Highland Portrait (15 page)

Robbie dunked his head in the brook, and watched as Ferghus, still lying in the water, was bobbing for guppies and small frogs.  Stella kneeled beside Robbie and scooped water into her mouth.  It was fresh and clean and delightful, and she did not think too long about Ferghus lying in it, just a few feet away.  Sometimes it was best not to worry about the small stuff.

Robbie shook his head and sat down on the bank, his knees drawn up, his hand resting across the top of his knees.  Stella leaned against a tree, pushed back her hat and looked at him.

“Tell me about your family, Robbie.”  Robbie would rather have asked her about her legs.  Why were they so shapely, were they as beautiful as the rest of her and would they fit around him when they made love.  He tried hard not to stare at the juncture of her thighs, imagining the sweet taste that awaited there. He closed his eyes to avoid seeing her but it did no good, he was as hard as a rock.

“The square of the length of the hypotenuse,
c
, equals the sum of the squares of the lengths of the other two sides. Thus,
a^2 + b^2 = c^2.”

“Robbie?” Stella hoped she wasn’t stepping on painful memories, but she was interested to know more about this man.  He opened up his eyes and gazed out over the quiet little brook, averting his eyes from her lushness.

“My parents died, some time ago.   I was young, a lad, maybe ten and one.  My da died in a raid against the English and my mam died soon after, she fell down the stairs at my uncle’s keep. She was a heartsick widow and couldna be at peace without my da. My uncle trained me to fight and to lead.  He had two sons, one that died in the same raid as my da and another that is nay fit for leadership.  So I was his choice.  He and Aunt Elinor have been good to me, especially Elinor.  She is like a mother, she fusses too much, but I allow it because it makes her happy.”  Robbie tried to look stern but Stella laughed anyway.

“Robbie!  I believe you like being fussed over.”  Robbie’s sat up straighter as if to blockade truth from touching him.

“I dunna!”  He looked at her and she was laughing that wonderful laugh and he relented, “Mayhap I like it a wee bit.” He confessed.  At that moment he wanted to take her hand, to touch her, hold her in his arms and he would have had not an arrow shot through the air and pinned the crown of her hat to the tree.  Stella screamed and within a fraction of a second both Robbie and Ferghus were battle ready.  He grabbed her arm and threw her on the ground.

“Stay, dunna get up, Stella!”  Robbie, quickly mounted his horse, pulled his sword from its scabbard and rode toward the source of the arrow, Ferghus flying behind him.  Seconds later a second arrow, narrowly missing him landed just feet from where Stella lay.  She looked up at the tree where she had just been and her hat was still pinned to the tree with an arrow.

“Son of a bitch!!  That hat cost me $200 bucks, you ass-holes!”  Stella looked cautiously around to see if any more arrows would be coming her way.  She had to help Robbie.  She remembered vividly his words to her in the studio,
‘Tis me a moment a’fore I died, lass.’
Robbie was going to die with a sword in his hand and this may be the moment. Fear for Robbie, and not her own life propelled her upward, she pulled at the arrow unpinning her hat.  She still had most of the white heather in the hat brim.  Robbie said it was a special flower, magical.  Maybe it had saved her life.  Or maybe someone was just a poor shot.  Didn’t matter now because she was pissed.  Her champion was in peril and she had a $200 hat with a hole in the crown. 

She could hear Ferghus barking and then a sound of metallic clanging.  Swords?  Yes, that had to be swords.  Was he outnumbered?  She had to help him, but she had no weapon.  All she had was her pocket knife and she had to be really close to someone to use that, unless she could throw it and she had never thrown a knife before.  But it was all she had so it would have to do. 

Before she could get to her horse she heard running coming closer to her.  She turned in time to see one of the English soldiers coming toward her with a sword.  She was instantly on alert, knowing that now was a defining moment. She had no weapon except for herself, Robbie was engaged in mortal combat somewhere in the woods and a man was running toward her with the intent to kill.

‘Rock steady, Stella, rock steady, you can do this.’

Stella took a deep breath and let her world move in slow motion.  Her attacker was running fast and he would be easy to disarm, easy to throw.  She positioned her shoulder and readied herself, her feet apart, giving her a strong center point.   He was over confident, seeing her standing still, thinking she would be easy to strike down. He was not prepared for what came next. In less than a second her assailant went flying over her, landing flat on his back, his sword thrown a good distance from him.  Stella turned to further disarm him but before she reached him she was jerked back by a strong hand and thrown to the side.  Robbie moved past her, lifted his sword and drove it through the assailant’s chest.  Putting his boot on the dead man’s chest he pulled out his sword and turned to Stella.  She was still on the ground where he had thrown her.  He reached out his hand to her.

“Are ye well, lass?”  He looked down at her and Stella did not recognize him.  Gone was the smile, the charming eyes, the vulnerability.  In its place was the deadliness of a warrior.  He looked just like she had painted him.  Sweat and blood on his clothes, his lips drawn in a tense straight line, his anger seething beneath his murderous eyes.  Stella couldn’t move, she had no words, her thoughts frozen with Robbie’s transformation.  He frightened her, not because he would harm her but because he harmed others.  No, he killed others.  He was a warrior. 

“Are ye hurt?”  Robbie knelt by her and put his hands on her shoulder. “Stella?”  She stared at him, opened mouthed, shaking her head ever so slightly.

“I’m…I’m fine.”  Robbie reached around her waist and pulled her up, pulling her close against his chest.  Stella, still in shock at what had happened in the last two minutes sank against him and willed herself not to cry.  She took deep breaths to calm herself.  Laying her cheek and hands against his chest she felt his racing heartbeat. He put both arms around her holding her closer.  Stella remembered her vow to not let him touch her. But this embrace was like being enfolded in the arms of an angel.  An avenging angel.  She did not want him to release her.

He cupped the back of her hair and kissed her on the top of her head, then lay his head on top of hers, holding her, not moving, exalting in this embrace.  She was alive and so was he and he was holding her.

She closed her eyes and absorbed his smell, his touch, his bravery.  She did not want to move.  Robbie started shaking and she wondered if he were crying.  She looked up at him and saw that he was not crying, at all, but was, indeed, laughing.

“Lass, ye must teach me how ye throw a man like that.  It is wondrous!!”

Ferghus came running down the slope and headed straightaway to inspect the dead man, sniffing at the bloody wound in his chest.  Robbie released Stella, turning her around so she could not see the dog and the soldier.  “Go, let us ride from here.  Quickly”

Stella pointed at the man, “Why did you…”

“He would ha’ kilt ye lass, he had to die.  I will not let another harm ye.”

Stella grabbed Arwen’s reins and moved her to a log, stepping up and mounting quickly as Robbie pulled the dead man into bushes where he could not be found by any but the wolves.  He found the fallen sword and whistled for Ferghus.  He grabbed Arwen’s halter and lead her away from the brook.

Timidly Stella asked, “Robbie, how many…”

“Two, but now there are none.”  Spying Grey not far he went to mount up.

“Stella, do not move, I will return a’fore a moment is passed.”  He headed into the forest that had hidden the soldiers, moving cautiously, Ferghus close behind, lest there be more trouble.  Stella did not move from her spot, still traumatized by what had just happened.  She knew that had Robbie not been with her her life would have been forfeit.  He
had
been with her and she narrowly missed being shot in the head with an arrow.  This time and place was perilous and she had to get back to her own, although what had happened was no worse than a drive by shooting.

The thought of her hat replaced some of her fear with anger and she took a deep breath and looked at it again.  There was a perfect arrow hole through the crown and creases of her $200 Stetson.  She seethed thinking of the hat until she realized that she now was in possession of a ‘story hat’.  This was now a hat to remember, a hat that had been somewhere, besides riding on the Perdanales, or dancing at Mickey’s.  This was a hat that even the wildest cowboy would feel honored to possess.  A museum hat.   The value of this hat had just increased thousands of dollars.  Except she wouldn’t be able to tell anybody the story.. 
‘Yes, this is where a 17
th
century English soldier shot at me with an arrow because I stole one of his Arabian mares while I was traveling in Scotland trying to get back to the 21
st
century.’
What an amazingly wonderful TRUE story and she couldn’t tell it to anyone.  There was not a bar in Texas where she could go and tell this story.  Nope, wasn’t going to happen. Damn.

Within moments Robbie and Ferghus returned, trailing two horses.  Stella looked with awe at Robbie and momentarily forgot he had just killed two men.  She thought about all the heroes of all the book covers and video games that she had painted.  All the superheroes with bulging muscles, knights vanquishing dragons or alien-fighting androids – none of them compared to this man.  This was not a man to tilt at windmills or to play at heroism.  This was a man that took action where it was warranted, not because of self aggrandizement but for the sake and safety of others.  This was a champion. 

He quickly unsaddled both the English horses, stripping them of all tack and slapping them hard on the flank to set them running into the forest.  Looking at Stella he nodded at the saddles. “Let me saddle yer Arwen, lass.” She dismounted, pulling the plaid with her, folding it and tossing it across the back of Robbie’s horse.  He threw the pad and saddle over Arwen, reached underneath her and pulled the girth through, cinching it tight. Stella watched him put it on, surprised at how similar it was to her own western saddle.  Robbie finished and picked up the rest of the tack, hiding it in the thick brush.

As was her habit she checked the girth and breast collar making sure they fit snugly, but comfortably, then she adjusted the large wooden stirrups.  She mounted using the stirrups, briefly regretting the loss of Robbie’s bent knee.

At a loss for words she just sat her horse, watched Robbie mount, and waited for direction.  She knew she was out of her element and that he would know what to do, where to go, how to survive. 

Robbie, teeth gritted, nostrils flaring, moved their little company quickly from the brook and rode with deliberation to the north.  He felt a bastard fool for putting Stella at risk with their leisurely pace and he was determined that they would henceforth move swiftly toward Oban. 

Chapter 8

Stella adjusted to the new saddle quickly, feeling some welcome relief on her thighs and bottom.  It was an unusual saddle with a smaller seat than she was used to but it gave her greater control over Arwen and was a big improvement over riding bareback.

As the evening drew nigh they rode quickly, pushing the horses.  Robbie wanted this nights rest to be without stress or threat for her.  She was a spritely lass with more bravery and ability than many men, but she had been quiet and withdrawn the last couple of hours, the attack of the soldiers laying like a pall over her. Since then Robbie had become increasingly unsettled over the Arabian, which was sure to be remembered wherever they went.  Her clothes would be memorable, too.  Although he found Stella’s tight trews compelling, they would brand her as foreign, possibly even threatening and Robbie knew his people confused
different
with evil. His mind briefly flashed on the young lad and the burnt corpse of his mother and Robbie felt an urgency about finding her clothes and keeping her safe.

Climbing down through the hills into a valley he spied a croft that might provide them with a night’s shelter and possibly some clothes for her.

Coming over the hill he stopped Stella and Ferghus.

“Lass, yonder is a crofter.  Wait here and I will find us shelter for the night.  Ferghus, keep watch.”  With that Robbie rode the short distance down the slope of the hill onto the farmers land. Dismounting, Stella waited, walking with Ferghus in the heather looking at the small cottage and wondering who might be living there, what would they be like.  So far on this journey she had met only Robbie and the soldiers.  One wanted to marry her, the others wanted her dead.  She was hoping the crofters would fall somewhere in the middle.

The croft was made of stone with a stout thatch roof, surrounded by a large garden and several fruit trees.  To the east of the croft was a larger stone building, presumably the barn, thatched and surrounded by pens for pigs and goats.

After twenty minutes Stella saw Robbie and a smaller man, surely the crofter, come out of the cottage.  Robbie had clothes draped over his shoulder and the farmer motioned to the stone barn and accompanied Robbie inside.  After several minutes the farmer came from the barn and went directly into his croft.  Robbie came out of the barn and signaled Stella and Ferghus to come down from the hill to the barn.