Highland Portrait (14 page)

“Good morn, lass.  Ye slept well I pray,” Robbie’s smile was the sun, giving off rays of warmth and the promise of a day filled with light and hope.  Hope that their direction would take her closer to home.

“Hmm, I am doing well, thank you,” she stretched, working out the minor kinks of her night on the ground and pointed toward the stream, “if you don’t mind I think I’ll go…get some water.” Stella, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her face, looked for her backpack. Time to find some leaves. Squinting at the rising light she adjusted her jeans to lay more comfortably on her backside, then bent over to pull on her boots.  Robbie, watched with fascination at her perfect bottom swaying hypnotically from her efforts to pull them on. 

“Aye, lass.  We’ll leave when ye be ready.” Robbie nodded then turned his attention to her horse, folding his plaid to make her a comfortable seat in lieu of a saddle.

She knelt by the side of the brook and drank deeply of the sweet water.  Not one to be overly familiar with early morning hours Stella noted how the air seemed crisper, the smell of green more astringent.  She knew once the sun melted the mist and sucked the moisture out of the ground the air would be suffused with the bready smell of warm earth.  But right now she inhaled the sharp sweetness of the brook’s foliage and fixed its fragrance in her mind to be remembered on a hot, dry Texas afternoon.

Refreshed from her visit to the creek she packed her sweatshirt, put on her hat and she was ready to roll. Robbie had cleared the campfire, leaving little evidence of their stay.  She was grateful he was being careful, she knew her pursuers would probably not give up their search easily. She greeted her horse with a nuzzle in her thick black mane, stroking the beautifully curved neck.

“What do you think I should name her?” she asked Robbie with some playfulness.

“Ye don’t own the horse, it seems unwise t’ name her, lass,” Robbie frowned at the thought that this beautiful woman was a thief.  But then again, she stole a horse to save herself and he knew that women were often in desperate circumstances and he supposed that stealing a horse could be a natural occurrence to save oneself, although he did not know of any woman brave enough, or skilled enough, to steal a horse, much less ride one like she did.

“I think I’ll name her Arwen.”

“You would give an English horse a Welsh name?” Robbie asked, chuckling.

“In the first place, she is not an English horse, she is an Arabian, and the English don’t have a clue how to ride these animals, nor do the Scots, and secondly, Arwen means noble woman and that’s what she is. Noble. Believe me, she’s a smart animal.”

She turned to check out the animal she had stolen.  She had a fleeting thought that if she’d stolen this horse in Texas she’d be headed to jail right now, but this wasn’t Texas and she needed to move quickly to her portal, and this was actually her horse anyway so technically it wasn’t really stolen.  She wondered, again, at animals jumping from one ‘time zone’ into another.  First Arwen, then Casper.  It was all very strange and she wished she had answers.

He watched with curiosity as she inspected the horse, running her hand along her withers and down her legs.  She leaned her back against the horse’s front leg and reached down to her hoof, pinching her lightly on the fetlocks, bringing Arwen’s hoof between her knees and closely examined her hoof.  He was impressed that she handled the animal as well as any hostler, as well as any warrior born to the saddle.  She pulled a small strange rectangular piece of metal from her pocket and like magic it instantly shot out a knife blade.  Robbie’s eyes widened with wonder.

“How did ye do that, lass?”

She looked up to see the surprise and wonder in his eyes. “What?”

“Make the knife appear.”  Stella looked at her knife and suddenly saw it as it was.  An intriguing piece of equipment this man would never have seen before.  She thumbed through a mental rolodex of facts about metallurgy and weapons in the Mid-Renaissance and thought it might be ok to let him see it.

“Oh.  It’s a folding knife, Robbie, but this one has a tiny spring that causes the blade to release.”   She closed the knife and handed it to him.  He took it and examined it closely.

“See that little trigger?  Push it.”

He did so and the knife sprang to life.  He had seen folding knives before, of course, but never one like this. He ran his thumb lightly along the edge and was singularly impressed. It was honed to a keen sharpness that left a slight cut in his skin.  It was an unusually well made weapon and the metal was unlike any he had seen, not having great weight, but very hard.  He wondered how the metal might have been forged.  His curiosity was piqued at the mechanism and he tried to determine how it was made, carefully inspecting it to see how it worked, closing and releasing it several times.

“Where did ye come by this, lass?”  Robbie’s excitement about the knife could turn into a problem for her and she wanted to avoid tempting him to take it from her.

“Hmmm.  Let me think.”  Stella thought ‘I bought it online’ was more than she wanted to explain so she opted for the easy way out. “It was a gift from my father.”

“In Tegis?” asked Robbie.

“In Texas, yes.” She reached for the knife to finish the cleaning of her horses hoof and he reluctantly gave it back to her.  He leaned against his own horse and watched her deftly and carefully use the knife to clean mud from the horses hooves.

“’Tis is a fine, weapon, lass. Even as small as ‘tis.”  Robbie’s admiration was genuine, which pleased her.  “Tegis makes fine metals.”

Seeing a teaching moment Stella released Arwen’s front hoof and moved to the back, picking up the back hoof in the same manner, clearing the mud with the knife.

“Yes, Texas is like that, we make a lot of fine things there. We’ve turned from magic and superstition and embraced invention.”

“Tegis sounds like a wondrous fair place,” he said, and was beginning to understand her need to return to her home.  He had a niggling suspicion that keeping her here was going to be harder then he thought.

“Well, it IS Texas, after all.  Actually it’s a lot like Scotland.  Rugged in places, green in places, mountains, hills, a coastline.  Lot warmer though.  In fact it gets downright hot.  Yes, it IS a wondrous fair place.”  She worked quickly examining Arwen’s hooves, cleaning where necessary, examining her for any bites or nips from Robbie’s horse and silently wished she had a curry brush.  Satisfied that her horse was in good condition and ready to ride she turned to Robbie.

“Ok, we’re ready to go.”  Robbie knelt, once again and gave her his knee.  She jumped quickly onto the plaid saddle and smiled at him.  “Thanks for this.  It makes it much more comfortable.”

“Perhaps we can find ye a saddle, lass.” He mounted his own horse and started to move from their clearing Ferghus leading the way.

“Perhaps I can steal one,” chuckled Stella and winked when Robbie turned back to give her a warning look.  His eyebrows did that ‘thing’ she thought was so funny. They arched up as if independent of his face, the visual barometer of his thoughts.  She smiled as she watched them ‘dance’.

Robbie kept their path close to the forest line, not wanting to leave them exposed to open meadows in case they were still being pursued, which he thought they might be.  He was at odds about their journey.  He wanted to get her to his uncle’s castle as soon as he could to provide her safety, but he also wanted to spend as much time alone with her, just the two of them journeying together. He felt the enforced togetherness would allow her to view him in a tender light and that was how he intended to capture her. She would understand the need to stay in Oban a few days before resuming her journey and if he was lucky she would chose to stay.

Mid morning Robbie stopped on the edge of a meadow of purple heather.  Stella caught her breath at the glorious sight.  It was much like a field of Texas bluebonnets, but smelled heavenly.

“Oh, Robbie, this is wonderful.  It’s so beautiful.”

“Aye, lass, that it is.” He said, dismounting.

“Why are we stopping?”  In spite of the beauty around her Stella wanted to hurry and get to the Stones as soon as she could.

“The horses need a rest,” he said, looking at Arwen with concern in his eyes. “I believe yer mare might be having a struggle in this rocky land.  She’s not bred for these hills. We’ll stop fer her.”

Stella looked at Robbie, surprised and disappointed in his ignorance of horseflesh.

“You’re kidding me,” she said indignantly.  Stella turned her horse around and cantered a good ways off from Robbie.  He watched her with concern in his eyes, fearing that she was leaving him.  He quickly jumped on Grey turning him, preparing to chase after her but stopped and looked with curiosity as she turned her horse to face him from across the meadow.  He saw her lean into her horse, speak to it, holding on tightly and then begin racing toward him at a speed that shamed any mountain horse.  But instead of slowing down as she neared him she pushed the mare faster and Robbie’s heart beat increased as he watched her approach.  What was she about?  Could she stop the mare in time?  Was it her intention to run him down? 

Robbie turned his horse sideways to move out of her way and just as he did Stella jumped Arwen over Robbie and his horse, arching majestically over them, clearing Robbie by several feet.  Robbie, petrified, dove down, falling out of his saddle.  Grey, startled at the mare’s assault dashed quickly away, jumping neatly over Robbie, avoiding crushing any of his bones.  Robbie lay on the heather covered ground looking up at the sky too surprised to say or feel anything.

Stella and Arwen pranced back to where Robbie lay.  She looked down at him with a smug little smile. “And this horse is too delicate for which hills exactly?”

Robbie, laying flat on his back, heather covering his face, his pulse pounding like a hammer on an anvil, his heart in his throat, wasn’t sure if he should be angry or just laugh.

“Shite woman!!  Shite!  Are ye daft?!  What d’ ye eat in Tegis that makes ye so?”  Robbie got up from the ground and turned to see Stella trotting after his Grey.  She reached for the reins and ponied him back to Robbie smiling her Faerie Queen smile.  He smiled in response and began to laugh.

“Your mount, sir,” Stella handed him the reins.  Robbie just looked at her and was dazed.  Never in his life, including on the battlefield, had he ever experienced such a moment of abject terror as having a horse jump completely over him while he was astride his own.  Nor had he ever seen it done.  She was magnificent, but daft.  And she had done this without a saddle! He wanted her more at this moment than when he had watched her sweetly sleeping the night before.  He wondered if his desire for her madness reflected badly on him.  Perhaps he was the daft one.

His laughter was hearty and rich and Stella loved the sound of it.  She patted Arwen on the neck and waited while he struggled to mount his horse.  He was still shaking, with terror or laughter, he wasn’t sure which, and pulling himself up on his horse wasn’t the fluid motion it usually was. 

She pulled up along side him laughing and asked, “Are you OK?”

“I know not, ‘OK’, but if it is a Tegis word for ‘terrified’ then aye, I be ‘OK’.  Ye will be the death of me, lass.”  Stella’s haughty smile was belied by her girlish giggle.

“I acknowledge the superiority of yer mare and her rider.  Let us move on a’fore ye find more mischief to turn me grey in the head.”  Robbie pulled ahead of her and continued to laugh as they moved northward.

As the sun moved higher in the sky Robbie looked for a stream to water the horses and to give Stella a rest from riding bareback.  She may be an amazing horsewoman, but riding bareback, for anyone was hard on the arse.  Finding a brook in a small vale he turned in his saddle, looking at Stella, “No insult intended fer ye and your noble Arwen, but I need to stop and water my horse.  Should Arwen feel the need fer water she is welcome, but I’ll nay insist.”  Stella tried not to appear too self-satisfied, but couldn’t help giggling as he swung from his mount.  Following his lead she slid from her horse and led her behind Robbie and Grey to the stream. 

Ferghus  jumped in the water and swam from one side to the next and then circled back around enjoying the water and the opportunity to cool off.  Since Ferghus’ tendency was to zig zag through bushes, sniffing out new and interesting smells, backtracking and wandering during their journey, his mileage was perhaps twice what the horses were doing and he welcomed the small respite.  He swam to the edge of the brook and just lay down, water running over him.

  Once the horses were watered Stella stretched and moved to ease out the soreness in her behind and thighs. She rubbed her butt enthusiastically hoping to rub some feeling back into it.  Robbie watched and thought how much he would like to be doing that for her, but he turned from her and busied himself in his pack, finding two small oatcakes.  He gave one to Stella.                They’d had a small piece of dried meat for the morning’s meal, but she was hungry and this little cake, even though it looked like it had been in his pack for months, was a welcome sight.  Perhaps she should find a place to unwrap another granola bar.  She really could use a hamburger and fries, but that was probably out of the question.

She bit into the oatcake. “What is this, Robbie?”

“Tis oatcake.  Not as sweet as yer oatcake, but it will keep us till eve’n’.”  She chewed on the cake and thought that it had the texture of a rice cake, but not nearly as tasty.  Did these people not know how to salt or use spices?  She finished it off, in spite of the lack of taste, wishing she had more.