Two Days Later
by Friend of Methos

It had been two days since his return to Paris and Duncan was not sure he felt much clearer in his mind than when he had arrived, hungry and exhausted. He sat in the antique chair by his desk, trying to focus as he made a mental list. Methos was angry with him for returning later than expected; and, he had left abruptly on some unknown errand. He had fallen for Meredith, that much was clear enough. Duncan glanced through a porthole at the quai, shaking his head slightly. Falling for her was not a difficult thing to do.

Stifling a sigh, he gazed through the shadows in the dimly-lit barge at Meredith’s still form on the bed. Her pale bare arm, bruises still in evidence even in the semi-darkness, was thrown over her eyes, as it had been for much of the last two days. She had refused most of his offers of food and had taken only water and juice. Her manner was almost short with him and he thought she might have been crying from time to time. Wondering why, Duncan thought somewhat defensively, At least she has the correct medication for her heart. He felt sure it had helped her considerably. Yet, she had said very little to him since he returned the other night and Methos had left.

He shook himself lightly, pushing away the brooding thoughts, and decided he wanted some orange juice. Orange juice always gave him a lift. As he rose and turned toward the kitchen, his cell phone rang. Retrieving it quickly from his slacks pocket as he continued toward the kitchen, Duncan answered softly in French, "Oui?" He was met with silence on the line. "Allo? Allo?" he tried again softly, not wishing to disturb Meredith.

"WE? Al-loe!? What the hell way izzat t’answer a phone? ‘Zat chew, MacLeod-Boy?" the caller boomed at him over the airwaves.

Instantly, Duncan recognized the voice on the other end and hurried to step outside the barge so as to speak more freely. He still spoke softly, however. "Galen Gerard! Yes, it’s MacLeod."

"Well, speak up there, MacLeod-Boy. Cain’t hardly hear ya."

Duncan spoke up. "What are you doing, Gerard? Are you in Paris?"

"Shoot, yeah, MacLeod. I’m righ’ cheer and I got to say, s’been too long since I was over here, ‘at’s for sure. I forgot just what a purty little town she is. Hey there, darlin’," this aside, obviously to a woman walking past him. Duncan could not help but grin. Same old Gerard. "Um-UM! These little French fillies sure are fine, MacLeod, MIGHTY fine."

"You better watch yourself, Gerard. Remember what happened last time you were in Paris. Your admiration for the fairer sex got you in a load of trouble. Almost more than even I could get you out of."

"Now, now, calm down there, Scot-Boy. You know dam’ well that wadn’ my fault. She never tole me she was married, much less that he was Chief of Poleece Detectives of the whole dang town! ‘Sides, I took care o’ him all right. Left him hangin’ in his own closet in his fancy, frilly long johns, don’ chew remember?"

Duncan actually laughed. The infectious humor in his friend’s voice cheered his heart.

The incident Duncan referred to had happened just seventy-five years before. "How could I not remember, Gerard? I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw you get out of his own bed wearing nothing but a kerchief around your neck, and when you stood up, I thought he would pass out from gaping up at you." Duncan grinned, listening to Gerard laugh. "What are you doing over here anyway?"

"Oh, one of those ole medical convention meetin’s. The docs get tired of doctorin’ every once in a while and they decide to have a little party and call it a ‘convention’ and what better place to do that than gay Pairee?" Gerard’s voice lowered and he sounded almost embarrassed. "And, well, I’m s’posed to give a little ole talk and there wad’n any way for me to get out of it, and besides, I got a hankerin’ to look you up, so I gassed up the bi-plane and we skipped over here last night."

Duncan grinned again. Despite his friend’s self-effacing explanation, Duncan was aware of Gerard’s medical genius in several specialized areas and knew he was highly respected in the medical community. He also knew that Gerard’s ‘bi-plane’ was a 727, only one of his airborne fleet. It was marvelously equipped and beautifully furnished. "Did you bring the Silver Lady?"

"Now, MacLeod-Boy, you know I don’t go mucha anywhere without that sweet thing. She takes mighty good care o’ me."

A cool breeze blew by Duncan, making goose flesh pop up on his neck. The barge rocked gently as a passing current moved against it. His next thought was as clear in his mind as if it had been spoken aloud. He asked casually, "Say, Gerard, you busy right now?"

A brief silence on the other end, then Gerard answered, "Well, not too busy, just enjoyin’ the sights, you know, but-t’uh, what’s on your mind?"

"Can you cut loose? There’s someone I want you to meet."

With hardly a pause, Gerard responded, "Shoot, yeah, I can cut loose. You still at the same place?"

"No, I’m docked at the Quai de la Tournelle, you know, behind Notre Dame."

"Docked? Say what, now?"

"I have a barge and--"

"What’s ‘at chew say? Scot-Boy livin’ on a boat? Well, don’t tat beat all!" Gerard chuckled. "So you got somebody you want me to meet? At 11:30 on a Friday night? Hey, MacLeod!" Gerard’s tone changed to conspiratorial. "Is she purty?"

"Well, now, G’len, what do YOU think?" Gerard’s booming laughter was the reply Duncan expected.

"Three things I always admired about you, MacLeod - - your taste in women, your taste in fine drink and uh, your taste in women." Gerard chuckled at his own wit.

Duncan waited for Gerard’s laughter to quiet, then added, "And, uh, G’len, when you come, could you bring that little black bag of yours with you?"

Gerard answered heartily, "Sure thing, MacLeod. You know me and that little black bag. We’re practically joined at the hip. See ya in a few." Gerard hung up the phone, an eyebrow lifted in speculation.

Duncan flipped his cell phone shut and nodded, feeling suddenly lighter. Gerard. In Paris. Gerard’s timing always had been good. This is better than good, Duncan thought. Much better.

* * * * * * * * * *

Duncan waited for his long-time friend, watching through a porthole. A glint caught his eye and Duncan spied the big, custom fitted, older model silver Mercedes Benz coasting quietly along the quai toward the barge. It appeared to float in the fog that swirled around, then settled behind the car, completely obscuring the cobbled dock beneath it. Gerard slowed, turned the car around, backed it easily, and parked in the shadow of the retaining wall, facing the direction from which he had come. Duncan nodded. Gerard was nothing if not careful. There was enough light from the street lamps to see the car from the barge, but not so much as to call attention to it.

He watched Gerard step out of the car and felt that touch of surprise and awe he usually felt when he saw the nearly giant immortal stand up. Duncan himself was six feet tall; yet, he felt dwarfed next to Gerard whose height and size were astonishing. Gerard claimed he was 6 feet 6 inches, but Duncan swore that his friend had to be taller by at least three inches. His shoulders and arms were muscular and massive, but always well-presented in the specially tailored, designer suits Gerard favored. Tonight he wore a light blue-gray pin-striped Armani. The double breasted jacket only complemented Gerard’s extraordinary build. His physique tapered to a narrow waist and hips which were attached to very, very long, straight legs.

Duncan noted the snake skin cowboy boots, not unlike the pair he often wore himself, that added another three inches to the older immortal’s height, and the seasonal, lightweight charcoal-colored overcoat neatly folded over his arm. Gerard’s ash blond hair fell in waves to his shoulders. He was meticulously turned out, as always. The man is more than handsome, Duncan thought, like the proverbial Greek god. Or rather, a Medean or Persian one, he corrected himself silently. He watched Gerard cover the distance from his auto to the barge in the sort of easy, rolling gait of a man accustomed to plenty of space around him. Despite his size, Gerard always moved with grace; and the regal air of dignity about him was unmistakable. In his hand, Duncan noted, was the physician’s black bag.

Duncan stepped outside, closing the door quietly, and walked along the edge of the barge to the forward deck and waited there to greet his visitor. Gerard negotiated the gangplank easily enough and stepped onto the deck. Duncan stuck out his hand, speaking in a low voice. "Gerard! Welcome!"

A smile lit Gerard’s face. He set his bag and coat carefully on the round wrought iron table, then threw his arms around Duncan in the familiar bear hug that was Gerard’s custom, much like a father might give his son. Duncan thought he would be crushed to death if Gerard did not let him go. "Uh," he tried to speak, but had no breath left. Chuckling, Gerard drew back and held Duncan by the shoulders, and shook him rather like he would a stripling youth, just where he stood, looking him up and down. "Good to see you, MacLeod." He clapped Duncan on the back, and had he not been braced for it, Duncan would have found himself flying across the deck of the barge and into the Seine.

Stifling a cough, and sucking in a breath, Duncan grinned at Gerard. "You, too. Good to see you, too, Gerard. It’s been too long."

"Too long," Gerard nodded and repeated.

Duncan rubbed his arms and asked wryly, "You sure you’re not Russian? These bear hugs you give..."

Gerard chuckled. "You’re keeping fit, I see. One of those necessaries we have to ‘tend to."

Duncan noticed the man had taken his cue and was speaking in a low voice. A sense of such deep relief swept over him, Duncan was surprised at himself. He was happier than he might have thought to see his friend. Everything was always better when Gerard was around. The relieved look on Duncan’s face did not escape Gerard’s keen eye. He missed nothing and revealed only what he wished to reveal. "We got some catchin’ up to do, I see." Gerard’s glance took in the barge stem to stern. "A barge, MacLeod-Boy? You really like livin’ on this river?"

Duncan replied with one of Gerard’s favorite cryptic phrases, "It’ll do." They both laughed.

Duncan began, "Before we go in..." Gerard’s translucent sky-blue eyes found their way to Duncan’s face, his gaze unwavering. Even though they had been friends for nearly 200 years, Duncan swallowed, finding himself almost in dread of having to recount the recent events. He had not needed Methos’ angry rant to feel utterly responsible for Meredith’s troubles. "About that guest I wanted you to meet..."

Gerard nodded amiably, encouragingly, "Um-hmm?"

"Sit, please. This will take a minute or two." Duncan suddenly felt tongue-tied, as if he were a teenager making confession for staying out too late and getting into trouble with the wrong crowd of boys. "She’s been through a really rough time in the last couple of months."

"Howzzat?" Gerard waited patiently.

This was the hard part. Duncan forced himself to speak. "She’s a friend I knew, about thirteen, fourteen years ago. She wanted to be a singer and I... sort of helped her along, helped her get her foot in the door, you know?"

Gerard nodded, "Um-hm." He waited, aware of Duncan’s interest in the arts. He gave no indication that he was aware of Duncan’s growing discomfort.

"And, I was there for her debut. She was a great success. She did really well. And...but, I had to leave the country really suddenly, right about that time. Really unexpectedly."

"‘Really’? Had to?" Gerard’s right eyebrow went up and he pursed his lips to hide the smile.

"Well, yes. It had to do with Connor. There was someone looking for him and he thought he was me, I mean, that I was Connor and..."

Gerard held up his hand, nodding, "I got it. Go on. What about your friend?"

Duncan’s face felt flushed and he did not know how to say the next part, so he just said it. "She...she did great. I mean, she got rave reviews and her star was firmly on the rise, and I needed to find Connor, you know, and this really bad immortal who had been looking for Connor for a rea...very long time..."

Gerard decided to help him. "So you left." It sounded flat in Duncan’s ears. Gerard had a way of saying things that cut to the core of the matter. Gerard also decided there was more to this story than Duncan had yet told him, but held his peace.

"I left to try and find Connor, to warn him, and chased him half way around the world before I caught up with him in Morocco. Then, I landed up in Paris, and had to make a quick exit, again, this time, from a fight with somebody looking for me who I didn’t want to engage right then. And well, then I met Tessa here in Paris. You remember Tessa."

Duncan wanted to kick himself. Of course Gerard would remember Tessa. He also knew very well the story of how she and Duncan had met. Gerard and his wife, Mary Claire, and Duncan and Tessa had taken a cruise together, to Alaska. Gerard did not care for the cold and he did not care for the ship, but he doted on his wife of sixteen years and Mary Claire had always wanted to go to Alaska and so Alaska it was. She and Tessa had enjoyed each other immensely, talking about everything under the sun, or so it had seemed to Duncan. And Mary Claire adored her husband, especially for catering to her wishes, and had loved every minute of the trip. Only later, did Duncan find out it would be the last cruise for Gerard and Mary Claire. She died of a brain aneurysm just four months after their trip.

Acutely aware of Duncan’s discomfiture, Gerard replied gently, "Yes, MacLeod. I remember Tessa."

Duncan swallowed hard. "Of course you do." He looked down at his hands then away vaguely, in the direction of Notre Dame.

"You know, I was so sorry to hear about what happened. Did you ever find the murdering son of a ..."

Duncan interrupted and answered simply, "Yes. Yes, I found him." Gerard nodded, and waited. There was a time for everything. He knew Duncan would say more on the subject when he wanted to.

Duncan cleared the lump that had risen in his throat. No matter how well he thought he had himself together, Duncan found that, with Gerard, everything inside came too close to the surface. He could hide very little from Gerard, not that he truly wanted to. Although Duncan felt utterly transparent before the ancient immortal, and Gerard could be fierce when occasion demanded it, Duncan knew his friend was supremely fair in his dealings, and beyond that, gracious. That was Gerard’s way, as long as Duncan had known him. He continued, fighting back the tendency to sound a bit defensive. "I did keep up with Meredith’s career over the years. In fact, I took Tessa to one of her performances in San Francisco, her debut there. And Meredith was in top form. Rave reviews again. And the audience loved her."

Gerard waited. He did not mention that he had himself attended the lady’s Christmas performance in San Francisco only weeks later, during the same year as her debut. It was a gala fund raiser with special guests, for support of Romanian orphans, a cause very close to Meredith’s heart. The event was televised, and was successful beyond expectations. Duncan’s voice drew Gerard back to the moment.

"Tessa was sometimes...well, it was hard for her sometimes, not to be just a little jealous of my old friends."

"Especially the female ones?" Gerard’s voice did not grow sharper, but softer. Duncan had still not said whether he had introduced the women to each other. In spite of the understanding nod from his friend, Duncan felt a droplet of sweat at the small of his back.

Duncan spoke earnestly, "I did the best I could to stay in touch, you know, G’len, but being with Tessa, and being out of the game for twelve years, I thought it best to sort of let her fly, you know, use her own wings and I would just stay in the background...more...sort of."

In the ensuing silence, Duncan said pensively, "If I hadn’t met Tessa when I did, it might have been Meredith those twelve years. I don’t know, though. She wanted her career so much, I....I think perhaps...I probably did not give her the chance to decide. I didn’t want to pressure her to choose between..." Duncan left his sentence hanging.

Gerard nodded slowly and, as was his habit, spoke directly to summarize the seemingly complicated explanation. "So you chose for her." Duncan did not reply. Gerard made no further comment; rather, he simply stated, "And now she’s here."

"Yes, here." Duncan waved his arm toward the barge. "In the barge. She was coming to Paris to sing at the big concert in honor of the Opera House renovation and reopening and thought it might be nice to... sort of, renew old acquaintance." Duncan expelled his breath. There. He had got it out. Most of it anyway.

"Hm." Gerard’s _expression was impassive. He gazed at the stars for a moment, then asked, "Why has she had ‘sort of a rough time these last few months’?" "Oh. I thought you might have heard. It was all over the news. She stopped in Ireland on her way here–she has Irish ancestors–and," Duncan said shortly, "the Irish Army for Independence kidnapped her." Gerard looked genuinely surprised. "By mistake, they said," Duncan went on quickly. "They were after a British envoy, Assistant to the Ambassador I believe, who was going to meet with them to sign a cease-fire, or provisional treaty, something, and somehow they took Meredith instead."

Gerard frowned, all evidence of his ‘good ole boy’ facade gone, "How in blazes could they make a mistake like that? I thought they were cleverer than that."

"I know, I know. Apparently there was a traitor on the inside of their faction, feeding them false information, you know, a double agent situation."

"But, she’s well-known in Europe, isn’t she, and in Ireland? Did they not recognize her?" Gerard looked almost incredulous.

Duncan sighed. "Apparently their goons aren’t opera fans, and there was...is a similarity in appearance with the other woman." Duncan rubbed the back of his neck. "But that’s not the worst of it."

Gerard’s eyes narrowed. "Go on, MacLeod."

"They grabbed her in daylight, around 5 o’clock, coming out of a department store in Belfast." Duncan’s words came faster now. "She had seen a designer there and was leaving for the airport...I saw it on the newscast at Heathrow. They drove to the curbside and surrounded her."

"Wait. How did you see this? How did the news--"

"Security cameras caught it. And the networks broke it immediately. Gerard, she fought them." Gerard stood unmoving, his gaze focused on Duncan. "She kicked and elbowed and, the pictures were disjointed, you know, but she swung a shopping bag and caught the big one in the head a hard blow. It was a mess. There was ice on the walk and she slipped, she says. The big one went down, I think she pushed him, and ...but he pulled her with him, or someone pushed her, and she hit the car and then the curb. There were three of them, plus the driver. They grabbed her up and pushed her and their guy into the car and were gone. It happened so fast. It was right at the busiest time of day, but you would never know it, there were so few people around, probably because of the ice storm that had just hit the day before. I wasn’t sure her plane would even be able to leave at all because of the ice. But it arrived. She just wasn’t on it."

"So, she was injured. Badly?"

"I think, yes. The doctor said it could have been much worse. She hit her head, a glancing blow on the car probably, a concussion. But her face was badly bruised. She broke some ribs and got banged up pretty badly. Bruised all over."

"Why isn’t she in the hospital?" Gerard’s tone was sharp.

Duncan sighed. "We brought her to the hospital in Paris–"

"We?"

"A friend who went with me to get her. One of us. I doubt you know him. She was there hardly forty-eight hours and someone tried to...finish the job."

Gerard inhaled sharply. Duncan continued quickly, "I know. I could hardly believe it myself. There were two of them. I tossed one out the window. Unfortunately, he didn’t stop at the railing, and after hitting the ground from five stories up, there wasn’t much he could tell me. The other one took off. So needless to say, we got her out of there. Brought her here."

"And?"

"It’s been quiet so far. No one seems to have figured out where she went. Well, and then I was gone for a couple of weeks to–"

"Gone? MacLeod?"

"It was urgent, or I wouldn’t have left. I swear it, Gerard. And Adam was here to look after her."

Gerard said nothing. His gaze pierced Duncan’s soul. Duncan said, "I really felt she would be all right, Gerard, or I wouldn’t have left." Duncan did not add that he felt it was better for Meredith to give her some time without him around. And perhaps easier for him, as well.

Gerard’s brief nod was, at the same time, a jerk of his head toward the inside of the barge. He picked up his bag and overcoat. "Let me see her."

Duncan turned and led the way inside. He took Gerard’s coat, hung it on the rack by the door, then crossed the barge to the foot of the bed with Gerard following. Meredith had been dozing, but woke at the sound of Duncan entering the barge. She did not move. He spoke softly, "Meredith?"

She waited a moment before answering. "Hm?"

"You’re awake. Good. There’s someone here I want you to meet."

She felt irritation sweep over her. "In the middle of the night? I was asleep, Duncan."

Duncan glanced at Gerard whose gaze was fixed on Meredith. "He’s a good friend, and he’s concerned about you. He’s–"

Meredith lowered her arm a bit and peered at the men. "Great heavens above. What have we here? The jolly green giant?"

Duncan grimaced at her words, but Gerard just grinned. His resonant voice was warm and gentle. "Well, ma’am, I admit I am a tad taller than your average fella, and I’ve even been known to be jolly, but on the green part, I just got to plead ‘not guilty’." Gerard was sure he caught a glimpse of a smile before her arm covered her face again.

"Well..." was her muffled reply.

Duncan, intent on Gerard examining her, took a breath to try and convince her to allow him to do so, but Gerard stopped him with a hand on his arm and a brief shake of his head. "Bring me a chair, MacLeod." Duncan nodded and went after the high-backed antique throne chair that stood to the side of his desk.

Gerard said in his gentlest, most sincere, voice, "Please allow me to introduce myself, ma’am." He paused till he was sure she was looking. "Galen Gerard, at your service, ma’am."

He bowed elegantly in her direction and was pleased to see her arm slowly drop to her side. He had noted the bruising, still quite evident on her arm. "Your friend MacLeod- - he’s my friend, too, in fact, I’m his friend from ‘way back - - he was worried about you and asked me to drop by, and since I just happened to be in Paris...France, that is, of course, not Paris, Texas, although Paris, Texas is a mighty nice little town, too...I said I would be more than happy to stop by and meet his good friend."

She had taken his measure as he spoke and his manner pleased her; however, seeing the doctor’s bag in his hands provoked her. "To what end?"

Duncan arrived with the chair. Gerard gestured and Duncan placed it at the side of the bed nearest Meredith. He could not resist answering her. "G’len is a doctor, Meredith, the best there is."

"Glen? I thought he said his name is Galen."

Gerard spoke up, "Yes, ma’am, it is, but it was kinda strange to the folks in Texas and they just sorta changed it to ‘Glen’ all by themselves over the years."

Fairly ignoring Gerard’s explanation, Meredith rolled her eyes, her tone nearly sharp, "I told you, Duncan, no more hospitals and no more doctors."

"He’s not just any doctor, Meredith. He’s- -"

"Wait. Don’t tell me. He’s a horse doctor from Way Back, Texas, and it was named Way Back ‘cause it was ‘waaaaay back’ from any other town in existence, and he’s in town to treat the local thoroughbreds, and what? you thought I qualified?"

Duncan almost sputtered, but Gerard chuckled. "Well, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, uh, it was named Way Back because the railroads demanded we keep those danged--beggin’ your pardon again-- longhorns waaaaay back from their shiny new railroad tracks." He could swear he saw a dimple appear in her cheek. "But, you are right about one thing. I have been known to doctor the occasional horse as well as a longhorn or two. I’ve even tangled with a few cowboys, but I much prefer a patient such as yourself, if you would allow me the privilege."

"Glen’s a specialist, Meredith! He’s the best--"

"At what? Midwifin’ calves and foals?" Her southern drawl had surfaced in the presence of Gerard’s Texas accent.

Shocked at her attitude and words, Duncan struggled for words. "He’s the best in his field, Meredith–"

"Which one, the lowuh fowuhty?" It was sarcasm with melted Southern sugar dripping all over it.

Duncan was speechless. Gerard laughed outright. He liked her sense of humor. "Why, yes, ma’am. All of them, really, includin’ the lower forty acres. But I’ll be more than happy to give you my verifiables. You were correct. I am a horse doctor–a board certified veterinarian in fifteen, no, I believe it’s sixteen states, U.S.A. of course; a neurologist- - for humans, that is; a neurosurgeon; a cardiologist. I have patients here and there, well, sorta all over the world. Oh, and’uh, I’ve done a bit of dabbling in oncology as well. As to that lower forty, I’ve lassoed and broke plenty of mustangs, driven more than my share of cattle across the country, and I’m not half bad with a plow."

"My, my. And I s’pose you can turn lead into gold, too?"

"Meredith!" Duncan could not believe his ears.

Gerard ignored Duncan and drawled with equanimity, "I confess I worked on that for awhile, and with some success; and, although I did come up with a fair likeness, it just took too much time and effort to be worth the trouble. Besides, I prefer the original to copies. And I’ve got plenty of that, the original, I mean, so why bother with the imitation?"

A slow smile made its way across Meredith’s face.

Gerard spoke softly, "If you would be so kind as to allow me..." Gerard indicated the chair.

Meredith gave a brief nod, regal in her own demeanor. Gerard sat gracefully, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat, filling the overly large chair, appearing to sit enthroned upon it, as his hands rested on the carved, curling arms. The diamonds in his gold cuff links winked at her, even in the dim lamplight next to the bed, and his tie tack was a diamond encrusted star, emblem of his home state. "Now, then, Miss Meredith, if I may be so bold as to call you that?" She nodded again briefly. She expected a question about her injuries, so his next words took her by surprise. "Would I be mistaken to think I might have heard an inflection in your speech influenced by the pastoral region of southern Georgia?"

She blinked at him twice, slowly. Duncan had never seen her bat her eyes at anyone, that he could recall. He was nonplussed. Was Meredith actually flirting with Gerard? "Well, I would have to say you ah correct," she replied. "Thomasville, to be exact, just thirty-five miles above Tallahassee, Florida."

"Yes, I know Thomasville. "The Rose City" I believe it’s called." Meredith looked surprised. Although it was the county seat, Thomasville was not a terribly large town and, she had thought, not so very well known, except among rose growers and certain tourists who preferred the milder climate in winter. Then the explanation came. "I’ve been dove hunting more than once down in that area. Beautiful countryside it is, too. And Southern women are..." Gerard paused, noting that he had piqued her interest.

"Southern women are what? Will you finish your sentence or must I simply guess at youah assessment?"

Gerard smiled warmly, "Yes, ma’am, I’ll finish it. Southern women are the loveliest, warmest, most hospitable, cultured ladies I do believe I’ve ever met."

Meredith studied him for a moment. Then, smoothing the coverlet in front of her, she stated, "Though that might be considered bordering on flattery by some, I will give you the benefit of the doubt, Dr. Gerahd. This time. I believe you ah sincere and I am glad you have such a fine impression of us," Meredith replied softly.

Without taking his eyes from hers, Gerard added, "And MacLeod, they make the most delicious sweet iced tea I ever tasted. You just can’t imagine it. And delicious fresh fruit punch... ahhh," Gerard clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I am utterly ruined for any other kind now."

Meredith smiled with genuine pleasure.

He began tentatively, "Would you mind if I- -"

She interrupted, "I have more horror stories to tell about doctors than you have fingers and toes, Dr. Gerard, but I do believe you’ll treat me kindly and gently. Just take fair warning: I have a kick any mule would envy and a right hook that’s flattened more than one man."

His smile widened. He liked this woman. He replied, "I consider myself duly warned, and I thank you, ma’am. Um, might I just take your pulse?"

"Only if you promise to return it," the dimple to the left of her mouth showed and her eyes began to sparkle a bit. Gerard was quite pleased.

He replied solemnly, "I promise." Then he asked gently, "Would you care to tell me what sort of symptoms might have the audacity to afflict such a lovely, genteel lady as you, please ma’am?"

Turning her head to the side and affecting a sad aspect, Meredith looked at the bowl of hard candies on the bedside table, then up at Gerard from under her long eyelashes. Her fingers trailed briefly across the small hollow between her collarbones. "A soah throat. And it’s awfully, awfully red."

"Really? Hmmmm." Gerard intoned the doctor’s proverbial reply as he opened his bag. "In my experience as a physician, I have found that most folks’ throats are red most of the time. However, if you would allow me to take just a tiny little look-see..." he produced a tongue depressor and a light. Rather than stand and tower over her, he knelt on one knee beside the bed, leaned over and as she obediently stuck out her tongue, he looked carefully into her mouth and throat. After numerous hm’s and harumph’s, Gerard leaned back, sat silently, lips pursed, and nodded to himself. "Um-hmm."

Duncan, hovering worriedly in the background and nearly out of patience with Gerard and the scene, which he considered rather odd, being played out in front of him, could not stand it any longer. "Well, Glen? What is it? What’s going on?"

Gerard stood at last, palming an individually wrapped candy from a bowl full of the hard candies on the table by the bed, and said, "I would have to say my diagnosis is unequivocally certain." He looked sagely at Duncan, raising then lowering his generous eyebrows. "Min-titis of the e-sophageal cavity." Gerard’s words were ominous in Duncan’s ears.

"What!" Duncan was aghast. "What are you talking about?"

"There’s no question. It’s Min-titis, all right."

"But...but what caused it? I’ve never heard of it. Is it serious?"

"Oh, my! Doctuh!" Meredith covered her mouth with the back of her hand, "Is it terminal?"

"Don’t worry, dear lady. Not in this case. But it can be...if you end up in an airport."

Meredith bit her tongue to keep from laughing. "Terminal, you mean, of course."

Gerard nodded seriously, ‘Um-hm, um-hm,um-hm," then continued in his "expert" voice. "It is a relatively common malady. Fairly harmless in most folks. Min-titis. Of the Piperia variety. Caused by ingestion of way too many of these!" He held up the candy. Then with great self-satisfaction, he announced, "More commonly known, of course, as peppermints."

Meredith giggled helplessly, covering her mouth with her hand at Duncan’s look of perplexity, which quickly changed to aggravation and disbelief. "Gerard," he began, looking as if he would like to throttle his friend.

"Although, in my vast experience as a medical doctor, I have known this self-same condition to be brought on by the dreaded...spear-mint. In fact, the very ruda-ment of this malady could be said to be condi-ments of any type, most especially sweet ones."

"Gerard! This is serious! Why are you joking around?" Duncan was angry.

"Oh, Duncan," Meredith looked earnest, "I’m sure Dr. Gerard ‘mint’ no harm."

Gerard laughed out loud. "See that, MacLeod? Ms. diAngelos likes my jokes. I knew she was a special liddle lady the moment I laid eyes on her."

Duncan sighed deeply, looking pained and almost angry.

"Now, now, MacLeod. Calm down." Gerard gave the slightest of winks to Meredith and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He noticed her relax almost imperceptibly against the pillows. "In fact, if you would step outside, I would like to confer with Miss Meredith in more detail regarding this condition. I’ll speak with you when she and I have concluded our business."

Duncan opened his mouth to speak then closed it again, huffed with exasperation, started to say something, then thought better of it. He turned on his heel and strode across the barge, took the steps two at a time and grabbing his overcoat, exited the barge.

Gerard shrugged out of his jacket, draped it neatly over the back of the chair, sat and again leaned back, grinning. Meredith chuckled softly. "I’m impressed, Doc. Out of his own barge, too."

"Well, Scot-boy there needs some fresh air. He gets too broody sometimes, might’ like a fussy ole mother hen."

Then, memories rushing to the forefront of her thoughts and her curiosity getting the better of her, Meredith remarked, "I’ve met you before, haven’t I?"

He nodded. "I was hoping you would remember."

"Well, Dr. Gerard, you’re not so easily forgotten, you know."

"Thank you for the compliment, dear lady. And may I add, neither are you," he murmured.

His words pleased her. "It was in San Francisco, wasn’t it," she recalled, "at the Christmas program for the Romanian orphans four years ago."

"You are quite correct, ma’am. I did indeed attend the evening’s festivities. I believe we were formally introduced at the party afterward."

"Yes, of course. The party."

"As I recall, you were with someone, a dark-haired–"

Meredith interrupted shortly, "He was my manager for awhile, but not any more." She sighed, closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. The small lines between her eyebrows deepened.

Gerard paused a moment, then asked softly, "Are you in pain now, Miss Meredith?"

Meredith’s closed eyes burned with sudden tears. She whispered over her constricted throat, "Yes." "Please tell me where, if you can."

His kindness and the gentle concern in his voice was too much for her. She was powerless to stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

"My head. Always my head. And, pretty much all over," she replied in a whisper, almost apologetically, then choked down a sob. It seemed to Meredith that tears came too easily to her in these last few days.

He nodded. "MacLeod said you gave ‘em hell- -pardon me, dear lady." Gerard’s habit of good manners was genuinely old-fashioned, and Meredith simply loved it.

She smiled broadly through the streaming tears. "That’s all right, Doctor. I don’t mind it so much, coming from you. And yes, I did my best to do just that."

"Please, my friends usually call me Gerard. I would be honored if you would do so."

She nodded. "And... Meredith, please."

A quiet moment and a look of understanding passed between them.

"If you could find it in your heart to trust me, having met me only once before, and on the strength of MacLeod’s recommendation, as well as my own solemn pledge to treat you most gently, Meredith, would you allow me to examine you? Nothing terribly involved, just listen to your heart and lungs, look in your eyes –"

"With that blinding light they pass out to all the fledgling doctors in med school?"

"Absolutely, none other."

"Well, I suppose so. How can I refuse such a kind request? But..." He waited. Her voice sounded small, anxious, almost like a young girl’s. "You will tell me before you do anything, won’t you? I mean, just tell me first? So I’ll know." She swiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Gerard felt his heart squeeze inside him, but his _expression remained calm and professional. "You have my profoundest promise that I will tell you before I do a single thing."

"I mean, everything."

He nodded, "Absolutely. Everything."

Meredith exhaled raggedly in relief, then took another breath to calm herself. She believed him. She looked him squarely in the eye. "I’m holding you to that."

He nodded again, returning the straightforward look. "I understand."

Where he sat, without making a move toward her, he turned his left hand, which lay on the edge of the bed, palm up. "May I take a brief look at your hand?" She gingerly placed her hand in his, palm to palm. It looked tiny and white, almost like a child’s, in his large ruddy palm He scrutinized it carefully, noting the bruises and swelling and its coldness. "I’d like to press your fingernails at bit." She nodded. He was incredibly gentle as he examined her hand and nails. He seemed to be finished; however, he did not remove her hand from his, but let it remain where it was to warm it for her.

"I’m going to reach for my stethoscope so I can listen to your little ticker, izzat awright?"

She nodded. His voice was pleasantly pitched and despite his "down home" expressions and clever sense of humor, Gerard spoke with grace and gentility. She suddenly thought of her grandfather from south Georgia. There was a quality in Gerard that reminded her of her beloved Pa-Pa, not in physical appearance but in his character, his manner. She had despaired of ever finding a man such as her grandfather, believing the mold for men of his character to have been broken after he lived his extraordinary life. Now, as unlikely as it could possibly be, here was a man all the way from Texas, in a barge on the River Seine in Paris, who seemed to embody many of the same genuine characteristics. Meredith felt a warmth grow around her heart that was not fleeting. It did not come for a moment, then go just as quickly; but to her surprise, it remained, and began to emanate through her whole body.

"Your mother must be an extraordinary woman," Meredith commented.

From centuries of practice, Gerard’s _expression did not reveal the surprise he felt, nor did he look up as he withdrew the scope from his bag. He held the metal part in his palm, so it would not be cold on her skin. "How’s that again, please?"

"Was it she who taught you such fine manners?"

After a pause, Gerard replied, "It was my sainted grandmother who raised me. My mother died when I was barely sprouted."

Meredith murmured quickly, sincerely, "Oh, I’m so sorry."

"Thank you."

"But how wonderful to have such a fine grandmother to love you and teach you and care for you. I’m sure she would be so proud of you now." The moment of silence that followed between them was not tense, but quiet, relaxed, almost companionable. He was definitely unlike any doctor Meredith had ever known.

In all his centuries of living, Gerard could not remember anyone speaking to him with such graciousness on this particular subject. He was so surprised, he hardly knew how to respond, so he changed the subject.

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot. There’s pediatrics," Gerard spoke into the silence.

"I beg your pahdon?"

"That’s another one of my specialties. I failed to mention it a few minutes ago. It’s just about my favorite, in fact."

Meredith felt astonished. "It is? Your favorite?"

He nodded, smiling.

"My goodness, how in the world do you find the time to do all of that and doctor horses and punch cattle, too?"

Gerard gazed at her, light blue eyes into turquoise, and Meredith, returning the gaze, thought it was like looking into infinity, colored sky-blue. "I make real good use of my time."

For no good reason, Meredith felt her cheeks growing warm. "Oh," she murmured, "I see," though she did not see at all. She had only begun to fathom the fact that he must be some sort of genius, someone unlike anyone she had ever met.

He draped the scope around his neck, covered her hand with his and said, "You don’t have to sit up just yet. I just want to listen for a bit, all right?"

"All right." He gently laid her hand on the coverlet, then placed the stethoscope in his ears and the other end just below her collar bone. The metal was warm, as his palm had been. He listened a long time, moving the scope gently around, his _expression enigmatic. He lingered a while over her heart. At last he smiled at her, removing the scope from his ears.

"Am I alive?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Yes, ma’am, most definitely. Are you on any meds, Meredith?"

"I take a medication to regulate the beat." He nodded. "It’s in the drawer there." He opened the drawer and glanced at the medicine bottle.

"Daily, I see. If you miss a dose, do you have difficulty of any kind?"

"Yes. It gets erratic, and the valve doesn’t work correctly."

"Mitral valve prolapse?"

"Yes, and some other irregularities, and palpitations. It gets very painful at times."

"When you are singing?" He was listening intently to her.

"Well, yes, actually." She did not want to admit it, but could not help but tell him the truth.

"Bad?" he pressed her gently.

And she found she wanted to tell him. "Sometimes worse than others. Sometimes...much worse."

"And your doctors said...?"

"That I would just have to live with it and eventually stop singing if it gets too severe."

Gerard’s eyes narrowed a bit. He made no comment. Meredith watched his face for some indication of his thoughts. She could not read him. At last, he gave the erstwhile, enigmatic physician’s reply, "Hm."

Thinking of her recent experience in Ireland, he looked intently into her eyes and asked, "Has it happened recently?"

Meredith hesitated. Gerard waited. She swallowed hard. At last the answer came softly, "Yes."

As nothing else was forthcoming, Gerard, thinking perhaps he was correct and not wanting to assume or answer for her, asked, equally softly, "Can you tell me about it?"

She looked pained. "The prescription ran out and Adam could not find a pharmacy in Paris that could refill it-- it was some kind of government holiday or other-- and Duncan was late getting back from his trip. He was bringing the refill from New York with him."

Gerard studied his hands. "I see. How late?"

"What?" Meredith was massaging her temples with her index fingers. "Oh. A week or so. His plane had engine problems and he was diverted half-way around the world and horribly delayed."

"Izzat right?" his rejoinder was even softer than her answer. "A whole week?"

"Um-hmm. They sent him to Bombay and Bangkok, or somewhere. But he brought it and I’m better now."

Gerard raised his eyes to hers, smiling, no trace of his growing anger with MacLeod showing. There had better be a good explanation for this delay. "I’m glad. I really am. By the way, I can fix that for you, you know, if you ever want it fixed."

Meredith gazed at him. "What do you mean? The valve? But they told me - -"

"I know. But I can fix it for you." His gaze never wavered. He said it simply, absolutely, with complete certainty. He did not mention that he thought there might be another diagnosis of her condition, as well. No need to mention it until he was certain.

Shocked and surprised, all Meredith could say was, "Oh."

"Just think about it for a while. We can discuss it later, if you like. Now then, I need to look in your eyes for a little bit, if that’s all right with you."

"Surely," Meredith murmured.

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, saying, "Just relax there on the pillows for a minute. Ready? Now how hold real still, please ma’am." Gerard leaned forward and looked into her left eye for quite some time, telling her to look here and there. She could feel his breath, warm on her face when he spoke, and it smelled sweet. Rum, she thought. Then, no, bourbon. It was not unpleasant.

He said, "Please excuse my big ole fingers," as he opened her eye wider. His fingers were long and manicured, well groomed, and very dexterous. His touch was so gentle, she felt the lump rise in her throat again. She took a deep breath to swallow the lump and he murmured, still peering through the instrument, "I ‘as wondering’ when you were gonna breathe again. You ’as lookin’ a mite blue around the gills." She grinned, then sighed again, then began to fidget.

"Tell me what you see, doctor, that’s taking so long."

He continued looking, "Oh, I see veins and itty bitty cap-u-laries..." she giggled in spite of herself. "Looks like a whole irrigation system set up in there...and...my goodness!" He sat back at last and clicked the light off and looked at her in wonder. "I can see clear through to your brain."

She snorted, trying not to laugh. "You cannot!"

"Now, now, it’s not nice to disagree with your doctor, young lady," he waggled the light at her, "‘specially one as specialized as I am."

"Far be it from me..." she shook her head.

"I need to look in the right eye, now, Meredith." She sighed.

"I won’t take so long this time, I promise."

"Um-hm," clearly she did not believe him this time.

"It’s gonna be mighty bright now, for a minute." Gerard spoke softly, leaning close and peering through the instrument, taking his time. In spite of her discomfort, Meredith felt goose flesh pop out on her arms. She wondered at the quivery feeling in her stomach. Unique as Duncan and Adam were to her experience with men, there was something about Gerard’s presence that was different to her, even from Duncan and Adam. It was not just his size, although his shoulders were massive; and she could see his muscles ripple against his shirt sleeves. She admitted to herself, He is devastatingly handsome. But so is Duncan, she thought.

It was not simply his appearance that attracted Meredith. She liked Gerard. His charisma drew her in, more than she could begin to understand. She simply knew, intuitively, that she felt completely safe with him. And that astonished her.

She thought he lingered longer than he had promised for a simple look in her eyes and demanded, "What under heaven are you looking at in there?"

At last, he clicked off the light and drew back. She place cold fingers over her eyelids. "Lord have mercy, I thought you’d never get that thing outa my eyes."

"Well, I caught sight of Carnival down in Rio and they were having such a good time, I couldn’t hardly leave."

She opened one eye, looking through her fingers at him. "You’re awful, you know that, don’t you?"

He smiled at her so warmly, she could not help but smile back. "I know it’s mighty bright. I really do apologize, Meredith." He placed a long slender finger under her chin and examined her face intently. He asked, almost absently, "Any symptoms other than headache? Did you lose consciousness when you fell?"

"I’m not sure. I think so...sometime in there. It was confusing, to say the least, and...I’m not sure exactly when, but I think so. Later..." she paused, looking aside, her fingers picking at the coverlet.

"Later...?" he encouraged softly.

"There were bruises and...I couldn’t see very well."

"How do you mean, Meredith?"

"Swelling, you know, and ..."

"You mean your eyes were swollen shut, honey?"

"Pretty much," she whispered.

Gerard covered her small hand with his and replied, "Um-hm." He gave her a moment to compose herself.

"Did you notice, later on I mean, any blurred vision?"

"No. I don’t think so. No more than usual. I’m a little near-sighted."

"Um-hm. Any dizziness?"

"Some. At first."

"Nausea?" Meredith wrinkled her nose. "Yes, but I figured it was because of the pain and all the pills they were giving me."

"Who?" he pursued gently. "Doctors? or somebody else?"

"Yes, doctors, I think, at first, and then, some...other people."

"Did it make you sleep all the time?"

She moved restlessly. "I don’t know, Gerard. It was hard to tell. I couldn’t see much and I felt so bad and I didn’t know much of what was going on for awhile. I...." she whispered, "I hurt one of them pretty badly." Painful regret was clear on her face, as was the guilt in her voice. "I hit him on the head and kicked him in the shin. He didn’t even hurt me at all. In fact, when we slipped on the ice, he broke my fall. My head bounced off his arm. If he hadn’t held onto me, I would’ve cracked my head wide open on that curb. Instead," she caught her lower lip between her teeth, "he hit his head, really hard. He got a skull fracture." Her eyes were bright with tears. "I truly didn’t mean to hurt him, Gerard. I was just trying to get away."

"I know, honey. And you didn’t hurt him. He opened himself up for that when he tried to kidnap you off the street."

"But Gerard," she took hold of his hand urgently, "they weren’t after me at all. It was all a big mistake."

"That’s what MacLeod told me. Doesn’t make any difference, Meredith. He had no business grabbing you, or anybody else for that matter, off the street in the first place."

She dropped her gaze and shook her head slowly. "I never should have fought with them."

"Meredith, look at me." He waited till she did as he asked. "Now listen to me, honey. It is not your fault the man got hurt. And it’s not your fault they went after you instead of that other woman. They do whatever they want, simply to advance their cause and don’t care who they hurt in the process."

"They took care of me, Gerard, they really did. They took me to a hospital. I do recall that."

Gerard made his argument with her sound agreeable. "And well they should have, dear lady, for hurting you as they did." He spoke with such authority that Meredith could not think of anything about his statement that might be arguable. "You know I’m correct, don’t you?"

She stuck her chin out just a little, then grabbed the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth, and nodded. Gerard felt his heart beat a little faster. What a sweet little girl still lived in this lovely woman. He let her digest his statement for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued, "Now if you don’t mind, Meredith, I’d like to listen to your lungs for a bit. You’ve been in bed for some weeks now, isn’t that right?"

"Mm-hm, and I’m sick of it too. Duncan and Adam treat me like I’m made of glass. Adam hardly let me walk. He wanted to carry me everywhere."

"Well, that was smart of them, you know, to take such good care of you."

"Oh. I reckon so." Meredith thought he must be right after all; and, she was too tired to complain further.

"Now, then, do you think, if I help you, you can sit up for me for just a minute?"

"Um-hmm."

"I’m going to put my arm in front of you, across your middle area, so you can grab hold of it, all right? And I’ll put my other arm around your shoulders to sort of boost you forward. OK? Ready to try?"

"Um-hmm." Meredith placed her hands on his forearm, as he knelt by the bed and slid his arm between her shoulders and the pillow. She found his arm warm and comforting and felt an urge to cuddle into him and let him simply hold her.

"All right. Now, you won’t have to exert any effort at all, Meredith. Let me do all the work, okay?"

"Um-hmm."

"On three, now. One, two, three," and the arm that felt firm and strong beneath her shoulders lifted her slowly and gently forward. As she sat up, Meredith remembered the shear gown she was wearing, but was comfortable with Gerard, not sensing anything improper from him at all. "That’s good, young lady. Now you just sit there and let ole Gerard listen to your insides, okay?"

"Um-hmm." Meredith felt the scope placed all over her back, over her kidneys, and repeatedly over the expanse of her lungs. He occasionally asked her to inhale and exhale and gently thumped her back in different places with his middle finger.

Once he had her sitting upright, Gerard was stunned at what he saw. Her back and shoulders were literally covered with large splotches of bruises, some still black and blue, others tinged in red, and still others yellowish green. He frowned. Given the time frame MacLeod had related, he felt the healing should be much farther along than it was. He felt another emotion roll through him as well. Anger, which, if yielded to, would explode into full-blown rage. Gerard prayed he could, some day in the not so distant future, get his hands on the men who had done this to Meredith. This moment, of course, was not the time for it.

He did allow himself to curse silently the men, including their forebears and all progeny, past, present and future, who had caused such injuries to Meredith. He found himself wanting very much to hold her tenderly and not let go for a long time. Not terribly surprised at himself, but pushing the emotion away, he forced himself to listen calmly and intently for any irregularities. At last, he dropped the scope, saying, "It’s all right for you to lie back now, Meredith." She relaxed into his arm and he laid her gently against the pillows.

"I believe you said they took you to a hospital? Before you got to Paris, I mean."

"Yes, secretly. X-rays, the whole routine. I’m not sure of the exact sequence of events. I was pretty much in and out of things for a while. I didn’t know it till later, but there was a security camera on a pole that caught the whole thing. Apparently the news networks picked it up and played it over and over." Either she didn’t want to talk about the experience, or she was so tired she was wandering a bit, Gerard was not sure which.

He shook his head. "Incredible."

Meredith paused, then added, "I never saw it. I...don’t think I want to."

"I can understand that," he nodded sympathetically. "I was completely out of pocket at that time, on a trip to the rain forest of Brazil, or what’s left of it, I should say. I have some a couple of little farms down there. I’m so sorry I didn’t know about it, Meredith."

"But, there’s nothing you could have done. Nothing anybody could have done, really."

"Except go to Ireland and bring you home," Gerard responded, listening intently to her.

"People back home made a big deal about it, politically, I mean. Everybody wanted to have ‘face time’ on tv." She rolled her eyes. "I don’t have much use for politics these days. Perhaps it helped some. But, honestly, I don’t think it mattered. They did everything they could to be sure I got the best care. The...leader was so angry that they had been tricked. He was very kind to me."

Gerard listened closely, then commented drily, "I’m sure he was."

"No, really. He was. I think he’s the one who contacted Duncan. I’m just guessing. I had Duncan’s phone number in my day planner, you know. So when Duncan and Adam came for me–"

"Adam?"

"One of Duncan’s friends," Meredith explained briefly, "it was done secretly and quickly and broken to the press after the fact. They brought me to Paris and put me in the hospital for a couple of days. Honestly, Gerard, it was a three-ring circus. Some men got all the way to my room and were going to hurt me, or ...or worse." She glanced away. "Adam said they were trying to ‘whack’ me."

"Unimaginable!" Gerard expressed his outrage. "Who were they?"

"No idea," Meredith shrugged, took a breath and finished, "so then, Adam and Duncan brought me here and have been watching over me ever since."

"Sounds so incredible," Gerard empathized, "almost like a movie or something, isn’t it?"

"It was pretty bizarre," Meredith murmured and closed her eyes, exhausted.

Gerard paused a while and let her get her breath and regain her composure. Finally, he asked, "May I just check your ribs now? I promise to be real gentle."

Resigned, she sighed, "All right."

Gerard lifted the cover just enough to place his warm hand across her midriff and press along first one side than the other. She whimpered when he found the most badly injured ribs. He replaced the cover and said, "Not as bad I might have thought. They seem to be healing just fine. I’m sure they still hurt, though, specially when you breathe, right?"

Meredith nodded. His eyes were so light blue when he looked at her, she could hardly bear to look into them. His next words surprised her. "I’m so sorry that they hurt you, dear lady. I’d like to give them some of Dr. Gerard’s Old Fashioned Remedy myself because it’s for dam’ sure – beggin’ your pardon– that they’re in desperate need of it themselves."

She searched his face. "Is it really bad?"

"I won’t lie to you, Meredith. The fall did bruise you quite badly. I was concerned to find that you were not in the hospital, on monitors. You should be, you know." He lifted a hand to forestall her objections. "I’m not insisting you go to the hospital in Paris. Not at all, honey." The endearment, whose usage was broad in the South and so typical of that region, slipped past him as his thoughts raced ahead. "No sirree, I wouldn’t trust you to those fellas. Not a’tall. Un-unh. But I do know of a quiet little place in Switzerland that I believe would do just fine. It’s tucked away in the corner of some of those big ole Alps and hardly a soul in the world knows about it, ‘cept folks that need to be there.

"You could rest there, Meredith, and you would not have to worry about any lapses in security whatsoever. Now, I’m just telling you about this place, because I want you to know there’s an option for you other than right here in this town."

Gerard had watched the play of emotions over her face as he spoke. "But..." she sighed, "the reporters, the airport- -"

"Nope, nope. Not a problem. I’ve got a big ole airplane, a 727 all my own and I’d fly you there myself."

Meredith’s eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "Um-hmm. Not a bit of trouble. We could be there in just a couple hours and have you all cuddled in soft down comforters, sippin’ hot chocolate like only the Swiss can make it, warmin’ your little fingers and toes in front of a real pretty fireplace."

Overwhelmed, Meredith said, feeling a touch of awe, "Wow. You make it sound so simple."

"It is, honey, just that simple."

She bit the corner of her bottom lip. "Oh. Well. Let me think about it a minute, all right? I...Duncan..."

"I’ll talk to Duncan, don’t you worry. I just want to get you where we can take care of you, Meredith."

Suddenly suspicious, she asked, "Why? Did you hear something bad in my lungs?"

"No. No, not at all," he replied firmly, then continued adamantly, "but, Meredith, honey, when someone has injuries of this nature, monitoring is very important."

Realization dawned and Meredith said, "It is my lungs, isn’t it? You think there’s a clot somewhere and I’ll have a...a pulmonary embolism?" She closed her hands tightly around his forearm, still positioned across her midriff. His other hand cupped her shoulder gently.

"No, sugar. I don’t think there is a clot. But I won’t lie to you, Meredith. There is always a possibility of that developing with injuries such as you sustained. And I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything I could do to be sure you make a safe and complete recovery."

"Well..." She didn’t know what to think or say.

Gerard’s tone changed, "Listen to me, Meredith." He sounded so authoritative, she was taken aback. "MacLeod told me you weren’t eating or drinking much of anything. Now, I’m telling you, you must take more fluids. You must eat. If you do not, I myself will come and put you in the hospital, where you should be right now." She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. "Not in Paris, I know. No three-ring circuses, no whacking. But I will give you twenty-four to forty-eight hours to increase both liquids and food." The big man lowered his eyebrows as he spoke and looked so formidable, Meredith shrank back a little against the pillows. "Or else it’s off to Switzerland with you. Is that clear?"

Meek as a lamb, she answered, "Yes."

Without another word, he took her blood pressure, shook his head slightly, and made some notes.

At last, he put the instruments and notes in his bag. His manner was gentle again when he said, "Listen to me just a minute, Meredith-honey. Now, don’t you worry about a thing. I’m going to talk to MacLeod for a bit. I’ll be right outside on the deck with him, all right? You’ll be safe and sound with us watching over you out there. Believe me, nobody could get past the two of us, okay? Besides, nobody even knows you’re here, isn’t that right?"

"I think so..." her brow furrowed slightly.

Gerard reached into his bag and withdrew a small bottle. "I want you to take this, Meredith."

"What is it?"

"A small dose of Valium. I saw the blood thinner in the drawer. Are you taking it?"

"Yes."

"As the directions say to take it?"

"Yes, Gerard."

"All right, then. Here you go. I want you to get some rest while I talk to MacLeod for a bit, okay?"

"Okay." He held the glass of water to her mouth and she swallowed the small tablet.

"Now, then. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?" he smiled at her once again and the light in his eyes gave her butterflies in her stomach.

She thought it absurd when she felt a lump in her throat, but she answered in a choked voice, "How about a good ole, All-American, Southern hospitality type hug?" Sounding almost apologetic, she added, "It’s just so good to see someone from home."

Gerard leaned forward instantly, his arms open to her. She put her arms around his neck and clung to him tightly for a moment. He was amazed to find himself holding Meredith diAngelos in his arms, the woman who had held him, along with the rest of the audience, in the palm of her small hand, all of them awe struck with her beautiful singing, her warmth and sincerity on the stage in San Francisco, and the love that emanated from her for the children surrounding her at that special Christmas program. He had thought then there must be some way in which he could help her and her orphans. And now, what an amazing coincidence, to find her in the barge of his friend MacLeod, in Paris instead of home in America. And truly, it was no coincidence. He knew that. Gerard did not believe in coincidences.

At last, he drew back gently. He tucked the covers around her, tenderly caressed the hair back from her forehead, leaning over her, and said, " You sweet, precious lady. You do what ole Doc Gerard says to, ya hear? Or else I’ll have to come and set you on my knee for a real, good, old-fashioned talkin’ to."

She smiled, relaxed once more, drew him closer with her arms around his neck, and placed her soft cheek next to his, saying, "Oh, you can do that any time, anyway." Then she kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Any time."

Gerard felt his heart open wide. "Don' chew go anywhere, little dove. I'll be right back." Then he rose and crossed the barge, grabbed his overcoat and threw it on as he stepped quietly outside.

Meredith felt a bit dazed, somewhat shocked, and she could not gather her thoughts into a coherent stream. She always enjoyed Switzerland, and Gerard had made it sound so simple. The image of his face, so close to hers as he listened intently to her heart, appeared to her mind’s eye. Gerard is drop dead handsome, she thought in awe, more beautiful even than...she gave a little gasp when she realized she was comparing him to Duncan. They were two different men entirely; yet there was something about them, a commonality in their uniqueness, which Meredith still could not put her finger on.

Looking into Gerard’s eyes was like looking into the endless sky on a clear, sunny day. And she liked his scent. His cologne was subtle, not overwhelming as some men wore it, nor was it the musky scent many men seemed to prefer, which always gave her a headache and repulsed her. And his touch was so gentle. She touched her cheek where his fingers had been only a moment before, and smiled, feeling how warm her cheeks were. She realized then, as another lump rose in her throat, that Gerard had brought some of ‘home’ to her right where she was in Paris. That’s probably it, she thought, why I like him so much. With Gerard, I feel so much at home. He’s so kind, and... he’s just someone straight from home. How amazing is that! she wondered, in awe.

*************

Gerard joined Duncan on the deck, sitting in the small wrought iron chair at an angle, so he could see both the quai and the river, as well as Duncan. Gerard said nothing for a long moment, then withdrew a flask from the inside pocket of his overcoat. Spring had been an unusually cold one this particular year in Europe, and the night was uncharacteristically cool for May. He swallowed twice then passed the flask to Duncan, who gratefully swallowed a mouth full of the strong liquid. It was bourbon. Not his favorite but it would help keep the chill off.

It was difficult for Duncan to wait in silence, but he knew very well there was no point in trying to hurry or push Gerard, who finally spoke, “"Extraordinary."

” After another long moment of silence, Duncan prodded gently, “"Gerard?"” The ancient immortal turned his gaze on Duncan. The translucent blue eyes, lighter than the summer sky in the deeply tanned face, seemed to look through Duncan and see something beyond the man sitting next to him.

He repeated himself, “"Most extraordinary."

” “"Gerard?"” Duncan sounded more urgent.

Gerard sighed. “"Ms. diAngelos herself, of course, is extraordinary. But, the whole thing. Their taking her off the street like that. And her injuries. MacLeod! Have you seen her back and hips?"” Duncan shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Gerard continued, "And this happened when? Two, three weeks ago?"

” "Closer to...almost six weeks, now."

” Gerard made a sound in his throat. “"Ridiculous! She needs to be in the hospital. But not here, obviously. Who was it that tried to get to her in the hospital here?"”

Duncan sounded almost desperate. “"We still haven’t figured that out."”

Gerard rose and walked a few paces, then walked back toward Duncan. He stood looking out over the water, then up at the sky, shaking his head. Duncan could not help but be struck again by the massiveness of Gerard's shoulders, and he hoped he would never have to face Gerard as an opponent in battle. Gerard turned at last and said, “"I want her in my clinic in Switzerland by tomorrow morning. My jet will be ready first thing. We can leave at first light."

” Somewhat shocked, Duncan asked, "Is she really that bad, Glen?"

” "Looks to be close to dehydration. This latest thing with the missed medication and the side effects of that didn’t help her any, either. Her blood pressure is a bit high, but I am more concerned about the bruising. God's curse on these damnable terrorists!"” he spoke with jaw clenched. "I'd like to see them all dead and buried, regardless of their brand names, they're a bunch of damn' devils--"“ he stopped mid-sentence and asked softly, "Did you see that?"

” Duncan nodded grimly. "The door at that end is padlocked."

” Gerard’s voice was low, "Looks like somp'n's about to bust loose here, MacLeod-boy," then he nodded to the left and Duncan understood. Duncan knelt and Gerard bent down in front of the roof of the barge. There was the sound of feet running toward them across the top of the living quarters. Gerard pulled his sword from its sheath as he stood and whirled around, all in one quick move, impaling the masked intruder who was rushing to attack them from above and behind. He let the man, gun in hand, shock and disbelief in his eyes, slide toward him on the sword. Gerard, a fearsome sight to the man, said softly in his Texas drawl, “"Prepare to meet your Maker, boy. You have come to a watery grave."” Holding the man's coat collar, Gerard swung him around, easily lifted his large booted foot and pushed the body off his sword into the Seine.

Duncan said, "Gerard, please try not to kill them all. Maybe we can find out who they are, or who sent them...something."

” Gerard pointed with his huge sword. "One comin’ your way, Scot-boy. You gonna take him, or shall I?"

” Duncan pointed at himself and ducked low. Gerard waved and called out, "Well, howdy! Did j'all come for the bar-b-q" The man leaped atop the roof and ran toward them. Duncan rose suddenly, catching the man mid-jump and rolling him over his back. Unfortunately, the attacker's head hit the wrought iron table where he landed, then he slid across it and fell to the deck, head bouncing again. Duncan knew if he were not dead already, he soon would be. He gazed at the man for two more seconds, wondering, Who are these guys? Gerard said, matter-of-factly, "Two down."

” There were sounds of more running feet. A look passed between the men. Gerard smiled. "Reckon we're not quite finished, MacLeod-boy. Let's have at it and be done with it."

” Inside, Meredith was feeling more relaxed and thought she would make the last trip to the bathroom for the night by herself, on her own two feet. She felt sure she could make it across the barge without help. However, before she could move, her attention was drawn to a shadow cast on the barge wall. It was a man crouching, moving slowly, something in his hand. Cold fear gripped her as she realized he was headed for the door. “"Oh, God!" she whispered, "give me strength."” She heard someone running across the barge roof and sounds of a fight. Duncan! He and Gerard were dealing with someone and still this man was moving toward the entrance that was unlocked. Apparently they were unaware of his presence. Suddenly, fear left Meredith and in its place she felt anger rising in her. “"That's it! Enough already!"” she hissed through gritted teeth.

She looked quickly around for something she could use, determined to bash the intruder over the head if he did indeed enter, and her eyes fell on the two short swords Duncan kept mounted on the wall. Adam had showed them to her one day, unsheathing one of them, then warned her about how devastatingly sharp they were. He had called them Samurai swords, more specifically Wakizashi. Honed to extremely fine edges, the swords were made for close, hand-to-hand, indoor fighting, he had said.

"Help me," she requested of Heaven, and reached for one of the swords. Will I need the other one? she wondered, pulling it from its scabbard as well. They were incredibly light in her hands. Meredith held them carefully in front of her and made her way as quickly as she could across the barge, her silk gown fluttering around her bare feet. She knew she had only seconds before the man would come through the door.

Meredith heard more sounds from outside, running feet, struggles. She took a breath to try and calm her racing heart and whispered, backing into the shadows at the doorway to Adam's room, "Lord God, save us all. As David said in the Psalms, 'Teach my hands to war.'"’” She could feel adrenaline hitting her system, as the door burst open and the intruder rushed toward the living area, firing shots. Meredith could clearly hear the pfft! pfft! pfft! sounds made by a silenced gun. They were aimed at the bed where she had been only seconds before. My God! she prayed silently, save me from this killer!

Suddenly to Meredith, time slowed almost to a halt. She could see as she looked over the swinging cafe doors in the entrance to the tiny kitchen where she stood, that the shots kept hitting the pillows. She saw the material tearing open and feathers floating up then slowly floating down everywhere, like giant, fat snowflakes. The gun continued making that pfft! pfft! sound that Meredith recognized. Why, he must be a real assassin, she thought calmly, with some surprise. She became acutely aware of everything: the pounding of her heart loud in her own ears, the coldness of the barge floor against the soles of her feet, the soft, nearly alive feeling of the ivory-handled swords in her hand. They felt warm, as if they were melting to fit her fingers.

She was aware, too, of the man, his moves, his steps, his breathing. She slipped silently through the doors and stood, holding the swords before her with both hands. At long last, realizing she was not in the bed, he stopped firing and backed up in front of the doorway to the entrance hall where she stood, blocking his exit, his back still to her. No need to kill him, she thought, just stop him from being able to hurt us anymore. The gun was still raised in his right hand, so she positioned the Wakizashi sword in her right hand, lifted it, and thinking, Stop him now! she sank the sword into his back, into the fleshy part of his right shoulder, amazed at how easily and quickly it went in.

Meredith watched, as the man moved ever so slowly, grabbing at his shoulder with his left hand. The gun was still raised in his right hand. He looked in disbelief at the sword protruding from his body and began to turn to his right. Meredith slipped behind him as he turned, searching for the person who had stabbed him, only to find no one there. He staggered once, then turned again to face her, pointing the gun at her. He moved so slowly, Meredith was fascinated. She slapped the gun from his hand with the flat of the other sword and he dropped it. How easy, she thought. An angry, growling sound issued from his throat and he made as if to lunge at her. She cringed, planting one foot behind her and lifting the second sword, both hands on the handle; then suddenly, Meredith was startled to see yet another sword blade shoot through his stomach, straight toward her. Gasping, she followed it with her eyes, as it moved through him until it was so close she thought it might impale her as well. The blade stopped short of her, another half inch and it would have sliced her gown. With his eyes wide and mouth gaping behind black ski mask, the assassin fell to his knees, then forward onto his face.

And there, just beside his body, where it fell, were Gerard’s pointy-toed, rattlesnake skin cowboy boots, spattered red. Blood red, Meredith thought. Her eyes moved upward and in his hand was the handle of the largest, longest sword she had ever seen, also red with blood. The assassin lay dead at their feet.

Gerard observed the scene quickly. There stood Meredith in front of him, barefoot. She was a vision in her peach-colored silk gown which was translucent and left nothing about her to his imagination. Her red-gold curls were flying loose around her shoulders and she stood, feet planted, one short sword in both hands, ready for the next attack, the other stuck through the right shoulder of the gunman, to disable his gun hand. All that and smart, too! he thought. She reminded him of the women he had known centuries ago, of numerous tribes. They were wives and mothers, sisters and daughters, but warriors first of all. His eyes moved back up to her wide eyes, pools of aqua as clear as the water around his own island in the Caribbean, and he murmured, "I think I’m in love."

Meredith’s face was flushed. She gazed at him, mouth slightly open. She had begun to tremble. The sword began to wobble slightly in her hands. Gerard quickly put his sword away, opened his arms and said, "Come here, little honey." He bent forward and she reached to put her arms around his neck. He said, "Careful with that sword, baby girl. It’s mighty sharp." He picked her up around her waist as easily as if she were a small girl, and held her close against his body as he stepped over the dead man. Then he scooped her up under her knees and spoke softly in her ear, "Don’t you worry none, sweet little darlin’. Big ole Gerard’s got you now, all safe and sound. No more meanies gonna hurt chew, sweetie-pie." He was carrying her through the barge toward the bed. He kissed the top of her head. "Me and MacLeod-boy took care of all the fellas outside. You did real extra good, baby girl, stoppin’ that ole bad man."

Meredith found herself shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering. Unable to speak, she buried her face in Gerard’s neck. He sat down gently on the end of the bed facing the rest of the barge, having seen the pillows shot to pieces and the mess made by the assassin with his gunshots. His sharp eyes had seen the dents made by the assassin’s bullets in the barge wall, as well. Meredith sat in his lap, her face still hidden, her trembling unabated, so Gerard surrounded her with his arms and hands and rocked her as if they were in a rocking chair. He kissed her hair, caressed her arms gently with his warm hands, and simply held her close. Soon, all she was aware of was Gerard, his scent, his touch, his strength, his warmth, his voice as he murmured to her.

"There, there now. You’re safe and sound now, sweetie. Big ole Gerard is here and I’m so mighty proud of you. You showed a real good head on your shoulders, honey, and mighty quick thinkin’ to grab those little bitty swords. My, my, my! That was so brave." He kissed her temple and the top of her head, smoothing her hair and talking in her ear, his warm hands soothing her back and arms. He was intentionally filling her senses with himself to keep her thoughts from going back to what had just transpired. Her trembling seemed to lessen somewhat, as he said, "Now don’t you worry a’tall, my dear sweet lady," and looked up as Duncan entered, stopping short at sight of the body in his entrance hall. Duncan bent, rolling the intruder half over. Had Meredith done this? She must have. There was one of his Wakizashi swords sticking out of the man’s body. It appeared she had meant to disable his gun arm only, not kill him. Gerard must have finished him off for her.

He pushed back the ski mask the intruder wore, studying his face intently. The man looked oddly familiar. Duncan looked hard at his face, then pulled the sleeve back at the left wrist. His suspicion was confirmed. He squatted there, not wanting to believe his eyes, his racing thoughts interrupted by Gerard. "MacLeod, we need to get out of here. Any minute, now..."

Duncan sighed. "I know. The police. They know me, and they know this is my place. Gerard, you better get out of here and quickly, so you’re not implicated. If they take us downtown, we’ll need you to get us out, for–" he indicated Meredith with a tilt of his head, "--special reasons."

"Right you are." Gerard took hold of Meredith’s chin and gently lifted her face. "Little honey-pie, now you listen to Dr. Gerard. You’re going to be just fine. Don’t you worry. Just stay calm and keep breathin’. Look at me, sweetie. It’s okay to tell them what happened, but just don’t mention me, you got that, my pretty little bird?" He looked into her eyes, willing her to focus on him.

She nodded, "I know." She fingered a button on his shirt. "I understand."

He patted her cheek softly and kissed her forehead, saying, "I’ll see you in a little while, sugar-baby. Be brave now, y’hear?" And with that he set her off his lap, walking quickly to the door. He wiped the handle of his sword with his handkerchief as he walked, then exchanged swords with Duncan and said, "I’ll find you." Only seconds later, they heard his car start and move quietly into the night.

Duncan went to his armoire and withdrew a rich, chestnut brown robe of thick velour and crossed to Meredith. He laid the robe on the bed, and reaching for the sword, said, "I’ll take that now, Meredith." When she made no move to hand it to him, he knelt on one knee and, taking her hand, gently pulled her fingers back, one by one, from the handle and laid the sword aside. He looked intently into her eyes. They were dilated. He shook his head. This should never have happened. Not to Meredith. Not at his barge. He chafed her hands gently, calling her name, then lifted the robe and said, "Put this on, Meredith. It will help keep you warm," and he smiled at her. She let him put the robe on her. Outside, sirens were deedeling and stuttering, drawing ever nearer. He sat next to her and put his arm around her, kissed her cheek and leaned his head over against hers and spoke to her, trying to keep her focused. And they waited.



Several small police cars and one unmarked sedan, blue lights flashing, converged on the dock. Duncan spoke into Meredith’s ear, "Meredith, look at me. It’s going to be all right. Just wait, Meredith. Don’t give any statement without me, ok?" He held her face gently between his hands as he looked into her eyes. "All right?"

She nodded. He touched her cheek, then rose and went quickly out the door. Meredith waited, sitting on the bed, listening to the voices, shouts, sounds of feet running all around the barge. Her eyes returned to the dead man lying in the entrance hall. She closed her eyes but that did no good. She could still see him. Her hands began to tingle and she leaned forward, hoping she would not faint. Then she heard Duncan’s voice from outside the barge, "Ahhh, Assistant Chief Inspecteur, um, Didineaux, n’est-ce pas? Oui. Je m’appelle Duncan McLeod. Venez avec moi, s’il vous plait. Je vous dirai tout les choses. Come with me. I’ll tell you everything." They were approaching the door as Duncan continued, "There were quite a few men, I’m not sure exactly how many..."

The Assistant Inspector interrupted, "Combien? How many men? And who are these men?"

Duncan answered, repeating himself, declaring he was not sure how many–possibly six or more–but maybe not that many. He had no idea who they were, Duncan continued; they were all dressed in black and wearing masks, and they came running to enter his barge and, he supposed, to kill him and rob him.

Meredith caught sight of Duncan through a porthole as he continued to talk with gestures, answering the questions several times each. Unexpectedly, a gendârme poked his head in the door of the living quarters, looked around, spied Meredith, then opened the door to come in, and in the process, discovered the dead man’s body, nearly stumbling over it. He gazed first at the man, than at Meredith, then back at the corpse, and again at Meredith, who remained sitting on the edge of the bed, silent and seemingly unaware of the policeman’s presence.

He cleared his throat and spoke, "Bon soir, Madame, comment ça va?" There was no reply. The young policeman knelt by the body around which blood had pooled, noting with some alarm the small sword still protruding from the man’s body. He confirmed that the man was indeed dead, then turned toward Meredith again, who sat unblinking at the end of the bed. However, Meredith did see him, a young man, possibly in his mid-twenties, with brown hair and big brown, puppy-dog eyes. How disarming, she thought. Shut up, she warned herself silently, just shut up.

He approached slowly, and asked in French, "Madame? Can you hear me?" She gave no indication of having heard him. He reached the end of the bed and knelt beside her, asking, "Madame? Comment allez-vous? Allo? Que-ce que c’est, madame?" He looked into her eyes, for some response. They were so wide, he thought, so clear and blue, like the little blue flowers that his mother used to grow in the flower box on her kitchen window sill.

Meredith allowed her gaze to focus on him and take in his police uniform. She pointed toward the hall and said faintly, "Dead. He’s dead."

The young policeman looked at her carefully and she repeated in a whisper, "Dead."

He nodded, repeating, "Mort. Il est mort. Oui, dead."

The lines between her brows appeared and she asked, "Mort?" pronouncing the silent ‘t’."

Deciding she must surely be in shock, the young cop patted her hand, his eyes catching a glimpse of her beautiful décolletage and the peach-colored gown. He shook his head, Mon Dieu! Quelle femme! He looked around, rose and took the coverlet hanging across the back of the sofa; then approached her again, saying, "Voilá, madame," as he drew the small warm blanket around her shoulders. She made no move, so he drew the ends together and pressed them into her hands, which were icy. He chafed her hands a moment, then, concerned, said gently, "Un moment, madame. Je revien ...ehhh, I return queekly."

He headed for the door, thinking he must bring the Assistant Inspector, whom Duncan was just showing inside. There was a flurry of exchanges, names and information, with Duncan attempting to conclude his tour and explanation. The Assistant Inspector was new to the precinct and unfamiliar with Duncan and nowhere near the end of his questioning. He knelt by the dead man, looking carefully, not touching anything, gave a little grunt as he stood and said the French equivalent of "Yep, he’s dead all right."

Not the brightest star in the heavens, Duncan thought, irritated. Didineaux turned to stare at Meredith as Duncan began to explain that she was Madame diAngelos, from America, famous opera singer and long time personal friend, who was visiting as his houseguest, recuperating from the recent traumatic events she experienced in Ireland. Didineaux gave no indication of being aware of which events Duncan spoke of. Indeed, it seemed that he hardly heard Duncan speaking. Feeling his patience sorely tried, Duncan thought, Where is Mergeret when you need him?

Almost magically, the slender Inspector stepped through the door and commented, with his usual sarcastic and obviously insincere joviality, "Ah, MacLeod, tsk, tsk, tsk. What ‘ave we ‘ere, eh? Yet anothair...ehrm, unfortunate occurrence at your barzhe? You are becoming infamous in our précinct, you know. That is the American word, is it not? Précinct?" Mergeret knew that Duncan knew that Mergeret knew quite well that ‘precinct’ was the correct word. "Eet seems we are ‘ere every other week or so for somet’eeng or other. And now?" He looked around the barge, while pausing for effect. Spreading his hands, he asked, "What is ‘ere? Ah, voilá!. A corpse and a beautiful woo-man. But, of course. Quelle femme! We ‘ave zee clues. What else would we need to complete zee meestery? A ‘oreeble veellain, wiz a sword and a black cape, rolleeng ‘eez mustache, eh, MacLeod?" Duncan did not reply.

When Meredith heard those words, she was struck with the absurd desire to giggle and then laugh out loud. The verbal picture was so clear, reminding her of the silly game she and Adam had played, that she had to snort to cover the giggle, then cough to cover the laugh. The inspector looked up from his kneeling position beside the corpse, "Per’aps zat eez my cue to speak to de beautiful lay-dee." Meredith found her mood swing instantly from giddy to very irked. She despised sarcasm, especially sarcasm used by men in positions of authority, and she refused to suffer it, on general principle, except of course, when she used it herself for some perfectly valid reason or other. The Inspector continued, "But, before I do," he pulled back the ski mask to reveal the dead man’s face, "do you recognize ‘eem, MacLeod?"

Duncan moved past the Assistant Inspector and knelt opposite Mergeret, looked carefully at the man’s face, appeared regretful, and lied through his teeth. "No, Inspector, I’m afraid I don’t."

The inspector clicked his teeth. "Tsk, tsk. Too bad, eez eet not, MacLeod, for death to come to one so young in such a way." Without a word, Duncan pointed to the automatic gun with silencer lying near the intruder’s hand. "Ah, yes. The gun. Look, MacLeod, do you notice? It is the weapon of preference for many assassins and terrorists today. Did you know that, MacLeod?" The inspector always emphasized the first syllable of Duncan’s last name a bit too much. Meredith had been in his presence only a few moments, but she found that she wanted very much to slap the man. Duncan shrugged in that classic Gallic manner that could be taken in whatever way one wished to interpret it.

"Hmph. And, eh...a sword in ‘im. What eez eet, MacLeod, with you and swords? Always there seems to be a sword involved with you and these..eh...episodes." The inspector leaned toward Duncan, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "Eez eet pair’aps, a fetish of sorts, hmmm?"

Unamused, Duncan replied coldly, "No. You know perfectly well, Inspector, that I am a collector and I deal in antiques, import/export. You also know perfectly well that I am accomplished in martial arts and the use of such antiques."

The inspector snorted. "Hmm, yes, yes, definitely not ‘for display only’, eh, Mac-Leod? Eh, bien," Mergeret said, his eyebrow quirked, "let us see what la belle dame will tell us."

Duncan stood, blocking the diminutive police detective’s view of Meredith and the way down the steps and across the barge to the sleeping area. He began, "Inspector–"

The young gendârme chose that same moment to step forward and speak up, "Officer Martin Leclerc reporting, M. l’Inspecteur."

Mergeret held a hand up to Duncan, replying to the young policeman, "Oui?"

Mouth still open in his attempt to head off the Inspector, Duncan looked at the young policeman, whose face was flushed as he stood stiffly at attention, ready to tell what he had found. Duncan sighed, feeling this was going to prove more complicated than he had hoped. Didn’t it always, though? he asked himself. The French police followed their own rules of bureaucracy, as he had learned quite well. He listened as the cop told of his discovery of the body, specifically the one lying at their feet, and then the lady, whom he insisted must be in shock. The Inspector listened intently, his eyes flicking here and there about the barge, taking in the entire scene. His experienced eyes did not miss the dents in the barge wall behind and to the side of the bed, and the destruction of the bedding made by the assassin’s firing of his automatic weapon. Almost absently, he counted as many of the dents as he could see. It was clear to him that the intruder was a professional who had entered the barge with deadly intent. He had already decided he wanted to question the woman.

"...And so I think she must see a doctor, Inspector. She is not well," Leclerc concluded his report.

"Hmm. Hmm. I see. Yes, well, I think, first she must come to the Préfecture and answer a few questions."

Duncan interjected, "Inspector, she can’t do that. She really is not well, physically, I mean." At the Inspector’s quizzical _expression, Duncan asked urgently, "If I could have just five minutes--"

"Make it three."

Duncan quickly related the recent events in Meredith’s life, the seriousness of her injuries and her continuing need to recuperate quietly. He said, "A specialist who saw her tonight is admitting her to hospital in the morning for monitoring and--"

Mergeret held up his hand once more to Duncan. "That is good and well, MacLeod, but first, she must answer my questions...just a few, you understand, but there are too many dead men outside and now I find one in your barge–with a weapon still in him–bring it, Leclerc, and that big one as well–so I must find out--"

"Inspector, she didn’t kill him. I did. To protect her. As you can well see, he would have killed us both if possible."

"And you wish me to believe you finished all these evil men yourself? Outside. Inside. How many? Five, six? Who are they, MacLeod? Why do they want to kill you and the lovely woman, hm?"

"Inspector, I told you, I don’t know. Perhaps they belong to a gang of thieves. I am fairly well known in the import business. Perhaps they thought they would find a barge stored with treasures worth millions of francs. Who knows?"

"Precisely, M. MacLeod. Who indeed?" The inspector gently tapped Duncan’s chest with his index finger. "I intend to find out. You may let her get dressed, or not, as you prefer." The inspector shrugged. "Ce m’est égale." Duncan thought angrily, Yes, I’m sure it’s all the same to you, you– "Five minutes," Mergeret’s words broke into Duncan’s thoughts. "To insure your safety and that of your beautiful friend, I myself will drive you." And with a courteous bow, the inspector withdrew taking his men with him.

Duncan closed his eyes and sighed. There was a headache beginning to nag at him in his temples. He put a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it for a moment. As if the night were not already long enough, he thought. When next he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see Meredith standing at his chest of drawers, a drawer open, rifling through his jeans. She found a pair and pulled them out, held them up to her waist and laid them back across the drawer. As she turned slightly, unaware that he was watching, Duncan saw Meredith’s back for the first time in clear light. A wave of shock washed over him. Gerard was right. Her back and sides were black and red and purple with bruises. He had had no real idea of the extent of her injuries. Compassion welled up in him mixed with anger and several other feelings he did not try to name.

The next second he saw her silk gown slip from her body to lie in a soft pile of material around her feet. Duncan gaped at her lovely silhouette, marred so garishly by the bruises in the bright light left on by the police; then he gulped, got hold of himself and went quickly to her side. Meredith was leaning against the chest, breathless. "I...need a ...shirt, Duncan."

"Of course you do, Meredith. Here," he bent and opened a lower drawer filled with shirts and sweaters. Holding onto the chest, Meredith bent slightly and pushed a couple of shirts aside, then withdrew a silk, ivory-colored camp shirt with long sleeves.

"This will do fine." Her voice was quite soft.

It was one of Duncan’s favorites. "Yes, it will do fine for you, Meredith." He closed the drawer.

"I..." her breath came out and she inhaled again to speak. "Could you...put it over my head, and then..."

"Of course, sweetheart. Here." Duncan unfolded the shirt quickly and slipped it over her head. As he has suspected it would, the shirt hung off her shoulders and down to her thighs, and the sleeves were too long. But the pockets on the front gave her extra coverage and a modicum of modesty. She reminded him for a moment of Tessa and the way she had loved to wear nothing but his shirts to bed. Duncan found Meredith’s hands and helped her into the sleeves.

Her breathing was becoming somewhat labored and she whispered, "Could I sit down, please?"

"Of course, Meredith. He put his arms around her and walked her carefully to the sofa, in front of the fireplace. He eased her down onto the soft cushions, then brought the jeans to her. He knelt. "These will be too big in the waist, I’m afraid. Would you like a belt?"

"I....guess so." She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the sofa cushion.

Worriedly, Duncan said, "Meredith, I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am." Then he added, softly, "They’re waiting on us."

She opened her eyes and said, "Yes. Could you...would you just get my feet in them?"

"Absolutely, sweetheart. Hang on." He worked gently and quickly to get her feet and calves into the jeans. When he glanced up at her, her pallor was offset by the bright red spot in each cheek. He shook his head, "You shouldn’t have to do this, Meredith."

"It’s okay, Duncan," Meredith answered. "Just help me pull these jeans up, please."

He worked them up as far as he could, then standing, with hands under her arms he drew her up close to him, smiled at her and said, "Hold on now." He bent over and continued pulling the jeans up and over her behind as she held onto the back of his sweater with her fists. He finally withdrew his head from under her left arm and faced her, "Shirt in or out?"

"In, I think."

Duncan paused a second. "Oh. Um. Okay." He proceeded to stuff the shirt into the back of the jeans, trying his best not to jar her unnecessarily as he worked. Duncan made his way around the sides and to the front. He could not ignore the closeness of her. She still affected him more than he wanted her to.

She watched his face as he worked, saying at last, "Duncan." And again, "Duncan."

He looked up. "I’ll do the rest. Wanna get a belt for me? And my headband on top of the chest?"

"Sure thing, and how ‘bout some socks?"

"Great."

He left her standing there and went quickly to the chest for the items she needed. She finished stuffing the shirt inside the jeans, zipped them up and leaned against Duncan who was back almost as quickly as he had left, while he threaded the loops at her waist with a thin leather belt. Meredith felt such warmth in her heart for Duncan as he helped her. She knew she would always love him, regardless of the circumstances. He would always be her wonderful knight, her first love who had swept her up and set her on her path in life. She touched his cheek as he buckled the belt and murmured, "Sweet Duncan."

He looked up at last, "Hm?"

Meredith swallowed. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome, Meredith." Then he really saw her _expression. "Was there something else?"

"Just...thank you." She leaned against him, her face against his face, her arms around his back. He held her close and for one sweet moment...

The door opened and a policeman stuck his head in. Duncan turned his head, held up two fingers and said, "Deux minutes." The policeman nodded and withdrew obligingly.

Meredith drew back and asked, "Headband?"

"Et voilB, madame," Duncan replied, smiling warmly. Meredith placed it on her head to hold back her mane of curls; she plucked at the shirt a bit at the waist. As she rolled the long sleeves and secured them with the strip of silk to the button on each sleeve, weaving a bit on her feet, Duncan had to admit, she had chosen well. The clothes were simple, casual, but she looked young and demure, innocent and almost elegant, all in this one look.

"I have socks here for you, sweetheart. And we’ll grab your coat on the way out." He turned to lead the way out.

She held back. "Um..."

Duncan looked at her and said, "Just look at me, Meredith, don’t look down. Better yet--" Duncan picked her up and carried her up the steps to the landing, where he set her gently down, helped her into her coat, then after she was through the door, he picked her up again and carried her easily to the inspector’s car, bare feet and all.