Macbeth's Niece (17 page)

There was a long silence. Macbeth seemed to
lose interest, and his gaze went to the floor. Tessa felt she would
burst with apprehension. She admitted she had been befriended and
in turn had befriended the hated English. The Macbeth who was now a
king had reportedly killed people for less than what she had
confessed. Desperately she tried to find the words to convince him.
“His family thinks him drowned, but I met three weird women in the
meadow today who say he is alive. I must try to find him.”

Macbeth’s head came up suddenly and his eyes
locked on hers. “You saw the weird sisters?”

“Twice now. Before I arrived here, they told
me I would go to England. I thought them mad.”

His eyes glazed and he looked past her.
“They called me thane of Cawdor and King. I thought them mad, too,
but their words haunted me.”

Tessa seized on their similar experience.
“Today they told me Jeffrey is in the mountains. I must look for
him. Uncle, can you give me a letter of protection? It’s all I ask,
so I may travel unmolested.”

Macbeth’s eyes focused again, and he nodded
his understanding. “I can help you in no other way. I must ready
for battle with Malcolm and the English, and I will need every
loyal man. I will give you my order of safe conduct and a bit of
gold, perhaps more valuable among the outlaw clans who call no man
their king. If they have your Englishman, they are holding him for
ransom and should already have sent word to his family.”

Tessa’s mind conjured up a sudden picture of
a rough, bearded Scotsman leaving Brixton Hall in disgust, the man
William had called a rascal. Had he brought news that Jeffrey was
alive and would be returned for a price? It was common enough
practice among some clans, holding prisoners of war or even unlucky
passers-by for ransom. How would the Scots know William didn’t want
his brother back, at least not enough to part with any money?

“Sire, where should I begin to look?”

“I don’t know, lass, but you know the hills
better than most. Why don’t you start at home?” When he saw her
look of dismay, he added gently, “Your mother is dead. She sent
your sister Nettie to serve my wife—” Here he stopped and his eyes
saddened for a moment. “But she went home when the news came, some
three months back.”

“Mother is dead?” Tessa waited for grief but
felt only regret. Having known Eleanor, who longed for children to
love and treated everyone kindly, Tessa could feel little sorrow
for one so un-motherly, could only feel sad that life had been so
unhappy for Kenna macFindlaech.

Macbeth went on, “Your oldest sister…”

“Meg,” Tessa supplied.

“Yes, Meg—has married and inhabits the house
my brother built, keeping your younger sisters with her.” He
tactfully didn’t mention that Tessa might be welcome at home now,
but he must have understood it.

“Thank you, sire. I will go there first,
then. Tomorrow at first light.”

“Take a pony if it will help. But I have a
request in return. On the way, will you show me where you met the
weird sisters? I would speak with them about my own future.” His
face held a curious vulnerability, and she saw again a tortured
man. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward eagerly, reaching out
a hand in unconscious appeal.

“Of course, Uncle.” Tessa led the way out of
the small room. She wanted to warn him, to plead caution, but she
sensed he was past caring. “You know, I am sure, that they speak in
riddles, and only tell as much as they will and no more. But I can
show you where I met them last.” With that, Tessa bade him
goodnight and started back to the hall and her place near the
stairs. She glanced back once at her uncle, who sat staring into
the dark corner of the corridor, his lips working as if speaking to
an unseen visitor.

Chapter Fifteen

The next morning Tessa and the king were up
and away early, passing through grass so wet that their clothes
were soaked within minutes.

Macbeth didn’t seem to notice, but watched
her eagerly for identification of the place he sought. “I must know
if I will defeat the English,” he said, absently pulling his tartan
closer around him, but it seemed he spoke not to Tessa, but to
someone unseen. “If I am to be defeated, there is nothing left for
me. The people despise me, my wife is beyond earthly help, and I
have done things I am sorry for. All that is left to me is to be
king of Scotland.”

“I’m sure you intended to be a good king,
Uncle,” was all Tessa could think of to say. Stories of his
misdeeds hinted at how far he had missed the mark.

His attention returned to Tessa when she
spoke, and he seemed surprised at her remark. “I did,” he mused,
but his face hardened. “But the wanting to be king was stronger
than the wanting to be good. I have made enemies.”

“Perhaps you could regain the respect of
your people. You could—”

“First I must defeat the English,” he
interrupted, and she saw his attention was again fixed beyond her.
“They say old Siward comes with Malcolm. He is a fine general, and
I have lost many soldiers of late. They join Malcolm’s army. Even
Macduff, who once was my friend, has gone to England.” His voice
took on a strange quality. “I was most wounded by his
treachery.”

They had come to the spot Tessa sought.
“Here it is, Uncle. I sat near that rock, and the three appeared
before me. They seem to be clever at hiding and disappearing, like
magic.”

He looked at her strangely. “Yes, like
magic.” His manner turned brisk. “Go on. I will bide here a while
and hope the weird sisters take note.”

He seemed unsure of how to take leave of
her, probably thinking an embrace was proper between relatives.
Tessa took a few steps backward and waved a hand, feeling sorry for
him. He was frightening; was that what kingship did to people? She
called a goodbye and hurried up the hillside, pulling behind her
the pony Macbeth had ordered loaded with provisions for her trip.
He was an odd mixture of kindness and ambition, and perhaps that
was the problem. As his wife had commented with eerie premonition,
he was too full of human kindness to live with the things he’d done
to achieve that ambition.

It was two days later when Tessa began to
feel she was home. The woods looked familiar. There was where she
had built a tree house to hide from her mother’s anger, and there
was a brook she’d waded in, seeking such simple childhood delights
as frogs and interesting stones.

Another hour brought her to the house that
now belonged to her sister. Just as Tessa stepped from the wood
line into the clearing surrounding it, Meg came out of the doorway,
a basket under her arm. She must have suffered sorrows over the
last year, losing her mother and her closest sister, yet Tessa’s
sister appeared at this time to be content.

Meg was not as striking as Tessa, her hair
less bright, her eyes less expressive, but she had quiet beauty and
a serenity about her that was more pronounced as a wife. Perhaps it
was the gentle swell of a child in her belly that lent her the
added look of contentment. Now she looked at the stranger in a
friendly but curious way. It was not often they had unknown guests.
Tessa pulled back her hood and let her cropped hair spill out,
laughing with delight at seeing her beloved sister.

“It’s me, Meg, back from the dead!”

Meg’s reaction was first total surprise and
then great joy. Running to Tessa, she hugged her for a long time,
as tears streamed down both their faces.

“They told us you had drowned in the river
by mishap.”

“They were mistaken. I am well, though I
have been a great way. Let us go in and I will tell you all of
it.”

That night Tessa met her brother-in-law
Donwald. He was a typical Scot, brawny with reddish blond hair.
Tessa imagined from his broad shoulders and large arms that on
festival days he tossed the caber, a huge wooden pole held upright
and thrown end over end. He was probably good at it. Donwald
welcomed his sister-in-law to the house, though she knew Meg had
given him a slightly edited version of her adventures. They had
found proper women’s clothing for her to wear and Meg had pulled
Tessa’s butchered hair back into a small knot, managing to make her
look feminine once more. She certainly didn’t mention to her
husband Tessa’s quest for an Englishman. It had shocked Meg enough
when she heard of it.

“And what would you be doin’ with this
Englishman if you find him?” she had asked, making Tessa laugh.

“Oh, I have no plans to bring him home to
meet the clan,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, but her face
sobered. “I owe a debt, Meg. This woman befriended me when I was
left in England without anyone to care for me. She gave me fine
clothes, a roof over my head, and friendship. Her dying wish was
that I give this man a small box, which I have with me. I thought
him dead and did not know what to do with it, but now I believe he
may be a prisoner of one of the outlaw clans. His brother won’t
ransom him, being a jealous and miserly sort, and I feel a debt to
Eleanor to find him if I can and take word to someone who will
help, perhaps his commanders or his friends in the English
army.”

“You would do this for a man who captured
you and took you away from home and family?” Meg asked
skeptically.

“I do it for Eleanor,” Tessa responded, but
then added, “To be fair to the man, he could have snapped my neck
and thrown me into the Firth. It would have been far easier than
carrying me to his home. And he did ask Eleanor to treat me as a
guest.”

“Pooh!” was the response. “An Englishman who
doesn’t rape and kill young Scotswomen may be unusual, but
kidnapping and plotting are no great credit to him, I say.”

That seemed to end the conversation. Tessa
was not going to convince Meg that such a man was worth time and
effort.

One happy moment of the evening was when
Tessa was reunited with Banaugh, who looked not a day older than
when he’s escorted her to Inverness a year before. He was most
joyful to see “his lass” again. Meg told Tessa privately he’d
grieved for months when he heard of her disappearance.

The next day Tessa spent getting
reacquainted with her younger sisters. Surprisingly, they were no
longer the whiny brats she remembered. Her mother’s disposition had
made them all feel miserable. Under Meg’s kind care, the girls had
blossomed. They smiled more often and though they had little, they
seemed content with their lives.

Nettie, the one who’d been at Inverness,
confided to Tessa her relief to be away from the king’s home.
“Uncle was seldom there, and when he was it was all we could do to
keep him calm. And his wife—” She paused, there being no loyal way
to put into words what she had observed.

Tessa nodded. “I saw her walking about the
castle at night like a ghost.”

“Aye, but waking she does not remember it.
We took turns watching to see she didn’t harm herself, and what she
said, Tess! Things about blood and stained hands.”

“Best forgotten, I think,” Tessa cautioned.
“She is the queen, at least for now, and it’s best not to know what
such people face in their dreams.”

The girls were learning to sew and cook and
keep a house. “Donwald comes from a large family,” Meg whispered to
Tessa. “He has cousins enough for all the girls to get a
husband.”

Tessa sighed. England or Scotland, it seemed
getting a husband was all a woman was supposed to think of. Would
she ever be happy as a wife? Eleanor had said only two kinds of
husbands allowed women the freedom they needed, those who truly
loved their wives and those who tired of their company. Would she
have been happy with Cedric? She doubted it. Perhaps the old crones
were right and her happiness was with the dead, though precisely
what that meant she didn’t understand. Had Eleanor’s plotting to
get her a husband been her chance for happiness? Or had Jeffrey
something to do with it? She shook herself at the thought. There
certainly would be no happiness for a woman with a man such as he
was. Ruthless, arrogant, and unfaithful as well, since he’d kissed
her while Eleanor’s back was turned. Still, she’d made a promise to
Eleanor, and something inside her wanted to know if Jeffrey Brixton
still lived, though she didn’t like to consider why his life was so
important to her.

At dinner Tessa questioned Donwald about
captives in the area, saying Macbeth wanted news of possible
spies.

“Nae, I know of none in the Cairngorms,” was
his answer. “It sounds more like somethin’ ye’d find Lowlanders at.
We ha’ no truck with the English at all, i’ we can manage it. If
the king wants tae locate sae as that, he should send word south
through Perth an’ then follow th’ coastline. If an Englishman was
brough’ t’ Scotland, it’s likely he’s in Fife or Lothian.”

Though Meg pleaded with her to stay a few
more days, Tessa was determined to be off the next morning,
promising to return when she could. As she took her leave, Meg
kissed her sister with tears in her eyes. “To have you back and
then lose you again is hard, but I can see you are decided. I shall
say a prayer to Saint Julian for you every day.” Julian was the
patron of travelers, and it seemed Tessa might be traveling for
some time in this undirected search. Hugging her sisters, she
promised to return someday.

As Tessa readied the pony, Banaugh appeared
with a bundle rolled up in his tartan. “I canna let you travel a’
alone int’ the Lowlands,” he announced, his accent as thick as hers
had once been. “T’was bad enough when yer mother bade me tak’ ye
north to yer uncle, but at least tha’ was still th’ Heelands. Now
ye go south, where they ha’ no idea how civilized folk behave.
Ye’ll need someone to watch o’er ye, Lass.”

What could she do? No one had the nerve to
tell Banaugh he was too old to go, and truthfully, tears of relief
filled her eyes at his offer of help. Up to now Tessa had felt very
much alone in her search. Still, she told Banaugh the whole story
before leaving, not wanting the gentle old man traveling under any
misconceptions.