Macbeth's Niece (20 page)

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 time 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.

Chapter Eighteen

There passed another day of anxious waiting,
Tessa nearly out of her mind with nothing to do but go over and
over the events of the last few days. The little maid who brought
her food smiled shyly but dared not speak. It was clear she feared
punishment for any sign of friendliness. The door opened again
unexpectedly at evening, which Tessa discerned by the torchlight in
the passageway.

The same burly man who’d carried her on his
horse stood in the dimness. “Come with me,” was all he said.

Tessa obeyed, hoping against hope it was
Jeffrey she’d be meeting, but the man led her to the hall, where
dinner was in progress. There were no important guests this night,
just Hawick’s own and the bard, who’d been invited to stay, having
pleased the company. The outlaw himself sat at the table head,
dressed informally in a rough brown robe. Mairie shimmered beside
him, making Tessa feel all the more disheveled and grubby. Tonight
the lady wore a dress of sky blue that managed to make her appear
vulnerable and provocative at once. Jeffrey sat on Mairie’s right,
looking down at his food, which made Tessa wonder what discussion
had preceded her presence. Mairie looked excited, which did not
bode well for Tessa. She did notice with satisfaction that Jeffrey
had an angry-looking purple bruise under his right eye.