Highland Portrait (30 page)

“Aye, lass, and I love ye beyond measure.” He looked deep into her eyes, “Are ye happy, Stella,” he asked shyly and his heart was filled with gladness at her engaging smile.

“Yes, Robbie, I am happy,” she said. “Being here with you has changed my world.  Actually, the past couple of days have changed my world. I’ve experienced things that I never thought possible, seen things I’ve only heard about, met people that I will always remember.  Yes, I’m very happy.” 

Robbie exhaled a sigh of relief and Stella knew that he was worried about her leaving and returning to Texas, but she did not want to address the question right now.  Not now while she was enjoying this man whom she had lost her heart to.  Not while she was filling up her heart that had been empty for so long.  Perhaps tomorrow they could talk about Texas.  Perhaps next week.  She kissed him soundly, her tongue teasing his lips, feeling the heat rise from him. He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth, warming his hand on her breasts.

“Stella, lass, let me take ye, I have such need of ye again.” Robbie’s hands were insistent, his lips eager and she felt her temperature rise, but she gently pushed him back.

“Would be awkward should a shepherd come upon us, don’t you think?”  she winked at him and he reluctantly let her go.

Stella shook her head of the intoxication of her want and took out her pocket knife to sharpen her pencil.  Robbie reached for the knife once she was finished and again examined the peculiar little weapon and its extraordinary mechanism. Stella had said that Albert had given it to her.  Perhaps he would know how the metal was forged.  Robbie made a mental note to ask Albert so that the smithies at the castle could make a metal as strong and light as this.  Swords of this metal would be lethal, indeed.  Robbie tested the blade, slicing pieces of twigs and wood and was impressed at how cleanly and quickly it sliced through even the woodiest twigs with ease.  Stella smiled, watching him out of the corner of her eye thinking that men were alike in all times and places, fascinated with tools and weapons, no matter how small or insignificant.

“Robbie,” she looked up from her book to interrupt his experimenting, he acknowledged her, but continued to probe the surpassing singularity of the knife. “Last night you told me that your lute was now mine.”

“Aye, lass, that it is,” he said, not looking up from the knife.”Ye play it better than I ever did, so ‘tis yers.”

“Then I gift you with that knife, Robbie.  It is now yours.” She smiled to see the surprise and pleasure on his face, which was immediately replaced by a look of no small concern.

“But ye need a knife, Stella.  Ye cannot be without a weapon upon ye.”  Another reason, thought Stella, that this was a dangerous time.

“Then give me one of yours, if you think I need one.” She shook her head and returned to her drawing.  Robbie looked at the small pocketknife and then withdrew his dirk from his hose and handed it to Stella.  She looked at the knife, her eyes widening.  “Good grief, Robbie, that is practically a sword, where in the world would I put it?”

“I will make you a sheath, Stella, and you will wear it whenever you leave the castle.”  Robbie’s serious tone was not lost on her so she silently nodded her head and took a deep breath.

“Fine.  I’ll try to remember to strap on the arsenal whenever I’m out and about.”  Robbie nodded with approval and seemed happy with her compliance. She took the dirk and carefully laid it next to her on the boulder and thought that sarcasm was totally wasted in Renaissance Scotland.

“Brijit, I need some ribbon, do you have a small piece?”  Stella was anxious to go down to the evening meal and see her father again.  Perhaps they could get away for a talk before Robbie brought her back up to their chambers.  Every time he had held her his need was evident but he had been patient and promised to wait until the evening meal was behind them.  Her need for him was just as heated, but she desperately wanted to finish her conversation with her father.

  “Aye, mistress,” said Brijit as she took out a piece of ribbon from her basket of homemade cosmetic potions and sewing.  She held up a beautiful length of dusty green ribbon, the color reminding Stella of sage in the morning, wet with dew.

“Oh, what a beautiful color, Brijit, but I don’t need that much. I just need enough to tie this paper.” Stella showed Brijit the rolled drawing. “Do you have a piece that will tie this up?”  Brijit looked through her basket and found another garnet colored ribbon, and tied the rolled paper for Stella.

“There, mistress, ‘tis the perfect size.”  Brijit smiled, making an attractive bow of the ribbon.  Stella looked at Brijit and thought about the life of a servant and how they were singularly devoted to the well being of other people.               

“I have a small gift for you Brijit,” she said and went to her notebook.  She tore out the drawing she had done of Brijit.  She had sketched it in pencil and later, while in the MacDougall’s library with Robbie, had finished it in ink.   It was Brijit smiling at the observer, her basket in hand, the background the chamber in which she served.  Stella had given it extra detailing and was quite happy with the likeness.  Robbie had recognized Brijit immediately, which was the first test of any portrait, and had suggested she also do one of the MacDougall and Elinor.  She had promised she would and asked that Robbie procure her some parchment because her sketchbook was almost full.

“Here, Brijit, I took the liberty of doing this small drawing of you.  I hope you like it.”  Stella handed it to Brijit who had a puzzled look on her face.  Brijit looked at the drawing and at once her mouth was drawn into a surprised O of wonder.  She was so stunned at the likeness that she could not speak.  Stella laughed at her and patted her arm.

“You’re quite welcome, my friend,” and with the ribbon tied drawing in her pocket she went down to the evening meal.

She tried to hide her disappointment at not seeing her father in the great hall.  Robbie, his back to her, was talking with a number of warriors, the MacDougall was in deep conversation with Elinor, and after a scan of the hall she saw that Albert was nowhere to be found.  When his warrior’s eyes wandered to her, Robbie turned and came toward her, smiling and looking almost feverish with anticipation. 

She gave him her hand and asked, “Robbie, have you seen Albert?” He leaned closer to her smelling of the lilac scent she wore in her hair.

“Aye, lass, he has asked me to tell ye that he has left and will return in the morn.”

Stella turned an alarmed look to Robbie.  “Left!  Where did he go, Robbie, we were supposed to talk this evening. Where is he?”  Stella’s disappointment caused Robbie a momentary flash of jealousy, which he quickly dismissed as unworthy.

Robbie supposed that this had something to do with the conversation that he had interrupted earlier, but he had no answer for her.  “I do nay ken where he went, Stella, but if Albert said he will return than he will return. Do not fret, my heart, all is well.”  He took her arm and led her to the dais where he sat her next to Elinor.

Elinor, who had not seen Stella since the morning, squeezed her hand telling Stella that she was genuinely glad to see her. Stella, trying to dispel the growing frustration she was feeling with her father drew a breath and calmed herself and accepted her father’s absence as part of his mystery.  But she was annoyed as hell, nonetheless.

The meal was served and Stella helped herself to a good deal of fruit and bread with honey.  Robbie frowned at her plate and put a large piece of some kind of meat on it.

“Ye need meat, Stella, ye cannot eat bread alone.” Robbie beckoned to a servant to bring fish to their table.  Stella looked around for Ferghus and saw him coming toward her from the back of the hall.  He had been about his own business this day and she was glad to see him again.  She found it funny that Ferghus was never late for dinner.

“Ah, Ferghus, I see you have come to share my meal. Good. Stay. Sit.” Smiling at Robbie, she accepted the meat on her plate and made no bones about giving it to Ferghus.  Robbie just scowled and looked at the dog.

As the close of the meal drew near Stella turned to Elinor.

“Elinor, I have something for you.  A small gift.” Stella reached into her pocket and retrieved the rolled drawing, handing it to Elinor whose eyes widened with pleasure at the rolled up paper.  She had been so impressed with Stella’s picture of the garden and was glad to be a recipient of a small picture herself.

“Stella, how thoughtful of ye,” Elinor was anxious to see what Stella had drawn and quickly untied the ribbon and unfurled the small drawing.  Elinor did not immediately recognize the figure, but as it dawned on her who she was looking at she fell into shocked silence.  She looked at Stella with a pained expression and sadness enveloped her, causing her to gasp for breath.  Stella was immediately sorry for the pain she had caused this good woman.

“Oh, Elinor, I’m so sorry.  Had I know I would never have drawn it.  I am so…”

“Nay lass, nay,” Elinor turned, uninhibited tears blinding her. 

The MacDougall, who had been speaking to his steward turned his attention to Elinor.

“Elinor, what is this?” It was not like Elinor to cry and even less like her to cry in public.  He did not like it.  She turned to him and gave him the rolled drawing.

“’Tis a gift from Stella, Ronald,” said Elinor, tears shining through her sadness.

It took him but a second to recognize Gregor, standing straight and tall, smiling, a sword in one hand, a gardening tool in the other.  His body was beautifully proportioned, strong and without blemish.  This was the Gregor that might have been had not his malady transformed his body into the grotesque caricature that it was.  This was the son that lived inside of the monster’s body.  A handsome lad that would have been a warrior, a hero, a Laird.

The MacDougall, looked steadily at the small ink drawing crying inside for what might have been.  How many times had he imagined an heir that would follow him, an heir that stood strong and tall like the Gregor in this drawing?  Careful, lest anyone know that a tear was near he rolled the drawing up and returned it to Elinor, clearing his throat.

“Ye look fashed, my dear, let me escort ye t’ yer chambers.”  He got up and pulled Elinor’s seat back gently and taking her arm they left the great hall together.

Stella looked at Robbie who was watching his aunt and uncle moving up the stairs.  Unsure of what had just happened, hoping that she wouldn’t be asked to leave she had a stricken look on her face, afraid of what she had done.

“Robbie,” she said quietly, ”I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean offense…”

“Offense, Stella?” Robbie, who had watched Stella draw the picture earlier in the day, looked at her and realized that she did not know what she had done, how she had just changed the lives of his kin.

“There is naught offense, my heart,” he patted her hands and kissed her lightly on her cheek, this Faerie Queen, this woman of so many surprises and talents. “Come, my sweet, we go to our chambers.”

“Mistress Stella, I have laid out a bonny riding dress fer ye,” said Brijit, “but a’fore ye go the Laird wishes to speak w’ ye.”  Stella, getting used to the early mornings, now stood behind the screen washing herself clean and getting ready to meet her father.  He had sent up a note with Brijit that she was to meet him at the stables and Stella was anxious to get there as soon as possible.  She mulled over in her mind her past night with Robbie. 
She thought about the sweet offensive, the invasion of her body and his bold onslaught.  Her body weakened to remember his passion, his need, his drive.  As tender as he had been the first night, this second night had seen him breach walls and conquer, his need to claim her strong.

She grimaced when Brijit mentioned the Laird even though Robbie had assured her that all was well with both his aunt and uncle.

“Did he say what he wanted to speak to me about?” Stella inquired.

“Mistress,” said Brijit, surprised that Stella would even ask the question, “the Laird does nay confide in me, he only commands.”  Of course, thought Stella, servants weren’t like actual people that could be trusted to deliver an instructive message, they were only servants, after all.

Stella thought a moment about the position of servants and their humble acceptance of their supposed inferiority.  She wondered what kind of person it took to set aside their own wants and needs to live for the comfort of another.  It was an interesting thought and she was glad she had not been born during this time.  The whole question of servants felt odd and unsettling.

“I’m sorry, Brijit, I wasn’t thinking. I’ll get down there post haste.”

“Mistress,” Brijit spoke hesitantly, softly. “Thank ye fer the gift o’ my likeness. I would never have thought that one such as I would ha’e a likeness. It shall be my most treasured possession and I am so pleased t’ have it.”

Stella could see Briji’s unshed tears in her eyes and she was struck at how simple portraits were such momentous gifts.  These were people that did not have mirrors everywhere, or photographs of themselves on every shelf.  A likeness was a rare possession and usually only the rich ever had the privilege of having one.  She was glad to do these small drawings and promised herself to do more as soon as she found a source of paper.

She walked into the MacDougall’s study to find both he and Elinor sitting by the fire quietly discussing something.  The MacDougall rose when she entered and beckoned her forward.  Elinor rose as she approached and hugged her tightly, kissing her on the cheek and smiling sweetly at her.