Highland Portrait (10 page)

“Stella!”  Robbie’s heart was wrenched at the look of sorrow and grief on her face and he knew at that moment that he would do anything in his power – and beyond his power – to make her happy.  He vowed he would spend the rest of his life bringing a smile to her face.  He went after her to hold her, to embrace her, to console her.

Stella knew he followed her and her grief and despair erupted into stealth and fury.  As soon as his hand touched her shoulder she was in karate mode. Grabbing his hand with both of hers she swiftly turned, threw her leg behind his upsetting his balance and threw him with a thud over her shoulder into the bracken.               

“Don’t touch me, Robbie! Don’t EVER touch me, again, you bastard!”  Stella silently thanked the influence of Mr. Miyagi and four semesters of Karate.

Robbie’s third surprise of the day was his most painful, almost completely dismantling his manhood.  He found himself sprawled on his back, unhurt but disoriented, in the bracken wondering what the hell just happened.  He had to outweigh her by twice, how had she done that?  His Faerie Queen was becoming pricklier by the moment.  He jumped up and went after her. He was determined to keep her but he admitted the need to proceed with caution. 

Stella found her horse calmly enjoying the young grasses where she had tied her.  She untangled her reins from the bushes and looked for something to stand on to mount her horse.  She really needed to find a saddle somewhere, mounting without stirrups was an athletic endeavor and she needed a large rock or something to make this faster and easier.  Large hands gripped her horse’s reins and Robbie knelt on one leg at her side, giving her his knee that she might boost herself up to mount.  She looked at him, surprised and astonished that he would be so humble and forgiving.  He was offering her aide when she least deserved it from him.

“Lass,” Robbie’s look of pleading stopped her from doing him more damage, “I ken ye are angry w’me, but I dinna ken the reason.  I promise ye I ha’ ne’er seen ye a’fore this day.  I dinna ken yer name until ye said it to me w’yer own lips just now.  I beg ye, do not confuse me w’someone else who has done ye wrong. I will find yer wrong doer and will carve out his heart and give it t’ ye.  I will be yer champion, Stella.  Please, do not be angry w’me, I beseech ye.”

Stella looked into his eyes and saw the same pain of loss that she remembered in the painting and hoped that Robbie was her champion.  She hoped he would keep her alive and would protect her from all the dangers that beset her.  She wanted to believe he would take her to the Stones.  Her heart opened just marginally and she decided that she would put some small trust in Robbie. She laid her hand on his shoulder, stepped on his bended knee and hoisted herself onto her horse.  She looked ahead, avoiding eye contact with Robbie, and closed her eyes.

“Robbie, I am afraid.  I am in a strange place, far from home and I don’t know what to do.  I want to go home, Robbie, I want to go home.” Stella let her tears fall, a silent testament to her broken and worried heart.

Stella’s fragile tears were his undoing.  Robbie, who was in absolute command with warriors, fearless and murderous when challenged by foes, was at a loss as he watched this little woman silently weep. He who could overcome and conquer enemies encased in mail, slice through legions with his sword, he who was a leader of dynamic courage, could only stand helpless as a babe at her side wishing he had words that would chase the tears away. He would move heaven and earth for her now, no matter how difficult the task, he would see her smile again. Her vulnerability was so touchingly feminine and sweet, her anger so majestic, her powers so magical.  She challenged everything he knew about women. He touched her cheek and wiped her tears, thinking that they might be liquid magic.  Would her tears heal sickness, alleviate pain, if he watered his garden with them, would the plants grow taller, the flowers brighter, bolder?    She wanted to go home, but he was just as determined that he would keep her, but knew that kidnapping was not going to work. He understood now, that escape for her was not an impossible task so he had to convince her that she wanted to stay because this was not a lass to be taken against her will.

“Command me, Stella, and I will do thy bidding,” Robbie stood by her horse and looked at her placing his hand on hers.  She opened her eyes, sniffed back her tears, and looked at Robbie.  Her lips turned up in a quiet smile and she took a deep breath.

“I need to go Kilmartin, Robbie.  Can you take me there?”  She looked at him and wanted him be her champion, she had never had a champion before.  She had never known anyone that thought so highly of her as he did.  It was heady stuff and she thought she might get to like it, but she kept remembering that this was not a real person, this was a ghost first, and now some kind of time traveling barbarian.  She could not have any kind of affection for him because he wasn’t real and if she was going to have a real champion she needed a live one.

“Kilmartin?”  Robbie thought that a strange destination, but for now he would do her bidding, win her trust and when she was willing he would take her as his bride.  He looked to the north, pointing to the mountains.

“Kilmartin is nay far from m’ home in Oban.  Today we shall be in the Highlands and in three days time we shall be at Oban.  At Oban we shall rest and from there, if it is still yer wish I will see you to Kilmartin.” Robbie did not voice his determination that he would do everything in his power to make it her wish to remain at Dunollie. 

She smiled and nodded and looked toward the Highlands.  She could not imagine why it would not be her wish to complete her trip to Kilmartin, but she would hold her tongue for now and let Robbie lead her to where she needed to be.

At that moment Robbie’s dog came back to the stream barking and eager to know the stranger.  He jumped on the side of her horse sniffing Stella’s boot.

“Casper!”  Stella was so overjoyed to see her dog she slid from the horse and hugged the silly animal. “Oh, Casper, I’m so glad to see you, I’ve missed you, buddy!”  New tears sprang from her eyes and she laughed and threw her arms around him, rubbing his ears and scratching him on his furry chest just as she always had. Casper jumped up and greeted her as he always did, tail wagging, tongue drooling.  “Good boy!  How did you find me?”

Robbie was beginning to take surprises in stride now. It wasn’t like tumbling through the air and landing on his back in the bushes, but seeing her greeting of his dog mystified him.

“Why d’ ye call him Casper?” he asked

“Because that’s his name,” said Stella emphatically. 

Robbie looked at his dog, who looked at him.  “His name is Ferghus.”

“But its Casper, I’d know my own dog.  See, he recognizes me.”

“How could he recognize someone he’s never seen?”  Robbie’s look of bewilderment gave Stella a start.  She remembered what he had said in the studio.
‘Ferghus found ye’.

“He hasn’t been gone for like the last five or six months?”  Her enthusiasm for Casper would have to be curtailed, even a champion would begin to wonder about magic and witchcraft if she wasn’t careful.

“Nay, he’s been with me since a pup.  He’s never left me side.” Robbie said, looking at the dog. 

“Ah,” she said, faltering ever so slightly. “Well, he looks just like my own Casper.  Almost identical, but of course, I’m sure Ferghus has never been to Texas.”  Stella stood up and looked at Casper, or rather Ferghus, and nodded to the dog. “Good doggie, Ferghus.” 

Ferghus replied with an enthusiastic bark.  Once again Robbie kneeled for Stella to seat her horse and she handily jumped up and swung her leg over her horse, riding astride as if she had been born to it.  Although he thought the Tegis style of women’s trews was stimulating he knew he had to find her a dress to protect her from those that would see her.  He could see the advantage for her, of course, riding astride was much easier than sidesaddle.  He never could understand the idea of women riding with one leg slung over a pommel, giving them no security of position and putting them at risk. He understood that it was a genteel notion that modesty was more important than safety, but he still found it ridiculous.  He was glad that Tegis allowed women to ride as men, but while she was here she would need to be dressed more appropriately. He had vowed to take care of her and he would do just that.

It would be another three days ride before they reached Dunollie Castle.  He had three days to convince her to stay in Scotland with him rather than leave and return to her homeland and he began to plan out his strategy.

Robbie was not a man to resort to emotional ploys, but was a thinker of some degree.  He believed in science and reason and planning and he began to organize the words he would use when he asked her to be his wife.  Surely she would not deny him because he felt in his heart that they were already lovers, that somehow they had been promised and their futures were entwined as one.  And she knew him.  He knew not how, maybe that was part of her magic, but he would find out and mayhap that would engender a bond.

Like a young horse that chafes against the stall, he was suddenly impatient to have a wife and fill his manse with children. It was time.  A leader could not be without a wife and he was anxious that she be the one.  His eye slipped once more to Stella’s beautiful face.  Stars burst in his heart and he was gladdened and excited about the prospect of courting this woman, knowing that he would not have to resort to cloying sweet words or idle conversations but could talk with her as he would talk with his equals.  The long ride home now seemed not long enough.  Only three days.

Chapter Six

It was late afternoon by the time they left the stream, the sun throwing long shadows across the meadows and rolling hills.  The warmth was holding, but would soon get cooler, as the sun began its descent and they climbed steadily into the mountainous Highlands. But Stella had a champion, she had Casper, or rather Ferghus, she had transportation and she was moving toward what she hoped was a portal back to her home. She may not have been exactly light hearted, but she was feeling hope seep back into her heart and she was grateful to have the safety and security of both Robbie and Ferghus.  Robbie took the lead, his sturdy stallion solid and surefooted on the rocky ground.  His was a stout horse, strong enough to carry Robbie, a large man in any age, plus his pack and weapons. Her mare had taken to the stallion and she knickered after him whenever he got too far ahead.

“Why do you ride a stallion,” she asked, her curiosity stronger than her cultural sensitivity. “I would think that stallions are too difficult to control and have an agenda.  Wouldn’t geldings be a better option?  They are much easier to control.  I don’t particularly like riding stallions, although yours seems to be well behaved. My mare seems taken with him.”

Robbie looked back at her and smiled. “I dinna ken ‘agenda’, but a stallion has fire, a gelding has fear.  The battlefield is no place for a gelding.”

“What kind of horse is that?” Stella, familiar with most modern breeds of horses, could not place this magnificent animal.  He was not overlarge, being only about sixteen hands, but he seemed, much like his rider, to be in excellent condition, fit and robust.

“Grey is a courser,” said Robbie, scanning the horizon looking for English soldiers.

“Hmm.  I thought warriors rode destriers?”  Stella was trying to remember all her father taught her about war horses.

“Some warriors ride destriers into battle, lass.  They are heavier and are a weapon themselves, but coursers are swift and nimble.  When on the battlefield I prefer speed to thunderous weight.” Robbie turned to look at her.  She was looking with curiosity at his horse and he knew that she had an interest in and an appreciation for good horseflesh and it pleased him.

“Battlefield?”  she winced.  “Do you often go to the battlefield?”  Robbie was slow to answer her question.  He knew that most women did not approve of battle and thought it a dangerous pastime, making widows of too many of them.

“I go when I am needed,” was his simple answer.  Stella didn’t badger for more information because she didn’t want more information.  She had not failed to notice that Robbie carried an arsenal with him, including his sword, some sort of dagger strapped to his boot, a quiver of arrows and a bow on his tack. There was probably more, but she knew that he was a warrior because these were uncivilized and arrogant people.  This was a time of uneasy peace, when danger was met with blood and vengeance, not reason and policy.  All the more motivation to go back to her own time where corruption came with less blood and posturing, and was more related to dollars than to spears.

It was a pleasant ride, Robbie leading at a gentle pace, leaving Stella to wonder if he was not concerned about the soldiers that were, for all she knew, still pursuing them. Perhaps he thought her and her mare too delicate to ride hard and was pacing himself for her comfort, or that Ferghus would have difficulty keeping up if they were to go faster.  The dog  liked exploring and was pulled in a multitude of directions, inspecting and discovering the quiet pleasures that brought dogs so much joy. When he had been her dog he had had a limited area of exploration, his domain being her small backyard with a handful of squirrels to punctuate his day. Out here his field was limitless, his opportunities having no fences or leashes, no restraints.  It made her happy to see her dog (and he would always be her dog, no matter in which year he lived) to be so boundless in his enthusiasm for traveling. She would like to make it to the Stones as quickly as possible, but she was not going to press Robbie about speed.  She reasoned that if he felt comfortable at this pace then she would relax and enjoy her adventure.