Chapter 1

(Note: The story of Deirdre of the Sorrows is part of the Ulster Cycle. She is considered the most tragic heroine in Irish mythology. Of course the song "Bonny Portmore" should be well known to any fan of either the movie or TV versions of "Highlander".)

Duncan blinked. "Ah, your daughters?" he asked as casually as he could manage.

"Yes," smiled Deirdre. She looked closer at the Highlander and giggled. "Close your mouth Duncan. No one has repealed anything concerning ... us. I'll explain later. Meanwhile," she switched her attention back to the gaggle of girls, "We need to load up and head out for some ice cream!"

Cheers followed and a rush was made to the parking lot, leaving Duncan to help Deirdre and William pack up the equipment. Shouldering various bags they followed the girls who were already waiting by a couple of vehicles. Duncan looked through the bundles and lifted an eyebrow.

"Where's your sword? You know you need to keep it near to hand."

Deirdre sighed. "Duncan I'm well aware that no one gets to opt out of The Game. However my mini-van is about to be filled with excited and always curious near teenaged girls. No matter where I tried to conceal it someone might stumble across it. After all, it's quite unlikely I would need it in front of so many potential witnesses. But you're right. William has it in his truck, concealed in a special sheath behind the seat."

Hours later, after what turned out be not only ice cream but also pizza followed by the returning of all the other girls to their scattered homes they drove to a restored Victorian style townhouse in the historic district of the city. Night had fallen. Deirdre and William offered the hospitality of their home to Duncan and he accepted. He was curious about his friend and what had taken place in her life in the 60 odd years since they had last met. As the married duo put their girls to bed, he sipped his drink and explored the room they had left him in.

It was elegant, yet comfortable and lived in. The furniture was covered in deeply padded rich leather but was well broken in. It was a room for living in, not for show. Duncan noted there was no TV. Book cases lined two walls. He drifted over and ran his eyes over the titles. Quite an eclectic collection he noted. Everything from vintage children's books to best sellers. He smiled as he noted a well stocked section on Ireland and the Irish. When William entered the room Duncan had pulled one of those books from the case and was flipping through it.

"Entertaining," Duncan remarked. "But really not that accurate historically."

"That's what Deirdre says," smiled the other man.

"I see a great deal of material on Ireland. There's history and folktales and even fiction."

"Some it is hers. A lot of it is mine though. I try to understand things about her and her heritage is a major part of her. As for the fiction, she says, and I agree, that often you can find out more about people by reading what they dream about rather than just cold facts and dates."

Duncan nodded his agreement.

"And I'm of Irish ancestry myself. A little anyway. Of course most Americans tend to have a bit of Irish in them. By the way, Deirdre will be here in just a few minutes." The man smiled. "She's singing the girls to sleep."

Duncan answered the smile with one of his own. He could hear Deirdre softly crooning a familiar song that called to his own heart.

"Oh Bonny Portmore, you shine where you stand, and the more I think on you the more I think long..." the words faded away as the woman's voice grew quieter.

"She's such a wonderful singer," William remarked. He looked at Duncan. "But somehow I seriously doubt I need to tell you that."

"No. She was, is, considered a successor of the ancient Irish Bards. Very unusual for a woman as they were generally all male."

"She is one of a kind. It was her singing that first caught my attention. Heck, that's an understatement. She captivated me."

"How did you two meet?" inquired Duncan.

"I had stopped on my way home one Friday afternoon at a bar." William hesitated. "It had been about a year since I had lost my wife Bethany, the girls' birth mother. I had climbed out of the worst of the depression but I was still reeling from the accident. The girls were with my parents for the weekend, I was feeling sorry for myself and I decided to tie one on. The drink prices were low and the place was crowded but with a nice looking bunch.

"so I'm sitting at this table in the corner downing a beer and a shot of Jack Daniels when this woman comes onto the little stage at the front of the room. She sits down on a stool, tunes her guitar and starts strumming it as she talks a bit to the crowd there. I wasn't paying much attention. Then she started to sing."

William paused for a moment. Much softer but still audible the words came floating down the stairway.

"For it stood on your shore for many's the long day, till the long boats of Antrim came to float it away."

Both men smiled and William continued. "I couldn't believe it. She just grabbed me. Of course she did that to everyone else there as well. I found out later the reason the bar was packed was because the customers there were almost all steady visitors. Everyone loved to listen to her. There was one attempt by someone to make noise and he was tossed out of the place before the bouncers could even get to him.

"It was simple music she played; Folk songs, some old ballads, plaintive country songs. But every one of those songs came from a heart so full that you heard things in the lyrics you had never heard before. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry. I even stopped drinking.