THREE
                               
   
        Sarah was angry with herself for losing her temper with Mae, she cursed her lack
of etiquette as she dusted the table in the only open suite in the entire Inn.  Sarah knew she
had no right to let her tongue slip like that. What had she been thinking?
Sarah opened the windows to let the fresh air of mid-spring into the room and then
began to lay crisp sheets on the large four poster cherry wood bed.  
I don't need a man to make me happy.  Her angry words rang in her head.  She
knew Mae was only trying to help and look out for her best interests, however at twenty-eight Sarah Cooper did not feel as though she should need someone else to fill that
particular position in her life.  As she folded the beige linen sheets under the box spring
and reached for the blanket, the image of the stranger began to dance before her.  From
the thinness of the spring air he took form from the floor upward.   His legs in their white
knickers appeared first.  Sarah could see that they were long and strong legs indeed. 
Slowly the image filled itself upward to reveal his muscular torso in a white ruffled shirt
over which he wore a white frock coat with black trim.  His frame filled the clothing
admirably.  As the image stretched itself upward, to what she assumed was the man's full
height,   the image began   to blur.  His true face was nothing more than a haze but she
could see his eyes.  They were dark sparkling mahogany. One hand, strong and olive in
tone, reached out to her.
   
     "Who are you?" Sarah whispered as she felt the breath hitch in her chest, the
tangibility of the vision was more then she could ever hope to express in words.  Her skin
turned cold and tingled with electricity as his hand stretched further to her.  Everything
. . .  was cold . . . 

. . .except those eyes.  Those incredibly warm wise eyes . . . 
                  
Suddenly she became afraid and she shook her head hard
side to clear the vision from her mind. "I don't need a man to make me happy," she
muttered angrily under her breath as she jammed the blanket under the box spring and
threw the blanket on top, "not a real one or an imagined one."  Sarah set herself to
cleaning the Inn with a vengeance.  

     When she finished the suite it shone from top to bottom.  The hard wood floor had
been given a new coat of wax.   The book cases polished lovingly with her favorite scented
oil, it was Sara's own special blend of lavender, lemon, and bergamot oils.  The reason she
had  set about the task of making her own wood polish  was simple; not only were the
floors, chairs, tables, basin and head board and foot boards in this room made of hard
wood but it was the same throughout the Inn, she had often wondered how many cherry
trees had given up the ghost for the antiques in the old home.   She closed the door when
she was done and then went on to the next room and then the next  until all twelve were
finished and ready for someone, anyone, to come and stay in them.  
              
     By the time she was finally able to get around to inspecting the gardens and
grounds it was almost five in the afternoon and her back was beginning to gnarl into new
and interesting positions each time she tried to yank a weed or pick up some forlorn object
that had found its way onto the property.  The Goddess knew that Sarah tried to keep the
grounds up all year but four hundred acres were a lot of work for a whole crew of  people
never mind just one.  Sarah had discovered that she could care for ten of those acres on
her own but if she really wanted the land to look good and show off its history then she
had to keep it down to eight acres.  As for the rest of it she tried to keep a natural border
on it,  for that she had planted azalea, rhodendron and fire bushes for the most part with
honeysuckle and lilac thrown in for good measure.  Beyond the border she had allowed
the woods to reclaim the land.
                             
     As she walked the back quarter of the land she found herself knee high in grass and
wondering if the old John Deere was going to make it through another season or not.  The
weeds were taking over the flower beds by the back porch and the mortar was cracking
by the chimney on the old slate roof and between the bricks on the left wall.  It seemed
that the early spring rains and thaw had done their damage this time, that last winter surely
did not help things what with twenty snow storms, almost a record for Covington, almost.
"Well, Momma, I know it isn't exactly what you had in mind for me."  Sarah smiled
as she felt the warmth of the sun on her face.  "But I like it."  She opened her eyes and
began to walk away she stopped.  "Doesn't mean I wouldn't like a little help.  See if you
can't get Jimmy to come down here, would ya?"  She laughed heartily knowing, as would
her mother if she were still here, that he would never come back here to actually help.
He was only interested in trying to make her sell the place or barring that collect
his small share of the profits earned during the summer.  Sarah had sold him her share 
their family home in Burlington in the hopes that he would lay off about the In
not.  What he had done was turn right around and sell the  house for a hefty sum and Sarah
would have bet her last dime (that's about what she was down to) that he had never even
thought of offering his sister any of the profit.  Lately he'd been insisting that he knew 
someone who was interested in  the Inn and who would pay ten per cent over market value
for it.
 
     Sarah would not sell, not for any price.  Not yet.  Faded and crumbling though it
was, the Inn was where she wanted, needed, to be.  Steven had understood that and had sided
with her, he was gone now.  She had to fight her own flesh and blood on her own, it wasn't
easy.  It went against everything Sarah believed in and had been taught by her mother and
father.  Blood was supposed to stick with blood no matter what.  James had never believed 
that, he was a Capitalist through and through, everyone for himself.  What more could she
honestly expect from him?  She  opened the door to the shed and began to look over the mower.  
Not bad, not good but not too bad, however it was more then just doubtful that it would make it
through another season.  Where was she going to get the money for a new one?  Or to fix
the cracking mortar?  Or the pipes which were beginning to leak, not to mention the cracks
in the roof?  Sarah sighed deep as she cleaned off the spark plugs then went on to  check
the wires and the oil  before pouring  gasoline into the tank and starting the old tractor
mower.   It sputtered and spewed black oily smoke but it  started and it would still cut the
grass and that was all she needed it for.  She rode it out of the shed and began to make her
way through eight acres of knee high grass.   Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mae
leaving by the front door, she waved and smiled knowing she would see her again tomorrow.
                             
     By the time Sarah laid her small frame into the wrought iron claw foot tub in gate house late that night the Inn was almost ready for company.  All that remained wa
to plant the flower beds and trim the rose bushes, a few other odds and ends.  She laid
back in the hot water, salted well with the amber bath salts she had made.  Very slowly she 
felt her stiff muscles began to relax.  She reached over the side for a bottle of chamomile
soap which she had made herself.   She  made all her baths supplies from the herbs and
flowers she grew in her gardens, everything from soap to oils to lotions and powders and
shampoos.  Not to mention the organic cleaning supplies used at the inn.  And all those
candles.  Sarah enjoyed making most of the items she used in daily life by herself, she liked
baking her own bread and even churning butter once in a while.  Those were things you
could not do in the city, she thought as the soap glided across her body she breathed deep
of its light apple-like scent, you can't get this in the city.  
     
     The image of the strange to come to her again, this time Sarah shoved it aside.  It no longer brought her comfort
and the offering of a secret desire fulfilled.  Now it made her feel ridiculous and stupid.
Weak.  It was such a childish fantasy.
                             
     She soaked in the hot water for a long while and closed her eyes as she laid back
allowing the water to completely envelope her slim body.  She could feel the warmth of
the candles flames on her face and turned her cheek toward the light as she meditated and
asked her Goddess, Artemis, for guidance and wisdom.  She called to Ares for His
protection and His strength.

  As she relaxed in the water, she realized that the image of the stranger was intimidating to her.  He was
a very powerful man.  Sarah was beginning to find his intrusions into her mind were
becoming ever more unwelcome.  If he continued to bother her, she would have to see
what she could find for banishing specters and ghosts from the Inn.  She felt Ares strong
arms wrap around her in the warm water bringing her the protection and the strength she
had asked Him for.  Sarah's mind began to drift away from her center floating out past her
body and toward the deep dark hills of sleep.  Just before she lost herself completely to its
grasp her eyes fluttered open.  Very slowly she pulled her small body from the tub.  She
took the large terry cloth towel from the rack and walked naked out of the bathroom.  
                              
    She looked around the small cottage as she began to dry her petite body.  That roll
top desk would look perfect by the hearth in front of the book cases, she thought.  It could
be her quiet corner where she could write her stories and compose her music.  She'd get
it down here somehow.
                             
     Suddenly she felt a presence in the room, it was strong and  undeniable.  Someone
was watching her, she was sure of it. She felt a chill skip down her slender spine.  That
was ridiculous. There was no one around at this hour of the night.  She gathered her
soaked auburn tresses in front of her as she quickly walked into her small bedroom and
slipped into a silk night gown.  She checked the cottage before lying down for the night,
making sure all the doors and windows were latched tight.

     That night as she lay her body down  in the feather bed and closed her eyes she saw
the stranger again. This time he would no go when she told him to.
                             
     He was growing stronger.
                              
     He was coming closer.
                             


                                
   
   
   
                                      FOUR
                              
                              
                                                  April 22
                              
          
    The sun was still making its long climb to its apex as  Duncan MacLeod began
going through his daily routine of caring for the small herd of sheep he was currently
keeping.  He reached his gloved hand down to pet the lamb that Sarah had been petting
two nights before.
   
    Had she really been here that night?
     
    Duncan eased his large frame onto the soft ground of the corral and leaned back
against the white fence to gaze around at his surroundings.   The dusty old ranch was
a far cry from New York City where he had lived last and where he had been a very
successful antique dealer.

   What was he doing here on this old farm in the middle of nowhere?  So far away
from any other living soul that he had begun to think he was the last person left on the face
of the Earth. He had no idea of why he had purchased this place and thought he probably
never would.  It certainly wasn't he would have normally chosen for himself upon moving
yet again.  The Scottish born Duncan Macleod much preferred the hustle and bustle of big
cities, the cultured and sophisticated atmosphere they offered.  Very seldom did he opt to
spend much time living in such a rural setting.
 
  Why now?
   
   Then, just over a week ago Sarah had begun to appear in his dreams.  After more
than two hundred years of not allowing himself to even conceive of thinking of her, there
she was.  Just as beautiful as she had been all of those years ago.  Her large doe eyes
starring back at him from somewhere deep inside his mind.  He tried, unsuccessfully, to
shake off the first of the dreams but even then he had been aware that something was
happening.  The dreams weren't really dreams at all, they were visions.  Prophecies. 
Duncan did not like those ideas at all, in fact he detested them.  It made him feel foolish
and as though he was at the mercy of some Otherworldly force's whim and not his own. 
        
  But he could not deny that for the last week, since the first dream happened to him,
his nerves had stood on end and  his sensory system was locked on  over load.  He could
not shake the feeling that there was another of his kind very near by. He had walked the
grounds of the ancient sheep farm from north to south and east to west and back again
looking for them but there was no one around for miles. Of course the rational part of his
mind already knew that but it did not stop him from feeling the electricity that shot through
him all the way to his very bones.     There had been times during this past week that he
felt it so strong that he would have sworn there was another Immortal right behind him. 
             
There was no one.
   
It was getting to be time to go and find out if he was going crazy or if . . . if . . . 
   
He cut the thought off.  It was insane.  It couldn't possibly be happening . . . 
  
 . . .Again . . . 
   
   Duncan rose hastily on unsteady legs and stormed out of the barn yard toward the
old farm house. He went directly to the liquor cabinet in the faded run down kitchen and
grabbed the bottle of Johnny Walker Red, he took a long swig from the bottle.  The amber
liquid burned all the way down his gullet but that didn't stop him from hitting it again.  He
swiped his still gloved hand across his lips and took another swig.  
He wished desperately that there was some else around here . . . anyone at all
would be fine with him.  Just someone to talk to.  Someone who would listen and not
think him crazy.
   
"I'm four hundred and seven years-old!" he roared to no one. "I can take care of
myself damn it!  I don't need a fucking wet nurse."  Duncan brought the bottle to his full
lips again. He stopped to star e at the amber liquid which was filling his gullet  making his
stomach turn.  Its intoxicating effect already taking hold, making is head feel light and
clouding his thoughts.  "Fuck it!"  He thundered as he heaved the bottle toward the wall. 
It tumbled end over end as it went, spewing its amber contents all over the grayed floor. 
He watched as it hit the battered yellowed wall and shattered sending shards of glass flying
everywhere.  In a strange way, he had hoped the impact would make him feel better, that the
shattering would take some of the frustration he felt.  It did not. He stretched his long legs
out under the table and removed the leather gloves from his hands as he  sat in the chair
looking pensively out the window upon the dusty old farm he had purchased six months
prior.  
   
  Duncan closed his mahogany eyes as   thoughts  and memories of Sarah began to
come  to him now that the alcohol  began to firm up his grip on his conscious mind. He
found himself wishing that he had eaten something for breakfast this morning, Immortal
or not drinking on an empty stomach was still drinking on an empty stomach.         Tears
began to  well behind his closed lids.  His mind began to wander further even though his
heart insisted that it not do so.  It did not wish to relive the past, not this part of his past,
in any way, shape or form.
   
   Before he knew it, his heart had lost the battle.  
    
   The first image to come to Duncan MacLeod slightly inebriated mind were the
colors . . . the flashing wonderful colors of the rainbow dancing everywhere, filling every
inch of his sight.  The colors grew, intensified and then seemed to explode inside his mind
    
   ...Suddenly the year was 1734 and he was in Vermont.  He could see himself 
standing at the top of the hill, champagne in one hand wine glasses in the other, the colors
dancing out behind him.    
   
   Sarah screaming.
     
   He could see men dragging her out of the cottage.  
   
Duncan pounded his fists on the rock maple table to clear the rest of the forth
coming memory. Before the image could fade completely, he heard Sarah's voice inside his mind just
as though she were still alive and standing right next to him . . .  
   
   "She needs you.  You must go to her.  There isn't much time."
   
   His eyes opened wide and he stood quickly, bumping his knees against the
underside of the table and almost knocking it over as he rose.  He felt something he could
not describe take over his body and found himself crossing the old kitchen to the
telephone. He stood there for a long moment holding the handset in his grip and staring
at the wall.  Finally he decided that he had nothing to lose and he began to punch the
buttons.  
   
    This is crazy. He scolded himself as he stood there alone in his kitchen listening to
   the ring of the phone.  
   
    "G'Day, may I help you?" Came the operator's  voice.
    
    "I want the calling code for Covington Vermont in the United States please."  He
said in a hush voice. 
   
    "Certainly, sir.  Have a G'day." She was gone and he was listening to the
automated voice of a machine give him the calling code and ask if he wanted to be
connected to Vermont Information.  He punched number one to tell the machine he
wanted it to connect him.  

   Soon an American voice was coming through the line. "What city please?"  It asked.
   
   "Covington.   The surname is Cooper."
   
   "I have a listing for a Cooper's Inn, sir. The only other Cooper has an unlisted
number. Would you like the number for the inn?" The operator asked.
   
    An Inn?  The old mansion would certainly serve nicely as an Inn or a Bed and
Breakfast. "The Inn, would that be on Far Lane?  It used to be Far Lane anyway."
   
   "Yes, sir."
   
   "I'll take the number please."  
   
  Once again the operator disappeared and he was  met with the cold voice of the
computer that was spitting out the number and asking him if it wanted him to connect his
call.  Duncan again hit the number one to say that he did as he grabbed a pencil and wrote
the number on his kitchen wall.  Quickly he glanced at his watch and calculated the time
difference in his head.  It would be somewhere around five in the evening in Vermont he 
imagined.
   
   "Good evening, Cooper's Inn, how may I help you?"  Mae said in her Sunday Best
voice, as she always did when she answered the phone here.  On the few occasions it
actually rang, that was.
   
    Duncan felt his heart sink and wondered again just what it was he was doing.  The
woman on the other end of the line obviously was not Sarah Cooper.  He leaned his head
against the wall as he spoke. "I'd like to make a reservation please."
   
   A what?  He heard a voice bellow from somewhere in his mind.
   
   "Certainly, sir."  The elderly woman's voice seem to brighten.  "When would you
like to come?"
   
   "I'm not sure." He muttered. "Is the gate keeper's cottage available for rent?" 
Duncan felt as though some outer force had temporarily taken over control of him and his
senses, just a second ago he only intended to see if . . . if what?  Why, if Sarah Cooper was
living there of course.  And now he was going to fly half way around the world to stay in
Simon and Hannah Coopers' old home and do what?  He didn't know but he knew he was
going.
   
   "No, sir.  The woman who owns the Inn lives there."  Mae politely informed him.
   
   "What about the three room suite on the third floor, is that available?"  
   
   "Beg pardon, sir but that suite has been closed for over two decades now.  We do
have one on the second floor with a lovely view of the flower gardens."  Mae prompted.
   
   "No, I want the one on the third floor.  I don't care about its condition."  Duncan
waited for the woman to reply to this and when she did not he felt certain that he would
be denied those rooms, panic struck him.  If he was going to Vermont, and it certainly
looked like he was, he wanted to stay in Sarah's rooms.  He wanted, needed, to feel close
to her again.   "Please." He could almost see the straws he was grasping for.
   
   "Hold on, please sir."  Mae said as she covered the phone.  She could hardly catch
her breath at what the man had said.  "Sarah.   Sarah."  She called as she waved her arms
frantically in the air to get the young woman's attention.  "Come here, quick."
   
    "What's the matter, Mae?"  Sarah asked as she wiped her hands on her old faded
blue jeans.  Sarah had just come in from finishing the gardening for the day and was about
to get ready to start on dinner for Mae and herself.  It would be good to have company
tonight, Sarah was looking very forward to not eating alone tonight.
   
   "There's a man on the phone.  He wants to stay in the old rooms upstairs, Sarah
Cooper's old rooms."  She held the phone out to Sarah.  "He sounds rather desperate
about it."
   
    Sarah gave a puzzled look as she took the phone from Mae. "Hello, this is Sarah
Cooper how can I help you?"
   
    Duncan fell silent on the other end of the line almost ten thousand miles away.  He
felt his heart stop beating all together at the sound of her voice.  His soul felt vindicated.
"Sarah?"  His throat had gone dry.  His head spun.  He laid a hand against the wall to
steady himself as he tried to  recover his composure.  "Yes, Sarah Cooper, I want to rent
   . . . "
   
    "I heard.  I'm afraid they're in a terrible state of disrepair Mr . . . "
   
    "MacLeod, Duncan MacLeod."
   
    The sound of his voice and tones of his muddled European accent tickled her
senses.  "Mr. MacLeod, we have several other rooms available, I'm sure one of them
would . . . "
   
    "No, I want that one . . .   Please."
   
    "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir. Have you stayed here before, sir?"  Sarah asked
as she tried to put a face on the voice and the name that now seemed oddly familiar some
way. "The rooms have been closed off for a long time now."
   
    "Yes, I've been there before."  He said quietly as his heart began to beat again.  Not
just to beat but to pound with all the force of a run away horse.   "The suite please."  He
closed his eyes, he could almost see her standing there, smell her soft scent the tender skin
of her neck.  "I don't care how bad they are."
   
    "Honestly, sir.  I can't let you . . . "
   
    "I'll pay extra for them."  Once again those straws danced before his eyes.  He
could almost see his hand reaching out to them praying he grasped the right one.  "A
thousand dollars a night.  Five up front."  The sound of his voice and his proposal amazed
his own ears.  How desperate he must sound to her right now. 
   
    Sarah fell deathly silent on the other end of the line.
   
    Five thousand dollars?  He had he really said Five THOUSAND dollars?
She looked around at her surroundings and did not need to look far to see what
that kind of money could put to right.  There were cracks in the ceiling right above her
head from the leaking pipes. "All right, if you insist.  When did you want to come?"
   
    "Tomorrow.  I'll be there tomorrow afternoon."
   
    "By the Gods!" Sarah exclaimed. "I can't possibly have them ready by then Mr.
MacLeod."  Sarah said hastily.  "They're blocked off, I have to knock out a wall just to get
at them.  It's just me here, I can't . . . "
    
    Sarah, is it really you, my love? He wondered as he listened to the softness of her
voice and the harried want to please him reflected there.  
"Day after then."  He said calmly.  "Their condition isn't important.  I'm sure they'll
be  just fine."
   
    Sarah sighed on the other end of the line.  It was so much work, but it was so
much money.  "All right,  Mr. MacLeod, I will do my very best."
   
    "I'm sure you will."  He hung up the phone without another word.  He stood there
with his face hidden against the wall. His heart ached to hear that voice, her voice, again.
He regained his strength after a moment and found that he was suddenly alive with
anticipation.  He no longer felt confused, frustrated or as though he was going mad.
Duncan turned away from the wall and strolled from the kitchen making his way up the
stairs to his bedroom.  His heart felt heavy and light at the same time, such an odd
sensation.  His mind turned over and over again.
 
      Just what was he doing?
   
    "I'm going Sarah.  I'm going."  He whispered to no one.  "Are you happy now? 
Am I doing the right thing?"
   
    Although the windows were all closed tight, a light breeze began to blow around
him.  It billowed over his face and ruffled his hair.  He swore he could feel the warm touch
of a small hand in it.

 Click here to read the last online chapter

 Click here to send me an E-MAIL!