Fic: Myfanwy Llewelyn [Highlander] [2/4]
'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 separate 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.
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 separate 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.