| "Methos please," Helen begged. "Have mercy!" "I don't think so." He said matter of factly. "I have been waiting to watch you kiss your feet without bending over for more than four thousand years. This time nobody is going to come along and stop me." "Methos for the love of God, please!" She cried. "You should have stayed in the convent." Helen. "You would have been safer there." He replied. But Helen of Athens had been sick and tired of running from her past, sick of being afraid, sick of having to look behind her shoulder at every turn and wondering when she got that funny feeling if it was Methos coming back for revenge. How long could one be made to suffer for a mistake? Methos had changed a lot since he rode with the Four Horsemen all those years ago, but in one way he had remained the same, if you gave him a reason to kill you he would hunt you to the ends of the earth and go to hell and back to see that it was done. "Methos don't do this!" Helen said, tears were streaming down her face. Methos raised his sword for the kill, and right at that moment he sensed the presense of another immortal. "Do it and I'm next." A familiar voice rang out in the distance. "Go away Macleod this is none of your business." Methos said as he glanced in the direction of the younger Highlander, irritated that he would dare interfere. "It is when you are about to kill my friend." Previous Next |