"Rebecca Neason - Highlander - The Path" - читать интересную книгу автора (Neason Rebecca)

defensive positions and surroundings.

A second later a voice reached him. "Hey, Mac-Mac, you homer As quickly
as it had come, the tension drained from MacLeod's body and he smiled
again, not bodiering to answer.

By now Richie would have felt MacLeod's presence the same way Duncan
felt his, the way one Innnortal always sensed another.
The old-fashioned freight elevator connecting the dojo and the apartment
started to rattle; Richie was on his way up. From the sound of his
voice he was excited about something. But then, MacLeod thought, Richie
was always excited about something. That was his age, or rather, that
was his youth.

Richie was a young hmortal, new to the Gaine, and his age still matched
his physical appearance. He looked to be, and was, a well-built young
man in his early twenties. MacLeod, on
the other hand, looked in his thirties, maybe thirty-five, but the reality
was quite different.

Duncan MacLeod was four hundred years old.

Whether thirty-five or four hundred, MacLeM looked good for his age. Some
of his appearance-the thick dark hair he usually kept pulled back in a
ponytail, the heavy-lidded dark eyes that flashed beneath thick lashes,
the high cheekbones and strong chin-were genetics, and he could take no
credit for them. But the sleek, well-toned body, the broad shoulders,
muscular chest, stomach, and thighs, the balance and catlike grace were
all things he worked hard to maintain. It was not vanity, it was
survival-the sloppy Immortal lost his head.

The elevator stopped. Richie opened the slatted wooden door and stepped
out into Duncan's apartment. It was as though a wave of energy crested
through the confined space, sparking out of his hazel eyes and the curls
of his light reddish brown hair. MacLeod turned to look at the young
man who was his student, and his friend.

"Hey, Mac," Richie said, "I've got something you're going to love."

"And what's that?" MacLeod asked, his smile not quite hiding the
cynicism in his voice. Richie's idea of fun was sometimes as far
removed from MacLeod's as, well, as their generations. Centuries apart.

"You know there's this big rally down at the stadium tomorrow?" Richie
walked over to the counter and poured himself a glass of juice from the
pitcher MacLeod had left sitting there.

"I've heard about it," Duncan replied.

"Well, I got us tickets."