Amanda Darieux
Duncan: Uh, I beg yer ladies pardon but I thought... Rebecca: You thought right. Amanda: Twas I saw him first. R: Not so fast. There's been no challenge yet. A: Then who will take his head? D: Ladies! Let's not be hasty! A: I think he is afraid to fight us. Are you afraid? D: No! But ye're women. And ye're English! Amanda & Rebecca laugh. A: He has a wit this one. Have you never been with a woman? D: Not in battle! R: There's always a first time. Which one of us shall it be? A: Ummm... neither. (sheethes sword) Rebecca looks disapointed, lowers sword A: After all, 'twould be a pity to spoil such a nice creature. There's only one thing to do with a head like this. D: What? Amanda kisses Duncan. Rebecca smiles and rolls her eyes D: (as women walk away) I'll be damned. R: He might have taken your head. A: Not that one. He's a greenboy.(?) Besides, I've found better weapons than a sword. R: Mmm, so I noticed. A: And why take a man's head, when you can have his gold? (holds up pouch she stole from Duncan) R: Amanda! A: What? You taught me to be clever. R: I also taught you to be honest. A: Ah, yes. I forget that part... Did you see the look on his face?! Amanda and Rebecca laugh. They turn the corner and bump into Duncan. A: What do you want? D: We should have a drink together. A: You should save your gold. Another time, Good Sir. D: (holding Amanda back) The name's Duncan. Duncan MacLeod. Don't look so worried. (takes his sachel back from Amanda) I'll pay Duncan, laughing, takes one on each arm as they walk away. | 
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 | She was a phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn; From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd, To warm, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light. ~William Wordsworth |
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