“Daddy. Oh Daddy! Why are we here, Daddy? What’s happening!”
“Quiet now, sweetie, I’ll explain, but don’t cry, Stella.” Albert patted her arm and moved Elinor aside to sit next to Stella. She laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed, tears flowing in great rivulets. Albert hugged her to him, wrapping his arms around her and rocked her.
“It’s all right, baby. Don’t fret. I’m here now and you’ll be fine. I promise.” Robbie, still holding Stella’s hand was confused at what he was witnessing. How did Albert know that Stella was going to show up here? Was this planned? Would he take her with him when he left? Stella continued to cry, breaking Robbie’s heart. He wanted to console her, Albert didn’t seem to be doing a very good job of it and as she was Robbie’s betrothed it was his right and duty to be her champion, not her father. He was about to say something when Albert addressed them all, still holding onto Stella.
“May I ask your indulgence for just a short time? Please allow me a moment to be alone with my daughter. She’ll be fine, we just need a few moments of privacy.”
“Nay, I canna allow this, Albert…”
“Robbie!” said Elinor. “Let him alone with his daughter. He’s not going t’ take her anywhere. Come. Ronald, bring Robbie and let’s leave them alone for a bit.” Elinor motioned for Ronald to go to Robbie, who was still dazed at these happenings and not wanting to leave his Stella here, sobbing as if she had lost all hope, all joy. Ronald patted Robbie on the shoulder, “Come, lad, leave them t’ their privacy. Let’s go get another glass of whiskey.”
“Ronald, ye’ve had enough whiskey and the lad does not need t’ addle his brains right now. Come, the two o’ ye. Now.” Elinor opened the door and waited, her stance brooking no disobedience. The MacDougall left, his whiskey in hand, but Robbie still held tight to Stella’s hand. Albert nodded at him and motioned toward the door.
“Go, Robbie, we’ll be but a moment.”
Robbie reluctantly got up and walked to the door passing Elinor who closed it quietly leaving Albert and Stella alone. Stella was gasping trying to quit her crying. She couldn’t remember crying like this ever and she wasn’t really sure if she was crying because she was happy at seeing her dad or angry that he was here and she was pretty sure he had something to do with all this. But if he was here then that meant that when he went back he would be taking her with him. Surely he would be going back. He didn’t seem a bit stressed about being here, which was a good indication that he was pretty certain about going back.
Stella looked at her father and was pleased, regardless of the circumstances that he was with her. Albert was not Shawn-Craig handsome, but had a pleasant face, always clean shaven with golden eyes that exuded intelligence. Stella teased him about his receding hairline but his looks were of little note to himself. He was of a medium height and slight frame, but for all that he was extraordinarily muscular. He had the look and demeanor of a middle aged scholar, but his hands were the hands of a working man – strong and calloused.
Albert was slow to anger, preferring to consider a situation before reacting and was always the first to forgive in a confrontation. No coward he, Albert knew there was much to be gained by backing down rather than pressing an advantage and losing all.
His approach to life’s problems, including emotional ones, was to research, test and analyze. Albert liked to think that all life’s problems could be fixed through an intellectual or scientific approach. When none of that worked he resorted to humor and asked for help from ‘experts’.
Stella sat up straight and Albert offered her a rather large handkerchief.
“Here ya go, sweetie, your face is a mess. Clean up and I’ll explain everything.” He patted her on the shoulder and watched her dry her eyes, her cheeks and blow her nose.
“Daddy did you have something to do with this?” Stella looked at her father and was reassured by his calm, the smile that promised answers to her questions and questions to make her think and find her own resolutions.
“Well, I might.” He smiled at her and she, still sniffing and crying smiled tentatively back.
“Daddy?” she knew there was no ‘might’ about it. She pressed for an answer with her eyes narrowing, her lips pursing like a spinster.
“Stella, did you ever wonder why I never took you on my research trips?” he asked, looking at her with barely concealed humor.
“I thought you couldn’t afford it, or there wasn’t enough time, or I was in school. You always had an excuse, but you always came home fast, so it wasn’t so bad.” Stella rubbed her tears away and looked at her father.
“Well, the reason why is because I came here. To this time, to these halls, to this country. I thought it not a good idea to bring you back and forth in time with me. Not then. But the time is right for you to be here, Stella. You had to come back this time.” She looked at him with something akin to shock on her face and his look softened as he held her hands.
“I know this is all a big challenge to you, Sweetie, but I want you to be patient for just a day or two and I promise that I will explain everything in detail and you will not be angry or afraid, but a new chapter will open up in your life. You’ll learn some things that will change everything. Then, if you want, if you chose, we’ll go back home.”
“I chose to go back now, Daddy. I want to go back to Texas.” Stella thought for a moment, about Robbie and Arwen and Ferghus. “OK, not RIGHT now, maybe in a couple days. But I want to go back.”
“OK, Stella, we’ll go back. But for now I want you to follow your heart and allow love to guide you, and remember what you’re about to learn will stay with you forever. Your life is about to change Stella, whether you go back or not.” Stella sat sniffing, looking at her father, not believing how very happy she was to see him. She was safe, she had a ride home, she calmed herself.
“Daddy, remember when I was in college and you told me not to smoke pot, but I did?”
Albert looked at her and arched his eyebrows waiting for her to go on. “Daddy, I feel like I’ve been on some kind of trip since I got here. Everything is so surreal, colors are brighter, air is cleaner, I feel things stronger, I feel so close to some spiritual self. I even feel close to mother. I can’t explain it, Daddy, it’s just been so strange to me.” Albert patted her hands and frowned.
“Do you trust me, child?”
Stella shook her head, clearing away her tears, “Daddy, you know I do.”
“Then remain calm, and be patient. You will learn much in the next few days. Be present in all you do, observe and take lots of notes. Mental notes.”
Nodding, she pulled in a deep breath, sniffed and smiled at her father. “Ok, but Daddy I can’t wear these clothes they are going to kill me.”
Albert shook his head, feeling out of his depth talking about women’s underwear, “Have a word with Elinor, dear, she is a good woman and she can suit you up in something appropriate that won’t collapse your lungs.”
There was a loud banging at the door. “Albert, enough time, I’m coming in.”
Albert smiled at Stella, who looked at her father with an embarrassed smile. He leaned closer to her, “I hear you’re married now, sweetie.”
“Daddy, I’m hand fasted, whatever that means,”
“Ah, yes, a year and a day. Do you love him, Stella?’
Stella looked at her father and his look was one of acceptance and support and love.
“Yes, Daddy, I think I do.” Stella bit her bottom lip and her brows furrowed. “But, Daddy, he thinks I’m widowed.”
Albert nodded and said, “Well, under the circumstances I think that’s best for now. Besides, you should be, I should have shot that young man first time I saw him.” He smiled at her, giving her the reassurance she needed, hoping now that she knew he was here that she would breathe easier for this strange journey she was on.
“Albert! Now, Albert, I’m coming in!”
“Your groom is anxious,” he chuckled and turned to the door. “Come in Rob
bie.”
Stella sat up straighter and wiped her face dry again as Robbie shot through the door. His worried look was replaced by one of relief to see Stella sitting up and smiling. Her eyes were rimmed with pink, as was her nose, but she was still beautiful in spite of being disheveled. Her beautiful dress, hastily ripped open at the back, was loose, baring her shoulders and wisps of her curly black hair had escaped from her intricately braided knot.
Unsure of what to say or do he approached the settee, kneeled at her feet and took her hand.
“Stella, my love?” His eyes earnestly sought hers hoping that in their exchange they would communicate to him that all was well. Albert patted him on the back and got up.
“I believe I could use a drink. Stella, what about you?” Albert had never seen the look on Stella’s face that she had as she gazed at Robbie. He was relieved, but knew that the work ahead for both of them was going to be tricky.
“Just a little, Daddy.” Stella looked at Albert noticing for the first time that he, too, was dressed in a plaid and coat and he looked quite charming. She had never seen him in any kind of costume, but if he had been here more than once he must certainly be quite accustomed to the clothing. She had so many questions about this, but was relieved that he was here, she wasn’t alone and that Robbie was close.
“I’m going to be OK, Robbie.” He frowned and held her hand tighter, kissing her knuckles and slid his other hand around her back. He wanted to take her upstairs, away from Albert and his uncle and Elinor and everyone. He wanted the wedding night to start now, but he had promised himself he was not going to allow frenzy to overshadow what he wanted to be a magical evening for them both. He forced himself to be patient.
“Aye, love. Aye,” he simply held her, kneeling at her feet, gazing into her eyes, wondering when he lost control of his world.
Elinor and the Laird swept in at that moment, Elinor carrying a shawl and the Laird with an amused look and another decanter of whiskey.
“Thought that we could all use a wee dram. What say ye, Albert?”
“Yes, I think another round would be just the thing. Poor a small one for Stella, too.”
Elinor swept to the back of Stella and placed the shawl around her to cover the open back of the dress. “How are ye doing, dear? Shall we go repair this?”
“Nay, she willna leave yet, Aunt. Gi’ her a few moments more.” Robbie was beginning to be annoyed with all the comfort providers. This was his job and he didn’t like the interference, no matter how well meaning.
“Thank you Miss Elinor, I will go back upstairs in a few minutes and perhaps you can help me,” she said indicating her dress.
“Of course, dear, whenever you’re ready. “
Stella was not much of a whiskey drinker, preferring wine or a couple of long-necks, but she felt the need of liquid courage at the moment so took the glass her father offered and tossed it back like a Saturday night cowboy. Robbie, who could drink whiskey with the very best of them, who was no slouch to the challenges of the whiskey round, watched his Faerie Queen drink the whiskey like the stoutest university student. He was impressed, but not surprised. He would not have been surprised had she drank directly from the bottle, wiping her wet mouth with the back of her hand. Stella handed the glass back to Albert.
“Thank you, Daddy, I’ll be fine now.” Albert took the glass and handed it to Elinor. Elinor, who never touched any type of alcohol, was goggle-eyed to see Stella drink like that, but one wink from Albert and she politely nodded her head and kept her council. The girl, after all, had a terrible fright and perhaps she could overlook her breach of decorum.
Stella took a deep breath, closed her eyes and felt the tentacles of the burning whiskey moving through her body, warming her, pushing out fear and allowing calm to govern her. She squeezed Robbie’s hand and smiled.
“Ok, done crying. Ready to zip myself up again.”
Robbie’s impatience to be with his bride was rewarded as she swept into the great hall, regal, once again, with few traces of her sobbing, her gown repaired and fitted, but not quite as tight. She missed the tiny waist, but enjoyed breathing so much she decided it was not worth the momentary vanity so dismissed it. Robbie still looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman on the planet and that was good enough for her.
He rose from his seat on the dais, as did her father and Laird MacDougall as she came toward them. Robbie swiftly went to her side, kissing the hand she offered and guided her to the seat between him and her father. The rest of the party sat and the servants began to serve the meal throughout the hall.
The arrangement seemed very much like cafeteria dining to Stella, with the clan leadership and guests of honor at the table on the dais and the many retainers, soldiers and various folk from the castle seated on three long tables in the rest of the room. The tables were arranged in an E shape with the dais at the bar and all the tables below the dais having benches rather than chairs, as did the dais. There seemed to be an extraordinary amount of food on the tables and it boggled Stella’s mind to think of where it all came from and who had to pay for it. This seemed like a huge effort and she wondered if tonight was a special feast, or if this was how they ate every day.
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, wit
h 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.
Highland Portrait Page 18