Highland Portrait (25 page)

She saw that most of the people dining here were men, most soldiers, although she wasn’t sure she would name them soldiers as there was no uniformity to them.  They had no armor or identical clothing that would brand them as soldiers, but were rough and formidable, their fierceness not in doubt.  They conducted themselves with that loud and bawdy manner that is so common among men that live and dine together.  They swaggered with that assurance and bravery that testosterone lends them for those times in each other’s company but that deserts them so woefully when alone in the presence of the gentler sex. They continually cast covert glances at her when they thought Robbie was not watching, but were wary to keep their eyes averted when his eyes swept the hall, his brows knit in scowling at offenders.

The MacDougall stood and motioned the crowd to silence and toasted Robbie and his betrothed.  Feet stomped, fists pounded the table and many tankards of ale were raised in honor of the hand fasted couple.  All were standing and were in hearty welcome of the couple except for one individual that Stella could tell was neither a soldier, a retainer or a craftsperson.  He seemed to be a priest of some sort, although his dress seemed more like that of a monk than a priest.  His disinterest in the toast was evident as he continued to eat while all about him warriors shouted their best wishes and ribald comments. 

Stella looked at her father who was watching the priest with great interest, his eyes pierced and hooded, with what Stella liked to think of as his ‘pondering’ look.  He turned to Stella and put his arms around her shoulders and whispered to her.

“Stella, be wary of this priest.  He is Malcolm MacDougall, brother to the Laird and a witch hunter. Be careful what you say to him, he is not fond of emancipated females so he will bait you.  Take care, dear.”  With that Albert kissed her on the cheek and left her to Robbie who was anxious to have all these familial obligations, regardless of their social necessity, to be done with.

Stella nodded at Albert’s counsel and looked at Malcolm MacDougall.  He was staring at her with the black look of one whose distrust and madness is barely held in check. She had dreaded this very thing, the witch hunters, the fearful, the superstitious and now she faced it.  Even her father, who was so calm in the face of dangers seemed concerned so she lifted her shoulders, straightened her back and gave Malcolm a quiet look of self assurance and then turned smiling to Robbie. 

The look was not lost on the Malcolm and he simmered to think that this wanton, this foreigner and her father were sitting on the dais where he belonged.  He would not soon forget this slight.

The meal was not nearly as dull as Stella thought it might be as they feasted on venison cooked almost like barbeque and covered with some sweet sauce that looked like cranberries, but she was pretty sure weren’t.  There seemed to be an awful lot flesh on the table, with highly seasoned meat, fish and fowl.  Some of the meats were served fresh but there was a good deal of preserved meat, dried, pickled and salted, and great baskets of bread in all sizes and flavors.  Stella observed that there were very few vegetables, and salads were non-existent.  Ale and wine flowed like water and Stella, not generally a big meat eater, ate mostly the breads with honey and fruits that were served.

The many dogs in the hall, Ferghus included, roamed about, ready to receive the small handouts and pieces that fell from the table.  A number of dog fights broke out as animals fought over choice morsels and Stella was immediately on alert for fear of Ferghus getting himself torn to shreds.  She leaned into Robbie.

“Robbie, please call Ferghus over here.”  Her hand on Robbie’s arm and her anxious look told him that she had a very real concern about the dog, which he thought an overreaction, but he had pledged himself to make her happy and he would do that.  He signaled a servant to find Ferghus and within minutes Ferghus was sitting at Stella’s side.  She had filled her almost empty plate with large pieces of meat and cut them up for the dog, slipping him plump pieces of venison and poultry.

Robbie watched as Stella lavished the dog with food and spoke to him in a manner more befitting a small bairn, than a dog.  As much as he was glad she was kind to Ferghus he could not understand her strong attachment to him.  From the moment she saw Ferghus she had been effusive with her attention, sharing her meals, stroking him and sleeping with him close, her arms around him as if he, and not Robbie were her champion.  If Ferghus had been a man Robbie would think very seriously about killing him, but he was not, he was a dog and Robbie would indulge Stella her affection for him, and he would keep his jealousy at bay.  One could not seriously be jealous of a dog.

“Ye will spoil that cur, Stella,” he said with a warning look at the dog and then glanced at Stella who was letting Ferghus have a sizeable chunk of smoked beef, the choicest dish of the menu. 

“Yes, I know.  I’m bad like that.” She looked at Robbie and flashed a smile that was his undoing and he thought he could get her a new dog every day just so he could see that smile.

Stella turned to her father who was watching the proceedings with amusement, “Daddy,” Stella whispered, “Why is there so much meat here and not any vegetables, except turnips and cabbage.  I hate turnips, Daddy.”

Albert, using his dagger to cut and pierce a piece of venison, whispered back. “Vegetables are generally thought to be a lower class of food, Stella.  The poor eat vegetables, the rich eat meat.  Many in Europe still believe most vegetables are poison, so meat and bread are the preferred food.  It won’t be until another hundred years or so that vegetables will begin to come into their own. It’s a diet rich in fats, but they thrive on it because of their physical activity.  But for now you might want to stick to the fruits.” With that Albert popped the venison into his mouth, savoring the flavor of the herb seasoned meat. 

The hour grew late and Stella, normally filled with the energy of a four year old, began to tire.  The meal, although congenial and filled with enough inspiration and information to last her through a hundred canvases, seemed interminable.  Robbie heard her gentle sigh and signaled his aunt Elinor who came to Stella’s side.                                                                                     
              “Stella, ye look tired, would ye like to go upstairs and retire?  It’s verra late and I know ye have had a long day filled with naught but surprises.”  Stella looked into the very kind face of Robbie’s aunt and wished that her own mother could have been here.  She wondered if her mother looked anything like Elinor.

“Oh, Miss Elinor,” she whispered, “you are so kind.  Would it be polite for me to leave now, I
am
tired.”  Her pleading eyes softened Elinor’s already kind heart and she turned to Robbie.

“Stella will be in yer chamber, lad.  Gi’ her some time to rest afore ye go t’ her.”  Robbie, who thought that she looked just fine and didn’t need resting, was anxious that she go because he had waited too long already and he was impatient to be with his bride.

“Aye, Aunt.  Stella, love I will be there directly.”  He looked at her and saw that she did indeed look tired, but perhaps it was the hall with all the noise, the whiskey, the strangeness of her day that made her look so.  He would chase her tiredness away soon enough so he stood and kissed her hand and let Elinor escort her out of the hall.  He scowled as Ferghus followed, wagging his feathered tail, as if he were part of the wedding party.

Once Elinor and Stella left the hall they could hear the shouts and guffaws of the men and she knew they were sharing their pithy wedding night humor with the world – in front of her father no less!  Stella turned to Elinor who was shaking her head, somewhat red in the face, her lips pursed, looking very much like a disapproving spinster.

“Men,” said Stella quietly, looking back over her shoulders, “are such idiots.”  She looked at Elinor who nodded and spoke simply.

“That they are lass, that they are.”
             

Chapter Twelve

Elinor opened the door to Robbie’s chambers and Stella followed, lulled by the magic of the soft lights, the warm summer night and the knowledge that Robbie would soon be with her. Brijit was already there preparing night clothes for Stella. Ferghus stepped in quickly and headed straight for the bed, jumping up and circling, he made himself comfortable.  Ferghus, as Stella knew, was a dog with a taste for comforts, preferring soft rugs and upholstered furniture to cold stone floors for sleeping. 

“Brijit, will take care of ye, dear.  If ye need anything a’tall she will see that ye get it.  Ferghus, get off that bed!”  Ferghus, was smart, intuitive, fiercely loyal and although obedient to the direct commands from his master, would test the boundaries of civil behavior with others.   He didn’t move.  Stella smiled at the dog and laughed.  Lounging on the bed he was Casper again, finding the soft bed to his liking, looking at Elinor as if she were a piece of furniture.

“I’ll take care of him, Elinor.  Again, thank you so much for your sweet kindness to me.  It has been a trying day and you have eased it for me.”  Stella hugged the woman and kissed her cheek, which surprised and pleased Elinor.

“Of course, my child.  We’re so glad ye’ve come to be w’ us here at Dunollie.  I will see ye in the morn.”  She held Stella’s hand and tightened her grip for just a moment, hoping that Stella would be the daughter she had always wanted.  She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.             

Robbie’s chambers were oddly familiar to her, although she had never been inside a castle until today.  The room was about twenty feet square, rather large, having one slender window with thick pebbled glass, the color of phosphorous ocean waves.  The room was lit by several candles placed on both sides of the bed, in the three wall sconces and on top of a large trunk.  Stella assumed that the trunk was the equivalent of a closet, being very ornate and a thing of beauty, not only functional, but decorative as well.

There was a small armless, backless chair placed at the end of the bed, which Stella surmised was used for valet purposes only, not being made for comfort or relaxing.  Next to the fireplace was a greater chair with an upholstered cushion and back that might have been used for Robbie to relax, or read.  It was rather large and although it looked like a grand chair, it did not look very comfortable.  Not La-Z-Boy comfortable anyway.

The bed seemed to be queen sized, the same size as her own bed at home, but this bed was not outfitted in plushy stuffed quilts, but covered in a simple linen sheet, rather than the furs that she had anticipated. Of course, it made sense that the middle of summer would not be a time to be snuggling under furs.

The room had a fireplace directly across from the foot of the bed.  There was a small fire giving off more light than heat, throwing dancing shadows against the grainy stone walls.                “Mistress, Lady Elinor has brought ye night clothes and there is wine.  I will help you…”

“Brijit, what is that leaning against the wall?”  Stella pointed to the odd shaped thing that conflicting shadows hid from her.  Brijit turned and looked.  She went to the instrument, picked it up, and gave it to Stella.

“’Tis a lute, Mistress.” Brijit smiled as Stella looked with awe at the instrument.  Stella ran her hands over the rich wood, the rounded belly of it and was struck at what a beautifully built piece it was.  She touched the strings noting they were gut, doubled and fretted on ebony.  The rest of the body was made of various colored woods, striped together giving the instrument a baroque look that was so prevalent in this era.  Stella handled it with care, but was tempted beyond caution to play it.

“Is this Robbie’s, Brijit?  Do you think he would mind if I played it?”  Brijit’s eyes lit up. 

“Oh, Mistress, he would be delighted.” Brijit’s excitement, her clasped hands held tightly to her chest in anticipation reminded Stella that music was a luxury here, not the ever present companion as it was in her time.  She recalled that minstrels were highly anticipated, their skill sought after, the greatest of them earning good coin as they roamed the lands.  All ages had their rock stars, she mused. She pulled the small backless chair in front of the fireplace, her back to the door, so she could see the strings better and worked the frets, tuning it.  She was more accustomed to playing a guitar but had played a lute several times in college, and she thought she might be able to pull a ditty out of this instrument.  She loved a challenge and since she was probably not going to get another opportunity to play an instrument this authentic she set to the task.

It took her several minutes but she was able to tune it, remembering that the lute was only different from the guitar by one note.  She strummed it gently and smiled. She indicated the larger chair and Brijit sat down in eager anticipation of the music.

Stella knew no Celtic tunes and wasn’t sure if English tunes would be appropriate so she opted for her own American music, beginning with one of her favorites,
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
.  Not one to belt out a song, Stella’s approach to music was quiet and lilting.  It was a sweet voice, not urgent, tremulous when the tune was sad, lyrical when happy. She sat and quietly played the lute and sang to Brijit, delighting in the full sound of the instrument, it being particularly suited for accompaniment. 

Stella’s music painted the room in the happy colors of rainbows and lost love, in bridges and troubled waters and Scarborough Faires. She delighted Brijit with songs about spiders and flies, and frogs, and buckets with holes, and stars over Texas skies. Brijit was enraptured with the music and so very happy to be honored with this singular magical event.