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

times in different jobs over the centuries, but today the words and
numbers passed before his eyes without entering his brain. There were
too many memories ah-eady there.

Damn Richie for bringing all this up, MacLeod thought a bit savagely,
but part of him was grateful, too. It had been too long since he had
thought about his time in Tibet two centuries ago-too long since he had
thought about her.

In four hundred years there had been many women in his life. Some were
no more than brief and pleasant encounters, some were passions lasting
months or even years. But therr, was one whose name he rarely spoke. He
kept her name and her memory locked away, guarded in his heart like a
precious jewel.

Xiao-nan Choiven now, two hundred years later, her name called up all
that was best in him. Her love, given with such tenderness, had brought
his heart back to life at a time when he was drowning in weariness.

MacLeod put down his pen, sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.
hmediately Xiao-nan's features filled his mind. He smiled in his
solitude as he saw again the softness of her skin, shining golden as
polished amber washed in the roseate blush of dawn; her eyes, dark with
all the mysteries of womanhood yet bright with the fight of love and
laughter; her lips, her smile, so artless and beguiling ...

But memories are fickle things, not easily controlled, and with a sudden
twist all the pain two centuries had not dulled came crashing in on
MacLeod-the loss, the sorrow, the anger.

He should have protected her better.

Nor was his own anger the only one he remembered. The eighth Dalai
Lama, that gentle young man who for months had been Duncan's teacher and
friend, had been angry, too. He had banished Duncan It-om the holy city
and from his company.

And Duncan had fled back to Europe, only to find a world about to go mad
with the Reign of Terror called the French Revolution.

Now, remembering that day from the safe distance of two

hundred years, Duncan saw in the Dalai Lama's face what he could not see
at the time. Anger, yes-but hurt and disappomtment as well.

Was there a chance their wounded friendship could be healed, even after
so long a time? Duncan wondered. Or perhaps, as Richie had said, it
was something for the past, somedang that would remain forever buried
where not even an Immortal could resurrect it.
With that thought, Duncan knew he would go see the Dalai Lama; he did