“I’m ready for ye, Mistress.” Brijit put out her hand indicating that Stella should stand in the shallow pan. Stella moved where indicated and Brijit carefully and respectfully began to give Stella a bath. In all her twenty three years Stella could not remember ever having been bathed by someone other than her father when she was just a small girl. There was that one time that Jason came home stoned and thought that giving her a bath might be a prelude to great sex, but he was so VERY stoned he spent the evening watching reruns of the Brady Bunch, eating a jar of peanut butter and all the lasagna leftovers. But that was then, this was now and Stella had a hard time feeling comfortable with a strange young woman giving her a bath. Personal space seemed to be in short supply here, especially when it came to washing genitalia. Stella just closed her eyes and let it happen, hoping that her shyness about being touched was not too evident to this young lady.
Brijit had Stella kneel on a pillow and washed her hair, rinsing the sudless soap with cold water. When Brijit was finished drying her she rubbed her down with an astringent potion that smelled of lilacs.
“Mmm, this smells good, Brijit, what is it?” Stella loved floral scents and this smell was divine. Not too heavy, it smelled like a walk in the garden, light and airy and just slightly sweet. Brijit smiled, “’Tis me mam’s own recipe. Flower medicine she calls it. Wakes up the skin and the senses she says.”
Elinor came in with clothes draped over her arm and carrying a small hand mirror. “Oh, Stella, dear, you look so beautiful, even wet as a duck. Brijit, get the brush and let’s dry out her hair.” Brijit wrapped Stella in a linen cloth, moved a chair in front of the fire and dried her hair, brushing it until it shone.
Elinor helped Stella into the most complicated underwear she had ever seen. There seemed to be no end to the layers of it, but she was not going to argue about underwear, knowing that her own bra and panties were, at this point, scandalous, and would have to be burnt very soon.
Elinor cinched her up in what she assumed was some kind of corset depriving her of breath, but she said nothing and allowed the sweet woman to dress her. Stella had worn a corset before as part of a steampunk costume, but it had not been cinched this tight. As Elinor pulled on the corset ribbons Stella felt her organs squeezed to a quarter their normal size. It was difficult to breathe, but she thought perhaps she could stand it for one evening. She put her hands at her waist and was astounded at how small it was.
The petticoat was some sort of wired affair that felt like walking in a basket but when Elinor draped the outer dress over it, Stella felt like a fairy princess, the dress full and lush in a rich cream color that accented her golden colors. Stella loved the low square neckline of the dress surrounded in the most amazing lace she had ever seen. The bottom of the bodice dipped into a V shape and once Elinor tightened up the laces of the dress her waist seemed unbelievably small. She could almost put her own hands around her waist. Too bad about not being able to breathe, but she reasoned that vanity was strong in all ages, in all times. This was not a mode of dress that she was going to adopt forever, but for the nonce it was fun to dress up in the best costumes ever. She only wished she could take it back with her and wear it to ComicCon.
The three women talked and settled into that female intimacy that comes so easily to women when in the activity of dressing. Brijit and Elinor wanted to know about Texas women and how they dressed and how they combed their hair and how they cared for their children. Stella gave them as much information as she could without revealing herself. When Elinor wanted to prepare her hair, Stella told her she would do that herself and taught both her and Brijit about French braiding. Stella’s hair was thick and long enough that her finished styling was breathtaking. Full and intricately braided and knotted at the back she looked like an exquisite princess.
“God’s mercy, lass, Robbie will fall down at the seeing of ye. Everyone this night will.”
“Oh, will I see him again this evening?” Stella asked. She was unsure of what the protocol was and hadn’t seen or heard hide nor hair of Robbie for the past three hours. Plus she was hungry. Very hungry.
“Oh, aye, Stella. We will be going down t’ dinner verra shortly. Brijit and I will be leaving ye now so ye can say yer prayers and I’ll send Brijit to get ye when it is time to come down.”
“Thank you so much, Miss Elinor, Brijit, you have both been so kind and welcoming and have been so delightful and friendly to me. I am honored and most grateful.” Stella’s sincerity shone through her smile and she was glad she didn’t have to fake this at least. She was grateful to them and hoped that they would continue to be kind to her.
After they left Stella wondered exactly what she was to pray for, but rather than worry about it she found the small mirror that Elinor had brought and looked at her hair. She was quite pleased with the effect and thought she looked pretty hot even without make up. Make-up! She rushed to the trunk and opened it. She took out her backpack and looked inside. Yes, there it was. She didn’t normally wear a lot of make-up but she did wear mascara and liner and she just happened to have some in her pack. The mascara lengthened and thickened her lashes just enough to cause her eyes to appear even larger than they were. She applied it as delicately as possible, not wanting to look like a circus clown, this wasn’t a Texas honky-tonk after all, and she would be under the microscope this evening, and each moment she was here in Dunollie. She used her pencil eyeliner with the most fragile hand ever, giving her eyes an exotic, but not frightening look to them. This was a culture that frowned on painted faces and she didn’t want to shock, but she did so want Robbie to think she looked beautiful. She put her make-up back in her pack and locked it back in the trunk.
There was a quiet knock at the door and Brijit peeked in and looked inside.
“Mistress, the tanist wishes ye t’ join him in the library a’fore dinner. I’ll take ye there.” Brijit smiled at Stella and waved her forward. “Mistress, ye are a sight. The Laird will be mighty pleased, as will the tanist.” Stella wrinkled her nose and they both giggled like friends preparing to go downstairs to meet their prom dates.
Walking down stairs was more difficult than she would have guessed, being tightly constricted and breathing only on a very shallow level. It was her habit to take stairs two at a time but these clothes slowed her down until she seemed to float, rather than walk. There was no slouching in these clothes, her body being framed and molded into what was pretty close to a concrete outfit. She reached the bottom floor without tripping over the hem of her dress and for that she was immensely proud although she could feel herself getting just a little light headed. Brijit turned to her and pointed down a hall to their right.
“He is in the last room t’ the right, Mistress.” Brijit gave her hand a squeeze and smiled at her and left to return to her duties upstairs.
Stella watched her go feeling suddenly more than just alone, but frozen in time. She looked around her and recognized grey stone walls and weapons and tapestries that she had painted so often. The stone halls, filled with amber sconces lined up like soldiers along the wall, were like a movie set. Beautiful and ethereal and magic. Was it real? She seriously could not tell. She only knew that she was part of something extraordinary and that whatever happened she had to be prepared to protect herself. She looked at the tapestry in front of her and noted the intricacy of the weaving, the colors, the delicate work of many female hands laboring for months, sometimes years to create this work of art that was so often taken for granted. She drew nearer and reverently touched the threads tracing the colors and patterns with her fingers.
Not far from where she stood Robbie stepped out of the library anxious to see his bride and stopped when he spied Stella in the hall. Gone was the wild raging beauty of the Highlands that he had fallen in love with. The tousled hair, the trews and boots, that ridiculous hat and that woolen dress - all gone. Here before him, not twenty feet away was the Faerie Queen in all her majesty. All lightness and starlight, she was the very essence of
her name. She was looking at a tapestry, delicately touching it, her eyes turned upward intent on memorizing the design. Robbie stood grounded to the spot unable to speak or move, the only sound he was aware of was his heart hammering in his chest, the sound filling his ears. His breathing was labored, his tongue suddenly too thick for speech. At some level of consciousness his brain instructed him to go to her, but his limbs could not obey. Movement was beyond his capabilities, his veins flowing with molten liquid, his weight tripled to a stony heaviness swallowed up in the gravity of his beloved. Suddenly he trembled, frightened of the quiet silken cords she had wrapped around his heart.
How could one human being cause so much emotional turmoil in his heart and in his intellect? Maybe his fear came from thinking that in loving her he would be changed forever, lose control and no longer be the person he had been for the last thirty years. His heart was pounding but he was ready to ride into that forbidden land. He was anxious to experience, but frightened. He closed his eyes and silently prayed, “Come, my beautiful Faerie Queen, and change my world.”
He exhaled and watched her turn from the tapestry.
Stella turned and saw Robbie looking at her. She caught her breath and was spell bound. Was this dashing prince her barbarian? He had shaved and bathed, and she saw now the handsome face of her hero and it took her breath away.
He had one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other lay quietly at his side. He was clad in a stately and stirring belted plaid of red and blue, the plaid being pulled into a baldric crossing his chest over a billowing shirt, crisp in its whiteness. Stella had seen many men in kilts, but never had she seen anything so powerful as this magnificent man. He stood like a demigod, looking at her, his stance like a statue, his body strong and erect, breathing deeply, but slowly. He was everything she ever imagined a champion would be.
She looked at him and felt an overwhelming sense of her flaws. Every imperfection, every shortcoming, every blemish. She looked at him and wanted desperately to be perfect, to be beautiful, to be enchanting - because she was enchanted. Their world became silent: no music, no voices, only the heavy exhale of their breath, the beat of their hearts, and an ache to be part of each other. He looked at her and spoke softly.
“Stella, my love.” She moved to him, floating through the amber lights, a magical creature, perfect in her femininity, her grace, her intelligence. He looked into her eyes, and his heart swelled. Suddenly, sound and motion stopped and all that existed was her. Her gaze was steady and soft, never leaving his. She was more than just beautiful, more than just physically stimulating. She was the embodiment of all that was feminine, womanly. He did not know yin and yang, but he understood the primal nature of man and woman and at once they were Adam and Eve, truly equal but different. She would exalt in his strength and protection, he would exalt in her feminine wisdom and sacred capacity of giving life.
Stella’s eyes were welcoming in their softness. “Robbie,” she whispered. She held out her hand and he reached for her taking her small hand in his and kissed her with a feather lightness, noting with gladness in his heart that she still wore the yarn hand fast bracelet.
“My god, Stella, ye are too beautiful. Ye are a Faerie Queen.” He looked in her eyes, large and luminescent and shining with unshed tears. “So beautiful.” He touched her cheek, wanting to assure himself that God, in all his infinite mercy, had gifted him with this woman. She was his. Robbie smiled into her eyes and knew that whatever she wanted or needed he would spend the rest of his life giving it to her.
“Tonight, my sweet, is our wedding night,” he whispered. Stella’s look of surprise made him smile and he pulled her close to him, his large hand fitting neatly around her waist, the hard casement protecting her body thrilling him, knowing that soon he would breach that casement and nothing would stand between them then. Nothing.
If Stella could have taken a deep breath she would have exhaled and quieted her heart, quivering like a bird caught in a cage. She could not breathe deeply, but looked into the eyes of her champion and parted her lips trying to think of something to say that didn’t sound girlish or silly. She was just so unbelieving that this man had sought her out across the centuries and tonight they would bind a love that was completely impossible. She closed her eyes and nodded slightly, smiling quietly at him, happy to have him for any length of time.
He kissed her forehead, “Come, I have someone I want ye to meet. ‘Tis an old friend o’ mine. I think ye will like him very much, Stella, he is clever like ye, a scholar. Come, sweet Faerie Queen.”
Robbie led her into the library his hand steady at her back. The Laird was standing at a glass window facing her, talking to a gentleman whose back was to her. The Laird acknowledged her immediately, his eyes opening wide at the site of her. The other gentleman dropped his head, looking at the ground. He took a deep breath.
“Stella, my love, I want ye t’ meet my friend, Albert. He is a great scholar.”
The gentleman turned slowly around and looked at Stella smiling that smile she had seen so many times before.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.
“Daddy!” she screamed and for the second time Stella’s mind was lost to blackness.
Chapter Eleven
“Stella, Stella my love. Please Stella, wake up!.” Robbie was frantic, patting her cheek repeatedly, in shock that his beautiful brave girl would faint. The Laird went looking for Elinor and Albert stood chuckling to himself.
“Here, Robbie, I think I can help here.” Robbie, enraged that somehow Albert’s presence had brought this on grabbed him by the collar of his coat.
“Dunna touch her, mon, what ha’e ye done! Who are ye that she fears ye!” Robbie’s face was purple with uncontrolled temper. Albert, calm, as always, patted Robbie’s hand, smiling patiently.
“Calm down, Robbie. Stella is my daughter. She is surprised to see me here. She was not expecting this.” Robbie looked at Albert and grabbed him tighter lifting him off the ground.
“Ye lie, mon!! She is from Tegis!” Albert finding himself in the very uncomfortable position of having his very good friend beat him closed his eyes and dropping his carefully modulated accent said in his best Texas drawl, “Yes, Robbie, and I am from Texas, too. We come from San Antonio. She is my only child and I’m afraid that I have surprised her.”
Robbie looked at Albert and shook him, then let him drop. He did not say anything but looked at Albert, seeing the same golden eyes, the same determined chin and the familiar radiance of intelligence.
Elinor burst through the door at that moment, seeing Stella sprawled on the floor, lost in an ocean of silken fabric while Robbie and Albert stood toe to toe silently taking the measure of each other. Albert calm and in control, Robbie reddened with anger, every muscle flexed his eyes staring at Albert as if seeing him for the first time.
“What in heaven’s name is happening here? My god, why is she on the floor? Robbie, pick her up and place her on the settee. Now lad! Don’t stand there like a lout. Move!”
Robbie shook his head, the blood coming back into his brain and quickly he turned and picked up Stella. She moaned and he held her close to his chest once again lost in the maddening circus his life had become in the last three days. Was he losing his mind? Had he departed from the very senses with which he was born? Was all of this a dream?
Albert looked at his daughter and turned to Elinor.
“Elinor, my dear, have you trussed up my daughter in one of those corset things?”
Elinor’s eyes opened wide, “Yer daughter, Albert?” she looked at him and wondered why he was talking in the same foreign accent that Stella had spoken. Albert’s unusual calm belied his worried state. His daughter needed air.
“I’ll explain as soon as we help Stella out. Here I’ll hold her up and you unravel her. She needs to breathe. Women in Texas don’t wear these kinds of contraptions.”
“Albert, it is unseemly to loosen her corset in this company…”
“Madam,
it also unseemly for her to die, please loosen her up.” Robbie still holding Stella turned her back to him, with Albert holding on to her, and using his dirk ripped through the ribbons of her corset and dress, feeling the urgency in her shallow breathing, her pale lips turning blue. He was not about to lose her over underwear.
“Robbie! The propriety…”
“No Elinor, she can’t breathe. I don’t give a damn about the propriety o’ this.” Elinor turned to the Laird.
“Ronald, shut the door!” The Laird did as he was bade and Elinor helped Robbie loosen the corset on Stella. Robbie set Stella upright on the settee. Albert thumped her on the back and she immediately took a deep breath. Her eyes were still shut, but color was coming back into her face.
“Stella, sweetie, it’s Daddy. Wake up, princess.” Robbie watched Albert caress her face and knew that the love that shone from his eyes was the love of a father for his child. He was looking at the two people in his life that he respected the most, the two people whose esteem meant more to him than the angels. These two people, who had challenged, prodded and bewitched him. And they were father and daughter.
Suddenly overcome with what had happened in the past several days, Robbie sat in a chair across from the settee, falling hard, his head falling into his hands. The Laird, taking note of his nephew while Albert and Elinor nursed Stella, went to the side board and poured Robbie a large glass of whiskey.
“Here lad, ye could probably use this.”
Robbie lifted his head and reached for the glass. He drank it as if it were water, hoping that in the oblivion it promised he would find his misplaced mind. He handed the glass back to his uncle and moved to the settee kneeling at Stella’s feet and took her hand in his. She was breathing now, her eyes fluttering, he knew she was going to be ok. He laid his head on her knee breathing in the scent of lilacs, trying to will her back to herself again.
Stella opened her eyes and looked at her father. Her eyes filled with tears and she could no longer be strong, she no longer needed to. Her father was here and he would explain this.
Highland Portrait Page 17
