What's Done is Done!

By Trynia Merin

With ideas from Denis DePlaen

Alternative fanfic with Macbeth:

Quotations taken from Macbeth, http://tech-two.mit.edu/Shakespeare/Tragedy/macbeth/

Disclaimer: Gargoyles is property of Disney, and the characters are being used without the consent or knowledge thereof. Carlos Garcia, Lucia Dominguez, Keith Polasky, Rayna Vitreum, and Sharon Lewis are my characters. Note this story contains content of a sexual nature, and some strong language, and is not to be read by those under the age of 18. Those who are disturbed by the idea of older men being in relationships with younger women, don't read this! And do remember that both parties involved are of consenting age.

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"I'll never get the hang of this!" Lucia moaned.

"It's not the end of the world, hon," Carlos told her. She buried her head in her hands, slowly pulling at her black mass of curls. Both friends sat in Carlos' hospital room at Manhattan Medical, eco-mugs at their elbows. Five cups of coffee later, and Lucia was no closer to understanding the French Revolution then before. Ironic because she had come here to help tutor him in Shakespearean English.

"I'm muerte!" she shook her head.

"Why don't you ask Professor MacDuff for help? I mean you took his course in World History last semester, didn't you? I'm sure he could find you a tutor for History of Western Europe from 12th Century to the present..."

"And he convinced me to be a history major," she sighed.

"So it's his fault. Come on, you gotta go to him. Don't ya have a way with him or something?"

"You're nuts," she shook her head.

"I caught you staring at him with those bedroom eyes," Carlos teased.

"Jealous?" Lucia countered.

"Why should I be jealous of an old professor who just happens to be a major chick magnet? What is it with you chicks and older men, anyway?"

"They know how to treat women right," Lucia stuck her tongue out at him. "More then I can say for you guys..."

"Hey, I get along with you!"

"That's because I'm your friend, Carlos," she laughed.

"Hey, you're a hombre, not a gal I'd date. It's too much like family..."

"That's the problem," she sighed. "The guys who have girls right in front of them, and think they're like sisters..."

"Hey, we did grow up together... it's too much like you're my sis..."

"Thanks a lot, Carlos," she shook her head.

"Well, more like a cousin, okay? Look, just go see him... okay?"

"I'm going to tell him it was your idea..."

"Don't get too lovelorn..." he teased.

"Can I help it if he has a nice ass?" she asked, shrugging.

"You and Sharon both, girl..."

"When do you get out of here?"

"Tomorrow's the big day! Save a seat for me in class!"

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In English class she grumbled about reading Shakespeare, as the teacher announced the play that they were going to perform for their class project. Carlos had already found his seat, his baseball cap a bit offset by the bandages around his head.

"I've thought about this long and hard, and since we did Romeo and Juliet last year, and Prof. MacDuff had you read Julius Caesar already, I thought a tragedy would be appropriate for a class production..."

"Ah, we just got through King Lear," Lucia moaned. "That was so depressing enough!"

"Well the tragedy we are performing as a class is the Scottish Play," the teacher raised her glasses. "Many say that it is fraught with bad luck..."

"The ol MacB, huh?" asked Carlos, who had changed his major to theater.

"Mac what?" Lucia asked, and then turned to the indicated page. "Why don't you just tell us the name?"

"It's bad luck," Carlos needled.

"Oh for Pete's sake," Lucia grimaced. "It's just a silly superstition..."

"And you believe in the Couranderos," he snorted.

"Well, Josephina did have a curse on her, and as long as she believed... there was no other choice. But I don't believe in them... but the power of belief is... so if you think Macbeth is unlucky..."

"Better not hear Romy hear you talk about that," Carlos cautioned.

"I see we have a drama major in the class?" asked Professor Kissling, glancing over at the class as she fingered silvery gray hair from her glasses.

"Oh come on," he moaned.

"Well the witches chant was taken from an actual source... and there were histories of bad luck... but there is little harm in reading one of the better plays..."

"Oh," Carlos groaned. "You gotta be kidding! Lady MacB is a total witch... not counting the three..."

"What's so... bad about this play anyway?" Lucia asked. "I loved Julius Caesar, and Henry V. Besides you love plots with murder in them?"

"There's plenty of that," Professor Kissling muttered. "Now... we will start. I have made up a cast list, and…."

She glimpsed over the lines of iambic. Shakespeare was something she admired to some extent, especially the historicals and tragedies, and how many facts were either distorted or refuted by the plays. Hence she took the class English Literature as part of her curriculum.

"All right, the part of Macbeth will be performed by Carlos."

"Oh no..."

"And Banquo... Sammy, would you do the honors..."

"Fleance..."

One by one she read their names, till she came to the part of Lady Macbeth. Carlos grinned when she looked a bit flummoxed. Lucia's hand traced down the page, and she balked when she saw the name MacDuff, and blushed considerably.

"I guess we'll be studying partners, eh?" Carlos laughed.

"Do you want to go back in the hospital?" she laughed back at him, playfully swatting him with the book before Prof. Kissling whirled around on the two of them. It struck her as very odd, seeing the name Lennox before it, and she couldn't help but wonder what an odd coincidence that was!

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Later that afternoon, Lucia walked into Prof. MacDuff's office in the History department. She had been here a number of times before, to pick up the papers, which were left outside his door in a cardboard box. Yet something about this meeting made her tremble all the more. His deep rich voice bade her enter.

"And what can I do for ye today, Lucia?"

"I'm having a horrible time with my newest history class, European History from the Twelfth century to the Present, and I was wondering if you might help me."

"Ah, Prof. Malkowitz's class," he said, and indicated the wooden chair across from him. "Have a seat and we'll talk."

"I'm so not getting it," she shook her head. "And if I get a c in this class I can kiss my scholarship goodbye!"

"Easy now, lass," MacDuff urged her, as she panted soft puffs into his silver hair. "Ye seem frightened. Is everything all right?"

"I don't know where else to turn…"

"Have ye discussed this problem with him? What exactly is the difficulty?"

"He says my views of history are outrageous," she snorted. "And I told him I was in your class last semester…"

"Hmm… anything else?"

"And the constant emphasis in the class is on memorization, and regurgitation… plus the fact that when I write papers, I always want to slip inside the individual's heads to tell what they are doing. All Malkowitz is interested in is who won, why, and what social issues at the time were relevant. He's not at all interested in comparing two different cultures and time periods…"

"So it's the basic facts yer having problems with?"

"Yes, because he makes it so boring," Lucia leaned over the desk at him. "He sits up there with his overheads and lectures, and passes out these… packets…"

So saying, Lucia dropped a ream of facsimile sheets stapled onto the desk, and MacDuff watched as she riffled through them. "This is for the first part of the semester, in addition to our textbook! He never uses half of the stuff on his exams, and when we reference this stuff for our papers, he wants us to go out of our way to find new sources. I don't mind that, but if it isn't written just the way he wants, he goes ballistic! He says dates, locations, people are paramount. Never mind what they mean…"

"Hmm," Macbeth muttered. "Perhaps ye require extra help in how to best memorize the facts… and make it interesting…"

"I'll never get this!" she sighed, and leaned over the desk at him. "What is the point anyway! The French Revolution, when did it end, Carumba! They had more leaders then the entire Communist party in Cuba!"

"Well, let's jest sit doon and look at this…" he said, rising from behind his desk and pulling a few books down from his own shelves. "Take a seat over there, and make yerself more comfortable…"

"But I don't want to bug you and take up your time…"

"Nonsense," he sniffed, joining her on a sofa close by the door of the office. Lucia flopped down, her packets almost sliding out of her arm while she dragged her bookbag over.

Soon the two sat on the sofa, arguing over the finer points of the French Revolution. Coffee cups sat on the low table before them, amidst stacks of handouts, and half opened thick tomes.

"So why were they always revolting after the invasion of the Bastille? And why were they chopping off heads left and right, for crying out loud! I can understand beheading the monarchs, but then going after everyone else that even spoke out against their democratic government?"

"Lucia, it's a perfect model of what could go wrong if the People move too quickly into democracy," MacDuff explained patiently. "Let's look at it this way. Consider the fact that France for most of its history had been under a feudal system...."

At this point he sat down on the leather sofa next to her, his shoulder lightly brushing hers. Lucia's heart pounded close in her breast. That corduroy jacket lightly swept over her skin, sending a million electric shocks down her arm.

"Carumba!" she snapped.

"I must apologize, are you quite all right?"

"I... er.. .well..." Lucia gasped, glancing into his concerned face. Those steel blue eyes fixed upon hers, the energy making her tremble. Another trip to the confessional no doubt! Or another cold shower.

"Are you ill?"

"Yes..." she said, taking a deep breath.

"If you wish, we can continue this at a later date..."

"If only it were that easy," she breathed again, as MacDuff looked puzzled at her.

"I beg your pardon..."

"You're so intelligent, it seems as if I'd never catch up," she gave a small smile, her stomach tied in knots for the millionth time that week.

"Comes wi' years of experience," he smiled warmly. "But listen, young lady. Ye are an intelligent lass, and if ye would just apply yerslef a bit more, ye could vera well get a decent grade in Professor Malkovitz's course. Ye must believe in yourself..."

"That's sweet," she shook her head, and gave a laugh. "But that doesn't make it easier for me to concentrate..."

"The answer to that is simple, Lucia," he responded. "IT involves removing the distraction..."

"Ho... kay," she breathed. The sofa shifted under her as he rose. Across the room he stopped before his coffee maker. Minutes later he returned, and Lucia had some degree of control over the swimming in her stomach again. Her fingers shivered when he offered her the mug of steaming coffee.

"Ye've made the coffee often enau, so have a cup on me fer a change."

This line didn't exactly help her settle down anymore. Instead she had an odd mental image of him in a sorority bed, stripped naked with her slowly pouring hot cappuccino over his chest. Immediately she pushed that image out of her head with a few mental Hail Mary's.

"Now, are ye all right? Take a deep breath, and focus your mind again. It never hurts to take time out, to regroup."

"Are you my professor or my sensei?" she asked him, with a wink.

"Touché," he nodded.

"Just don't call me grasshopper, or I will kill you instantly to death," she warned.

"Nau that we have regrouped, are you ready to return to Revolutionary France?"

Again he resumed his place, sipping a sizable drought of coffee. Lucia's eyes wandered from the book to his powerful neck. As he glanced back at her, she pretended to be glancing at the book before them. She drowned her shivers in a quick swig of hot cappuccino. He had sprayed some cool whip on top, which doubled for the thick cream, and even added cinnamon.

"Mm," she said, folding her legs at the knees as she leaned forwards. The creamy sensation flooded over her hot tongue, coolness melding with the strange volcanic heat. MacDuff leaned forwards, his shoulder brushing hers while he flipped a few pages in the history book.

"Nau... the revolution in the middle 1800's was the next unrest when Napoleon the 2nd went into power..."

"Wait... is that like in Les Miserables?" she asked. "With the barricades?"

"Yer learning," he nodded appreciatively.

"I loved that musical," she grinned. "I remember reading that novel in English earlier this semester... I always did get choked up at the part when Eponine died in that student's arms..."

"Mm, indeed," MacDuff nodded. "And Hugo did take many an influence from actual historical accounts. It was a time of great turmoil..."

"Those students were no older then my friends, and me" she shook her head.

"Revolutions start in the oddest of places," he nodded, sipping his coffee.

"But was it worth it?" Lucia asked. "I mean they did prove a point... but how far do you protest... before everyone becomes a martyr? Who listens and remembers the martyrs?"

"Others who take up the cause of freedom," MacDuff chimed in automatically. "Which was what the French masses desired. But they were unused to being without the monarchy."

Lucia laughed sadly. "Much like my own country I fear. From democracy to communism... after colonialism..."

"Aye," MacDuff nodded approvingly. A small smile came on his face. "Yer catching on. Now, after a series of revolutions, the Bourbon monarchy was restored, but many of the people complained they were as worse as ever..."

She looked at the time line in the end of the chapter. MacDuff had several articles and other texts lined up, including a map of Europe. Some of the cities and boarders were constantly re-drawn.

"Funny how that map of Europe looks a lot like it would nowadays..."

"And how so?" he asked, seeing the connections sparking in her mind.

"Well, if you look at Germany... after the Prussians and Austrians came together... and compare it with post-communist Germany... the boarders are the same. And you said I was a bit confused," she laughed, her arm slipping against his. Holding his coffee, his other arm reached around her to point to the map of Poland.

"But yer forgetting the small territories ceded to France..." he said.

"The French again," she giggled, leaning closer as he showed her the Sarrland and Liechtenstein.

"It seems ye possess a mental block when it comes to matters of history regarding France..." MacDuff pointed out. A teasing twinkle was in his eyes. It was then that she realized she was

leaning against him, the book spread across both their laps. MacDuff continued to explain the changing boarders of Germany and France during the Napoleonic era. Lucia's laughs of surprise came quickly as she began to point out similarities and parallels between the periods of history of her own country and that of Europe.

Something brushed against his upper arm, and MacDuff stopped right in the middle of a diatribe regarding the colonialist expansion of France, and its collapse. Softness and warm pressed close, and he glanced down. Lucia was sipping her coffee, eyes fixed to the book raptly. Several buttons on her floral blouse were undone, and the soft lacy bra brushed his corduroy blazer lightly. She didn't seem aware, or at least it didn't seem that way on first appraisal. With a cough he straightened up, and glanced at her warningly.

"Young lady, I do believe yer shirt is unbuttoned..." he said sternly.

"Oh... er...how did that happen?" Lucia blushed, and noticed the offending underwear as she scrambled to button her blouse. Then she stopped, and glanced up at him with those brown eyes, nervously searching.

Before he knew it she tossed arms around his neck, her floral scent full in his face. Warm soft lips pressed to his with a gentle butterfly kiss. It was clumsy and yet deliciously tender in its brush. It was a full minute before his shock wore off, and he pushed her away with a firm hand.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, eyes wide with astonishment. Something jolted the muscles in his leg, firmly kneading in soothing strokes. Her hand rested on his thigh, nervously clenching. She gave a nervous laugh and slowly slipped her hand from his knee up a bit.

"Young lady," he said with a hint of more sternness in his voice. The silvery gaze was reprimanding, distant. She slipped her other hand over his arm, lightly brushing her hand against his suit coat. Slowly she worked it between his jacket and light blue shirt, caressing his chest.

"You know this is an awkward situation, do you not? It's not acceptable behavior for a student to fraternize with her professor..."

He gripped her hand lightly, pulling it away. She had made no effort to button her shirt, the lacy bra black against her caramel skin. Dark eyes looked up into his, large and anxious.

"Not even... when you're the distraction?" she raised an eyebrow at him. Ever closer she leaned, despite the restraining hand on her wrist. Dark hair tickled his chin as she stroked her cheek against his chest.

"I must insist that you stop this," he gripped both her upper arms in his hands, pushing her back with a bit more force then he realized. "It's most improper..."

"Madre de Dios you're really hot when you're angry. But... you're hurting me a bit..." she said, swallowing the nervousness.

MacDuff relinquished his grasp on her, moving backwards. Sometimes he forgot just how strong he was. "You've put me in a most precarious position..." he said, with a cough. "I think this lesson is over for today..."

"But we were finally getting somewhere," she said, glancing up at him.

"That was not the intention of a study session, Miss Alvarez. In future I suggest that if you require my assistance, the distance is kept to a maximum..."

"Listen to you," she couldn't help but laugh. "Mr. Academic now is it? Mr. I don't know what you had on your mind..."

"I said this lesson was over," he rose from the chair. "And I suggest you leave now..."

"Or what?" Lucia asked, hands on her hips. "You'll hurt me?"

"I don't know what your game is, but this will not improve your chances of a good grade, or recommendation... with this attitude.."

"That's what you think this is?" she asked. "Me trying to seduce you for... a grade?"

"It's been known to happen?"

"And I thought you liked me!" Lucia shook her head. The pitch in her voice rose considerably. "I am so insulted you think I would resort... to... this... for a grade??? You're not even teaching this course for God's sake!"

MacDuff was all set to continue his tirade when he saw the anger present. What was she thinking? It then settled upon his mind that it was a crush, pure and simple. "You mean... that was not your intention..."

"No!" she shouted back. "I... like you! Can't you see that? Didn't you feel anything... when we were sitting side by side?"

"Miss Alvarez... Lucia, I know that often a student develops a romantic attachment to a favorite professor, so I suppose I do understand what your intentions are now... but I cannot take advantage of your amorous infatuation..."

"So... you don't like me don't you?" she asked, hugging herself as she turned from him.

"You are an intelligent and attractive young woman, Miss Alvarez. There is no doubting that many men find you quite desirable. However I think it would be inappropriate for you to pursue this attraction..."

"Why?"

"The answer is obvious, isn't it? I am your professor, after all... it's against school policy..."

"But for the millionth time, I'm not taking any classes with you this semester!" she protested. How serious was this crush?

"That's beside the point. You're a bonny lass indeed, but you're far too young to pursue a romantic relationship with me..."

"Well what about historical precedent?" she asked.

"I might have known you'd bring that up," he sighed, folding his arms across his chest. She always did find a clever argument, curse her!

"I mean in history, Edgar Allen Poe's wife was 13, and then there was Jerry Lee Lewis. And what about those elderly gentlemen who tumbled the occasional young lady..."

"That was hardly a justification for... surely there must be a gentleman you have romantic feelings for..."

"But they're all jerks," she pouted, and drew in a deep sigh. "Older men are so much nicer... and well... I like you. You're single, eligible, and incredibly sexy? Don't you realize the affect you have on us poor young co-eds?"

"There is such a thing as self control," he pointed out.

"Really?" she asked.

"It's still against school policy," he said.

"I can't believe I'm such a fool," she muttered. Angrily she continued a conversation with herself in her native Cuban dialect of Spanish, as she struggled to button her blouse again.

"I have no doubt that given enough time you will find a young man your age... or closer to your age that would find you irresistible..."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," she snapped, turning on him. "As if you've never been tempted in your life to take a younger woman? What makes you so high and mighty..."

"Experience," he shook his head. "Lucia, I don't mean to hurt your feelings. You're an exceptional young lady who has a bright future ahead. I don't want you to throw it away on some... crush... especially since there are many lads I can think of who would love to have you for a girlfriend..."

"But it's so easy for you to stand there and say those things? Don't you know how hard it is... for me... to stand here and have these feelings... and not feel them for someone my own age? I can't just explain it away. Guys my age don't give a crap about how a woman feels! If she's not experienced then..."

"I know it's hard, lass, but ye mustn't let yer hormones get in the way of how ye really feel…"

"But you don't understand!" she grabbed his hands. "You're the man I wish I was with! You're so gentle, and gallant… and kind to me… no man has ever made me feel the way you do!"

"Hush now, dinna cry..." he sighed, as her chin began to wobble. Her head fell into her hands as she stood there. Gently he folded her into his arms, patting her back. She buried her face against his shirt, tears warm and wet against the cloth.

"Oh God I feel so dumb..."

"No, dinna take on so," he shushed her. "It happens more often then the best of us would care to admit."

"But the worst thing is I can't find someone... it's just so hard, and when I do they're always teasing me... because... well..."

"Why?"

"Because... oh it's stupid... but I... well... don't know how to kiss... and well..."

"Yer a virgin?" he asked.

"Well, sort of, but not really," she looked up at him. "I had a boyfriend first semester who laughed at me for it, and I dared him to sleep with me, and we did it... and the next morning he was laughing at me... saying that I should sleep with at least a hundred boys before even bothering to try again with him..."

"What rubbish is that?" MacDuff snorted. "He had no right to say such things to a lady!"

"Well I don't know how to kiss, and it was my first time. I went to an all girls school, and the closest I got was a few sessions in the back seat of a car... and when you come from an all girls school, and your parents don't let you date till college..."

"What about Carlos? I seem to recall he fancies you..."

"He's like a cousin," she shook her head. "And well... he doesn't know how to kiss either..."

"Mm, and how exactly would they say is a right way versus a wrong way?" MacDuff wondered. "It hardly seems like you would have such a difficulty, an attractive lass such as yourself..."

"You think so? You're just trying to make me feel better..."

"Verra well," he sighed. "For the sake of argument, how would a gentleman of your age desire to be kissed?"

"Well, for one thing they just have to practically choke me on their tongues... not that I mind... but well... it might be easier to show you..."

"Proceed with your... demonstration," he instructed, not reprimanding her as his hands rested on her waist. Taking a deep breath she stood on her tiptoes, and wrapped arms behind his neck. Warm soft lips pressed close to his, firm and fast. She leaned into him hard, moving her head from side to side as she thrust her hips close to his. Her tongue slipped against his lips, hands clenching as they buried into his hair. When his mouth would not yield to her she drew back. He was so blasted tall and strong compared to her, and that beard ticked her cheeks.

"I can see why there is a problem," he raised an eyebrow, eyes fixing into hers. There was no easing, but a matter of fact concern. "Young people have no sense of tenderness in a kiss anymore... honestly what are they learning on cable television! Preposterous."

"If I don't kiss a man like that, they say I don't know how to really kiss! And if I do kiss them like that I'm a tease. There's no in between... it's so frustrating."

"As I see it, ye try too hard t' please them. Their concept of what constitutes a kiss is what they see in the popular movies no doubt. What I would think is that perhaps you should demonstrate to your gentleman how it is you would desire to be kissed. For there are ways that are far more sensual then this writhing about..."

"And how would I... convince them?" she asked, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"Gentleness is paramount," he said, and gently stroked her back as he slipped a arm around her waist.

"What if they tower over me..." she asked, eyes sparkling as she stood on tiptoes to reach him. The top of her head came about to the level of his chin.

"And if there be a discrepancy in height, it behooves the gentleman to lean over a bit, and pull his lass a bit upward to meet on a more common level..."

"And?" she half giggled as he placed a hand at the small of her back. His other moved deliciously through her hair as his fingers worked their way from her neck to her scalp.

"A bit of neck massage does wonders as well. Sets the mood. The kiss itself is a delicate thing... not to be rushed," he continued, lowering his face to within inches of hers. "You must look him deep in the eyes, and use your voice... to soften his resistance."

"But what if he's already to second base?" she asked.

"Ye mean what if he's already started to undress ye?"

"Well, sort of... what if he's got his hand on my... well..."

"Mm, one step at a time..." he cautioned. Fingers worked through her hair, rubbing her scalp in soothing strokes. Lucia felt the electricity shoot down her spine. Was this really happening? "And if that fails t' impress him, you move slowly, brushing yer cheeks and nose close... but not completely touching..." he continued, and here he lightly stroked her cheeks against his bearded ones as his face leaned over hers. She felt her knees shaking against his pantlegs, through the cloth of her own long black skirt. That beard of his was softer then she'd imagined.

"They'd really think I was a flirt," she pouted, pursing her lips.

"And only then when they are satiated with yer smell, yer hair, and your presence do ye ever so lightly... lightly make yer contact..." he said, voice shiveringly low and soothing. Lucia froze with fear and anticipation as his lips traced lightly against hers. Teasingly tracing her full ones with his own. The briefest contact quaked all resistance. Her arms slipped around his neck, her one hand tracing up to lay on his jacket. Firm gentle touches of his lips on her refitted the twanging urges in her lower body.

"Professor," she breathed out, and glanced up at him. "But that's the problem..."

"I see none, from where I'm standing," he shook his head.

Lucia leaned up, pressing her lips to his again. The briefest touch she could not resist firmly pressing upwards. Turning his teasing lip touch into a full kiss as she buried her lips into his. To her surprise his grip on her waist increased, his mouth pressing closer as his head curved around hers, finding the curve of her lips with his own. Fingers clamped down, gripping him ever closer while she increased the pressure of her kiss. All control vanished for nearly a minute.

"Gently now," he urged, pulling back a minute. "A kiss is meant to a tender pursuit, not an athletic competition..."

"That's how some of us young people see it nowadays," she breathed heavily, her heart pounding against his.

"How would ye prefer t' be kissed then?" he asked her, matter-of-fact. "Tis more then one way, and it's yer right to state your decision."

"Well," she licked her lips. "I always did like it a little more... well... uh..."

So saying she leaned up into his arms, bringing her face closer as he leaned over. Full lips covered his, her head swaying as she pressed upwards, with a soft velvetness this time. Softly her tongue slipped against his lips, working its way into his mouth. This time he surprised her by allowing her access, warm breath passing from her to him in a surprised gasp. Lucia swooned within his arms, relishing the firmness of his lips upon her own. She tasted a hint of cappuccino, gasping through the force of his embrace as he clutched her close in a firm embrace that pulled her feet well off the ground. All her frantic surging emotion she poured into that kiss, blood pounding behind her ears in an electric surge.

"Like that?" she said, withdrawing from him to catch her breath.

"Indeed," he nodded. "They would be fools to complain about a kiss such as that..."

"You really think so?"

"Have I ever yet been dishonest in any matter with you?" he asked. Her chest brushed close to his, warmth shared betwixt teacher and student in the confines of that office.

"No," she laughed. "But you see why I have a problem? Guys today don't like to take things slow! I've barely gotten into the mood when they're all over me, and can't keep their hands off!"

"Yer kiss is quite nice indeed," he said. "It would seem you sought the wrong company instead..."

"Uh huh," she nodded, thrusting her belly against his. Slowly she rubbed herself against him, working a knee close to his.

"I might suggest that this particular activity continue... in a less academic setting," he said, with a wink.

"You mean... you don't mind?" she asked. "You... actually would..."

"I would be lying if I said the thought had not crossed my mind..."

"What about your... academic reservations?"

"I am certain we could come to an agreement... provided this does not happen during another history lesson!"

"Whatever you say, sir," she laughed, and kissed him again.

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It was sheer torture waiting for the cab to pull up to his residence. She wrestled with self-control when they both leapt out after he tossed a twenty to the amazed taxidriver in his haste to exit. All along that ride she had leaned against his shoulder, his arm around her in the back seat.

"You live here?" she asked, eyes wide at the large chateau's spires raising into the evening sun. "We were all talking about it but I never guessed it was this place!"

"Indeed," he nodded, his arm slipping around her waist comfortably. "Come along now..."

She muttered something in Spanish, which MacDuff overheard with a chuckle. He whispered something into her ear in her native dialect, leading her through the electronic gate, and along the paths of the front gardens. Somehow it seemed appropriate that such a wise authority would inhabit a castle such as this. Scaffolding covered the front, indicating that one wing was under construction. She remembered hearing him say at that rally two months ago that he only taught

for the love of it. How rich was he? There were rumors that flew rampant among the History Club.

"I love your landscaping," she laughed nervously. Cherry blossoms arched overhead as they came to the front landing, along one side. Here he was, arm around her in that corduroy jacket and button up shirt with the wool trousers like some typical academic, and he was taking her into this residence fit for a prince, or a King's summerhouse.

"I thank ye much," he nodded. She half expected to see a rich butler opening the door, but he casually entered with a swipe of an electronic card much like she remembered in the hotels.

"Kind of high tech?" she grinned.

"My new security system," he nodded. Keeping their hands momentarily to themselves they wandered down the large entryway. Lucia's eyes continued to widen at the high tapestries adorning white plaster walls far above the wood paneling. Banners jutted into the vaulted ceiling, a glitter of stained glass catching her eye off to one side. A grand staircase arched up into parts unknown, and she spied a suit of medieval armor along one of the hallways. It struck her as something out of Europe, the place decorated with the most impeccable taste. She tiptoed through what he called a living room, the décor smacking of Louis XIV with brocaded wall coverings and gilt trim. An authentic stucco fireplace with ancestral portraits graced the far end of the room, while another door lead into what seemed to be a library.

"Is this your house, or a museum?" she asked, stopping to drink in the details of his sitting room. "Incredible, the furniture looks authentic!"

"One could say both," he nodded, clasping her hand reassuringly in his.

"You should charge admission, and lead tours through here! I bet Malkowitz would die and go to Heaven to see all this!"

"As a matter of fact I do," he nodded. "There are many pieces of artwork present... and the historical texts..."

"Any books on the French Revolution?" she joked.

"This way," he pulled her to check the library. She choked at the sheer stacks of neatly arranged books that rose around them. For a moment the purpose of their arrival faded away in her amazement. Lucia's eyes flickered over the vast array of titles, desperately taking them all in.

"This place is yours t' study whenever ye wish," he said, gripping her shoulder firmly.

************************************************************************

Soon they reclined on a sofa in the sitting room, fast within the process she knew to be heavy petting. MacDuff was a bit amused at the slang she introduced him to.

"Gently now... not so fast," he repeated almost like a damned mantra. Lucia had to admit there was some advantage to going slow. Especially with the warm caress of his fingers along her breasts, slowly unbuttoning the blouse as she reclined there on the couch. It had seemed most easiest to lean close, her hand on his thigh as she slowly stroked upwards. Only to have him place the hand lower, urging her to work her way from the knee upwards in a more deliberate fashion. Or the gentle kisses on her exposed chest, a kiss after each button was unfastened, the hair of his beard slipping over her exposed flesh. Somehow the tension seemed to stretch out, and increase! Something seemed odd, almost timeless about this large castle of a place he called home.

She slipped into his lap luxuriously cuddling against him. It was such a nice change to have a man who took the time to consider what she wanted. Even though she wasn't sure of what it was she did. Those twinges in her belly ached now with every new caress of his large hands on her breasts. Instinctively she slipped her hand betwixt his shirt and jacket, feeling the contours of his muscled chest underneath. Odd, for a man his age he was buff!

Slowly she began to unbutton his shirt, a little at a time. He leaned backwards on the couch, pulling her down with him as he stretched luxuriously under her. Letting her straddle his hips with her firm thighs, her long skirt riding up as she settled into place. Allowing those fingers to stroke up and down his abdomen, chest and thighs while she continued to explore with her hands on fabric. Beneath her she felt a different firmness coming into being, and blushed. She leaned down on his chest, caressing her breasts against it, as he finished unbuttoning the blouse and she shed it to one side. He pulled her close in a firm kiss, tongue working its way into her mouth slowly, deliberately. A muffled mmph indicated her pleasure, echoed by the humming of pleasure in his throat as her tongue caressed against his in that small, shared space. To her delight his hands worked their way down her chest to her belly, then arced out over her hips. His hands rubbed over her backside, feeling the muscles there. Fingers tickled the backs of her thighs, making her giggle through the kiss.

"Shall we continue this activity in more comfortable surroundings?" he suggested, when their kiss broke. A nod of his head tossed in the direction of the main gallery.

"Mm hmm," she nodded, letting him pull her gently to her feet. Excitedly she slipped an arm around his neck, pressing a close moist kiss to him on tiptoes. Her other hand gripped her discarded shirt. He bent at the knees, powerful arms clutching her close to his broad chest. Indeed he lifted her off her feet, breaking the kiss only to lean over and grasp the backs of her knees. One arm hoisted her back, the other her legs as he picked her up love cradle style to carry her effortlessly away. UP the grand staircase, down a passageway lined with other elegant paintings to a landing. Then into a large bedchamber which took her breath away. It was twice the size of the dormitory room she shared with Sharon. She glimpsed their reflection in the ornate mirror of the dressing table to one side.

They landed on what was a vast bed she could swear was something out of one of those harlequin novels Sharon loved. Complete with brocaded curtains tied back in gold cord, a canopy soaring gracefully overhead. A rich bedspread caressed against her back, the mattress shifting only slightly as he moved along side of her to recline. He reached down to unfasten the straps of her platform sandals, as she pulled off his highly polished shoes.

Lucia worked his shirt out of his waistband; not surprised he was wearing an undershirt. The jacket and shirt joined the shoes, as he momentarily sat upwards again to join her. Shaking hands fumbled at the belt and pants fastenings, but he assisted her as he coaxed her along with soft encouragement. Soft kisses on her breast slowly traced a path to her bare stomach, lingering there a bit longer. At last she pulled off the belt, her hands working over his firm chest and abs. The firmness of Carlos! Just how much did this elderly gentleman work out?

Her skirt joined the mess of clothes piling on the thick carpet. He didn't pull her hand to his firmness right away, she was glad. Rather he waited to see what she would do, instead continuing to cover her arms, her breasts in soft gentle kisses. Summoning up her courage she stroked her hand along his firm stomach, stopping short of his manhood, even though it was safely sequestered within cotton boxers. No briefs? Rather comforting for a change. Shaking she finally stroked her hand over him, realizing the oddness of the sensation of him under the cloth. Very warm, and very much alive.

He hesitated as she withdrew her hand, blushing caramel skin to a dark rose. Before long he'd spread back the sheets, while the extra clothing lay scattered about the elegant floor. Strange to see her fashionable floral blouse laying next to his oxford shirt and corduroy jacket, all in a tangle. Lennox pulled her under with him, letting her legs straddled his muscular thigh while she positioned herself laying halfway on him. She found this stroking of her crotch along his thigh was rather easing to the twinges, and somehow increased them. Around them the monogrammed sheets slipped cool and soft textured in their embrace.

She let out a yelp of excitement, trembling there within the circle of his arms. That Scottish accent, low and deep just intensified the hot flashes moving up from her nether regions. Surprisingly he made no effort to slip off her bra, but instead slipped his fingers along her inner thigh, while guiding her hand downwards simultaneously to caress him through the material of his underwear. "Silk," he murmured. "Verra nice indeed. A gentleman enjoys the feel of its softness beneath his fingers..."

"Victoria secret... catalogue," she stammered out. "They don't carry my size in the stores..."

"A pity," MacDuff shook his head. Slowly he lowered his lips to her breast, depositing a series of soft feather kisses down towards her stomach. Each touch held molten fire, and she writhed there amidst monogrammed sheets in pure enjoyment. He stopped the path just before the hem of her panties, before slowly sliding his fingers over the fabric of them.

"Ooh, incredible," she squeaked, much to her dismay at how silly her voice sounded. Moving up beside her, he invited her to do much the same. She worked her own path downwards, and when she reached his boxer shorts she pulled lightly at the elasticized waist with her teeth. Lucia remembered seeing this in one of those HBO movies Carlos and Keith happened to have on at a wild frat party they'd dragged her and Sharon too. Sharon had laughed her ass off when the sex scenes came on, while Lucia clucked her tongue in disapproval.

"That position looks impossible!" she wailed.

"It's not if you have a limber back," Sharon shook her head.

"I don't want to know," Lucia muttered, and turned away from the screen. Still she returned to watch in horror and strange fascination. So far her experience with MacDuff was far from the usual porn flicks regarding student/teacher fantasies. He was so gentle! It was little surprise that his patch of hair was silvery gray, the texture a bit coarse like the rest of his body. His size seemed less imposing then she'd imagined, and she couldn't believe those silly dimensions for well-endowed men that were purported in Playgirl.

"Silly magazines, what trash," she shook her head.

"I beg yer pardon?" he chuckled.

"It must be airbrushed in those pictures," she shook her head. He reclined with one leg up like a model posing casually for their portrait, his other thigh tucked under. With all hard angles and lines beneath gray hair, he seemed a literal anachronism. Wisdom of experience tempered with the lines of youth. Literally taking her breath away to lift aside the sheet. Large hands guided her caramel ones to him, inviting her to continue. It was only a moment's delay of hesitation when she finally wrapped manicured fingers around his length and began to caress. The feel of those slick nails covered in henna lacquer was cold yet stimulating. Her fingers long and tapering when they closed along him. Lucia thought she'd lose her nerve when she felt the stiffness forming into something with a life of its own. She averted her eyes, blushing gently.

"That's it... don't be nervous now... divert yer attention if ye must..." he urged, slipping his hand under her chin and cupping it to glance into his face. A smile formed on her lips as she continued. Whatever she was doing he seemed quite content, leaning back amidst the rest of fluffy pillows while she worked him to full erection.

"I cannot believe I'm actually doing this..." she breathed, her heart pounding fit to burst in her chest. She melted inside when he pulled her up beside him, pressing a gentle soft kiss to her cheek once again. Firmness pressed against her belly, making her squirm with mixed fear and delight. It was only a momentary delay when his arm passed over her line of sight, reaching for something on the bedside table. Small multicolored discs wrapped in plastic and foil fell onto the bed's surface, and she felt their slickness between her fingers. "Er, I don't know how..." she began to say, but was certainly glad it wasn't all on her to take preventive measures, when he reached downwards. She all but tore her underwear off, momentarily cramping in her haste to toss it aside. He rubbed her aching hip, fingers dangerously close to her patch of curly hair. As curly as that on her head. Light green latex over his skin seemed comic, but odd near her own skin tones. He was slightly tanned, yet paler in the places that would most likely never see sunlight. She felt less embarrassed about her own tan lines then.

"Should I lay on my back, like this?" she asked, and automatically rolled over so her bra clad breasts jutted straight up. For a moment he caressed each nipple to life till it jutted against the silk fabric. Softly he caressed them, taking their weight momentarily in his hand. Odd how he did not preoccupy himself with them as her ex boyfriend Caesar had.

"Make yourself the most comfortable m' lass," he urged, laying a kiss on her forehead. He thrust a pillow behind her neck, slowly, tentatively resting an arm along the side of her hip. Her whole body tensed up in anxious anticipation of what was to come. With almost leonine grace he knelt between her outstretched legs, gently pulling one of her caramel thighs to rest on his tanned one.

"Madre," she gasped, shivering when the slick rubber slipped along her inner thigh, his hand steadying her other leg. Slowly it slipped under her buttocks, lifting her to meet him. In one smooth motion he slipped himself towards her nether regions, curly hair yielding to the new sensation. Cool slickness held heat behind it when it slipped ever so gently within.

"Mmm... Madre de Dios..." she stammered, hips quaking when he wriggled a bit from side to side, only one quarter inside. Full firmness parted her inner self, unaccustomed to this.

"Patience lass, I dare not go too fast," he kissed her belly, straining as he eased his way in halfway.

"Please... I'm... all right..." she gritted. "Ohhhh Madre!"

He lifted her other leg to balance on his hips, bracing both hands on either side of her arms. Her vaginal muscles ached even going this slow, but she was screaming for him to enter fully inside her. "Professor, just do it, please!" she moaned, her head rolling on the pillow. "I cannot… cannot…"

"No sense of patience," he clucked his tongue, and thrust fully into her. For a moment he waited when her startled soft cry hit his ears. Her breath escaped her, leaving her gasping like a stranded fish on a sandy beach. Leaning over, he kissed her just above the line of her bra. Softly hushing her as she became used to the feel of him within her. For only once before had someone reached such depths, and it was far from the gentlest experience. Lennox sensed her shock and initial discomfort subsiding into surprise and delight.

"Glide with me," he whispered, and began to move his hips slow and gentle. "That's it... guid. Dinna fight me... move with me, m' lass... easy nau, relax..."

"Ahhh..." she groaned again, soreness exploding inside, begging each time to be filled when he withdrew on the outward stroke. From inside it seemed like she was leaking a deluge, which heightened the slickness of his latex covered manhood pistoning out and in. Her hips rocked, rising upwards and forwards in tandem. Easy, gentle rhythms that she begged would increase. The more she tensed the more uncomfortable it would be, and the more she relaxed into his rhythms the more she felt herself swept away by the explosive pleasure assaulting her senses.

"Professor!" she shrieked, head rolling as the tempo increased to fever pitch. He did not cease as her legs went limp, then twined around his back. Desperately trying to pull him in closer and closer. His lusty gasps filled her ears, his sweat dripping onto her and mingling with her own. He glanced down at those eyes rolling into the back of her head, her caramel skin glistening in the scant light of the fading day. Dark curls plastered to her forehead with sweat. From deep inside a shiver erupted into a mass of exploding sensation. Her loud scream seemed to come from the massive waves, muffled by her teeth clenching down on her tongue.

"Whist ye, let it out," he gasped, rubbing a hand along her jaw to loosen her muffled screams. Muscles fired spasmodically along her frame, tensing for that final rush of adrenaline. Higher and higher she climbed, when he suddenly stopped and rolled over, positioning her on top of him. If she reached down she could feel the stiffness pushing out her belly a bit. Marvelously rigid, and granite hard, filling her aching insides. She collapsed against him, rocking her hips. Grinning he thrust upward to compliment her efforts. Massive waves shot over her, overwhelming all sensations again.

"Senior!" she bawled to the sky beyond, body tensed in that one second. His lips parted, his own head tossing as he felt the creamy firmness exploding upwards. Flimsy rubber held the assault of his seed from within her depths.

"Mmm, lass," he purred, pulling her down to his sweat drenched chest. She collapsed; panting as her body yielded to the tingling pins and needles far greater then any time she had a limb fall asleep. For a time he held her, still intimately joined as he stroked her back and pressed firm kisses to her swollen lips.

"That was... incredible," she found herself sighing, as he nestled under the covers. His chest pressed against her back, spooning into her sated figure. His beard tickled her ears as he breathed softly into them. Against her spine his heart pounded.

"Ye have no disagreement from me," he agreed.

"You're too kind," she chuckled, feeling a bit odd all of a sudden.

"That lad was a fool," he whispered, kissing the back of her neck. "Ye handle yerself verra well indeed... Lucia m' dear."

"Thanks... for the vote... of confidence," she purred, and kissed his hand that reached around to caress her breasts. Her legs had lost all control, feeling like quivering appendages.

"I am most sincere in my compliment. Ye are indeed most desirable, and from where I stand, ye will have precious little to worry about when the fortunate gentleman seeks yer hand..."

She turned over to face him, her sweaty bosom pressed flush against his equally sweat soaked chest. In this vertical position their eyes met, his arms slipping around to grasp him close.

"You're so sweet, you know that," she kissed him full on the mouth. Still her fading energy had just enough to slip her tired tongue into his mouth to meet his own. For a full five minutes he drank in her kiss till she fell limp on the pillow beside him.

"No, ye are," he whispered, voice alone sending shivers through her already sated frame.

"Mmm," she sighed, snuggling up to him. He drew her head to pillow on his chest, wrapping her close in his arms as her heavy eyelids dropped. Before long she was snoring. Lennox MacDuff smiled a bit at her dark lashed eyes, brushing aside a lock of hair. Before he dropped into sleep himself.

There was much for his student to learn, and much she could teach him in return.

**************************************************

When she lifted her heavy head she heard what constituted singing. A lovely tenor voice echoing in the hallway distantly. Murmuring she reached out to pat the bed beside her, and found only the rumpled sheets. A sigh of momentary disappointment puffed her hair from her face. She felt rather sore and wet within the inner recesses of her body, but how delicious it felt. Much like a good swift jog. Far more pleasant then her first experience where she had awakened with a hangover that would put her friend Keith to shame.

Each moment of this experience she had been blissfully aware during. What a difference! Luxuriously she stretched, letting her toes creep down between the cool sheets. The singing continued, drifting faintly but strongly from a distant source. Lucia pushed herself up from the depths of the king-sized bed, blinking in the dim light that crept from behind lacy curtains. Surely she was still in the midst of a most delicious dream. She struggled to glimpse the ornate ormolu clock on the fireplace mantel, from across the large bedroom. Strangely all the furniture looked authentic. She tried her legs, which still shook a bit from last night's activity, and slipped out from under the sheets. It was a bit further then she thought, and she ended up spilling rudely on the thick Persian carpet underfoot. "Oh damn," she gritted, shaking her head. It wasn't painful, but surprising. But where were her clothes? One panicked moment gave way to a chilling fear. In vain she searched for something, anything to put on. It was then that she found what looked like a rather silky bathrobe. Rather too feminine for the professor, it was clearly the shape and size for a woman.

Not questioning her good fortune she slipped it on. It was creme colored silk, luxurious on her nude form. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, turning around as the floor length robe whisked around her legs. A flash of gold at her throat made her stop. Still she'd worn the crucifix she'd gotten for Confirmation some five years ago. Five years that seemed an eternity away.

"Ah, Senior, I'm going to be in for it now," she half chuckled. "How many hours of confession will I face for this, Father?"

She struggled to get her curly hair into some shape that was presentable, hunting for a hairbrush. Lucia found what she needed amongst the silver accouterments arranged neatly on the dressing table. Slowly she wandered out of the master bedroom down the long corridor, which seemed to stretch for a good ways. Then turned, realizing that perhaps if it were in reality a master bedroom it would naturally have a bathroom. Giggling, she returned to the bedroom, and found the entrance to a French style water closet, all the fixtures gleaming like gold in morning sunlight that flooded through the high set frosted windows. There was no sign that this bathroom had been used, and she quickly set about the tasks of sloughing off the stickiness.

***************************************************************************

Later, she rested on the bed, still a bit nervous about venturing downstairs to seek the Professor. Where was he? And did he have some sort of a class to attend? "Damn!" she gritted, suddenly remembering that she had class at nine, and it was eight thirty!

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" she wailed, rushing out of the room, blindly looking for her clothes. Footsteps sounded in the hall, ever closer. She froze, realizing he most likely had servants to care for a place this large!

"A curse upon this!" she stammered out, nervously dashing back into the master bedroom and slamming shut the door. Even so the knock startled her, and she dove behind the master bed for cover.

"Lucia lass, are ye all right?" came a familiar voice, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes... I... just... remembered I have class in fifteen minutes and I have no idea where my clothes are!" she stammered. "Professor Malkovitz is going to kill me dead!"

"Is it all right if I come in?" he asked. After last night, the fact he was asking to enter was very odd.

"Yes... please..." she said, gripping her robe shut in a strange wash of shyness.

"What's the matter m'dear?" he asked, already dressed except his usual corduroy blazer. "Are ye sure yer quite all right?"

"I'm... not used to this," she stammered out, breathing deeply. "I was afraid that you were a servant or something and if..."

"Nae need t' worry, m'dear," he stroked his hand along her cheek lightly. "Breakfast is ready downstairs, and I had yer clothes already washed and fresh for today... and I already called the school to let them know ye were a bit detained..."

"Oh God I was scared out of my mind," she breathed.

"Come t' breakfast now?" he asked, gripping her hand softly. "Will do us both guid I think..."

"Like... this?" she asked, glancing down at her bathrobe. "What if your staff I mean... sees me and..."

"They know better then to ask foolish questions," he nodded sternly. "I dinna pay their salaries t' have them spread idle gossip."

****************************

That morning they slipped out of his car, the driver waving them off casually without a second look at Lucia. Nervously she clutched her bag, as he handed it to her. She slipped it over her shoulder, as he gripped his briefcase and umbrella. "I can't believe this," she repeated over and over again.

"Ye dinna regret... do ye," he whispered softly for a moment.

"No way," she laughed, and glanced up at him. He pressed a kiss to her lips gently, and squeezed her hand. Together they walked to the entrance of campus, his hand clenched protectively around hers.

"Best get on t' yer next class, Miss Alvarez," he coughed, resting a hand on his hip when they had come within sight of the history building.

"Wait... when can I next... have an appointment?" she asked.

"My door is always open," he raised an eyebrow. "But best be careful now..."

With a last look at each other, professor and student parted company. A smile spread across Lucia's face as she rushed to join the mass of students headed to their next classes. All through Chemistry 102, and Writing for History majors, she hummed softly to herself. Even when she joined her friends for lunch at the cafeteria she had that grin on her face. Carrying a fruit salad and a plate of Jamaican jerk chicken, she folded her dress under herself and sat down.

Keith and Sharon were there, a bit bedraggled but otherwise intact from the events of the past week. They sat there already at their usual table, slamming down glasses of mountain dew and devouring chicken patties.

"So, how did it go with Prof. MacDuff?"

Lucia almost lost her mouthful of diet Coke. "Hey, it was just a simple question," Keith asked.

"I might ask you where you disappeared to for two days," Lucia asked him, dark eyes misting with tears as she coughed the coke from her nose into a tissue.

"Don't get him started!" Sharon moaned.

"Well the Prof. and I went off after the guys... and it was really weird. We met two guys from another dimension and..."

"Wait... you mean to say you and MacDuff went out after the Quarrymen? How?" Sharon asked.

"Uh well, he has a hovercraft..."

"What?"

"He's rich enough, I'm sure he could have a hovercraft if he wanted," said Sharon.

"He told me he found that awful man Castaway trespassing on the estate, and he turned him in," Lucia supplied.

"Yeah, he really kicked Castaway's ass! You should have seen him in action girls!"

"And I suppose you were there covering his ass," Sharon shook her head.

"No... actually... I ahem..."

"Fainted," Sharon laughed aloud. "So you can't really be sure what happened, can you?"

Uncomfortable silence spread over the table. Lucia's mind emptied a dozen unanswered questions, which crowded out the elation. Her mind tumbled back to that fateful night at the hospital when she and MacDuff had first checked Carlos in. She had kept pace with the gurney, her heart in her throat with worry. There came the whisper of curtains drawn, and the frantic mumble of doctors. Electronic beeping counted out the tense minutes that dragged into hours of the ER at Manhattan Medical. He had waited with her, while she shook from head to toe. Each muscle firing in rapid flight that would take her no further then the confines of that chair. A biological response screaming her body into flight, but she had nowhere to run. MacDuff had slipped his hands around hers, not saying anything, but giving her silent strength while Carlos was in the midst of doctors.

Then Sharon had appeared, and the danger passed. Notes were compared over coffee and danishes. Carlos would pull through, but Keith was still being looked over. Where did MacDuff go after that night? The confused muddle slowly settled as her mind sorted out the dust.

Sharon and she had bid him goodbye, his affirming hugs giving them strength when her aunt arrived, and Sharon's mother came to pick her up. That last expression suddenly sprang out, flashing back to the day of the rally, when he said, "Lucia I will make them pay, I promise ye..."

**********************************************

That next day she did not see him, or the next after that. Her little secret caused no end of delicious dreams, as the ache from within subsided, and she grew hungry for a second encounter. Yet something about him stuck odd and fast in her brain. As if he was harboring a greater secret now that she had seen his home. What sort of a man was he? On first blush he seemed a highly intelligent academic, with an incredibly athletic body for a man of his age. He had the reflexes of a warrior, and the strangest depths in those eyes, much like those of older relatives that had seen decades of sorrow and misery. This chilled and numbed her with wonder. Also she remembered some of the times during class when he had accidentally slipped into using "I" when telling a lecture regarding the history of the Jacobite rebellions.

Somehow she had to keep her nerves about her, and sat there in the Javastop, pouring over the next few lines of the play for English class. It was about in an hour, and the teacher had advised each student to be familiar with his or her part for the next class.

Lucia had made it to act 2, and read half to her:

Where our desire is got without content:

'Tis safer to be that which we destroy

Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.

Enter MACBETH

How now, my lord! why do you keep alone,

Of sorriest fancies your companions making,

Using those thoughts which should indeed have died

With them they think on? Things without all remedy

Should be without regard: what's done is done.

"What's done is done," she repeated to herself quietly. There was no going back from here. Life was never quite the same, and the delicious thoughts of last night faded away with the strange realizations of adulthood. This was more then a crush, it was something far greater. What were those nagging questions on her brain?

"Doing a bit of reading between classes, are we?" asked the familiar voice, and she dropped her copy of the Scottish play then and there.

"Ah, you scared the heck out of me," she stammered, and glanced into those steely gray eyes. There he was, as cool as could be with his usual order of cappuccino and cherry cinnamon Danish spread on the tray before him, with a fresh fruit salad.

"Terribly sorry, m'dear," he apologized. "And how are ye... today?"

"Fine, fine," she grinned, trying not to appear too familiar with him as he fished out the money for his mid-afternoon snack. "Once English is over I'll be..."

"I don't have exact change, this time," and here he leaned close, pressing the money into her hand.

Slowly she unfolded the five singles, neatly pressed together. There was a slip of paper tucked between them that simply said, "Dinner? Tonight at five, Central Park?"

She nodded, counting the coins as she said aloud, "I'm not sure how much change you have here, I'll have to double check..."

"I gave ye five dollars," he picked up on her meaning. "Tis enough?"

"By the way, ye dropped this," he said, and then glanced at it as if he'd been stung. "Why are ye reading this?"

"It's for English, and I'm only halfway through it!" she sighed, quickly taking it from him with a blush on her cheeks.

"Of all the tragedies, yer professor had to subject ye t' this?" he asked, a bit disgusted.

"Well, it's not all bad, even though I'm only in act II," she said. "Once you get past the iambic. But there are parts I just don't get..."

"Tis a relief," he breathed, as she held the book. That look in his eyes startled her.

"What's wrong? I take it you don't like Shakespeare?"

"Tis the problem. There be good plays, and bad ones. And this here is a... travesty, an example of how history can distort..."

"Hey, do you mind? Some of us are in a hurry," snapped the woman behind him.

"Oh, pardon me," he said, and hurried along with a last look at her. She shook her head, rather confused at his reaction.

"I don't have a choice! This is for a grade," she sighed.

"Life's tough, honey," the impatient woman snapped as she plunked her fruit salad down.

"Tell me something else I don't know," Lucia laughed sweetly, shoving down her annoyance at this woman's attitude.

***************************************************

"I hate Macbeth!" she exclaimed, throwing the book down onto the floor.

"I beg yer pardon..." he asked, glancing up quickly from his desk. He almost spewed a mouthful of coffee onto his stack of papers he was grading.

"This stupid play makes no sense!" she snapped. A sense of relief flooded his face, and she wondered what that meant. "It's terrible! Shakespeare makes Lady Macbeth look like a bitch! I just don't get it! What's up with this stuff about Banquo and his visions too! This is nuts! I mean I read the annotations, and it still doesn't make sense! At least a Midsummer Night's dream was funny, even if the boy with the donkey head was lame!"

He began to laugh deeply, the sound rich and melodious. But she couldn't help but feel piqued that he was laughing at her! "What's so funny?" she asked him.

"Ye had t' find out fer yerself, lass. Now ye ken why I canna stand that play either!"

"Puck had better lines then this..." she muttered. "Dios! Why couldn't I play Titania if I have to portray a queen!"

"Ye dinna ken when yer lucky," he chuckled.

"Well it does have killer quotes, but this Lady Macbeth part just isn't happening for me! It's so... so... not making sense. I checked a few history books out of the library about that period of history, and it doesn't jive at all with Shakespeare."

"Ah, and what have ye found?" he asked, folding his hands and resting his bearded chin on them. He appeared quite interested indeed.

"Seems to me that nobody had much to complain about when Macbeth was king," she said. "I mean like he reigned for seventeen years, married a woman who was widowed with a son, and accepted him as his own flesh and blood. The boy even ruled after his father died, even though it was kinda short term. Seventeen years of peace is a good thing, considering how the Scottish monarchy was always changing hands and all..."

"Yer evaluation?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Somebody screwed him over big time with this play," said Lucia. "He should sue if he were alive and living today."

This comment got her a very interesting look indeed. "Really," he smiled winningly. "That is a most interesting idea. How refreshing to hear a student comment on a view contrary to the accepted view of the play."

"I have half a mind to tell Prof. Kissling to take his play and shove it. Lady Macbeth, sheesh! If it weren't for that... I mean don't get me wrong, it has some very sad, moving parts in it. But I can't memorize it without wanting to wring Lady's Macbeth's or Shakespeare's neck. I mean the real Lady Macbeth was probably a lot different!"

"Dinna be too hasty, lass," he said, suddenly getting an odd gleam in his blue eyes. "Play her by all means, yet be clever about it. There may be a way ye can interpret the part to shed new light on the traditional character..."

"What have you got in mind?"

"What if I assisted ye in learning yer part?"

"Oh I don't know," she worked a finger into her hair. "I mean I came to you for history lessons, and look what happened! I would ask Carlos, but he's so behind in the part himself..."

That teasing look sparkled in her dark eyes, making him grin. He rose from his desk, joining her on the sofa. Slipping an arm around her shoulders he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "And do ye object, m'dear?"

"No way," she punched his arm playfully. "But I hope you're not going to get into trouble if..."

"Hush," he placed a finger to her lips. "We'll jest have t' be cleverer then most, won't we? I think its high time ye came for a bit of home tutoring..."

"My dorm room? Oh God they'd die of jealousy!"

"Hmm I somehow think that wouldna be the best course of action," he stroked her arm lightly. She lay her head on his shoulder, her hand stroking down his knee. "Perhaps if ye came t' my home, I could help ye roll play it. Tis easier if ye have an ear to listen to," he offered.

"Oh you would! You're wonderful!" she laughed, and kissed him soundly on the lips. He returned the kiss, scooping up the play.

"Nau, let us see... where are ye so far?"

"Act 1, scene five..." she sighed. "I've read the whole thing through once, and I'm starting again from here…"

"Ah," he muttered. "Nau in this scene, she's reading correspondence... and ye must bear in mind that she is rather frantic at the length of time that her husband has been away in battle..."

They met me in the day of success: and I have

learned by the perfectest report, they have more in

them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire

to question them further, they made themselves air,

into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in

the wonder of it, came missives from the king, who

all-hailed me 'Thane of Cawdor;' by which title,

before, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred

me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that

shalt be!'

***************************************************

Later on in the week she stepped out of the cab, reciting the play in a low voice. Right before the gate of his estate she punched the door intercom. Instead of the voice she most wished to hear, the housekeeper answered instead, "Ah, Miss Dominguez! I'll send someone to escort you in..."

"Don't worry, I know the way..." she answered. Minutes later she came to the front door, with her bookbag slung across her body. It seemed a lot heavier nowadays, and she often wondered what her roommates were thinking of her strange leaves of absence.

Mrs. Jones, his housekeeper ushered her in with a warm smile. Well past what she thought MacDuff's age was, the kindly matron was still lovely in a graceful Jessica Tandy manner. "Make yourself at home, luv. He's exercising right now... but I'll let him know you're here.."

"Great, thanks!" Lucia nodded.

"If you'll just wait in the library..." she said, and hustled off.

"Don't worry I know where that is too!"

Lucia glimpsed a hint of stained glass she hadn't noticed before. She stopped, glancing up towards one auxiliary staircase. It was a servant's access, because it was narrow compared to the main staircase in the large gallery. High set in the spiderweb of cobalt blue was a strange winged silhouette. Intrigued, Lucia

rushed up the stairs to get a better look. "Madre de Dios, a gargoyle," she muttered as she recognized the shape of the bat wings. A momentary shiver crossed her body, and her mind tumbled down the slope of recent memories to a conversation she had with Keith and Sharon. Pensively Keith had sat at that table while Sharon babbled on about Rayna's last meeting. The word Demona made Lucia shiver. Real gargoyles. Why did Lennox MacDuff have a silhouette of one in this window? Who was that silhouette lower down? It resembled a bearded man peering up at the gargress, powerfully built. Even though it was only in silhouette too, Lucia felt a shiver of familiarity.

The housekeeper returned, coughing discretely. "Miss, the library is that way..."

"Oops, sorry. Just admiring the windows..."

"Ah, they were custom made. Very odd, and very rare."

"Indeed. Why does he have that one, with the shape of the Gargoyle in it?"

"Oh, that's an old medieval legend..." she laughed dismissively. "But he's been tied up a bit. Apparently one of his clients called... and he will be a little bit delayed. He hopes you won't mind waiting..."

"Where is the gym?"

"Er well..."

"Please... it's not a problem is it?"

"All right. Just go through the weaponry hallway... you can't miss it..."

Lucia set off down the stone hallway, leading off one side of the gallery. Huge glass cases of armor, modern and mediaeval graced each side. It was like the display in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, only somehow grander! Her fingers ran over a collection of swords, feeling the slick metal. High on the walls, the further she went down, the more modern the weapons became. Till she saw what looked like laser weapons hanging here and there. There was even modern armor that remotely resembled the style of the Quarrymen. Even suits of what looked to be a most modern armor indeed. Black kevlar, not as advanced but more streamlined to what she remembered from the rally.

Shoving back that uncomfortable thought, she reached the gym. The sound of his voice resonated from within, and he was on the cell phone. She giggled when she caught a glimpse of him in a white fencing outfit, sword in hand as he chattered animatedly to an undisclosed party.

"No I dinna want t' sponsor yer fool cause! It's bad enough the Quarrymen are chasing about the city, I dinna think Flat Earthers should either!"

Angrily he shouted some reply, and clicked off the phone. She grinned, and suddenly spoke:

Infirm of purpose!

Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead

Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood

That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,

I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal;

For it must seem their guilt."

He did a double take, then responded, "Whence is that knocking?

How is't with me, when every noise appals me?

What hands are here? ha! they pluck out mine eyes.

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood

Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather

The multitudinous seas in incarnadine,

Making the green one red."

She came into the gym, hand clutched to her breast dramatically, "My hands are of your colour; but I shame

To wear a heart so white. I hear a knocking

At the south entry: retire we to our chamber;

A little water clears us of this deed:

How easy is it, then! Your constancy

Hath left you unattended."

"Verra guid, m'dear," he clapped. "Ye are learning it right enau!"

"I got an A on the quiz today, and I have you to thank for it," she giggled, and rushed up to hug him, fencing equipment and all. Gently he transferred the weapon to his free hand, embracing her.

"I didn't know you were into fencing..." she said, glancing up at him. His arms encircled her, even the one holding the Celtic long sword.

"Ah, this," he nodded, and let her go temporarily as he moved to place the weapon within a rack once more. "Tis but a hobby, t' keep one in shape... what's wrong Lass, ye look a bit pale..."

"All those weapons you keep in your hall there... I couldn't help but notice... they look a little like Quarrymen... it got me nervous..."

"Tis nothing t' do wi Castaway," he shook his head. "Tis my own inventions..."

"All these surprises," she wondered, running a hand over his fencing outfit. "Keeps me on my toes..."

Gently he took her in his arms once again. For a full minute her feet left the floor as he clutched her close in a truly lip numbing kiss. "I didn't mean that literally," she giggled, breaking the embrace.

"My congratulations indeed. You'll prove a point t' him yet..."

"Well, let's just say when I answered the essay part he was sorta puzzled at my answer."

"What was the question?"

"The role of my character... how I interpreted their actions and motivations... and he was a bit perplexed and I think she was annoyed I didn't give the same answer everyone else did. She wanted to speak to me after class..."

"Hmm... do you wish me t' speak to her?"

"I don't know if it would help..."

"Yer no in trouble are ye?"

"Well no, but I already was unconventional when I challenged his view of Julius Caesar... and King Lear..."

"I'm a bad influence upon ye," he shook his head.

"You're terrible, rotten, and completely daft," she laughed, imitating his accent. Promptly she yawned.

"Oh sorry..."

"Have ye been getting enough rest lass?" he asked, concerned.

"Well my roommate is a little bit of the party owl. She's always either bringing her boyfriend over or... coming back in the middle of the night."

"If ye wish ye can have a bit of a lie down before supper..." he caressed her cheek. "It wuildna do t' have ye take ill..."

********************************************

Lucia made her way up to the bedroom as he moved into the dining area to make sure the supper was started. To get there she walked through the corridor again, and promptly got lost down a side corridor. She reached for the nearest door, and opened it up. The smell of smoke hit her nose, and she saw a damaged part of the castle. Scaffolding still stretched over the windows, and there were boxes and crates here. IN particular there were several old manuscripts in fireproof glass cases.

Mrs. Jones had mentioned a fire here about four years ago. Nearly burned the whole place down, she claimed. This must be a storage room for some of the stuff he was still sorting out.

Her eyes glanced over the manuscripts, and she peered through the cases. Some of the volumes had Latin words gracing their spines, in gold leaf. Others were hand written. All looked to be of rag paper or vellum, bound in ancient leather. She half wondered if reading them would damage them. Slowly curiosity took hold of her, and she opened the cases. They were not locked, strangely enough. Slowly she took a Kleenex from her pocket and lifted up the cover of one of the volumes. Dust flew into her nostrils.

The pages were thick, their content hand written in lovely script. Somehow the handwriting looked very familiar. It was all in Latin. Luckily she had taken two years in high school, and continued her studies in college. The words were familiar, yet difficult to make out. Slowly she made sense of the words. It was a diary of some sort. Entranced she read onward about Leonardo Da Vinci, and a lady Raina Donalbain.

How odd. In another volume, a rather ancient one, she glimpsed the name Ross. Something was very odd here indeed. All the handwriting was careful, gothic printed script. She shivered when she realized they were all the same hand. Sure, the monks could duplicate... but something seemed eerily familiar. If these were diaries, whose were they, and who was their author?

She found the newest of the volumes, glancing at the bindings. Slowly she prised it open, and smelled new acid free paper. It was bound much in the same fashion, also written in Latin. She glimpsed the name Lennox MacDuff, and smiled. Of course, these were his family history! A familiarity settled in, calming the oddness in her nerves. Somehow she felt a bit uneasy as if she were delving into an area with which she was not allowed. The sun had been settling, and she shivered at the silence and the echoing of footsteps.

Quickly she shut the glass case, dashing from the room in a panic.

She blundered into a panel, stumbling in the armor room. Something popped open, and she saw a suit of armor hanging there that she hadn't' seen before. All shiny black the breastplate was, gleaming like new.

A black coat hung nearby, lined neatly with red. What the hell? Why was it not on display with all the others? Quickly she slipped the panel shut by hitting the wall again. Stranger and stranger.

Heart pounding she rushed down the armory, glancing around at the ultramodern weapons in glass cases. She could swear they were familiar somehow. Much like those the Quarrymen had in their van. But Lennox wasn't a quarryman. Why did he have all this modern weaponry, and hidden armor?

Slowly she dragged herself up the main staircase, and into the master bedroom. She found her bag had been placed there already, just inside the door. Slipping off her platform sandals, she felt the carpet below her toes. Lucia climbed onto the bed, and lay down. It felt so good to lay in a large bed with comfortable sheets. As soon as she got comfortable she felt herself drifting away into sleep.

***************************************

Something gently brushed her ear. She waved a hand, giggling. Cool air hit her chest, and she felt as if someone were slipping off her skirt and pantyhose. Hands tickled her thighs, and she let out a small giggle. "Sorry t' disturb ye," came his voice through the darkness. She opened her eyes and realized it was pitch-black through the French windows. She lay under the sheets, which were neatly tucked around her, stripped to her underwear with a nightgown over her. "I hoped ye didna mind me undressing ye and putting ye to bed... but ye looked so peaceful asleep I couldna stand t' wake ye..."

"I'm so sorry I missed dinner," she apologized.

"Think nothing of it. Are ye hungry nau, I could have it sent up..."

"Mm, maybe later," she fingered his cheek. He pressed a kiss to her lips gently. "I'm just so tired lately..."

"Rest now," he whispered. "There's always breakfast in the morning..."

Pulling the sheets around her he kissed her softly on the forehead. Slowly he pulled the door shut. Lucia felt sleep claim her again. But in the middle of the night she slipped out of the large bed. It didn't seem as if it had been slept in. Her restless mind was claimed by odd dreams, dusty upon the page of her mind.

She reached for the crème colored robe, slipping it about her form. Why did she feel so restless? Was it that low voice echoing from a distance? Or something else entirely? Something hidden that was about to reveal itself?

"I know ye have been gone fer a long time, my love," came his voice. "But I need t' speak t' yea bout something..."

Curiosity arose again and she followed the sound of his voice. She crossed the hallway, towards the square of light in one distant room.

"My love... Tis been so long since ye thought me dead, and we thought witchcraft ha brought me t' life again. And ye said I had t' leave Scotland ferever... but you see, I will always love you. Ye'll always share that corner of my heart... reserved only for ye. But now after so many centuries I have yet another chance t' love again..."

What did he mean? A strange chill ran over her, and she waited breathlessly for the next words. She gathered up the courage to approach the doorway, peering in. She noticed the small shrine he knelt before, much like the one in her own bedroom she had placed her Virgin Mary and Jesus pics by on her desk.

Except this one was quite ornate, almost resembling something out of a chapel. He had lit several votive candles that flickered calmly on clean white cloth. To one side lay a twist of silver hairs mingled with copper, neatly wrapped in a braid and tied off with a bit of red ribbon. A woman's lock of hair, by the look of it, Lucia thought. She dared not make a sound, for fear of breaking this reverent silence. On bent knee he rested his silver haired head alongside the lock, his hand closing around it tightly.

"Centuries?" she wondered to herself. What was going on here? Something she did not feel part of intruded upon reality, and she wondered if she was still in a dream. However the sharp alertness of adrenaline pounding in her veins sent that notion reeling away.

The words of the play fell eerily from his mouth as he whispered them, the only words that could describe this moment of time:

She should have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,

The way to dusty death.... Oh, it's the only line of that play that truly would suit you, my dearest love. But now... there is a beginning..."

His voice trailed off at this point, and she half feared he could hear her ragged breathing. Shivering, she rushed back to the bedroom. She tried to banish the odd thoughts in an uneasy, restless sleep. Centuries he had said. Centuries of dust in those old books of rag paper and vellum, scribed in much the same hand.

Artifacts encompassing nearly a thousand years all around him. Yes, he was a history professor, but why had he seemed so ancient in those few moments?

While she moved down the hallway, she glanced at the high portraits. Something caught on her brain, and she had to see for herself. High on a wall were the painted images of centuries old. A man with imperial silver hair and a regal countenance. She gasped when she realized the face looked dastardly familiar. His image, but the clothing was seventeenth century Scottish garb, complete with the great kilt and an odd tartan that didn't match any description. An ancestor perhaps? No... the lines of the face were far too familiar...

Too weird. Such weirdness traced her heart with icy fingers. Desperately she rushed through the hallways into what appeared to be a picture gallery. More paintings hung, ones of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and other founding fathers. Nothing here out of the ordinary, save the fact they were old paintings indeed. Only a cursory glance did she give before seeing nothing of interest, at least not in the way of answering her internal questions that seized her. Each would have perhaps belonged in a museum.

Yet before museums, the rich aristocrats were the art patrons, grabbing the latest of paintings to decorate their stately homes. MacDuff had transplanted such an idea here in this mansion.

Lucia stopped before a small door, painted white with gilt. She turned the handle, and was surprised it was not locked. As she switched on the light, she saw a number of items jammed into the smaller chamber. IT was a side room, perhaps used for storage. What had prompted her to look here?

A tingling sensation buzzed just behind her ears. Whatever impulse had propelled her here had seized her feet. Lucia had walked halfway across the hardwood floor before she realized it. Over to the far wall she had walked, where a wrapped upright rectangle stood. The tarp spread over an oblong flat surface with odd perturbations. Was it a mirror, or another picture perhaps? Invisible wires pulled her fingers toward the drapery, before she could stop her hand.

"I shouldn't be here," she shook her head, fingers only a fraction of an inch from the drapery. The closer her hand approached, the more her skin tingled with silver fire. Quickly she gripped the sheet, and whisked it off. She jumped back, half expecting some hideous picture to be concealed beneath. Or perhaps a magical explosion. Neither happened. The cloth fluttered to the floor uneventfully, revealing the object beneath.

It was just a mirror, ornate and hauntingly beautiful with its silver frame worked with vines. Two rectangles bisected it near the top, and one quarter from the bottom. Upright and shimmering, it revealed her nightgowned image. Whatever was this now over her shoulder? She could see a woman in a blue robe standing over her shoulder, her eyes dripping with silent tears. Lucia gasped, before the image faded.

"Holy..." she muttered, shivers crawling all over her skin beneath the silken nightgown. Why did she suddenly see another image, one of her self, or a much older version of her against a ruined city? In a tattered yellowed gown? Or why was that odd wispy shape creeping up behind her? Like a skull. Lucia let out a scream, and turned to run. Her fingers found the light switch, flipping it on. Instantly she saw her image, unchanged in the mirror.

"Madre de Dios, I'm going crazy," she shook her head, trembling. For a moment she dared not look away, for fear something else might show up. Still those silver fingers tingled her skin, even beneath the nightgown. Before this night she did believe magic existed, but never before had she felt that something right before her reeked of it. Over her shoulder she glimpsed another image. The door creaked open, and she saw a silver haired man looking at her. What was weird was his raiment was something out of a SCA banquet: tunic, leggings, and a rich sash, under a cape that hung over one shoulder. Soft gray eyes glinted majestically beneath a glittering gold crown upon his brow.

"Lass I heard ye scream..." he said, before a look of horror registered on his face.

"Wait... get away from that mirror!"

She whirled around, hearing the voice from behind her. Running she collided into the arms of Prof. MacDuff. Quickly he seized the cloth, draping it over the mirror.

"What... is this?" she stammered, pointing to the mirror with one shaking finger.

"Ancient magic, not to be toyed with," he said firmly, gripping her hand. "And for that matter, what are ye doing out of bed? I would ha thought ye were asleep by now…"

Lucia wrenched her hand from his. Her breath came in angry, ragged gasps, "I want to know... what the hell is going on here! Why do you have something like... that... that thing in here?"

"Tis the safest place," he said, matter of fact. "But ye should not be in here..."

"I shouldn't... I shouldn't..." was all she could stammer. Confusion muddled into her anger, and the world seemed dangerously insane in that second. "You shouldn't have things like that! It's evil! The images I saw..."

"What did ye see?"

"I saw myself... and I saw the Lady! Then I saw myself again, and what appeared to be death! Then I saw what looked like something out of the Middle Ages!"

"Magic is magic, be it good or bad. This is but Titania's Mirror..."

"Titania... as in Queen of the Fairies?" she laughed. "You... are kidding me, right?"

"No, I only wish I was, lass," he came towards her, arms open.

She shivered, and backed away from him, whispering, "What does it do? Show the future?"

"And the past, as well as an individual's true aspect," MacDuff said slowly. A great sadness came over his face as he saw her eyes filled with confused terror.

"What... who... are you?" she suddenly demanded. MacDuff struggled to compose himself, taking a deep breath.

"What would you say, lass?" he asked sadly.

"A hunter, a professor, historian? What?" she asked, as he took one step to her, reaching his hand out.

 "Dinna be frightened. I mean ye no harm... I didna want ye t' find out like this. Any way but this..."

"Find out what? That you're a Quarrymen in disguise? Who dabbles in black magic, and steals priceless artifacts?"

"Nay!" he shouted. "Tis that what ye think of me?"

"Why would you have a picture of a gargoyle in those windows then? And that armor that looks like that of a Quarryman? All those modern weapons stockpiled!"

"Think, lass! If I worked for Castaway why wuild I turn him in?"

"Then Keith was right..." she breathed.

"Aye! I gave my word Carlos would be avenged, that the violence would stop. Have I ever broken my promises before..."

"You have the nerve to ask me that? You asked me once if I ever thought you had been dishonest! And now I'm finding out that you've been nothing but!"

"Everyone has their secrets," he said. "What do ye think if I had to pay a terrible price to keep one... that perhaps my very existence would prove a threat to those I loved and cared for?

"I don't know what to think!" she stammered. "Who... what are you? The books all written in the same handwriting, the portraits that look exactly alike... and the last image.. The King? And why would you have a personal arsenal..."

"There is but one clue I can give ye," he shook his head. His face winced as if he were spitting out a bitter truth, as he whispered in low tones: "Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing."

"The Scottish travesty. Ye said yerself t' me if I was alive I'd should well sue. How odd that in all that damned play there is that one soliloquy that describes my fate..."

"Wait... a minute..." her breathing slowly steadied, and she glanced into his face. "You mean you are..."

He nodded. "I wanted t' tell ye, lass, but I couldna find the words... and the Bard of Avon himself had given them right under our noses. In a mockery of my own fate..."

"This is too much... it... is just... too much," she shook her head. Only the hardness of the wall behind her felt real anymore, and even that was slowly slipping upwards. In reality her legs gave out, and she slipped to the floor with an ungraceful thud of her shapely bottom on hardwood. She glanced up at him, looking down to her as his hand stopped inches from touching her.

"Macbeth. You are Macbeth," she shook her head. "I can't believe this. It's so... so not real. And all this time you've been alive. But how is it possible? More magic?"

"Magic indeed, curse them," he shook his head. Slowly he dropped to a crouch, leveling his face with hers. Steel blue eyes glanced sadly into hers, and for the first time she understood that depth to them. It was the depth of many centuries. What sorrows and joys had he seen? Instantly it all made sense.

"Them, you said," Lucia shook her head. "Who or what was responsible? Genetic engineering, space aliens?"

"Some call them the Fates, Shakespeare called them the Three Witches, Hecate. Though many call them the Weird Sisters. I was bound in a pact to save my kingdom long ago. Little did I know that the side affect would mean immortality... which I have been released from. But there is no guarantee how long I will live... considering how long I was under the enchantment. Quite possibly another ten centuries...."

"No wonder..." she whispered back. "No wonder you were so... so... mm..."

"Annoyed about the play?" he raised an eyebrow.

"No... Dios, so hot between the sheets!" she suddenly laughed. "All those centuries of making love to women..."

This statement brought shock to him, and he was silent for a full minute. Slowly a chuckle crept into his throat, which exploded to a loud throaty guffaw. She joined in, nervousness quaking into sheer shocked laughter. Was it from the shock of discovery, or the ludicrousness of the world she had been thrust screaming and kicking into?

"I might hae known ye'd mention that," he wiped away a mirthful tear as he struggled to stop from hiccuping. Lucia still quaked with hysterical laughter herself, leaning weakly against the wall.

"And you said I was too young to be with you!" she smacked his shoulder. "Little wonder why!"

"Ye can see my predicament. It's a lonely existence, filled with endless empty years. Those that I grow to love... in just a few short years to me is a lifetime to them..."

"But all you've seen and experienced! Oh this is too much," she began to hiccup. Her sides ached from the force of her laughs. "Did you meet Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Titian?"

"Hmm, yes to the first, no to the second two..."

"Don't tell me the Three Musketeers taught you to swordfight, right? And William Tell taught you how to shoot..."

"Nae," he grinned. "Some things are t' be kept secret..."

"Oh you're mean!" she pouted.

"Tis too much t' reveal in one sitting..." he added.

"What else is real? Avalon and King Arthur, then? Titania and the Fairies?"

He looked at her, and grinned, quoting: "There's more on Earth and in the skies than your philosophy can conceive..."

"I don't know," Lucia responded, burying her fingers in her dark mass of rippling curls. "Already my wildest imaginations weren't enough to think of this!"

He drew in a deep sigh, and sat on the floor completely. "So now you know my secret. I am sorry ye had t' find out this way, m'dear... I had searched in vain for the words... and the time t' tell ye..."

"I was so afraid... you were a terrorist, or a Quarryman. But this is so totally crazy..." she hugged her knees as she rocked a bit. "To be alive for close to a thousand years... it's just unbelievable..."

"And yet ye dinna think me daft?"

"What else can I believe that makes any sense?" she asked, and then leaned back against the wall. "So... what are we going to do now?"

"Guid question," he said. "And I have a feeling ye must find yer ain answer t' that one."

"Dios, all these legends... are true..." Lucia rubbed her aching head which seemed filled with cotton by now. "Keith, that rotten little... oooh! He could have told me..."

"I had thought he might have..." Macbeth glanced at her with mixed amuseument and apprehension.

"Well he was bragging about taking on the Quarrymen, till Sharon shut him up. I just thought he might be exagerrating..."

"Well he did faint after a rather heroic show of force," Macbeth chuckled. Lucia smiled warmly, joining in with her own mirth.

"So... like... what are we going to do now?" she asked, nudgeing his knee. "The last thing I expected was... to have been with an immortal king!"

"Indeed," he said. "I leave the choice to you, Lucia: to return to your life as it was, no questions asked, with my trust ye will keep the secret safe wi ye. Or to continue as things now stand. But know this: my feelings on this matter are still the same..."

"After what we shared... I don't know if I can just walk away from this... and pretend nothing happened. I can't deny how much I feel..." she looked downwards at her bare feet. Then a mighty yawn nearly split her head in two.

"Perhaps that's a question better answered after a good night's sleep," he suggested, and climbed to his feet. Slowly he extended a hand to her, and she hesitated, glancing up at him with dark eyes.

"Only if ye wish so," he said. "And there is no pressure. Tis your choice of place t' sleep. After all there are more then half a dozen bedrooms in the place."

She placed her caramel hand in his tanned one. He pulled her up firmly, and she gave him a warm smile. "Well it is a lonely place without someone to share it with, isn't it?"

"Hmm, yes," he nodded. "But one becomes accustomed to solitude, and welcomes it. Save when he reaches the end of his years in one life and realizes all the friends he's made will wonder why he has not died, or aged any more in fifty years. How he has to disappear as if he had died. Ye wouldna believe how many times I've had to change my name..."

"Unbelievable," she shook her head, as they left the room, and Titania's mirror far behind them. "What did you do before Shakespeare wrote the Scottish Play then?"

"That is something m'love, that would be another story in itself…" he smiled seeing the twinkle returning to her eyes. "There are so many things I want to tell you… so many things to share…"

"But… we have time… I mean don't we?" she looked up at him, standing there in the long museumlike hallway. All around them the priceless art treasures of ten centuries looked down silently from above. Tentatively she put her hands into his, feeling their firm pressure in response to her touch. Gently he lifted one of her hands to his lips, pressing a soft small kiss to the back of her hand.

"Aye, that we do," he smiled, realizing that he had heard these words differently from another pair of lips he had kissed. Then to find out that she was his worst enemy.

However this time, he had a very good look at her by night, and the view was far from disturbing. Slowly he slipped his arm around her hips, relishing the feel of her own arm around his strong waist. Together they faced the eve of a very uncertain future. Yet it was a future whispering of promise, and hope.

***************************************************

fin.