I have come back to this story and tweaked some things in the first few chapters and have finally (I think) broken through the ungodly writer's block. I hope you enjoy the way this story has evolved.

Disclaimer: Highlander and its characters do not belong to me and I'm not making any money off of this, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Time. Mortals are slaves to it. They scurry around to this place and that, always worried that there won't be enough time to get everything done or to enjoy the short life they live. A long time ago he might have been concerned about such things. Running errands. Obsessed with how many hours are in the day. How much time he had to get things done. But living for thousands of years tends to take the edge off time. Long ago, time had become more of a burden than a blessing.

Mortals count time with milestones. Birthdays. Anniversaries. "Happy New Year!" they shout with gleeful anticipation of beginning the year anew. Another chance to reconcile themselves from their past indiscretions and attempt to live a guilt-free, happy life. Immortals don't celebrate such things. At least those immortals who are too old to remember such milestones don't rejoice at the passing of another year; or a birthday which might be August or September- one can't remember after so many years, after all; or an anniversary of another lost loved one.

The seasons are what remind him of those milestones now. After thousands of years and thousands of lovers, wives, friends and enemies, Methos was reminded of those he had outlived by the seasons that passed. He could no longer remember those important dates the mortals etched into their calendars.

He simply remembered the brisk winter night in small house he had built in the Icelandic countryside. He could still see the snow falling outside and his beloved Ana sleeping by his side. How long had they been together before she died of pneumonia? Thirty years? Forty?

He remembered the warm summer day when the clansmen of his wife, Mariam, celebrated the harvest and performed their rituals to ensure their stores for the winter. They were such a giving and loving family. He tried to remember if it was they who perished under the sword of his enemies. He couldn't quite remember. The details wove themselves together like a twisted dream. He was angry with himself that these people were relegated to the recesses of his memory. He couldn't even drag their names from his mind any longer. Names of those who had loved and cared for him. Names of the men and women who, at one time, were the most important people in his life.

All these things passed through his mind as he sat outside Joe's club in Paris nursing what was to be his 3rd beer of the morning. The spring air of April and all its scents and sounds washed over his senses. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask in the day. He took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of fresh lavender. He heard the small, delicate chirps of the baby birds awaiting their morning meal. He took in the wonderful aroma of rain slowly wasting away under the increasing heat of the mid- morning sun. The seasons helped him to remember. And there were times in his interminably long life he wanted, desperately, to remember. But there were other times, other memories, he just wished he could forget.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Eyes closed, he smiled his lopsided and disarming smile as his friend Joe Dawson pulled up a chair beside him.

"I rather think that for the amount of thoughts in my head it would be worth a great deal more than a penny."

Joe smiled, "I guess I can't argue that. Your knowledge of ancient sandalmaking techniques makes your bidding price at least seventy five cents." Joe paused. His friend appeared decidedly more melancholy than usual. "What's on that impressive but intense mind of yours, buddy?"

Methos took another swig of his beer and sighed. "I'm tired, Joe. Just tired." His English accent thicker due to the combination of exhaustion and beer, he said, "After all these years, the people who meant so much to me have become footnotes in a genealogy book. I try to remember them but sometimes all I get are confusing pictures in my head. I can't figure out if my memories are right or if I'm slopping them all together like a bad acid trip."

Shifting forward in his chair, Methos placed his beer on the table and cradled his head in his hands. "It's unnatural, Joe. I'm unnatural. I've lived longer than any immortal on earth and for what? I'm tired of going on. Outliving my friends. Killing others who want my head. Watching history move by me without a wink and having nothing to show for it."

"Do you think you're the only immortal who feels this way, Methos? I mean, don't you think that Mac or Darius or Hugh all felt like this at one time or another?" Trying to lighten his friend's mood, Joe chuckled. "Hey, maybe you're just going through your bi-millennial life crisis."

Methos' head snapped up and glared at his friend. "This isn't a joke, Joe. I'm serious. Do you know what it's like to live 5,000 years? To see the dawn of civilizations? To witness the birth of nations and the death of its people by wars...famine...plagues? I live day by day. Waking up each morning wondering if today will be the day that finds my head separated from my body. And no one will care. You might weep a little. Duncan will do his almighty revenge kick, but ultimately, no one will remember that I even existed."

He paused and began giving absentminded attention to the small ladybug slowly making its way over his middle knuckle with a path up his wrist. So small. So innocent. So beautiful. Methos sighed and sat back in his chair. He continued his study of the small creature as he spoke.

"Joe, there's something I've never told anyone. Not even Duncan."

Joe moved forward in his seat and watched Methos intently. 'This sounds too interesting to be good.', Joe thought to himself. He wasn't sure if this would be a revelation that he could handle. In all his study of Methos and his life, there were things that he had done that would curl Hitler's toes.

Joe steeled himself and said. "You know you can talk to me, Methos."

The North of England, 1754

The spring days in the English countryside were breathtaking. The flowers seemed to glow with every color in the spectrum. The pinks, yellows and reds of the flowers and leaves seem to explode around every corner. Methos often rode this path in the late afternoon just before dusk when the sun crested over the hills to the west. He loved to see how the colors changed when the sun's rays grew darker and deeper with each passing moment. Every night he noticed something different and marveled at the intricacies of nature.

As a rule, his route very rarely brought him in contact with other people. He enjoyed the solitude, but at times it began to weigh on him heavily. There are points in an immortal's life where being around other people only aggravates their sense of isolation. It's as if being around mortals makes those who can't die aware that they will see their loved ones pass around them century after century. On this glorious day, however, Methos simply wished to share the beauty of all he saw with someone else.

He was lost in that thought when he came upon a richly adorned coach in a small clearing off the side of the main road. 'Hmm...not gypsies.', he thought to himself. A rather portly man stood outside the carriage examining the rear wheel, which had sustained a severe enough collision to be broken in half.

A second man, a good deal younger, moved about gathering luggage and containers that had been flung from the top of the carriage when the wheel had broken and, evidently, dragged the vehicle along until resting to a stop among a grove of wild rose bushes.

Both men were dressed as servants, but in a simpler and understated way than was customary for the very rich. As Methos moved his stallion toward the carriage, both attendants looked up.

"You gentlemen seem to be in need of some assistance this fine evening."

Methos was not offended or surprised when the two men began moving closer together as if preparing for an altercation. The forests in the 18th century were not exactly choice picnicking spots, especially if one had any wealth. To be stranded in one at night was, for even the bravest of men, quite an intimidating thought. These men were obviously very protective of the items under their care as they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the carriage.

The luggage-gatherer was the first to speak. "Thank you, my lord, but we have the situation quite under control."

The young man couldn't have been more than twenty but stood with his chest arched out in a vain attempt to look intimidating. The portly man who had been examining the broken wheel was older, maybe forty, with a plain face and receding hairline. In a fight, neither would prove to be a serious challenge.

Methos dismounted his horse and surveyed the scene around the would-be protectors. He smirked. "My good lad, unless you can carve a new wheel out of one of these trees with your bare hands, I do believe you shall be spending the night in this forest." Methos stooped down and picked up a slightly bent and scuffed hatbox and handed it to the large girthed wheel-examiner.

Methos smiled. "Now, I suggest you allow me to escort you to my home where you may rest for the night. My servants will return with you in the morning to assist in the repair of your coach."

The two men looked at each other, a silent debate playing in their eyes. The older man spoke, "Well, sir..."

"...we would be most grateful for your assistance and honored at the prospect of your hospitality."

The third voice came from inside the carriage. It was obviously feminine. 'So that's the cargo they were trying to protect.' He thought to himself.

As the door of the carriage began to open, the young attendant moved to offer her his assistance. A delicate, bare hand found its way to the attendant and a young woman emerged.

No more than twenty-five, she was of average height and possessed rich auburn hair and startling green eyes. In the light of the evening, Methos could tell that her complexion was fair but not a stranger to the sun. She wore a simple but elegant travel dress and wore no jewelry.

She smiled lightly at her attendant. "Thank you, James." Stepping forward, she looked up at the face of a uniquely handsome man. She smiled and curtseyed. "My name is Eleonore Huntington." Glancing back toward the coach she said. "I'm sure you understand the need for me to remain inside the carriage until I could determine your intentions."

Methos bowed. He reached for her right hand and placed a delicate kiss on top of her brown glove. "The pleasure is entirely mine, Ms. Huntington." She was beautiful. Just by looking at her and the way she carried herself, he did not believe for one minute that she would hide trembling in her carriage should trouble come her way. He had a feeling that anyone who tried to tangle with this woman would find him or herself on the other side of a tigress.

"Please call me Eleonore. After all, if I'm to take you up on your generous offer, I think we should be on a first-name basis, don't you?" She smiled and found the deep, rich, hazel eyes of the stranger. Her eyes conveyed both intelligence and strength. He found it charming that her head tilted ever so slightly to the left when she spoke. "May I know the name of the handsome stranger who has come to my rescue or do you wish to remain an anonymous savior?"

He hadn't done it for centuries, but now, in the presence of this unique woman...Methos blushed. Luckily at the same moment, his horse decided that more interesting things were happening in the bushes to the right and the animal moved in front of his master.

'She's a handful, alright.', Methos thought to himself. As the color in his face returned to normal, he let go of the reins and allowed his beloved stallion a well deserved break.

He rubbed his chin as if deep in thought from her question. "Well, well. I'm in quite a quandary here. I often rescue beautiful women in these woods. Every other day in fact, and I make it a practice not to let out my true identity." He crossed his arms over his chest. "After all, once the word spread, there'd be no end to the rescues and it would be work, work, work all the time."

The two attendants looked at each other and rolled their eyes. It was obvious that this man was no more a threat to Eleonore Huntington than a rabbit. They knew she was a flirt, but today, she may well have met her match. They went back to gathering the items they would take with them for the night.

Eleonore moved closer to the tall stranger. "I'll make you a bargain. I won't tell anyone about your rescue if you won't tell anyone that my...delicate items were strewn about the woods for anyone to see. My reputation would be in serious question."

His mouth curved in a mischievous smile as he noticed that, indeed, Eleonore's clothes had been strewn about the area and many of her 'unmentionable' items were on display for everyone to see.

He turned, clasped his hands behind his back and took several steps toward her. He stopped only a foot away and looked down at her amazing eyes. "My name is William Christian and I am more than delighted to keep your secret. Your reputation is safe with me."

Men weren't intimidating to Eleonore. She had been raised without a mother and her father insisted that she be educated as well as a man. She was smart, independent and confident with no need for a husband or a protector. When she was in the presence of a man, she never fluttered about, pretending to be some delicate creature. Most of the men she'd met were boring, pretentious and full of their own importance. Many times, Eleonore found herself chatting with the servants rather than forcing herself to entertain a boorish suitor. But this man was different. In his presence she was nervous and excited. No one had ever made her feel as if she wasn't in control of the situation, but William Christian managed to engage every one of her senses as no other man had.

She wanted desperately to regain control of herself. "Well, Mr. Christian...William. Thank you again for your help. Shall we gather some of our necessary items and begin the journey to your home?" She turned and began picking up some of the items on the ground and placing them in her carriage.

Methos was interested. More than interested, actually. He was committed to finding out more about Eleonore Huntington. It had been a long time, centuries in fact, since he had met someone with her confidence and poise. The women to whom he gave his heart belonged to a specific category. Beautiful, self-assured and witty. She fit right in. It wasn't often he met someone who could hold her own with him and he didn't want to let that get away.

They assembled the items needed for their short trip and prepared to begin their trek to Methos' estate. He took Eleonore by the arm and walked her to his horse. "I'll adjust the stirrups when you get up in the saddle."

She removed his hand from her arm and looked at him. The right side of her mouth rose in a sarcastic smirk. "Really, William. I am perfectly capable of walking to your home."

"But, it's a long walk and..."

Her hand rose up and stopped in front of his face. "I appreciate your concern and if I, or James or Matthew, are in need of it, we will be more than happy to ride your horse. Now, why don't we get going so we can be out of these woods before it gets too dark."

With that, Eleonore stooped down, picked up two bags and began walking down the path.

Methos watched her buoyantly walk down the darkening road. He turned to the attendants. "Is she always this stubborn?"

Matthew smiled and laughed softly. "My lord, you have no idea."