Highland Portrait (6 page)

Magic was such a complex, tangled mess and she was always left wondering, with no answers in sight.

Stella thought back to the first time that her talent had manifested itself.  She had been four years old and her father, having determined that she had a talent for art, had given her a large box of crayons and an easel with a tablet of newsprint.  She had begun drawing what was in her heart and her work was beyond the maturity of a four year old.   Her drawings were of people and places that puzzled her teachers and brought a smile to her father.    He proudly hung her drawings all over the house and saved each as a treasured memento of her youthful talent. 

But drawing was the lesser of her talents.  When she was particularly impassioned about a piece it would quite often manifest itself in reality.  Life imitating art.  She remembered the first time it had happened. 

She had been six and wanted desperately to have a small white kitten.  Her father did not want the responsibility of a cat, nor did he think that she was yet capable of caring for a pet.  Her sad little heart breaking for want of a kitten she drew one on her newsprint tablet and the next morning there was a small white kitten curled up asleep underneath the easel. Having a fair understanding of the workings of the tooth fairy and Santa Claus she surmised that some benevolent feline faerie had gifted her with the kitten.

  After investigating the appearance of the kitten her father began to take a more serious interest in Stella’s art, providing her with the tools and training she needed to become the extraordinary artist she was.

The magic of the canvas did not always happen.  A new bicycle did not appear after she drew it, nor did Nike sneakers, nor a strapless prom gown.  She appeared to have no control over what appeared.  It was a random magic that seemed directed by some other force.  It happened seldom enough that she was able to keep it secret…this was magic after all.

She was in high school when Arwen appeared.  Stella had talked with her father about getting a horse and he had thought it might be a good idea, but he seemed always too busy, or away on another trip to do anything about it.  She had painted the Arabian and within a few days she found herself in the possession of Arwen, a white Arabian mare.  Her father did not seem too surprised, however, to return home after a particularly long trip to find a horse pastured in the back yard.  They found a boarding stable and Stella began training and riding.

Casper had come into her life much the same way, the most recent addition to her ‘faerie gifts’ as she called them.  She wasn’t needing or wanting a dog at the time, but had painted a red dog for a book cover and the next day Casper showed up in her back yard, barking at the door wanting in. He seemed quite taken with her – wagging his tail as if he was glad to see her again.  She was puzzled, but recognized him immediately from her painting and knew that he was to serve some purpose. What, she didn’t know.

Stella did not fear her magic. It had all been rather benign and had worked to her benefit – giving her things she wanted or needed. An odd assortment of things that sometimes made no sense to her, but she delighted in receiving them regardless of where they came from. It had always been animals or jewelry or strange hand carved wooden bowls.  She had received gifts of beautiful shawls and exquisite treasure boxes filled with strange herbs and dried flowers.  Each gift was of a practical use to her in some small way.  She had taken the box of herbs to an herbalist who identified them as a very powerful cleansing agent.  The following week she had found herself with a bad case of food poisoning after dining at a new restaurant and the herbs kept her from a hospital visit. Her ‘gifts’ were always comforting and useful, except for Casper, who seemed to have come on his own accord.  Perhaps he came because he needed her and she was content to take care of him.

But Robbie, whoever he was, was a complete surprise and mystery to her.  Her magic had never manifested another human being before. So why would a complete stranger be coming to claim her when she did not know him? Surely he would not take her into his time.  Would he whisk her away into some spectral plane where she was no longer a temporal creature?  Would she become a ghost?  Would she die?

She flew out of her studio, slamming the door behind her, determined to not return until after the three days were over.

Stella climbed out of her truck and headed toward the door.  Today was the third day and she had gone riding with Andrea because she was pretty sure Robbie would never find her out in the Hill Country.  She loved riding, her one athletic endeavor, and like all things she was passionate about, she was very good at it.  Had art not stolen all her time she would have become an equestrian, showing and training jumpers.  When she had acquired Arwen she had contemplated doing just that, but the training and the demands on her time had been too much so now she just rode when she had time.

She came into the house just in time to hear the message machine.

‘Beep’

“Hello, Stella, this is Barbara Kurle, Kyra told me you wanted some info on my characters for
Highland Stones
.  I would be happy to oblige.  I’m just so thrilled you’re doing the cover for my book.  Give me a call whenever it’s…”

Stella ran through the living room and grabbed the phone

“Hello, Barbara, this is Stella.  Sorry, I just came in.  Do you have a few minutes now?”
              “Yes, of course.  How can I help you?”

Stella gripped the phone and prayed that Barbara would be able to give her enough information to unravel the mystery that was consuming her.  Twirling around she pulled open the draw of her side board and frantically searched for a pen. She grabbed the only writing implement available – a small stub of a pencil with no eraser.

“Well, Barbara, I always find it so much easier to do a piece if I have a little bit of personal information about the subject.”  Stella had never used personal information on any portrait but lots of artists did so she felt that the lie was not really a lie – it was a generalization and generalizations were necessary when you had a crazy-ass ghost loose in your studio.

“Oh yeah, I’d love to help out.  The two protagonists in my book are Robbie MacDougall, who is an actual historical figure, and his love interest, Celeste.  Celeste is purely fictionalized.  The real name of his love is lost to us so I’m using a bit of literary license here.”

Stella’s eyebrows arched at ‘love interest’ but she continued. “OK, I’m mainly interested in Robbie, of course.  What can you tell me about the real historical character?”

“Robbie lived during the later part of the 1500’s and died sometime in the early 1600’s.  He was the tanist in Clan MacDougall living at Castle Dunollie in Oban.”

“Tanist?  What is that?”  Stella couldn’t find any writing paper within reach of the phone cord so she wrote on the wall by the phone.

“A tanist is the second in command in a clan, the Laird’s heir.  He’s usually elected by the clan and in most cases is a son or brother – maybe a nephew or uncle – most often a close kinsman.”

“How was Robbie related to the laird?”

“He was a nephew.  The Laird had only two sons.  Gavin was killed in battle at a young age and another that was not fit for leadership, possibly a cripple.”

“So Robbie was next in line to be Laird?”

“Not actually. The Laird had a brother, but he wasn’t chosen as tanist, Robbie was.”

“Ok, so he’s the tanner…”

“Tanist”

“Right, tanist. When did he become Laird?”

“Actually, he didn’t.  He died before his uncle died.”

Stella felt her stomach flipping, her heart stop for one brief second.  Robbie’s death was becoming a personal matter of some importance to her.

“How did he die?” she asked. She chewed on the pencil point trying to gnaw lead from the wood.  She spit out a piece of chewed wood onto the wall then brushed it away, thinking that spitting on the wall was disgusting but this was not the time to be concerned about it.

“Well, historically nobody knows for sure.  The family legend says that he was whisked away by the faeries, another legend says he was killed by a jealous clan member, and another says it was related to witchcraft.  It was all very mysterious.  There are no grave markers or records of burial so it’s hard to pin down accurate information here.  He was last known to be at Kilmartin, near Oban his home.  And at that point he just disappeared.    What’s interesting here is the stones at Kilmartin.  They could possibly have been used in magical rituals.”

Stella’s grip tightened on the pencil, breaking it in two.  “Magic?” she repeated meekly.

Stella, still wearing her riding gear and backpack, walked slowly toward the studio, Casper following close behind her.  In spite of her trepidation she was inexorably drawn to the studio remembering the feeling of absolute love and wanting to feel it again, even for just a moment.  She didn’t believe in reincarnation, past lives or traveling through time, but if any of those things were possible would she be a part of it just to feel that overwhelming sensation of love again?  She immediately ruled out time travel because her father’s work had been evidence enough that the 1600’s were an oppressive time for females. She didn’t want to travel to the 1600’s.

But as she neared the studio she had an odd sensation of losing control, being swept into the abyss. She heard a door slam somewhere in her mind and knew there was no turning back now, she was on her way. She placed her hand on the door knob and walked in.

The air was still, the lights were out and she felt nothing.  The studio was still.  Silent.  Casper whined softly behind her and she reached out to him, stroking his head, feeling a calmness coming from him, grateful for the comfort he gave her.

She looked at the portrait, noting the background.  He was in the midst of a number of tall standing stones overlooking a body of water.  She briefly thought of Stonehenge, but knew that these were different, although similar.  Were these the stones that Barbara had mentioned? The stones at Kilmartin.  She made a mental note to look that up and for the first time in her life regretted that she didn’t have a computer.

“Robbie?”  she looked around the studio, but everything was quiet.  “Robbie, I want to talk to you but please don’t take me from here.  Let me see you, Robbie.”

In anticipation of great challenges she knew that a modification of belief was required.  You could not open up vision without altering your perception.  She was quite willing to diverge somewhat from her beliefs because, after all, she had been dealing with magic for years.  But not ghosts.  Ghosts had minds of their own and this one seemed particularly presumptuous. 

She slowly approached the canvas with her arm extended, as if she could forestall any untoward actions by Robbie.

“Robbie, are you here?” Somewhere in her brain she heard a rich masculine voice. 

“Aye, lass, I am here.  Hold now.” Quietly and then gradually louder she heard the pipes calling from across the Highlands and her breathing was suddenly labored.  She reached out to hold on to something – anything, but found nothing to support her. She could not draw a breath, her head was swirling and she felt faint, unable to keep herself from falling.  The sound of the pipes was becoming louder, shriller.  Suddenly Robbie was there and just as suddenly disappeared.  The last thing she heard was Casper barking and then she dropped to the floor lost to blackness.

Chapter Four

Scotland, 1604

Stella opened her eyes to puffy white clouds drifting lazily across a cerulean blue sky, the music of the pipes gone, leaving behind a silence so profound it was deafening.   Her backpack was still strapped on, and other than the awkwardness of it, she was not hurting or injured, but felt comfortable and quiet as if she had slept long hours with no disturbance, not even dreams.  She was rested – but on alert.  She never slept outdoors, finding camping a primitive occupation at best, and here she was sleeping on the ground, surrounded by rocks and tall brush as if napping at midday out in the wild was the most natural thing in the world for her.  She remembered rushing in to answer the phone then going to the studio, feeling Robbie’s presence, hearing him and then falling, then nothing.  Now she was outside and she had no idea where.

She sat up and looked around her.  She hoped she might be in the Texas Hill Country except it was a too green for Texas and she could see peaks on the not too distant horizon, rough hewn mountains tipped with gray clouds.  The air was gently warm, not the searing heat of a Texas summer afternoon, when even the birds seek shade and rest from the sun’s passion. She looked to find Casper, hoping that his nearness would be bring her comfort and lend a bit of genuiness to what she thought was an impractical and oddly realistic dream, but he was nowhere that she could see. She was alone as far as she could tell.

Making a quick mental assessment she noted that nothing about her had changed.    She still had her riding clothes on, well worn jeans and a white cowboy shirt with lavender detailing, and her favorite cowboy boots, the brown leather kickers she’d had since high school.  She shrugged her shoulders to adjust the backpack more comfortably and was glad to have it.  She always carried minor emergency supplies when riding and if she was lost, which she readily admitted to, than she was bound to need them.