Macbeth's Niece (18 page)

“So ye’ll track all over Scotland to find a
man for some other woman, then?” he asked ironically.

“I promised her I’d give him the box,” Tessa
repeated.

“Seems t’ me there’s more to ’t than a
promise made to a dead woman,” he said with surprising acumen.

“I don’t know, Banaugh. I just need to find
him. Perhaps I’ll know then why I feel I must.”

The grizzled face wreathed in a smile. “Och,
yer a slow one, then. I know ’t already, and I’ve never clept eyes
on the lad.”

Two months sped away as the Tessa and
Banaugh wandered the Lowlands seeking information about captured
Englishmen. They made a competent team, both experienced at finding
food in the wild, and Tessa took up the trapping and fishing skills
she had developed as a young girl. Her boy’s disguise made
traveling easier, and no one questioned a man and a boy looking to
ransom an English soldier.

Some of the less honest border lords made
money by holding unfortunate men until their families paid for
their return. The process was usually discreet, being of course
illegal, but the locals knew and even approved, since ransom meant
gold to benefit everyone involved. Scotland was a poor country,
especially in the hard currency that brought in goods from
elsewhere. Any wealth gained tended to trickle down to all levels
eventually, so people who knew about such things kept quiet. The
travelers heard of one prisoner who turned out to be English but
not Jeffrey, and his family had ransomed him by the time they found
the castle anyway. At every town they asked about English guests or
travelers, sometimes hearing a promising item only to have it lead
to nothing.

It was September before they had their first
real news. In an inn south of Edinburgh about thirty miles, they
took a room to escape a rattling thunderstorm. It was a tumbledown
affair in the Pentland Hills, not overly clean but dry at least.
Sitting by the fire as their clothes steamed, Banaugh suggested a
game of Nine Man’s Morris, to which the landlord agreed. As Banaugh
set board and pegs up, arranging the fox and the thirteen geese it
would pursue, he began a running conversation, as he usually did
with those they met.

It was instructive to watch the old man
casually bring the talk around to the subject he wanted as they
moved the pegs around the board. After discussing the stubborn
stupidity of sheep, the best medicines to treat common ailments,
and of course the weather, he mentioned the English.

“They say they are on their way to Inverness
and will try Macbeth’s army before winter.”

“Aye, no’ that it matters much to us down
here. If they are in the north, they’ll nae be watching us so
close,” grunted the landlord, taking his turn.

“True, true,” Banaugh agreed. “Of course,
there’s always a bit o’ money to be made on a war. The king himself
has provided gold for news of the English. He wanted to know of
prisoners held for ransom, for fear they’ll be released and tell
th’ English what they know.”

“And what could they know, poor clods? They
haven’t a brain to think with!” The landlord laughed loud and long
at his own joke, and Banaugh joined in rather lamely.

“Well, some, you know, might be smarter than
they appear, and then where would we Scots be?”

The man snorted. “We Scots? Since when does
a Highlander care what happens down here? The bordermen serve as a
buffer, so ye haven’t had to face th’ English, at least until now.
Malcolm’s invited them in, for good or evil, but they’ll strike
north, at Macbeth’s strongholds, and perhaps leave us alone for
once.”

Banaugh knew when to keep his peace, so he
merely nodded. There was a pause in which only the crackling of the
fire was heard. The man moved his game-piece, then spoke again. “Ye
say the king pays gold for Englishmen? What aboot those that might
only point the way?”

Banaugh appeared to consider. “I could offer
this.” From a worn purse he removed one gold coin.

The landlord considered for a moment. “And
when ye find the Englishman?”

“We are to warn the laird who holds him he
is nae t’ be released until th’ English are defeated. Of course,”
here he spoke in a conspiratorial tone,” after the fightin’ he
micht still be ransomed, no matter who the winner be.”

This decided the man, who apparently hadn’t
wanted to make trouble for his neighbor. “South of here a day or
so, outside Jedburgh, lives Ian Hawick. He may have a guest who is
English, although I’m sure he’s not held against his will.” The man
smiled to signal the lie. He would not accuse Hawick of kidnapping.
“Still, Macbeth may have interest in keeping Hawick’s guest where
he is till the troubles with the English dogs are over.”

“Indeed,” Banaugh answered. Tessa sat silent
beside him, but her excitement fueled at this news, and Banaugh
understood. “I will pay you now for our lodging, for we will leave
early, I’m thinking.” He handed over the gold piece, five times the
inn’s fee.

In the room they shared, Banaugh was
enthusiastic. “This is yer Englishman, Tess. I feel it i’ ma
bones.”

“I don’t think I shall sleep a wink.”

“Ye must, lass. It’ll be a long trip for one
day, and I know ye won’t want to make it two,” Banaugh teased. So
saying, he rolled out his tartan on the floor and turned his back
to allow Tessa a measure of privacy and the plank bed. In three
minutes he was asleep, while Tessa lay for some time pondering the
possibility that she would, in less than a day, see Jeffrey Brixton
once more.

Chapter Sixteen

Jedburgh was a lovely little town on the
bank of the River Teviot. An old Celtic church loomed over the
whole town, ruined but still impressive. The road leading out of
Jedburgh and on to Hawick, however, was little more than a cow path
that followed the riverbank. Not many people of the town went
there, it seemed.

When Tessa and Banaugh reached the place a
few hours later, they approached a castle of the old
motte-and-bailey type. A large stone structure, a motte, had been
built on a small knoll for easy defense, then surrounded by an area
fenced with upright wood pilings called the bailey. They passed one
set of guards at the outer gate then walked onward, passing several
small cottages where people plied their trades. Leatherworkers,
smiths, bakers, millers, and weavers sat in the mid-September
afternoon, finishing the day’s work as their wives and children
moved around them, tending to the attendant tasks of the trade. A
couple of young churls polished armor by dropping each rusty piece
into a barrel of sand and then rolling it vigorously between them
until the sand scraped the rust away. It was a busy group, but
Tessa sensed a difference in their demeanor from other demesnes
they had visited. No one sang, few even talked, and there was about
them a watchful quiet that spoke little of happiness and much of
fear.

More armed men stood guard at the castle
doorway, and Tessa had to show her safe conduct from the king for a
second time in order to get inside. Even then the men seemed loath
to let them pass.

At the main hall, they had to show the paper
yet again, this time to a blank-eyed, reed-thin seneschal who was
only a shade more courteous when he saw Macbeth’s seal. Hawick was
out hunting, the man told them, and would not be back until dinner.
Somewhat grudgingly he assigned them a place at the evening meal
and showed them a corner where they could leave their bundles.
Tessa took the opportunity before dinner to wander through the
hall, hoping for a glimpse of Jeffrey, but she had no luck.

The meal was impressive, though not in its
pomp and splendor. As soon as the bell rang, ten or twelve burly
men appeared from several directions and took their places at the
head of the table. One of them seemed familiar to Tessa. His bushy
beard and broad shoulders reminded her of something, but she could
not decide what it was. In contrast to the people Tessa had seen
working, these men were noisy and full of hilarity at each other’s
antics. They tripped an old woman as she carried in bread for the
table, then passed a young serving girl among themselves, each man
kissing her in his turn. She stumbled off, looking close to tears,
but no one seemed able—or willing—to control the actions of these
rowdy jacks.

Behind them came various lesser types, men
and women of the household, Tessa guessed, who seated themselves at
the two sideboards. Banaugh and Tessa were led to their places near
the head but just barely above the salt, in recognition of their
status as king’s messengers. For the first time in months, Tessa
felt fearful. Something about the place made her uneasy. She
noticed Banaugh kept glancing about also, ever watchful and on
guard.

At the last, three people entered the hall
to signal the start of the meal. The first was a huge man with a
barrel of a chest that seemed to precede him rather than form part
of his frame. The chest continued into a large belly hanging over a
rope belt that cinched his black velvet tunic. The rest of his body
looked small by comparison, especially the legs, which were encased
in black stockings and seemed far too slim for such a torso. His
under tunic was bleached linen, and over the whole he wore a tartan
cloak pinned at the shoulder with a large gold brooch. The man had
light brown hair and eyebrows, a wide, flat face, heavily jowled
though he was not yet thirty-five, and small eyes. The lower lip
jutted out from the upper, its shiny inner surface showing red
against his skin and giving him an arrogant expression. With mouth
turned down and eyes glaring, he strode in, then seemed to make an
effort to appear genial as an afterthought. Speaking with several
people as he made his way to the head table, he clapped the men on
the back and teased the women. This was their host, Ian Hawick.

Behind him came a woman of striking beauty
with dark hair set off by a skin so white as to be worthy of the
overused comparison to alabaster. Almond eyes tilted slightly at
the corners, and her lips were so red Tessa knew they weren’t
naturally possible. She was taller than Tessa, but not by much, and
exquisitely formed. The clothes she wore were carefully chosen to
enhance her looks. The gown was crimson with creamy accents, and
she wore a matching cap with pearls sewn onto it so they dangled
bewitchingly around her face.

In the doorway the woman turned back and
smiled encouragingly at someone, and Tessa’s eyes followed her
gaze. She had to stop herself from crying out.

It was Jeffrey!

He was certainly alive and seemed in good
health as well, dressed in a brown tunic of wool, green stockings,
and a linen undershirt. None of these garments fitted him well, but
their condition was good. If Jeffrey was a prisoner, he had not
been mistreated. He even took his meals with Ian Hawick and his
companions. Jeffrey seated himself at the head table, next to the
woman in red. The look in his eyes as he spoke softly to the
beautiful woman confused Tessa, for the look said more than any
words could that he was captivated by this glorious creature. At
Tessa’s side, Banaugh studied the girl’s expression, confirming his
opinion of her unconscious purpose at this place. His wizened face
settled into disapproval of the man who caused the pain he saw in
his Tessa’s expression.

Later, on the rough plank floor, Tessa tried
yet again to find a comfortable way to lie, but it wasn’t really
the hardness of the boards that kept her awake. Beside her Banaugh
slept peacefully, and on the other side a young servant snored, his
mouth open slackly. The events of the evening replayed in her mind.
She and Banaugh had been introduced and formally invited by Hawick
to stay the night, as was proper due to their letter from the king.
They said nothing of their mission, making an appointment to speak
with Hawick the next morning in private. Once that was settled,
they had been ignored for the rest of the evening, for Hawick had
as guest a traveling bard, and all were anxious to hear his
performance.

He began, of course, with a listing of all
the clans and their chiefs who were part of his story. It was
important to be mentioned, and everyone waited eagerly to hear the
names of his own forbears, nodding happily when they occurred. Then
the rather rambling account began, much less of a narrative than
rhythmic boasting, overall quite confusing. Still, the audience
knew the events already and were mainly concerned with cheering
their heroes. Tonight’s rendition was a tale of battle, magic, and
emotion mixed together and told in an extended, singsong style, and
the bard pleased his listeners greatly.

Tessa heard very little, for she watched
Jeffrey Brixton. He sat next to the beautiful creature, who, they
were told, was Hawick’s stepsister, Mairie. The man on Banaugh’s
left explained that this sister had been born and raised in France,
coming to Scotland rather unwillingly when her mother had married
Hawick’s father. Mairie considered herself above the Scots, and the
man admitted grudgingly that she was unusual in these parts. She
spoke several languages, danced and sang prettily, and even wrote
poetry. “Not my style of woman,” the man grunted. “Still, I
wouldn’t mind bedding her onct or twict, hey?” and he’d elbowed
Banaugh knowingly.

There was no doubt Jeffrey was enthralled by
her. His eyes never left Mairie, and he helped her with each course
of food that was brought in, first cutting off choice portions of
venison for her and then slicing an apple to hand to her piece by
piece. Mairie accepted this as her due and smiled into Jeffrey’s
eyes a look of promise.

Tessa was sickened by the whole picture. His
family thought him dead, she had thought him a poor captive among
ruffians, and here he sat at a full table, dallying with a
pampered, Frenchified doll! Anger flaring, she’d excused herself
and walked along the Teviot until the evening was concluded.