Highland Portrait (11 page)

With the eye of the artist Stella looked at the landscape and noted the color and texture of this beautiful, but rugged land. Bracken and heather covered the meadows, giving the ground a deceptively soft appearance, hiding in their depth stones that grew out of the Scottish soil, small but worrisome features for horses and travelers.  She noted numerous cairns as they traveled, those piled stones designating graves or marking some special event or place.  They were eerie, but quite beautiful and Stella thought that some of these cairns had grown so large because successive travelers placed more stones as they passed, each adding their voice to the cause of the cairn.

In spite of the beauty that surrounded her she still felt ill at ease about being in this ‘time zone’ and wondered if traveling through time would alter any of her molecules.  She thought about Star Trek and being ‘beamed up’, transported back to the Enterprise and laughed out loud when she thought that it was Scotty who did the beaming.  Aye, Captain!

Robbie turned to look at her.  “Ye have found some humor, lass?”

She smiled and shook her head, allowing her simple smile to let him know that she was no longer feeling unsafe or sad.  His grey-blue eyes were piercing into her soul.

“Ye have eyes like a bog,” he said softly.

“A bog? Really? You mean muddy?” Stella looked at him quizzically.

“Nay.  Yer eyes suck me in and bury me. They be dangerous.”

“Ah.”  She turned her gaze away from him and locked her eyes onto the back of the mares head.  Men were so full of bullshit, she thought.  Did they just expect women to fall over themselves and believe that stuff?  Seriously?  She smiled and shook her head.  Sitting on a horse in god forsaken Scotland in the 1600’s wasn’t much different than being in a cheesy singles bar in the 21
st
century.

The sun dropped gently into the western sky after they had been riding in companionable silence for several hours through meadows and along the forest line. Stella’s growling stomach was not to be ignored.  She thought about the granola bars in her backpack and wondered how she was going to dig them out and unwrap them without causing some kind of time-continuum panic in Robbie.  He seemed like a reasonable man, but the sight of brightly colored plastic wrappers might push him over the edge.  He may not be impressed with the granola bars, but he certainly would be with the wrappers.  She was pretty sure he was not totally comfortable with her jeans or being tossed over her shoulder like a rag doll and that he was either too wary to ask questions, or maybe he just really believed that Faerie Queen bullshit. Either way, she was going to make sure nothing else shocked him or caused him to reconsider his championing of her.

Stella felt some small misgivings being with a highly armed, overwhelmingly physical male that probably did not care for the strictures of polite society.  He seemed gentle enough, although he looked like a barbarian. She thought he may talk like one, too, and his whole ‘wild mountain man’ appearance was giving her second thoughts about her safety. Chances were he was totally illiterate and couldn’t even write his own name.  But she didn’t have a lot of options right now.

Robbie turned his mount into the forest and moved deep into the trees.  The sun was being swallowed up, the dying light giving way to a half moon that did not pierce the heavy canopy of the woods. They were traveling up a steep hillside, the slender pathway winding its way up the mountain, each step taking her deeper into a primitive area, farther from the meadows, where the forest was still pristine, where the unhealthy smell of money and loggers was still centuries away. The dimming light made traveling the unfamiliar way difficult and Robbie looked back continually to make sure she was close behind.

“Hold steady, lass, we’ll find a place to stay and I’ll get us a fine hare for sup.”

She liked being here on the mountain, the forest closing in on her, wrapping her in its sheltering dark green mantle.  Stella had always loved the forest at dusk, the tranquility, the music of the nocturnal population as they went about the business of hunting and feeding.  Being in the woods was her introduction to the small secrets of nature.  It was here where she saw – truly saw – the wonder of design and pattern all around her. 

She remembered as a child running her small hands over bark, fascinated with the feel, the pattern, the harmony of design.  Puzzled with the irregularities of it she would chip small pieces of bark from trees putting them in her pocket, carrying them with her for weeks, taking them out and studying their loveliness.  These talismans of shape and creative genius were the small details of creation that she so meticulously rendered in her own art.  Nature was and always had been her muse, the prototype of all line and shape.

“It’s beautiful in here, Robbie,” Stella looked around her and inhaled the hundred different shades of green, the filtering, fading sunlight touching everything with a magical amber glow.  It was, possibly, the most beautiful forest she had ever seen.  She could almost understand why these people would believe in faeries and such.  If they did exist this would be the place to find them. 

Robbie looked around him and smiled. “Aye, lass that it is.” 

They stopped in a clearing on a wide ridge in front of some large boulders covered in moss.  She could hear a small stream nearby, running rapidly down the mountainside, tripping over rocks and ferns.  What an extraordinary place this was.

Ferghus was quite happy with the area, sniffing out possible dangers, alert to threats, but even more alert to the possibility of dinner.

Robbie dismounted and led his horse to the stream, tying him loosely so that he might rest and graze. “We’ll stay here for the night, lass.  There is shelter here by these rocks.” The large rocks formed a small sheltering alcove that was large enough for several people.

“Here?  We’re going to sleep here?  On the ground?”  In spite of the beauty of the place Stella wasn’t so sure that sleeping on it would suit her. No matter how astonishing it was, how grand, how magnificent, it was still hard ground. Stella’s surprise caused Robbie to look at her quizzically. 

“Where else would we sleep, lass?  There be no inns.  Do ye nay sleep outside in Tegis?”  She seemed to be a continual source of surprise.  Although she was puzzled about the lack of accommodations she did not seem to fear it, only found it unusual.

“Well, sleeping outside in Texas is for hunters and campers, not for travelers and I’m not much of a camper.  I don’t believe I’ve ever slept on anything without a dust ruffle.”  Stella smiled and slid from her horse.  She looked around her trying to imagine where she would lie down and feel comfortable enough to sleep all night.  Although a practiced rider she was a bit sore from being on a horse most of the day, bareback no less, and the thought of a plump down comforter sounded like heaven.

“I nay ken a ‘dust ruffle’ but I have a warm plaid for ye, lass.”  Robbie pulled the plaid from his pack and handed it to her.  She took the red and blue plaid and wondered exactly how this thin blanket was going to keep her comfortable lying on dirt and stone.  She’d give her eye teeth for a sleeping bag right now. 

“Uh. Thank you Robbie,” she smiled at him and his heart stopped.  He remembered as a youth he had seen a spectacular sunset after a particularly violent summer storm and was so filled with the emotion of that beauty that he had filed it away in his heart and whenever he needed to be reassured that the world could be a good place and that there was still hope to be found he would remember that sunset.  Now he had another moment to file away to be remembered.  Her smile transformed her face from merely beautiful to ethereal and angelic, a smile that warmed like the sun and brought a moment of blissful thanksgiving to his heart.  He smiled in return and felt like a youth, unsure and awkward, his future sitting precariously in the hand of someone other than himself.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and took the reins of her mare.  He led the mare to the other side of the sheltering rocks to tie her, but she was reluctant to go with him.  Her finely boned legs danced in anger at being led away from the stallion.  Grey neighed his discontent and pulled on the reins tying him. Stella watched her horse and knew what the problem was.  “I believe she wants to stay close to yours.  She seems fond of him.”  Stella dropped her eyes, smiling at her mare and how quickly she had become attached to Grey. Recognizing the agitation of the animals for what it was Robbie tethered her mare close to his stallion.

Robbie pulled his bow and arrows from his tack and turned to Stella.

“Stella, I will find us food.  Ferghus will stay w’ ye and keep ye safe.  I will return shortly.”  Robbie looked sternly at Ferghus. “Stay, mon, see t’ the lass.”  Robbie left and disappeared into the darkening forest.  Ferghus seemed to understand his master and the importance of staying close to Stella and was happy to oblige.  He followed her as she inspected their camp and he began an immediate policing of the area, his nose close to the ground, his tail wagging with the sheer delight of communicating with this delicious environment.  The delicate thrills that murmured in his nose telegraphed pleasure, warning, summons and excitement, each new scent like small hands pulling him forward, in a canine sensory arcade.

Stella found a rather nice piece of log that might do for a seat, dry and covered in soft moss.  She rolled it close to the sheltering cover of the rocks and began to look for wood and sticks for a fire. She gathered what she thought was enough to sustain them for a couple of hours and found another log that might do for Robbie and rolled that, with some effort,  near to the first.  Wearily she pulled her backpack off and sat on the log.  She rubbed her shoulders that were stiff from the weight of the pack, “Well, Casper, it’s just you and me, babe, come here and give me a big hug.”  Ferghus came directly to her and found joy in being surrounded in the arms of her affection.  She buried her nose in his neck and pulled him close.

“Oh, Casper.  Ferghus.  What are we about, my friend?  Will we ever get home again?”  She sighed, looked inside her pack and pulled out a dog treat.  “Here, one of your favorites.”  Ferghus took the biscuit and made quick work of it, then tried sticking his nose into her pack.  She brushed him away, “No more, kiddo.  There’s only a couple in here and I’ll save the rest for you.  You can have them later.”  Ferghus sat obediently at her feet and whined. “Absolutely not, you can’t manipulate me like that, you chow hound.”  He stared at her, his eyes intent, his purpose clear.  She suddenly realized that she would not be cooking up a big bowl of chicken and rice for him this evening that he would be eating whatever food he could catch. 

“Oh, all right, here you can have the rest.” She pulled out the other dog biscuits and he snatched them from her hand greedily, downing them in mere seconds. He sat and waited for more.

“Sorry, babe, all gone.  But I’ll share my dinner with you, whatever it is.  I promise.”

She found her granola bars and carefully unwrapped one, folding the wrapper into a tiny square and putting it into one of the pockets inside the pack.  She left the unwrapped bar in her pack meaning to share it with Robbie later in the evening.  She wasn’t sure he would like it, but since he was willing to share whatever small innocent, defenseless woodland creature he was going to slaughter, the least she could do was share her largess with him.  Ferghus did not take his eyes off her pack and she knew that his curiosity could cause some problems.  She had a number of things in her pack that would open up a Pandora’s box of questions and difficulties, including a plastic water bottle, a flashlight and a wallet with pictures and money.  She found her pocketknife and thought that considering the conditions it might be a good idea to have it close so she put it into her back pocket. Whenever she went riding she always took emergency supplies and even though right now all of them would come in handy, she knew she would only be able to use them in the most dire of circumstances.

Ferghus eyed the pack expectantly but she buckled it tightly and hung it on a tree branch, too high for him to pull down. Ferghus turned away from the pack and looked toward the wood, his eyes gleaming, his ears on alert.  They heard the crunching of leaves and branches and Ferghus gave an excited bark as Robbie returned to their campsite with two hares, carrying them by their hind legs.  Ferghus’s tail wagging was on overdrive and he knew that soon he would eat.

“Ah, Ferghus, good mon.  We eat, Stella.”  He said, indicating the hares. He looked at the wood she had gathered and the two logs and was pleased that she had provided that small domestic service for them.  Stella watched with interest as he dropped the rabbits on the ground and went to his pack and pulled out a wooden bowl.  He handed her the bowl.

“Water, lass.”  He smiled at her and watched with curiosity as she took it and closely inspected it.  It was a beautiful piece of work, hand carved from a piece of what appeared to be oak, with a primitive carving of ivy vines around the outside rim.  She had a similar bowl that she had received through the magic ‘conduit’.

“This is a nice piece of work, Robbie.  It’s hand carved oak.”  She looked at him with a questioning expression and he was stumped for a reply.

“Aye, it is a fine bowl, Stella, but all wooden bowls are hand carved. This one is nay of particular value beyond its use to hold things,” he paused and then said meaningfully, “like water.”

Stella jumped up, remembered where she was and who she was talking to.  “Of course, water, I’ll be getting water. Right now.”  She pointed toward the stream and walked quickly away from Robbie thinking that he probably thought she was some sort of dolt.  She could hear him chuckling as she went to the stream.