Title:     "A Soul Across Time" (c) July 29, 1999

Author(S):    The Sisters of the Med-jai

Rating:    R

Copyright:    All characters are copyright and belong to the individual authors that created said characters.

Comments:    The authors are open to comments. Please send your comments to the individual you wish to respond to at tikibear@aol.com. The editor will pass them on to the correct author.

About this story...This is a round robin story, consisting of many authors! Each author will be listed at the beginning of their chapter/page.

Chapter One - written by Shelayne

He stood looking out the window to the traffic below. Cars honked impatiently to get on their way, people never looked up from the sidewalk as they headed to their separate destinations. So many people. On their way to nowhere, he thought glumly. With a sigh he turned away from the window and found himself staring at his reflection in the gilded mirror on the wall. His clothing was a far cry from what he was used to, he thought wryly. Black leather boots tucked up inside black jeans that showed off the muscles in his legs, a black long-sleeved, silk shirt tucked in at the waist, the first few buttons undone at the top. Black, he thought, it suits my mood. Looking further up the mirror he noticed that his dark beard needed to be trimmed up a bit. And his shoulder-length, raven-coloured hair, curling at the ends, was the style that so many men wore in this century. How many different lengths had it been? And how many different time periods? Thinking he really should shower and change before the interviewer arrived, he walked to the sofa and sat down instead. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Was he doing the right thing? Should anybody be allowed to know what he knew? So many questions over the years that never got answered, that never were asked. Am I the last one? he asked himself. He tried to soothe his frantic thoughts by listening to the steady hum of the traffic that floated in through the open window. As the calmness engulfed him, the doorbell rang. He started, stood up, crossed to the door and opened it. Standing before him was a woman.

"Mr. Schön? Hello, I'm Liberty Heath. We spoke on the phone?" She held out her hand. He took her hand in his as he replied.

"Of course, Ms. Heath, please come in."

She walked past him into his apartment. He closed the door and followed her in. She was tall for a woman, wavy red hair ending at her shoulder-blades and resting against the suit jacket she wore, a mini-skirt showing off long legs for which he had a fondness for, and an air of self-assuredness, not conceit, just that certain presence that tends to put one at ease.

He gestured to a chair. "Please have a seat". She sat in the chair as he took a place on the couch. He could see the front of her more clearly now. The camel-coloured suit showed off a light tan to her smooth skin, the cream-coloured blouse dipping down to reveal the upper roundness of her cleavage. Not-too-full lips and a pert nose made one glance straight into her dark brown eyes, shaded by long, dark lashes. Those eyes, they reminded him of....stop it! Enough silence, he thought.

"Would you care for anything to drink before we get started, Ms Heath?" he asked.

"I don't drink while I'm working" she said, a hint of laughter at the corners of her mouth, "and please, call me Libby".

"All right then, um...Libby... I have coke, iced tea, water?"

"Ice tea would be wonderful, thank you."

"No problem." He walked into the kitchen leaving Libby alone with her thoughts. She had interviewed all kinds of people claiming all different sorts of things, but never someone like this. An immortal, he claimed. Well, she thought, he seems sane enough, but an immortal? She shook her head as she tried not to think of his darkly handsome looks. His eyes were dark and penetrating and his hair looked like black silk, curled at the ends and touching his shoulders, his broad shoulders, stretching his silk shirt taught across his chest. All this she had noticed in just a few short moments. And those hands, those long beautiful fingers had engulfed her hand in his, making her hand seem as a child's within his firm but gentle grasp. He was taller than she was, she mused, which was a nice change from her everyday encounters with different men that she dealt with. As he came back from the kitchen with a glass in each hand, she marveled at the way his long legs seemed to make his walk more of a glide. What was she doing thinking of his body? She shook her head again to clear her thoughts as he walked up to her and handed her a glass. She looked up at him.

"Thank you Mr. Schön".

"Your welcome, and please, call me Omar". He smiled down at her and that smile took her breath away. She watched him as he went back to his seat on the sofa. They both sat for a moment, sizing each other up. Libby cleared her throat and broke the silence.

"Alright, Omar. Hmm, Omar Schön. That's an interesting name."

"It is an old family name", he replied off-handedly. "And what about Liberty? I don't believe I've ever heard that name before".

"That too, is an old family name. But we're not here to talk about me." Libby set her glass down and opened her briefcase. She pulled out a legal pad, tape-recorder and pencil, pressed the tape-recorder button on and prepared to start the interview. Omar watched her with amusement in his eyes.

"Why don't you have a lap-top? Isn't that the way it's done these days?"

Libby laughed. "Yes, it usually is, but I've been doing interviews this way for so long that sometimes old habits are hard to break."

"Well, I know about old habits". He smiled a ghost of a smile and looked down into his iced tea for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. She waited for him to continue, noticing again his full lips partially covering perfect white teeth. She wondered what it would be like to actually kiss those sensuous lips, and then stopped herself short for thinking like that. This was a professional interview! She decided it was time to start.

"So Mr. Schön, Omar, on the phone you claimed to be an immortal, and that you had a message the world needed to hear."

Omar looked up from his tea staring straight into her eyes. "Yes, I have a message. But I would guess that first you want some proof of my immortality."

"Well, that would help of course, but I don't know what proof you can give. Unless maybe I 'killed' you and you came back to life."

He smiled. "It doesn't work that way. What I do is jump into other peoples bodies."

"Excuse me?" Libby looked at him in disbelief.

"My soul can jump from one body to the next."

Libby frowned slightly. "You jump around from body to body? What happens to the soul of the body you inhabit?"

"Let me explain." He sat forward and set down his glass. "I have the ability to see auras around people. Some people have very small, very smooth auras indicating a complacent lifestyle, happy with where they are and what they're doing. I look for the auras that are constantly moving, shifting from colour to colour, indicating an adventurous nature, a desire to be more than the limits society might put on them. This body I'm in right now is an up-and-coming actor. He has a very exiting aura. It intrigued me so I jumped."

"What do you do to the soul that's already in the body? Push it out on its own?" Libby adjusted the recorder to make sure it picked up every word he uttered.

Omar laughed. "We coexist to a certain degree, sharing feelings and memories but I am the one in control until I jump to another body. His soul is sleeping."

Libby made notes on her legal pad. "Will he remember everything when you jump to the next person?"

"He will remember it as in a dream."

Libby looked thoughtful. What a story this would make, if it were real. Then before she knew it, the next question flew from her mouth before she had time to think. "So, for instance, if you happen to like the aura surrounding me, would you just jump into my body?" She lowered her eyes a moment in embarrassment as she realized how that must have sounded. Then she raised her eyes to meet his.

He glanced away from her face, once again noticing the smooth skin of her cleavage rising up from the neckline of her blouse as she breathed. "No. I've never jumped into a female body. It would be wrong."

"I see" she replied and blushed faintly as his gaze traveled the length of her body. She continued. "What does my aura tell you?"

His eyes returned to her face. "It's difficult to tell", he replied. "Your aura is very different from what I usually see. It's....clouded" He looked at her, puzzled over the fact that her aura was definitely not normal. Why couldn't he see her aura clearly?

"Maybe that's because I've had a clouded life" she laughed.

"Maybe". He was not laughing.

Libby cleared her throat and continued. "Is Omar your real name? Or is that the name of the ...um...actor?"

Omar grinned. "It's the name of the actor. You could never pronounce my real name. Actually, it's not a spoken name, it's more a feeling. All of the immortals greet each other by this 'feeling' name."

"How many of you are there?"

He looked sad for a moment as he spoke. "I believe I'm the last one."

"Wait a sec, how can your kind die if you're immortal?"

He explained patiently. "If the host body we're in loses its will to live suddenly, our soul will jump out, sort of a self-preservation instinct. But it only has a few minutes to find a replacement host or else our soul loses its own desire to be alive and will be drawn to its final resting place. That's why we must stay in heavily populated areas. If not... well... anyway, that's what I believe has happened to the rest of my kind. I haven't seen another immortal in many years."

Libby's pencil paused as she gave him a pointed look. "Can you tell when you see someone that they're an immortal?"

"Yes" he replied. "The aura of the host body clashes with the immortal's aura. It tends to look like a lightening storm around their head."

Libby thought for a moment. "But there's really no way to prove what you claim. No way to prove immortality. Unless you can show me how to read people's auras."

Omar sighed. "I'm afraid that's not a thing that can be taught, but maybe I can convince you by words. Let me tell you some of the people I've been throughout history, some of the places I've seen."

Libby raised an eyebrow. "Anyone can read a history book and recite famous stories, myths and legends."

He looked at her. "Not with the details that I can give you."

Libby looked straight back at him. "Alright. It's your quarter, so to speak."

Omar smiled. "Where would you like to begin?"

"With whatever comes to your mind first," she replied. "I can edit later." She smiled at him.

Whatever comes to his mind first, he thought. Well, what came to his mind first was not doing the interview, although, he had initiated it. He had a sudden desire to touch her face, her chin, to let his fingers follow the curve of her neck down to her....but this is foolish thought, he chided himself. The world needs to know. Yet it still bothered him that he couldn't read her aura. He tucked that problem away for later thought. The interview first. He sighed quietly and began.

"What comes to my mind first is New Zealand...."

Chapter 2 New Zealand, 1966 -written by BlackB

It was late afternoon. The gravel road, the trees, everything looked quite un-real in the eerie light of an approaching thunderstorm rolling in from the Tasmanian Sea. On my way to the West Coast I hadn't seen a single soul or another car for the last two hours. Lightning flashed on the horizon. Suddenly there was a loud BANG and the car began to skid across the road. I tried the breaks, but with all the gravel it wasn't such a good idea. Gripping tight the steering wheel I managed to hold the car's course and finally it came to a halt. As the dust settled I climbed out and checked the damage. The left front tire had completely burst. I congratulated myself for getting the unique chance of having to change a try in a thunderstorm, then looked up and saw her. She just stood there, a few yards down the road. Carrying a large rucksack she slowly walked up to the car.

"Hi, may I help you?" she asked. Her long blond hair was fixed in a pony-tail and the sweat had left white salty stains on her blue shirt. I suddenly had the strong feeling of déjà vu.

"Hi ! Mmm, yes!" I mumbled. Did I know her?

"We should fix this before this whole rain will come down!" she said and dropped her rucksack. I found the jack and gave it to her as she was already lying half way underneath the car looking for the right place to hook it in. The screws were so tight I had to pull with all my might. But only when she stood on the spanner did they move a bit. We finished the wheel change without exchanging much words, then the first rain drops fell.

"Thanks for the help, I wouldn't have finished it in such a short time, if it wasn't for you. Would you mind, if I'll drive you wherever you wanted to go?" I offered to her.

"Ok, let's climb into your car before I can take part in another wet tee-shirt contest!" With this she tossed her rucksack on the back seat and jumped in.

"Oh, by the way, my name is Marcus", I said, taking the driver seat.

"I'm Mara, nice to meet you", she smiled.

Just then the sky came down. The windscreen wipers were powerless against the forces of nature. We had to wait and hope that the road would still be there after the floods.

"Now where shall I drive you, when this is over?" I asked her.

"Oh, there's a motel in the village down at the coast. There I should find the rest of my bags and the car."

"You wanted to go there on foot? It must be another 20 miles!"

"I guess so, but I didn't have much of a choice, you were the first car passing in a whole day."

Thoughtfully I said: "And you jumped in, not knowing if I'm the good or the bad guy."

In a resigned way she looked at me with her bright blue eyes.

" It doesn't matter anyhow."

I was totally puzzled and had the feeling something really bad had happened to her. But she didn't tell me another word, so I didn't inquire. I gave her my brightest smile and she tilted her head smiling back. She looked beautiful.

"Yeah, presumably your the good guy" she grinned.

"The rain has stopped," I said, "we should get your bags and car before it gets dark." I started the engine and turned on the radio. She hummed to the songs and searched for something in one of her bags. She found two kiwis and started to peel them with a knife. Every now and then she stole a glance at me. I could tell I made an impression on her by the way she stared at my hair, profile and my hands.

"What has brought you to this lonely place?" she wanted to know. She regarded me benevolently.

"You're all dressed in black, and it looks damned cute. Has somebody died?" she joked.

"Yes," I replied and I could see her swallowing hard.

"Oh, I'm, I'm sorry for you, it wasn't meant that way", she looked away.

"It's ok, I'm fine. She was very old, 96, and she didn't have to suffer. Naomi was a remarkable lady." My voice trailed off.

"Naomi. It's a nice name. I think you loved her!"

"Yes I did. She was my. . .," I paused. I couldn't possibly explain the truth to her. So I said " . . .my grandmother! Tomorrow is her funeral."

"Oh!" She was silent again, peeling the second fruit.

"Would you like a piece of this kiwi?" She held a juicy slice in front of my nose.

The last time I was in New Zealand they hadn't many kiwi plantations yet, but I remembered that the few I was offered tasted good. She put the slice in my mouth and I could sense her nose next to my cheek taking a deep breath. Her expression said 'You smell good' and she let out a small sigh. What happened next I only remember seeing through a thick veil. My throat burned and I couldn't swallow. Hardly breathing the whole world whirled around.

I saw the panic in Mara's eyes. She shoved me aside and rolled me onto the passenger seat while holding tight the wheel. Then she found the pedal and slammed the brake. I was in agony. Slowly my soul detached itself from the now unconscious body. Nobody else was around. No male host to be seen. I was sorry for Marcus and still wondering what had happened She took a syringe out of her hip bag and ripped the shirt off Marcus' body. With her belt around his upper arm she bravely pushed the needle in the vein. Then she sprayed something down the throat and began the resuscitation. With each painful breath life came back and my soul floated back into Marcus' body again. Feeling her lips on mine was like kissing her. I opened my eyes.

"Are you ok?" she whispered, gently stroking my hair. I nodded.

"On no account ought you to eat kiwis again! This was an anaphylactic shock. I gave you some adrenaline and antihistamine. I react just the same, if stung by a wasp. Fortunately I had the proper medication at hand."

Oh dear, how should I know that Marcus got such problems. I was slow on the uptake.

"You saved my soul!"

"Yes", she answered matter-of-factly. I tried to stand up just to find out sitting was a much better option right now.

"It's ok." She gave me a bottle of water and started to collect shirt buttons spread on the floor. "I'm sorry. I will sew them on again."

"Never mind, I've got plenty of black shirts!"

I was still a bit shaky so she offered to drive me to the beach where I was to meet Jo.

Jo was an old Maori, a New Zealand native living at the beach offering fishing tours and horse rides to tourists. I promised him to come back one day, but I didn't intend it to be on such a sad occasion. He had married Naomi. Naomi who was my daughter and who had died three days ago... I met her mother during the gold fever in New Zealand 1867. I remember it all too well, but that's another long story.

"Kia ora! It's so good to see you again, Jo!" I greeted him heartily.

"Tena korua. Haere mai! Glad you look alike, my old friend" He embraced me and a big smile was on his face covered with Maori tattoos. Of course he hadn't seen me as Marcus before, but I'd chosen a body very similar to the one I used when I was last visiting him and Naomi ten years ago. Jo knew my secret. I introduced Mara to him and we all had some cups of tea sitting around the fire. I told him about my journey to New Zealand and about my job as a travel agent always looking for pleasant new sites to send busloads of tourists to. I finished with what had happened in the last few hours. It was only when Mara went to the washroom that Jo could ask about my name. "At the moment I'm Marcus. By the way, I told Mara that Naomi was my grandmother, I thought it would sound more credible to her." Jo laughed.

It was already dark and the stars did shine when I asked Mara to take a walk along the beach with me. I wanted to know more about her and why she was traveling through New Zealand. But she kept silent. The waves crushed on the shore and the water played around our bare feet. With the Antarctica that near, the water was too icy for a bath at night. It was a starry night and we could see dolphins playing with the crest of the waves.

I thanked her for saving my life and gave her the tiki made of Greenstone I wore around my neck. "It's a Manaia, a lucky charm and a carrier of super natural powers. It will protect you from evil."

She thanked me with a short embrace that made me shiver. We walked back in silence. Sitting round the campfire again she took Jo's guitar and with her clear voice sang a few melodies I didn't know. After another cup of tea she crawled into her sleeping bag and leaned herself against my arm.

"Where's Jo?" she asked with a tired voice.

"He's looking after the horses I guess!"

" Ah, then kiss me goodnight!"

Slowly I bent over her and gave her a long kiss. It was a strange and pleasurable sensation. Then she was already fast asleep. I held her throughout the night knowing that she had soothed my grief about my daughter's death. As the dawn broke through, I fell asleep as well.

When I awoke she was gone.

Jo found a note saying "I've only got one heart to loose. Love, Mara"

Remembering the lyrics of the song from the other night I wondered if I would ever see her again and repay my debt.

"...And the rains came down,
And the stars fell from the skies,
Oh how dark the night,
It always seems,
Those castles and dreams
Fade with the morning light..."

INBETWEEN written by SHELAYNE

Libby stared at Omar thoughtfully. Then she spoke. "You fathered a child?" Omar smiled. "Actually, the host body did. He was married."

Libby's eyebrows shot up. "You mean, you could have more children running around?"

Omar shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say? I feel the physical needs of the host body that I'm in. Do you know how intriguing physical sensations are to a soul?" His smoldering gaze on her body left her fighting to keep her breath in control. She busied herself by turning the cassette over to start a new side. When she looked up again, he was staring into his glass, a sad smile on his lips. What could possibly make him look so sad? He was an immortal! Everyone wanted immortality. Vampire stories ran amuck on the bookshelves while many people made actual pilgrimages to far-off places, seeking eternal life. And he had it! She brought him back to her with her voice. "Are you tired of being immortal?"

He leaned his head against the back of the sofa as he took a moment to answer her. "Am I tired of being immortal? That question has been going around my head for many years, and I'm still not sure how to answer it. In my early years as an immortal soul, I wasn't always good. I was angry that I existed in this form. I wanted to be mortal and struck out the only way I could. Well, needless to say, I did a lot of bad things, jumped into host bodies that I knew were evil and committed some atrocities. But that gave me no pleasure. I finally accepted what I was. Then I concentrated on finding the places where I could do the most good. And it gave me a great sense of satisfaction, knowing that I had restored peace or happiness to someone's life. But leaving the host body was always a sad parting."

"But I thought you said you purposefully look for the most adventurous auras."

Omar sighed. "I did and I still do. Sometimes the thought of a new adventure is the only thing that keeps me going when I jump."

Now it was Libby's turn to look sad. "I don't know how you can do it, year after year, century after century."

"I do it because there is a purpose for it, even though I might not be able to see what that purpose is" he said.

"So" said Libby "century after century you keep going because you feel you must, for this purpose." She sighed heavily. He watched the emotions cross her face and had the sudden urge to hold her. Fighting the temptation to go to her, he spoke quietly to her. "Do you want to stop the interview?"

"No" she said. "I want to finish it. Besides, that memory was only back to 1966. Can you tell me something a bit further back?"

Omar smiled at her. "An older memory....."

Chapter 3 The Widowmaker written by Terri Justen

Blaine stood at the helm of the Widowmaker and cast his eyes skyward. It was a beautiful night, stars as far as the eye could see. The smell of the salt air and the warm tropical breeze always made him glad to be alive. The wind blew his long black hair back from his face and cooled the skin beneath his beard.

"Couldn't sleep, eh boy?" asked his father as he seemed to appear out of nowhere as usual.

"No father, the night is too beautiful to waste sleeping. I'll sleep when I'm old... like you."

"Keep up the wise crackin' me boy-o and you'll not live to be old like me" His father teased. With a gruff one-armed hug and an embarrassed shuffle his father disappeared the way he had come, leaving Blaine to his thoughts.

He still couldn't believe he was considered by many to be a pirate. The Widowmaker flew the Jolly Roger, and many a pillage he had witnessed. But, by the gods, he never would've jumped into the boy if he had known. He'd jump again now if not for the fact that he had become fond of the old man. Still, he never partook of the looting, thieving, or worse, he stayed behind with the skeleton crew that manned the ship. But because his father was the captain, and respected by the crew, he was expected to share in the wealth. He never did that either, his share was always divided among the crew. He lived on the money he earned honestly when they came to port.

His father was without a doubt a pirate. He took pride in his chosen profession. His mother had been a poor girl on her way to be a housemaid for a Duke and Duchess in London. He stole her from the merchant ship in which she was being transported. It had had the misfortune of coming within sight of the Widowmaker. She had been 17 when he took her for his wife. She gave birth to the boy, Blaine, nearly 9 months to the day later. She died in the middle of a battle the Widowmaker had with Her Majesty's Ship Cotillion when Blaine was only ten. She stepped in front of a sword to save her son.

Blaine can still remember the day he finally realized the truth about his father. His shame and grief was nearly unbearable for months. But he loved his father, so his guilt was great as well. But, in the end, his love and loyalty to his father was strongest of all. He now waits for the day when his father passes on the ship to him and he can right the wrongs committed by the Widowmaker and her crew.

Early the next morning Blaine was awakened by the deafening boom of one of the cannons. He could hear the fervent activity of the crew. He knew the drill and his stomach sank. They had evidently spotted another ship that appeared to be ripe for the picking. Pulling on his breeches and boots, his chest bare, he came topside. The unfortunate ship appeared to have been trying to make sail when it was ambushed by his fathers' ship while under an impostor's flag. It had no warning, no time to defend itself. The crew were already aboard and tossing passengers and crew overboard. Another team was busy loading the wares the ship had been transporting.

He heard a shrill cry and a girl's voice "Don't touch me you filthy animal!" she screamed as Jonesboro, a portly slug of a man with bowed legs and yellow teeth tried to stuff his hand down her bosom. He heard a sharp crack and Jonesboro howled as the girl struck him across the face with a riding crop.

God, she was beautiful. Her hair was fire and he could already imagine her eyes, they would be a striking shade of emerald. He saw a gleam of metal as Jonesboro snarled "Why, you little..." and knew Jonesboro's intentions.

"Jonesboro!" he screamed as he ran for the rail and leapt the distance from the Widowmaker to this unfortunate vessel. He grabbed Jonesboro's arm before he had a chance to plunge his knife into the beautiful girl who had struck him. He whirled Jonesboro around and flung him to the deck.

"Touch her again and I'll kill you myself, you diseased little maggot" Blaine snarled. The girl tried to run, he grabbed her and pulled her to him. Burying his head in her hair he whispered, "be still if you want to live." He began to lead her, roughly, to the rail. Putting his arm around her small waist and grabbing a length of dangling rope, he swung them both to the deck of the Widowmaker. As soon as the girl realized what he intended to do she wrapped her arms tightly around him and buried her face in his neck. He felt the fire stir in the pit of his stomach at her touch.

He touched down softly on the deck and set her on her feet. She stared up at him with hate and loathing in her eyes, but no fear. He felt as if he were in a dream. This is the woman, he thought. I shall marry her and have fine sons. He must have been wearing a silly grin because her eyes narrowed.

"What's so amusing I'd like to know." She spoke with a tone of voice that said she was used to getting what she wanted.

He smiled, "nothing".

"Good", she said haughtily as she gathered up the skirts of the lilac dress she wore. Turning around she began to march away from him. He watched her go to the rail, grab a rope and test it for strength. She looked over the side at the distance to the sea. She cast her face skyward, closed her eyes and appeared to be offering a quick prayer. He saw her glance swiftly over her shoulder. He was most amused until he realized she actually meant to attempt to swing back over to her ship. He barely caught her in time. She screamed angrily as he yanked her back to the deck. She struggled and screamed as he attempted to catch her arms without touching somewhere he shouldn't. He was having a splendid time until she slapped him square in the face. White hot anger flared instantly. He grabbed her arm and squeezed her small wrist. He could feel the bones grinding against each other and saw the pain on her face. He immediately loosened his grip. "Slap me again, princess, and you'll wish you had stayed with Jonesboro". She immediately dropped her eyes. She knew that however distasteful she found this particular situation she still had gotten the better end of the deal with this man. He was beautiful, no doubt about that. Those warm brown eyes, full sensuous lips. The hair like black silk. He wore no shirt and his chest was smooth and brown.

She found herself imaging those lips on hers. How the beard would rub her skin as they tasted of each other. My God! She thought incredulously. What are you thinking you silly girl? This man is a pirate for the love of God. Still, one small kiss, and who would know she provoked him to do? Oh for Heaven's sake! Now his were the eyes that narrowed as he read her thoughts. He smiled and shook his head at her. They both burst into laughter. When it died down there was an awkward moment when neither knew quite what to do. The decision was made for them when a bullet whined past his head and slammed into the mast between them. He took her wrist, gently this time. "Come with me, it's not safe up here." He led her down a narrow stairway and into a dim corridor. He opened the third door down on the left and led her in. It was a small galley, quite cozy. A huge four poster bed took up most of the room. A small table sat under the portal. Writing paper, quill and inkpot sat on the small desk. Charts of the stars were strewn everywhere. "Sorry", he said as he began to clear some of them away to make room for her to sit. "Please, make yourself comfortable." Instead she preferred to prowl the room, acquainting herself with it's occupant through the things he held dear. A painting of a woman with hair like hers hung on the wall above the desk.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"My mother, Marissa."

"She's lovely".

" She was, yes, she's been dead for 19 years now."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No need, I've grown quite used to the idea. Would you like a brandy?" he strode to the bed and opened a cabinet that was concealed in the wall over the headboard.

"No, thank you, I don't drink". She glanced around the room then swung around suddenly, anger clouding her eyes. "Why do you have to be a bad man? Why couldn't you just be an ordinary man that I could fall in love with?" Her emerald eyes were swimming with unshed tears. As he watched, one spilled over and trailed down her smooth cheek. Her lashes were darkened by moisture, her lips quivered, she was on the verge of sobbing. He went to her, she pulled back. He stopped, his heart breaking.

"Please, do not cry. I am not a bad man. Things are not as they appear." He took her hands, she did not resist. He led her to the bed and sat her on the edge. He sat beside her and turned her to face him. "Tell me your name." She sniffed and hiccuped softly, he produced a clean, snowy white handkerchief and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes and nose, "thank you" she said as she held the handkerchief out to him. He looked at the hankie, "you may keep it," he said with a sly smile. She returned his smile gingerly. "My name is Katrina."

"Katrina, a beautiful name. I am Blaine. My father owns this ship but he is not a bad man either, really. Just misguided and perhaps blinded by fame and fortune. You see, even though pirates are feared and hated, a good pirate, one who can elude the authorities and outsmart the other captains, is also highly revered and respected. My father simply wished to be the best at something. Perhaps his choice of professions was wrong. But please believe me when I say I am only here because he is my father. He is old and would be in danger if I were not here to watch over him. I am not a pirate. I live on a pirate ship but I take no part in the vile deeds committed by the crew of the Widowmaker." His eyes implored her to believe him, and, she found that she did. "Someday the Widowmaker will be mine and she will fly the Jolly Roger no more."

"It all sounds very convincing. But how can I believe your fairy tale when I can still hear the cries of my ship-mates even now?" Her eyes welled up again. He knew she was right. He could not expect her to believe he was a victim of circumstance, it was simply not true. He had been a victim of ambivalence. He must make a decision, here and now. This ship.... or her.

"If I were to give up this ship, turn my back on the sea, would you have me?" he asked. Her heart leapt in her chest. The idea of spending many days, and eventually nights, with this man made her breathless. Should she believe him? Could she trust him? How was she to know? Her heart gave her the answer and she listened. "Yes" she said.

He laughed gleefully and squeezed her hands. He dared not touch her in too familiar a way yet, even though every fiber of his soul longed to. "Come, we will go." He grabbed his shirt and the bag of gold he kept in his desk. As an afterthought he grabbed his sword and they started for the narrow staircase. She stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Where are we to go? How will we get there? If we leave this ship where could we go, are you expecting me to tread water all the way to England?" He could see she was getting agitated. His heart was warming more every time he looked at her. He knew he was already in love with this woman. "My dear, do not fear. We can still go back to your ship." "No! They will kill you! They will know you are one of them." She began to pull him back to the galley. He stopped, pulled her closer and put his hands on the sides of her face. "Then you will just have to convince them that I am not one of them." He stared deeply into her eyes. How smooth and creamy her skin was. She stared back wide-eyed. He could feel the pounding of her heart in her temples. Suddenly he could stand it no longer. He bent his dark head to hers and kissed her lips ever so lightly. He began to pull back when she put her arms around his waist, her palms flat against his back, and pushed her head closer. Her lips parted slightly and he took advantage of the invitation. Their tongues met and danced together. She tasted as he thought she would, of fine champagne and sweet berries. His breathing was getting harder and he was drowning in his desire for her. He could hear her moaning softly. He forced himself to break the kiss, it took all this strength. He took her hand and they ran up the stairs.

They went to the rail one last time. He looked at her as he pulled her to him and she wrapped her arms around his neck. This time she was smiling and he knew all would be well.

INBETWEEN written by SHELAYNE

"Do you need a break?" Omar suddenly asked.

Libby smiled at him ruefully. "Well, I wouldn't mind standing up for a moment. Would you mind terribly if I took my jacket off? It's a little warm in here."

"Go ahead" he replied.

Libby stood, removed her jacket and laid it across the back of her chair and stretched. Omar watched her movements with fascination. In fact, he wouldn't mind if she took off more than her jacket. He looked away from her, surprised by these thoughts he was having. Where were they coming from? He had never reacted like this to anyone before. He had always been in control when dealing with the opposite sex. Well, most of the time, he thought wryly. And this was business. He turned back to find her looking at him. There was a light in her eyes he hadn't noticed before. Suddenly he understood. She was attracted to him just as he was to her. He wondered if she'd admit it. I wonder if I'd admit it, he thought to himself. Libby broke the silence.

"Would you mind if I had some more iced tea?"

"Not at all" he replied and stood up to fulfill her request.

"Oh, please don't wait on me. Just point me in the right direction and I'll get it myself. I need to walk around a bit anyway. Unless you're nervous about a strange woman walking through your apartment." She winked at him.

He grinned back. "Kitchen's that way." He pointed towards the back of the apartment. "I promise I won't mess it up", she said as she walked out of the living room. He watched her in silence, marveling again at the beauty and length of her legs. Mini-skirts really didn't cover very much. And women just didn't understand how the sight of long, shapely limbs could drive a man wild with desire. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen, humming a song he thought he recognized from the radio. His thoughts took a different turn. It had been a long time since he'd jumped into a body of someone who was married or in love. A long time. He realized he missed the physical contact between humans. This actor's body he was in was single. He knew this from his observations of the man. Would he mind any liaisons done by an invading soul? At least he would have good dreams, he mused. Her voice from the kitchen broke him from his reverie.

"Would you like some more?"

Omar picked up his glass, stood and headed towards the sound of her voice, glad for an excuse to be near her. He paused in the doorway watching her as she moved easily about the kitchen, finding everything she needed as if she had lived there all her life. Libby turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed on her. She saw his empty glass in his hand and walked over to retrieve it from him.

"Thank you" he said as he held out the glass to her.

She reached for it and his fingers caressed hers as she slowly took the glass from his hand. "You're welcome" she replied, her voice low and husky, her eyes locked on his.

She turned away, walking back to the counter where the pitcher of ice tea was sitting and poured him another glassful. Suddenly Libby saw his hands on either side of her, resting lightly on the counter. She knew he was right behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck as he whispered to her. "What am I welcome to?" She turned within the confines of his arms to face him. "That depends upon what you want".

He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but couldn't stop himself. With his voice low he said "What I want is to kiss you."

Hardly daring to believe her aggressiveness, she answered back. "You're welcome to then."

His eyes went from her eyes to her mouth, her slightly parted lips enticing him even more than her words. Libby realized that she would finally get to feel those full, sensuous lips on her own and waited breathlessly. He slowly lowered his head down to hers, lightly touching her lips with his, his hands moving from the counter to the small of her back to bring her into his embrace. His kiss deepened as his hands traveled up her back to just below her shoulder blades, making her tremble slightly. His strong hands suddenly pressed her body into his, making her gasp against his kiss, allowing his tongue access to her mouth. Tentatively at first and then giving way to his hungry desire, he plundered her mouth again and again. Libby's arms wound around his neck and her fingers found the silky black locks at his neck. She twined her fingers throughout his hair, reveling in the feel of it and sighing in deep satisfaction of this passionate embrace, fighting down the little demons in her mind that chastised her for such forward behavior. She would deal with those demons later, she thought to herself. Much later.

The kiss ended abruptly, leaving Libby in a daze. What happened? she wondered. Omar let her go and stepped back from her.

His voice was ragged as he spoke. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Libby frowned. "Why not? We both wanted it."

"Because that's not the way it's done. Rather, it's not the way I do it. I'm not in the habit of seducing a woman the first time I see her. I have a much greater respect for the weaker sex than that."

Libby's eyebrows shot up. "Weaker sex?"

Omar put up his hands in front of him. "I didn't mean that exactly the way it came out. I have seen the female species in every walk of life, in every situation you could ever imagine and I know that your inner strength is greater than any mans. But physically, a woman is no match for a man."

Libby challenged him. "You really think that?"

"Yes I do. For instance, if I were a barbaric and had taken you against your will, you couldn't have escaped my embrace." He said it matter-of-factly, without any bravado, just a simple truism. Libby tried not to let her Irish temper get the better of her. "That maybe true," she snapped "but you would have some pretty nasty bruises to show for it."

Omar laughed suddenly. "What's so funny?" demanded Libby.

"Us", he replied.

Libby didn't see any humour in this discussion. "I don't get it."

He chuckled. "Think about it. Usually a man and a woman fight first and end up making love afterwards. We just did the opposite."

She tried to look down her nose at him, which was difficult considering that he was taller than she was. "That's true if the man and woman are in a relationship, which we aren't."

"No, but we are attracted to each other. That you can't deny." He watched her inner struggle as she tried to find someway to deny his statement. With an exasperated sigh she turned back to the counter and put the pitcher of iced tea away. His smile faded as he looked at the back of her head, still puzzled by the aura, or lack of it, swirling around her. Odd, he thought, there were no colours surrounding her. In all his lives he had never come across this before. It looked like a grey cloud, a shield of some sort.....a shield? Could it be possible? His gaze had wandered away from her as he searched for the meaning of this non-aura. Libby, finished with what she was doing, turned around and saw his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Her question brought him out of his musings. "What? Oh, I'm fine. Just thinking."

"Shall we get back to the interview then?" she walked past him, head held high and out of the kitchen. He followed her, staring at her back as they made their way back to the living room. A sudden thought struck him. She's shielding her aura from him on purpose! All immortals could shield if they wanted to. They just usually never did. But very few mortals could do this. Only those with that sixth sense could put up a barrier around them. And then, only if they understood about auras. He smiled to himself as he had it figured out. He had to see her aura. He knew it would be an exciting one. And, he thought to himself, I know just how to get through her shield. He looked at her, sitting in her chair with her pencil and legal pad. Libby looked at him expectantly, noticing a smile that played about his lips as he took his place on the couch.

Libby broke the silence. "Before we continue, I have a question."

"Shoot" he replied.

"Where do the immortals come from? Were you born or have you always existed, even before the earth was created?"

His eyes looked past her, trying to remember when he came into existence. "A soul isn't born, it just comes into being when the time is right. I'm not sure I can even say how 'old' I am because it seems like I have always been." His eyes focused back on hers. "I'm sorry, I know that doesn't help you very much."

"No, no, that's okay. Humans know the date of their birth but can't remember the actual occurrence. I guess it's about the same thing." Libby made a few more notes on her legal pad. "But can you try and think to what might be your earliest memory of existence?"

He closed his eyes for a moment and thought.....

Chapter 4 written by SHELAYNE

It was good against evil at first. I don't even remember what it was about, except that the darkness of the evil threatened to overwhelm the land. Humans were dying, bodies lay twisted and ravaged as the daemons loosed their hated, lustful passions on the planet. Their leader, a tall figure in flowing dark robes, skin of fire and two eyes that burned from deep within his cowl, stood among the carnage surveying the handiwork of his minions. I was in the body of a man, fighting against the onslaught of death with other men. At first I didn't know what to do. I was a new immortal, barely aware that I had left the celestial heavens and had come to be among these barbaric creatures that we had laughed at from above. It was no laughing matter now, and I was a part of it, struggling to survive. I looked down and noticed a crudely made cudgel in my hand and wondered what I was supposed to do with it. I heard a scream behind me, turned and saw a daemon crushing a woman's face with his strong fingers, her feeble attempts to beat him off were slowly coming to an end as her life-force faded. I raised the cudgel above my head, let out a yell and swung it with all my might at the daemon. It caught the cudgel in one hand and, laughing, tore out my throat with the other.

I immediately jumped into the next body available, another man's body, this time holding an axe. I looked around and noticed a daemon playing with the dead bodies of two small children, like puppets in a children's show. I heaved the axe and swung it at the daemon's head, neatly decapitating him. Steam rose from the body like a sigh as the daemon melted into the earth. I had no time to celebrate this small victory for another daemon came up behind me and lifted me over his head. He walked towards a boulder and smashed me against it, leaving the broken body in a heap on the ground. I jumped again, and once more found myself in the body of another man.

I don't know how many times I died that night but each time I jumped, I gained more experience in the workings of a human body and my own immortal soul. Each time I was able to protect myself a little longer before the daemon would kill me.

Towards dawn I managed to jump into the body of one of the leaders, a powerful body well trained in combat. I knew from the workings of his memory the plan of attack against the daemons and prepared to follow the course that he had set for himself. I looked out over the valley, noting that the humans were losing this battle, desperately wondering why had no other immortals come to help? Why was my first experience on earth something that I might not survive? Had the Creator made a mistake in sending me now? I had no further time to dwell on the subject for it was time to attack. This was the last plan, for if it didn't work, evil will have won. We joined into our battle formation, men and women alike, preparing to meet the daemons head on, my mind whirling with everything I had learned from my first hours on earth. The plan was simple. To kill the dark leader. There was no other plan, no other hope of salvation for us. A tight ring of the most battle-hardened men surround me and my two co-leaders, for it was up to the three of us to kill the dark one. The daemons stopped their butchery and wondered what we were up to with this strange formation. Good, I thought to myself, hopefully they'll be curious enough to forget about killing for a moment until we can get close to the dark one. We marched on, stony faces on the men, resigned looks on the faces of the women, all of them prepared to take whatever outcome fate would send their way. The battle lines of the humans drew closer to the daemons, the daemons still perplexed by what we were doing. Suddenly, the dark one yelled out a command and the daemons leaped with a frenzied fury into our battle lines. The battle was upon us. There was no turning back. The ring of warriors surrounding the three of us fought off the daemons, pushing forward to get to the dark one. I felt guilty for not fighting, but knew the hope of these people rested on us being kept safe until we reached the dark one. The dark one stood on a mound, surveying his minions, instructing them with harsh commands. We drew steadily closer to him as some of the warriors of the ring began to fall. Suddenly, the dark one stood before us, hate glaring from his eyes, wicked laughter coming from his mouth.

"So" he sneered, " you dare to come to me as warriors? I shall make you crawl like the worms you are. Kneel to me, offer your souls, to serve me forever and I shall let you live."

Offer my soul up to him? The thought terrorized me almost to the point of immobility. The leader to my right spoke first. "We shall never yield to you, though our bodies perish." With that, he charged towards the dark one, sword held high, victory cry ringing from his lips. The dark one seized him by the throat with one hand and grabbed his sword with the other hand. He looked at his struggling victim and smiled wickedly. "See where your refusal gets you. You are nothing but an insignificant spec of dust." The dark one plunged the sword into the heart of the warrior, twisting it back and forth until the screaming stopped and the body hung limp. He pulled the sword out slowly, noticing the heart of the victim impaled on it. He grabbed the heart in his hand, squeezing the blood out of it until it was nothing but a dried husk and threw it to the ground. The few warriors left with me charged the dark one in a single rush but he called to his minions who came to his aid. The warriors fought the minions in a slowly losing battle as the dark one turned away. I had to hurry before all of the humans were slaughtered. I let my anger at this senseless destruction overwhelm me and I spoke to the dark one.

"Do you run away from the warriors, to leave your daemons to fight for you? Are you not as strong as they think you are? Is that why you turn away?"

The dark one turned back to face me. As his eyes found mine, he knew the truth. "You!" he hissed. "I see you, immortal spirit, masquerading as a man! Have you come to help these poor pitiful beings? Or do you play, as I do, knowing that when you lose, you can jump into another body and be safe?"

"I stay here until the outcome is decided."

The dark one threw back his head and laughed. "The outcome has already been decided! Look around you. I have won, as I always will."

I looked back at him, defiantly, my own words giving me strength with my convictions. "You are wrong, bringer of death. In the long run, good shall always triumph over evil. One day you shall kneel to the Almighty and tremble in his presence."

His face contorted into a mask of rage. "I shall bow to no one! I am the almighty!" The dark one lunged for me. I sidestepped him neatly and whirled, ready to face him, sword raised. He turned back as I brought my sword down, severing his arm from his shoulder. As I watched, the limb melted and sank into the ground. This gave me hope, for now I knew that he was not all-powerful. The dark one could see in my eyes the truth he had tried to hide and knew he was in a dangerous dance to the death. We circled each other, oblivious to the sounds of the battle around us as we each looked for an opening in the defenses of the other. I feinted an attack, he countered and my sword doubled back to pierce his side. A howl of rage and he tackled me to the ground, resting the sword from my grasp. My hands closed around his throat as his good hand grabbed my hair, intending to pull my head backwards until my neck snapped. I struggled to choke him but realized that the strength of my two hands were no match for his one hand. Slowly my neck bent back at a dangerous angle. An inch or two more, and I would once again be dead. In desperation, I looked around and saw my sword within reach. The dark one sneered at me.

"I shall kill this body, immortal, and then where will you jump? Into the body of one of my minions perhaps? I would so like that. I shall teach you to obey me." His eyes glowed with anticipation. " You will be at my beckon call."

"Not today, dark one" I replied. I snatched up my sword with one hand and held the top of his cowled head with the other. With a look of surprise still on his face, I decapitated him in one strike. I crawled out from under his melting body, his head still in my grasp, and watched until the steam was no more. I looked down at my trophy and noticed I held nothing but an empty piece of cloth. I dropped it and rose to my feet. As I looked around, all of the daemons were melting into puddles, seeping into the earth. A breeze suddenly came through and swept away the last traces of steam, leaving the air smelling of hope and the promise of a new day. All over the valley humans were standing, cheering at the victory, clasping each other in tired relief. There would be time to grieve for the dead later. Right now, it was time to celebrate life. As they walked towards me, I knew I would stay in this valley for a while, to help rebuild what had been lost. They looked to me as their leader and I knew this would be the best way for an immortal soul to learn about the humans and their way of life from among them, not from above them.

INBETWEEN written by SHELAYNE

"Do you really believe that?" Libby asked.

"Do I believe what?"

"That good will triumph over evil in the long run?"

"Yes" replied Omar.

Libby sighed. "There is evil still in the world today, just not in the same form as you described."

"Of course."

"So when will it end? Would you happen to have a personal insight as to the outcome of life?"

Omar smiled. "I know no more than you do. Being immortal doesn't make one all-knowing. That is left up to the Creator. But I do know that you can fight the evil and be triumphant, even in the smallest of battles. Just the day-to-day encounter with another person and how you handle whatever situation might arise can be a battle. Winning is up to you."

"What you just told me wasn't a small battle."

"Let me tell you of a smaller battle then...."

Chapter 5 written by Cathy

A wave lifted the bow of the ship up and just as recklessly let the vessel fall, and Robert held on - though his muscles strained - not only to support his own weight, but that of Duncan Flint; the man who was already suffering from a concussion, and probably a broken collar bone. If they didn't find shelter soon the ocean was going to claim another sacrifice of four men, plus a spare soul; and for the soul riding Robert's body the worst truth was that they were too far from shore to find a host body who was safely on dry land.

"A light!!!! There's a light!!!!" McLeod cried out.

Robert, who was also the captain of this little fishing vessel, squinted in the direction the fisherman was pointing, and saw a very faint light flickering through the black rain.

"Probably wreckers," he hissed, but right now their only choices were to let the ocean crack them apart, or to race against what damage they'd already taken and risk breaking up on the rocks.

"Make for it," he ordered. He finished tying Duncan as securely as he could, so the man wouldn't be washed overboard, and fought his way back to the wheel. "The Marrow" responded sluggishly, but slowly she turned and began the battle towards what might be the coast; only the occasional flicker of a dim light giving any hint that the potential for hope, or death, lay to their starboard. As they neared, the light did not get much larger, or brighter, which seemed to indicate that it was little more than a fire tended on the beach - all the more reason to suspect wreckers were its source. Yet no rocks ripped at the boat's vulnerable, and already torn, sides, though it wasn't long before the whole vessel shuddered as its hull scraped in the shallows; with a agonized moan "The Marrow" began to list to her side. But they were near enough and Robert gave the order to abandon the ship, though his other two men, Stephen McLeod, and Jack Matcham, came to help with the injured Duncan. And once over the side they half swam and half stumbled through the surf, supporting the still unconscious man. Wind tore across the sand, cutting through wet clothes and nearly freezing flesh beneath, as the four men staggered onto the beach. A dark beach - with no offer of light or warmth. Robert eased Duncan to the ground and began to prowl the area - seeking the source of the watch fire, and all the while feeling the itch between his shoulder blades that they weren't alone. But there was only rain and merciless wind, a wind too strong to let a fire burn for so long - even if had been attended, and he found no indication that there had ever been a bonfire on this shore. What he did note was that there were some scrub trees further in, and slowly he worked his way back to his men.

"Let's get what shelter we can boys. Once we get Duncan moved I'll do a bit more scouting about - perhaps there'll be a cave or a croft nearby."

"Without a fire, " McLeod said, "I doubt Duncan here will be makin' it. "

"Maybe. Maybe not," Robert growled; not in the mood to listen to McLeod's pessimism. He bent and got an arm around the injured man's good shoulder and helped pull him to his feet. A moan and a muttered, "Hells," reassured him that the older man was at least regaining consciousness, and had not yet succumbed to a head injury, though Robert wouldn't be surprised if all the moving about would prove fatal - there was no way of knowing how bad a knock Duncan had taken.

"We're ashore," he told the man. Once they had reached the questionable shelter of the trees Robert borrowed Jack's gutting knife and set out to find either shelter or help. As he moved further inland he found himself struggling up the slick, rocky slopes - short falls and brambles adding to his already scrapped hands and arms. But, at last, he reached what amounted to relatively level ground and took the moment to rest aching legs and lungs. He noted that the wind had begun to slack as the storm began to move off. A scream rode on the wind - as horrible and angry as any bean sidhe and sounding just as preternatural. He drew the long, serrated knife and glared into the rain-blackened night. Again came the scream - and this time he had the direction - further up a slope and towards a line of trees. The knife was jammed back into his belt and he went to scramble up the slope, but at the top he dropped low and pulled the weapon free of his belt. Then, with the blessing of a wind still blowing and a hard rain still falling, he crept forward - coming up upon two men trying to handle a struggling girl.

"Witch," one growled as she bite down on his hand. The other man moved forward, with what looked like a noose in his hand.

"You'll not be giving anything the evil eye again. Neither you or your Da."

"You murdered him!!" she screamed; more enraged than frightened, and ran tearing fingernails down the side of her captor's face. He let out his own howl and backhanded her. Robert continued to creep forward - and before the noose-holding bandit could react a gutting knife was laid across his throat.

"Let her go!" Robert ordered the man who had pinned the girl, "Let her go or this cur's blood is going to run." The girl raked at her attacker's eyes and while he was busy pulling back, and seeing who held his friend, she levered herself free of his weight and scrambled backwards.

"Damn ye to the hells!!" she screamed in English, but set about cursing in a fine stream of Gaelic. With black hair plastered to her face, and looking wilder than most mountain cats, she was on her feet, with a stout stick in hand. His own captive held still and Robert said to the girl, "Get the rope from this one - I think we'll be keeping him. Just to make sure his friend behaves." She was fast to oblige - though she looked more likely to use the noose on her ex-captor.

"Go," Robert ordered the other man, who was more than willing to flee knife-yielding apparitions and freed witches.

"Thank ye," she said. She dropped to her knees and wrapped the free end of the rope around the captive's ankles. With the knife still held at the man's throat Robert forced the man down, and once there was less danger of a fight he finished binding the man. Then he sat back on his heels and looked at the "witch" he had just rescued. "I'm Robert Shelton," he said, "Is...was .. the captain of "The Marrow," but she's grounded and I've got two men freezing and one wounded."

"And I be Marian Elliott," she said. Not a highland girl then - even if she cursed well in the tongue, but Robert was too tired to ponder the discrepancy of name and language. "Leave him to the cold," she said harshly, "Just like they left me father to the wind and beasts." She stood up and added, "I can at least offer ye shelter for the good ye did me - nor is my home far from here."

"That would be welcome," he answered.

"What 'bout me?" the captive whined.

"You," Robert said harshly, "Can stay right here - till your friend gets enough courage to come back for you."

"That'll be a while," Marian growled. "At least till Jimmy drinks up more courage."

Once they had propped their captive against a tree Robert started to lead the way back towards the beach, but he soon found himself following Marian, who seemed to be as sure-footed as any goat, and unbothered by the dark night. "Ye saw my Da's light," she stated.

"We saw a light," he said, "But how could it be your father's light? I take it he was murdered."

"He was," Marion answered, anger rolling low in her tone, "Killed by local wreckers because he set a true light, but that hasn't stopped him from aiding lost ones."

"A ghost light then?" Robert asked.

"Aye, " she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. "But why are ye sounding so doubtful, ye're riding another's body, Spirit." Robert shook his head, and pushed back his own black, sodden hair.

"You've the second sight?"

"Yes," she said, accepting no help as she started a scramble down a slope, "Are ye Good Folk or devil?" She sounded more curious than worried.

"Neither," he answered, "But spirit nonetheless."

"Well I think I'll call ye an angel," Marian answered, with a light sweet laugh, "Though most would say ye be devil for saving a foreign witch."

"Foreign?" he asked, more than happy to lead the topic away from his own origins, which he wasn't that sure of by any means; all he knew was that they didn't quite fit with most mortals' philosophies. "My Da was from further South," she said, "But me Ma was a MacDonald. It was from her I got the Sight, and if I can talk to my Da's ghost I might gain his knowledge of healing." She glanced back, "Ye see, I think that's why he's so restless - not because he was murdered...we both saw that. But that he didn't pass the gift on to me - ye see the healing gift runs from father to daughter, mother to son, in our family, and if he didn't give it on to me then it will be lost forever." A more precarious scramble silenced the girl for a moment, but it also kept Robert from asking anymore questions. But it wasn't long before Marian continued, "That was why I was comin' to the beach - Da only shows during storms."

"The light was gone by the time we got to the beach," Robert said quietly, finally getting a chance to help her down from slick boulders.

"I know," Marian hissed, followed by a quick flurry of cursing in her mother's tongue, "If it hadn't been for those drunken fools I would have reached him."

"Besides the Sight, why were they thinking you were a witch?"

"Oh, they are dunces enough to think that I gave the evil eye to their cows," Marian answered, derision in her tone, "And since I come from half foreign stock they won't hear me tell who it really is." By now they had reached the beach, and were not far from the patch of scrub trees where Robert's men waited. Marian only spared the beach a quick glance, and said, "He is gone this night." Then she turned and followed Robert over to his men.

Marian's croft sat near the edge of a moor, and only the crack of wind in the branches of a half-dead tree heralded their arrival. "Duck low," she warned, "I've got a barrel of herring drying above the door." She gave a low, harsh laugh, "Jimmy took a whack on his head when he came in.

The men heeded her warning as they steered Duncan into the smoke-filled room, and around a smoldering pit in the center of the room.

"Hells!" Robert hissed as he nearly tripped over an unseen obstacle in his path.

"Hold on a moment," the girl said, "And I'll get the fire stirred. There was a bit of a ruckus when they dragged me out." She squatted down and took a stick to stir the fire to life; the hazy light grew, revealing a broken stool (which Robert had stumbled on), along with strewn bedding and broken pottery.

"Guttin' em would have been too good," Jack growled at the evidence of a home invaded.

"I'm regretting my decision to let them live more and more," Robert agreed, as he looked around for a place to ease Duncan down.

"Best put him on the sleeping platform," Marian indicated, "And let me have a look at him. I may not have me Da's healing gift, but he and Ma taught me a trick or two."

At first Robert was going to argue about putting her out of her own bed, particularly after the horrors of the night, but then he remembered the laws of hospitality and knew any protest would be an insult. "Thank you," he said, "I'm thinking that Duncan has a cracked collar bone and I know he took a hit to the head."

"Well, I'll be lookin' at him nonetheless," Marian informed him, "And see for myself." She pushed back her tangle of black hair and looked around the room. "Aye, good, they didn't knock over the pot...." She pointed towards a pot set off in one corner and said, "If one of ye could be putting that on the fire - a bit of seaweed soup will go a long way in warming all of us up."

Jack headed over to oblige while Robert and McLeod eased Duncan down onto the platform and pulled a grey woolen shawl over him.

Then both moved out of the way - not quite sure what offered aid might offend the girl, who was busying herself with gathering up what she might need.

Healing gift or not, Marian proved to be a competent healer, and efficiently went about checking both Duncan's head, and with Robert's help - setting the fisherman's collar bone. As they worked Robert asked, "How long have you been up here by yourself?"

"Oh, most of the summer," she replied, "I've been waiting for the storms to start blowing in so I'd have a chance to talk to Da. This summer has been too quiet - there've been no real storms comin' our way."

"And then what?" he asked, feeling chilled at the thought of this young woman living alone - with more than a few neighbors turned against her, and he suspected that the animosity came more from her family's efforts to stop wrecks than it did from her Sight.

She shrugged and said, "If I have my Da's healing gift I could probably stay here....they might not have liked his light but they came for help...."

"And he got murdered."

"Only because he kept setting the light."

"And you wouldn't?"

Again the girl shrugged, as she finished tying off Duncan's shoulder bandages, "I think what Da was doin' was fine, but as ye say, it got him killed....."

Robert studied Marian, though she mostly sat in the shadows as she worked. He doubted she was much older than fifteen, and sadly he could picture her growing old out on the wild moor; of use only when someone needed healing, but feared most nonetheless. The only blessing was that the actual witch hunters and the barbarous trials were several years in the past. Not that he had any idea what to suggest; unless "The Marrow" could be repaired he and his men were stranded. But he could feel a sense of loss at the idea of such a intelligent, willful, young woman living out her life in an aura of fear.

Finally all he could do was shrug at his own thoughts, and turn towards where Jack and McLeod were stirring up a pot of soup. And after the other two fishermen had bedded down in the empty byre Robert sat up, helping Marian keep watch over a restless Duncan.

Nearly two weeks passed while the men waited for Duncan to heal, but they did not pass the time idly; much to their relief they found that the damage to "The Marrow" minimal, and they set about gathering, and preparing lumber for repairs. Not that such makeshift repairs would hold long, but it was hoped that they could limp into a real harbor.

And during that time Robert wondered what to do about the girl. He knew that he couldn't in good conscience leave her to the moor, and to the local drunks - who would surely come knocking when they realized the stranded sailors were gone. Finally, as she sat on a stool by her front door, with the sprawl of dirty white sail covering her lap, he came over and asked, "When we sail would you like to come with us?"

"And do what and go where?" Marian demanded, with a bright sparkle in her blue eyes.

Robert pulled over a barrel and sat down. "You're a pretty, intelligent lass, and quick with the thread. And with a bandage. ...."

"As are many other lasses, and ones with some kin do much better than those without," she stated, "Better I stay where I'm known..."

"And likely to come to harm," he answered.

Those blue eyes flashed as Marian looked up and studied him; studying his thick black hair and neatly trimmed goatee. "Are ye wed?" she asked.

He opened his mouth and closed it. He thought he was used to her brusqueness, but obviously not quite.

"No...," he said.

"Or should I be askin' - is ye body wed?" she said, with more mischievous look in her eyes.

"No to that also," he said.

She gave a quick laugh at his discomfort and said, "Oh, don't ye be a worrin' Captain Shelton, I'm not askin' ye to marry me on the spot, though it would be solving the problem." Her expression gentled some and she said, "And don't be thinking I don't appreciate yer concern for me. I appreciate that and yer saving my life."

Robert almost commented on the old superstition that if you saved someone's life you were responsible for them, but decided to leave the topic lie. But, he swore, he would think of some way to help Marian free of this moor.

A day or two after their conversation the sun rose in a robe of fiery Red and all knew that a storm would be coming before nightfall; such knowledge drove the fishermen out to "The Marrow," which they moved to slightly deeper water, though still in the protected cove, so that she wouldn't again scrape her hull in the shallows. And as the morning had warned the storm blew in sharp and wild by mid-evening.

As the wind shrieked around the black house Robert watched as Marian tied her shawl over her head, and prepared to seek her father's ghost down on the beach.

"Can I borrow your knife again?" Robert asked Jack Matcham.

"Aye," Jack said, "Though I'll be comin' with you."

"I'm up to it too," Duncan said.

"No," Robert answered, "That last storm nearly did you in - I don't want this one to undo all the fine work Miss Elliott's been doing with you. "

"Miss Elliott is it?" Marian laughed.

Robert ignored her for the moment and told McLeod to stay with Duncan while he and Jack provided an escort into the wild night.

And the way the rain slashed and wind bellowed Robert almost could have sworn that phantom warriors rode against them as they slowly made their way over treacherous ground to the cove. He also prayed - to whatever gods might hear - that "The Marrow" rode safe this night.

At last they came to the questionable shelter of the beach, and ahead of them flickered a greenish light; just big enough to be a watch fire. Marian pulled ahead of the two men, and ran towards the gently bobbing light - the wind tearing the shawl from her head and blowing her hair behind her in a long black mane. "Da!" she called out , "I'm here!!" The wind tore her words away.

Robert followed more slowly, with Jack following right behind him. Neither man was quite sure what to do while the strange scene was played out.

"A year and a day," Jack suddenly hissed in his Captain's ear.

"What?" Robert asked, pushing black hair from his eyes, and looking over at Jack.

"Handfasting....," Jack answered, "Its a custom of these parts ...ye can handfast for a year and a day. Hells, Captain, I'd do it myself - if I wasn't already wed to my Nancy. None of us want to see that lass here by herself, and with Duncan wed too...."

"What about McLeod?" Robert said, with a touch of humor to his tone.

"Wouldn't wish him on a herring," was Jack's answer.

"So, its up to me," Robert said.

"Well you did save her..."

With a shake of his head Robert headed down the beach. He decided the night couldn't get much stranger - he just as well get her father's "permission" for the handfasting.

"We were wondering when ye'd get around to gettin' down here," Marian said, with her hands on her hips; though the gleam of the strange light showed pleased mischief in her eyes.

"Ye've already Seen what I'm goin' to ask?" Robert asked.

"Da did," she answered, "He has more time to be ponderin' these things."

Robert looked to the greenish light, which seemed to glow a little brighter, though no voices were heard. He held out his hand to her and asked, "A year and a day then?"

"Aye, Spirit," she said, "It will do - at least till I get settled."