Highland Portrait (12 page)

When she returned with the bowl of water Robbie was busy skinning their dinner.  She recalled as a young girl going to a horror flick for the first time and being terrified at the gore and scariness, but not turning away because of the fascination of being petrified. Watching him skin these rabbits was much the same. Too disgusting to watch, but too fascinating not to.

This was how barbarians survived, she mused, killing and disemboweling.  She wondered if he ever thought about eating Ferghus but dismissed the thought as being puerile.

“Robbie, what is it that you do?  Why were you traveling?  Where is your home?”  She was curious about him but did not meet his eyes, watching with real intent as he skinned and cleaned the hares.

“Ah, Stella.  I am glad ye ask me this.  I am tanist to my uncle and shall be laird someday. I was returning from delivering a message to the English when I found ye at the stream.  I am from Oban, which is the home of Clan MacDougall, three days journey from here.”

Stella looked at him and she thought a moment about what he had said.  “A message?  Interesting.  Was it a written message?”

“Aye, that it was, Stella, why do ye ask?”

Stella was not sure she wanted to know the answer to her question, was not sure it would cause embarrassment, but her curiosity had always been her undoing. “Can you read, Robbie?”  she asked as delicately and sweetly as she could, not wanting Robbie to feel any censure in her voice.  He might be an illiterate warmonger, but he was still a kind man and she would not hurt him if she could help it.  At least not any more than she already had.

Robbie chuckled, “Aye, lass, I can read.”

“Where did you learn?”  A wave of joy swept through her to learn that he was not a total savage.  She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she loved intelligence more than anything and knowing that he could at least read gave her great pleasure.  It elevated him from caveman to almost human.

“Me mam taught me when I was a lad and then, of course, I spent many years at University.”

Stella’s jaw dropped open. “University! You went to a university?  Where?”  Her look and voice of shock made Robbie consider that perhaps she had thought him some barbarian unable to read, unlearned.  He was glad she asked the question for here was an opportunity to plant a seed in her heart.

“I went to University in Edinburgh,” he said, not without some small pride.

Stella was flabbergasted. “You’re kidding?!  What did you study?”

Robbie looked at her with a question in his eyes. “Kidding? What does that mean?  Kidding, like goats?”

“Oh, no.  Kidding means jesting.  It’s a Texas word.”

“Ah,” he said, “I do not jest, Stella.  I studied mathematics and the law.”

“Did you really?”  Stella’s golden eyes grew wide.

He did not have a ‘scholarly’ air about him, seeming better suited to skinning rabbits then reading books and writing papers.  He hands were callused and hard, deft in the neat dressing of the rabbits, pulling the skin from the muscle easily and with none of the squeamishness that she was feeling.  His neat slices on the belly and the disemboweling of the animals was done without effort, as easily as if he was operating a can opener to heat up Dinty Moore for dinner.

“But I did not think much of the law.” Robbie turned from looking at her eyes, he would not be able to think or answer her questions if he were to be caught in her gaze.

“Really, why didn’t you like it?” She could commiserate with him on this, she was not overly fond of lawyers or politicians.

Robbie frowned at her question as he gathered the entrails of the skinned hare and set them aside.  Ferghus was particularly fond of entrails.

“The law, as it is written,” he said, “is meant to be a moral companion to the people.”  He paused and turned to look at her, hoping that in her wisdom, she would understand his frustration to express his feelings. “But as practiced, it is a weapon of oppression.”  He frowned.

Struck by his insightfulness and compassion, she moved closer to him.  Enthralled that she was speaking to an educated man, no matter how barbaric he seemed, she turned her gaze from the rabbits, guts heaped in a pile like slick pink ribbons, so recently vital and precious to their owners, now cast aside, still warm, like garbage.  She noted his furrowed brow, the frown and the air of frustration as he struggled with his thoughts on justice.  She laid her hand on his forearm.

“Robbie, it’s like that in Texas, too.  It’s like that all over the world.  We’re not so different, really.”  She was not sure why, but she was happy to find that Robbie was more like her than she had first guessed.  They were still oceans apart, figuratively and literally, but she was glad they shared some beliefs.

Robbie, happy that they might have common ground smiled.  The touch of her hand in a sincere gesture of gentle union had a greater impact on him than had she slapped him or thrown him through the bushes again.  The touch, so very light it was barely noticeable, sent hot currents of hope through him.  Perhaps she might begin to look upon him favorably, begin to trust him.  His heart surged at the thought but he kept it hidden.  He knew that she was not an easily bidden and that it would take more than brawn and sweet promises to impress her.

“Hmm,” said Stella, “tastes like chicken.”  She delicately ate the hare, wishing she had salt, but considering her hunger and the available food she did just fine.  She generously shared her portion with Ferghus, in spite of Robbie’s frown and disapproval.

“Ferghus ate the entrails, and he will find more to eat tonight.  That meat is fer ye, lass,” he said quietly.

“I know, but he is hungry and I don’t need to eat a whole hare.  I like sharing with him, he loves it.”  She smiled that smile again and Robbie watched her full pink lips, now covered in the greasy juices of the hare.  She licked them clean and pulled small bits of meat from the bones, giving Ferghus small bites and taking small bites herself.  It obviously delighted her to share with the dog so Robbie could only watch and envy the dog the intimacy of sharing her meal.  He grew hard watching her and turned from her to prepare their campsite for the night ahead.

While Robbie checked the horses and surveyed the area for any potential dangers she went to the stream to wash her hands of grease, thanking the gods that she had been fed, she was with someone that would take care of her and she had shelter for the night.  Not Holiday-Inn kind of shelter, but it was a beautiful spot, cozy and serene and it didn’t matter if she had no pillow.  She had the companionship of Ferghus and a man that knew how to survive in this country.

The only thing she was missing, it seemed, was toilet paper.  She had to go and was wondering how this was done in the middle of nowhere, during the Renaissance.  People still had to go regardless of when they existed whether it was the dawn of time or the 21
st
century.  Everybody had to go. Stella thought upon the matter until she thought her bladder would burst.

“Well, I suppose leaves will just have to do,” she sighed.

The sun had withdrawn its last shards of light and left behind a liquid darkness that seeped to fill every corner of the mountain. The small fire was the only light, the moon having abandoned the travelers and gone to the other side of the world. 

It was much cooler now and Stella headed back to the warmth of the small fire, took down her backpack from the tree and pulled out her sweatshirt.  Generally she wore zip up hoodies, but this time fortunately, she had thrown a hooded sweatshirt into her pack.  It was of gray flannel, with pockets across the front and was innocuous enough that it would not illicit too much attention.  Robbie was sitting quietly by the fire and watched her pull it over her head and she felt a little self conscious, and just a little bit glad, that she had good breasts.  She almost liked the way that his gaze lingered there and then quickly turned away as if embarrassed that he had been caught in the act of ogling.  She was at once nervous and thrilled that he did.  As long as he didn’t act on his impulses and try to touch her she was not above a small tease, but she knew every man had his limits so she would be careful to not overdo it.

She took out the granola bar and broke it in two.  “Here, Robbie. This is a treat from Texas.  It’s very sweet and made from honey and nuts.  And covered in chocolate,”  she handed him the larger of the two pieces and watched with amusement as Robbie took the granola bar and examined it closely.

“Chock-lik?”  he asked.  ‘I know not chock-lik, lass”  He sniffed it and then bit into it.  Finding it much to his liking he smiled, nodded his head at her, and popped the rest of it into his mouth. Stella thought he seemed like a small boy eating candy for the first time and her heart swelled that she could do something for him that gave him pleasure.  She thought for a moment about all that she had taken from him – interrupting his travels, putting him at risk because of her stolen horse, knocking him unconscious, flipping him over her shoulder and yet still he had pledged his protection.  She was not sure why he still denied knowing her, was not sure if the Celestial Committee was playing some horrible joke on both of them, but right now, in the silence of this magnificent forest, with only the night sounds of a crackling fire and the rustling of small animals, she looked at him and saw a beautiful man.  A man that would be a leader in any age, in any land.  He was strong, he was smart and he was loyal.  He was so much more than the men that she knew in her own time.  It made her happy to give him his first taste of chocolate, a small treat that was so simple and small to her, yet so grand and delightful to him.  She wished she had a whole Hershey Bar to give to him.

“That was verra good, lass.  Tegis has good food.” 

“Here, you can have this, too, I’m pretty full with all that hare.  Please take it.” she smiled and stretched forth her hand with the last bit of granola bar but Robbie hesitated not wanting to take food from Stella, not wanting to deny her the ambrosia that must be made by the faerie folk in Texas.  The sweetness of her expression touched Robbie.   She didn’t seem overly attached to the little piece of chock-lik though, and it was delicious and he did so love good food so he nodded and reached for the last piece.  It was even more delicious than the first piece because she had held it in her hands and had given it to him and he was hoping fervently that she did so because she was beginning to care.

With their meal finished, the night sounds increasing and the tiredness seeping through their bones, there was an awkwardness that settled between them. Stella was unsure how she should approach the sleeping arrangement question, but she knew that as much as she did have some small regard for this man, she was not in any way going to compromise their relationship with intimacy.  Her brows furrowed and she looked around their campsite wondering what to do.

Robbie saw her discomfort and was quick to allay her fears. “Lass, I will sleep at yer feet.  Fear me not, I know ye to be a maid and I would not touch ye lest bound by marriage.”  Robbie looked at her and she could see that his desire was strong, but his sense of duty and honor was stronger.

But a maid?  Did he think her a virgin still?  Stella thought for moment and wondered how to approach this delicate subject.  Being virginal in the 1600’s was a lot different than being a virgin in the 21
st
century.  In the 1600’s it was a requirement and expectation for an unmarried woman.  In the 21
st
century a virgin was pitied and scorned – if you could find one.  Besides she had been married, even if for a short time, but that brought up its own problems.  Divorce was a
part of everyday American life, had become part of the culture, accepted and in some cases encouraged.  Divorce did not brand a woman as wanton or suspect but was a common occurrence and provided lawyers with a living.  Divorce in the 17
th
century was almost unheard of and would always certainly be to the detriment of the woman involved.  Divorce was a death warrant.  

Should she tell him she was a widow?  Actually, she should have been because she had often thought of putting a bullet between Jason’s eyes, but that was not the point right now, she was trying to save herself from the mores of a barbarian society that would not countenance the failures of the future it was headed for.  Then again, what business was it of his to know the state of her sexual experience? 

If he thought her virginal he would not make untoward advances, but if he knew her to be a widow she may not be entitled to the protection he offered, that without a maidenhead she was no longer held to the very stringent laws of his society and would be fair game to his lust.  She shook her head thinking how stupid this culture was to place so much of its actions and judgment on the state of a woman’s sexual experience – or lack thereof.  Alliances and kingdoms were made and sealed through the virginity of its women, but none on the purity of its males.  And that same society that placed such value on her sexuality placed so little value on her as a woman. Could there be a greater reason for going back to the 21
st
century?    

She briefly thought about asking him about his own ‘maidenhead’ but thought that she would not enflame this situation any more than it already was.  She was feeling victimized and was apt to get sarcastic, which would result in possibly losing the protection of a man that she desperately needed in spite of his sexually corrupt culture.