When we last left Duncan, Methos, and Charlotte at Mac’s new winery, Duncan was insanely curious as to just how the two knew each other. While I’d intended this to be that story, instead it’s the story of the last time they met. I hope you’ll enjoy it regardless! On the upside, it isn’t a crossover!

Rating: PG15
Notes: A sequel to ‘He’s a Pirate’, The title from a song of the same name by Connie Dover. WIP
Characters: Methos, Duncan MacLeod, Original Characters.
Summary: It’s been a century and a half since Methos and Charlotte last met, and Duncan wants to know all the details.



I Am Going To The West

by Ithildin
c. May 2008


“If you want my advice, I’d hire Carrie Williams away from Seacrest Vineyards,” Charlotte told Duncan. “She’s an assistant winemaker there; young, but with a lot of promise. As your winemaker, she can bring your label an edge.”

“Do you think she’s up to the challenge?” Duncan asked as he refilled Charlotte and Methos’ wine glasses.

“Absolutely! This winery has so much potential, and Carrie can help you realize it.” She took a sip from her glass. “I almost bought the place back myself.”

“You used to own it?” Methos asked curiously.

“I did. It was part of my landholdings once; I sold it just before Prohibition. It’s good land,” she said with obvious fondness. “I think you’ll be very happy here, Duncan. This is a place where even one of us can grow roots.”

“I think I’d like a few roots,” Duncan admitted, with a smile. “It feels like home already.”

The three Immortals, having finished the lunch Duncan MacLeod had made them, had spent the last half-hour talking about Duncan’s plans for the winery that he’d just purchased. Charlotte, who owned a neighbouring winery, had been giving him the benefit of her experience and local knowledge. Duncan, being the soul of politeness, had resisted trying to assuage his curiosity on just how Methos and Charlotte Sparrow knew each other. But he would have had to be blind not to notice the little glances, the small smiles, and the brush of fingertips, over the course of their meal. About the only thing he’d been able to gather was that Charlotte knew him as Methos and that he had been using the name ‘Matthew Adamson’ the last time they’d met as he was now.

It was times like this that Duncan realized how much of a mystery his friend still was. And somehow, he just knew Methos wouldn’t be whinging about the boonies of San Luis Obispo now he’d been reunited with Charlotte.

“So this is where you came to,” Methos said softly, not looking at her.

“It is,” she replied just as softly. Her eyes seemed fixed on her wineglass.

Methos put his hand over hers on the table. “I came back, but you were already gone.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was something of a plea.

Finally, she looked at him, her face soft with memories and sadness. “I know you did, dearest Benjamin.”

He nodded as she touched his cheek with a fingertip. “I’ve missed you, Charlotte.”

“As have I.”

Duncan cleared his throat, finally asking the burning question, “So how long has it been since you two have seen each other?”

Methos smiled. “Too long….”

Doña Ana, New Mexico, Autumn, 1866

Methos left his horse drinking at the trough, looking around the main street as he slung his saddlebags over his shoulder. It felt like he’d been riding for weeks without a break, and he was thinking that maybe it was time to stay put for a while. This seemed as likely a place as any.

“New in town?” a voice asked from behind him.

Methos turned slowly, putting on his best non-threatening look – at least for now. “Just arrived,” he agreed.

The town’s sheriff looked him over, then nodded, seeming to come to a decision. “Planning on settling here or just passing through?”

“Thinking of stopping here for a while. It’s a beautiful piece of country.”

“That it is. Hank Jenkins,” the man introduced himself, sticking out a weathered hand.

Taking the hand, Methos shook it firmly. “Matthew Adamson.”

“Where you coming from?”

“Wyoming Territory.”

“Never have been that far north,” Sheriff Jenkins admitted. ”What brings you to New Mexico?”

“I was looking for warmer winters,” Methos told him with a grin.

Jenkins laughed. “Can’t blame you for that.” Then he said, “You must be thirsty. Let me buy you a drink at the cantina.”

“I’d be obliged.”

A few minutes later, they’d crossed the street and the two men had settled themselves at a table. Soon they were sharing a bottle of tequila and the fiery liquid burned a trail down Methos’ throat into his gut. Yes, this place might do nicely.

“You’ll be looking for work.”

Methos nodded. “Know of any?”

“I might do.” He took a slug from his glass. “You any good with horses? Cattle?”

“Both.”

“That might work,” he said mostly to himself. Then he turned his attention back to the newcomer. “The Widow Black has a place a few miles north of town. Good size spread. She runs cattle and breeds horses.”

“Is she looking for a hand?”

Jenkins chuckled. “Not exactly.” At Methos’ look of inquiry, he explained, “She’s a stubborn one. Runs the place with just her, a passel of young ones and a lame servant. “

“And you don’t approve?” Methos asked dryly.

He looked surprised at that. “What? No, I admire the woman, but she hasn’t the sense God gave her somedays! Ran off the last hand she hired and the one before that decided he didn’t want to work that hard,” he explained. “A lot of men think a widow with kids will be an easy touch; the first thing they’re thinking is how to get her land from her. But Pearl’s nobody’s fool.”

“So it would seem,” he agreed.

“The thing is, her oldest girl is marrying my boy Jeremy in the spring, so Pearl’s practically family. It’s my place to look out for her.”

“Fair enough. But what makes you think I’m any more trustworthy than the last two?”

“I’m a good judge of men, Mr. Adamson. You’re not a drifter; your horse and gear are too fine. You carry yourself like a man who has made something of himself.”

Methos threw back the rest of the tequila in his glass, considering. He did need work if he was going to settle in for the foreseeable future, and being a ranch hand to a widow wasn’t a bad situation. “I’ll admit, Sheriff Jenkins, I am intrigued.”

“I hoped you would be,” he replied, obviously relieved. “But be forewarned, she might be a bit tetchy you showing up. Pearl’ll take some sweet talking to take you on.”

“Have no fear, Sheriff, sweet talking is my specialty!” Methos poured more tequila into their glasses and the two men toasted to stubborn women and warmer winters.



Methos made his way north to Rancho Caballo Rojo. According to Hank Jenkins’ directions, he should almost be there. A fence line had appeared a few minutes before and next should be the entrance to the road leading to the Black place. The gentle murmur of the Rio Grande floated around him, and the sharp light of the autumn sun warmed his face. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax, his horse setting the pace.

It would be good to stay in one place for a time. Even if it was just for a winter. He’d left ‘Doctor Benjamin Adams’ behind a few years ago, and still was in that place where he didn’t feel quite right in his skin; comfortable in this new persona. ‘Matthew Adamson’ needed to gather some moss to do that, which meant this rolling stone needed to rest.

Absently he wondered if the Widow Black was a pretty woman. Though if she had a daughter old enough to marry, and had lived the hard life of a settler, a woman alone, she was probably as stark and weathered as the junipers that dotted the landscape around him.

The sound of voices interrupted his idle musings of women and just who ‘Matthew’ might end up being. Not much more time passed ‘til he discovered the source of those voices: two boys clearing brush on the other side of the fence line he’d been following. They most likely were part of the ‘passel of young ones’ Sheriff Jenkins had mentioned. The boys caught sight of Methos as he drew even with them. The older one, who looked to be about sixteen, stepped in front of the younger boy, giving Methos a cautious, but not unfriendly, look.

“Howdy, Mister.”

Methos touched the brim of his hat. “Matthew Adamson,” he introduced himself.

“Timothy Black,” the boy replied. “My brother, Jess.” He jerked his chin towards the younger boy who was peering around his brother’s shoulder.

“Pleased to meet you.” Methos dismounted, walking over to the fence. “Sheriff Jenkins says your mother’s looking for a ranch hand.” The boys snickered and gave each other a look. “Well, that’s not exactly right; what I believe he actually said was your mother needs a ranch hand,” he amended with a grin.

“Mama’s going to be in a right state when she hears that,” Timothy told him with a matching grin.

“So I gathered from the sheriff. But I’m up to the challenge,” he assured them. Methos was fairly certain the two boys would be placing bets on his chances of success with their mother. Matter of fact, so would he.

They climbed over the fence. “We’ll walk you up. It’s only about another mile.” Timothy waved his arm behind him.

“I’m much obliged, gentlemen. Lead the way!”


@_______________________________________@



Methos spent a pleasant better part of an hour with the two brothers as they led him to the house – and his meeting with the inimitable Widow Black. Along the way, he’d learned that there were six children altogether, from Jemma, the oldest, to little Constance, the baby of the family at age two. And that they’d come here to New Mexico from Virginia ten years prior. It was also patently obvious that the boys held an abiding admiration for their mother, and that they were part of a close and loving family.

A long low adobe style ranch house appeared as they turned a bend in the road, and Jess, who it turned out was nearly fourteen, ran ahead to tell his mother they had company. Methos laughed at something Timothy told him, and actually found himself looking forward to what the future might bring, when his mood was shattered by the discordant peal of another Immortal’s presence. Inwardly cursing his foul luck, he slowed, a hand drifting up the side of his horse to where his sword was stowed. Then ever so casually, he pulled back his long duster, making sure his revolver was within easy reach.

He heard young Jess’s excited voice ringing out. “Mr. Adamson’s come all the way from Wyoming Territory, mama! But he said we could call him Matthew! And he knows all about horses!”

Then she was there, standing in the doorway, a shotgun in one hand, her other hand holding Jess back. Her expression was one of set determination as she stepped out into the open. Methos’ eyes met hers and recognition dawned.

“It can not be,” she whispered, taking one step, then another, handing the shotgun to Timothy as he came to stand next to her.

“Mama?” he queried, alert to the change in mood and instantly on guard. As the oldest boy, he was the man of the family, and took his duty very seriously.

“All is well, Timothy,” she reassured him gently, squeezing his arm. “Mr. Adamson and I are acquainted.”

For once, Methos wore no mask. The genuine joy he felt was wreathed plainly across his face. “Your mother and I were good friends once upon a time,” he told the boys who were looking back and forth between the two adults. "We have not seen each other for many years."

For a moment, Charlotte stood perfectly still, as if she were afraid Methos might disappear like some desert mirage. Then she was running across the space between them and into his arms. Spinning her around, they both laughed until they were breathless.

As he set her on her feet, Charlotte reached up, touching his face. “Is it really you, Methos?” she asked in a whisper.

“It is, dearest Charlotte.”

“Then my prayers truly are answered.”


@_______________________________________@



San Luis Obispo, Present Day

“It really is a small world,” Duncan commented with a slightly dreamy expression in his eyes. He always had been a sucker for tales of long lost lovers reunited.

“Isn’t that the truth?” Charlotte was smiling with amused exasperation at Methos, who had begun to hum ‘It’s a Small World After All’.

“Stop!” Duncan demanded.

“What?” Methos asked, all innocence.

Duncan sighed, rolling his eyes. “What,” he muttered.

Methos just chortled before launching into an even louder rendition. But Charlotte’s lips on his brought an abrupt end to his musical serenade.

“Stop!” she repeated Duncan’s admonition, giggling.

“You had only to ask,” Methos replied archly before kissing her back.

Smiling fondly, Duncan gave them a moment, then said, “I have a feeling you two would like to do some catching up.”

“Brilliant deduction, Mac!”

“I see the passing years have done nothing to temper the more aggravating facets of your personality,” Charlotte observed, lips twitching with suppressed laughter though she did her best to sound disapproving.

“If only,” Duncan responded in a similar tone, though he didn’t seem to really mean it either.

“Hey, you don’t mess with perfection!” Methos protested, sweeping out his arms in a grand gesture.

“Please, take him away,” Duncan implored Charlotte. “Then maybe I can get some work done without his constant complaints and nitpicking.”

She laughed. “Fine, I will, but you owe me one, Mr. MacLeod,” she told him with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Anything!” Duncan agreed in mock desperation.

“Oh, yes, you two are very funny,” Methos informed them, taking Charlotte’s hand and pulling her to her feet. “You’re just lucky I’m a very mellow and easygoing guy.”

Duncan snorted. “Yeah, aren’t we just?”


@_______________________________________@



Duncan had said he’d walk them out to the parking lot. As they exited the imposing oak doors of the tasting room, he realized it was much later than he’d thought. The late afternoon sun lay across the hills like a golden blanket, and above them, a slender pale crescent of the moon peeked out. In the distance, fingers of fog could be seen creeping up from the coast. Duncan took a moment to soak it all in, letting Methos and Charlotte walk ahead hand in hand. This was his life now.

As they made their way down the path, Charlotte looked back at Duncan. “There’s something you should know.” Both men looked at her in surprise at the unexpectedly serious tone.

“Something wrong?” Methos asked, concerned.

She shook her head as she came to a halt. “It doesn’t need to be, but… There’s another one of us here in town,” she finally said. “You’ll probably run into him sooner rather than later. He owns a local irrigation supply company.”

“You two obviously coexist,” Duncan observed.

“He’s my friend; Dave Sanchez. I’ve never known him to seek out a fight, and as far as I know, he hasn’t taken a head since he moved here with his wife five years ago. She died two years ago of cancer, and he’s been having a tough time dealing with her loss. So if he says or does something to rub you the wrong way, please try to not take it personally?”

Duncan wasn’t offended by her request. After all, she didn’t really know him, and had no idea what his boundaries were. “I’m glad you told us. Don’t worry, Charlotte, I’m not in the habit of challenging other Immortals without cause. Maybe you could introduce us?”

“I can do that,” she said, obviously relieved. “I’ll call you and arrange for a day next week. I can show you around and introduce you to people you’ll need to know.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Throughout the entire conversation, Methos hadn’t said a word; the look on his face one Duncan couldn’t quite translate. Then quite suddenly, he asked, “How old is he, this friend of yours?”

Charlotte looked at Methos sharply, not having missed the emphasis on ‘friend’. “Older than me,” she replied coolly.

Methos’ laughter rang out. “Considering I probably have shoes older than you, that isn’t saying much, is it?”

Duncan didn’t know Charlotte Sparrow well, but he recognized an impending eruption when he saw one. Not that he didn’t sympathize – when Methos used that supercilious tone, the one that implied you were just a wee bit simple, it was hard to keep your cool. God only knew how many times Duncan had been tempted to pop Methos on the nose since they’d known each other.

Attempting to divert her, he shot Methos a look, then said in a soothing voice, “Sometimes it helps to gauge another Immortal by knowing where and when their personalities, their identities, were formed.”

Some of the fire in her ice blue eyes dimmed. Crossing her arms across her chest, she directed her answer to Duncan, seemingly having decided to ignore Methos for now. “He was second officer on a Galleon during the Spanish Armada. He was hit by canon fire. He came to California with the Spanish in the seventeen-hundreds.”

Nodding, Duncan squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you. That’s good to know.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you for your hospitality this afternoon. I enjoyed lunch and getting to know my new neighbour.“ The smile she gave him was brilliant in its warmth, lighting up her face, and Duncan thought that Methos was a very lucky man indeed. Whether the oldest Immortal appreciated that or not remained to be seen.

Then she turned her attention to Methos, the warm expression of moments before now frosty. “Are you coming home with me, or staying here?”

“What do you think?” was the curt reply.

Sniffing, she tossed her hair back. “I was under the impression that I didn’t think at all, so I am sure I don’t know.”

“Charlotte--” Methos began.

She interrupted whatever he was going to say. “I’ll see you next week, Duncan.” With that, she spun on her heel, striding purposefully towards her truck.

“Later, Mac,” Methos muttered as he set off after her.

“Later,” Duncan replied absently, wondering, as he walked back to the winery, just which of the two was going to win the forthcoming battle.

TBC

Return to the archive.