Macbeth's Niece (19 page)

Now as she lay sleepless in the early
morning hours, Tessa tried to decide what to do. The landlord at
the inn had been correct. Jeffrey was no prisoner, except perhaps
to love. She had come all this way for nothing. Despairing of
sleep, Tessa contented herself with letting her body rest while her
mind conjured ways to murder Jeffrey Brixton without endangering
herself or Banaugh.

Early the next morning Tessa spoke to her
old friend about their meeting with Hawick. “It will do no good to
offer to ransom Jeffrey,” she told him. “It seems he’s free to come
and go as he pleases.”

“Perhaps he has given his parole,” Banaugh
suggested. “In these situations, if a man gies his word tha’ he
willna escape, he is oft treated as a guest. No nobleman wuld break
his vow t’ another, even an Englishman.”

“I think it’s the woman Mairie who keeps
Jeffrey here.” Still, Banaugh’s words made her consider other
possibilities for Jeffrey’s meek acceptance of his captivity, and
she sighed. “You are right. We should be certain before we leave
that he is not a prisoner.”

“You mus’ speak wi’ him before I mee’ wi’
the laird o’ th’ manor. Then we shall know how best t’
proceed.”

It was only fair to give Jeffrey a chance to
explain himself after coming all this way to find him. Determined
to give him one last chance, Tessa waited near the stairs as he
came down from his chamber. He certainly didn’t look deprived, she
thought grimly. Today he wore a simple tunic of plaid with blue and
green dominant. The trousers were the same blue as the tartans and
were tucked into boots of soft deerskin. Approaching Jeffrey with
head down, Tessa spoke in the boy’s voice she had adopted as part
of her disguise. The appearance of one of Hawick’s men on the
stairs above Jeffrey caused her to be brief.

“Sir, may I speak to you alone? I have news
you will want to hear, from a certain lady in England.”

Jeffrey’s face showed puzzlement. As the man
on the stairs above began his descent, the familiar look of
amusement took its place on his features. “You have nothing to say
that could interest me, boy.” He clapped her on the shoulder and
started past, then playfully tickled her ribs. Outraged, Tessa
almost fought back, but as he ducked toward her, apparently
tussling, he whispered, “Outside the stable’s east wall in ten
minutes.” Before she could reply Jeffrey released her and sauntered
on.

It was more like twenty minutes before she
saw Jeffrey approaching the stables. Tessa had wandered slowly
through the manor’s outbuildings, trying to look like a curious
boy, and had taken up a place that was outside the view of most
people. She took out her knife and began whittling, a common enough
pastime for a young lad, and one that a gentleman might stop to
observe, giving them a few minutes’ time to talk. The only problem
with her scheme was Tessa had no idea how to whittle or any talent
for it. She hoped no one asked to see the finished product.

Jeffrey appeared to be casually wandering
also, and he went round the other side of the stable, admiring the
morning, which was fine; the trees, which were no more than
ordinary trees; and even a horse that was being groomed by a boy of
perhaps eight. Finally he approached Tessa and stood some feet off,
still gazing at the view.

“So, young man, what have you to tell me of
England?” he said, not looking at her at all.

“I come from your family, sir. They thought
you drowned when you were lost overboard.”

“Luck was with me that day. I must have been
in the water for some time, but some fishermen picked me up.”
Jeffrey paused, his tone changing as his face tightened. “My life
was saved, but my luck was not all good. Something happened, no one
knows what, but as a result, I forgot everything of my former life.
I would not even know my own name except for some documents wrapped
in oilskin they found on my person.”

“I am sorry to hear it, Jeff—sir,” she
answered, remembering her role as a boy.

“I was brought here a prisoner. These
fishermen deal with Hawick when they find cargo or such as might be
sold. Hawick pays them and then turns it to what profit he
may.”

“Even people?” She was revolted by the
callousness of dealing in others’ misfortunes.

“Even so.”

“Did you not think of escape?”

“To go where? I cannot wander the Scottish
countryside asking if anyone knows who I am. Hawick leads me to
believe I am not safe doing so, since it seems I am an enemy of the
King.”

“So you remember nothing of yourself?”

“Well, not exactly. Over time, images have
returned. There are many things I don’t remember, but I sometimes
see pictures in my mind, a house, I think my home—”

“Brixton Manor.”

“Yes, I suppose so. And some people…a blond
woman.”

“Eleanor.”

“Is that her name? I see her, but not
clearly. Is she my wife?”

“She is your brother’s wife.”

“Ah.” He didn’t even seem upset by this
piece of information. “And she sent you?”

A hesitation. Tessa was confused by what
she’d just heard. Jeffrey didn’t know about his past. He had
forgotten home, his family. Had he forgotten her? “Your lover will
forget your name” sounded in her head. The old women were wrong.
This man wasn’t her lover. Still, she had to ask. “Do you remember
me?”

Jeffrey looked at her directly for the first
time, a frown of curiosity on his handsome features. “No, lad—” he
began, but then his face changed as his eyes met Tessa’s, taking in
the face and not the disguise. Caution seemed forgotten as he spoke
to her earnestly and with force. “You are no lad! You are the face
that appears in my dreams! Who are you? What are you doing here?”
In his excitement he grasped Tessa’s arms and pulled her close, his
eyes searching hers.

“Jeffrey,” a voice called from behind them.
“Is anything wrong?” The look on Jeffrey’s face changed to alarm.
Tessa saw him fight for control. A look of mute appeal crossed his
face as he released Tessa, then the old look of amusement appeared
like a mask, covering everything Tessa was trying to read, and he
turned to Mairie, who stood several paces away in the sunlight,
looking as fresh and youthful as the artful application of
cosmetics could portray. She wore clothes much too fine for daily
use, in Tessa’s opinion: a rose-colored silk that draped
attractively over her full hips. She did not approach, for to do so
would have meant leaving the hardened path where she might dirty
the slippers dyed to match the dress.

“Nothing, my dear.” Jeffrey smiled at
Mairie. “The boy spoke harshly to his mother, and I cannot abide an
ungrateful child.” To Tessa he hissed, “Meet me in an hour by the
large oak tree along the river. Please!” Straightening, he raised
his voice and commented with lifted brow. “Be careful whom you
speak to and what you speak of, boy, and things will go better for
you.” Offering Mairie his arm, he escorted her back toward the
house without a backward glance.

Jeffrey’s last words seemed a warning, so
she and Banaugh said nothing of English prisoners to Hawick. Their
meeting with him that morning centered on Macbeth’s preparations
for war with Malcolm and the English forces. Having heard of their
letter of safe conduct, Hawick assured them in his bluff manner
that he would fight, “willing and strong,” for his king when the
time came. Though he was cordial in a condescending way, Tessa
found she could not like the man. His greed was obvious, and she
wondered about the truth of his words.

“I hope you will take to the king good
reports of my loyalty and my hospitality,” he told them. “We border
lords have much trouble with the English, and we dinna feel,
sometimes, that the king understands our predicament. We are poor
men who must make our livings as we can.”

Tessa guessed Hawick expected the king to
turn a blind eye to raids across the border, which infuriated the
English and made things more difficult for the king and for
Scotland as a whole. Looking around the manor, she didn’t think
Hawick and his people suffered much poverty. Some border lords were
not above raiding their own neighbors and blaming it on the English
from time to time, and she would bet Hawick was one such.

Keeping their faces blank, she and Banaugh
listened to the man’s boasting. They learned Hawick was, in his own
opinion, a canny man of business who saw himself as a go-between at
some time in the future, making peace with the English. “I have
dealt with some Englishmen from time to time, being so close to the
border, you see,” he told them, “and I have learned their ways. The
king might remember that when it comes time for him to deal with
them.” Here he turned sly. “That is, after Macbeth has beaten the
English dogs back over the border, where they belong.” It was clear
he hoped to set himself up for a post in Macbeth’s court. Banaugh
was amiably noncommittal, listening politely for an hour, at which
time the interview was ended and the seneschal came to escort them
out.

They found a private spot outside the hall
where they could make their plans. Tessa told Banaugh, “Jeffrey’s
memory of England is gone, and there’s nothing there for him anyway
with Eleanor dead. It’s best we go on.”

“Well, then, that’s what we shall do,”
Banaugh replied. “But do ye not want to try again, lass? Perhaps he
will remember ye a second time.”

“Jeffrey is taken with this Mairie, and it
matters not whether he remembers me, since I am nothing to him
anyhow.”

“Lass, I believe he is something to ye, is
he no’?”

“Of course not. I made a promise, and I’ve
done my best to fulfill it. That is all.”

“But ye’ve come all this way, and to speak
only a few words t’ this Brixton hardly seems fair to the mon!”

Part of her was only too willing to be
convinced. “All right. I’ll meet him and give him the box. It won’t
mean anything now, but I will have done what I came to do.”

Banaugh nodded. “I’ll pack our things and be
ready t’ depart when ye’ve taken care o’ that last thing.”

“Wait for me by the crossing.” Banaugh had
given her an idea. If Jeffrey had truly lost his memory, perhaps
seeing Tessa in her own clothing would jar his memory. It was so
hard to know what to do, or even what she wanted to do. How could
she rescue a man who didn’t know who he was and had nowhere to
return to anyway? “I’ll join you at the first river bend after I’ve
seen him. I will know by then—” Her words trailed off. What would
she know? Banaugh asked no questions but moved off to get the pony
ready. Tessa stood biting her lip, almost ready to follow the old
man and forget the whole thing. What purpose would it serve if he
did remember her, the girl he had foisted off on his old lover? And
now he had a new one. As if on cue, a voice spoke at her elbow.

“Jeffrey’s walking along the river, no doubt
trying to remember who you are.”

Turning, Tessa faced Mairie. Before she
could answer, the woman went on, the pretty face she showed to the
world hard now, revealing her true character. “Don’t bother to lie
to me. You deceived the others, but I knew from the start you were
no boy. In the first place, your eyes never left Jeffrey’s face
last evening. Second, you’re too graceful for any boy in this
primitive country.” Her tone dripped loathing for her adopted
homeland. “I began wondering, why would a woman come disguised to
my brother’s castle? Then I saw you with Jeffrey this morning, and
I had my answer. You’re from England, and you’ve come to rescue him
from the uncivilized Scots.”

Tessa found her voice, picking up on the one
part she could truthfully deny. “I am a Scot. And if I came for
Jeffrey, it appears he doesn’t want to be rescued.”

Mairie frowned in consternation. “Perhaps.
He was quite docile at first, so weak and confused. As time went on
and healing began, he became very…sociable and has kept us quite
entertained. But our Jeffrey has remembered little things lately
that make him restless. Today, he’s quite agitated, no matter how
he tries to be attentive.”

Mairie looked around to assure that no one
was listening. “Jeffrey is the only reason I haven’t gone insane in
this godforsaken place. Everyone here is crude and disgusting
except him, even my brother. Ian believes my presence in his
so-called court adds nobility and grace—as if anything could grace
this sty!” She paused for a moment. “I suppose Jeffrey is a younger
son?”

“His brother is the lord of Brixton,” Tessa
replied. “Jeffrey is the fourth son.”

“I thought as much when no ransom was paid.
It’s too bad. I could fall in love with such a man if he had
prospects. Still, Jeffrey amuses me, and I prefer he stay here
until I can convince my brother to let me return to France and live
among civilized people again.”

“What happens to Jeffrey then?”

“I couldn’t say,” was the airy reply. Tessa
had begun to see the ugliness beneath this beautiful exterior. Now
Mairie grasped her arm tightly, nails digging in. “I warn you, I
shall have him for as long as I want him, so you’d best be off and
forget him--as he has forgotten you.” With that she released Tessa
and strode off, gradually regaining composure as she went until her
walk again became feminine and sedate. Tessa watched with disgust.
It was like seeing a glimpse of a worm disappearing behind a
perfect leaf.

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.