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broadsword_babeWhen: October, 1871
Where: Arizona Territory, USA
Alias: Kate Darcy
She wasn't what most men expected with her long, red hair and piercing bluish-green eyes and the enormous gray dog that followed her everywhere. Most men never expected a woman who could ride, shoot and fight as well as they could. In these parts, women were expected to make a living on their backs, not on their feet. But she'd earned her keep honestly (most of the time), whether it was tracking, poker, or bringing in the odd outlaw or two.
Kate leaned her chair back against the wall, surveying the saloon from under the brim of her black felt hat. It was close on to midnight and the place was abuzz with activity. Every table had some card game or other going, including hers.
She pulled a worthless Two of Diamonds out of her hand and slid it towards the dealer who, in turn, handed her a Jack of Clubs. She didn't blink in surprise, or even unbend so much as to crack a smile at the Royal Flush she now held. She'd had centuries to perfect her lies, and poker was just another way to practice her skill. Kate had just tossed another couple of coins into the pot when the saloon doors swung open.
Where: Arizona Territory, USA
Alias: Kate Darcy
She wasn't what most men expected with her long, red hair and piercing bluish-green eyes and the enormous gray dog that followed her everywhere. Most men never expected a woman who could ride, shoot and fight as well as they could. In these parts, women were expected to make a living on their backs, not on their feet. But she'd earned her keep honestly (most of the time), whether it was tracking, poker, or bringing in the odd outlaw or two.
Kate leaned her chair back against the wall, surveying the saloon from under the brim of her black felt hat. It was close on to midnight and the place was abuzz with activity. Every table had some card game or other going, including hers.
She pulled a worthless Two of Diamonds out of her hand and slid it towards the dealer who, in turn, handed her a Jack of Clubs. She didn't blink in surprise, or even unbend so much as to crack a smile at the Royal Flush she now held. She'd had centuries to perfect her lies, and poker was just another way to practice her skill. Kate had just tossed another couple of coins into the pot when the saloon doors swung open.
She'd been feeling the buzz in her skull from the presence of another Immortal for the past five minutes. Given how strong the buzz was, they were either really old or really deadly, or both. There were two she'd heard of who were like that, one she knew, one she didn't, and she hoped that it was the former.
Faking an itch, she reached down and quietly drew back the hammer of the Peacemaker hanging at her hip. The soft "snick" could barely be heard over the din of various conversations as well as the horribly out-of-tune piano.
When the other, older, Immortal stepped into the saloon, it was all she could do not to sigh in relief. Methos, or "Ben Adams" as he called himself now. She slowly uncocked the pistol, watching him look around for the source of the buzz in his own head. When his eyes landed on her, there was no mistaking the surprise, nor the cocky grin that spread across his face. Kate, on the other hand, only acknowledged him by a barely-there nod.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, a hand resting on the back of an empty chair.
"Sure thing, stranger," one of the other men replied, his words a bit slurred from the quantity of whiskey he'd consumed over the course of the evening.
"Got a name, stranger?" one of the others asked.
Kate narrowed her eyes at Methos.
Don't you dare tell them, she warned silently.
"Ben," he answered simply, understanding her glare.
"Well, Ben, that's Tommy, Billy, I'm Jack, and this here's Kate," another of the posse spoke up.
"Kate, hmmm?" Ben asked with an impish smirk. "Mind if I call you 'Katie'?"
The guys around the table laughed, but Kate still hadn't said a word.
"Just so you know, Ben, the last fella to try and call her Katie ended up with a broken arm," Tommy replied, still laughing.
Again, she glared at Ben, daring him to quote one word from Shakespeare's play. Yes, she was every inch the shrew, but it's what kept her alive.
"So, gentlemen, what's the game?" Ben asked, changing the subject.
Another hand was dealt as Ben anteed up. The last time they'd seen each other, they had faced off across a chess board, now it was poker. There was just as much strategy and cunning involved, and she wasn't surprised to see that he still played conservatively. He played his cards close to the vest, always hedging his bets until he was sure he held the best hand. All the while, leading everyone else to believe he had the most worthless cards in the deck. She almost fell for it herself a couple of times. Sneaky bastard.
Hours passed and the others drifted off towards their rooms until it was only the two of them left at the table. The other games were winding down as well as the clock crept closer to dawn. Both kept their facades of strangers, each knowing it was all for show. Neither said much, their eyes spoke for them.
You're damned lucky I found you, said hers.
Why? asked his.
A quick shake of her head and a pointed look to the door was all the answer she gave. It was all he needed. By unspoken agreement, they both knew this was the last hand. His aces beat her eights, and she stood up to stretch her legs.
"Good game." It was the first thing Kate had said that evening. "Now, I think I'll take a walk before turning in."
The night air was dry and cool this time of year, and she breathed in a deep lungful, letting it clear her head. It had been sheer damned luck that Methos had walked into that particular saloon. The posse she'd teamed up with had been tracking him for weeks, everyone hoping to find him before the sheriff's men. They thought it was for bounty, but she had reasons of her own.
She pulled open the barn door, just enough to slip through. If anyone asked, she was here to make sure her horse was being well taken care of. Kate carefully lit one of the lanterns and hung it on a nearby hook. In its stall, her roan snorted a soft greeting.
The gelding was on his third handful of oats when she felt Methos approach. She turned towards the door just as he entered the stables. A hundred years ago, powdered wigs and other frippery had been all the rage, now she couldn't have been more different in men's trousers, duster, creme brocade waistcoat, and a white linen shirt. Still, she managed to pull the look off with great panache.
"Freyja," he greeted her softly, walking towards her.
"Methos," she replied with a quirk of a smile at the corner of her lips.
"You've been following me," he said with a teasing smirk.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the stall door. "But not for the reasons you think."
"Well, that certainly is a shame," Methos answered with a gleam in his dark eyes.
"You know why things can't ever work between us," Freyja said with almost a hint of regret in her voice.
"I know," he replied with a soft sigh. "So, care to tell me exactly why you have a posse out for me? Wounded pride? You know I let you win that chess match."
Freyja clamped down on the urge to laugh. For all his faults, his sense of humor was one of the things she liked best about him, if she ever bothered to admit it.
"No, that isn't it," she replied, turning serious. "Kronos is alive."
The mischievous sparkle in Methos' brown eyes disappeared in an instant. Freyja told him how months ago, she'd heard rumors of an outlaw called "El Gato." The authorities knew him as "Melvin Koren." Many claimed that he'd been shot and stabbed more times than Blackbeard and still managed to live. That alone had gotten her attention, and when she'd learned of the long, jagged scar down the right side of his face, starting from forehead and ending just below his cheekbone, her blood ran cold. She just knew it had to be Kronos.
According to Cassandra, and Methos, he was the worst of the Horsemen, and if he learned that his old friend was still alive, there was no doubt Kronos would want to take up where they'd left off nearly nineteen hundred years ago. Freyja knew that she would never be able to take on Kronos herself, but instead felt that she had to warn Methos.
"The last I heard, he was somewhere in south Texas," she added. "His reputation hasn't gotten much better, from what I've heard."
"And you thought to warn me out of the kindness of your heart?" Methos asked, almost bitter.
"Let's just call it even," Freyja answered, pointedly rubbing the side of her neck, reminding him that he could've had her head all those centuries ago.
"So, is that why you think I saved your life?" he growled.
"Isn't it?"
"That's beside the point."
"Which is?"
His only answer was a baleful glare.
"Look, Kronos isn't your only problem," Freyja added. "If Sheriff Brunton's men catch up with you, you're as good as hanged."
"But I thought..."
She shook her head. "I wanted to catch up with you before they did."
"Thanks, but I can take care of myself," Methos snorted. "I've been doing it for thousands of years."
"Fine," she shot back, marching towards the door. "Next time I'll just let you fend for yourself."
Methos reached the door before her, and blocked her way out. He crossed his arms and leaned against the planks of wood.
"Now, what was the real reason you wanted to warn me?" he asked impudently. "It couldn't be that you actually like me after all this time?"
Freyja reached beyond him to pull on the door handle. With a strength he'd forgotten she had, she managed to yank the door open, moving him out of the way.
"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"
The last time he saw her was the next morning. He listened from just inside the doorway to the saloon as she told the rest of her posse that Ben had disappeared during the night and was probably half-way to Flagstaff by now. He wanted to grumble that he didn't need anyone watching out for him, but at the same time, he silently thanked her for her trouble.
He stood on the boardwalk just outside as she disappeared into the sunrise. It would be nearly a century and a half before their paths crossed again.
Faking an itch, she reached down and quietly drew back the hammer of the Peacemaker hanging at her hip. The soft "snick" could barely be heard over the din of various conversations as well as the horribly out-of-tune piano.
When the other, older, Immortal stepped into the saloon, it was all she could do not to sigh in relief. Methos, or "Ben Adams" as he called himself now. She slowly uncocked the pistol, watching him look around for the source of the buzz in his own head. When his eyes landed on her, there was no mistaking the surprise, nor the cocky grin that spread across his face. Kate, on the other hand, only acknowledged him by a barely-there nod.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, a hand resting on the back of an empty chair.
"Sure thing, stranger," one of the other men replied, his words a bit slurred from the quantity of whiskey he'd consumed over the course of the evening.
"Got a name, stranger?" one of the others asked.
Kate narrowed her eyes at Methos.
Don't you dare tell them, she warned silently.
"Ben," he answered simply, understanding her glare.
"Well, Ben, that's Tommy, Billy, I'm Jack, and this here's Kate," another of the posse spoke up.
"Kate, hmmm?" Ben asked with an impish smirk. "Mind if I call you 'Katie'?"
The guys around the table laughed, but Kate still hadn't said a word.
"Just so you know, Ben, the last fella to try and call her Katie ended up with a broken arm," Tommy replied, still laughing.
Again, she glared at Ben, daring him to quote one word from Shakespeare's play. Yes, she was every inch the shrew, but it's what kept her alive.
"So, gentlemen, what's the game?" Ben asked, changing the subject.
Another hand was dealt as Ben anteed up. The last time they'd seen each other, they had faced off across a chess board, now it was poker. There was just as much strategy and cunning involved, and she wasn't surprised to see that he still played conservatively. He played his cards close to the vest, always hedging his bets until he was sure he held the best hand. All the while, leading everyone else to believe he had the most worthless cards in the deck. She almost fell for it herself a couple of times. Sneaky bastard.
Hours passed and the others drifted off towards their rooms until it was only the two of them left at the table. The other games were winding down as well as the clock crept closer to dawn. Both kept their facades of strangers, each knowing it was all for show. Neither said much, their eyes spoke for them.
You're damned lucky I found you, said hers.
Why? asked his.
A quick shake of her head and a pointed look to the door was all the answer she gave. It was all he needed. By unspoken agreement, they both knew this was the last hand. His aces beat her eights, and she stood up to stretch her legs.
"Good game." It was the first thing Kate had said that evening. "Now, I think I'll take a walk before turning in."
The night air was dry and cool this time of year, and she breathed in a deep lungful, letting it clear her head. It had been sheer damned luck that Methos had walked into that particular saloon. The posse she'd teamed up with had been tracking him for weeks, everyone hoping to find him before the sheriff's men. They thought it was for bounty, but she had reasons of her own.
She pulled open the barn door, just enough to slip through. If anyone asked, she was here to make sure her horse was being well taken care of. Kate carefully lit one of the lanterns and hung it on a nearby hook. In its stall, her roan snorted a soft greeting.
The gelding was on his third handful of oats when she felt Methos approach. She turned towards the door just as he entered the stables. A hundred years ago, powdered wigs and other frippery had been all the rage, now she couldn't have been more different in men's trousers, duster, creme brocade waistcoat, and a white linen shirt. Still, she managed to pull the look off with great panache.
"Freyja," he greeted her softly, walking towards her.
"Methos," she replied with a quirk of a smile at the corner of her lips.
"You've been following me," he said with a teasing smirk.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the stall door. "But not for the reasons you think."
"Well, that certainly is a shame," Methos answered with a gleam in his dark eyes.
"You know why things can't ever work between us," Freyja said with almost a hint of regret in her voice.
"I know," he replied with a soft sigh. "So, care to tell me exactly why you have a posse out for me? Wounded pride? You know I let you win that chess match."
Freyja clamped down on the urge to laugh. For all his faults, his sense of humor was one of the things she liked best about him, if she ever bothered to admit it.
"No, that isn't it," she replied, turning serious. "Kronos is alive."
The mischievous sparkle in Methos' brown eyes disappeared in an instant. Freyja told him how months ago, she'd heard rumors of an outlaw called "El Gato." The authorities knew him as "Melvin Koren." Many claimed that he'd been shot and stabbed more times than Blackbeard and still managed to live. That alone had gotten her attention, and when she'd learned of the long, jagged scar down the right side of his face, starting from forehead and ending just below his cheekbone, her blood ran cold. She just knew it had to be Kronos.
According to Cassandra, and Methos, he was the worst of the Horsemen, and if he learned that his old friend was still alive, there was no doubt Kronos would want to take up where they'd left off nearly nineteen hundred years ago. Freyja knew that she would never be able to take on Kronos herself, but instead felt that she had to warn Methos.
"The last I heard, he was somewhere in south Texas," she added. "His reputation hasn't gotten much better, from what I've heard."
"And you thought to warn me out of the kindness of your heart?" Methos asked, almost bitter.
"Let's just call it even," Freyja answered, pointedly rubbing the side of her neck, reminding him that he could've had her head all those centuries ago.
"So, is that why you think I saved your life?" he growled.
"Isn't it?"
"That's beside the point."
"Which is?"
His only answer was a baleful glare.
"Look, Kronos isn't your only problem," Freyja added. "If Sheriff Brunton's men catch up with you, you're as good as hanged."
"But I thought..."
She shook her head. "I wanted to catch up with you before they did."
"Thanks, but I can take care of myself," Methos snorted. "I've been doing it for thousands of years."
"Fine," she shot back, marching towards the door. "Next time I'll just let you fend for yourself."
Methos reached the door before her, and blocked her way out. He crossed his arms and leaned against the planks of wood.
"Now, what was the real reason you wanted to warn me?" he asked impudently. "It couldn't be that you actually like me after all this time?"
Freyja reached beyond him to pull on the door handle. With a strength he'd forgotten she had, she managed to yank the door open, moving him out of the way.
"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"
The last time he saw her was the next morning. He listened from just inside the doorway to the saloon as she told the rest of her posse that Ben had disappeared during the night and was probably half-way to Flagstaff by now. He wanted to grumble that he didn't need anyone watching out for him, but at the same time, he silently thanked her for her trouble.
He stood on the boardwalk just outside as she disappeared into the sunrise. It would be nearly a century and a half before their paths crossed again.
