MYFANWY LLEWELYN

'I will search the world; I will face its harms, till I find my hero's welcome waiting in your arms.'
'Go the Distance', Bryan Adams; from the Disney cartoon 'Hercules'.

"I was born in the hills of Wales, late in the Sixteenth century. I grew up surrounded and permeated by the Celtic spirit, or hoel as it is called by the Welsh. I have lived and loved for just over 400 years. I help those in need, often disguised as a man in past centuries. My heart and body have been given in love. The red dragon of Wales protects me. I walk as softly as I can on Mother earth. I believe there will be two at the end, not one. Two could join so completely that none can part them, not even the Gods. May it be so; may it be granted to me to know it. Cymru am byth!!!"

Watcher's notes:
Memories from about 1622 onwards - as told to newest personal Watcher. For the sound archives. Myfanwy speaks in a low, well modulated voice with occasional traces of a Welsh accent.

It was Winter and it was raining. My skirts tore as I ran away from the castle I had called home for the last fifteen years. Before that, childhood in Brecon with kind parents. Tall, gawky, a late bloomer and adopted. No dowry, naturally. When I was twenty I had been married to a much older rich man to keep his bed warm and maybe provide him with another son. He lived in a small castle some miles away. Geraint was maybe about fifty years old, but he was kind and quite passionate. We were lovers in the truest sense of the word for fifteen years. When he died, his eldest son's jealousy of my favoured position raised its head and he raped, then stabbed me. I ran away, jumping off the battlements, meaning to die. I survived the fall in the dark, my hand clenched tightly over the site of the fatal wound in my side. I was frightened and elated at the same time. I had no notion then of what I had become. I found a rude hovel some miles away. Wool on the floor, blood and shears on the one rough bench proclaimed it as a place where sheep were kept and sometimes slaughtered. I cut off my hair and made my dress quite short. A rough pair of leggings made out of skin hung on the wall. I pulled them on hurriedly and went back out into the night. I rubbed mud into my face and kept on travelling through the night.

Several days later the sound of the sea met my ears. I had been to the shrine of Dewi Sant once and knew the voice of the ocean. I stumbled at length down towards the great church. As I sheltered in the doorway, I felt my head thumping with pain and I was suddenly nauseous. I looked up into the faces of a kind-looking man and woman. They both had the stocky look of many Welsh - she had dark brown hair and eyes. Dafydd's hair was similar, curly, but his eyes were green. I suppose they were about my own age physically, but Bronwen had known both Saint David and the Immortal warrior chieftain latterly known as King Arthur personally. Dafydd was a little younger, having started as a Druid.
"Shw mai..?"
I instinctively lowered my voice as I replied, "I'm Rhodri....." I chose my adoptive father's name. They smiled and offered me food and shelter. I hadn't eaten much since leaving the castle and didn't take much persuading.

During the next weeks, months and years, they taught me about Immortals, learnt my true gender and name and began my training. I came to love and trust both Dafydd and Bronwen implicitly. They posed as monk and nun, living near St Non's shrine on holy ground. I learned that they had been together for over two hundred years. They gave me my first blade, a light broadsword. It stayed with me for over a hundred years until I met Rayf Brilleut. Cher Rayf. Mon amour. I think he is a story for another time. Bittersweet memories. A precious lover. Let us just say he is the one who made my special foil for me with his own hands. Careful; it's razor sharp down the entire length.

I trained hard, safe on holy ground. I learned to keep my blade with me and how to use it. Also quarter-staff, bow and hand-to-hand fighting. Not as advanced as some of the Oriental disciplines I have since learnt, but good enough. Although I'd had a husband, Bronwen taught me more about pleasing a man in bed and out of it. Dafydd taught me how to act like a man. I have the height to carry off the deception and my face is striking rather than softly beautiful. You want a physical description? Well, there are photographs now, even a copy of the nude painting that Rayf did of me which you managed to obtain somehow. I hope you keep it under lock and key. Your eyes only? Thank-you; I'll hold you to that. I know we've got a good friendship; I like the idea that when I eventually go something of me will be left behind. But keep that painting secret, please.

Well, I am five feet nine inches tall, I have medium straight brown hair, very blue eyes and I am fairly slender, though I have what my adoptive mother called 'good bones'. Wide shoulders, long waisted and reasonably feminine curves. Not too much, otherwise disguising my gender might be a problem! Yes, I have been called beautiful. I just find my chin too determined for real beauty in comparison to many women. The soul inside the package? Celtic, first and foremost. You can take the lady away from Welsh hoel, but you can't take the hoel away from the lady! No, it doesn't translate well into English. 'Spirit' is closest. My spirituality is Celtic; similar to Native Americans - reverence of life; treating the Earth kindly, seeing the divine in everything. That's why I have often been a nurse, a midwife; sometimes a nun. Though the latter not for long! I enjoy the pleasure of masculine company far too much to dedicate my life to holy orders. I will, however, take the head of an evil Immortal who comes my way; even though the death of another often makes me cry. That's exactly what happened the first time.

When an evil Immortal called Cei captured and killed Dafydd in early 1626 Bronwen was distraught. She became almost hysterical in her grief. I was the one who tracked Cei to his cave and avenged Dafydd's death, taking my first head. I remember looking at the bloodied blade in stunned disbelief, then the lightning descended upon me. It was pain and ecstasy in equal measure. I gasped, then yelled. The storm raged within me, outside me. I rode the whirlwind. The electricity seemed to spark along every nerve. Nothing Bronwen or Dafydd had said could have prepared me for the experience. Tears ran down my face as I wept for Cei. He had a blackened soul, it is true; but in an instant I saw the good that might have been and I cried instinctively for what was lost.

The hunger that came after the Quickening made me wrap my arms tight around myself and rock slowly to and fro for hours until the need to contact living human flesh had gone. Yes, those stories are true. The need to hold and be held close by someone kind is overwhelming. Well, of course it usually leads to a lot more than holding! Having a moderately attractive person of the sex of one's choice nearby leads to the hunger being focussed quite specifically! How long does the hunger last? In direct proportion to the intensity of the Quickening. I think you can draw your own conclusions about the rest.

Bronwen found me with both bodies a day later. We clung to each other and cried some more. We buried both of them, raising a cairn of stones over Dafydd. Bronwen straightened slowly.
"Well, Myfanwy; cariad. Time to be moving along."
I stared at her in disbelief, "We have to go?"
She nodded slowly, "Cei had a male Immortal lover who may still be alive. A huge, nasty piece of work called Kurgan. I don't think either of us is quite ready to deal with him yet." I'm glad now that I didn't know until it was over how long that Immortal evaded justice. I might have feared for my life more often. We packed essentials, including gold and jewels for trading and moved on.

I lost Bronwen in a shipwreck about a year later off the Manx coast. I never saw her again. She may be still down there I suppose, although I hope not. Long drownings have been known to do terrible things to an Immortal mind. I could speak Welsh and English by this time and read and write in both languages. This was unusual for a woman, but Immortals need to keep one step ahead in order to survive. I had already disguised myself as a young soldier. I headed north, for want of any better plan. The Spring was coming to the hills; the snowdrops were just over and wild daffodils were beginning to bud. I could feel the warmth in the breeze. The hills and mountains were very similar in some respects to my native land, but higher and craggier. Wilder. Snow still lay on many peaks even as leaves furled on the trees in the sheltered valleys. That had been known to happen in the Brecon beacons too, even though they were less lofty.

An inn at last. Small, homely; situated at a cross-roads. I felt a strong Buzz, even from a distance. One of the gifts that I have which sets me apart from many Immortals is the ability to gain an impression of the owner of the Buzz before I see them. Bronwen used to say it was my version of the 'sight'. I had known a wise-woman with this gift as a child. She had said some strange things to me that I had since understood were premonitions of my Immortality. I sat on a large granite stone and closed my eyes. Warmth. No, stronger than that; heat. Very masculine. A dark warrior. My brow furrowed. I didn't know if I was ready for a fight just now. But there was a peaceful aura about this man too, plus something very sensual. I chuckled. I didn't think my current persona lended to his sensuality being a problem, unless.... Well, I could cross that bridge when and if I came to it.

I got up and cautiously entered the tavern. This could be dangerous. I was on new, foreign territory. I hadn't missed the signs evident in Hadrian's wall as I passed. I had heard of some of the habits of the Scots; even sampled the 'water of life'. The Lowland people had been largely welcoming to a Welsh stranger. I scanned the bar. He was sitting in the corner, hunched over a beaker of whisky. He looked up. Our eyes met. For a few seconds, I was aware of nothing else but the beautiful soul radiating out from him. I'd never felt anyone this strongly before. I blinked and finally saw the flesh and blood man sitting there. Very long dark brown to black hair, brushing the bench on which he sat, a simple small circlet on his brow. A chieftain's son, then. Eyes that looked black in the dim light of the tavern. Darker than average colouring for a Celt - what they would now call a 'Black' Scot. He looked as if he was in a foul mood. I held up my hands defensively and his face relaxed. Much better. The corner of his lips twitched very slightly into the beginning of a smile. Now when he did that, suddenly I saw the handsome man appear. Yes, of course it was Duncan! We laugh about that first meeting now, but he genuinely didn't guess that I was a woman; not until much later!

There was some chuckling here as Myfanwy recalled her memory. I must check whether Joe Dawson has a corresponding entry for Duncan.

I suppose it was like something Shakespeare might have written. 'Lady in disguise becomes genuinely friendly with attractive man whilst he is unaware of her gender'. Like Viola in 'Twelfth Night' or Rosalinda in 'As you like it'. I sat down nearby. I saw that his eyes were actually golden hazel fringed with long black lashes. Stunning. We shared some ale and food and tried to communicate. This was a little difficult, since he had almost nothing but Gaelic at the time and I had Welsh and English. The conversation was largely held in body language and mono-syllables! There was a stable loft where overnight visitors could stay. We carefully placed our swords deliberately together, but within clear line of site and went to sleep.

No, of course not!! He thought I was a young man! Well yes, there is more; but even he doesn't know about this. Look, Methos hid amongst you for years until you found out somehow. I don't like sharing confidential stuff, not even with you. Especially when it involves a man I regard as a special, very close friend. Well, I ought to tell Duncan about this some time soon. If the Watchers are going to have this on record, he has a right to know too. But he hears it from me.

Perhaps he was temporarily sick; maybe it was just a bad dream. Anyway, he woke in the night. He was saying something over and over. Three names kept re-occurring; Robert, Debra and Connor. Now Connor MacLeod I had heard of. Tales of him had even reached Dafydd and Bronwen. They knew Immortals who knew him. I went over to Duncan where he lay tossing and turning, lost deep inside a dream. His brow was hot and feverish and he did not respond to my touch. I was concerned for him. Most Immortals learn very early to sleep lightly when not on holy ground. I was no threat to him, but if another powerful Immortal came along, he might be vulnerable. I carefully began to wipe his face and murmur soothing things in Welsh when he grabbed me and pulled me down next to him. He was still asleep, his eyes closed. He reached out blindly with his left hand and gently stroked my face. I froze, expecting him to wake up at any moment. His lips met mine; softly, questioningly. He kissed me again and I gave in to the temptation of the moment and kissed him back. For maybe ten seconds I drowned in the sweetness of his mouth, then suddenly the dream stopped for him, his lips left mine and he went back into very deep sleep. I carefully removed myself from his arms and went back to my own place. In the morning, when I awoke, he was gone. Duncan has never spoken of this, so my conjecture is that he doesn't remember. Duw, it was only a kiss; although it's one of the most overwhelming that I've ever known.

Did it ever happen again? Oh, we're getting ahead of ourselves here! About a hundred years ahead! I have to tell you about being on board ship, a member of a harem and how I met Methos yet! Yes, I thought that'd make you sit up and take interest. No, you can't have the Methos story first! It wouldn't make sense out of context. After Duncan and I parted company, I wandered around the scenic beauty of Scotland for a while, then gradually made my way south to London. It was about 1636 when I reached the capital - the years on the road tend to blur together. I did some acting (still disguised as a man, of course), had some very discreet love affairs with trustworthy men and improved my medical knowledge.

I wish you could have seen London before the Plague and the great fire. All the wooden buildings, St Pauls' Cathedral. Wren's masterpeice is a work of genius and I'm glad he lived to see it just about completed, but the older building had its own majestic charms. I loved being in London - until the Plague hit. Yes, I got sick and 'died' from it, but after that single exposure I suppose my system must have built up an immunity. It was terrible. You've seen film and photographs from the Somme, Belsen, some of the scenes of starvation in Africa. It was like that. The people died in thousands. So fast, too. I tried to save them, but there was absolutely nothing that could be done for them with 17th century medicine. The terrible chills, then the fever and the huge swollen lymph glands that could turn orange, blue, black or purple. The poor sufferer became restless, confused, delerious and then died. Usually death came as a mercy after three to five days of agony. The bodies were everywhere. The stench was absolutely appalling. A quarter of the population died. Just imagine that happening today if the unfortunate HIV victims suddenly took a turn for the worse en masse. It would be hell. I hardly stopped for breath during most of the year. Well, the Plague could have been engineered by Kronos, it is the sort of thing he tried to do later. An evil Immortal was responsible, though.

At this point Myfanwy shuddered violently as she recalled the memory.

Kurt of Bremen. Now I doubt if you've got him on your records apart from having been killed by me. He'd been an Immortal for maybe three weeks before he came to Britain. Unfortunately, before that he was a big, blonde, vicious psychopath. His first recovery from death had made him convinced he was invincible; which is close enough to the truth. He had no teacher that I know of and no morals. I found him at the docks, drinking enough beer to drown a horse and apparently making his way systematically through all the wenching houses in the area. Those that were still open, anyway. He was drunk enough to boast of havng brought the Plague to Britain deliberately. He seemed to have some warped idea that if he wiped out all the 'weaklings', then the inhabitants who were left would hail him as something close to God. I was glad that I was disguised as a man. I found out eventually that he had been on a ship at about the right time, carrying his 'pet rats' to Britain. That was all the evidence I needed at the time. I had seen too much illness and death, and the thought that anyone could have done it deliberately incensed me. I waited till he went outside to relieve himself. I challenged him, ducking and weaving around him. He drew a short knife, which I kicked out of his hand. He lunged at me and my sword did its work. I'm afraid it was that easy. I backed away into a narrow alley nearby as the Quickening hit. This one was sheer pain and torture. I screamed. For a second or two I felt his madness, then it went away, thank God, and I was left sobbing convulsively on the ground with the white fire still running up and down my fingers where they held my sword. I understand a little of what a Dark Quickening must be like after that experience.

I got up, wiped my sword, my eyes and moved on. I needed warmth, comfort. I came to another inn very soon and found myself before long in bed with two rather surprised but grateful young gentlemen. Robert and Charles. Twin brothers and very attractive. Brown curls, blue eyes and goatees. A winning combination back then! Once they realised they were sharing with a woman, and a willing one at that, they became very eager to please me. I think I will draw a veil over the rest!

I got them out of London in the early morning, and they were luckily not infected. We travelled together westward to their home in Plymouth. Balmy days. We heard of the great fire that cleansed London of the Plague. I spent a happy couple of years with them until they were summoned back to Court. I wasn't ready to face London again just yet. The memories of sickness were too fresh. I let Robert and Charles go. They needed marriage and babies. I wasn't going to be married again if I could help it and the latter is impossible. Why not marriage? You forget; even as recently as the Victorian age a woman was her husband's property. In some countries she still is. We haven't come that far in the last 400 years. Maybe nowadays I might contemplate marriage with the right man. Yes, I believe in love. I have loved many times, often been with one man for a long time in a committed relationship. But back then, things were different. I had to stay alive, away from forced marriage and unmolested.

I cut my hair again, bound my breasts and headed for the tantalising smell of the sea nearby. I saw a likely ship and managed to sign on as a cabin boy. I knew how to paddle a coracle and had been out on a ship with Dafydd and Bronwen now and again. I knew the ropes! Everything seemed to be going well for me until I felt the Buzz. A large shadow loomed over me where I lay in the bunk. The masculine figure swung a lantern. I got impressions of trustworthiness, kindness, stern discipline and incredible sexuality.
"Tis well, lad. I will not harm ye," I looked up, "My ship is holy ground." I rose to my feet. This had to be the captain. He spoke with a charming West Country burr.
"Thank-you, sir." He walked over to a nearby doorway and opened it for me. I walked through. He set the lantern down on the desk in his cabin.
"I'm Captain Francis Johnson. Your name, lad?"
"Rhodri Morgan, sir. The Bo'sun signed me up this morning." Francis Johnson sat down. The light from the lantern shone on his face at last. Brown hair, slightly streaked with silver, tied back with a black bow. A long nose, piercing green eyes and the mouth.... Extremely kissable. Wide shoulders, long limbed, nicely muscled and the opening at the top of his shirt promised one of the most temptingly hairy chests it had ever been my pleasure to behold. I suppose he was somewhere in his mid forties physically. I experienced the most intense wave of instant lust and desire I'd ever known. Damn. Rotten timing.

Watcher ending the first session here in order to let Myfanwy go home for supper. Must also check Frances Johnson's records. They, unfortunately, will be in the inoperative files. I wonder if he ever guessed.....

MYFANWY LLEWELYN (II)

'From the hills to the sea'

Watcher's notes, continued:
I am beginning to understand more of what it must have meant to bc a woman in previous ages. I find Myfanwy witty, charming, resourceful and very attractive as a person. I can tell that there is a lot that I am not hearing. Previous Watchers have found her sometimes elusive, too. Perhaps this time we might get as far as describing her love-affair with Rayf Brilleut and her second meeting with Duncan. I definitely want to open the box marked 'Methos'. I have strong suspicions that Amanda knew a long time ago who Methos was. Something between him and Rebecca that isn't written down anywhere. It would be interesting to know if Myfanwy's quick mind had 'unmasked' him as well.


Where was I? Ah, yes. On the bright blue sea with the very sexy, tall and handsome Francis Johnson. Disguised as a young man; trying to be his loyal cabin boy without giving myself away. I melted with desire every time he came close. His sweet smile, low voice and rugged good looks combined were absolutely devastating to my equilibrium. I told him about my childhood in Wales, my teachers and most of my experiences to date, including the Plague. He was so kind, so sympathetic and a good captain. One morning I went in as was my custom and he was shaving, stripped to the waist. The view was even better than my fantasies; wide shoulders, lean with good musculature and his chest and stomach were covered in a thick, brown, softly curled carpet of temptation. I don't think I breathed for nearly a minute. He asked me to do some minor chore for him and I managed to tear my attention away from the spectacular bounty just outside my reach.

The voyage continued. We were going towards Africa. Not for slaves, though. I had first come across the slave trade in London and it sickened me to see fellow human beings so ill-treated. I made a promise to myself there and then that I would have nothing to do with it, if I possibly could. This wasn't easy; the money that supported the voyage I was on probably came from men who owned slaves themselves. We were hoping to bring back things like ivory, gemstones and coffee. Both Francis and the Bo'sun had assured me that they did not follow the slave trade, although it was very lucrative at the time. I certainly worked my passage across the ocean. Aching arms and legs with hardened feet soon bore witness to that. Yes, I was seasick; for about three days. After that, something went 'click' in my brain and I adapted. As the vessel continued, Francis began to confide in me. One interchange I remember as vividly as if it were yesterday, because of what happened afterwards.

Francis and I were sitting in his cabin, late at night. A lantern swung from the timbers above us, casting flickering shadows on the walls and our faces. Francis was cradling a small tumber of rum in his left hand. He leaned forward suddenly.
"Tell me, Rhodri; have you ever been in love?" I considered. Well, there was Geraint, then the young Welsh Immortal I'd trained with. Oh dear, I'd almost forgotten him. Red-haired Huw. We had only just become lovers, then he left before Dafydd and Bronwen said he was ready and got himself beheaded in a matter of weeks. Poor Huw. And, I realised, with a sudden shock of pleasure and anguish in equal measure, the Immortal sitting opposite me.
"Once or twice, sir."
Francis laughed heartily at that, "You're barely a man, boy...you must have maybe twenty summers at the most. Never mind, I'll believe you," He sobered very quickly. His beautiful green eyes were lowered over his drink, "Once. Just once, really. I was brought up strictly Catholic a hundred years ago and married young. Her name was Patience. I loved her so much. When we couldn't have children, I never loved her any less. She was my life, my joy. The sickness that took her from me brought me my first death. I didn't want to live, not without her. Since her...no-one."
My eyebrows raised in surprise. "Not ever? Not even...?" I stopped, feeling myself blush. His lips twitched into a small smile.
"You mean wenching, lad? I tried it once or twice, but its not the same as having a woman you care about in your bed. I spend most of my time on board ship and live without.....female companionship." He took a mouthful of rum. I remember thinking, 'Oh, you dear, sweet man. If only I could....' Then it happened.

I suppose whoever was at the wheel must have drifted off to sleep just for a moment. There was the most terrifying crash, followed by splintering of timbers. Francis and I were knocked over to the cabin floor. The lantern smashed, everything went black and I heard the the sea come rushing in. I managed to find Francis in the dark. He was moaning and there was stickiness at his temple. I grabbed hold of him, quickly tying him to me with his own shirt and then everything went crazy for what seemed hours. I have vague memories of scrabbling underwater for anything that might be bouyant. I supposed I might have passed out myself. I only know that the next thing I knew was that it was full daylight and Francis and I were half-lying on a fairly large piece of wood, maybe twice the size of a door. My head hurt and I coughed up some sea water. Another shipwreck. I looked around, but apart from various bits of flotsam, we seemed to be the only survivors. I scanned the horizon carefully. Yes, there was land, to the West! The coast of Africa, I assumed. I looked down at Francis. He was alive, but still semi-conscious. The wound to his temple was healing now, but it would be a while before he felt completely better. I found a likely piece of wood and began to paddle towards the shore. The long beach wasn't suitable for nomal shipping, but our raft took us safely to land.

I was right. The lush foliage near the shore and heat from the sand told me this must be some part of Africa. Francis came to enough to walk at this point. We stumbled into the undergrowth and luckily found a stream after about two hours' search. In the heat of the day there were few wild animals using the water, which was fortunate. Being mauled to death by a lion or bitten by a hippo in larger bodies of water is definitely not pleasant, even if one does recover as an Immortal. As we raised ourselves up from the bank, we found ourselves being watched by several noble-looking tribesmen who must have heard or seen our noisy progress and come to investigate. Their surprise and wonder demonstrated more eloquently than words that they had never seen people with our colouring before. They made it quite clear with spears and gestures that we should follow them. Three days' journey through the bush gave us an elementary working knowledge of their tongue. At length we came to a small valley, ringed with hills. It would be fairly easy to miss unless one knew it was there, or was deliberately searching. That made sense; the slave traders just hadn't found them yet. Their warm hospitality was another factor which persuaded us to stay. We tried to warn them to be careful, but we just didn't have enough words straight away.

Francis and I were given a spare mud hut in the village. We understood that the person in it had recently joined the ancestors. Scanning the area carefully informed us that this particular group of people didn't have any Immortals among them apart from us. We were given some water. We drank gratefully, then began to wash the dust, sand and grime from our bodies. Suddenly, Francis stared at me, his jaw slack with surprise.
"That's a breast...! And a beautiful one, at that," I felt myself blush scarlet, "Rhodri; you're a woman!" I turned to him, wondering what to say. I looked at the dirt floor, holding myself protectively.
"My real name's Myfanwy, sir. I didn't think you'd take me on a ship if you knew I was a woman."
He chuckled softly, "I should say not! But I'm glad now that I did," I heard the sound of clothing being removed very fast, "Come love with me, sweet lady." I looked up, and blushed even harder. Francis was a perfect specimen of highly aroused manhood. I swallowed convulsively.
"So soon? I mean..how? Duw, you've changed your feelings about me so quickly." And so spectacularly. Wonderful darkly furred chest and stomach, long hairy legs and arms, glorious smile and....ahem....well that; absolutely magnificent. I could hardly believe my eyes. Francis shook his head.
"I've been in torment concerning you these last weeks, thinking I was being attracted to a young man. I'd just decided I ought to accept desire for another in whatever form it appeared, since it had been so long since the last time. Now that I know you are a woman, it all makes sense. You do like me, don't you?" I stood up rather tremblingly.
"Oh yes, Francis." My clothes rapidly went the way of his and I clearly saw his approval and heightened pleasure. My mouth went dry, looking at all that handsome bounty unveiled just for me. I walked eagerly into the circle of his arms and close to the warmth of his smile.

Myfanwy paused here, blushing as she retold the story. I tried to find out more about this hitherto unknown love affair between her and Francis Johnson.

I really find it difficult talking about very intimate things to anyone other than my current lover. Francis was just as passionate as I had forseen. The first time was fast, frantic and explosive for both of us; after that he proved the tenderest and most accomplished lover I'd had to that point. There have not been many since who have touched both my heart and body so deeply. Rayf would be another eminent example. Its just that I had Francis' company and love for so short a time - a bare six months. It was the slave traders who found us in the end. One of them was an evil Immortal. I had been with the women, fetching water from a stream some way away. On our way back, we heard the commotion. There were dead bodies on the ground and Francis was trying to defend some of the villagers. It was all over so quickly. One of the evil Immortal's helpers got round behind Francis and took his head while he was fighting someone else. I had just crouched behind a mud hut nearby and I got his Quickening. I sprang into the fight and took the head of the evil Immortal. I never even heard his name. I ran into the bush, away from the carnage of the village.

There was a cave in the hills nearby where I sheltered as the lightning came, along with my anguished sobs of grief. I stayed there for days, wanting to die and feeling guilty that I had lived when several had perished and the rest would now be in slavery. I wandered aimlessly northwards, hitting the Sahara desert eventually. I can't remember how I got there in one piece; weeks of my life must have been lost as I went into shock and depression after the tragedy. The crawl across the desert I do remember. Burning heat, thirst and sand everywhere. The stark emptiness of the place finally broke me from the trance I'd been in since Francis' death. I don't know about other people, but I had a real desert experience. Just me, a few hardy life-forms and the Divine. For me, it was a personal love that 'spoke' through everything that I saw, until the whole landscape including myself glowed and pulsed with it. I must have 'died' of thirst several times, but it didn't matter. I was one with everything. Francis was with me, in my heart, forever. I was light, peace, truth and being-ness. It's something that's stayed with me ever since. A deep peace at the core of myself. I know who I am. The rest can and will take care of itself.

From this revelation and the silence of the desert, I was rudely abducted. Into a Sultan's harem, no less. Ten years of pampering his ego, being subservient and learning some very interesting intimate things that my body could do to please a man in bed. The last of these didn't come from the Sultan; he was elderly and self-obsessed. His African eunuch, on the other hand, didn't have the vital masculine equipment, but could do things with his hands and mouth that you might not believe. Some of the other ladies in the harem were also very informative. No other Immortals, though. At least I was safe on that account. At last, the Sultan died. Dear Ahmed the eunuch helped me and several other ladies of the harem escape from the dubious affections of his son. The rumour was he liked to be sadistic in the bedroom when it wasn't his wife he was pleasuring. There were enough left who were either too old or frankly enjoyed that sort of thing.

I was already wearing men's clothing thanks to Ahmed. With his instructions in my mind, I found my way fairly soon to the coast. I managed to stow away on a small ship bound for Crete. We landed on the south of the island and I crept ashore when night fell. I 'borrowed' a horse and made my way north and west across the island. In a couple of days I came across the ruins of Knossos. Not much had been excavated at the time, but it was easy to see that someone once lived here, a long time ago. I sat under a friendly orange tree and quenched both my thirst and hunger while the horse cropped the coarse grass nearby. I felt a strong Buzz, suddenly. Old, very old. Complicated, masculine. Charm, wit. Trying to hide a deep sexuality. I put myself on alert immediately. This one had the possibility of danger, death and battle about him.

"Glad to see you like the old palace." He spoke in Greek, but I'd picked up a little in the harem. I stood up. He was tall, dark-haired, slender and pale.
"You're no Greek. Welsh, possibly. Shw mae?" He smiled charmingly. I relaxed a little.
"Perhaps not Greek, but I know a lady when I see one. You can call me Peter," It wasn't his real name either, but now was not the time to bring that up. He had slipped into English now. I reached for my sword-hilt. He shook his head, "No, not that. I've given it up for Lent." Humour too; this could be interesting. I introduced myself. And that, dear Watcher friend, is how I met Methos. In the year of our Lord 1680. In the ruins of the Minoan palace that had once been his home, about 4,000 years before. No, he isn't Greek. That much is true!

Authentic Minoan knowledge? I wonder if anyone ever got any information out of Methos on those memories. He may well have been there when the great cataclysm struck, unless he was with the Horsemen by then. Perhaps Myfanwy knoows something about this.

We went into business together, Methos and I, running a small taverna. Eventually we became lovers. His technique was flawless, impressive, overwhelming; but that's all there was. I never really knew him, the man behind the lover. Witty, funny, wonderful in bed; but elusive as a butterfly. Even the subtlest approach to know more about him was skilfully and charmingly deflected. So we danced around each other. I could trust him with the money, the customers and my body. Yes, Mother Nature was generous with him, too. I haven't done an exhaustive study by any means, but all the male Immortal lovers I've known have been well endowed! Some of the mortal ones, too. I'm afraid you have to put the blame largely on me for Methos' knowledge of things Welsh. Accent and all. I swear that man is a human sponge! We spent the next years in an on-again-off-again romance. Eventually he fell in love with a mortal Greek lady, so I moved on. Wife number forty-five, I understand. By then I realised that 'easy come; easy go' was how it would be with Methos. No, I didn't know his real name then. I never loved him deeply, nor he me, but we've always remained friends and I've welcomed him into my bed from time to time until about ten years ago. Thereby hangs another story. We'll get to it in due course.

I worked my way up Italy; taking singing lessons in the 'bel canto' style, learning a new language and gaining moderate fame on the stage. Because of my height, often playing young men. Like Cherubino, except Mozart's musical genius lay just ahead in the future. I settled down in Italy for quite some years. I loved the people, the language, the countryside, the cuisine and the climate. That's where I met Duncan the second time. It was in the year 1700. He was on his way back from Constantinople, I think. Of course, he knew Italy from a previous generation, so he could blend in very well. He'd also met Amanda by this stage, so he'd already seen women in men's clothing. Did I meet her? Yes, several times. She is funny, witty and one never knows exactly where one stands, but I like her. She's survived in a harsh world. I can understand why she remained a thief. There were so few options for women in the past. I had the added help of being able to take on the persona of a man for quite some time to help me, plus the Celtic ethic I grew up with encouraged me to work for a living. Amanda is really too beautiful to pass for a man, plus men fall over themselves to be with her.

Anyway, I was acting a man's role both on and off stage in a small town near Naples. Sometimes I just needed a break from masculine attention and long dresses. They weren't very handy for running away or fighting! I felt Duncan's presence in the audience and recognised him. The rich darkness was still there, the warrior and the sexuality. No, not exactly sexuality; sensuality. Plus a deep yearning for romance. I'd felt that before, but now it was clearer, more sharply defined. Duncan thought I was the Welshman Rhodri he'd met in Scotland all those years ago until he came to my dressing-room backstage. The clothing of the period suited him, especially as this suit was blue, and real silk by the look of it. Very dashing. He closed the door behind him, blinked, did the most amazing double-take I've ever seen and hit on the truth.
"Good God! Ye were a woman all the time?!" He lapsed into accented English in his surprise. I curtsied in my masculine costume.
"I'm afraid so. English will be just fine between us. I couldn't tell you the truth in that inn, Duncan. We didn't have the words, plus I've largely found much better paid employment as a man," I put out my hand, "Myfanwy Llewelyn; and please don't tell - everyone in this town thinks I'm a man." He smiled slowly, bending over my hand.
"No swords?" He looked up at me warily. I shook my head. I had heard enough about Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod to know he didn't usually go around picking fights, had a strong moral code and was almost unfailingly chivalrous to women.
"I promise; no swords. I only fight against the bad Immortals when it's absolutely necessary." His smile warmed and he kissed the back of my hand.
"I'm just passing through on my way back to Britain. Maybe another time....?" The beautiful golden hazel eyes flirted with me. Good grief. He was interested. In me? I laughed charmingly, disguising the rush of eagerness inside me. No, it was more than that to be honest. An instinctive 'pull', a deep recognition of something I couldn't put into words. Much more than normal sexual attraction. Deeper, wilder, more profound.
"We'll see," I managed, with a deceptively light tone. Then he was gone, leaving my whole being reeling with shock.

I sat down on a nearby chair, my senses and mind on fire. At last the meaning came to me. Soulmate. At least, potentially. I knew right at that moment that I couldn't be his lover unless I was sure he'd come to the same conclusion about me. I didn't realise it was love until later, after I got to know him better. I also knew that anything less than complete oneness with him would tear me apart. That's why we have always remained friends, nothing more. This is the great secret that you have to keep, my dear friend, above all the others. That I love him very deeply, almost painfully sometimes. Yes, just like Grace. No, I must be truthful; I think I love him more than she did. I don't think she ever saw Duncan as the other half of her soul, as I do. I treasure Duncan's friendship, though. That means a great deal to me, more than I can ever express. And I am still able to fall in love with other men, strangely enough. It's just not the all-encompassing complete union of soul, mind and body that I could have with Duncan - at least that's what I believe it could be. What about the Prize, you say? I have no idea. The Gathering was supposed to be happening; the Four Horsemen came, and the Demon, but it's all gone quiet again lately. We remaining Immortals seem to be waiting for something or someone else. Anyway, I must get back to Italy and lead you gently towards France and Rayf Brilleut. He comes next.

I have promised Myfanwy that I will keep her secret, even to the grave. The tape and this transcript will be kept under lock and key. Future Watchers of Myfanwy I will leave to her judgement. I can see her deep emotions clearly as she speaks. I wonder why she has never spoken to Duncan about her feelings. Perhaps the time has never been right. Now even Joe Dawson doesn't know where Duncan is. He disappeared from Paris carrying very little and clearly wanting seclusion for some time. We guess Duncan may have gone off to his island, but Joe always left him alone there. It is holy ground, after all.

Italy - land of song and good cooking. I loved it. But rumours in 1750 of a lady who sounded like my long-lost teacher Bronwen drew me to France. I really hoped that it would be her at last, but unfortunately the Immortal woman I found was just very like her physically. Mentally - that was a different matter. You must have records of Karen Oaks. She's been a Barbarian warrior, before that a wild Amazon and cultic priestess. She worshipped Kali, amongst other bloodthirsty deities and probably inspired the way some male devotees of Kali dispatched their victims during sex. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd known about Methos from close to the time and place of his birth. Anyway, she really was as monstrous and psychopathic as they say. Her favourite hobby was seducing men, then literally unmanning them either during sex or right afterwards. Immortal men were also beheaded, naturally. Not surprisingly, few Immortal men felt safe taking her on. She radiated sheer sexual power and men were like flies caught in her web. Her Buzz was unbelievably strong, so much so that I almost reeled. Evil and sex in equal measure. We finally faced each other in the cobbled market place of a small town in the middle of France.
"I challenge you, stranger." That didn't surprise me. I was new to her, female, moderately attractive and potential opposition to her sick plans.
"Myfanwy. Myfanwy Llewelyn of Cymru." I never quite got used to 'Wales' - it means 'foreigner' and I'm thoroughly British! Her brown eyes narrowed and she threw her long hair back over one shoulder.
"Hmmm. Well, your name won't matter for long." She had a scimitar. I almost cheered. Remember those years spent in a harem? Ahmed the eunuch had other skills beyond the ones I shared earlier. I knew all the potential weak points of a scimitar. But she was angry, lunatic and probably fought dirty. Well, it could be tough. Our blades clashed. Thrust, slash and parry. She spat at me, threw gravel in my face and fought just as dirtily as I'd feared. She got past my guard several times. Time passed. I bled copiously on the stones. I dodged desperately, kicked and managed to wrestle her to the ground. The pain was terrible. Getting a sword in the guts is definitely not recommended. I somehow managed to stomp on the blade as she removed it. It broke! I brought my blade up and slit her throat, then managed to summon up one last burst of energy from somewhere to complete my mission. Then everything went black as I passed out from the blood loss.

A cool hand pressed against my forehead, followed by a damp cloth. My head hurt and there were lingering aches in my side. I opened my eyes. I was lying in a comfortable bed, in a modest bedroom. Intense, almost navy blue eyes looked down at me from a young man's face, which was surrounded by long, red curly hair. I blinked. This young man had a strong, sweet aura that was nearly as powerful as an Immortal Buzz. Noble, strong, with a latent, powerful sexuality. I'd never 'read' a mortal so clearly before. He smiled slowly.
"I thought you were dead." My little bit of French took a while to catch up with his meaning. I lapsed into Italian, not having the right words.
"No, I'm fine. Karen Oaks?"
His eyes glowed, "You killed her! You were magnificent!"
I looked at him carefully, "How old are you, and what's you name?" I spoke slowly, but he understood.
"I'm twenty, my name is Rayf Brilleut and you are beautiful!" Too young, alas. But a mortal man, on the verge of becoming one of the greatest swordsmasters in that part of France.

I waited five years for him, learning fencing and other combat skills in the school he attended. I shared the small chateau where he lived with him and his much older sister and her husband, who owned the place. I watched him take over the fencing school with pride when he reached twenty-five. I fell in love with him as he matured and filled out physically. Tall; nearly six and a half feet of him. Handsome with it. An incongruously large Roman nose, pale skin, those incredible blue eyes and a mobile, expressive mouth. He was the only mortal lover to whom I told the truth. By the time he was twenty-three I was head over heels in love. He was gorgeous, red curls growing every which way all over his body as far as I had seen and beautifully muscled. I yearned, I dreamed. Apparently, he did too. It was his twenty-fifth birthday. We were standing on one of the balconies of chateau's small ballroom, late at night after his sister Blanche and her husband Michel had gone to bed. He sighed heavily.
"You shouldn't be sad on your birthday, Rayf." He stroked the smooth stone and looked at the view of the town and the starry night sky.
"I'm in love with a woman who can't be mine." I knew from long ago how precious a man's love is. I wanted to help him; help her to return his love, even though I might die a little inside.
"Truly? I'd have thought any of the young ladies of the town would have been happy and willing to be yours."
He smiled sadly, "Ah, but she isn't like them. She's different; I might as well ask for the moon to come down."
"Have you? Asked her, I mean. Are you sure it's hopeless?" His large hand slowly and tenderly closed over the back of mine. I looked up into midnight eyes that were full of such deep yearning that my heart ached.
"I know there must have been other men; I had a few tumbles myself before you came, but if you could stay for a while and at least pretend to love me....?"
I tenderly stroked his cheek. My fingers touched his long hair, "There wouldn't be any 'pretend', mon cher. I already love you."
He pulled me tight into his arms, "Oh, thank God." His mouth traced a path to mine, almost hesitantly. Our lips met and we kissed hungrily.

After a while, he drew me inside. I could see the naked need in his face. I smiled gently up at him.
"Don't be afraid. I'm willing to stay as long as you need me, unless...." I indicated my neck. He already knew the full reasons why I healed quickly. He nodded slowly.
"It's just that I want you for the rest of my life. You're the only woman I've ever loved and you captured my heart on that first day with your bravery and skill."
"Rayf Brilleut, dearest. I will gladly stay with you for the rest of your life. But if you ever want children or fall in love with someone..."
His long fingers covered my mouth. He shook his head, "I can't ask for anything better than heaven, and I already hold that."
Tears filled my eyes, "Mon amour."
He kissed me hard then, his tongue saying more than words could express, "S'il te plait?" His hand moved slowly and covered my breast. I could feel the fires of his desire burning as he touched me. We both trembled.
"Ah, oui. Maintenant?"
He swallowed convulsively and nodded, "It's been well over five years, ma cherie..."
"And for me, darling." He grinned slowly and led the way to his bedroom.

"I don't know how long I can hold back, but for you, I'll try my best." I slowly untied his white shirt. I did what I'd only dreamed about until now and nuzzled my face in the thick, soft hair on his chest. He took a gasping breath, then chuckled softly. His fingers lifted my chin. I looked into his eyes.
"I think you liked that, so why did you stop me?"
He bent and gave me another deep kiss, "Let me love you, Myfanwy. You can touch me later, I promise. I just want this first time to be as good as I can make it for you. My siren swordmaiden."

I trembled then and watched him as I let him take control. Our clothes rapidly hit the floor. He was even more spectacular when naked than I had dreamed. He really did have thick red curls everywhere. Long, lithe arms and legs. Truly handsome all over, especially that most masculine part of him which was so stunning, it made my knees turn to jelly. His eyes glowed with pleasure and desire as he came to me, lifted me effortlessly and placed me on his bed. He did his best to go slowly; taking me over the edge with his hands and mouth. By that time, he was shaking with need and very close to the limit of control. I gently took him in. We both gasped with desire and delight. He paused, trembling, and looked deep into my eyes.
"Always, Myfanwy."
"Yes, Rayf. Always." He moved then, slowly at first. Before long, we both speeded up, racing towards
completion. I reached the second peak with him. We both yelled with ecstasy. For a first time it was absolutely spectacular and I told him so as he held me close in the after-glow. I stroked his smooth back and buttocks gently and Rayf instantly became keen and eager for a second helping. After that, we lay together for a long time, just touching and kissing. I offered to marry him, but he was so overwhelmed to have my love that he didn't need any more. Before long, he wanted to love me again, and this time he let me take control. Finally I was able to caress him fully, showing him how much I loved him. It was beautiful.

Blanche and Michel accepted me into the family. Rayf and I stayed together for fifty years. His desires were as strong as I'd discerned them to be five years before. He needed to love me on a daily basis. I gladly gave him all the loving he could ever have wished for. He meant the world to me. He learned how swords were made and the one that I carry is his work of love for me. It has the bending ability of a normal foil which makes it almost whip-like in combat. The razor sharp edge can act rather like a wire cheese cutter. On its own, it can go most of, and sometimes all the way, through the neck. The blade is thicker than a normal foil in the ten inches near the guard. That's the part which can finish off a beheading when necessary. Well, you did ask for every detail, and its important that someone recognises Rayf's genius. He painted me, as you know. What no-one else knows until now is that he also did a companion self-portrait. Here, let me show you. It's in my latest secure lock-up, not far away.

Myfanwy took me to her bank later that day and had a special place in the vaults opened. We went in alone. Trays of jewels, some gold sovereigns, silks. And a large, framed picture, carefully wrapped. She removed the cover lovingly. There was Rayf, aged 40 from the date and stunningly nude. A fine man, indeed, and just as handsome as Myfanwy had said.

Now you see why I loved him. I was with him when he died, you know. I kept my word. He passed on the fencing school to one of his great nephews and we retired to the seaside. During the fifty years of our relationship, Duncan visited several times. That's when we became fast friends. Rayf knew for certain all the time I was with him that he had my heart and my body completely. He let me go out when I had to fight on my own and comforted me quite wonderfully when I returned. I often sang him to sleep after we loved. We adored each other. When the new century dawned, we were in bed, just having made love with gentle tenderness. All of Rayf's hair was pure white by now, but he was still a fine figure of a man. I let my fingers trail slowly through his chest hair. He chuckled softly.
"You always did like doing that."
I looked up at him, "I still do, mon cher."
He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes slightly unfocussed, "It's time, my darling."
I saw him smile slowly at something or someone I couldn't see, "Don't go..." I felt my hot tears splash on his neck. I turned his head towards mine. He smiled with all the love and tenderness I had ever seen in his eyes.
"I'm being called, sweet Myfanwy. Just don't forget me."
"Not now; not ever." I kissed his lips, he put his head back on the pillow and softly slipped away from me. I howled and held him tight, but I knew his soul was gone. After the funeral, I went into a convent near Paris for twenty five years. I thought my life was over. That's where I met Darius. What a sweet, wise man. He helped me find the way to live again, to be part of the world. No, we were never lovers, just friends. Darius took his priestly vows seriously. In any case, part of me was dead inside. If only Rayf could have been Immortal, perhaps stopped somewhere between twenty-five and fifty. I think we'd still be together. Mon cher amour. God broke the mould when He (or She) made my darling Rayf.

The Nineteenth century already? Napoleon; Europe bloodied and in turmoil. The Empire style dresses of the period suited me quite well, but the wars were terrible. I went into nursing again, still in France. I met Duncan again just after Darius had seen him on the battlefield at Waterloo. The dear Scotsman had taken on the mantle of warrior too much; it was beginning to affect his soul. I could see that as well as Darius. I was busy tending the wounded, but I saw them both from time to time. Darius worked a miracle, bringing Duncan to a place of peace again. I have no idea if I had anything to do with it; all I remember is the blood, the death and watching the light come back slowly into Duncan's eyes. Part of me was still deep in grief. I spent a long time celibate after Rayf. I met Duncan just after he had said goodbye to Darius.

"I'm going to make a new life in America." I nodded.
"So I'd heard. Take care, cariad." He bent over my hand and kissed it gently. He straightened and traced the side of my face with the tips of his fingers.
"It's never been quite the right time for you and I, has it?"
I managed a smile, "No, not yet." He hesitated, transferring the weight from one foot to the other as he thought.
"I don't suppose you'd come with me?"
I was very tempted, but I hadn't a whole heart to share with him at that point, "I'm sorry. Not yet. I'm still missing Rayf. Maybe one day, cariad." I stepped closer and, before I lost my nerve, I gently kissed his mouth. His lips parted slowly over mine and we kissed fully. Duncan pulled away after about ten seconds and smiled tenderly.
"Take care, Myfanwy." He touched the brim of his hat and began to go.
"And you..." I summoned up my courage, "fy nghariad." Beloved. He kept going, evidently not understanding the Welsh. I breathed a sigh of relief. He saluted me from the ship. His eyes twinkled at me, even from that distance.
"Until we meet again," he paused for effect, "Sweet Welsh princess." Oh, Duncan. If only you knew what it cost me not to run after you right then. Dear soul. You had your own terrible grief just ahead. But I wouldn't begrudge you the fleeting joy you found with Little Deer. She sounds like a very special lady.

At this point we had to go our seperate ways. Myfanwy left the bank vaults to go to her weekly singing job in a local nightclub and I had to go home. Just about half way through her reminicences. I suppose Methos might be due for a reappearance, or maybe there's something more. We shall see next time.

MYFANWY LLEWELYN (III)

'Victoria and victory'

I became sick of the death and war in Europe. There comes a limit to how many wounded soldiers one can bind up or watch die, helpless to save them. I headed East. All the way to India and China. I stood out from everyone else in the latter place apart from the few missionaries. Nevertheless I managed to get accepted into a martial arts school in the end. Twenty years of that discipline helped me a great deal. I met Methos again at the end of that time, but only briefly. Yes, I took two heads in China. It's not something I'm proud of, the two gentlemen in question were fellow students and quite determined to 'shame' this female stranger. They refused to be stopped by anything less than defeat. What else can you do when they keep on coming, and won't take injury and impermanent death as an answer? In India? Oh, my. This is embarrassing. Tantric studies. Yes of course with a male partner. Kumar was not an Immortal nor classically good-looking; he had a huge hooked nose and wasn't as tall as me, but he was kind, patient and highly passionate. He re-introduced me fully to the sexual and sensual side of my nature.

I journeyed back to England at that point. It was about 1850 by now. I became a singer and a cult star of what would later be the Music Hall. You've seen the posters for 'Tilly the trilling nightingale'?! Not my invention, I promise you, but when the sovereigns are coming in, you don't ask questions! Some of the stars were persuaded to head out to the golden west of America in 1855 to entertain the pan-handlers and cowboys. I went with them. I think I must have seen the inside of every dusty saloon and bar in the West. The early Vaudeville, too; even genuine musicals on the stage. My 'Rosalinda' and 'Orlovsky' in 'Die Fledermaus' were much admired, later in the century. Yes, one or two light personal romances. Methos on more than one occasion. He managed to avoid meeting Duncan at that time more by luck than judgement. America is where I next encountered the dear Scotsman. I was playing Papagena, a feminine part for a change! My costume was a gorgeous feathered creation with an extremely daring décolletage, covered in a kind of sheer net fabric. Now, I'm not that curvy, but the wardrobe mistress knew my figure almost better than I did. It displayed my modest bosom to spectacular effect.

The first I knew of Duncan's presence was a huge bouquet of flowers delivered to my dressing room. No, not roses. He was usually less predictable than that. Now it was Spring; let me see if I can remember. Of course! Blue bonnets! They didn't last long, but the colour matched my eyes exactly. Then he was there, in my dressing room, hat in hand and smiling widely. The twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable. I let him kiss my hand as he visually appreciated the dress, and to be honest, the contents. Well, well. How do I play this one, Duncan? He smiled charmingly.
"You look every inch the sweet lady halfling. You sang, as always, like an angel. I wished to be your Papageno," A tiny frown appeared between his dark brows, "Are you going out in that?" I see. You want to play cave-man.
"Is that a problem?" I can brazen this one out if I have to.
"It's just that it shows your.....your..." He ground to a halt. My word, even a slight blush. After all this time and all those women, you are still the old-fashioned gentleman. That has a certain sweet charm.
"Now, Duncan, cariad. You and I both know you've seen plenty of ladies wearing less than this."
"Yes, but not you, Myfanwy," he turned his hat slowly in his hands, "And the last time we met, you were firstly a nun, then a nurse. I'd never quite envisioned you like...like this."
I felt daring all of a sudden, "Cariad, I spent a number of years in a harem. Would that costume and profession be preferable?"
His blush deepened, then he grinned, "Harem, hmm?" He suddenly pulled me into his arms and kissed me, hard. I twinkled at him, "Not bad. Now I will get changed. At least, I hope you were going to invite me out for dinner?" He laughed, gave me another kiss and left my dressing room. I sagged into a chair when he was gone. It was damned near impossible to hide the strength and depth of my emotions from him. Could I share with him the certainty that I had been hiding in my heart, that he was the other half of my soul?

Ah, but Myfanwy, he might not share that feeling. He likes you, cares for you, even desires you and kisses you with such sweetness it takes your breath away. But if it's true and his eyes light up and he says 'Yes' and it turns out better than your wildest dreams? What then? What about the Game and the Gathering hanging over us? Can I truly commit to a relationship that will have to end in the death of one of us, probably me? If we are really the two halves of one soul and become fully one, then my death could tear him apart. I know it would kill me. Fate; what a hand you have played me. I need time to think, to be very sure of my next move.

The dress I wore out of the room was pale lemon, with a more modest neckline. Duncan took my arm and kissed my ear.
"I'm not going to forget that stunning feathered creation in a hurry, or how very tempting you looked in it, but this will do very well for dinner," We left the theatre and his lips were next to my ear again, "I'm no great singer, can barely carry a tune, but how do you get the high notes with your....um...delectable parts so exposed?" I looked up at him.
"Duncan MacLeod, you are being scandalous! Here," I held his hand to my rib-cage and let him feel how I took a breath and held it like a band while I expelled air, "That's how. Breath control. You must have done breathing exercises for meditation and fighting practice." He nodded and seemed satisfied. We walked the modest distance to a nearby restaurant. The maitre d' showed us to a pre-booked table. I smiled warmly at Duncan's forward planning. We had some passably good steak, with imported French wine.

"So, is the stage a good livelihood nowadays?"
I nodded, "Much easier now that I can be a woman more often. Playing Shakespeare as a man when it was illegal for women to appear on stage was fraught with certain dangers!"
He chuckled, "It wasn't much better trying to be a woman. I only did it once, when I was desperate for money and I had my arm twisted to do it," he shuddered slightly, "I suppose it was fun, but I felt a fool. I'd never pass for a woman in a month of Sundays!"
I laughed with him, "Your face when clean-shaven might just pass muster, but the eyebrows and manly chin give you away, cariad. Your figure is far too masculine, even if you did wear padding."
He sighed heavily, "I did. I don't know how women cope with...." He gestured eloquently at his chest. I smiled.
"We manage. The advent of good support helped, especially in a fight."
He sobered, "That hangs over all of us," his lips twitched, "How do you fight with a long dress?"
I chuckled, "I can't speak for other lady Immortals, but I don't. Almost since the beginning I've made my skirts, when I've worn them, remove very easily. A few well placed ribbons or hooks and eyes can work wonders. Naturally, I wear something underneath to preserve my modesty."
Duncan's eyebrows rose, "That must be a surprise to your opponent."
I nodded, "It saved my head once or twice." We sat in silence over that point for quite a while, until a tall red-haired man passed through the restaurant. Even though I was with darling Duncan and it was impossible that it could be my sweet Rayf, I turned my head instinctively. Duncan saw where my glance went.

"You still miss him?"
I considered, "Well; we were together fifty years. And although it's over fifty years in the past, I can't forget Rayf. I don't suppose I ever will. You must have women who still inhabit a cherished place in your heart, Duncan," he nodded slowly. I laid my hand over his, "Well, if you ever have the gift of a special mortal lover like that, remember that the pain of losing them goes away in the end. Even with another Immortal, there are no firm guarantees. There was Francis for me a long time ago. We could have had centuries together, but we only got six months before an evil Immortal took his head. You just never know. I've learnt it's better to be open to the possibility of love, welcome it when it comes and cherish it while it is here than live my life alone and apart." I looked into Duncan's eyes and his mouth spread into a beautiful smile. Oh, my love. When you look at me like that I almost dare to hope. He gently kissed the palm of my right hand. We got up from the table together as if by prior agreement. He led me outside. I began to tremble inwardly.

We walked towards the hotel where I was staying. He drew me on to the veranda just outside and pulled me softly into his arms. I couldn't resist. I'd waited for this for so long. Soft kisses feathered along my jaw. I slid my hand into his hair. His lips met mine, gently at first, then longer and fuller. I gave him kiss for kiss, our mouths meeting perfectly. I could feel his tongue hovering just behind his lips, preparing to seek permission to caress my mouth. We pressed closer. Then we both felt it. Another Immortal. We pulled apart and my hand went to my head. The pain was terrible.
"It's a bad one, Duncan," I looked into his passion-darkened eyes. His eyebrow raised in query, "I can just feel Buzzes, cariad. Whoever has this one is a nasty piece of work." He nodded and his pupils contracted as he turned towards whoever was coming. There was a man in the middle of the street. Dishevelled, unruly and completely crazy. You could tell from the way he was standing and his rolling eyes. He pointed at us and began to yell foul insults. Duncan looked back at me, catching my hand.
"I'll do it. Wait for me; I'll be back as soon as I can."
I nodded, "Be careful, cariad. He's absolutely out of his mind. Might not even realise what he is." Duncan gave a tight nod and went down into the street. He managed to draw the shouting man away. I went inside. I bought myself a brandy. Hours went by. I began to worry. In the end I was so tired that I went to bed. I fully expected to be woken by a victorious, hungry Duncan climbing through my window at some time during the night. But he never appeared. Maybe he slept off the Quickening effects in a ditch or with someone else, I thought in the morning. The latter option was a painful one; that he hadn't sought the one woman who would gladly have comforted him. I found out much later what had happened. A tiny pre-figuring of the Dark Quickening that was to come later. Duncan had temporarily lost his memory and all knowledge of where he was. When he came out of his fugue, he was almost naked and on a train bound for Mexico, with the full knowledge of having left me in the lurch. Yes, he apologised later, but that's another story.

Years passed. I had the pleasure of romance with several cowboys, then my path crossed one William F. Cody, better known to posterity as Buffalo Bill. No, we weren't lovers. I was having an affair with a charming cowboy who answered to the single name of Clancy at the time. He was moderately tall, blonde and affable. Not very literate, but romantic, with a veritable library of stories in his head and skilled at his trade. Animals gravitated towards him, drawn by his sweet aura. Clancy's supreme accomplishment, however, was his devotion and application to love-making. He adored it. As one man might find his natural skill in football, swimming, swordsmanship or making money, Clancy lived for love-making. It was as easy and natural for him as breathing. He was also noted for being faithful to one woman at a time. His one brief marriage had been happy, although childless. He had enjoyed the favours of a number of ladies, but had no children from any of them. I suspect he was as barren as Immortals. We had quite a long, sweet affair. When Buffalo Bill began his Wild West show, Clancy and I joined in. Clancy did a lot of the horse stunts and I sang for the audience now and again. As a consequence of this I learned how to handle a gun from Annie Oakley and rode with Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane. When the show was brought to England, I came home. Well, nearly. Performing in front of her majesty Queen Victoria was one of the highlights of my life. She greeted some of the stars after the show and I was lucky to see her at close quarters. Now she was as mortal as you are, but she gave off a palpable aura of majesty and regal power, even though she was a small woman. I'd never felt anything so strong in a mortal since Rayf.

I had to call a halt at this point as Myfanwy indicated the presence of another Immortal. It was Methos, just calling to scrounge a beer or two and have a chat. I left the two Immortals to private reminiscence.

MYFANWY LLEWELYN (IV)

'Healing hands'

Thank-you for leaving when Methos came around three days ago. The old guy's in love again and he often comes to ask my advice. After sixty odd wives, goodness knows how many mistresses and quite a number of male lovers, I think he's had quite a lot more experience than me! I suppose it's because she's the first lady since Alexa. He loved her so much and they didn't have nearly long enough together. Another reason would be that this woman is a friend of mine and a Pre-Immortal. Dear Methos has fallen hard and fast and I can tell that he's scared witless. He's never had a full, committed relationship with a lady Immortal. And that's what he wants with Helena. I told him some of those masks he hides behind will have to go, but I think he knew that already. Love does the strangest things to people. Did I ever have a lover of my own sex? Well, just once.

I think all Immortals over a certain vintage could see the first World War coming. The patterns were there. Yugoslavia has always been a hot-bed of unrest. The poor people are going through it again right now. It's terrible. Yes, there are one or two Immortals out there trying to help. Maybe that's where Duncan has gone. Life is so fragile, even ours. I employed my nursing skills again from 1914 to 1918. The Watcher I had then kept very good records. I never knew he or she was there, either. I became friendly with another lady Immortal. she called herself Rachel, though she hadn't always had that name. I think she might even have pre-dated Methos in antiquity, but I didn't know how old he was back then. She'd known several of the great spiritual leaders personally. Worshipped as a goddess herself once, she had taken on holy orders of some sort in ancient India, trying to understand who she was. She met Krsna, the Buddha, Jesus, Guru Nanak and Mohammed. Her Buzz was radiant with peace, love and light. She'd been a nun or the equivalent for several thousand years, though not always celibate. She just chose her partners carefully. Now she was a nursing nun. She had the gift of healing in her touch. I saw wounds healed that should have been terminal. Yes, Rachel was beautiful. Dark, Indian colouring with luminous brown eyes. I fell in love with her holiness, her grace. She was one of the best of us, like Darius. We held each other close when the shooting carried on into the night. It didn't take long for the holding to turn to caresses and love-making. Both of us needed the closeness of another human being in the darkness. She was the first and only female lover I've ever had. What we had was uniquely beautiful. The terrible war took her from me in the end.

There was a shell-shock case. Well, that's what we would call it now. He stumbled into the field hospital, brandishing a cavalry sabre. His eyes were wild. Rachel hadn't carried a sword in a long time. I tried to fend the man off, calm him down, but he was completely manic. He was mortal, wounded in the mind and very dangerous. He got under my guard by sheer brute force, then calmly took Rachel's head as though he was chopping down a plant. I screamed with shock, got in a killing thrust by sheer instinct, then Rachel's Quickening hit me. Light shot through me; more than just the blue lightning one normally receives. This was gold, silver and warm. I saw thousands of worshippers, bowing down before a superbly naked Rachel. Then followed a great silence and the faces of the great masters of the past. I can still recall the likenesses of Krsna, the Buddha, Jesus and the rest. No, I don't tell many people. I certainly don't describe them, not even for you. I can't; it was a precious gift I never expected to receive. I felt beautiful warmth radiating through me, like the heat of her sweet body, but deeper, wilder. I trembled as the tears of grief rolled down my cheeks. Somehow I managed to breathe again. I was changed forever by that Quickening. I was left with one gift. I can sometimes let the healing power of the Divine flow through me to others. It's certainly not me; at least it doesn't feel that way. I went through the rest of the war on auto-pilot. At some point I saw Duncan briefly and he apologised for leaving me, but yet again the time and place were wrong for us.

During the Twenties I was considered too old to be a flapper girl, though I tried. I needed to celebrate life again. For a while I tried being a high-class call girl, but anonymous sex just doesn't appeal. I need to feel something for the man in my arms. Then the Depression hit. I walked across Europe, seeing the circumstances that would lead to another war. It was so plain. Feeling depressed at humanity's shortcomings and in need of a complete change, I went all the way to New Zealand. I worked on a fruit farm as a cook and nanny. My employers were kind people. The three little children took to me and I loved playing with them. It was almost as if they were my own.

Violet Sanders, the lady of the house, was a beautiful red-head. Her husband Tom was a fine looking man. Six feet tall, dark haired and charming. I stayed five years as nanny, watching the little ones grow and go off to school. Then Mrs Sanders became sick. At first she thought it was another baby, because her periods stopped and her stomach began to swell. I could tell it was cancer; I could sense the smell of it with my psychic gift. A curse sometimes, knowing the worst. I tried to get her to see a doctor, but by the time she did, it was too late. Tom and I nursed her together and I was the one who gave her injections for the pain. Luckily she was taken quickly, which was a mercy. She was only thirty-four. Tom dug her grave himself. We all wept bitterly. I stayed on, of course. Tom's honest heart was broken and his children needed me. Two years limped by. One day Tom came out to where I sat on the porch, rocking the youngest child, Leon to sleep. He ran his hand through his wavy black hair, a sure sign that he was thinking deeply.
"There's talk in the town about us two."
I looked up into his kind brown eyes, "Well, we know there's nothing going on. I won't desert you and the children, Tom."
He nodded, "I know that, right enough; but you're a beautiful single lady. I'm worried about your reputation and if you ever wanted to get married and have a family, this might count against you."
I cuddled little Leon closer, "I can't have children, Tom. Being a nanny to your three children is the closest I'll get to having a family of my own."
He looked away over his land, "I know it isn't a love match, but we get on together. Would you marry me and make it proper?" I knew that nothing less than marriage would do for Tom. I hesitated, but Tom continued, "We don't have to share the same bed or anything." I took a deep breath. Duncan might never be mine and this place and this family had touched and filled my heart.
"Yes, I'll marry you, Tom."

So, we got married. My second and last marriage to date. For six months it was purely platonic. The children went back to school. It was far enough away that the bus took them quite early and delivered them back in the early evening. Tom and I were out, just after they'd set off, checking how pollination was going. It was a hot day. Tom was wearing just an old pair of trousers. His densely muscled chest shone with perspiration. Something primal awoke in me at the sight of that and the short fuzz covering his torso. I was wearing a red, strappy Summer dress. Suddenly it began to rain. Huge, drenching drops. We ran for cover to the veranda, but we were completely soaked by the time we got there.

Tom suddenly pulled me into his arms and began to kiss me, passionately. His nostrils flared and his eyes were black with desire. In seconds, we ripped away each others' clothes, he lifted me up against the frame of the front door and ravished me. It was the most explosive consummation I have ever known. I think we both screamed with pleasure. We sank to the floor and repeated everything a little slower in the hall. A third time on the stairs. We spent the rest of the day in his double bed doing nothing but eating the odd snack, dozing and making love over and over again until we both lost count. I still have this jumbled montage of images in my mind from that day.

Tom's strongly muscled arms, legs and chest, covered in a fine, soft layer of brown fuzz. His radiant smile of pleasure and ecstasy. His tenderness towards the end when we were finally able to take our time and go slowly. The way he lifted me easily, making me feel small and delicate. All the different ways he pleasured me that day, from hard and fast through to slow and achingly tender. The way he moaned and trembled at my touch. His hot, whispered words of seduction, desire and love. It was more than enough, more than I'd hoped for.

On the first time that I had to go out with my sword, he was stunned at my hunger when I returned, even though I'd warned him what to expect. He didn't know the whole truth. I felt obliged to shield him and the children from that. Anyway, on the second occasion, he was prepared and met my need handsomely. We were never quite in love - what we had was pure elemental animal passion and our mutual love for the children. Tom had always been gentle with Violet. With me, he rejoiced in finally being able to let go and fully indulge his secret fantasies for hot, wild mating. Because I have accelerated Immortal healing, every time was almost like a first time. Tom's libido found this exciting. We had long, happy and very satisfied years together. The children were wonderful. Betsy, Tom junior and Leon grew up so fast. I loved them all dearly. I was with Tom until he went away into the army for the Second World War and never came back. I grieved for him, finished raising the children, then quietly disappeared when they were all settled and happy. I couldn't stay any longer without provoking comment on my agelessness.

Myfanwy wiped a tear from her eye at this point. I waited while she composed herself. The records have her marriage to Tom Sanders. The children are old now, but still alive. Myfanwy has adopted grand-children who will probably never know her.

After the last War, I carried on around the Pacific. Tropical islands, handsome island men, cheap alcohol. I finally hit the west coast of America at the start of the rock and roll era. I danced the night away a great deal. For the last time, I partially disguised myself as a man. I cut my hair into the quiff of the moment and wore red lacy underwear topped by bike leathers. I rode my motorbike all over the west coast. I got a jolt of sheer power and pleasure from the dropped male jaws when I unzipped my black jacket. The ones who found it exciting and that I deemed 'worthy' got to share my bed. Actually, it wasn't 'bed' very often. Usually it was on or near my bike in a secluded spot.. Yes, I went a little crazy for a while. I dread to think what my Watcher made of it! You will see there were some beheadings at the time. After the Quickenings that followed were the nights when I invited two men to be with me. The twins from all those centuries ago set a trend. I am normally faithful in a relationship; I enjoy the closeness, the love, the devotion. But the only two men - so far - who came close to satisfying the hunger I get after Quickening were Rayf and Tom. I've never had an Immortal lover around when I've had a Quickening, so I can't speak for them. No, that's not true. There was Methos, once; but he was always so controlled in bed. Superb technique, but I couldn't detect genuine passion and I certainly never had his heart. He pushed all the right buttons when I came back from Quickening, but that was all. My body was satisfied, but not my heart.

We paused at this point while Myfanwy prepared lunch. I have heard of Immortal men taking more than one lover to bed after a Quickening, so the fact that Myfanwy finds the same practice beneficial should come as no surprise. Her Watcher was a little shocked; Myfanwy is normally 'straight' and honest. Yes, she has an expanded sense of humour. She also radiates peace and kindness. We make a point of trying not to Watch when Immortals are being private. After a Quickening, we follow to make sure they are safe, then leave them alone for about twelve hours if they have company of a romantic nature. I told Myfanwy this and she laughed heartily.

Well, I hope a certain night in the sand dunes near Big Sur wasn't too much! There was always competition between the bikers for my favours. I let them cultivate a certain glamour around me. Any man who wanted to stand a chance of getting near me was informed through the grapevine that I was highly passionate and very discriminating in my tastes. I let them carry on, even if I was actually more easy-going than they suggested. I had men on their knees, offering jewels and gold. It could turn a woman's head! The more demanding I became behind closed doors, the more they loved it. And I didn't want the idyll to end. I understood why Rachel said she got a great surge of sexual pleasure from being worshipped.

I had taken a head near the beach and the other bikers were fairly close. I asked Curly and Joe to ride with me. They came along eagerly. We found a sheltered hollow just back from the beach and....well...I made love with them. A lot. All through the night; as much as they could manage. I actually surprised myself with my need, but I couldn't stop, not until I lay sated with them in the sand. We went skinny dipping in the early morning and after that the dear boys managed to rustle me up two of the slowest, sweetest encores I've ever known. I left them, dead to the world with big silly grins on their sleeping faces and absolutely naked. I hid their clothes several dunes along. I heard they gave some young ladies visiting the beach later quite a peep-show!

Early in the swinging Sixties I walked away from my biker friends and came to London. I opened a boutique and went into the clothes' business for a while. I revelled in the music, the new freedoms. I took on my last student. Anna was willing enough for a start. She learned well, even though she was barely twenty-one physically. Then Anna fell in love. I told her marriage was fine, but she must keep up her skills. She became so distracted by Paul that she became a liability. They moved to the south coast and a grief-stricken Paul returned only a few years later to tell me that she had died. Such a pointless waste. I determined not to train again.

I tried hash once. It doesn't affect Immortals the same way - at least not for the same length of time. Our system heals the side-effects too fast, just like alcohol. I enjoyed the ideals of peace and brotherhood, but the bubble burst. I travelled out to Vietnam to help as a nurse, using my American passport. More blood and death. I had to do something to help, even though the war was a lost cause in the end. When my duties were over I followed the music to New York and the disco era. You are looking at one of the original disco bunnies! We danced all night, we partied, we made love. I nursed Vietnam veterans and sang backing on disco hits to earn a living. I went to Washington when they put up the wall. All those poor young men. With every blessing comes a test, a trial.

In 1980 I got together with Methos again. He was being Adam Pierson by now. I saw the tattoo on his wrist and knew that something was up. I followed him very carefully. Now, I'm not a natural burglar, but in four hundred years I have learnt to be agile and escape from places. Breaking in is just a little harder sometimes! When he was 'working late', I went to the building where he worked. I saw him writing hurriedly in an old book. When he got up and went to another room, I perused the book. That's when I found out about the Watchers, Methos and the Four Horsemen. I was incensed. He'd hidden that bloody past under such a charming exterior. I knew he had changed from the monster he must have been, but this was too much. When he came back, he found his things in the street with a note. I kept his secret until I knew it was known amongst several Immortals and most of you. I did that much for him. But he's never shared my bed again. Somehow we've managed to stay friends. I suppose survivors have a kind of code of honour, plus he's much nicer to me now.

I went to Africa for a long time after that. AIDS was upon us. I helped those I could, but my healing gift is a drop in the ocean against the virus. Healing someone of AIDS takes a great deal of my strength and that makes me vulnerable. I need time to regain my energies. I managed it in Africa by living in a church and just healing those who were brought to my door. It couldn't be enough, but it was the most I could do. That's where I met Frances Wallis, my last Watcher. About my own age, red curls and green eyes. Striking. She was wounded and thought she was dying and told me the truth. I healed her and she came with me as a true friend when I went to Paris last year. She took one look at Joe Dawson and fell completely in love. She passed me on to you when she decided to try for a relationship with him. I hope they make it. I wish I could have been there for Duncan during his recent terrible upheavals. I would have tried to help, to heal. I dread to think what accidentally killing Richie has done to him. I've lost students before, but never like that. The pain of losing so much promise takes time to heal, though I'm glad Ahriman was defeated in the end. I would have stood by Duncan's side, though. I would fight back to back with him against anything that fate could throw at us. I would walk through fire, water, earth, air and the grave at his side if he loved me. I would gladly stay with him until the far side of forever. Thank-you for listening and keeping my secrets. You have helped me make up my mind. I am going to find him and tell him how I feel, what I believe there could be between us. At least, even if he says 'no', I will know where I stand.

I found out from Joe that Duncan probably went to his island. I travelled with Myfanwy all the way there. I stood on the shore as she paddled across the Spring-time lake. Sure enough, Joe was right. Duncan has a beard and his hair has grown a little longer, but it is him. I watched through my telescope as he slowly approached her. He looked thinner than last reports at this distance, but it's difficult to be sure. Myfanwy laid a hand on the dock. Duncan's lips curved very slightly as he recognised her. They spoke for some minutes. I don't read lips and I wouldn't report private conversation anyway. He nodded at one point. Then he gestured towards his cabin. Myfanwy got out of the boat. They walked side by side, not touching. Suddenly I noticed that they were walking hand in hand. I didn't see when that happened. They looked good together. They went inside the cabin and I returned to my hotel. Myfanwy asked me to wait two weeks. I'll go back at the end of that time and see if she's left me a message or perhaps needs my company on her next journey. I really hope it works. They are both a little lonely and Myfanwy is well suited to keeping a smile and even laughter on the face of Duncan MacLeod. She might bring him a measure of healing too, if he'll let her soothe his soul. If he doesn't at least try to make the relationship work for her sake, I will be disappointed. My wish is that Myfanwy is right, that they are true soul-mates. I hope they become fully united in mind, soul and body. It could be the crowning glory for both of them. Now; dinner and a movie. That will do for tonight. The strong, funny, beautiful and charming Welsh Princess will wait for another day. There can be only one. May that one be a pair of united hearts.

THE END