Highland Portrait (19 page)

“Widow?  Why did you…”  Stella stumbled in her speech, caught unawares and without plan or thought she needed to address this situation, but was unsure how to proceed.

“No lass as beautiful as ye lives to be twenty three and still be unwed.  Ye must be a widow because ye would not ha’e been kidnapped otherwise.  Was yer husband struck down in battle?”

“Uh, no.”  Stella smiled to herself thinking about the absurdity of Jason even donning a uniform.  The only thing he would have been struck down by was lightening or a car.  “He had a brain disease.  That’s what took him.”  She looked at him helplessly hoping that deceit was less a sin then an outright lie.

“Brain disease?” Robbie seemed truly interested, which was unfortunate for her, but she should have known he would want to know more.

“Yes.  Assholery,” she said. “He had it really bad and was just ate-up with it.  It was terrible.”  She winced, hoping he didn’t catch her words and that he would just let it lie.

Robbie considered what she told him and thought about losing your mate and the pain and guilt that accompany it.

“Aye.  Do ye miss him, lass?” Robbie didn’t really want to know, but his training as a warrior compelled him to know all he was up against, all the obstacles to his goal.

“Nope.  Not one bit.”  Stella spoke quickly and vehemently and winced again, thinking that sounded rather harsh considering that he now thought her a bereft widow, alone, without a husband to take care and support her. She quickly countered, “He was not a good husband, Robbie.”

“Aye, I ken, lass. The greater fool he,” Outwardly Robbie looked stern and sympathetic but inwardly smiled thanking the Celestial Committee for the disease ridden brain that took her husband away.

“And you?  Have you been married? Do you have children?”  Stella was curious knowing that being a tanist an heir would probably have been important to him.  Male heirs seemed to be the primary reason for having a wife during this time – it certainly wasn’t for intellectual companionship.

Robbie heaved a sigh and frowned.  He did not want his marriage to reflect badly on his feelings for her, but he wanted her to know the truth.

“Aye, lass, I was married for three years.  She was a shy young child from the nunnery.  I met her on our wedding day, she being a MacKennon and my uncle, the MacDougall, wanting to forge an alliance with them.  I had been betrothed to another since a lad, but the little lass died, so Nellie MacKennon was the Laird’s choice fer me.”  Robbie looked at the horizon remembering his wedding day, the terrified look on young Nellie’s face, a look he’s seen on live hares he was about to disembowel.

Stella listened without comment, knowing that his young bride was probably unprepared for what befell her.  She couldn’t imagine what it might have been like to be a young teenage girl, innocent of men, innocent of passion and touch, innocent of lust.  Fear always fills in for the lack of knowledge and young girls were kept free from information that might ‘sully’ their character or inspire them to lasciviousness.  The poor child had probably been petrified. 

“It did nay go well.  She did nay like the marriage bed, nor did she take well t’ living in a castle as the tanists wife.  There are many duties and expectations and she was frightened o’ them.  Young.  The lass was very young.”  The heaviness of guilt surged over him like an avenging angel.  He could have been a better husband.  But he wasn’t.

“How did she die?”  Stella mourned for the young girl and all others like her, thrust into intimate relationships not of their own design, forced to provide conjugal comfort when they themselves were never to receive even the slightest of emotional comforts for their efforts.  It was a sad life of always giving what you did not have until you died, swollen with tears, hearts dried and empty like last year’s seed pods.

“She leapt from the cliffs and plunged into the loch,” Robbie hesitated, wondering at the wisdom of allowing her to see his irresponsibility to his wife. “She was gone three days a’fore I noticed.  I’m ashamed o’ that.”

“As well you should be.  That’s probably why she left.”  Stella could not with good conscience absolve him of guilt.  If he carried the stain of her death with him then so be it.

They rode in silence for several miles, each lost in their thoughts of lost relationships, doomed from the start, laying like road kill at their doorstep.  They thought of their own burgeoning relationship, tremulous as quicksilver yet different somehow.

Stella thought for a moment about his betrothal.  “You said you’d been betrothed since you were a lad? Really?  How old were you?”  Robbie thought a moment.

“I was about seven or eight and me own mam’s cousin, a Stewart, had a wee baby girl that was to be my bride when we reached an age.  They say she was a bonnie wee lass, but she did not survive and the alliance between the MacDougalls and the Stewarts went another direction.”

Stella did not give voice to her thoughts because they would have erupted all over the peace of the forests and she did not want to burden the environment with her vituperative announcements about betrothing children.

Robbie began to grow disconcerted the closer they drew to Oban.  He realized that once he passed into those castle gates they would not have the time alone that he so enjoyed with her now.  She would be watched over by the servants and staff of Dunollie so that no untoward gossip spoiled her reputation.  Robbie understood how important reputation was to a woman and how it would be doubly important to Stella since she was to be his wife.  He seriously doubted such was the case in Texas, but this wasn’t Texas, this was Scotland and the reputation of women was sometimes the cause of their death.  He had to be cautious.

Ferghus came flying out of the woods at that moment, ears perked, tongue flying out the side of his mouth, feet wet.

“Ah,” said Robbie, “Ferghus has found a stream, let’s water the horses and rest a short spell.  We are almost t’ Oban.”

“Tell me again why we have to stop at this Oban?” Stella would much prefer to continue on to Kilmartin, but Robbie seemed intent on spending time at his home and she had every reason to believe it was not a good idea for her.

“I have delivered a message for my Laird, lass, and must needs see to the delivery of the answer.”  Robbie’s heart was heavy with disguised answers and intent.  He was hoping against hope that he could change her mind about her need to return to Texas.  He was left with few options at this point, and locking her in a tower was one of them, but he didn’t want to resort to that.  He knew that force would darken the light in her and he would become her enemy.  He wanted her willing and freely given, and knew that any other way would kill the spirit in her and turn her against, not only him, but all his kin and he thought she might be capable of real damage should she be thwarted.  No.  Best to keep her happy and receive her smiles, rather than her anger and fear.  He had seen and been the object of her anger and knew that she could inflict punishment in ever so many amazing ways.

“Then I’ll just wait in the woods for you while you do that.” Stella’s anxiety about meeting large groups of people was growing hourly. 

“My love, ye worra’ too much, but I know yer fears.  I will watch o’er ye and make sure ye are nay harmed.”  Robbie understood her trepidation.  But he had given her his oath that he would protect her even if that meant protecting her from his own family.

“Ferghus! Water!”  Ferghus turned and ran back into the woods and Robbie followed leading them into the soft green shade, moving deeper into what was a wonderland of summer coolness. The small brook was hidden by moisture loving ferns clustered to the banks in a celebration of fecundity.  Small fat rocks, worn smooth by millennia of gently rushing waters were blanketed with moss the color of fir trees in moonlight.  After watering Arwen Stella stopped to pick up one of the small beautiful stones.  She examined the lovely pattern of moss and the richness of the color.  She put the small stone in her backpack.  She thought with some glum reasoning that it was sad that someday 400 years in the future this same beautiful site was probably going to be covered with a mall selling cheap Chinese goods and high calorie fast food.  Progress just did not seem like such a good thing at that moment.  Even if you purge the land of disease and ignorance is the price too high?  Is knowledge of the planets and the atoms worth the wasting and corruption of the earth?  Was there not some balance to be found?

Robbie, who rarely took his eyes off her, noticed her pensive mood.  He knew she had some fear about meeting his family and kin and he understood.  She was different enough that she would have to be very careful about what she said and who she said it to.  He wanted desperately to put her mind at ease, or at least allay her fears enough that she would follow him without dread.

“Lass, ye seem sad,” he offered. “What breaks yer heart so?”

Stella looked at him, with a soft smile that shone through her eyes and said, “I’m not sad, Robbie.  I’m worried.  I’m happy to be with you, because you seem to understand me, but I worry that others may not be so patient or charitable.”

Robbie considered her words and felt a wellspring of joy in hearing them.  Robbie felt a lover’s magic hanging heavy in the air.  Magic that would draw her near to him.  She would come to him…if only he knew the words to the spell that unlocked her heart.

“Do you believe in fate, lass?” asked Robbie

“I’m not sure things are fated, Robbie.  Planned with the option of choice and failure, perhaps, but I’m not sure about fate.  Fate means we don’t have a choice, and I believe we always have a choice even about the things that are seemingly inevitable.”

Robbie nodded his head in understanding, and looked away from her into the deep woods, hoping that an answer lay somewhere in the thick foliage.

“Ah, lass, you have the right of it,” he sighed and sat on the bank, patting the dirt next to him, a silent invitation to come and sit by him and rest.  She pulled her sketchbook out of her backpack and sat next to him, feeling a comfortable camaraderie, like two old friends that lean on each other during times of stress and anxiety.  She was glad he was there, no matter how much he was complicating her life.  This was her Robbie, and she was beginning to feel an unfathomable tenderness for him, in spite of all that he represented. 

He was a man of sharp contrasts, his substance and frailty blended into a human being of great interest and dimension.  A hardened warrior that could slice through the body of an enemy without remorse, he was also tender and shy when speaking to her.  Intelligent, with a keen sense of curiosity, he was also a product of his time with prejudices that would probably remain with him throughout his life.  But he seemed like an unfinished piece of art, with only the darks and lights laid in with temporary guideline colors. Robbie was malleable, in his own fashion, and would be open to new ideas, new thoughts, new information, a sponge ready to absorb data like a empty computer disc. 

As she began to sketch, Robbie thought about how to mesmerize her with words, much like she had mesmerized him with a glance, a look, a smile. Robbie knew that women were better with words for they could say one word, but mean two.  It was their gift, like having children, or giving comfort.  The strength of women was in their words, not in their shoulders and arms. Robbie didn’t dislike conversation with women, he actually had a great deal of interest in the complexity of their language and words, but it was the nuance of communication that he found unsettling.  Robbie’s logic was absolute and told him that most things should be explained by their actual rather than ethereal characteristics.  But language was a slippery medium, playing fickle as a young girl, changing meaning on a whim and women were ever changing the meaning of words to suit their needs. 

In talking with women there were so many exceptions, so many opportunities for mistakes.  Robbie didn’t like mistakes.  He had an inbred belief that victory comes only to those who are prepared to be victorious and he couldn’t be victorious without taking measure of this beautiful woman and learning how best to bring her purpose around to reflect his own. And it must be in words for no smile or glance from him was going to mesmerize her.  He thought the best way to start was to be honest and admit his weakness right off.  He knew that lasses liked a vulnerable man and he could be vulnerable if he felt it would move him closer to his objective.  He trusted her enough to allow her a glimpse of his weakness.

“Lass,” he began almost hesitantly. “I am nay a mon of beautiful words, but I wish I had a word, just one, that when I spoke it…ye would become mine.” Robbie turned from looking into the forest to speak into her eyes. “If I knew that word I would write it on my heart and give it t’ ye.  And next t’ that word I would write yer bonny name…and mine.”

Stealth is the weapon of words and Robbie’s words approached Stella, soft and weightless as fog, blinding her to all but his presence.  Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard a door slam, closing on her resistance.  But with the slamming of that door another opened wide and her heart’s appetite increased.

“I’m a fool, lass. A man’s words are far too revealing and I only have a certain number of words t’ share. It pays t’ surrender them wisely, but my words are few and I fear the loss of them.”

With the fluid grace of a dancer, waltzing to a steady heartbeat heavy with the heat of life, Robbie reached for Stella’s hand, holding it between his own, giving her hand the room and freedom to withdraw.  But she did not.  Stella looked into Robbie’s eyes and he saw there not passion and fire, but wonder and something else he could not define.  Was it hope?  Was it love?  Was she coming to the call of his magic?