Highland Portrait

by Shelagh Mercedes

  “Quickly, lass, let us move on to Dunollie.” He kissed her hard and deep then pushed her toward her horse.

  “Uh, Robbie, what exactly does this hand fasting mean?” Her look of confusion gave him slight pause until he realized that Texas must not be a hand fasting country. This was new to her and if such was the case then he was about the find out how agreeable she was going to be to this vow. He steeled himself.

  “It means we are married, lass.” At her round eyed look of alarm he quickly amended, “It is good for one year and one day. At the end of that time if there is no bairn then ye are free to walk away. I am praying that at the end of that time ye will consent to become my wife forever in front of a priest.” He gained his saddle and watched warily as she absorbed the information. She was silent standing by her horse contemplating what he had just said, not looking at him but at Arwen’s saddle, she took a deep breath and slowly rose to mount. She gained her seat and patted Arwen’s neck. She cocked her head to the side and thought again of these new feelings surging within her.

  “So it’s like living together, really, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “Aye, lass, we will be living together as man and wife, but the hand fasting is a betrothal.”

  She looked at him then and let him have his word again, the one word that he had wanted, needed to make her his own. He held his breath.

  “Yes.” She said, smiling and nodding at him she repeated. “Yes.”

  Robbie exhaled and smiled, his heart filled with the power of her smile. He turned his horse toward the north and began their last short leg of the journey. Stella followed a few feet and then stopped, looked around to find Ferghus. He was nowhere to seen, probably sore vexed that they had abruptly stopped what he had hoped to be a thrilling chase through the woods.

  “Where is Ferghus?” she asked.

  Robbie, without looking back assured her. “He is somewhere close. He will catch up.”

  Stella knew Ferghus liked to dawdle and may have been engaged with a squirrel or whatever vermin the Highlands had to offer. She always felt better when he was near and now that she was close to Oban she wanted the security of not only Robbie, but Ferghus, too. Putting her two fingers inside her lips she blew a whistle so shrill and loud that both horses reared. Arwen was particularly frightened and became almost unmanageable in her panic. Robbie turned immediately around after reigning in Grey, looking at her with a startled expression.

  “Shite, woman, did that noise come out o’ yer mouth?” Robbie would never tire of the surprises from this woman. “Shite, ‘tis a battle call, lass.” He laughed at Stella’s efforts to calm the startled Arwen, the horse having received most of the blast so close to her ears. He moved Grey close to the mare and she immediately quieted. Robbie grabbed Arwen’s halter and looked at Stella.

  “No more surprises today, lass. I am no a young man anymore, surely ye shall be the death o’ me.” He winked and smiled, turned his horse northward again and smiled as Ferghus came bounding out of the woods, barking and eager to be on his way.

  Chapter Ten

  “Hail, MacDougall!” Robbie nodded at the greeting and repeated it, waiting for the gates to open for him and Stella. He had been gone too long and was glad to be home again. His mission had been difficult and only moderately successful but being here with her would remove whatever sting might remain from the English ambassadors. She had gifted him with her spirit, her trust and the scales are tipped in his favor in receiving that richness. He was overwhelmed with her generosity and marveled that she found him worthy to possess it. She was now the salve to his injuries and he would apply her liberally and with abandon to every slight and disappointment he had suffered as a political messenger boy. He was anxious to introduce his hand fasted bride to his family, anxious for her to find comfort and ease here and anxious that the bond that had blossomed between them grow stronger.

  Dunollie Caste sat on a rise above a beautiful bay, the water sparkling with the suns reflection, small boats on the horizon. Stella was struck with the great beauty of it, the strength of the towering keep and the stone walls. He turned to her and winked. “We are home, love, do not fret, I am here with ye and will guard ye well.” The portcullis raised, they crossed over the wooden drawbridge, the sound of the horses hooves beating a warlike tattoo in her heart.

  They entered the bailey, a crowded busy space filled with villagers, vendors, and soldiers, all of whom greeted Robbie with cheer and looked at Stella with wide eyed wonder. Her beauty set her apart, but her demeanor, her bearing, her eyes branded her as royalty. Only her odd clothes seemed out of place. She had on trews with a rough peasants dress over them and strange boots that were embroidered and wonderful to look at. She carried a curious pack riding on her shoulders and her curly short hair was covered in a strange hat with drying white heather in the head band. A young boy, not more than ten reached up to touch her boots. She looked down at him and smiled reaching toward him, offering him her hand. He pulled back his hand from her boot frightened that she might be angry, but upon seeing her smile, he reached toward her and lightly touched her fingers, awed that this princess would touch him. He was smitten at once.

  “What is your name, child?” asked Stella

  “Thomas, yer highness, I am called Thomas.” He bowed a grand courtly bow looking for her approbation, hoping that she might remember him again.

  “It is good to meet you Thomas. I am called Stella.” She bowed her head and spoke softly. Thomas nodded his head in return as if this introduction was a secret just between the two of them.

  Robbie dismounted giving the reins to a young stable boy and grabbed Arwen’s halter. A small crowd was gathering around them and he could see that Stella was apprehensive and more than a little nervous.

  He turned to the crowd who eyed Stella with more than just a small amount of curiosity.

  “My hand fasted bride.” He announced proudly. He looked up at Stella and offered her his hand to dismount. He knew better than anybody that this was a woman who needed no assistance in mounting or dismounting, but he would offer the courtesy for the benefit of his clan, hoping that instead of cartwheeling off the horse and walking on her hands to the keep, she would accept this small token of his regard. And she did.

  Robbie took her by the waist and lifted her from the horse. She smiled shyly at the crowd that was cheering for Robbie, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. It pleased Robbie that his people seemed to be so accepting of her in spite of her strange looks and clothes.

  As proud as he was of her he was somewhat annoyed at the gaping stares of soldiers and the young men of the keep. They were pushing each other aside to look at her, pointing at her and smiling, trying to catch her eye. He knew at that moment that he grew in their estimation, not only as tanist, but as a man. A man capable and strong enough to capture and hand fast a beautiful woman, and for that he walked a bit taller for the notion of it. But he hurriedly escorted Stella into the keep to keep curious eyes from her.

  “Robbie!! What is this I hear? Ye’ve been gone but these three weeks and ye are hand fasted?!” A woman’s voice, awed at the news came and hugged Robbie to herself. She was tall and slender, a handsome woman, fortyish, graying with tired smiling eyes. She pinched him on the cheek and kissed his chin. Robbie, happy to see her enveloped her in his large arms, pulling her close to him, a joyous reunion.

  “Elinor, I ha’e missed ye, auntie. It is good to be back. Please come and meet my bride.” Stella had been standing behind Robbie who moved and pulled her forward.

  Elinor was struck at the odd woman her nephew introduced as his bride. She was beautiful, granted, so healthy and regal, but Elinor had never seen such an odd assembly of clothes as this young noble had on. Surely there was some game afoot. She noted the white heather in her odd hat and wondered if she might be of the faerie folk. But no, Robbie would not be hand fasted to the fae folk. The beautiful woman offered her hand to Elinor, bowing her head slightly.

  “Aun
t, this is Stella. She is from Tegis, in the New World, and I have had the great good fortune of rescuing her from her kidnappers. She is now hand fasted to me.”

  Elinor took her offered hand and smiled a genuine smile of welcome. “And yer last name, Stella?” It occurred to Robbie that he did not know her last name. He immediately felt like an idiot for not asking, but there had been so many things to discover, and she was constantly surprising him with her talents that he hadn’t even thought about asking for her family name. But no matter, it would now be MacDougall.

  Stella wondered at the propriety of her last name. She was a McKenzie and had no idea if they were a clan friendly to Robbie’s. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ she thought, ‘I’ll just change it, what are they going to do, ask for ID?’

  “Miss Elinor, I am very pleased to meet you, and my name would be Stella…Celeste.” Stella smiled sweetly and her strange accent charmed Elinor. She spoke English which Elinor understood, but she knew from her strange accent that it must not be her mother tongue. Elinor had heard of the New World, of course, but never of Tegis. The people of Tegis must indeed be extraordinary. Perhaps she was one of the nobility and with such an extraordinary name. It seemed so fae. Stella Celeste.

  Robbie stared at her shaking his head. Of course her family name would be Celeste. Stella Celeste, a Star from Heaven.

  “Aunt, Stella, has been robbed o’ her clothes and belongings and has only these clothes that we bought from a crofter’s wife. Can we see t’ her comfort and dressing?” Robbie was anxious to get Stella into clothes that would not draw so much attention.

  “Of course, dear. Follow me child and we will see t’ ye.” She gently took Stella by the hand and led her through the keep, up several flights of stairs. Everywhere they passed servants stopped in awe of the strange looking woman. Stella was anxious about being the center of attention, and though it seemed benign at present she hoped it would not turn sour. She remembered what Robbie had said about keeping her eyes downcast and her voice soft, her words to a minimum.

  Robbie’s eyes never left his bride as she ascended the steps.

  “Och, she’s a beautiful woman, nephew, how did you come upon her? This mission has been one fraught with some peril and some reward for you.” Robbie turned at the voice of his uncle, greeted him with a hand shake and a smile his uncle had rarely seen.

  Robbie was happy to see the man that reminded him so much of his father. As tall as Robbie the MacDougall was heavier, age having settled comfortably around his middle, but strength was evident not only in his body, but his manner as well. His light brown hair was streaked with grey as was his neatly trimmed beard and mustache.

  Where Robbie was passionate and fiery, the MacDougall was calm and controlled, rarely vexed. There were those who knew his calm to be deadly, but he was a politically astute Laird and an exemplary leader. He guarded his clan well and planned and provided for the welfare of his people.

  “Aye, Uncle, she is a beauty,” he said, glancing once again as she slipped from view. He turned his attention back to the MacDougall. “I have much news for you,”

  “Then come. You have a visitor, by the way.” The Laird smiled and led Robbie away to the great library of the keep.

  Small dark eyes, yellow and rheumy, squinted at the spectacle of the new arrival, frowning at the harlot brought to taint MacDougall blood. Partially hidden behind a hay man’s wagon he watched her haughty eyes, proud and wanton, her strange clothing branding her a foreigner. Foreigner! Seeing the white heather in her ungodly hat he sucked in his breath and ground his teeth. White heather could not save this one. She would go the same as the other.

  Stella’s trembling stopped when Elinor closed the door to the small chamber. In spite of the warm summer air the drafty stone walls held a creep of cool air and a servant was building a small fire to warm the room. It was a simple room with a small bed, several small tables, chairs and trunks and candles in wall sconces.

  “I’ll bring clothes directly t’ ye, my dear, and I’m sure ye be wanting to bathe.” Elinor pulled a very large shallow pan from behind a screen and brought it close to the fire. It was near the size of a number ten washtub, but much shallower, being almost like a large bowl.

  “I’ll have water brought up for ye.” Elinor said, indicating the shallow pan. As Elinor went about pulling drying cloths and soap from the trunks and laying them on a table near the fireplace, Stella looked at the shallow pan and wondered if this was the bath tub. Her horse had a larger pan than this for feeding, but she was not going to spit in the wind, if this was a Renaissance bath then she would accommodate herself thusly.

  “I’ll be returning in a moment, lass.” Elinor patted her on the arm and smiled at her. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to ask, or if it were appropriate to address this strange women in such a manner, but she felt she had to know.

  “Stella, dear. Robbie has said ye were kidnapped. Were ye…harmed? Do ye need…attention, lass?” Elinor’s voice was so quiet and soft Stella had to lean closer to hear her.

  Attention? “Oh,” said Stella, understanding the meaning. “No ma’am, I’m fine. Robbie was my champion and I am…good. I am not…harmed. In any manner. No harm.” She smiled at Elinor and was grateful the woman had a tender consideration for her. Elinor smiled, patted her again on the arm and walked out of the chamber, closing the door behind her. Almost immediately two servants came in, a young man of about sixteen who carried two buckets of water for Stella’s bath, and a young girl about the same age carrying a tray of food. She set the tray on a table and bowed.

  “Mistress Stella, I am Brijit and I’m to be yer lady’s maid. Donald here will be leaving now.” Brijit looked at Donald who had placed the buckets by the pan but was staring at Stella his mouth agape, his eyes round and shining.

  Brijit cleared her throat, “Thank ye, Donald!” When Donald didn’t move, but continued to stare Brijit stamped her foot. “Donald! Get!” Donald jumped at her command and quickly took off, running from the room and closing the door behind him.

  Stella pursed her lips and quietly laughed, her shoulders shaking. Brijit turned to look at her and seeing her new mistress laughing she smiled and her eyes twinkled. “Young men they be easily confounded, eh Mistress Stella?”

  Brijit helped Stella undress, taking the backpack and hat and laying them close to the fireplace. Stella still held some apprehension about the backpack and asked Brijit to make sure it never left the room.

  “It’s all I have left of my possessions, Brijit. All I have left of my homeland. It is precious to me and I would be heartbroken were it to come up missing.”

  “Aye, Mistress, I understand. We shall hide it away in one of these trunks and ye shall have the only key.” Brijit found Stella’s clothes to be of some interest, particularly the hat and boots. As Stella pulled the boots off her feet she handed them to Brijit who ran her hands over the leather stitching. “What fine boots these be, Mistress. I ha’e ne’er seen the like. They come from yer homeland?”

  Stella smiled and took off her filthy socks, placing them on the table with her hat. “Yes, Brijit they are from Texas. As are my hat and everything except this dress.” Brijit eyed the hat and was particularly interested in the flowers.

  “White heather, mistress?” Brijit looked up at Stella and felt that surely the white heather was an indication that this woman was more than she appeared.

  “I found it while traveling, Brijit. I thought it pretty and picked it to place in my hat. Do you not like it?” Stella was pulling off her jeans and stopped short. She had bikini underpants and there was no way in hell she would be able to explain those. She grabbed them and pulled them off with her jeans. Brijit, still handling her hat looking at the curved brim and the flowers did not notice her put them into her backpack.

  “White heather is a magical flower, Mistress, “ Brijit explained. “Is said to be the special flowers of the fae folk.”

  “Yes, I understand, that is what Robbie to
ld me.” She looked for a towel to cover herself, now naked from the waist down. She pulled a drying cloth from the table and wrapped it around her waist. “I found it near the spot that he…uh…rescued me.” Again she gave Brijit her most charming smile, soft and innocent, unthreatening. “He told me it was good luck.”

  “Aye, indeed it is. ‘Tis an omen, Mistress.” Stella stiffened at Brijit’s words, her spine straightening in fear. “If the tanist found the white heather and ye at the same time it must needs be that ye are fated to be together. Surely that is so.”

  Stella relaxed her guard, grateful that she was not going to be staked out and burnt just yet. Brijit smiled and picked up Stella’s jeans trying not to be too curious about the odd trews, but it was difficult to not want to examine them in detail. Brijit knew that she would be questioned incessantly once she went downstairs and joined the other servants. But she was a trained ladies maid and she wanted the esteem and trust of her Lady rather than that of her fellow servants so she would be circumspect, even if it was going to kill her.

  “Uh, Brijit, is there a…um…chamber pot or something, I need to, uh…”

  “Oh, aye, Mistress, behind the screen,” she said pointing.

  Stella got behind the screen and unbuttoned her blouse, pulling off her bra, another item of ungodly sin and wantonness and folded it up as small as she could, another item for her Pandora’s Box of a backpack. Wrapping the drying towel around her she moved from behind the screen wondering what she was expected to do now. Brijit had already poured the warm water into the shallow pan that was set in front of the fireplace and was soaping up a small towel.