�Hear ye! Hear ye! The induction par-TAY for Elir and Sheeza_Dame shall now be commenced!� announced the CDC�er with the microphone. She had lost the coin toss and therefore would be the MC for the night; announcing when dinner was ready, when the party events took place, who won, who won by cheating -- who won by cheating with no way to know for sure. (The latter was instigation for many hilarious exchanges of foreign words.) Unfortunately, being MC for the night also meant being curbed from some of the revelry because you were tied to a microphone all evening! Which meant no hanky-panky around the pool. No tossing-snappy-tarts-in-a-glass contests. No playing with any glow in the dark stars with a certain spectre that got the most enchanted look on her face with them. No floating in the pool until her skin shriveled up. No lobbing strawberries (or whatever else was handy) in case the men got too rowdy and started some burping contest! Methos could say the entire alphabet in one burp, in several languages! imnxtc would collect his discarded bottle caps all over the house and arrive with a coffee can full of them for the par-tays � for ammunition. A rubber band could propel them quite the distance, with accuracy, as they discovered.

�Not much fun to be had until the MC duties are finished,� admitted MacNair. But, Duncan had filled a snack tray with her favorite goodies and Rich promised to sneak her some brew, so all was not lost. Connor chuckled and patted her on the head like a pouting child when she lost the toss and whispered that he had a special duty for the MC this time � so that was an event to look forward to. Besides, adding new clansibs doesn�t happen every day. Now we are TEN! She couldn�t resist doing a quick two-step on the platform that the men had constructed for the occasion. Whoa, Nelly! This flooring certainly carries the sound! She knelt and peered beneath the stage � A-ha! Methos snuck a microphone under here!

�Are you looking to get your ponytail tweaked, MacNair?� sonorously announced Duncan MacLeod. He reached and placed one beefy hand on the back of her neck where it curved, preventing her from looking up.

"Ah, that would be a �no, Mr. MacLeod,'" she admitted to the ground below her. The heat from his hand traveled down her spine like electricity. �Now let me up, I�m getting dizzy!� She sat back on her heels, a bit flushed. �Hey? Why aren�t you dressed for this occasion! You�re supposed to be a cowboy, remember?�

�So I heard,� he remarked dryly. �But what�s the point of doing all that dressing up when the whole clan has voted for me to dance and then strip?�

MacNair blinked once, then twice. �Uh-h, well � we didn�t say you had to dance first.�

�See? Your eyes are glazed over already!� he chuckled.

�Now look here, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod,� she stated firmly. �We voted for a cowboy and we delegated YOU as the cowboy and you agreed to deliver a cowboy! You can�t let us down, now! This is an INDUCTION par-TAY, not just your average run-of-the-mill, run-amok, run-the-really-young-guy around the pool affair!�

Duncan smiled a bit more and rolled his eyes. �I know, I know � but not all of you asked for a cowboy!� He held a hand up to halt her next vociferous exchange. �I agreed to dance because Sheeza and Elir asked � the strip part was because I lost a wager about that halo story of lahoffy�s!�

MacNair scooted closer to the edge of the raised platform and looked him squarely in the eyes. Ordinarily, she had to glare at Duncan�s collarbone because of the height difference, but from this vantage, she could tangle eyelashes with him! �You�re not going to disappoint us, are you?�

�Did you know your eyes get a little green when you�re ticked, MacNair?� he observed.

�Are you?�

�And you fluff up just a bit, like a cat?�

�ARE YOU!�

�No, I�ll put on a show for them. Connor promised to stand by.�

That earned him an arched brow look. �Stand by for what?�

�To keep me from being tugged off the stage and dragged away somewhere before I get to enjoy the par-TAY, silly! You think I will last up there without some CDCer trying to haul me off to their den? Not to mention Ennaj or k�lynn! I dance at the beginning of this gig � then the party goes on afterwards.�

�So, Connor is going to be up here to make sure you stay on the stage?� MacNair had a sudden mental picture of a tug-O-war over Duncan, with Connor hauling with all his strength on one arm and the CDCers pulling on the other one! We might be able to yank them both off the stage! I�ll be announcing, �Pile up, stage right! Please be _careful_ with the mortals!�

�Connor will be my guard.� Then he smiled. �And I bet none of you try to yank me off the stage with him up here, either!�

MacNair had a catastrophic thought. They�re both going to strip at the same time? We�ll have our minds erased! Shades of the movie Men In Black flitted through her head.

As if reading her mind, Duncan smirked and patted her cheek. �No, MacNair, Connor�s not going to be strip dancing. Just me. He�ll be dressed with a theme, but he�s not dancing � he�s guarding."

MacNair was still stuck back at the beginning of the sentence and didn�t register the latter. �He�s not going to strip for us?�

�No,� and Duncan leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially to her, �he only does private dances.�

MacNair�s eyes felt crossed, just like her eyebrows, as she thought. Have I ever asked Connor MacLeod to strip for me? In all the times we�ve pranked about � I�ve never asked? Hello? Woodenhead MacNair? Hello? �Private dances, only?� It was hard to breathe, let alone speak.

�I�m surprised you�ve never asked him,� Duncan commented, �but, I guess it is kind of a secret. Connor only does private strips because it goes to �POUNCE� when the strip is done.� Then he grinned a most wicked grin. �I won�t say who does the pounce part first, Connor or the woman!�

�And just how do you know all this?� purred MacNair, every bit a cat.

�Idiot wench!� he chuckled right back. �I watched him strip for a group once and thought the air would catch fire. It�s not about his body, it�s about the presence he brings with him and builds around him. You�ve got to admit Connor has that strut walk down pat! I think he could have gotten the same effect dancing fully dressed! When he was done, the main floor mobbed him -- I had to wade into twenty eight women and dig him out!�

�The question then becomes: was he happy you intervened or did he curse you soundly?� MacNair was surprised she was relatively intelligent sounding when her mind was back with �presence� and how Connor �built it around himself.� I�m not gonna swoon, I�m not gonna swoon, I�m not gonna swoon!

�A little of both. Now go back to minding your mike.� Duncan turned on his heel and left. MacNair felt a little creaky when she got to her feet and was glad to have the microphone stand. Duncan is going to strip on this stage and Connor is going to be up here too? I have a ringside seat! �I kind of like being the MC!� she announced.

�What�s that?� asked Rich.

�My boombox,� patiently replied Methos.

�You�re totally out of the loop, man, they�re called �a system� now. That�s your system!�

�I had enough trouble adjusting to 'boombox,' dang it!� The ROG was wiping dust off and looking the black box all over as if he hadn't seen it for some time.

�You are running the beat tonight? Do you know what you�re doing?� Richie looked skeptical and a bit alarmed. He resisted the impulse to take over and find the AC plug-in himself and clamped his mouth shut when Methos opened and shut the cassette door several times, trying to find the pause button.

�Yes, Duncan has the music all lined up.� He tapped the tape clearly labeled For Duncan: don't screw it up!

"I hope you didn�t let him choose his own tunes, did you? Mac has � um � really old taste in music! Kind of like his friends.� Richie dodged the cuff aimed his way with a grin.

The crowd had arrived and they were spectacular! Sharz and imnxtc were lobbing shimmering metallic streamers back and forth across the pool and attaching them to poles on the edges. Rich had strung a nylon rope the length of the pool and the streamers down each side made a festive tent over the rippling surface. There was confetti on the tabletops along one side of the courtyard. Every candle in the great house had been brought outside and lit to add �atmosphere.� lynnann filled the quietly burbling Jacuzzi 2/3's full of floating candles � all of them golden stars compliments of k�lynn. [The little spectre popped her last bottle of Sprite open and had a winning number under the cap! She spent the whole $25 on floating stars!] There were a few large floating candles in the pool � and one plastic duck. A permanent gag on Methos.

The ROG thoughtfully started the air compressor and the floaties were near bursting tonight! Several suspected he had done that JUST to avoid having to blow them up the old fashioned way! The two Scots had been slow roasting pork ribs all day and the entire compound smelled heavenly. Coolers bristled with sodas. The tables were laden high with salads, side dishes, and treats. Some of the dishes had warning labels that read "Eat at own risk! -- concocted by Connor!" or "Might melt your bones! Immortals ONLY and you'd better have a drink handy! -- combustion by Methos!"

Methos had put a deck chair, emblazoned with his name scrawled with a Sharpie, right next to the new thermostatically controlled beer tap much earlier in the day. It had become the instant target of pranks � vanishing and being placed everywhere BUT his selected spot. At one point, it was sunk in the deep end of the pool. Currently, with all the guests and regulars gathered, it was on the roof and lodged partially in the gutter at a crazy angle. Methos protested long, loudly, and with vigor when he finally spotted it. The women laughed and jested with him while he climbed to retrieve it, booing at his declaration that he was going to sit "right in this chair by my new bar -- for the entire party!"

�You drink your usual quota and we�ll see how long you last without getting out of that chair, Mr. Methos!� chirped kyrdwyn. �I think I�ll sit on your lap and squirm about!�

�Ahh! Now, now!� he backpedaled, wondering how he would get out of this.

The teasing and hilarity continued while the girls waited for Duncan to appear: the main event!

But the Scot wasn�t outside where the gala was planned; he was in the kitchen with an apron hanging off his neck. The chest flap announced �Kiss the Chef� in black script. �Did you take the hot mats out there like I asked?� called the younger Highlander across the room.

�I did. Aren�t they on the table?� replied the elder Highlander, putting several varieties of sliced cheese on a tray to carry outside. He added a few more slices of smoked cheddar and sighed, rubbing his neck. His hair was tied back too tightly and he was getting a headache. Not a good thing for a par-tay night. Headaches are suppose to be later -- MUCH later during the event!

�No, I don�t see them anywhere. And what did you do with the salad tongs, mister? Last I saw, you were chasing Sharz with them!�

�Why am I always to blame for everything missing around here?� Connor protested.

�Because you�re usually to blame! You�ve been hiding Methos� chair all day instead of helping and you burnt the first two batches of cookies! I asked you to shuck the corn and it took you three hours to get done with twenty ears! I swear, I�m the adult betwixt the two of us anymore, kinsman!� grumbled Duncan. He flipped a rack of ribs with a splick of barbecue sauce.

�The timer is broken on the stove and no one told me. Rich needed help with a rope across the pool and I had to harness up Gimp to pull the line taut � you know Rich doesn�t get along with that horse.� Connor looked across the kitchen at him, bemused. �But part of what you say is the truth. I only get to unravel into hi-jinx in the CDC where I know you�re around to watch my back. I can be more grown up if you�d like,� whereupon he put on his very best straight face.

�Idiot Scot,� Duncan chuckled. �Methos is always giving me pithy advice, so I guess you can be a kid if you want to.� He frowned across the salad bowl. �Though, you and Rich BOTH being immortal kids is a bit taxing sometimes!�

�I think you�re in here playing with the food so you can put off dancing, myself.� Connor quirked a lightning eyebrow at his brother.

Duncan sighed and closed the oven door. �Okay. You�re right. Let�s get this par-TAY rolling.�

�I�ll help you get ready,� Connor returned, stuffing the rest of the cheese in the refrigerator. �Then you can help me.�

�Dun-can! Dun-can! Dun-can! Dun-can!" the women chanted. They were packed around the stage and dancing to the music that was playing. Methos had his beer hat on and kyrdwyn managed to turn one of the straws so she could steal his brew. lahoffy wore her dragon bandanna, which was a bit rumpled from being in Connor�s pocket most of the day. Rich was in the middle of the pack of women, doing the bump and stealing kisses! MacNair ran down the stage and the audience did "the wave" as she passed one way and then back again. The mayhem was in full swing.

�We love immortals, yes we do! We love immortals, how �bout YOU!� someone started chanting on one end of the throng of women and the other side answered it: �We love immortals, yes we do! We love immortals, how �bout YOU!�

All we need is a large beach ball to come bouncing around and this would be like some rock fest! lahoffy thought. I wonder if MacNair stage dives? She�s little � we could catch her. And we�ve had lots of practice falling into the gutter together lately.

Warm oil worked in by strong hands; relieving tension as well as making the skin darken and shine. Making him sit still instead of fidgeting, and, like soothing a nervous stallion, bringing calmness with just the lying on of hands. Working silently, weaving camaraderie built on hundreds of years into unison and support. Adding his strength into the other�s focus. One was the bystander and the other was the main event, but both would be on display.

Combing out the long dark hair, seventy brush strokes from nape to brow to add fullness and quicken the senses. The silver accouterments, shining back the reflection of faces and eyes as they were inspected. The leather. The lacing. The boots. The fringe on the chaps that danced like a hundred fingers along his calves and thighs. A kerchief fastened loosely around his neck. The hat. The spurs. Finally, standing for inspection and receiving the nod of approval.

�You�re ready. My turn.�

There was a balancing contest with large marshmallows going on. The prize was a front row position for a latecomer and the delight and excitement was building. MacNair and lahoffy were playing a game of clue, picking immortals and their murder weapons aloud verbally. lynnann suggested a few changes to one setting, leaving Duncan with nothing on, and broke the crowd into hysterics. Rich and Methos were in a fierce argument about which story of lahoffy�s halo was the right one. Sheeza was front and center and glowing with delight at their induction party -- right along with Elir. Ennaj had turned over one of the enormous urns used as decorations in the courtyard and was perched on the top of it. The one beside her held a tray of appetizers that she�d snagged off the table. She whooped and swung her feet, drummed them against the sides of the urn and added a rumble of tones into the loud music playing.

Warm oil worked in by strong hands; relieving tension as well as making the skin darken and shine. He added more and more oil until the pale skin beneath his fingers became burnished copper with the extracts in the liquid. The colors of the fabric, spilling loose and making them both pause and blink with pride. The ritual, conducted silently and without need of instruction -- as old as their years and memory. The weapon -- cherished by both of them. The hand that slapped around the heavy hilt gripped it like the palm of a close comrade and the other man smiled; remembering this man, that sword, those clothes. They had both stepped backwards in history: one just a bit farther than the other one. Bouncing a bit to get a feel for his balance, the way the garment hung and moved with him. Finally, standing for inspection and receiving the nod of approval.

�You�re ready. I�ll wait for your signal.�

�Yo!� announced MacNair, watching like a good MC was supposed to. �Here comes Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod!� Wild cheering erupted from the throng and it muted slightly when they spotted him -- then swelled into whoops and whistles as the Scot strode across the courtyard in a great tartan � sans the sark. He was barefoot and the medley of colors swirled around his knees as he walked. In his right hand, he carried an old MacLeod claymore, point down so it didn�t immediately set the other immortals on edge. The tip of the blade cleared the cement by an inch, an obvious testimony to the older man�s acute awareness of carrying this weapon for many years. Silent and unsmiling, he came straight for the platform ringed with white Christmas lights.

�Now, how does he keep that kilt on? It�s, like, seventeen feet of cloth, isn�t it? Unstitched?� asked Rich of no one. �That shoulder sash doesn�t hold it up, obviously. Just the belt does the trick?�

�His pleats are straight,� observed Methos, ignoring the question. �Nice even folds all the way around. Duncan must have helped him dress.� Rich look confused. �The great plaid usually took two men to get one of them into it,� the ROG explained patiently. �Connor hasn�t quite got the legs for a kilt, but he does have the aura.�

�Woof!� said the MC, her standard expression for something too hotdang for words.

�Baby, let me check those pleats!� quipped Sharz.

�What is he wearing under there, you think?� chirped hayden, having almost too much fun for her little soul to endure.

�O dear!� said lynnann, imagination running wild.

�Just grab an edge and yank and we�ll ALL find out!� chortled Sheeza.

But Connor skirted skillfully past the raucous bunch of kilt checkers and went up the steps to the stage two at a time. When the lights hit him, he gleamed � coated with oil that lent him a tan cast under the lights. Slender and tall, with the lean musculature of a young man, he looked honed as a blade poised on the edge of the stage. He eyed the crowd with his trademark stare and they grew quieter and quieter beneath that gaze until there was silence. He let them wait for several seconds, allowing the tension to thicken and his presence settle around them like a great dark wing.

�Hello, MacNair," he finally said. He turned his head slightly to see her without losing sight of the group at his feet. "Would you put this on me, please?� he said softly to the petite blonde with the microphone. The quiet of his audience lent his request more meaning as he handed her an old wooden box.

What is this? It�s heavy, MacNair wondered. She put the microphone in its stand and carefully lifted the lid. Lord and Ladies! She stared at the object from the velvet cradle within. O-baby-O-baby-O! How�m I going to endure this?

Connor was standing close and he bent his head, waiting. He had been letting his hair grow long at the request of some of the CDCers and it spilled down his neck, dark and loose and shot with stray amber lights. �Come on, girl, Duncan is waiting in the wings,� he commented to the floor.

Two heartbeats. MacNair lifted the circlet of gold, felt the weight and the heft of the piece, and reached to place it around Connor�s neck. He tightened slightly with the touch of the metal and she left one hand on him soothingly. She fussed a bit with the front, bending the soft metal so it rested comfortably across his clavicles then examined the look. No, that�s not quite right. The tartan is loose and casual and the torque is too formal. She angled the green gems winking at the ends so they were slightly off-center and when she stepped back, he took her breath away.

And everyone else�s, judging from the gasps and murmurs from the audience.

�I won�t be dancing,� he announced very softly, so they strained to hear every word. Then he walked away from MacNair, moving gracefully, almost arrogantly, every inch a proud warrior from a proud race. The kilt swung an extra few seconds with his movement. It was his trademark stride, accompanied by that mesmerizing focus of his attention -- a great beast prowling after some prey to slake some hidden and hungry thirst. Something not quite tame. Something dangerous. It made them feel as if they were in some sort of exotic danger to fall under those eyes. That level gaze weighed them, held them frozen and pierced through. �Your imagination will work just fine.�

�Um-humm,� mumbled one stunned CDCer.

�Do tell,� announced another.

�O mercy!� sputtered a third.

�I think I need to sit down,� hayden stuttered.

�Mmmmm, now that�s a laddie tae take home to mother!� chirped Ennaj from her urn. She leered and waved her bottle of Scotch. �Maybe not. Just take him home for myself!�

Connor leaned to the microphone, abandoned in its stem, and whistled a blast that made everyone jump. It was unmistakably a nonverbal �We�re ready.� He stood, waiting, and then shifted his arm enough that the tartan slipped a bit farther along his shoulder. To everyone watching, it looked as if the bright cloth down his chest would slide off the slicked skin and then the whole attire would drop around his ankles. A huge sigh swelled out of the group.

�Don�t stand so close to me,� whispered MacNair. �I want to see you from a distance.�

Connor stepped away after his eyes gave her one of those half-lidded acknowledgments. He put the claymore point-down on the wooden floor and rested his hands atop the hilt, looking ever so much the clansman at guard. No one made any attempt to get on the stage or pull him off of it, content to devour him visually. Seeing Connor in his full colors was inflaming enough by itself -- the addition of the torque set their sensibilities into a riot.

They heard him before they saw him. There was a thunder of sound in the distance and coming closer. The group turned to watch, shuffling themselves to see him on approach. Winged footed with a long tail streaming behind her, Duncan�s fiery bay mare came around the last turn from the barn at a full gallop. She hurtled down the path toward the hedge with Duncan pressed flat against her neck. Wild hearted, completely lacking in fear and completely trusting of her master, she was a fine addition to the breeding stock. Her ears swept first back to listen to his urging, and then forward to focus on the mark ahead of her as they covered the distance. Arabask took the five-foot hedge with hardly a break in stride and landed on the cement of the courtyard, sweeping onward with her long stride along the opposite side of the pool. The tall bay fought the firm hands that reined her in, but pulled out of the gallop and was down to a canter by the time she reached the other end of the court and wheeled. Her hooves made an odd sound on the cement instead of the usual clatter of steel on concrete.

�That�s why we had to keep that side clear and roped off,� smugly commented Methos. He was watching the mare; the proud arched neck, the fire in her eyes, the strength in her long clean limbs. Arabask was a prime example of superb bloodlines and gentle training. It had taken the elder MacLeod three years to locate the perfect birthday gift for Duncan. �Rubber shoes,� Methos observed to Richie. �She�s on cement and that�s hard on both her hooves and on steel shoes. It�s too easy for her to fall and hurt herself. Connor re-shod her two days ago to get her ready and Duncan jumped her back and forth over that hedge the whole morning the girls were out getting party fixings. She�s trying to figure out why she doesn�t get to jump it twenty times or more like yesterday! Watch, now, she'll try to dump him half-heartedly. What a fine animal!�

Richie turned his head to view Methos, listening to the long informative speech that had erupted out of the ROG. It�s the horse, he�s watching! The lean immortal�s expression was enchanted, completely captivated by the mare who snorted and yanked her bit for more headroom. She tossed her head with a shake that made the silver ornaments tinkle and gave Duncan a teasing, stiff-legged jolt to let him know he was annoying. The Highlander rode it out without shifting in his seat, one hand upraised to keep his balance � as if he floated above her gyration. It figures, Richie thought abruptly. Methos relied on a horse for nearly everything for thousands of years. Power, transportation, trade � he would know a fine spirited one and would love to watch them. Rich looked up at the stage and took in the visage of Connor MacLeod, unmoving as stone on the platform, his eyes fiercely alive and fastened on horse and rider. But Connor � Connor watches his kinsman and is just as proud and delighted. Some day, I want to have that look out of these men.

Duncan finally got his pacing mount to steady and stand still. She dropped her nose at poolside and drank � and the party celebrants got to drink in Duncan MacLeod in full cowboy regalia. He sat naturally in the saddle with one hand on his thigh and the other resting on the saddle horn. His hat was crooked. He nudged it up with his thumb and stared back across the expanse of the pool while the mare drank. Flashbulbs popped, capturing a cowboy, and the horse jerked her head up.

He wheeled Arabask at the corner of the pool and she stepped alertly past the edge and into the party festivity area. Everyone was quiet to keep from startling the steed in this unfamiliar territory. But Arabask was well trained and well handled. She picked around the tables and chairs and warily eyed the bright candles as she passed. Her ears swiveled continuously, listening to Duncan hum softly and feeling the pressure of his knees guiding her. To the onlookers, man and beast were one element, threading their way through the scene. She brought Duncan straight to the stage, where the granite Connor MacLeod stood, steely-eyed and bold. Methos appeared at her head and took the reins, murmuring to the dark-eyed horse as Duncan swung a booted foot over the pommel and stepped with a thunk and jingle onto the stage.

�Come on sweetheart. I�ve some sugar and oats for you,� murmured Methos. Arabask whuffled his face and nosed at him, searchingly, then followed him obediently away.

Duncan looked left: Connor. Those steady eyes met his and Duncan drew a deep breath and looked out at the audience. �I heard you were looking for a cowboy?� he drawled, hooking his thumbs in the belt and cocking his hip. The silver circles on the chaps gleamed.

�Woof!�

�GO DUNCAN!�

�Make those spurs ring!�

�Ooo, baby, ooo!�

Duncan turned his head and looked at MacNair. She appeared pretty dazed and the microphone was unattended. Maybe he didn�t need anymore of an introduction. �Richie, hit the play button, will you?� he called to the grinning redhead.

What's *on* this tape?the young immortal wondered ... then he heard the guitar intro. Madonna? Richie blinked, then grinned. Madonna: Don�t Tell Me. Holy cow! This is a whopping good song!

The music thrummed under the stage to all the speakers Methos had hidden there. The bass came through the flooring and Duncan picked it up in his shoulders, closing his eyes to let it seep in � sink in � pass through the wild ride to get up here, the twinge of embarrassment, the scrutiny of an eager crowd � wash through and wash out everything but the music and the instinct to move; to dance, to be free, to scuff these boots and make the spurs jingle. And then he was in motion, riding the music and where it took him. The boots made the stage pound and he led with his head, ducking, spinning, kicking his feet up high in the back for the jumps. The silver spurs rang. The long fringe of the chaps added gracefulness as Duncan mixed a variety of styles together in a crazy amalgam. He took the hat off and danced with it for a while, switching it hand to hand and then spinning it in his fingers and letting it sail out over the throng below him. The vest was next, shook off his arms and lost when he lifted his chin high and flung his shoulders back. A girl in the front row snatched it out from beneath his boots. He put a swivel in his hips and heard the howl that accompanied that move.

Connor had chalked the stage and Duncan spun in his boots, finding his footing in the slick silt. The amplified stage pounded. He did some silly moves, but put enough pelvis in them to hear the shriek from the watching women. A simple four-step dance while he went through buttons on his shirt � and then he left it on. The complaint from the front row made him smile and he let the cotton gape open and the tails flutter loose as he continued to let the music soak into his bones and spirit. Methos had spliced the song and it repeated itself smoothly.

Five � four � three � two � one. Duncan stripped very slowly out of his shirt with his back to the audience. The lighting picked up the oil, the rich wheat color of his skin, the long muscles of his back and shoulders as he kept step with the tempo. He flexed his arms out and up, fingers open, and then turned, dropping immediately to one knee and curling his arm up to his face like some statue.

There was a solid wall of sound in the audience and there wasn�t any �row� to the front row anymore. Ennaj had crawled on the stage, but Connor leveled a look like a sword at her and she hunkered down right where she was, on the corner, and watched. MacNair was also sitting on the stage at the base of the microphone stand.

Duncan was back on his feet now, keeping the boots moving and the spurs flashing. The sweat made his chest hairs cling together and curl. The muscle pads running down his abdomen rippled and defined. Duncan had a great body and he knew it. Not that it was a form of ego for him, but a point of pleasure. And they�re mortal. I will have this body until I die, I might as well use it to bring them joy and let them get their full measure of it.

He put the undulation in his moves, gradually moving from sheer footwork to the classic drama of a strip. The smoky looks, the swagger, the thrust to his hips: he moved like a man with no skeleton to hinder him, pouring into one move after the next. He stepped on one boot and then the other, removing them both and kicking them off to the side. He slipped loose one string of the chaps where they anchored at his thigh, then the other. There was a moment of confusion while he figured out which snaps belonged to his Levi�s, which were chaps. He popped the jeans snaps one � by one � by one, nearly losing the beat of the music in the noise his audience was making, and then turned his back and let them slide off of him. The cool air bathed over his nudity � he had nothing on but chaps and a bandanna.

�WOOF!�

That�s MacNair. Connor, do your job! Duncan suddenly thought. He jerked his head right, flipping his dark hair and shooting a glance at his clansman.

�O babee!�

�OH! DEAR!�

�DON�T STOP!�

�Fresh melons!�

�Wockity-wockity!� The hands that hitherto merely waved about, turned to hands that were palm down on the wooden deck and prepared to climb up.

The elder Highlander knew this was the moment and he took a step from his frozen immobility and flipped the heavy claymore like a baton and caught it again by the hilt with a smack of steel on flesh. The flash of the sword and the obvious effort to catch it made the more aggressive of the women halt and reconsider. Connor would never hurt them � but he was obviously standing guard over Duncan.

He�s keeping watch over Duncan, so Duncan can be utterly free to dance and to strut his stuff, thought lynnann in the back. Like a protective ring around him and -- within it -- Duncan is free! Duende happens with more than just the flamenco dance!

The music changed. It took lahoffy and MacNair, a few others, only three chords to know it was the band Creed: My Sacrifice. Duncan altered to the slower pace, leaning back and arching to stretch his back before turning. That body! Those chaps! thought fourteen women at the same instant. O, I can die now.

Duncan was completely engaged in the music, eyes nearly closed, swiveling his hips. He was gorgeous, erotic, electrifying. They watched the way he curled and leaned, the roll of muscles through his shoulders and back, all the way down through his buttocks and the long thighs. He fanned his toes with some steps, checking his balance. The fringe of the chaps was the only extraneous movement besides the natural action of his body and the long hair that cascaded over his shoulders.

The music sang: �When you are with me, I�m free � I�m careless � I believe above all the others we�ll fly�.�

He didn�t turn away for the finish; just unsnapped the chaps and stepped forward out of them. They folded in a heap of soft leather, silver, and fringe behind him. Then he reached up to the bandanna and jerked it off � revealing a second torque around his neck, this one silver and set with a single blue stone! Covered with oil and sweat, muscles taut, Duncan finished the finale slowly, seductively, reaching out over the group he held so in thrall ... looking ever the sheik -- the slave -- a clan prince. He danced with all he was, shining bright for all to see, and, when the music faded out on him, he looked surprised that it was over.

The courtyard was full of sound: whistles and cheers and hands clapping. Duncan ducked his head sheepishly, abruptly crashing back to earth and unsure how to exit. Connor was already crossing the distance with his long stride and when the younger man half-turned to him, still a bit abashed, the wall of flashbulbs hit them like the sun. It was nearly perfect: the torques unmatched and yet, matching. Just like the two MacLeods were.

Connor draped a robe around Duncan�s shoulders, fastening it around his waist while the younger man regained his bearings. The creamy white against Duncan�s dark skin didn�t lessen the uproar around them. �Go to k�lynn�s closet. They won�t think to look there. Shower and calm down and let these wenches calm down. I put some clothes on k'lynn's favorite rug for you.� Connor had to speak it directly in his ear to be heard. �Let him pass,� ordered the elder Highlander over the noisy crowd as Duncan walked to the stairs. �He�ll shower and then rejoin us, so let him pass. Entertain yourselves with the rest of the party.� He would have followed it with a glare to enforce his demand, but the happy excited faces of the crowd told him that they understood Duncan�s need to get showered and dressed and back to himself. The younger Highlander went through the crowd to the main house without anyone accosting him.

Connor followed him after five minutes, sword up across his shoulder like a man having done his job. They flirted outrageously and said wikked things to him as he stalked past, but no one stopped *him* either. He passed barefooted in the great kilt, with all eyes on him, and, halfway to the haven, it happened....

k'lynn had been a good spectre the whole night. In fact, no one had seen her at all! No candles were blown out or entire bowls of grapes missing. She had been GOOD! But she was around, oh yes, she was around! Miss Duncan riding? Miss Duncan dancing? Miss Duncan stripping? Never! She might be crazy, but she was not insane!

With Connor in retreat, however, she couldn�t resist the overwhelming urge that she had struggled with for the last half an hour. It burned, it demanded, it raged! She couldn�t bear it anymore! She darted down in her ethereal spectre form and flipped up the back of the great kilt � and there were the twin globes of the older MacLeod�s buttocks, exposed for all to see! �Connie buns, best-est of all!� sounded her delighted voice for all to hear. The resulting raucous noise from the courtyard dwarfed everything!

Connor didn�t even flinch, as if he knew that k�lynn would NEVER be able to pass up this last temptation! He didn�t jump, didn�t grab for the swatch of wool, or even chide the little sprite! He just walked on and disappeared, with his dignity intact, into the great house.

�Once a Scot, always a Scot,� mused Methos, slouching down in his lounge chair. �You can train them and train them � but those old ones just don�t learn new things well! I get an �A� for trying, though.�

�And just what was your hand in all of this?� chortled lahoffy.

�That was MY gold and silver that they were wearing,� he replied, charmingly. Then he leaned close, five thousand years of deviousness glinting in his eyes, and looked her right in the face. �Why don�t you ask me how I got my torques, lahoffy?�

MacNairCDC
Posted for the CDC Induction Par-TAY for Sheeza_Dame and Elir, Dec. 7, 2001!

Insanity courtesy of the CDCers and nearly two weeks of tempting WIPs and the curious question of �How Did Lahoffy Get Her Halo?� Can I go back to my other writing now? Huh? Please?

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