Stella thought for a moment and tried to remember everything her father had ever taught her about the Renaissance. She closed her eyes and thought about the period.
“Let’s see. James, the Scottish king is on the English throne. Not well liked, fond of boys, and he’s, even as we speak, supporting efforts to translate the Vulgate and Septuagint into an English bible. This is causing some consternation because it’s generally thought that English is a pretty rude language and not fit for holy scriptures. Right?”
“Yes, right. What else?” She tried to think of the really big events of the period.
“Um, let’s see. James has brought some peace to this area. I think he is king of England, Ireland and Scotland. What’s it called?” Stella dug deep in her memory. “Oh yeah, the Union of the Crowns. He’s going to rule for about another 20 years.“ Stella was very pleased with herself, smiling and tossing small stones out into the bay. “Oh, shit, of course! We’re in the middle of the Reformation. Holy crap. That’s a big deal, Daddy.”
Albert smiled and put his arm around her shoulders. He’d always been proud of his daughters quick mind and her ability to recall facts stored from long ago periods.
“Yes, there it is. Let me tell you how that is going to affect you and I. From about the time of the Roman occupation these isles have been Catholic, but as you know, the Scots outlawed Catholicism about 1560 or so. That ban has held fast in the lowlands, but the Highlands are a world apart from that and though they are ‘officially’ protestant, they still cling to the mystical beliefs and traditions of the Catholic Church. But there hasn’t been a Catholic priest in Scotland in about fifty years and probably won’t be for another thirty or so.”
“Then what about Malcolm MacDougall…”
“He isn’t an ordained priest. He is self initiated and is not connected with the church in an official capacity, and he holds sway through the fear of the people. I can promise you that should the English come through here ‘Father’ Malcolm MacDougall would quickly be ‘Farmer’ Malcolm MacDougall to escape hanging for treason. But up here, far from the Lowland government he practices his own brand of Catholicism. Because he is the younger brother of the Laird and was passed over for tanist he may have some hostile intentions toward Robbie, and now you. I’m not sure why the MacDougall tolerates him, other than he is his brother, no matter how foul his temperament and actions.”
Stella thought for a moment about her encounter with the man. He had been covertly hostile, keeping his eyes on her, but never saying anything directly to her. He communicated his displeasure quite openly, but Stella couldn’t imagine how he might breach etiquette to accuse her of witchcraft, but this was the Highlands where that kind of thing was very possible.
“Ok, Daddy, will do.” Stella, looked at her father and his clothes and smiled. “Nice threads, by the way. Didn’t realize you were a kilt kind of guy.” Albert chuckled and brushed imaginary lint from his plaid.
“Actually, they’re really quite comfortable, I may start wearing one when I go back. I am a McKenzie, you know.”
“So what did you want to talk to me about, Daddy? The witch hunter?” Stella wanted to get as much information from her father as she could before he changed his mind or before the moment passed.
“Actually, Stella, I wanted to talk with you about your mother.” Stella’s eyes flew open and her heartbeat quickened. Albert had never spoken with her about her mother, other than giving her brief details. She believed his reluctance to talk about her was because of his great heartache, but you don’t grieve for 20 years, do you? This was the first time he had ever volunteered to talk about her mother and the hair on her arms stood straight up.
At that moment they both turned at the sound of a horse galloping toward them. Robbie had sited them and was coming toward them at a fast clip. Stella thought that she would never be sorry to see Robbie, but his very bad timing was a crushing blow to her.
“Here comes your man, Stella. He looks anxious to be with you.” Albert waved at Robbie.
“Daddy, can we take Robbie back with us,” Stella queried.
Albert stood up and turned toward Robbie. “Stella, I’m afraid you’ve asked a difficult question that is not up to me. It may not be up to Robbie. I had more I wanted to say to you, but now is not the time. Later this evening, perhaps?” Albert gave Stella his hand and pulled her up as Robbie pulled alongside them.
“Good morning, lass. Albert.” Robbie slid from his saddle and grabbing Stella around the waist lifted her off the stones and kissed her soundly, putting her down on the sandy shore of the bay. He clapped Albert on the back in hearty welcome and smiled broadly, glad once again, to be in the company of the two people that meant so much to him and glad to see that Stella was safe from harm.
“Albert, I must beg the boon o’ yer daughter. I wish t’ spend time w’ her and show her the castle grounds.”
“Yes, of course, we were just chatting and catching up,” said Albert quietly. Arwen had come trotting from her grazing spot further up the shore to greet Grey, and Stella, hiding her disappointment at not having a conversation about her mother, untangled the reins and mounted her horse. Robbie mounted Grey, turning the horse toward the castle.
“Daddy will you be back to the castle soon?” asked Stella, anxious to continue the conversation where they had left off. Albert was still staring out at the sea, with that look that was so familiar to Stella. He was contemplating something of great import and it concerned her. She wondered what secrets he was keeping from her?
“Uh, yes, princess, I’ll be along shortly. I’ll see you at dinner.” Stella watched her father and sighed. She’d waited a whole lifetime, she could wait until dinner.
Robbie felt the tension between the two and knew that he had probably come at a difficult time, but it was too late now to undo it. He nodded to Albert and turned Grey back to the castle, with Stella following close behind.
They spent the afternoon exploring the castle and the immediate surrounding area, Robbie quick to point out to Stella how well garrisoned it was, that it would offer her safety in case of siege or war. Stella’s eyes opened dramatically when she considered that she was in a time and place where siege and war was a common occurrence. Aside from warring clans, there was the threat of the English, although that was a few years in the future, but she felt that in spite of her great affection for Robbie, love and fear make for uneasy companions.
Robbie was determined that he deliver her all the assurances that she needed to feel safe, that wherever he was that was her haven. She had not spoken of returning to Texas since meeting her father and he wanted to make sure that she was happy to be with him.
Stella stopped on a number of occasions to pull out her book and hastily sketch the castle, the bay and shepherds on the hillsides tending sheep, white and fluffy as clouds. Robbie liked to watch her draw and was doubly delighted when he saw her rendering of him sitting on Grey, relaxed, looking out over a hill toward the bay.
“Och, Stella, is this what I look like, lass?” Robbie was grinning at the likeness, amused to see himself drawn in some detail.
“That’s exactly what you look like,” she smiled as he held the book and turned it so he could look at himself from different angles.
“I am a handsome, man,” he laughed. “Almost as handsome as this ugly horse!” Stella laughed at Robbie’s self deprecating humor. She took the book from him and sliding off Arwen she climbed atop a small boulder and sat overlooking the bay. Robbie grabbed Arwen’s reins, dismounted from Grey and tied them both loosely to tree branches hear Stella’s boulder. With soft nickering, the pair playfully nipped at one another and searched for grass. Robbie sat on the boulder with Stella and watched the bay. He could no longer see Albert so he suspected that he had ridden back to the castle.
Robbie sat on the boulder with one foot on the ground, the other leg bent at the knee, sitting comfortably close to Stella as she drew in her book. He leaned closer to Stella, his hand on her
cheek and drew her face to look at him. Her body immediately settled against his as if the two had been made of one fabric. Without hesitation, she raised her hands to his face in a search for the warmth and love that she now depended on. He looked down at her and sensed the fire that was consuming them both, a flame that had only grown stronger with each moment they were together, a flame that he knew was waiting to be stoked and then quenched and then, stoked again. The smile left him and his arms slid around her and he bent to her, closed his eyes and let his lips brush softly against hers. She whispered, “Ah, Robbie, I love you.”
“Aye, lass, and I love ye beyond measure.” He looked deep into her eyes, “Are ye happy, Stella,” he asked shyly and his heart was filled with gladness at her engaging smile.
“Yes, Robbie, I am happy,” she said. “Being here with you has changed my world. Actually, the past couple of days have changed my world. I’ve experienced things that I never thought possible, seen things I’ve only heard about, met people that I will always remember. Yes, I’m very happy.”
Robbie exhaled a sigh of relief and Stella knew that he was worried about her leaving and returning to Texas, but she did not want to address the question right now. Not now while she was enjoying this man whom she had lost her heart to. Not while she was filling up her heart that had been empty for so long. Perhaps tomorrow they could talk about Texas. Perhaps next week. She kissed him soundly, her tongue teasing his lips, feeling the heat rise from him. He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth, warming his hand on her breasts.
“Stella, lass, let me take ye, I have such need of ye again.” Robbie’s hands were insistent, his lips eager and she felt her temperature rise, but she gently pushed him back.
“Would be awkward should a shepherd come upon us, don’t you think?” she winked at him and he reluctantly let her go.
Stella shook her head of the intoxication of her want and took out her pocket knife to sharpen her pencil. Robbie reached for the knife once she was finished and again examined the peculiar little weapon and its extraordinary mechanism. Stella had said that Albert had given it to her. Perhaps he would know how the metal was forged. Robbie made a mental note to ask Albert so that the smithies at the castle could make a metal as strong and light as this. Swords of this metal would be lethal, indeed. Robbie tested the blade, slicing pieces of twigs and wood and was impressed at how cleanly and quickly it sliced through even the woodiest twigs with ease. Stella smiled, watching him out of the corner of her eye thinking that men were alike in all times and places, fascinated with tools and weapons, no matter how small or insignificant.
“Robbie,” she looked up from her book to interrupt his experimenting, he acknowledged her, but continued to probe the surpassing singularity of the knife. “Last night you told me that your lute was now mine.”
“Aye, lass, that it is,” he said, not looking up from the knife.”Ye play it better than I ever did, so ‘tis yers.”
“Then I gift you with that knife, Robbie. It is now yours.” She smiled to see the surprise and pleasure on his face, which was immediately replaced by a look of no small concern.
“But ye need a knife, Stella. Ye cannot be without a weapon upon ye.” Another reason, thought Stella, that this was a dangerous time.
“Then give me one of yours, if you think I need one.” She shook her head and returned to her drawing. Robbie looked at the small pocketknife and then withdrew his dirk from his hose and handed it to Stella. She looked at the knife, her eyes widening. “Good grief, Robbie, that is practically a sword, where in the world would I put it?”
“I will make you a sheath, Stella, and you will wear it whenever you leave the castle.” Robbie’s serious tone was not lost on her so she silently nodded her head and took a deep breath.
“Fine. I’ll try to remember to strap on the arsenal whenever I’m out and about.” Robbie nodded with approval and seemed happy with her compliance. She took the dirk and carefully laid it next to her on the boulder and thought that sarcasm was totally wasted in Renaissance Scotland.
“Brijit, I need some ribbon, do you have a small piece?” Stella was anxious to go down to the evening meal and see her father again. Perhaps they could get away for a talk before Robbie brought her back up to their chambers. Every time he had held her his need was evident but he had been patient and promised to wait until the evening meal was behind them. Her need for him was just as heated, but she desperately wanted to finish her conversation with her father.
“Aye, mistress,” said Brijit as she took out a piece of ribbon from her basket of homemade cosmetic potions and sewing. She held up a beautiful length of dusty green ribbon, the color reminding Stella of sage in the morning, wet with dew.
“Oh, what a beautiful color, Brijit, but I don’t need that much. I just need enough to tie this paper.” Stella showed Brijit the rolled drawing. “Do you have a piece that will tie this up?” Brijit looked through her basket and found another garnet colored ribbon, and tied the rolled paper for Stella.
“There, mistress, ‘tis the perfect size.” Brijit smiled, making an attractive bow of the ribbon. Stella looked at Brijit and thought about the life of a servant and how they were singularly devoted to the well being of other people.
“I have a small gift for you Brijit,” she said and went to her notebook. She tore out the drawing she had done of Brijit. She had sketched it in pencil and later, while in the MacDougall’s library with Robbie, had finished it in ink. It was Brijit smiling at the observer, her basket in hand, the background the chamber in which she served. Stella had given it extra detailing and was quite happy with the likeness. Robbie had recognized Brijit immediately, which was the first test of any portrait, and had suggested she also do one of the MacDougall and Elinor. She had promised she would and asked that Robbie procure her some parchment because her sketchbook was almost full.
“Here, Brijit, I took the liberty of doing this small drawing of you. I hope you like it.” Stella handed it to Brijit who had a puzzled look on her face. Brijit looked at the drawing and at once her mouth was drawn into a surprised O of wonder. She was so stunned at the likeness that she could not speak. Stella laughed at her and patted her arm.
“You’re quite welcome, my friend,” and with the ribbon tied drawing in her pocket she went down to the evening meal.
She tried to hide her disappointment at not seeing her father in the great hall. Robbie, his back to her, was talking with a number of warriors, the MacDougall was in deep conversation with Elinor, and after a scan of the hall she saw that Albert was nowhere to be found. When his warrior’s eyes wandered to her, Robbie turned and came toward her, smiling and looking almost feverish with anticipation.
She gave him her hand and asked, “Robbie, have you seen Albert?” He leaned closer to her smelling of the lilac scent she wore in her hair.
“Aye, lass, he has asked me to tell ye that he has left and will return in the morn.”
Stella turned an alarmed look to Robbie. “Left! Where did he go, Robbie, we were supposed to talk this evening. Where is he?” Stella’s disappointment caused Robbie a momentary flash of jealousy, which he quickly dismissed as unworthy.
Robbie supposed that this had something to do with the conversation that he had interrupted earlier, but he had no answer for her. “I do nay ken where he went, Stella, but if Albert said he will return than he will return. Do not fret, my heart, all is well.” He took her arm and led her to the dais where he sat her next to Elinor.
Elinor, who had not seen Stella since the morning, squeezed her hand telling Stella that she was genuinely glad to see her. Stella, trying to dispel the growing frustration she was feeling with her father drew a breath and calmed herself and accepted her father’s absence as part of his mystery. But she was annoyed as hell, nonetheless.
The meal was served and Stella helped herself to a good deal of fruit and bread with honey. Robbie frowned at her plate and put a large piece of some kind of meat on it.
“Ye need m
eat, Stella, ye cannot eat bread alone.” Robbie beckoned to a servant to bring fish to their table. Stella looked around for Ferghus and saw him coming toward her from the back of the hall. He had been about his own business this day and she was glad to see him again. She found it funny that Ferghus was never late for dinner.
“Ah, Ferghus, I see you have come to share my meal. Good. Stay. Sit.” Smiling at Robbie, she accepted the meat on her plate and made no bones about giving it to Ferghus. Robbie just scowled and looked at the dog.
As the close of the meal drew near Stella turned to Elinor.
“Elinor, I have something for you. A small gift.” Stella reached into her pocket and retrieved the rolled drawing, handing it to Elinor whose eyes widened with pleasure at the rolled up paper. She had been so impressed with Stella’s picture of the garden and was glad to be a recipient of a small picture herself.
“Stella, how thoughtful of ye,” Elinor was anxious to see what Stella had drawn and quickly untied the ribbon and unfurled the small drawing. Elinor did not immediately recognize the figure, but as it dawned on her who she was looking at she fell into shocked silence. She looked at Stella with a pained expression and sadness enveloped her, causing her to gasp for breath. Stella was immediately sorry for the pain she had caused this good woman.
“Oh, Elinor, I’m so sorry. Had I know I would never have drawn it. I am so…”
“Nay lass, nay,” Elinor turned, uninhibited tears blinding her.
The MacDougall, who had been speaking to his steward turned his attention to Elinor.
“Elinor, what is this?” It was not like Elinor to cry and even less like her to cry in public. He did not like it. She turned to him and gave him the rolled drawing.
“’Tis a gift from Stella, Ronald,” said Elinor, tears shining through her sadness.
It took him but a second to recognize Gregor, standing straight and tall, smiling, a sword in one hand, a gardening tool in the other. His body was beautifully proportioned, strong and without blemish. This was the Gregor that might have been had not his malady transformed his body into the grotesque caricature that it was. This was the son that lived inside of the monster’s body. A handsome lad that would have been a warrior, a hero, a Laird.
Highland Portrait Page 22
