Robbie looked at his dog, who looked at him. “His name is Ferghus.”
“But its Casper, I’d know my own dog. See, he recognizes me.”
“How could he recognize someone he’s never seen?” Robbie’s look of bewilderment gave Stella a start. She remembered what he had said in the studio. ‘Ferghus found ye’.
“He hasn’t been gone for like the last five or six months?” Her enthusiasm for Casper would have to be curtailed, even a champion would begin to wonder about magic and witchcraft if she wasn’t careful.
“Nay, he’s been with me since a pup. He’s never left me side.” Robbie said, looking at the dog.
“Ah,” she said, faltering ever so slightly. “Well, he looks just like my own Casper. Almost identical, but of course, I’m sure Ferghus has never been to Texas.” Stella stood up and looked at Casper, or rather Ferghus, and nodded to the dog. “Good doggie, Ferghus.”
Ferghus replied with an enthusiastic bark. Once again Robbie kneeled for Stella to seat her horse and she handily jumped up and swung her leg over her horse, riding astride as if she had been born to it. Although he thought the Tegis style of women’s trews was stimulating he knew he had to find her a dress to protect her from those that would see her. He could see the advantage for her, of course, riding astride was much easier than sidesaddle. He never could understand the idea of women riding with one leg slung over a pommel, giving them no security of position and putting them at risk. He understood that it was a genteel notion that modesty was more important than safety, but he still found it ridiculous. He was glad that Tegis allowed women to ride as men, but while she was here she would need to be dressed more appropriately. He had vowed to take care of her and he would do just that.
It would be another three days ride before they reached Dunollie Castle. He had three days to convince her to stay in Scotland with him rather than leave and return to her homeland and he began to plan out his strategy.
Robbie was not a man to resort to emotional ploys, but was a thinker of some degree. He believed in science and reason and planning and he began to organize the words he would use when he asked her to be his wife. Surely she would not deny him because he felt in his heart that they were already lovers, that somehow they had been promised and their futures were entwined as one. And she knew him. He knew not how, maybe that was part of her magic, but he would find out and mayhap that would engender a bond.
Like a young horse that chafes against the stall, he was suddenly impatient to have a wife and fill his manse with children. It was time. A leader could not be without a wife and he was anxious that she be the one. His eye slipped once more to Stella’s beautiful face. Stars burst in his heart and he was gladdened and excited about the prospect of courting this woman, knowing that he would not have to resort to cloying sweet words or idle conversations but could talk with her as he would talk with his equals. The long ride home now seemed not long enough. Only three days.
Chapter Six
It was late afternoon by the time they left the stream, the sun throwing long shadows across the meadows and rolling hills. The warmth was holding, but would soon get cooler, as the sun began its descent and they climbed steadily into the mountainous Highlands. But Stella had a champion, she had Casper, or rather Ferghus, she had transportation and she was moving toward what she hoped was a portal back to her home. She may not have been exactly light hearted, but she was feeling hope seep back into her heart and she was grateful to have the safety and security of both Robbie and Ferghus. Robbie took the lead, his sturdy stallion solid and surefooted on the rocky ground. His was a stout horse, strong enough to carry Robbie, a large man in any age, plus his pack and weapons. Her mare had taken to the stallion and she knickered after him whenever he got too far ahead.
“Why do you ride a stallion,” she asked, her curiosity stronger than her cultural sensitivity. “I would think that stallions are too difficult to control and have an agenda. Wouldn’t geldings be a better option? They are much easier to control. I don’t particularly like riding stallions, although yours seems to be well behaved. My mare seems taken with him.”
Robbie looked back at her and smiled. “I dinna ken ‘agenda’, but a stallion has fire, a gelding has fear. The battlefield is no place for a gelding.”
“What kind of horse is that?” Stella, familiar with most modern breeds of horses, could not place this magnificent animal. He was not overlarge, being only about sixteen hands, but he seemed, much like his rider, to be in excellent condition, fit and robust.
“Grey is a courser,” said Robbie, scanning the horizon looking for English soldiers.
“Hmm. I thought warriors rode destriers?” Stella was trying to remember all her father taught her about war horses.
“Some warriors ride destriers into battle, lass. They are heavier and are a weapon themselves, but coursers are swift and nimble. When on the battlefield I prefer speed to thunderous weight.” Robbie turned to look at her. She was looking with curiosity at his horse and he knew that she had an interest in and an appreciation for good horseflesh and it pleased him.
“Battlefield?” she winced. “Do you often go to the battlefield?” Robbie was slow to answer her question. He knew that most women did not approve of battle and thought it a dangerous pastime, making widows of too many of them.
“I go when I am needed,” was his simple answer. Stella didn’t badger for more information because she didn’t want more information. She had not failed to notice that Robbie carried an arsenal with him, including his sword, some sort of dagger strapped to his boot, a quiver of arrows and a bow on his tack. There was probably more, but she knew that he was a warrior because these were uncivilized and arrogant people. This was a time of uneasy peace, when danger was met with blood and vengeance, not reason and policy. All the more motivation to go back to her own time where corruption came with less blood and posturing, and was more related to dollars than to spears.
It was a pleasant ride, Robbie leading at a gentle pace, leaving Stella to wonder if he was not concerned about the soldiers that were, for all she knew, still pursuing them. Perhaps he thought her and her mare too delicate to ride hard and was pacing himself for her comfort, or that Ferghus would have difficulty keeping up if they were to go faster. The dog liked exploring and was pulled in a multitude of directions, inspecting and discovering the quiet pleasures that brought dogs so much joy. When he had been her dog he had had a limited area of exploration, his domain being her small backyard with a handful of squirrels to punctuate his day. Out here his field was limitless, his opportunities having no fences or leashes, no restraints. It made her happy to see her dog (and he would always be her dog, no matter in which year he lived) to be so boundless in his enthusiasm for traveling. She would like to make it to the Stones as quickly as possible, but she was not going to press Robbie about speed. She reasoned that if he felt comfortable at this pace then she would relax and enjoy her adventure.
With the eye of the artist Stella looked at the landscape and noted the color and texture of this beautiful, but rugged land. Bracken and heather covered the meadows, giving the ground a deceptively soft appearance, hiding in their depth stones that grew out of the Scottish soil, small but worrisome features for horses and travelers. She noted numerous cairns as they traveled, those piled stones designating graves or marking some special event or place. They were eerie, but quite beautiful and Stella thought that some of these cairns had grown so large because successive travelers placed more stones as they passed, each adding their voice to the cause of the cairn.
In spite of the beauty that surrounded her she still felt ill at ease about being in this ‘time zone’ and wondered if traveling through time would alter any of her molecules. She thought about Star Trek and being ‘beamed up’, transported back to the Enterprise and laughed out loud when she thought that it was Scotty who did the beaming. Aye, Captain!
Robbie turned to look at her. “Ye have found some humor, lass?”
She smiled and shook her head, allowing her simple smile to let him know that she was no longer feeling unsafe or sad. His grey-blue eyes were piercing into her soul.
“Ye have eyes like a bog,” he said softly.
“A bog? Really? You mean muddy?” Stella looked at him quizzically.
“Nay. Yer eyes suck me in and bury me. They be dangerous.”
“Ah.” She turned her gaze away from him and locked her eyes onto the back of the mares head. Men were so full of bullshit, she thought. Did they just expect women to fall over themselves and believe that stuff? Seriously? She smiled and shook her head. Sitting on a horse in god forsaken Scotland in the 1600’s wasn’t much different than being in a cheesy singles bar in the 21st century.
The sun dropped gently into the western sky after they had been riding in companionable silence for several hours through meadows and along the forest line. Stella’s growling stomach was not to be ignored. She thought about the granola bars in her backpack and wondered how she was going to dig them out and unwrap them without causing some kind of time-continuum panic in Robbie. He seemed like a reasonable man, but the sight of brightly colored plastic wrappers might push him over the edge. He may not be impressed with the granola bars, but he certainly would be with the wrappers. She was pretty sure he was not totally comfortable with her jeans or being tossed over her shoulder like a rag doll and that he was either too wary to ask questions, or maybe he just really believed that Faerie Queen bullshit. Either way, she was going to make sure nothing else shocked him or caused him to reconsider his championing of her.
Stella felt some small misgivings being with a highly armed, overwhelmingly physical male that probably did not care for the strictures of polite society. He seemed gentle enough, although he looked like a barbarian. She thought he may talk like one, too, and his whole ‘wild mountain man’ appearance was giving her second thoughts about her safety. Chances were he was totally illiterate and couldn’t even write his own name. But she didn’t have a lot of options right now.
Robbie turned his mount into the forest and moved deep into the trees. The sun was being swallowed up, the dying light giving way to a half moon that did not pierce the heavy canopy of the woods. They were traveling up a steep hillside, the slender pathway winding its way up the mountain, each step taking her deeper into a primitive area, farther from the meadows, where the forest was still pristine, where the unhealthy smell of money and loggers was still centuries away. The dimming light made traveling the unfamiliar way difficult and Robbie looked back continually to make sure she was close behind.
“Hold steady, lass, we’ll find a place to stay and I’ll get us a fine hare for sup.”
She liked being here on the mountain, the forest closing in on her, wrapping her in its sheltering dark green mantle. Stella had always loved the forest at dusk, the tranquility, the music of the nocturnal population as they went about the business of hunting and feeding. Being in the woods was her introduction to the small secrets of nature. It was here where she saw – truly saw – the wonder of design and pattern all around her.
She remembered as a child running her small hands over bark, fascinated with the feel, the pattern, the harmony of design. Puzzled with the irregularities of it she would chip small pieces of bark from trees putting them in her pocket, carrying them with her for weeks, taking them out and studying their loveliness. These talismans of shape and creative genius were the small details of creation that she so meticulously rendered in her own art. Nature was and always had been her muse, the prototype of all line and shape.
“It’s beautiful in here, Robbie,” Stella looked around her and inhaled the hundred different shades of green, the filtering, fading sunlight touching everything with a magical amber glow. It was, possibly, the most beautiful forest she had ever seen. She could almost understand why these people would believe in faeries and such. If they did exist this would be the place to find them.
Robbie looked around him and smiled. “Aye, lass that it is.”
They stopped in a clearing on a wide ridge in front of some large boulders covered in moss. She could hear a small stream nearby, running rapidly down the mountainside, tripping over rocks and ferns. What an extraordinary place this was.
Ferghus was quite happy with the area, sniffing out possible dangers, alert to threats, but even more alert to the possibility of dinner.
Robbie dismounted and led his horse to the stream, tying him loosely so that he might rest and graze. “We’ll stay here for the night, lass. There is shelter here by these rocks.” The large rocks formed a small sheltering alcove that was large enough for several people.
“Here? We’re going to sleep here? On the ground?” In spite of the beauty of the place Stella wasn’t so sure that sleeping on it would suit her. No matter how astonishing it was, how grand, how magnificent, it was still hard ground. Stella’s surprise caused Robbie to look at her quizzically.
“Where else would we sleep, lass? There be no inns. Do ye nay sleep outside in Tegis?” She seemed to be a continual source of surprise. Although she was puzzled about the lack of accommodations she did not seem to fear it, only found it unusual.
“Well, sleeping outside in Texas is for hunters and campers, not for travelers and I’m not much of a camper. I don’t believe I’ve ever slept on anything without a dust ruffle.” Stella smiled and slid from her horse. She looked around her trying to imagine where she would lie down and feel comfortable enough to sleep all night. Although a practiced rider she was a bit sore from being on a horse most of the day, bareback no less, and the thought of a plump down comforter sounded like heaven.
“I nay ken a ‘dust ruffle’ but I have a warm plaid for ye, lass.” Robbie pulled the plaid from his pack and handed it to her. She took the red and blue plaid and wondered exactly how this thin blanket was going to keep her comfortable lying on dirt and stone. She’d give her eye teeth for a sleeping bag right now.
“Uh. Thank you Robbie,” she smiled at him and his heart stopped. He remembered as a youth he had seen a spectacular sunset after a particularly violent summer storm and was so filled with the emotion of that beauty that he had filed it away in his heart and whenever he needed to be reassured that the world could be a good place and that there was still hope to be found he would remember that sunset. Now he had another moment to file away to be remembered. Her smile transformed her face from merely beautiful to ethereal and angelic, a smile that warmed like the sun and brought a moment of blissful thanksgiving to his heart. He smiled in return and felt like a youth, unsure and awkward, his future sitting precariously in the hand of someone other than himself.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts and took the reins of her mare. He led the mare to the other side of the sheltering rocks to tie her, but she was reluctant to go with him. Her finely boned legs danced in anger at being led away from the stallion. Grey neighed his discontent and pulled on the reins tying him. Stella watched her horse and knew what the problem was. “I believe she wants to stay close to yours. She seems fond of him.” Stella dropped her eyes, smiling at her mare and how quickly she had become attached to Grey. Recognizing the agitation of the animals for what it was Robbie tethered her mare close to his stallion.
Robbie pulled his bow and arrows from his tack and turned to Stella.
“Stella, I will find us food. Ferghus will stay w’ ye and keep ye safe. I will return shortly.” Robbie looked sternly at Ferghus. “Stay, mon, see t’ the lass.” Robbie left and disappeared into the darkening forest. Ferghus seemed to understand his master and the importance of staying close to Stella and was happy to oblige. He followed her as she inspected their camp and he began an immediate policing of the area, his nose close to the ground, his tail wagging with the sheer delight of communicating with this delicious environment. The delicate thrills that murmured in his nose telegraphed pleasure, warning, summons and excitement, each new scent like small hands pulling him forward, in a canine sensory arcade.
Stell
a found a rather nice piece of log that might do for a seat, dry and covered in soft moss. She rolled it close to the sheltering cover of the rocks and began to look for wood and sticks for a fire. She gathered what she thought was enough to sustain them for a couple of hours and found another log that might do for Robbie and rolled that, with some effort, near to the first. Wearily she pulled her backpack off and sat on the log. She rubbed her shoulders that were stiff from the weight of the pack, “Well, Casper, it’s just you and me, babe, come here and give me a big hug.” Ferghus came directly to her and found joy in being surrounded in the arms of her affection. She buried her nose in his neck and pulled him close.
“Oh, Casper. Ferghus. What are we about, my friend? Will we ever get home again?” She sighed, looked inside her pack and pulled out a dog treat. “Here, one of your favorites.” Ferghus took the biscuit and made quick work of it, then tried sticking his nose into her pack. She brushed him away, “No more, kiddo. There’s only a couple in here and I’ll save the rest for you. You can have them later.” Ferghus sat obediently at her feet and whined. “Absolutely not, you can’t manipulate me like that, you chow hound.” He stared at her, his eyes intent, his purpose clear. She suddenly realized that she would not be cooking up a big bowl of chicken and rice for him this evening that he would be eating whatever food he could catch.
“Oh, all right, here you can have the rest.” She pulled out the other dog biscuits and he snatched them from her hand greedily, downing them in mere seconds. He sat and waited for more.
“Sorry, babe, all gone. But I’ll share my dinner with you, whatever it is. I promise.”
She found her granola bars and carefully unwrapped one, folding the wrapper into a tiny square and putting it into one of the pockets inside the pack. She left the unwrapped bar in her pack meaning to share it with Robbie later in the evening. She wasn’t sure he would like it, but since he was willing to share whatever small innocent, defenseless woodland creature he was going to slaughter, the least she could do was share her largess with him. Ferghus did not take his eyes off her pack and she knew that his curiosity could cause some problems. She had a number of things in her pack that would open up a Pandora’s box of questions and difficulties, including a plastic water bottle, a flashlight and a wallet with pictures and money. She found her pocketknife and thought that considering the conditions it might be a good idea to have it close so she put it into her back pocket. Whenever she went riding she always took emergency supplies and even though right now all of them would come in handy, she knew she would only be able to use them in the most dire of circumstances.
Highland Portrait Page 8