Heart, Faith, and Steel 7/8 =========================== But upstairs, in the private room he had rented for the night, he soon realized otherwise. She smiled at him and came into his arms eagerly enough, but her kisses lacked the depth of passion he knew her capable of. When he stood behind her and lifted the silken strands of her hair from her neck, she froze. Only for an instant, but he knew what he had seen. Another man would not have noticed, but he had lived with this woman for nearly a century, and he knew her. He removed his hands from her and sat down on the edge of the canopied bed. "Have you forgotten, Cassandra?" he asked gently. "I am a man who prefers willing and enthusiastic bedpartners." "I am willing, Tak Ne," she said, coming to stand before him, but her smile was forced. "But you are not enthusiastic." Something flickered in her eyes, but in the light of the single candle from the sconce on the wall, he could not tell what it was. Fear? Despair? Hope? "Cassandra," he said softly, "you don't have to pretend with me." She looked away at that, then whispered, "I'm sorry. I just need ... a little time." "We're Immortal," he said. "We have time." "I didn't mean to mislead you, Tak Ne," she said, sitting beside him, but not touching him. Her hands lay loosely clasped in her lap, not moving at all. "I truly did not think it would be this difficult." "A thousand years is a long time to be apart." She stared at the pleats in her gown. "I can still ... do things for you, give you--" "Cassandra," he broke in, "stop. You don't owe me anything." "You've fed me and given me a place to sleep, and I don't owe you?" Her eyes were dark and knowing, cynical. Bitter. "No," he said, disturbed that she would continue to offer herself to him this way, wondering how many times over the last three thousand years she had sold her body for food and protection. "Not that." The bitterness in her eyes wavered and cracked, revealing the vulnerability and loneliness he remembered. "You are a good man," she said, with a wisp of a smile. "I've forgotten what that's like." A very long thousand years. He offered her his hand palm up, and waited until she had laid her hand within his. "We have time," he said again, then coaxed a smile from her as he added, "and I know you're worth the wait." ~~ They left Venice the next morning and went to Genoa, then four weeks later they sailed to Barcelona on the ship Persephone. The ship's master married them two days into the voyage, and Cassandra came to him then. It was a wedding night worth waiting for. Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez and his wife, the Senora Maria Caterina Rohas y Ramirez, settled on an estate near the small seaside town of Mataro. He kept busy with the farm and his business ventures in textiles, while Cassandra taught music and healing to the sisters at the convent, and started a hospice in town for the poor. But after sixteen years, it was time to move on, as Immortals always moved on. They traveled north to Ireland and spent a year there, then sailed for the west coast of Scotland, to the Highlands, at Cassandra's suggestion. She befriended a local healer near the shores of Loch Shiel, and when the old woman died that summer, Cassandra and Tak Ne moved into her small cottage near an ancient hot spring, a place sacred to the spirits of the forest, holy ground. The cottage was small and lacked windows and a fireplace, so they hauled rocks from the nearby river and rebuilt it into a more comfortable home. Cassandra seemed content to stay in the forest, handing out healing remedies to the clansfolk, but within a year the restlessness came on him again. "You should go," she said, kneeling back on her heels in the garden, her hands stained green with plant juice and brown with dirt. "You don't belong here." He leaned on his shovel, taking a well-earned rest from digging. "And you do?" She looked about her at the stone cottage, the small shed they had built for the sheep and the chickens, the garden. Then she stared upward into the canopy of green leaves from the ancient oaks and beeches, and the bright blue of the sky beyond. "Yes," she said. "I do." She rose smoothly to her feet and wiped her hands off on her apron as she came to him. "I need a time of peace, I think. Of quietness." He nodded, for he had seen the change in her since they had come to the forest, the contentment, as though she had finally found something she had sought long and far. "Go," she said again, as they took each other's hands. "But come back to me." "You'll be here?" "Oh, yes," she said. "I'll be here in Donan Woods for quite some time." "Then I'll know where to find you," he said, and he kissed her lightly in farewell. ~~~~~ Cassandra set down the wool she had been carding and reached for her sword. An Immortal was approaching. She peered out the crack between the shutters on the window, then left her sword on the table and went running out the door. "Tak Ne!" she called, as he swung himself down from his horse. He laughed and twirled her around in his arms, then slowed as they kissed. "This is certainly an enthusiastic greeting," he said, holding tight to her with one arm, while he settled his white-plumed hat more firmly on his head with the other hand. "Enthusiastic--and willing," Cassandra agreed. He smelled of sweat and horse, and his green velvet doublet was covered with dust. He looked and felt and tasted wonderful, and her hands roved up and down his back as she relished the solid strength of him. "It's been fifteen years." They kissed again, enthusiastically, until he finally pulled back and said, "I need at least to unsaddle my horse. It was a long ride." "I hope that ride hasn't tired you out for another," she said, as she reluctantly let go of him. He grinned at her as he took off the saddlebags. "Immortals don't stay saddlesore for long." She grinned back. "No matter what kind of riding they're doing." He laughed at that, and she took his bags into the cottage while he unsaddled his horse. Cassandra undressed quickly, then donned sandals and the blue silk robe he had bought for her when they had lived in Spain. She left the garment unfastened, then went back outside, a cup of wine in her hand. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, then came to take the wine from her hand, the darks of his eyes very wide, very warm. "Would you care to bathe?" she asked, and at his nod, she led him to the pool, down the short path between the pair of enormous oak trees, the guardians of the spring. She slipped out of her own gown first, then helped him to disrobe, and saw him seated comfortably on the rock under the surface of the water. She rinsed away the dust of his journey, the warm water pouring from her cupped hands, then she washed him, his skin smooth under her fingertips, under her lips and her tongue. He still tasted wonderful. "I think you washed that part of me already," he said, half-floating in the water with his eyes closed. "So I did," she agreed, pausing in her ministrations. "Should I stop?" "No." ~~ Over the evening meal of barley and chicken stew, he told her of his adventures. "I've been traveling with King Charles. He made me his Chief Metallurgist, advisor on weapons of war." "That's wonderful," she congratulated him. "Is that Charles I of Spain, Ferdinand and Isabella's grandson?" she asked, knowing how quickly crowns could change, how easily countries could disappear. "Yes, that's the one," he said, pouring them both more wine. "Though he's also held the title of Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire for nearly fourteen years now. He's been fighting the Turks, the French, and even the Pope. His armies sacked Rome about seven years ago." "That's nothing new," she commented dryly. Rome was always being sacked. "True," he agreed. "But it wasn't as bad as other times, and it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Martin Luther wanted Charles to string the Pope and the cardinals up from the gallows, skin them alive, and then burn them. Of course, that's what the Pope will do to Luther if he catches him." "Who's Martin Luther?" Cassandra asked, as she finished the last bite of her stew. "A German fellow, used to be a monk. He started out trying to reform the Church, now he's trying to replace it with his own. The Pope declared him a heretic, and he turned around and declared the Pope a wretched, accursed monster." Tak Ne sipped at his wine. "There's been a lot of fighting about religion lately." "That's nothing new, either," she said, disgusted with the entire mess of it. Crusades, inquisitions, persecutions, religious wars--it never stopped. Jesus of Nazareth would not recognize his own words anymore. Cassandra shrugged and stacked the bowls. There was nothing she could do about it. Tak Ne shook his head. "This is different. Entire countries are involved now, not just small groups of people here and there. I don't think the next century or so is going to be pleasant for Christians, no matter which church they belong to." Cassandra couldn't do anything about that, either. "So, should we play chess, or should we go to bed?" ~~ Tak Ne stayed with her for almost a month, then went back to King Charles. Seven years later, in the spring of 1541, he returned, hunting for the Kurgan. "I heard he was in the Highlands," Tak Ne said, as he huddled in front of the fire, trying to get warm after his long ride in the rain. "He might have been looking for me." "Maybe he was," she said, bringing him a mug of steaming tea, "but I think he found someone else." At his sharp look, she sat beside him on the narrow wooden bench and explained. "One of the village girls told me the story last month. Five years ago, a young warrior of the clan MacLeod was killed in battle by a very tall knight, but the warrior did not stay dead." "I've heard the Kurgan likes to hunt pre-Immortals," Tak Ne said grimly. "Has he been searching for you through the years?" she asked, knowing what it was to be hunted. He sipped at his tea, then shook his head. "I don't think so, and I don't hunt him, unless I hear he's nearby. I have better things to do with my life." Cassandra stood and went to the fire, wishing Roland felt the same way, wishing she could live the same way. She tried to--tried to keep teaching, keep learning, keep living--but Roland was always waiting for her, somewhere. Tak Ne stretched out his feet to the fire, wiggling his toes. "It's been a long time since I had a student. Maybe I'll take on this fellow." Roland had been her student once. She had taught him too much, and she was still paying for that mistake. She had helped him become the Voice of Death, and he loved to kill. He had killed her, many times, and the people she loved, but she could not kill him. A Prophecy had been made in the Temple of Artemis, almost three thousand years ago, a prophecy of a child, a Highland Foundling, born on the Winter Solstice, who would travel through darkness into light, and defeat the Voice of Death. Cassandra wanted the Voice of Death dead, but she had to wait for the Highland Foundling to kill him. She had waited for three thousand years, and she was still waiting. She hated waiting. "What happened to your other student?" Cassandra asked, turning to Tak Ne with a show of cheerful interest, trying to wipe all thoughts of Roland from her mind, not wanting Tak Ne to know about her failure as a teacher. "The one from Hispania?" "Ah, Rubio. We fought together against the Moors in Spain, and I saw him a few years ago at the royal court. He's doing well." Cassandra nodded, not wishing to hear it. "How often have you met the Kurgan?" she asked, joining him on the bench and changing the subject again. "We've met only three times: Babylon and Corinth, then some centuries ago, in China." He grimaced, a quick lift of eyebrows, a tightening of lips. "That last time I was lucky to get away with my head." He took another drink of tea, then asked, "What happened to the clansman who revived?" "Just what you would expect," Cassandra said. "His tribe banished him as a witch. He was lucky he wasn't burnt at the stake." Tak Ne nodded. "Do you know his name?" "Connor MacLeod." ~~