Macbeth's Niece

by Peg Herring

  Chapter Seventeen

  More determined than ever to complete her task, Tessa circled the bailey and approached the river from the northwest, keeping out of sight as much as possible. Slipping into the woods, she changed into the soft linen gown she’d kept rolled in her blanket. Combing her hair, which was growing out again, she finally put on slippers of leather her sister had given her. Finished, she left the cover of the trees and stood on the bank beside the dead oak Jeffrey had mentioned.

  The tree was huge, leaning out over the river as if ready to fall any second, but she knew such trees often spent decades that way. It seemed likely the diversion of water for Hawick’s moat had killed it, drowning its roots and washing away the soil around them gradually. A low branch swept outward, and for a moment Tessa was tempted to climb out on it and sit suspended over the river, forgetting everything but the flow of the current beneath her. It was something she would have done when her mother’s jibes had become too much for her, hide from trouble and wait for it to go away.

  Now she had changed somehow, and escaping from a troubling situation was no longer what she chose to do. She wanted to face Jeffrey, not to blame or berate him, but to know what the truth was, so that she could accept it and go on with her life. Was this what maturity did to a person? It was good to face life’s questions, but the fear that in this case the answer would not be the one she wanted made her long for the past, when hiding from trouble seemed possible.

  Tessa looked along the bank for Jeffrey, but there was no sign of him. Maybe he had changed his mind, decided his past life didn’t matter anymore. Then he appeared, coming down the path from upriver. Slowing for a moment when he saw Tessa in women’s attire, he made a gesture of adjustment and came on determinedly. Glancing past her to assure they could not be seen from Hawick’s stronghold, he returned his gaze to Tessa, his blue eyes taking in her face with curiosity, and, she detected, approval. Now that he was close, she noticed a scar at his temple, a jagged white line that testified to the injury he had suffered. She longed to touch it, feel the roughness of it, but she did not.

  “It’s easy now to see you are not a boy,” he said with some amusement.

  “No. I am Tessa macFindlaech, niece of Macbeth, King of Scotland.”

  “I see.” He looked closely at her face, frowning in concentration. “I have seen you in my dreams, but have no memory of you. How do we know each other?”

  Tessa avoided the question. “That is not important. I am glad to know you live, and I will tell aunt that you are well.”

  “The woman Eleanor whom you spoke of?”

  “Eleanor is dead.”

  “Ah.” He seemed to be trying to decide what he should feel. “I’m sorry. My brother?”

  “You have three, all well when I…left Brixton.”

  “Three brothers! It’s odd to hear these things, to hear of a family and a life I have no memory of. As I said, I see images, but nothing is clear. That is why I had to speak with you again.”

  “It’s why I came,” Tessa answered. “That, and this.” She handed him the box, its carved “E” catching a stray beam of light that penetrated the leafy awning.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Eleanor wanted you to have it.”

  Jeffrey’s face showed nothing but curiosity. “The blond woman, Eleanor, sent you to give me this?”

  “Well, yes and no. She died not knowing you were lost at sea. She thought you would come back for it. I brought it home to Scotland with me, where I heard you might be alive. I’ve looked for you ever since.”

  “Why? To give me a box of letters?”

  It seemed to Tessa an inadequate reason, too. Why, indeed? “I’m not sure.”

  “Tell me your name again, please. Now that I see you clearly, I know we have met before. Your face has appeared often in my mind, but I could not put a name to it.”

  “I am Tessa. Tessa macFindlaech.”

  “Tessa.” Jeffrey said it with a half-smile. “And Tessa, were we two lovers?”

  “Quite the opposite, not even friends. Only my vow to Eleanor brought me here.” She lied when she said it, but pride would admit to no more.

  He looked at her for a long time but said only, “I see. Perhaps the letters will help me to remember more. Would you mind if I read them alone?”

  “Of course not. I am ready to depart, actually. My friend and I will be gone when you return to the house.”

  “Well, then.” Jeffrey looked thoughtful for a moment, seemed about to say something, then thought better of it and said only, “I thank you for your trouble. I must put together bits and pieces of my life until I have a past, and you have helped with that.”

  Tessa stood, uncertain what to do. Should she warn Jeffrey Mairie was playing with him, using him only for amusement? Should she try to make him remember the night he’d taken her prisoner on a riverbank much like this one? Or should she go and leave him to this new life, where he seemed content? In the end, she chose the latter. It was not her affair, and who in England looked for the return of Jeffrey Brixton? With a smile she hoped was casual, Tessa walked off, never looking back. Had she done so, she would have seen Jeffrey standing where she’d left him, a curious expression of pain on that striking face.

  Banaugh stood waiting beside the pony, and though his eyes sought hers briefly, he said nothing as Tessa approached. In mute agreement they started for Jedburgh. They had gone no more than half a mile, however, when the sound of horses made them turn to look behind.

  Four mounted men came down the path at full speed, pulling up only when they reached them. One was Ian Hawick, looking out of breath and angry, his piggish eyes even less attractive than usual. Two were henchmen, who kept their faces impassive. The fourth was Jeffrey Brixton, who did not meet Tessa’s astonished eyes, but said to Hawick, “It’s as I said. The boy is no boy, but the niece of the king, Macbeth, sent to spy on you. She will prove a valuable bartering chip, so treat her well.”

  “You villain!” Tessa spat at him. “After—”

  “Remember to keep your tongue silent, and you will live longer!” This time Jeffrey looked directly at her, his eyes intense. Then his face relaxed and the look she hated most settled. “My friend,” he said to Hawick, “why is it women need to speak when they are most useful, and certainly more when they do not?”

  Hawick’s anger dissolved into hilarity. “True, Brixton. Perhaps we should gag the wench. ‘Tis true, the best of a woman’s uses do not require speech. Dougal!” he spoke to one of the men.

  It was the one who had looked familiar to her the day before, and seeing him on horseback, Tessa remembered why. He had left Brixton’s manor house in disgust after having spoken to William. Her glance went to his hand, missing the last two fingers. He must have been sent with Hawick’s ransom demand, which had been rejected. “A rascal,” William had said. So was it only Mairie’s amusement that kept Jeffrey alive, or had he become valuable to Hawick in other ways as well? Certainly he had betrayed her easily enough. Why had she not seen it coming?

  The man urged his horse forward. “Take this lass to the house and lock her in the storeroom,” Hawick ordered.

  “What about the old man?” asked the other rider.

  Hawick looked briefly at Banaugh. “Kill him.” The man grinned and fingered a sparthe, a long-handled, broad-bladed battle-axe that hung at his side.

  “No!” Tessa screamed, but the burly Dougal bent easily down from his saddle and scooped her up in front of him. She fought until he cuffed her just hard enough to make her head spin and her mind go blank. She slumped against his chest, dimly aware that terrible things were happening, but unable to stop the whirling in her head. Dougal turned his horse and headed up the hill to Hawick’s Castle, and she knew no more of what happened on the road.

  When Tessa came to herself, she was in a dark room. Feeling cautiously around she found jugs, sacks, and crates: the storeroom Hawick had mentioned. No one came for many hours, and she spent the t
ime half in crying and half in bitter anger. Banaugh’s death had come from her chasing after Jeffrey Brixton, and he had betrayed her to Hawick to ingratiate himself further with the outlaw. She hoped terrible things happened to all of them, and soon.

  Tessa stayed locked in the room for two days, maybe three. From time to time a servant girl came to attend to her needs. The girl was kind but terrified of doing anything to make Hawick angry. Tessa considered every possible avenue of escape, but there was no way out of the room except the locked door, and when the girl came, a manservant accompanied her and stood outside the door until it was locked again.

  After time had become impossible to judge, Tessa was awakened from dozing as the door opened. No accompanying ray of light entered. In the black of night, someone had entered her prison. She scuttled to a corner and sat as still as possible, seeing only a dim male form in the darkened passageway. The door closed behind him and she heard the key in the lock.

  “Tessa?” She recognized the voice as Jeffrey Brixton’s, and immediately began to figure how she could kill him. He was totally lost in the blackness, and she had the advantage. He didn’t know her location, but she knew his.

  “Tessa?” he said again. Without further thought she launched herself from the corner, fists doubled and teeth set. He was farther into the room than she’d figured, however, so they connected before she expected it. Still, Jeffrey went down with a satisfying grunt of surprise, and then she was on him, beating his chest and face with her hands. She heard a low growl without realizing it came from her own throat. With all her strength, she tried to punish the man who had hurt her so much. Sobbing, all of the tension of the past few days coming out at once, she focused on revenge, on hurting him as much as possible before his superior strength prevailed and he killed her.

  Jeffrey’s response was quick and strong once he recovered from the initial blow. In moments Tessa lay pinned beneath him while a whispered, “Stop that and listen to me!” hissed in her ear. Since there was nothing else she could do, she stopped struggling, but anger pounded in her ears and her heart, and she gathered her strength for another attack if he gave her any opening whatsoever.

  Jeffrey relaxed somewhat and gingerly released his hold on her. “I have come to explain something to you,” he began, but Tessa reacted furiously, punching him in the face with her little fist, thumb tucked under her fingers the way her father had taught her. She couldn’t see in the darkness, but her aim was good nevertheless, and she heard a strangled oath from Jeffrey. Once again he grabbed her wrists in one hand and pinned her to the floor with his body.

  “Stop, hellcat! I’ve come to help!”

  “Like you helped me before, you fiend? I loathe you!” Despite her anger, Tessa kept her voice low, following Jeffrey’s lead.

  “If you will let me explain—” She could tell he was rubbing the eye she’d hit, and for the first time in days she felt almost good. “You must believe I did what I had to do to protect you.”

  “I want nothing from you, Jeffrey Brixton. Neither your protection nor your lies—nothing! All I’ve ever had from you was pain and heartache, while you take what you want without considering the result. I’ve watched you make love to Eleanor, your own sister-in-law, and leave her to die alone, and now you have Mairie, who is every bit your equal in evil and cruelty. You deserve her, and you can go back to her bed this minute and leave me to my own company, for while I may be an uncivilized Scottish brat, I would never betray anyone the way you have betrayed me!” Her voice shook, and Tessa knew she was close to tears. “And now Banaugh is dead because of you!”

  A noise in the passage interrupted the reply Jeffrey was about to make. They both froze as footsteps, soft scuffles like those of a woman’s slippers, came to the door and stopped. Someone tried the handle, stood listening for a long time, and then moved off. Tessa felt Jeffrey’s tension slowly relax, and he whispered, “Tessa, I know what you think of me, but if that was Hawick or Mairie, I must be found somewhere else or they’ll become suspicious. I came to tell you I will release you at the first opportunity, but the gate is closed at night and guarded all the time. I will find a way.” Suddenly the tone of his voice changed to almost a plea for understanding. “I would never—I could not—” He pulled her to him kissed her hard, the kiss betraying more emotion than she could have imagined in a man like Jeffrey Brixton. Her mind began to whirl, and she responded despite herself. When it was over, he touched her cheek and helped her up gently, releasing her hand with reluctance. She heard the door open quietly, saw in shadow Jeffrey’s silhouette as he checked the passageway, and then he was gone.

  Tessa stood staring into the blackness, trying to sort out the truth of Jeffrey Brixton. Was he the man who had just left her, gentle and loving, or the sardonic betrayer who had smirked as Hawick took her captive? At that she remembered Banaugh and her heart sank. No one who cared about her could have been responsible for the death of that beloved old man.! Tessa surrendered to tears once again and cursed Jeffrey Brixton for the destruction of her friend—and her heart.