By Neva
Send Feedback To: neva.crandall@csus.edu
Please send me feedback -- I need to know that people are actually reading this.
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Willow/Angel, X-over Highlander
Distribution: It will eventually end up at my site www.geocities.com/c_neva/ Anyone can archive this story or my first two stories if they want to. Just send me the address to your site please.
Information about my version of the BtVS and Highlander universes can be found with my first story "Dreams?" The first two stories should definitely be read before this one.
Disclaimer: None of these characters (except the bad guys) belong to me. They belong to other people; I'm just borrowing them for a little while (maybe a long while -- I am a slow writer). All rights and properties of Highlander are owned by Rysher entertainment etc., and all rights and properties of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are owned by Joss Whedon, Warner Bros. and Mutant Enemy, etc. (Okay the legal stuff is out of the way.)
** Note to Readers: Thoughts are indicated with < and > markings. **
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____Winter 1817____
Miss Linnett Broadshire, younger sister of the Incomparable Miss Broadshire -- unparalleled success of the previous season, slid down the ice encrusted roof that circled the area along the window, reaching out to grasp the tree branches that grew up to meet the slick slate tiles. Given the precarious climb needed to escape through a third story window, it was the last route her father would expect her to take. Linnett was sure that that was why he had ordered her room locked.
Christmas had gone nothing as she had expected. The first ill sign had been the note from Julia saying that the weather would keep her and her noble husband away. This had been followed by the shocking announcement at luncheon that she was not to have a Season after all. The money her dear sister's husband had paid after the wedding had not satisfied the creditors.
No sooner had her dreams of a sparkling London Season and waltzing at Almanacs crumbled into ashes than the most horrible announcement of the day had come. Father had told her that a marriage had been arranged; she was to have no say in who she married. A special license had been already purchased, and the minister sent for. Her wedding would take place tomorrow. The groom, Linnett shuddered, was their wealthy neighbor Mr. Wilkes. Mr. Wilkes was twenty years senior to Linnett's father and had already had three much younger wives. Linnett first reaction to this news was to scream hysterically. After protesting Linnett had fled to her room in tears. . . only to have the door securely locked behind her. Her mother had told her through the door to prepare to be wedded on the morrow. She had even dictated in strident tones what dress her unruly and ungrateful daughter was to wear. Linnett was still trying to figure out why she ought to be grateful for being sold like a piece of cattle.
Linnett was sure that Julia had no idea of the plans their father had made. He had simply been too pleased that his elder child would be unable to come for Christmas. The roads between northern England and London were virtually impassable; few had strong enough reason to risk their safety traveling. But that was Linnett's destination despite the risk, for her sister's house was in London. It didn't matter that the trip would be dangerous. Linnett had a little pin money, barely enough to make the fare for the public stage, but she had packed her few jewels as well. They could be sold.
Carefully, Linnett lowered herself down the tree, wincing as sharp branches caught her skirt and clawed both legs and arms. Ice slid down the back of her neck.
She'd walked the trail from her house to the village many times before, but never before in the dark, nor in what was rapidly turning into a blizzard. Halfway to the village she realized that taking the stage from such an obvious place would doom her to failure. Her father still owned a few horses. He would surely catch the stage when the weather cleared. No, she would have to walk a bit further to the next town, where her face was less known. Battling tears of heartache and exhaustion Linnett stumbled through yet another sheep pasture, shivering uncontrollably. As morning approached she came to a rough shed, seemingly abandoned. Too grateful at the sight of shelter to use caution, Linnett plunged into the building, leaning against the door to close it against the wind. Unable to feel much beyond the cold she collapsed to the floor whimpering softly. A light flared, blinding her.
Linnet could see only the hazy circle of light cast by the lantern. The features of the tall man holding the light were invisible to her. Frightened she flung herself at the door, trying to flee back into the suddenly welcoming storm. Brutal hands pulled her back. A whisper of sound brushed her ear, "Ah, so my breakfast comes to me . . . and such a lovely little meal. Shall I keep you girl?"
After that there was only pain.
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The slender, dark-haired vampire tossed the sheaf of papers onto the hotel coffee table with a graceful flick of her pale lavender nails. Her face was impassive.
"Where are the last two days of the report."
"The investigator was unable to send any more reports M'lady." The minion tried without succeeding to look like he was not cowering. His mistress's eyes were flickering almost to gold -- a bad sigh for her servants. He rushed to explain. "She was following them two days ago and was drained by a vampire."
"A pity. Rochelle was always so reliable." No regret colored the delicately accented voice, only a slight tinge of annoyance. The minion watched with relief as the gold tinge faded away and the large eyes regarding him returned to their normal violet hue. She brushed black curls off her shoulder and leaned back into the couch. The minion relaxed even further, although he was not fool enough to feel safe. "Summarize the report for me."
Quickly the minion complied, although he had just spent the last two hours watching his mistress read the report in question.
"There are two Immortals living in town, presumably mentor and student. The elder is Cassandra. Ms. Rochelle recognized her from the Watcher Chronicles. She suggests that the Immortal is at least 2000 years old, possibly more. The Chronicles also state, as far as Ms. Rochelle could remember, that other Immortals attribute supernatural powers to Cassandra. Willow Rosenburg is her student; she hasn't been Immortal for long and attends Sunnydale U. Buffy Summers, Alexander Harris, and Anya, last name unknown, are also attending the University and are aware of Immortals. Miss Summers is an accomplished fighter who shows strength beyond what her build would suggest. A vampire identified as Angelus appears to be involved with Miss Rosenburg. Rumors in the demon community imply that he has a soul due to a gypsy curse and fights against other demons. The last of Cassandra's associates is Rupert Giles, a teacher from Miss. Rosenburg's high school. Rochelle suggests that he assists in her training. The entire group is aware of demons and the supernatural, and they make a serious effort to combat the strong energies present in this area. No other serious threats are present in the immediate Sunnydale area." The minion finished his report with relief. Giving bad news to one known for a short temper was always a bad thing; however, his mistress had remained calm through his entire recital.
"That Buffy . . . I've heard rumors that a Slayer had taken residence here. Find a vampire, preferably not too young, and question them about this girl. Something will have to be done about our unwelcome neighbors . . . they could become troublesome. Soon, but carefully." She dismissed him with a wave of the hand, making the diamonds surrounding the black pearl on her left hand glitter. "Send Kayla to attend me." Linnet Broadshire watched her minion leave the room, her thoughts lingering on the holes in the report.
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Willow tossed her exercise clothes into the corner of the room, running a comb through her damp hair. Critically, she held one long red lock up at eye level. Cutting short again was looking better and better.
"Don't even think about cutting your hair."
Willow turned, one hand flying to hold her robe closed as she spun to face the intruder. The other hand dropped the comb and grabbed for a sword that was currently under her bed. Leaning against the doorframe stood Angel. She felt her cheeks flush as he slowly looked over her disheveled appearance appreciatively. He grinned naughtily as the flush spread down her neck.
"I believe we were interrupted earlier," Angel purred, absently closing the door behind himself as he strolled over to Willow, who stood pinned by his dark eyes in the center of the room. Her paralysis melted away when Angel firmly kissed the slender witch, wrapping one arm around her waist and tangling the other hand in the long red hair. She forgot the gaping robe until his hand left her hair and slid inside. The other arm quickly joined the first, pulling her even closer. Willow briefly stiffened at the unexpected contact; then Angel started nibbling on the side of her neck and she forgot about being embarrassed. Little shivers buzzed down her spine, effectively knocking her feet out from under her. The vampire grinned and pushed the cooperative robe off one shoulder.
A vague memory of Cassandra's presence downstairs intruded on Willow when a door was closed in the room below. "Um, Angel I think I'm a little underdressed." Her protest, feeble to begin with, was seriously weakened by the fact the all of her weight rested on Angel, and somehow one of her legs had escaped the robe without her noticing and wrapped itself around him.
"Nope . . . I'm wearing . . . too much." The slender witch thought about his response, for perhaps a millisecond, then began attacking the buttons on his shirt. Angel chuckled as he directed his attention to one shoulder, allowing his fangs to slide out and brush lightly against her pale skin. Willow shuddered and gave up on unbuttoning his shirt. Ripping was much simpler.
It was at this interesting juncture, about two feet from the bed, that someone knocked firmly on the door. Angel and Willow ignored it. Willow noticed the second knock -- suddenly realizing that wasn't the way Cassandra knocked. She pulled away from Angel, a maneuver that nearly removed her robe completely. Angel rumbled deep in his throat, staring at the view provided. Fully vamped out, Angel grinned and lunged for the redhead. Flushed with embarrassment, she dodged and the vampire ended up sprawled on the bed. Quickly retying the robe, as soon as she found the left sleeve, Willow strode to the door, resolutely ignoring the growling vampire and her own thrumming nerves.
"There are too many people in this house," Angel complained as she opened the door. "Let's move back to the Mansion." The suggestion was accompanied be a suggestive leer. Willow smiled ruefully, "Can't -- it isn't holy ground -- and I don't want to have to replace the living room rug again," and after a quick check to make sure everything was covered, opened the door.