“Yes, I know. I’m bad like that.” She looked at Robbie and flashed a smile that was his undoing and he thought he could get her a new dog every day just so he could see that smile.
Stella turned to her father who was watching the proceedings with amusement, “Daddy,” Stella whispered, “Why is there so much meat here and not any vegetables, except turnips and cabbage. I hate turnips, Daddy.”
Albert, using his dagger to cut and pierce a piece of venison, whispered back. “Vegetables are generally thought to be a lower class of food, Stella. The poor eat vegetables, the rich eat meat. Many in Europe still believe most vegetables are poison, so meat and bread are the preferred food. It won’t be until another hundred years or so that vegetables will begin to come into their own. It’s a diet rich in fats, but they thrive on it because of their physical activity. But for now you might want to stick to the fruits.” With that Albert popped the venison into his mouth, savoring the flavor of the herb seasoned meat.
The hour grew late and Stella, normally filled with the energy of a four year old, began to tire. The meal, although congenial and filled with enough inspiration and information to last her through a hundred canvases, seemed interminable. Robbie heard her gentle sigh and signaled his aunt Elinor who came to Stella’s side.
“Stella, ye look tired, would ye like to go upstairs and retire? It’s verra late and I know ye have had a long day filled with naught but surprises.” Stella looked into the very kind face of Robbie’s aunt and wished that her own mother could have been here. She wondered if her mother looked anything like Elinor.
“Oh, Miss Elinor,” she whispered, “you are so kind. Would it be polite for me to leave now, I am tired.” Her pleading eyes softened Elinor’s already kind heart and she turned to Robbie.
“Stella will be in yer chamber, lad. Gi’ her some time to rest afore ye go t’ her.” Robbie, who thought that she looked just fine and didn’t need resting, was anxious that she go because he had waited too long already and he was impatient to be with his bride.
“Aye, Aunt. Stella, love I will be there directly.” He looked at her and saw that she did indeed look tired, but perhaps it was the hall with all the noise, the whiskey, the strangeness of her day that made her look so. He would chase her tiredness away soon enough so he stood and kissed her hand and let Elinor escort her out of the hall. He scowled as Ferghus followed, wagging his feathered tail, as if he were part of the wedding party.
Once Elinor and Stella left the hall they could hear the shouts and guffaws of the men and she knew they were sharing their pithy wedding night humor with the world – in front of her father no less! Stella turned to Elinor who was shaking her head, somewhat red in the face, her lips pursed, looking very much like a disapproving spinster.
“Men,” said Stella quietly, looking back over her shoulders, “are such idiots.” She looked at Elinor who nodded and spoke simply.
“That they are lass, that they are.”
Chapter Twelve
Elinor opened the door to Robbie’s chambers and Stella followed, lulled by the magic of the soft lights, the warm summer night and the knowledge that Robbie would soon be with her. Brijit was already there preparing night clothes for Stella. Ferghus stepped in quickly and headed straight for the bed, jumping up and circling, he made himself comfortable. Ferghus, as Stella knew, was a dog with a taste for comforts, preferring soft rugs and upholstered furniture to cold stone floors for sleeping.
“Brijit, will take care of ye, dear. If ye need anything a’tall she will see that ye get it. Ferghus, get off that bed!” Ferghus, was smart, intuitive, fiercely loyal and although obedient to the direct commands from his master, would test the boundaries of civil behavior with others. He didn’t move. Stella smiled at the dog and laughed. Lounging on the bed he was Casper again, finding the soft bed to his liking, looking at Elinor as if she were a piece of furniture.
“I’ll take care of him, Elinor. Again, thank you so much for your sweet kindness to me. It has been a trying day and you have eased it for me.” Stella hugged the woman and kissed her cheek, which surprised and pleased Elinor.
“Of course, my child. We’re so glad ye’ve come to be w’ us here at Dunollie. I will see ye in the morn.” She held Stella’s hand and tightened her grip for just a moment, hoping that Stella would be the daughter she had always wanted. She left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Robbie’s chambers were oddly familiar to her, although she had never been inside a castle until today. The room was about twenty feet square, rather large, having one slender window with thick pebbled glass, the color of phosphorous ocean waves. The room was lit by several candles placed on both sides of the bed, in the three wall sconces and on top of a large trunk. Stella assumed that the trunk was the equivalent of a closet, being very ornate and a thing of beauty, not only functional, but decorative as well.
There was a small armless, backless chair placed at the end of the bed, which Stella surmised was used for valet purposes only, not being made for comfort or relaxing. Next to the fireplace was a greater chair with an upholstered cushion and back that might have been used for Robbie to relax, or read. It was rather large and although it looked like a grand chair, it did not look very comfortable. Not La-Z-Boy comfortable anyway.
The bed seemed to be queen sized, the same size as her own bed at home, but this bed was not outfitted in plushy stuffed quilts, but covered in a simple linen sheet, rather than the furs that she had anticipated. Of course, it made sense that the middle of summer would not be a time to be snuggling under furs.
The room had a fireplace directly across from the foot of the bed. There was a small fire giving off more light than heat, throwing dancing shadows against the grainy stone walls. “Mistress, Lady Elinor has brought ye night clothes and there is wine. I will help you…”
“Brijit, what is that leaning against the wall?” Stella pointed to the odd shaped thing that conflicting shadows hid from her. Brijit turned and looked. She went to the instrument, picked it up, and gave it to Stella.
“’Tis a lute, Mistress.” Brijit smiled as Stella looked with awe at the instrument. Stella ran her hands over the rich wood, the rounded belly of it and was struck at what a beautifully built piece it was. She touched the strings noting they were gut, doubled and fretted on ebony. The rest of the body was made of various colored woods, striped together giving the instrument a baroque look that was so prevalent in this era. Stella handled it with care, but was tempted beyond caution to play it.
“Is this Robbie’s, Brijit? Do you think he would mind if I played it?” Brijit’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, Mistress, he would be delighted.” Brijit’s excitement, her clasped hands held tightly to her chest in anticipation reminded Stella that music was a luxury here, not the ever present companion as it was in her time. She recalled that minstrels were highly anticipated, their skill sought after, the greatest of them earning good coin as they roamed the lands. All ages had their rock stars, she mused. She pulled the small backless chair in front of the fireplace, her back to the door, so she could see the strings better and worked the frets, tuning it. She was more accustomed to playing a guitar but had played a lute several times in college, and she thought she might be able to pull a ditty out of this instrument. She loved a challenge and since she was probably not going to get another opportunity to play an instrument this authentic she set to the task.
It took her several minutes but she was able to tune it, remembering that the lute was only different from the guitar by one note. She strummed it gently and smiled. She indicated the larger chair and Brijit sat down in eager anticipation of the music.
Stella knew no Celtic tunes and wasn’t sure if English tunes would be appropriate so she opted for her own American music, beginning with one of her favorites, Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Not one to belt out a song, Stella’s approach to music was quiet and lilting. It was a sweet voice, not urgent, tremulous when the tune was sad, lyrical when happy
. She sat and quietly played the lute and sang to Brijit, delighting in the full sound of the instrument, it being particularly suited for accompaniment.
Stella’s music painted the room in the happy colors of rainbows and lost love, in bridges and troubled waters and Scarborough Faires. She delighted Brijit with songs about spiders and flies, and frogs, and buckets with holes, and stars over Texas skies. Brijit was enraptured with the music and so very happy to be honored with this singular magical event.
They were both so lost in the melodies that neither one noticed that Robbie had come in the room. Upon hearing Stella playing the lute he quietly shut the door and leaned back against it, making himself invisible. He knew his presence would end the moment and he did not want it to stop. He saw the music surround her and knew that wherever she stood was the center of his universe. All life and meaning flowed from her and he was eager to connect to that.
Stella finished her small concert with a lullaby coaxing Brijits tired eyes to droop and weep at the tenderness. Just as she was reaching the end of the beautiful little song about babies on boughs, Ferghus, awake now, stood up on the bed and barked a greeting at Robbie. Inwardly cursing, Robbie looked at the dog, whom he had not noticed before, and wondered since when did Ferghus sleep on his bed. Stella swirled around to see an embarrassed smile on Robbie’s face and Brijit immediately jumped up.
“Oh, sir, I am sorry…” Robbie held his palm up.
“Nay lass, ‘tis good that ye spent time enjoying this music. Ye owe no apologies.” Brijit hastily curtseyed and turned to Stella.
“Shall I stay to undress ye, Mistress?” she eyed Robbie chasing Ferghus off the bed.
“I’ll be takin’ care o’ that, Brijit, you may go,” said Robbie swatting at the dog who kept jumping back on the bed. Stella smiled at Brijit, shaking her head.
“Thank you so much for staying with me, Brijit, you’ve been a big help to me this day.”
“Oh, Mistress, thank ye!” Brijit curtseyed again and quickly left the room, closing the door behind her. Ferghus, jumped from the bed after one more swat from Robbie, circled the room, looking for a comfortable place to sleep.. He eyed the large chair in front of the fireplace but decided to wait until Robbie’s attention was elsewhere before he jumped up on it to sleep. For now he would curl up on the rug and keep an eye on Robbie.
The room, which had been so full of music just seconds ago, was now electrically charged with silence and the awareness Robbie and Stella had for the other. Robbie stood at the edge of the bed looking at her, wondering, once again, how it was he came to be in possession of this woman. No words were spoken, no words were needed. Their communication came from eyes and that tangible inner connection that all those that love another have felt. He knew she was feeling a little nervous, a little frightened, a little incredulous that their lives had changed dramatically in such a short space of time.
She knew he was feeling the same.
Stella rose and placed the lute against the wall where it had been, Robbie’s eyes following her. Stella was not sure if words were appropriate now, if words were necessary, but she felt awkward.
“I hope you didn’t mind me playing your lute,” she said softly, hoping that Robbie’s generosity extended to his valuable belongings.
“Stella, ‘tis yours from this day forward. Whatever is mine is yers, lass. I withhold nothing from ye.” Stella could see that he was breathing heavily now, that he was as filled with anticipation as she. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the night, floating buoyant on a lake of haunting inner melody. Stella felt the sensual music of her feminine center, pulsating with that age old rhythm that had been the heartbeat of union throughout all time. Her thoughts drifted to her studio and the portrait of Robbie, the man before her now. She thought of the bands of passion she had felt at his ghostly presence and felt them again now, only stronger, and richer because now she did not just receive, but she gave in return, radiating love.
Without touching her, without speaking, he reached to her in supplication and gentleness, willing her to trust him, to let him touch her. He wanted her to come to him, willingly, trusting.
Stella felt his need, his desire for her to give freely and generously of herself, not because he demanded it, but because it was what she wanted to do. And, god help her, she would do that. She would reach across the divide of centuries and mate with this formidable, magnificent man because he loved her and she loved him.
Her voluminous skirts rustling like autumn leaves, she walked across the room and stood in front of him. He smiled ever so slightly, willing his heart to slow down, praying that he would not burst into flames from her nearness. She turned, giving him her back. Robbie looked for a moment at the laces closing her gown and saw them as the door that would yield treasures he had been dreaming about since the moment he saw her. His body swelled with passion and love, lust and gratitude. Swallowing hard, hands trembling he touched the silk ribbons, tracing their pattern downward to her waist. Silken ribbons, shy and slight, were the guardians of her body, vigilant in their role to keep her hidden from those eyes who were not privileged to see beyond them. These shy ribbons invited him to loosen them, to pull them from the hooks that had been such staunch guards against his touch. He untied the ribbons and they fell away from the hooks like melting ice before the hot breath of summer. They fell away almost magically, Robbie’s love and need being the password to her body.
The heavy gown released and Robbie pushed it away from her shoulders to fall in a cascade of silk, puddling at her feet. She moaned with relief as the unfamiliar weight and constriction of the dress slipped away from her. For a moment Robbie was unsure of himself, unsure if this was a dream or if by some glad mistake the heavens had allowed him access to this woman’s body. He ran his hands up and down her arms delighting in the softness of skin that was unequaled to anything in his experience.
Stella closed her eyes and leaned back against Robbie’s broad chest and he bent to her, running his open mouth down her neck to find the gentle slope of her shoulders where he inhaled her scent and kissed the line where chemise and skin met. He reached to feel the heaviness of her breasts, filling his large hands completely sending fire up his arm to settle in his loins.
He turned her slowly to face him. He looked at the tender garment, the neckline trimmed in lace, and found it as tantalizing as her skin. It clung to her shape like a film of silk, cut square across her full breasts. He did not understand how lace could be so stimulating, but it was, and he touched the delicate strands of thread, woven into a design that was so much like Stella, complex and beautiful, with an underlying strength that was all the lovelier for its feminine nature.
He could feel the heat of Stella’s gaze, the faltering of her breath. Raising her small hands to his chest she lifted her head to his and he took her mouth, unconstrained, knowing there were no limitations on his touching, nothing to check his taking of her, not even she would deny him now.
Stella moaned as the kiss deepened and she gently pressed him back until he was at the side of the bed. He sat, sliding his hands down the side of her chemise exploring the shape of her body and feeling as untried and untutored as a young lad. In his memory he could not discern if all women were thusly built, so exquisitely curved, so luscious. Touching her was like touching a woman for the first time and he pulled her tighter to him until she was standing in between his legs and he eye level with her breasts.
The silken chemise tempted him, but he would have her out of it and he pushed the lace shoulder straps slowly down her arms. The neckline dropped over her breasts, her erect pink nipples unfurling from the confines and harshness of too much cloth. Robbie held his breath as the chemise feel away and her large round breasts were fully exposed to his view. His sharp intake of breath and the parting of his lips encouraged her to push the chemise further until it draped over her hips, exposing her small waist and flat belly.
“My god, Stella,” he whispered. His mouth watering like a starv
ing man, he took her firm breast into his mouth and suckled and knew this is where his milk and honey would always come from. She would nurture him with her sweetness and he would drink his fill of her. With one hand he memorized the heaviness of her breasts, and with the other he pressed the chemise completely down onto the floor, running his hands quickly over her hips and cupping her bottom, pulling her even closer to him. He looked at her body washed in amber lights from the fireplace and it was frightening in its perfection. Her small waist flaring out over shapely hips, a flat belly and legs that took his breath away. The dark curls at the juncture of her thighs beckoned him and he inhaled the heat coming from her core. He ran his hand gently down her parted thighs and cupped her curls.
“Stella,” he moaned. “Why are you so perfect, lass?”
She gently pulled from him, and he felt as if his world was rocking. She could not go, he would not let her! He pulled her forward to claim her, but she held up her hand, stepping back just enough to cause his heart to hammer in panic.
“Robbie. Let me undress you.” He could see her golden eyes burning as she looked at him.
Robbie nodded his head, watching as she sighed and stretched her arms up, the movement swaying her breasts gently, hypnotically, and she began undoing her hair, pulling pins and letting them drop deliberately and languidly onto the floor. Running her fingers through her hair the thick black curls sprang with joy from the captivity of her braids and embraced her shoulders, curls encircling her breasts.
“Stella,” his whisper was hoarse, barely perceptible to her, he moved toward her, a stallion pulling at the reins.
Stella smiled. “A moment, love. Be patient, I am yours.”
She watched him now, his eyes the monitor of his growing desire.
“Stella, I will die if I canna have ye, my heart will stop its beating.” His voice was cracking, his strength being sapped just looking at her.
Highland Portrait Page 19