Macbeth's Niece (31 page)

“Get out, monk. You have no business
here.”

“But I do. My lord Malcolm sent me to speak
with this woman at first light to tell her of the council’s
decision. It was gracious of you to undertake the task, but not
necessary. His highness your king has given me specific
instructions for dealing with her situation, and I am to report to
him when I leave her.”

Hawick almost argued. He wanted to. For a
second time he was denied the prize he felt should be his. Still,
the monk stood calmly and waited expectantly, so there was nothing
for Hawick to do but leave the place, which he did with no good
grace whatsoever.

For a moment the monk stood in the doorway
uncertainly, watching Hawick go. Then he stepped further into the
cell. The door shut behind him with a clang that caused him to
glance back at it, but finally he moved toward Tessa.

The man was robed, as before, in a hooded
garment of coarse brown cloth, the hood thrown back. He had the
traditional monk’s tonsure, the hair around his ears a deep black.
Tessa thought still that he seemed familiar, like a portrait of
someone well known but poorly done, the features not quite in
correct alignment. He spoke softly, as one who is practiced in
keeping his emotions in check, yet there was an urgency about him,
too.

“Are you all right? I saw Hawick going this
way and feared he might have something evil in mind.”

“He’s your friend, not mine,” Tessa
responded.

“No friend of mine nor of Malcolm,” the man
asserted. “Hawick is an ally, which is not at all the same.”

Tessa had had all she could take in silence,
and her bitterness bubbled out in a rush. “I’m sick to death of men
and their games of politics, marriage, and war. People are always
hurt, but mankind goes on plotting the next step in the game.” She
was close to tears. The incident with Hawick had frightened her
badly, and this man, though kind, was an enemy. She would not
respond to his kindness.

“Child, I must speak with you.”

“I asked for no English priest,” Tessa
responded brusquely. Despite the fact he had saved her from Hawick,
he came from Malcolm and the new king’s council, and that could not
be good for her.

“I come not as a man of God. Rather I come
for your help, if you will give it.” He paused, but she did not
answer, so he went on. “I understand you claim to have seen a
certain Englishman.”

“I have seen too many Englishmen. Would that
I should never see another!”

“Please, I am not trying to upset you, but
you mentioned a name to the king, and that name was repeated to me.
I come from the abbey at Bury Saint Edmonds, where I study the
healing arts. When the English troops have need of me, I travel
with them to treat the wounded and minister to the living and the
dead. Since your story was repeated to me, I have not stopped
thinking about it. You claim to have seen Jeffrey Brixton.”

“I do, but no one believes me.”

“What did this man look like?”

Tessa grimaced and rolled her eyes. What did
it matter? Still, the man leaned toward her earnestly, and her
answer seemed very important to him. “He has black hair and blue
eyes, and he looks—” she stopped. “He looks like you, in fact.” Her
eyes widened, and the monk smiled for the first time. When she had
first seen his face in the courtyard, she had thought of Jeffrey.
The familiarity was real! “Are you—”

“Jeffrey is my brother. I was once Ethelbert
Brixton, though I am now called Brother Philip.”

“You are his brother. I can see it now.”
Tessa nodded. “Your smile is like Jeffrey’s, only not so
ironic.”

Ethelbert chuckled. “True, Jeffrey is the
cynic of our family. Still, he and I are close—at least we were as
boys. Life has given me few chances to see him of late.”

Ethelbert did not say that William had
forced his brothers to fend for themselves, making them unwelcome
in their own home, but Tessa knew it from her time with Eleanor.
Now Ethelbert chuckled. “There was not much trouble the two of us
couldn’t get into back then. We were the mischief-makers, while
William was full of his dignity and Aidan overly serious. Jeffrey
was the daring one, of course, but I was born with more patience
with the ways of the world.”

“Like Auntie Madeline,” Tessa suggested, and
he smiled again. He had a nice smile, like Jeffrey’s when he was
not on his guard.

“You know my family?” He sat down on the
wooden cot, ready to hear the whole story.

“I stayed with them for a year, with
Eleanor, until she died.”

Ethelbert’s face sobered. “I was in Denmark
at that time or I would have been there. Eleanor was dear to us
all. I have come to be a traveler like Jeffrey, only he travels as
soldier and I as healer. We have never crossed paths, but when I
heard he was drowned, I could not believe it. I thought I would
feel it if my youngest brother were dead, and I did not. Now you
tell me my doubts were correct, and he is alive.” Ethelbert’s
suntanned face was bright with joy at the prospect.

“He was alive when last I saw him, a
prisoner of the man Hawick, to whom your pet Scot Malcolm pays
heed. Unless Hawick has done away with him, Jeffrey lives.” Her
voice hardened. “He is a hard man to kill, very slippery and quick
with a story. It has served him well in assuring he continues to
draw breath.”

Anger returned as Tessa recalled Jeffrey’s
lies and half-truths. He had dallied with his own sister-in-law,
with Mairie and with who knew how many others. At times he had
seemed to care for her. Now he was Mairie’s again, according to
Hawick. Tessa noticed the monk’s keen gaze, his eyes very like
Jeffrey’s, only not blue but grayish, and pulled her thoughts back
to her own situation.

“I can tell you where your brother was when
we parted,” she offered, “but you must get me out of here.”

“That is the most interesting part.” The
monk’s eyes glinted with humor as he spoke, and he folded his hands
together. “I do have some official capacity in this visit. You see,
the new king of Scotland does not want the death of a woman on his
hands. He cannot simply let you go, however, since Hawick lays all
sorts of crimes at your feet. Many of the thanes have rancor
against Macbeth and would like to see vengeance taken on any
convenient scapegoat. So—” Here he spread his hands. “—it is to
Malcolm’s advantage that you disappear. I am to assist as I can. He
asks only that you leave Scotland and never return so long as he is
king.”

Tessa looked into the gray eyes. “Is this a
trick?”

“It is not, on my honor as a man of God. You
know I have dedicated my life to the church, so you may trust me in
this. You say Hawick is an outlaw. I will warn the king, but it’s
all I can do. Malcolm must decide for himself who and what his
allies are. He’ll need to step carefully to put your poor country
back together, and I do not envy him the task.”

There was little Malcolm could do for
Jeffrey. Either he was dead at Hawick’s hand or he had returned to
England. Quickly she told Ethelbert what Hawick had said about
William’s illness and Jeffrey’s return to England.

The monk sighed. “I suppose there is no use
in going to look for him, then,” he concluded. “If he’s gone to
Brixton, I will hear word when I return to the abbey. Still, I
thank you for the information, which I for one believe is true. I
will watch Hawick and warn Malcolm, as I promised. Now we must get
you on your way to safety.”

Tessa considered the man’s motives for a
moment. This escape could be a ruse to get her away from the castle
and kill her secretly so no one could blame Malcolm for her death.
She had heard of those who were men of God in name only, had even
met one at Hawick’s, she remembered with disgust. Men like that
would cooperate in such deeds. But from what she knew of Ethelbert
from his family, he was truly devout and had pledged himself to the
service of mankind. It only took an instant for her to make up her
mind. To die attempting escape was better than meekly going to her
execution.

“Tell me what I must do.”

Ethelbert had worn two robes into the cell,
one over the other. He now removed the outer one and handed it to
Tessa. “You are much smaller than I am, but this will hide you, I
think. You will leave first. There is no guard at the door. Hawick
saw to that. Make your way out in a leisurely fashion. I will leave
when you have had time to get away. If God is with us, no one will
realize you are gone for some time. Can you travel on your
own?”

“I have done so before,” was her answer, but
privately Tessa wondered where she would go. She must leave
Scotland. Returning home would bring danger to her sisters, whom no
one had thought of yet. They would be safe in the Cairngorms if she
drew no attention to them, but her peril would end only when she
was out of the country. That meant going to England, for where else
could she go? She didn’t even have what was left of Macbeth’s gold,
for Banaugh had kept it hidden in his pack.

Tessa felt a wave of determination. She
would not give up now, would travel to England on foot if she had
to. Once there, she would make a life for herself somehow.
Adjusting the cowl of the robe so it hid her face completely, she
told Brother Philip, “I am ready.”

It was easier than she could have imagined.
No one paid the slightest attention to the monk who moved out of
the building at a slow, steady pace and across the courtyard. The
figure stopped at the gate and looked around briefly, then stepped
in alongside a donkey pulling a cart filled with turnips. Patting
the animal, the monk walked through the gate with it. The guards
paid little attention, being more interested in who was coming into
the castle than who was leaving it.

Once away from the wall a fair distance,
Tessa slowed and let the cart pass her, then disappeared into the
trees that lined the road. Stopping to consider her options was
distressing. She had no money, no food, no belongings, and she was
far from the border. After some deliberation she decided first to
get her bearings, then find something to eat. She began with the
sun, dimly seen through the haze of clouds above. Its position
helped her to decide, rather tentatively, that she was facing
north. She pointed herself in the opposite direction and began a
circle around the castle, concealing herself in the trees and
moving quietly.

It took the better part of half an hour to
reach the far side of the castle, where she would have been in the
first place if she’d planned more carefully and exited by the south
gate. There was a small village outside the walls. Neat peasant
huts lined the road, and fields now empty of crops were laid out in
patches edged by posts that signified which tenant farmed the
piece. Farther out were the larger fields that belonged to the
manor and were farmed in common. There were no more woods. She
would have to cross the open distance in her monk’s robe and hope
no one accosted her. As she was about to step out of the trees, a
hand grabbed her robe, pulling her back. Reacting quickly, she
flailed out at the arm, bringing a muted grunt from the arm’s
owner.

“Lass, it’s me,” Banaugh cried, and Tessa
stopped in amazement.

“Banaugh! You came for me!”

He grinned, showing several gaps where
molars had once been. “Did ye think I’d just go on without ye?
Followed ye here, I did. I was havin’ a devil of a time figurin’
how I wuld get in t’ free ye, an’ then I heard this crashin’
through the wood, like a bear or a stag i’ panic. Imagine m’
surprise when it was only a tiny little monk wi’ an overlarge robe,
an’ where’s his tonsure, I ask m’self?”

Tessa pouted briefly. “I was trying to be
quiet,” she told him. “You try stepping over brambles in this heavy
woolen thing.” Of course, that is exactly what was needed. Banaugh
handed over his cap, and in only a few minutes a much more
realistic-looking monk emerged from the wood with a boy beside him
and the two made their way through the village and off to the south
without much notice being taken whatsoever.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The two made their way along the river,
having concluded a ship was their best choice for the voyage south.
Tessa tried to convince the old man he did not have to accompany
her to England. He was safe in Scotland if he simply returned to
his hills.

Banaugh would have none of it, though. “I
wuld see ye away from this poor country,” he told her as they
walked southward, keeping to the trees as much as possible.
“There’s too much danger here for ye. Yer father was th’ wiser o’
th’ brothers. Wantin’ more an’ more leads t’ trouble, an’ them tha’
gae too much oft canna’ live wi’ themselves afterward.” Lowering
his voice he added, “It’s said Macbeth’s wife pu’ an end t’ herself
for tha’ verra reason.”

“She was distressed when last I saw her,
poor thing.” Tessa sighed. “They were a sad pair at the end.”

Banaugh shook his head. “I’d nae trade
places wi’ noble folk, for ambition is a disease wi’ them.” After a
pause he added, “Not ye, o’ course, lass.”

Tessa seldom thought of herself as nobility.
True, she was of Scotland’s upper class, but she did not feel any
different from Banaugh. Hill chieftains were not far removed from
their people, financially or socially. And she had no ambition to
be better than anyone else. She wanted only to be herself and to be
loved for that reason.

It was a short way from Perth to the town of
Dundee, where Banaugh arranged passage on a boat ready to depart
the next day for the south. War with the English had not stopped
the constant flow of goods between the two countries, and boats
left for London regularly loaded with hides, flax, salmon and dried
cod.

London was the most logical destination for
them, Tessa and Banaugh decided. It would be easiest to find work
there, Tessa was somewhat familiar with the place, and she did not
want to go anywhere near Brixton Manor. “I must get a message to
Auntie Madeline somehow, though,” she told Banaugh.