's home ­ not hers. But this was *her* home and she 
wanted to enjoy it.

"Nope, your brute of a husband has spoken. That's my final word on the 
subject," he proclaimed loftily.

"You think so?" She looked up at him, arms across her chest, one booted 
foot tapping on the slate floor. If he was looking for a fight, he was well 
on his way to getting one.

"Yes, " he picked out a serving spoon from the container on the counter and 
waved it around, "at least until after dinner."

Rolling her eyes, Triona snatched the spoon from his hand. "Whatever! Make 
yourself useful and set the table, and then go wash up!" She looked around 
at the disaster he'd made of the kitchen, and added, "And I think it goes 
without saying that you'll be cleaning up this mess!"

"I love it when you're bossy," he growled, reaching for her.

Ducking, she ran around the large table in the center of the kitchen, 
waving the spoon at him. "I'm hungry!"

"I'm hungry too," he said, leering as he lunged for her.

Gasping with laughter, she narrowly missed being caught. "Methos, remember 
poor wee Mrs. Pierson? She's wasting away to a shadow here," she wailed.

"If poor Mrs. Pierson would let her husband have his way with her, the 
faster she'd get dinner," he countered, grinning evilly.

She paused, looking at him gravely, before declaring, "I think I'd rather 
starve!" With that she leapt to the right, making for the door, screeching 
as Methos caught her wrist, spinning her into his arms.

"Any last words?" he whispered into her ear.

Sighing in contentment, she pressed closer to his body, reaching up with 
one hand to stroke his face. Tilting his head slightly, he pressed his lips 
against her fingers. As she pulled his head down to meet hers, she said 
softly, "That's what microwaves are for after all."


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

Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Triona?"

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

"Thanks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're welcome."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm listening," she replied.

"Has LaCroix ever told you about Francesca?"

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

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

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

"That would be her," Nick agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For killing Francesca," Triona stated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

Part Three

Triona pulled the bedcovers up to her chin, snuggling into their softness, 
listening for her husband's footstep in the hall. She was eager for an 
explanation, but she had decided to be patient and not seek him out. 
Finally her forbearance was rewarded. A few moments later, he gently pushed 
open their bedroom door. "So what was all that about?" she asked before 
he'd even managed to walk through the door.

"What was what about?" he asked innocently, coming to sit on the edge of 
the bed, pressing his lips against her forehead. She shook her head and 
just looked at him expectantly. He knew exactly what she was talking about. 
"Fine. I knew that look. You'd already convinced yourself that Margaretta 
was lonely and wanted her family together, and were going to agree to 
Nick's request before you'd even given yourself a chance to think about the 
ramifications."

Triona pushed herself up to sit against the headboard. "Okay, maybe I was," 
she agreed, a little put out.  Sometimes Methos could be so irritatingly 
right about what she was thinking and how she would react.

"I just want you to at least sleep on it," he instructed, not at all 
perturbed by her obvious irritation.

Her lips twisted slightly, but despite wanting to argue with him, she knew 
he was right, Damn him anyway! Sighing, she nodded resignedly. "Okay, Mr. 
Know-it-all, I'll sleep on it."

"Good." He smirked. "See? You can be obedient every once in a while!" He 
was laughing when he kissed away any retort she might have made. Looking at 
her fondly, he said softly, "We'll talk about it in the morning."

@********@

After several hours of Triona tossing and turning, Methos finally gave up. 
"Okay, we'll talk about it now," he said into the dark.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to keep you awake."

Reaching over to the small lamp on the nightstand next to his side of the 
bed, he switched it on. "I know, love," he replied as she pressed against 
him, his arm going around her shoulders, pulling her closer.  "I should 
know by now that you stew over things left unresolved."

"You were right ­ I was thinking only of Margaretta, and how lonely I 
assumed she must be. Not about how Nicholas and I have never gotten along." 
She propped herself up on her elbow, chin in the palm of her hand. "But I 
really do want to try and make it better between the two of us. I know it's 
silly, but..." she trailed off, chewing her lower lip.

"No, it's not silly. I know you think it will make Lucien happy. But 
honestly love, do you think you can be in a situation where you have to 
interact with Nick on a daily basis?"

"I can try, can't I?" She threw herself down onto her pillow exhaling 
sharply. "And I'd feel selfish if I didn't agree. Put aside for the moment 
my assumption that Margaretta is doing this out of some familial desire. 
She's been trying to fill that position since the beginning of the term. If 
I say no, she's left short staffed for who knows how long?"

"And how much do you want to bet that Nick knows exactly how you you'd feel 
­ is counting on it?"

"And now who's being cynical?" she asked, laughing.

"Can you deny that the thought hasn't crossed your mind?" Methos shot back.

"Guilty as charged."

"Uh huh."

"But still, it's odd, isn't it?"

"Am I supposed to guess which particular one of the dozens of odd things it 
could possibly be that you're referring to?" This was asked more than a 
little sarcastically.

Triona lightly smacked his arm. "Very funny." She rolled away, getting up 
off the bed and going to the window, leaning her cheek against the cold 
glass, watching the rain. "Odd since Nicholas doesn't care much more for me 
than I do for him. Odd since he isn't interested in making LaCroix happy. 
Odd that he would want to interact with *me* on a daily basis." Crossing 
her arms, she looked over at Methos. "That about cover it?"

Chuckling, he said, "Just about." He held out a hand. "Come back to bed."

She went back, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her down next to 
him. Laying crossways on the bed, with her head on his chest, she tucked 
her legs up underneath her. "So why would he want to come here?"

"Nick spent centuries trying to break away, with Lucien chasing after him. 
Sometimes when you get what you think you want, it doesn't quite turn out 
the way you thought it would."

Triona shifted, turning so she could look at her husband. "What do you mean?"

"Only that it might not be Margaretta who's looking to reforge familial 
ties." Triona attempted to sit up at that, but Methos' arm across her kept 
her firmly in place as she wriggled against his hold. "Will you keep still 
for once, woman?" he asked in exasperation. "I swear you're like an over 
caffeinated cat on a hot tin roof!"

"Fine. This is me being a tortoise," she told him grumpily, keeping 
completely still.

Methos snorted. "A tortoise? I bet you last all of five minutes."

Pointedly ignoring him, she said, "You think *Nicholas* wants his family 
back?" That was something that had never occurred to her.

"I think it's entirely possible. You know what they say, 'be careful what 
you wish for'. Well, Nick got what he wished for didn't he? Stephanie is 
now LaCroix's favourite child, and you are his companion, and together we 
are a family, albeit a rather odd one. We've all moved on without him."

Triona silently digested what Methos had said. The thought that Nicholas 
would want to rejoin the family was shocking to her, to say the least. Her 
initial reaction was that it would make LaCroix happy, but she also was 
honest enough to admit her next reaction was more than a twinge of 
jealousy. She'd resented Nick in those early days on Janette's behalf, and 
that feeling had only intensified as the years passed and Triona had felt 
she herself would never matter as much to him as Nick, no matter what Nick 
did. She'd been pleased when LaCroix had finally seemed to let Nick go and 
had moved on. And now?

"Penny for them?" Methos asked softly.

"I'm not feeling very charitable, I'm afraid," she admitted. "I'm not sure 
I want to be used because all of a sudden Nicholas doesn't like the bed he 
made for himself."

"To be fair, I don't think Nick is consciously trying to use you. You're 
just the obvious choice. You're close to both Lucien and Janette, and the 
job with Margaretta gives him some cover, whether conscious or unconscious"

"You're probably right. But we have years worth of baggage between us, so I 
tend to leap to the worst conclusion. And maybe I just feel like being 
unfair." Her voice rose, almost angry. "Why should he get another chance? 
Why should I give him the opportunity to wreck what we have now? Just so he 
can change his mind yet again, and pull the rug out from under Lucien? I 
don't want Stephanie to feel second best because suddenly the 'golden 
child' decides to make a return. I never want her to feel as Janette did!" 
Or how I did, she thought to herself.

Methos stroked her arm soothingly. "She won't. Even if it turns out Nick 
has had second thoughts, things will never go back to the way they were." 
He held her closer. "And Lucien loves you," he said quietly, seeming to 
hear Triona's unspoken words. "Nothing Nick does will ever change that."

@*********@

The next morning, Triona was making breakfast, and singing with 
unrestrained glee. "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh what 
fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh...."

"Isn't it a little early for Christmas carols?"

Triona yelped, startled at the sudden appearance of her houseguest, almost 
dropping the tray of scones she'd been removing from the oven. "Don't sneak 
up on me, or next time you'll be wearing breakfast!" She carefully placed 
the nearly overturned tray on the counter. She was dressed casually in an 
ankle length black cotton broomstick skirt, a long sleeved sapphire blue t 
shirt, and a gray knit men's styled cardigan sweater that was many sizes 
too big for her and looked like it had seen better days.

"Sorry," Nick said contritely, pulling out a stool to sit at the large old 
table that sat in the center of the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a 
slim fitting burgundy knit pullover sweater.

Triona nodded, accepting his apology. "If you must know, it's my secret 
vice; singing when I'm alone in the house."

"Okay, but 'Jingle Bells'?" he asked, laughing.

"You just missed my rendition of 'Muskrat Love'."

"Sorry I missed it," he said, his tone declaring the exact opposite.

Triona didn't reply, just sniffed in mock offense.

"So where's Methos?" Nick asked, looking around the kitchen. The hearth was 
blazing, and some sort of cinnamon scent was coming from a cast iron pot 
hung near the fire. The shutters were open with a view into the courtyard 
and the outbuildings beyond. Though it had stopped raining, it didn't look 
like it would be for long.

Triona waved the tongs she was using in the general direction of outside. 
"Playing gentleman farmer. He knows he's safe out there till the sun goes 
down." At Nick's look of surprise, she added, "I'm kidding. Anyway, 
breakfast will guarantee his arrival anytime now."

"What are you making?" he asked. "It smells pretty good actually." Triona 
looked at him, one eyebrow raised enquiringly. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I know what you mean." Many vampires didn't care for the smell of 
food. Nick was worse than most, and Triona often thought it was because his 
system was in a constant state of upheaval due to his quest to regain his 
mortality. Or maybe that was former quest now. Something else to try and 
find out. Answering his question, she said, "It's Black Pudding." She 
removed the last piece from the skillet, placing it on a plate. "Would you 
like to try some?"

Nick looked at the plate, then at her. "Uh, no thanks."

"I didn't mean you actually had to eat it."

Confused, Nick asked, "What do you mean then?"

Sighing, Triona cut a bit off the Black Pudding, speared it with a fork and 
sat down on the stool across from Nick. "Haven't you ever wondered what the 
attraction LaCroix had for me was?" Before Nick could reply, she added 
dryly, "Besides the obvious."

"I suppose I wondered why he didn't just bring you across in the 
beginning." It seemed like he would say something else, but he stopped.

"Or kill me after a few weeks?" Triona took pity on him. It wasn't as if 
she'd ever invited any sort of confidence between the two of them  "Perhaps 
I should reword the question: why did he want a mortal paramour? Will you 
trust me for a moment?" she asked. Nick nodded. "Normally, I would have to 
be linked to you through blood for this to work, but being what I am, and 
through our family bond, I think I can demonstrate. I know you're out of 
practice, but close your eyes and reach for my thoughts."

He looked wary, but said, "I'll try."

"Good. Don't worry, I'll do most of the heavy lifting. I may be a freak of 
nature, but this part is something I excel at." She smiled encouragingly as 
Nick closed his eyes. Reaching out to him with her mind, she ate the piece 
of Black Pudding she'd been holding. She savoured it ­ the taste, the 
texture, the scent. She touched Nick's mind with hers, sharing the 
sensations with him. Then she gently broke the connection, placing her hand 
over his reassuringly.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. "I could taste, really taste, it," he said in 
surprise, his voice barely above a whisper.

"By denying what your vampire nature can offer, you deny what makes you 
human," she said softly. "By accepting LaCroix's gift, and strengthening 
our bond, I also gave myself a freedom that you've long denied yourself."

"I've always known that you and LaCroix shared a bond we'd never had, but 
until now, I thought it was...." He broke of suddenly, and Triona thought 
that if he were capable of blushing he'd be deep red.

Laughing softly, she finished for him, "You thought it was sex."

Looking a little abashed that she'd known exactly what he'd been going to 
say, he nodded.

"I won't deny that definitely plays into it, but god, Nick, you're a 
vampire! You know that the blood is the ultimate bond. In fact, it was a 
very long time before LaCroix moved our relationship to a sexual one."

Nick looked surprised at that ­ and probably surprised she was sharing so 
many intimate details of her relationship with their Master. Truth be told, 
Triona was rather surprised that she was too.

"You should try with Sarah sometime." Triona suggested. Sarah was Triona's 
'sister' who had become Immortal a few years prior. Nick was the reason 
she'd originally gotten herself mixed up with vampires. "Personally, I 
think an Immortal and a vampire are the perfect pairing. Maybe that's how 
it was meant to be." She dared him to laugh at her for her rather 
unorthodox thought. It was something she'd contemplated for a while, but 
hadn't really voiced it to anyone before.

He didn't laugh, instead said, "I haven't seen Sarah since she left Paris 
to be trained by Connor MacLeod.

"Ah", was all Triona said, deciding not to pry.

Silence fell, Nick seeming to be somewhere else. Finally, he said, "I'm 
sorry, I know it's none of my business, but...." He shook his head.

"What do you want to know, Nicholas? After all, I did start this, didn't I?"

He took a deep breath, still not looking like he was sure he should ask. 
Finally, he spoke. "How on earth did you end up married to Methos?"

"Uh, the usual way; he proposed, I said yes." Her eyes twinkled wickedly.

"Very funny!"

"Sorry," she said, though she didn't sound very sorry.

But Triona's levity had broken the ice, and Nick seemed much less uneasy. 
"LaCroix has been as possessive of you as he has of me, and yet, here you 
are, married to another man. It baffled me when Methos first became a part 
of your life, and it still does now."

"Oh, Nicholas, I don't know how to even begin to explain it, not really." 
She sighed. It was so complicated, that sometimes, she didn't understand it 
herself. "I guess because I totally embraced what Lucien offered me. Even 
after Methos came into my life, I still chose to be brought across with 
full knowledge and acceptance of what that choice meant. And when it all 
went so horribly wrong," Triona closed her eyes, remembering the pain, and 
everything that followed, "Lucien was devastated, and Methos was so angry ­ 
with him and even more so with me, though he would never admit it. I was 
left with a full fledgling's link with LaCroix, even though I wasn't 
brought fully across. Methos never really accepted what had happened, and 
it all festered. After it was all over, we'd all lost so much. In the end, 
LaCroix went along with Methos wanting to marry me because he wanted me to 
be happy. His way of trying to make amends for what he saw as his failure."

Nick nodded in understanding, not just because of her words, but because of 
the emotion he felt through the fragile link they still shared. "I'm sorry. 
If I'd spent less time judging you, and more time trying to be family, 
maybe I could have been there for you in some small way."

"It wasn't all your fault, I take my full share of the blame." She smiled 
ruefully. "You know, LaCroix has often commented that the two of us are 
very much alike in some ways: stubborn, headstrong, willful." Nick snorted. 
"I think that contributed to our antipathy towards each other."

"Think we can do better this time around?"

"I think so. Don't you?"

"I'd like that. And I'd like to be your family, as much as Janette and 
Stephanie are." Nick took her hand and smiled. "If you'll let me try?"

Triona returned his smile. "It's a deal."





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

Part Four

Later that evening after cleaning up from supper, Triona and Methos sat in 
the double rocking chair in front of the kitchen hearth, finishing their 
wine. In the distance, the sound of a piano could be heard.

"We should have had him play while we were eating," Methos said, grinning. 
The south wing contained a music room with a piano. Since neither Triona 
nor Methos played, it was usually covered over. Nick had come across it 
after exploring that morning and had spent most of the day airing out and 
cleaning the room. After supper, he'd excused himself and had been playing 
ever since.  "A little dinner music, some candlelight, very romantic."

"Mmm-hmm." She drew her legs up underneath her and snuggled closer to his 
side. "We had a heart to heart this morning."

"Oh?"

"I think we cleared the air, and we've decided to try and do better from 
here on out."

"So I take it he'll be accepting Margaretta's offer?"

"Uh huh." She looked up at him. "Are you okay with that?"

"You're the one it has to be okay with," he countered.

  "It is. Promise."

They sat in companionable silence for nearly an hour, listening to the 
music that floated in. Then silence fell. "I guess the concert is over," 
Methos said.

"Yeah, well we should get up anyway," Triona noted. "I know you want to 
check on the horses before bed, and I think the sleet has stopped." The 
temperature had dropped precipitously after the sun went down, and the rain 
had turned into sleet.

"No time like the present then." He stood up, stretching the kinks out 
before offering a hand to his wife. As he pulled her to her feet, he gave a 
sharp tug, tipping her into his arms. "But first, I need something to keep 
me warm out there," he said softly, lowering his lips to hers. She melted 
against him, fully opening their psychic link, their blood bond. At moments 
like this, it was hard for her to tell where she ended and he began. The 
sound of Nick clearing his throat interrupted the seemingly endless moment. 
Regretfully, Methos broke the kiss, murmuring, "I knew we should have 
locked him in there."

Triona giggled, giving him one last hard kiss before pulling away. "Hey 
there, Nicholas," she said, smiling at her houseguest. He was dressed 
casually in a black turtleneck sweater and black wool pants and was holding 
a nearly full wineglass.

"Sorry for the interruption. I'll try to remember and knock next time," 
Nick said, lips twitching.

"Yes, do," Methos replied dryly.  "Don't mind me, I was on my way to the 
stables." He headed towards the hall to the back door.

"I'll make some tea," Triona offered.

"Sounds perfect. I'll see you both later," he called back. The fire briefly 
flared as a gust of cold wind from the opening door swirled through the 
room, then died down again after it closed behind him.

Triona went to the table and poured another glass of wine for herself. "I 
think I'll join you," she said. "Cheers!" Raising her glass to Nick, she 
took a sip. Nick returned the gesture. "I feel like some fresh air, how 
about you?"

"Sounds good," he agreed.

Following in Methos' footsteps, the two waked down the back hall, taking 
their coats down from the hook behind the door, holding each others' wine 
glasses as they put them on. Then they went outside, walking a short way 
down the path that led into the courtyard. They stopped at the edge of the 
stone wall that surrounded the back garden. The clouds had mostly cleared 
away, with just a few wisps of cloud scudding across the face of the nearly 
full moon. Nick placed his glass on the wall next to him and leaned against 
the cold stone.

"It's a beautiful night," he said.

Triona took a deep breath, inhaling the frigid air. "It is. I'm glad I'm 
here at home though, and not out on the roads. All this sleet covering the 
ground will make it treacherous." Her breath hung in a cloud before 
dissipating. "Beautiful but deadly," she said almost to herself. She took a 
sip of her wine, shivering a little.

Noticing, Nick said, "Maybe we should go back in?"

"What?" Triona shook her head slightly. "No, I'm fine." She took gulp of 
the wine this time, draining the contents and setting the empty glass next 
to Nick's still full one.

"You're sure?" He sounded concerned.

"Mmm-hmm." She didn't know what it was, but something about this night made 
her feel like someone had walked on her grave. Triona told herself firmly 
that she was imagining things.

The quiet of the night was broken by the screech of two cats. The cats in 
question came tearing across the courtyard, then over the garden wall, 
knocking over the wine glasses, scattering the contents of Nick's, along 
with shards of broken glass, across the path. Nick swore in surprise, 
watching the cats as the raced out of sight. "What a mess. Where do you 
keep the broom and dustpan?" he asked turning his attention back to Triona. 
But she didn't reply. "Triona?" She stood frozen, all colour drained from 
her face. He grasped her shoulders, shaking her gently. "What's wrong?"

This time, she shivered violently. She closed her eyes and whispered, "That 
scent."

"What is it?" he asked carefully.

"My soul bleeding to death." Her voice cracked and she took a deep 
shuddering breath trying to calm the panic that suddenly threatened to 
overwhelm her. "It was a night just like this. She left me to die in the 
cold, I could smell my own blood on the ice, and I knew I was dying; how I 
wanted to die."

Suddenly, Nick understood. "Divia." Triona flinched at the sound of that 
name. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her shivering body. 
She didn't resist. "I thought LaCroix removed those memories?"

She pressed her clenched fists against his chest. "He did, but that time in 
Seacouver, when I nearly died, the memories started to come back, not fully 
-- some of LaCroix's manipulations of my memory remained. All the bits and 
pieces were very confusing, and frightened me enough that I pushed them 
back and tried not to think about it. And then, after what happened when 
Hakeem took me prisoner two years ago, I started to have nightmares of him 
and Divia all mixed up together, and again Lucien tried to help. He 
couldn't remove the memories, but he blurred the edges and I was able to 
put it behind me ­ or so I thought." She took another steadying breath, 
pulling away from Nick.

"But tonight, the scent triggered the memory and it blindsided you." She 
nodded weakly. "Our sense of smell is one of the most powerful memory 
triggers there are, especially for a vampire."

"Yes." Triona wrapped her arms around herself and turned away. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Nick asked, perplexed.

"For letting what happened still affect me. She killed you ­ or tried ­ and 
it didn't make you a basket case," she said, her voice shaking.

"That's nonsense!" Nick said, rejecting her explanation. "You were mortal, 
and I have more than a few centuries on you. And most importantly, she only 
wanted me dead -- she didn't want to torture me. She didn't violate my mind 
as she did yours. Believe me, it's a miracle that not only did you survive, 
but that you didn't lose your mind." Triona nodded uncertainly. "Not to 
mention, it isn't as if you've actually had a chance to deal with what 
happened then. It's only now you're feeling the full force of those memories."

"Perhaps, maybe." Triona knew that what Nick was saying made sense, but it 
didn't help how she was feeling. She shook her head sharply. "I'm going to 
go for a walk. I just need some time alone."

He started to protest, not sure that being alone was best, but she 
interrupted, "Please, Nicholas, I'll be fine. I just need to settle my mind 
down a little." She gave him a small smile and squeezed his arm. "I'll be 
fine. I'm tougher than I look, you know."

He accepted her statement with a nod. "You know where I am if you need to 
talk."

"Thank you," she said simply before walking into the cold February night.

@************@


A short while later, Methos came upon Nick sweeping up the glass shards 
from the walk. "What happened?"

"Two cats and two wine glasses," Nick said, looking up with a grin.

"I thought I heard a yowl or two a while ago." Methos looked around. 
"Triona inside? Hopefully with that tea she promised," he said rubbing his 
hands together.

Nick straightened, looking at the older man, a serious expression on his 
face. "Look, Methos, I don't want to break any confidences, but..." the 
vampire broke off, seeming unsure as to what to say next.

Methos looked at him sharply. "What's happened?"

Seeming to come to a decision, Nick asked, "I assume LaCroix must have told 
you about Divia?"

The Immortal's expression became guarded. "I have some familiarity with the 
subject," he allowed.

"And did he tell you that Divia attacked Triona?"

"Yes, he told me. He also told me he'd removed those memories."

Nick nodded. "He did. But it turns out, it didn't stick." Sighing, he 
continued, "When she was in Seacouver with you, the memories started to 
return, but they were still somewhat muted by LaCroix's intervention. After 
her encounter with Hakeem, she started having nightmares about him and Divia."

Methos looked up sharply at that, narrowing his eyes. He'd witnessed those 
nightmares, but had no idea that Divia had played a part in them. "How 
exactly do you know all this, Nick?" he demanded.

"Because tonight, when the glasses shattered, the scent of the blood on the 
icy ground triggered a very powerful memory. I think tonight was truly the 
first time she'd experienced the full force of what happened to her that 
night - a night very much like this one. The first time all of LaCroix's 
modifications to her memory had been totally stripped away."

"Damn it!" he snarled. "There's a reason I've never liked the way vampires 
meddle with people's memories. Trauma needs to be dealt with at the time it 
happens, or something like this happens! Triona never dealt with what 
happened to her, and those memories weren't gone, just walled off somewhere 
in her brain. Now, more than a decade later, it's like it just happened." 
Methos looked disgusted.

"LaCroix thought it was for the best," Nick said, trying to appease the 
angry Immortal.  "And so did I. You weren't there, Methos. If you'd known 
her then, I think you would have agreed that LaCroix's choice was the best 
one to be made at the time.  It wasn't a decision he made lightly, you have 
to know that.  As it was, it still took months for her to recover both her 
mental and physical strength. I honestly don't believe she would have made 
even a partial recovery if we hadn't decided to 'meddle'."

The Immortal scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. "You're 
right, I didn't know her then, but I do now, and now is what I need to deal 
with."

"I think she's going to be fine," he offered. "A lot has happened to her 
since that night, and she'll deal with this now, with your help." Nick 
sighed. "I know you and I have always had a strained relationship, and god 
knows, Triona and I have had our issues over the years. But I do know that 
you love each other and that whatever happens, that will be what helps 
Triona to heal. And I'll do whatever I can, whatever you need, to help her 
finally put this behind her."

The hard look on Methos' face softened a little. "I appreciate that, Nick." 
He looked around. "Which way did you say she went?"

Nick pointed towards the back edge of the property and the small copse of 
holly tress that shielded the house from the wind that blew off the moor. 
"Do you know where she went?"

"No, but I know where she'll end up." Methos headed in the opposite 
direction, towards the stables he'd left a few minutes before. "Thanks 
again, Nick," he called over his shoulder as he lengthened his stride.

She might not be at the stables now, but Methos knew she'd show up there 
eventually. Wherever they had lived, Triona had always had a place she went 
when stressed or upset. Here, at the farm, it was the stable, with the 
horses. As he drew even with the door, he felt her warm presence envelop 
him, the only distinctive Immortal buzz he'd ever experienced in his five 
thousand odd years. Entering the stable, he headed towards the stall that 
held Spindrift, knowing that's where he'd find his wife. Sure enough, she 
was right where he expected, her arms around the Paso Fino's neck, talking 
to it softly. He didn't interrupt, letting her acknowledge his presence in 
her own time. Watching her, he marveled yet again at the unexpected turn 
that his life had taken when he'd decided to go pester his 'nephew' that 
autumn day.

Drawing slightly away from the horse, she asked softly, "How long before 
she has her foal?" She scratched Spindrift behind the ears, eliciting a 
happy whicker from the horse.

Methos moved closer. "I'd say about three weeks."

"I bet you're looking forward to that day, aren't you, sweet thing?", she 
said softly to the animal. Still not looking at him, she crossed her arms 
tightly against her chest. "I take it Nicholas ratted me out." Her voice 
was neutral, and Methos knew she was fighting to keep her emotional 
equilibrium.

"You could say that," he agreed, reaching out and placing his hand gently 
on her shoulder. "He was worried about you. As am I."

Shrugging a little, she looked back at him. "I'm fine. Or I will be."

Shaking his head, he asked, "Why didn't you ever tell me about Divia?"

Triona stiffened, pulling away from him. "Talking about it would mean 
thinking about it, and I didn't want to do that."

"I can understand that," he said very gently, as if trying not to frighten 
her off.

She turned abruptly, looking at him sharply. "Can you?"

"Oh yes." Sighing, he reached out and brushed her cheek with a finger. 
"Maybe if I tell you something I haven't wanted to think about, let alone 
talk about for a very long time, you can finally tell me about what 
happened that night."

Looking at him quizzically, she took a step towards him. "I admit, I'm 
curious, but I've always thought talking about things is overrated." This 
time she actually smiled a little.

Methos laughed. "I had noticed." He tweaked her nose, then once more became 
serious, taking her hand in his. "Let's go sit over there." He nodded 
towards the pile of hay at the far end of the stables. As they walked, 
Methos snagged a horse blanket from a shelf on the wall, spreading it out 
for the two of them to sit on.

They sat across from each other on the blanket, Triona looking at him 
expectantly. When he remained silent, she said, "Like I said, talking is 
overrated." She squeezed his hand. "Why don't we just pass on the story 
telling portion of the evening and call it a night," she said hopefully.

Methos just shook his head. He knew she needed to deal with her memories of 
Divia -- and so did he. "Nice try though," he whispered, leaning in to 
brush his lips against hers. Straightening, he took a deep breath and 
began. "As you know, when I first met Lucius, he was a boy, and I was 
married to his aunt. As the years passed, I kept an ear out for him. He'd 
made quite a name for himself in the Emperor's Army, so it wasn't hard to 
keep up with where he was and what he was doing. After Vesuvius erupted, I 
assumed he'd been killed ­ I was wrong. About twenty years later, I was in 
Thebes, and who should I run into one dark night, but my presumed late nephew."

"I don't think I like where this is going," she said so softly, he could 
barely hear her.

"Needless to say, I didn't immediately recognize him, but he knew me. It 
didn't take me too long to figure out that he was now a vampire.  We caught 
up on old times, so to speak. While I was more than willing to spend some 
time with him, renewing our acquaintance, he seemed almost nervous and 
eager to be away. That should have been my first clue. But I hadn't seen 
him since he was a boy, so ignored it. He was just making his excuses as to 
why he needed to be off, when Divia appeared. I realized at that moment 
that he was afraid of her. Of course, by then, it was too late."

"I can figure out the rest," she interrupted, her voice strained. Her 
knuckles were white as she clutched the leather of her coat in tight fists. 
"I don't need to hear anymore."

Methos looked at her sympathetically. He knew this was the last thing she 
wanted to talk about, but he was determined to see this through. Covering 
her hand with his, he continued, "I don't know how many nights passed, I 
was never able to come to full consciousness to tell. She told me she found 
my darkness, my evil, exhilarating."

"Methos, please stop," she begged. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't 
let her.

He went on, not allowing her pain at his revelations to deter him from the 
brutal truth. "Divia was like Kronos dozens of times over, and she 
amplified the suffering of my victims a hundred fold in my mind." He 
laughed with no humour. "Poetic justice, one might say, to inflict the 
terror I brought to others back onto me."

He and Triona rarely spoke of his past. She had accepted his revelations 
and neither of them brought the subject up unless absolutely necessary. 
Looking back, he realized that that hadn't necessarily been a good thing. 
But at the time, he had been reeling from the past he'd tried so hard to 
hide from blindsiding him. The fact that that Triona had even wanted to set 
eyes on him again after she found out, let alone actually wanted him to 
stay in her life, had been something he'd grasped onto like a drowning man. 
In the back of his mind, he'd always had the fear that Triona would wake up 
one day, and realize she'd made a terrible mistake. The fact she didn't 
seem to want to talk about it allayed those fears somewhat, so he'd 
thankfully followed her lead.

"After some unknown length of time, I woke up, and only Lucius was there. 
He told me that Divia was dead, by his own hand. We never spoke of what 
happened again, or of Divia ­ until he told me what she'd done to you." His 
shoulders slumped, exhausted by the emotional upheaval ­ his and hers.

Tears ran down Triona's face. "You didn't deserve what she did to you," she 
said fiercely. "You didn't!"

"You know that isn't true." He closed his eyes, shaking his head at her 
denial. "No! You've seen that side of me, the dark part of me that I can 
never fully subdue." They both remembered all too vividly that morning 
under a Paris bridge when he'd finally shattered all trust between them.

"Yes, I know what you're capable of, probably more so than almost anyone! 
But that doesn't mean I get some sort of pleasure from knowing what she did 
to you or think you deserved it!" She gripped his shoulders. "No!" she 
forestalled his protest. "You always tell me I don't listen to you, but 
that's not true. What have you always told me? We are all good and evil, 
rage and compassion, love and hate," she took a deep breath and looked at 
him intently, "murder and forgiveness. Did you think I could still love you 
and not have forgiven you in my heart? In my soul?"

"Honestly?" He looked tired and his eyes were pained. "Sometimes I don't 
know why you love me." Methos placed a finger against her lips, stopping 
her angry response. "I just know that you do." He rested his forehead 
against hers. "And it's enough," he whispered. "It's enough."




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

Part Five

The sound of sleet once again could be heard on the stable roof, and Triona 
shivered. Not from the cold so much as the onslaught of emotion that 
Methos' revelations had brought. Added to the newly reopened psychic wounds 
that her memories of what Divia had done to her had left, she found she 
couldn't stop shaking.

"You're cold." Methos pulled off his own coat, putting it around her 
shoulders and drawing her closer. She didn't correct him, just leaned 
tiredly into the soothing warmth of his body.

"And now I know where your aversion to vampires comes from," she said quietly.

He didn't deny it. It had been a frequent bone of contention between him 
and Lucien over Triona's eventual fate. Methos had tried in the beginning 
to free her from what he saw as an existence of darkness. When that had 
failed, he'd had to choose whether or not he walked away or accepted her as 
she was. "As far as I knew, you had no memories of Divia, and therefore, I 
couldn't explain it to you, not really."

It all made so much sense now, in retrospect.  Methos had come to an 
acceptance of her choice to be brought across, and what had happened 
afterwards. But it was that night two years later, when she had manifested 
as a true vampire after taking her first Quickening, that had irrevocably 
changed their relationship, and had led to the implosion that had almost 
destroyed that relationship permanently. "And after everything, I made you 
the victim of my first feeding. No wonder you ended up hating me!"

"No," he said firmly, taking her face between his hands and forcing her to 
look at him. "I was not a victim, and I never hated you."

"How can you say that?" she demanded.

"I had a choice, Triona. I did," he insisted, seeing the look of disbelief 
in here eyes. "I loved you. How could I let you suffer when I had the means 
to help you? I know you don't remember, but I had no fear in my heart when 
you fed from me -- only love. And it left us with a bond, a link, which 
bound us even closer together. Now, all these years later, it's a bond I 
cherish, though I know that, at the time, it was one that neither of us 
expected, or was really ready to deal with."

That was true enough. After they had been left with a psychic link, a blood 
bond, very much like what she and LaCroix had had when she was mortal, 
before LaCroix's ill-fated attempt to bring her across resulted in she and 
her Master sharing a full fledgling's bond. It was how she and Methos 
recognized each other's Immortal 'buzz'. But that bond had been too much to 
deal with in the beginning -- especially for Methos. The day he'd walked 
out on her, their link had caused more pain than either of them had thought 
possible.

"I love you, Methos," she said, not only with her voice, but also mentally, 
wanting him to 'feel' that love. Then Triona began to cry, and once she 
started, she couldn't stop. So much grief, so much loss, the pain they'd 
inflicted on each other -- most of it unintentional, but far too much 
intentional. Yet the grief was mingled with amazement, that after 
everything they'd done and said to each other, that they were here, 
together. And that he loved her. That was the true miracle, and one she 
thanked God for every day.

He didn't tell her not to cry, just drew her into his embrace and held her 
till she stopped. She tilted her head to look up at him. "Will you take me 
back to the house? To our bed?" she asked, her voice faltering. "I can't 
deal with anything more. I promise, I'll tell you whatever you want to know 
in the morning. But not tonight, not in the dark."

Methos kissed her gently. "Of course, love. The morning is soon enough."

@________@


Morning came too soon as far as Triona was concerned as she forced herself 
to eat the oatmeal that Methos had made for her. She had no appetite, but 
she didn't want to hurt his feelings. He'd been so pleased with himself, 
especially when she'd told him it was as good as Duncan's. And it was, 
surprisingly enough. "I suppose I can expect a lot of oatmeal for dinner 
from now on, huh?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

"Well, it is something edible to add to my somewhat limited repertoire," 
Methos admitted. "But you don't need to eat anymore. I think you've proven 
your point."

She looked up at him guiltily. "It really is wonderful," she protested. 
"I'm just not very hungry."

Smiling, he took the tray from her. "I know, but at least you ate 
something." He handed Triona her teacup. "Just don't get used to breakfast 
in bed. I wouldn't want to spoil you," Methos said, gently teasing.

"Hah!" She waggled a finger at him. "You should have thought of that the 
first morning we spent together, if that's what you're worried about! The 
precedent has been set, and by you," she reminded him.

Methos took her finger, turning her hand so he could kiss the palm. "How 
could I forget?" They both smiled, sharing the memory of their first 
morning together. 'Adam' had insisted on breakfast in bed, and during that 
breakfast, he'd sliced his hand open with a knife while cutting an orange. 
"Bewitching little minx that you were, you soon had all my secrets."

"And you had my heart," Triona replied softly. She squared her shoulders 
and took a deep breath. She knew it would just be harder the longer she put 
it off, but talking about what had happened that night filled her with 
dread.  She looked into Methos' eyes and drew courage from what she saw 
there: love, faith, and acceptance. "I guess it's time, isn't it?"

He nodded silently, smiling encouragingly.

She returned his smile, then taking one more deep breath she began. "My 
life had just started to seem more normal. I'd been at the estate for 
several months, and I didn't feel as lost and desperate as I had before; 
after Janette left." Triona closed her eyes and Methos took her hand, 
squeezing it reassuringly.  She leaned against him, remembering. "After she 
left, I'd finally realized what the cost of the choices I'd made were going 
to be. There was no escape - except in death, and I didn't want to die."

"Where there's life, there's hope?" he asked quietly.

Laughing softly, she looked up at him. "A sentiment we both share." Once 
more serious, she continued, "After Janette left, Lucien was so angry. Not 
at her, but at how she felt she had no choice - because of Nicholas."

"And you were a convenient target of that anger," he said neutrally, but 
Triona knew he was trying hard to remain calm.  They did a delicate 
balancing act, the three of them. It was a sometimes-strained triangle. 
Both Methos and LaCroix were very old and powerful personalities, with 
Triona often the eye of the storm between them.

"It's okay," she said softly, rubbing his arm soothingly. "I forgave him 
long ago. He was different then, and so was I. We both changed to be where 
and what we are now. And a great deal of that was due to you. You saved 
both of us." It was true; Triona knew that now. When Methos had entered her 
life, her relationship with the ancient vampire had changed her both 
mentally and physically, to the point where she'd been incapable of saving 
herself. Only Methos' intervention had done that. "You're right, I was a 
convenient target. It was months before Nicholas even noticed Janette was 
gone, and that night he finally showed up at the Raven, he and LaCroix 
fought. Nothing new, of course, but that night something was different. 
Everything was somehow more intense, more emotionally wrought. And that 
night, LaCroix almost killed me. I was very surprised when I woke up at the 
estate, that I woke up at all." She said it matter-of-factly - it was 
nothing more than the truth.  "After, he told me that the Raven was an 
unhealthy place for me, for us, that there were too many undercurrents and 
memories."

Methos drew her closer. "There are times when I wonder at fate. I visited 
Lucien only been a few months before the two of you met. You were with 
Janette already, but you weren't at the Raven when we went to see her," he 
said, the melancholy tone matching her mood.

"It was Christmas and I'd gone to visit Stephanie at college."

"If only I'd met you then. Sometimes I wonder..." he broke off, shaking his 
head in irritation. "I should know better. The past is done and finished 
and no amount of wishing can change that."

"If wishes were horses, huh?"

He smiled down at her. "Something like that."

"So, I was now at the estate, and life wasn't exactly normal, but I was 
content after a fashion. I was even working. I'd always taken care of 
Janette's financial interests, and had kept managing the club, but after 
that night, LaCroix put all of his own varied business interests into my 
care. It was his way of apologizing," she said with fond exasperation. "You 
know what he's like."

Methos just smiled.

"And it was an acknowledgement that he trusted me." Triona had been a very 
successful investment banker before she'd accepted Janette's offer to 
manage the Raven and to take care of her business interests.  Over the 
years, she'd taken on several Immortal clients, mostly friends of Methos 
and Duncan's. Teaching wasn't something she needed to do for the money, but 
something she did because she enjoyed it. There would be no drifting 
through the ages for Triona. She intended to experience everything she 
could, to take advantage of the life fate had given her. That outlook was 
something else she and her husband, the oldest Immortal, shared.

Triona looked down at the teacup she still held in one hand, realizing it 
was empty. Levering herself up off the bed, she went over to the teapot 
that Methos had left on the dresser, removing the cozy from the pot. As she 
poured a small amount of milk into her cup, she said, "The months passed. I 
worked, I walked the grounds, went riding, worked my way through the books 
in the library."

"Lady of the Manor," Methos said, smiling, coming to stand next to her. 
Picking up the pot, he poured the tea, filling her cup.

Nodding, she said, "And then, one night, I got a phone call." She turned 
away, tea forgotten. "It was from one of the staff at the Raven, and they 
told me that Lucien had been taken away by the police in relation to a 
murdered man discovered at the club...."


@_________@


Triona slammed the car door shut, pulling her heavy dark green wool coat 
closer around her body. It was freezing, and her breath hung around her 
like mist. Feeling a presence, she looked around, realizing it was Nick as 
he strode towards her in the Toronto PD parking lot.

"Why are you here, Triona?" Nick demanded.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she replied angrily, "Why am I here? Why do 
you think? You are holding our Master in police custody on some ridiculous 
pretext, and without benefit of legal representation, I'm sure!"

"There was a decapitated body found in the Raven. Hardly what I'd call a 
ridiculous pretext!" he said heatedly.

"I know all this, Detective. It doesn't change anything!"

"And how exactly do you know?" the blonde vampire demanded.

"Urs called me."

"She shouldn't have."

"No, you're right - you should have!" she spat out, attempting to walk past 
him.

He grabbed her upper arm, stopping her. "You don't belong here, Triona. Go 
home, leave it alone. It doesn't concern you!"

She pulled away violently "The hell I'm going home! I want to see him," she 
demanded, more furious at Nick than she'd ever been,

"Out of the question," Nick snapped.

"You think so? Since you're incapable of influencing me mentally," she 
said, her voice dripping with condescension, "how exactly were you planning 
on stopping me?" Before Nick could form a reply, she continued in a low 
voice laced with fury, "It's time you faced facts, Nicholas. I'm his, and 
nothing you do or try to do is ever going to change that. I won't allow it, 
and neither will LaCroix." With that she pushed past him, and this time, he 
didn't try to stop her.




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

Part Six

"Should I call your lawyer?" Triona asked LaCroix quietly. He was in a 
holding cell, the other occupants huddled in the opposite corner in obvious 
fear.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he replied. He quelled her protest 
with a sharp look. "I appreciate your concern, my dear, but it is 
misplaced. I have been held by the Inquisition, and this," he waved one 
hand negligently at the bars of the cell, "is nothing to concern you."

"But it does concern me! This is all Nicholas's doing - you shouldn't be 
here," she hissed.

"Ah, Nicholas. He, I presume, is the reason for your agitation?"

"Yes. I spoke to him in the parking lot. He tried to stop me from seeing 
you, said I didn't belong here," she explained, becoming angry all over again.

"And he was correct," LaCroix said firmly.

Triona stepped back, stunned. He was taking Nick's side? After everything 
he'd done? Fighting back tears, she shook her head in denial. "How can you 
say that?"

"I do not want you involved in this. You will go back to the estate and 
there you will stay till I inform you otherwise." His tone brooked no 
argument, nor did he expect one.

Common sense fled as anger took over. "No! I won't leave until you're 
released!"

"Triona," he said, his voice dangerously low, "you know better than to defy 
me."

She felt a stab of fear as she walked toward the bars of the cell against 
her will, compelled by the ancient vampire who held her in his thrall. 
"Don't." Her protest was a mixture of pleading and defiance.

He rested the tips of his fingers against the pounding pulse at her throat. 
"You try my patience, child.  You will do as you are told, and we will 
discuss the consequences of disobedience when next we meet." It was a 
warning and a promise.

Shaking her head mutely, Triona clenched her hands into fists, fighting 
back the angry words that threatened to spill from her lips. With one last 
look at her Master, she spun on her heel and fled the holding area.


@______@


Leaning against her car, Triona futilely tried to find a tissue in her coat 
pocket while at the same time, trying not to cry. Something brushed against 
her cheek, startling her. She realized it was a handkerchief.

"It can't be that bad, Princess," a voice said as she turned around, 
looking up into the dark eyes of Javier Vachon. She took the proffered 
hankie from the handsome Spanish vampire and dabbed at her eyes.

She smiled a little at the use of 'princess'. He'd been calling her that 
since they'd become friends after LaCroix had initially moved her into 
rooms at the Raven after Janette's departure. "You sure about that?" she 
asked dispiritedly.

Vachon sighed. "You ticked off the General again, didn't you?" Shaking his 
head, not needing her nod to confirm his question, he said, "Princess, most 
*vampires* are afraid of LaCroix, and you aren't a vampire. You're a very 
fragile mortal woman -- a woman who should know better by now! You've got 
to do some major work on the meek and obedient thing." He smiled, brushing 
away a tear from her face.

Triona snorted. Meek, let alone obedient, was not her strong suit. "I know 
you're right, Vachon, I do! But I've never been good at submitting. And 
tonight, I was already furious." Briefly, she explained what had happened 
between her and Nick. "And when LaCroix agreed with him, I felt betrayed 
and hurt, and I was angry." Triona looked up at the night sky and shook her 
head in aggravation. "So angry I openly defied him."

"You do like to live dangerously, querida." Vachon grasped her chin gently, 
looking down at her intently, his dark eyes and pale face framed by 
shoulder length black curls. "When you see him again, you're going to beg 
his forgiveness... Uh uh!" He waved a finger at her admonishingly when she 
began to protest. "You're going to beg his forgiveness," he repeated 
firmly, "and you're going to keep those firecracker eyes of yours downcast, 
the perfect portrait of meek and modest womanhood."

"You've got to be kidding!" Triona looked aghast at his instructions. 
"Besides, he'd never buy it. He'd know instantly I didn't actually feel 
what I was portraying outwardly."

Vachon just crossed his arms, grinning. "Maybe, maybe not. But even so, I 
can guarantee you it will amuse him, not to mention distract him. Never 
underestimate the power of your womanly wiles, Princess."

That pulled an actual laugh from her. "Womanly wiles," she repeated, amused 
at the concept.

"Hey, don't laugh. I'm sharing the benefit of my male experience with you!"

Triona gave him a quick hug and kissed his cheek. "I appreciate that, Vachon."

"At least promise me you'll try?" She nodded. "Good, because I want to see 
your very pretty face around for many years to come. Got it?"

"Got it."

Vachon looked around. "And now I have an appointment with a certain pretty 
blonde homicide detective, whom I'm certain is going to try and pump me for 
information on tonight's happenings at the Raven."

"Have fun!" Triona said mischievously as he walked away.

"Remember: meek!" he tossed over his shoulder. "I'll see you around, 
Princess." One last smile and he was gone.

@_________@

Methos pulled her into his arms as she started to cry, drawing her down to 
sit on the antique chest at the foot of the bed. "Shhh... it's okay."

"I've never been able to grieve for him till now. Never really realized 
she'd killed him till this moment." Triona buried her face in her hands, 
wishing she could stem the wash of memories that were now tumbling wildly 
around her mind. "It's like opening a drawer with all sorts of bits and 
pieces you barely remember putting there, and picking them up one by one, 
all the memories out of order."

"I'm sorry, love." He stroked her hair gently.

"He was a good friend, a good man, and he made me laugh at a time when I 
didn't laugh all that much."

"I wish I could thank him for that."

"So do I," she whispered. "So do I."

He held her quietly, giving her time to regain her composure.

"Why 'princess'?" he finally asked, curious.

Triona looked up and smiled tremulously. "He said I was like a princess 
locked away from the world, the prized possession of the powerful king." 
Methos nodded in understanding. "After that, it became something of a 
private joke between the two of us."

The sound of the grandfather clock in the stairway could be heard striking 
ten, and once more, the sound of rain beating against the roof echoed 
through the room. Triona drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around her 
knees. "So I drove away, and never saw Vachon again. I did as I was told, 
did as I was commanded," she amended, continuing her tale, "and went back 
to the estate...."

@______@


Triona turned off the radio in her room, her brow creased in puzzlement. 
The girl who had called LaCroix's show had called him Lucius, his mortal 
name, and Triona had sensed the tightly wound tension in his response. What 
was going on? She fought down the urge to call him, so see if he was all 
right. He wasn't interested in her concern, so why bother? He'd probably 
just reprimand her again. The ring of the phone interrupted her troubled 
thoughts. Answering it, she wasn't sure if she was surprised or not that 
LaCroix was on the other end of the line.

"Listen to me carefully, child," he said peremptorily with no pleasantries, 
"You are to leave the estate immediately."

Leave? After him ordering her to come back here and stay put? "You told me 
to come back here, and to stay here, and I did as you asked. Now you want 
me to leave?" She fought hard to keep her voice calm, trying to remember 
Vachon's advice, but not succeeding. She was tired of being treated like a 
child.

"This is not the time for you to be childish," his voice rapped out from 
the receiver. "You will go to the airport, and get on whatever the first 
flight leaving Toronto is, and then you will go to Janette. You will stay 
with her till I contact you."

She didn't reply, taking an angry breath and wishing she could smash the 
phone against the wall.

"Triona, you will do this," he commanded in a voice that left no doubt that 
she best not be even considering the possibility of disobeying him.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, she said tonelessly, "I'll do as you wish." 
He didn't even bother to reply, a dial tone now sounding in her ear. 
Slamming the receiver back into the cradle, she gave into her earlier 
impulse, picking up the phone and throwing it violently against the wall.

@_________@


Seething, Triona threw her suitcase into the trunk of her car, slamming the 
lid down and kicking the bumper for good measure.  No more, she thought 
angrily. She would stay with Janette, refuse to come back when he summoned 
her like a pet. He and Nicholas were welcome to each other! As she reached 
for the handle of the car door, a wave of dread swept across her, and she 
felt like she couldn't breath. An icy chill that was much more than the 
wind that blew off the lake made her tremble uncontrollably.

"So much anger, so much rage," a voice said from somewhere behind her. 
Triona recognized the voice. It was the girl from the radio. She slowly 
turned around, feeling as if her legs wouldn't hold her. There, a few feet 
away, was a child, but not a child, a part of her mind noted. Blonde hair, 
blue eyes, delicate features, dressed in black. She didn't look more than 
twelve, but Triona *knew* she was far, far older. Fighting down the terror 
that threatened to overwhelm her, Triona pressed against the car, still 
gripping the handle behind her. Something seemed to amuse the girl, because 
she laughed. It was the most soulless sound Triona had ever heard.

"Who are you?" Triona managed to force the question from her lips.

"Why, I am your death. Surely you realize that?" The blonde child paused, 
looking at her contemplatively. "But, I suppose it's only right that we're 
properly introduced before I kill you," she added conversationally, as if 
she were discussing the weather. "My name is Divia."

Absurdly, she found herself reciprocating. "Triona."

Divia smiled, seemingly delighted. "What a brave little mortal you are. But 
I suppose I should expect that of one my father would make his concubine."

"Father?" Triona asked, but somehow she already knew the answer. The child, 
Divia, was LaCroix's daughter, no matter how bizarre that might seem.

"Father, son, as I am daughter and mother." She stepped closer to Triona. 
"I made him, gave him immortality, and then he murdered me!" All amusement 
was gone. Now, the vampire's delicate face was a study in fury. Triona 
cried out in pain as the girl's anger raked across her senses. "And now I 
will have my vengeance. I will kill all those he loves, leaving him as 
alone as he left me!"

Triona laughed with barely controlled hysteria. "Loves? Then what do you 
want with me? Your father loves me no more than a prized horse, or a piece 
of art. I'm only a woman, not his son, not Nicholas!" Rage had overcome 
terror for the moment, and she let if have full reign.  Without even 
knowing how it happened, she found herself on her knees. Divia looking down 
at her.

"You underestimate your value to him, my almost granddaughter. It's really 
too bad, because you would have made a suitable fledgling, worthy of the 
gift I granted you." She sighed with what might have been regret. "But you 
have a strong bond with Lucius. And through that bond, he will bear your 
suffering, knowing he is the cause." Divia caressed Triona's cheek and she 
was powerless to pull away. "I'm sorry this can't be a quick death, but I 
need you to linger long enough to fulfill my revenge."

She couldn't even close her eyes as Divia pulled her head to the side, 
exposing her throat. The child vampire assaulted her mentally before she 
did physically, and Triona tried to flee into her mind, but there was no 
escape. "You won't be brave for much longer, little mortal," were the last 
words Triona heard before the agony of Divia's fangs piercing her throat 
drove away all rational thought, leaving nothing but terror and torment for 
what seemed like an eternity.





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

Part Seven


"When I finally woke up, the last thing I remembered was walking out of the 
police station. Lucien told me I'd been in an accident, that my car had 
skidded on the ice and overturned into a ditch. He said I'd been in a coma 
and while I was unconscious, had contracted pneumonia from being exposed to 
the elements for so many hours till I had been found. It fit all my 
symptoms, the memory loss, and the weakness. And it all fit with my last 
memories, being so angry with Nicholas and LaCroix. I assumed that my 
emotional upset had led to me not paying attention when I drove home, 
leading to the accident. Lucien even insisted my next vehicle be a four 
wheel drive, so I'd be safer driving in the winter." Triona shook her head. 
"He thought of everything."

"He's always been thorough," Methos agreed with grudging admiration.

"That he is," she said absently. Standing up, Triona walked a little way so 
she could see out the window, but not be in direct path of the light that 
came through it. She stared into space, her thoughts far away.

"What is it?" her husband asked quietly, coming to stand next to her, 
taking her right hand in both of his.

Shaking her head, she didn't immediately reply. Triona didn't really know 
how to put into words what she was feeling. "I think it's my mind trying to 
sort out the memories and the almost memories," she finally said.

"Almost memories?"

She looked up at him, an expression of frustration crossing her face. "I 
don't know how else to describe it. Yes, now I remember everything up to 
the attack, but what happened after, I can't really pin down. I have 
memories, but they're more like dreams. And to tell the truth, I'm not sure 
what are my own actual recollections, and what are Lucien's."

Lifting her hand, he cradled her arm against his chest, massaging the palm 
gently. "Maybe you shouldn't try and figure it out." Entwining his fingers 
in hers, Methos tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with his other 
hand. "You can't force it, sweet. You've had to process a huge amount of 
memory and emotion in the last twelve hours. Give yourself some time to 
deal with that before you try and remember more."

Triona kissed the hand that held hers. "Maybe you're right. It's just that 
I want it all clear in my mind, now I've remembered. I wish it was night," 
she said wistfully, "I'd really like to go for a walk."

"A walk, you say?" He tweaked her nose making her smile. "How about an 
indoor walk?"

"A what?"

"Well, this house is certainly big enough. We could take a turn around the 
halls, stroll through the rooms," he leaned down to whisper lasciviously in 
her ear, "explore the closets."

"Have I mentioned that you're nuts?" Triona punched his arm playfully.

"I prefer 'inspired'," he declared loftily, eliciting a snicker from 
Triona. "Shall we?" he asked, crooking his arm for her to take.

"Let's".

@________@

"This is the best picnic I've ever been on," Triona said, picking up her 
glass and taking a sip of her wine.

They had taken their walk, Methos taking an inordinate interest in the 
closets, finishing in the wine cellar. On the way down, they'd stopped in 
the kitchen, gathering the makings of a picnic lunch. Now, they were 
sitting on the bench at the rough plank table in the cellar, enjoying their 
picnic by candlelight.

"Like I told you, 'inspired'!" Methos replied smugly.

"And witty, and handsome, and very sexy." Leaning in, she kissed the corner 
of his mouth.

"Don't stop now," he teased softly, twining his fingers into her hair

"And I am blessed to have you in my life."

"That might be open for debate," he replied acerbically.

"No, it's not." She cut off anything else he might say, capturing his lips 
with hers. Breaking the kiss, she asked, "Any argument?"

"None." He shook his head, grinning. "You can be very convincing."

She trailed her fingers along his arm. "If you ever need more convincing, 
just let me know." Giggling, she batted her eyelashes at him outrageously.

"I'll be sure to make an appointment," he replied dryly. Refilling her 
wineglass, he asked, "So, how's the overactive brain doing now?"

"Much better. By not trying to remember, I remember." Taking another sip of 
her wine, she smiled over her glass at him before setting it down. "Or 
something like that." It had been odd, while taking her 'walk' with Methos 
and listening to one of his many amusing stories from his past, how 
snatches of memories floated into order, becoming more concrete.

"Anything you want to talk about?" He covered her hand with his, and Triona 
could feel his concern.

Shrugging, she looked into the candle flame. "Things like the candle. It 
reminded me of waking up in a dark room, only lit by a few candles, a 
bright light shining in my eyes, and the intense pain it caused, whispers, 
concerned voices, then drifting back into blackness."

"Lucien told me that Nick's coroner friend treated you, gave you blood 
transfusions, IV fluids. You're probably remembering her testing your pupil 
response."

"Natalie," she nodded, "Dr. Lambert. I remember her being there -- one of 
the concerned voices. I would wake up, and Lucien would be sitting next to 
me, holding my hand. I was terrified of being left alone, and he never 
did," she said quietly. "Sometimes, when I'd wake up, he'd be speaking to 
me in the softest voice." And there, out of seemingly nowhere, came the 
realization. "And he actually sounded afraid. Afraid of losing me." A note 
of wonder tinged her voice as the memory fully crystallized.

"Divia was right, you did underestimate your importance to him," Methos 
observed, squeezing her hand.

She shook her head sadly. "Such a loss."

His brow creased in puzzlement. "What?"

"The memories, and what they represented. How different things might have 
been if I had more to remember than anger and thinking Lucien didn't care."

"There's a reason they say hindsight is always 20/20," he reminded her softly.

"Isn't that the truth?" Triona laughed sharply. "And yet, we manage to 
muddle through somehow."

"Usually."

"Barely."

"That's cynical of you," Methos commented lightly.

"Please! With the company I keep? Cynical doesn't even begin to cover it!" 
She smiled to take any sting from her words.

"Ouch!" He held up had hands as if to ward her off. "I guess you must be 
feeling more like your old self."

Triona looked at him suspiciously. "And what's that supposed to mean exactly?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied airily, lips twitching.

"Uh huh." She didn't believe him for a second. "But I'll let it go just 
this once," she told him sternly, but with laughing eyes.

"You're far too good to me," he said, his voice husky.

She swayed, drawing closer, till their faces were a bare inch from each 
other. Methos always seemed to radiate a warmth that she always found 
irresistible, and now was no exception. Holding his gaze, she placed her 
palms against his chest, skimming her lips across his, barely touching 
them. "You're right, I probably am," she said in the barest of whispers. 
"But I'm sure you can think of a way to thank me."

"Of that I have no doubt." Methos pulled her closer, his fingers splayed 
across her ribs. "Many ways, in fact." He placed light kisses, like the 
brush of silken strands, all over her face, before moving back to her lips.

"Many?" She shivered a little at the intense look in his eyes.

"And I intend to demonstrate all of them before the day ends." He kissed 
her then, long and lingering.

As he gathered her into his arms, she sighed in contentment. "Well, we are 
newlyweds, after all."

@__________@


Triona ran a hand through her hair, slowly waking up. Considering the 
bedroom was dark, she must have been asleep for some time. That was some 
picnic, she thought, smiling as she remembered just how the impromptu meal 
had ended. She already knew Methos was gone, but ran a hand over his pillow 
out of habit. Glancing over at the glowing display of the clock on the 
bedside table, she saw it was a little after 6pm. Rolling over, she 
considered going back to sleep, but sternly ordered herself to get up.

After showering and throwing on her old jeans, an emerald green T-shirt, 
and her favorite old moth-eaten sweater, Triona went to open the door. 
Instead of just a doorknob, her hand went around a piece of paper as well. 
Pulling the tape away, she read the note Methos had left:

'Needed to run some errands before the shops closed. Dinner is keeping warm 
on the back of the stove. See you when I get home.

P.S. You're beautiful when you're sleeping'

She smiled tenderly remembering all over again how much she loved him. 
Dinner? Come to think of it she was hungry. In fact, she felt happy and 
normal, almost as if the last two days hadn't happened. The past wasn't 
forgotten, but it wasn't overpowering her present either, and that was 
something to be happy about indeed.

Making her way briskly down the stairs and down the hall to the kitchen, 
she wondered just what she'd find to eat. Entering the kitchen, she went to 
the stove, and eagerly took the lid off the pot. She was torn between 
laughter and wanting to kill him, seeing what was inside: oatmeal!

"I swear, I'm going to kill him," she muttered. Shaking her head, she said 
out loud to herself. "I guess you're making dinner."

"Actually, I have a message for you," Nick's voice said from behind her. 
This time, she'd actually been aware of his presence entering the periphery 
of her senses, so didn't shriek as she had the morning before.

"Oh?" She turned, looking at him expectantly.

Nick was grinning. "Methos said that if there were any threats against his 
life, for me to tell you he's bringing pizza back."

"And beer, no doubt," Triona replied, rolling her eyes.

Nick laughed. "No doubt."

She joined in his laughter. "Despite his deficiencies, I think I'll keep him."

"I'm glad." He shook his head. "I may not quite understand it, but the 
three of you belong together."

Leaning against the counter, she said, "Since I don't quite understand it 
either, we're even."

Nick poured her a glass of wine from the decanter in the center of the 
kitchen table and handed it to her. "I admit, I don't think I could do what 
Methos and LaCroix do. Maybe I'm too much a product of the time I grew up in."

She shrugged, taking a sip of the wine. Thinking a moment, she said, "It 
definitely helps that both of them come from a time with very different 
sexual mores than now. Truth be told, I'm probably the one who had the most 
trouble with our relationship in the beginning. I still do, on occasion," 
she admitted.

"How did you -- how do you -- deal with it?" he asked, intensely curious.

"I try and remember what LaCroix always tells me - you know, the usual 
speech -- that we're not human anymore, not mortal, that human conventions 
don't apply. And more importantly, I remind myself of how much they both 
love me, and how I love them. My life, my heart, wouldn't be complete 
without both of them. When I see all the possible centuries that lay before 
me, I can't imagine those long years without them by my side." The last was 
said with a love that no one hearing could doubt.

"I envy you," Nick said simply.

Triona reached over and took Nick's hand. "We're always here, Nicholas. You 
just have to want to be with us."

"And if I chose that, to come back, you wouldn't object?"

"What makes you think my objections would matter?" she countered.

"Because I know that you've all moved on without me. I'm looking in the 
window at all I could have had, but threw away. I know that your presence 
in LaCroix's life has made a place where I could be content, if only I 
could allow you in, to accept my family, to be a part of what you are now."

The intensity of emotion in Nick's voice, and through the ephemeral link 
they shared, struck Triona deeply. With barely a conscious thought, she 
took the knife that was lying on the counter, and sliced open her wrist, 
thrusting it at Nick. "This is offered freely."

The internal struggle was obvious as it played across his face. Coming to a 
decision, Nick took the proffered offering, drawing her wrist to his mouth, 
partaking of her blood. Triona kept mental control, drawing him back into 
their familial bond. She 'knew' it wasn't something he'd ever experienced, 
she was both prey and family. She was their Master; she was Janette, 
Stephanie, and Methos, her sisters. Everything he'd fled from, but wanted 
back.

Tears ran down her face as Nick absorbed feeling and thought, along with 
her life's blood. There wasn't anything erotic about this feeding. It was 
only about love, acceptance, and family. She felt Methos as he entered the 
room, and mentally drew him into what was enfolding. She hadn't planned on 
this, but it seemed right. She was a conduit, a catalyst, and it was an 
aspect of what she'd become since that long ago night in Toronto when 
LaCroix had first drank of her blood.

Nick drew away, chastely kissing her now healing wrist, as Methos pulled 
her gently against his chest, his arms coming around to enfold her. She 
leaned against his strength as she continued to mentally wrap Nick in the 
warmth of family and belonging. Triona shuddered, pulling together the 
strands of what the night had wrought as her husband took the wrist Nick 
had released, and gently caressed it with his lips, almost making her swoon.

No matter what their past, and what their future might bring, now, at this 
moment, they were family, and nothing could break that bond. Ironic that 
the very family Divia had attempted to destroy had instead been 
strengthened at its very foundation. At the very edge of her awareness, 
Triona could almost believe that Lucien was here with them, a part of this 
joining. It was as it should be. And with that, Triona was content.


Finis.



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