Macbeth's Niece (4 page)

Brixton manor provided well-respected
breeding stock all over northern England and Scotland. Jeffrey was
often dispatched to escort the animals to their destination,
sometimes with humorous results. According to one story, he had
delivered thirty hens to a neighboring manor for an exchange that
would serve to freshen each estate’s stock. “The only problem was
that the rooster, overcome with joy at the sight of all the hens,
flew in my face with great enthusiasm, leaving two distinct claw
prints on my best linen tunic,” he finished with a moue that
brought guffaws of laughter.

The company enjoyed the unexpected
entertainment, and it seemed only Tessa was irritated by the man’s
manner, his attitude, indeed, his very presence. She could not say
why she disliked Brixton so. He was English, true. He was silly,
also true. But something in the look she had observed earlier said
he was dangerous as well.

The hall, of course, was noisy with the
coming and going of servants, as platter after platter was brought
in from the kitchen, a small building at the back of the castle,
and placed at the head table. Before each place lay a slice of
bread that served as a plate. Each person helped himself to
whatever he liked, using the knife at his belt to cut chunks of
meat, bread, or cheese from the platters, and laid it onto the
bread, where bite-sized morsels were cut and carried to the mouth
with the same knife. Bowls of gravy set along the tables were for
dipping bits of meat or bread in, and small bowls of salt graced
the main table, allowing the more privileged at the meal to
sprinkle the precious stuff on their food. When the meat was gone,
the bread, soaked with the juices, could be eaten, too. Young pages
stood by with pitchers of wine and cider to refill the tin cups at
each place.

Laughing diners threw bones and scraps over
their shoulders to the dogs. It was wise to be sure these landed
far enough away to avoid canine arguments under the table. The
noise of dogfights sometimes became clamorous, but at a word from
Macbeth the animals slunk away to a corner to wait more patiently.
It being spring and the weather having broken, the ducks and geese
that often wandered the hall, cleaning up the smaller scraps from
the floor, had been shooed outside. Over all was the babble of many
voices raised in the genial conversation that attends a good meal.
Jeffrey Brixton’s very different accent rose and fell among the
others, and Tessa found herself more and more irritated by it.

When the meal was concluded and the boards
and trestles stacked against the wall to clear the room, some of
the household members brought out musical instruments for evening
entertainment. Brixton volunteered to teach them dance steps from
England. “I insist on returning value for my welcome by brightening
the evening,” he gushed, flopping his hands like a puppet. “Of
course, I am a poor dancer compared to others I have seen, but you
must needs make do with me for lack of another.” Despite the fact
that this was something any polite guest might offer, Tessa found
his manner insufferable, as if he were offering pearls before
swine. He assumed no one there knew the latest English dances and
also assumed they wanted to learn them. How like an Englishman to
think himself above those who’d fed him!

“I’ll need a partner.” He paced the room
dramatically for a few seconds. “You’ll do.” Coming out of her
thoughts, Tessa found Brixton standing before her, indicating with
open arms she should dance with him.

The girl felt pulled in two directions. Her
mother’s voice commanded her to be ladylike and submissive, but her
own inner voice rose up for the first time in months. She could not
pretend this man was as charming as he obviously found himself.
Scottish men had been rejected for taking Tessa’s assent for
granted. Why should an English fop fare better? She raised her eyes
to Brixton’s, her chin high and mouth a thin line. “I do not
dance,” was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Immediately, Tessa sensed a chill like an
actual draft from the general direction of her aunt. Girls did as
they were told, even when they didn’t want to, and a good hostess
saw to it the wishes of her guests were indulged. Something in
Tessa rebelled still further as weeks of watching every word and
facial expression caused a sudden break in her self-control. In
Jeffrey Brixton’s blue eyes glinted something that might have been
a challenge, and heedlessly, she finished the thought. “And if I
did, it would never be with an Englishman!”

“Tessa!” escaped from Gruoch at the same
moment that a growl escaped the Thane of Glames.

“Apologize to our guest, child, and leave
us. If you cannot be civil, you’ll bide by yourself.”

Her uncle’s face was stern. Thoughts of
complying with the command formed, but Brixton’s expression stopped
her. He faced her, away from Macbeth and his lady, and the look in
his eyes was not at all that of the character he had displayed thus
far. There was danger, turbulence, and passion in it, and she felt
something in herself responding to this man. Her response
frightened her, angered her, and decided her. She would never
apologize to this man, even if they beat her!

With head held high, Tessa stepped around
Jeffrey Brixton as if touching him would be odious, which it would.
Fleeing the room, she heard her aunt making apologies, heard the
words “young and untaught.” She felt the heat of Brixton’s eyes
burning into her back and could picture the expression on his face,
though she’d known him for only an hour. There would be that line
of amusement beside his mouth, and the blue eyes would spark
dangerously. There, Mother, the girl thought bitterly. All your
predictions for me have come true! My traitorous tongue has ruined
two months of careful behavior!

Chapter Four

The next morning
Tessa slipped out of the castle early, unwilling to hear what
Gruoch would have to say about her awful behavior the night before
or to spend another day inside stitching harts and hinds onto
cloth. There had been no response yet. That, she was sure, would be
left for when the guests had gone. While she was still free to move
about, Tessa looked upward, toward home.

In the mountains, she had learned to love
the outdoors. With the lads who were her playmates, Tessa had
learned to ride the shaggy Highland ponies, swim in the icy tarns
and burns, and climb into the thick, prickly hawthorn trees to
hide, escaping Kenna’s wrath for a while. Now as dawn brought the
first gray light, she found it calming to be outside, away from
things that recalled her failings.

On this late April morning, fog hung thick
overhead and wisped along the River Ness, making an odd, patchy
landscape of brightly visible green spots and dimly perceived gray
hills. Tessa walked down to the riverbank and stood looking across
at her mountains as they peeped through the fog, remembering
happier days from her childhood, now gone forever, among those
peaks. She seated herself under a tree that overhung the riverbank,
out of the cold wind coming off the water. The two men did not see
her sitting there wrapped in her gray cloak for warmth as they
walked along the river together, and since the fog muted all sound,
Tessa heard nothing of their approach. She sat wondering if Banaugh
had gotten home safely and if Meg was awake too, perhaps missing
the secrets they’d shared. When one of the men spoke on the other
side of the tree, Tessa came out of her reverie with a start.

“You’ll sail to England with the tide,
then?”

“Yes. I’ll meet with Sweno as soon as
possible. We’ll return within the month with the necessary troops
from Norway,” came the answer in a very different accent.

“I will ready my men and join the fray when
you attack Duncan’s forces.”

The second voice was recognizable even
though this morning it was lower-pitched and stronger than the
dandified tones of the night before. “You’ll want to wait and see
which way the wind blows, Cawdor, but fight beside us or you’ll
lose the reward you’ve been promised.”

Cawdor! Tessa’s eyes flew wide as she
comprehended what she was hearing. Her mother’s brother and the
Englishman planned to attack the Scottish king! The night before
Gruoch had mentioned that Tessa’s funny little uncle spoke strongly
against Duncan, but Macbeth had given him no encouragement. Now it
was clear Cawdor had made a bargain to side with a Norwegian
invasion. And the Englishman Brixton was not what he seemed. Of
course, the English were ever deceitful, willing to undermine
Scotland in any way possible, loathsome creatures they were.

“Dinna worry, Brixton. Keep your part of the
bargain, and I will keep mine. Duncan has gone daft, and the people
won’t stand for the boy Malcolm as king. If Sweno moves quickly, he
can have his way. The thanes will fight half-heart or maybe no’ at
all for the auld man. For certes, Macdonwald and I will be with
you, maybe more by the time you arrive.” As he spoke, Cawdor
stepped down the riverbank to pick up a stick, which he tossed idly
into the current and watched float away. Turning back, he faced
Tessa, who stared into his eyes in horror. The niece he had met
only last evening at dinner had, from the look on her face,
overheard his plan to turn traitor to his king! “Tessa!” His tone
held both surprise and threat.

Cawdor made a lunge as, throwing herself
sideways out of his reach, Tessa scrambled to her feet to make a
getaway. Hearing Biote curse as he fell over a tree root, she dared
not look back. She focused on getting to the castle, getting help,
but before she knew it, strong arms caught her, lifting her off the
ground. A hand covered her mouth as she opened it to scream, and a
voice in her ear hissed, “Make one noise and I’ll break that pretty
neck of yours!” Unable to free herself, Tessa hung, struggling
uselessly, at the Englishman’s side.

“Well, now, Cawdor, what do we do with
this?” amazingly, Brixton’s voice sounded amused again.

Cawdor had risen to his feet and was
brushing off his clothing. “Damned if I know,” was his first
response.

There was a smudge of damp earth on his
knee, Tessa noticed inconsequentially. She stopped fighting to
better hear their discussion of her fate.

“Is she someone who would be missed?”
Brixton asked, and Tessa thought, I’m going to die. He’s going to
kill me and throw my body into the river.

Cawdor looked distraught. “God’s blood,
Brixton! She’s my sister’s child.”

Brixton understood the plea. “Well, then,”
was all he said. They planned treachery against the king, but
neither seemed willing to murder an innocent girl. Maybe they would
try to bribe her. Tessa would lie, promise secrecy, and then run to
Macbeth and have both of them hanged for treason. Could an
Englishman commit treason in Scotland? It did not matter as long as
this wicked man died. Surely Macbeth could find a reason to execute
him.

“We can’t let her go,” the Englishman
said.

“Perhaps I can reason with her,” Cawdor
tried. “She is my niece, after all—”

“Have you ever known a female who could be
trusted to do what you want her to?”

Cawdor had to admit he hadn’t. “But
she’s—”

“I heard you, man. What do you want me to
do?”

“Could you take her with you?”

There was no amusement in the Englishman’s
voice at this suggestion. “Take her with me? You want me to sail to
England with a half-grown girl and arrange a war for you? What’s
she to do while I collect Norwegian soldiers?”

“You could—” Cawdor had no idea and grasped
at straws. “—take her somewhere.”

“Do you know what you’re saying? It would be
kinder to snap her neck here and now than to abandon her in York or
London. She’s hardly civilized, doesn’t even fit into Scottish
society, primitive as it is.” Tessa burned with indignation. Who
was he to judge her? A spy!

“Please, Brixton! Think of someplace for
her, just for a month or two, and then when the war’s over, I’ll
take her off your hands, I promise. I’ll marry her off to some
young man who won’t care she’s…damaged.” Tessa’s heart froze at the
insinuation. This man could have her if he prevented her telling
about Cawdor and the uprising. So much for family feeling. Her
death might bother him, but not the ruin of her body, her
reputation, and her life.

“I don’t know what else we can do,” said
Brixton finally. “I don’t like it, though, not at all.”

“I know, lad, I know.” Cawdor was
sympathetic now he’d got his way. “If there were any other way…but
you’re the one who’s to leave this morning. I must stay and play my
part with the Scots.”

“Give me your kerchief, then,” Brixton
muttered. “At least I will see she doesn’t get away.” Setting Tessa
on the ground, Brixton kept one arm around her neck while her uncle
tied her hands behind her back. Testing Biote’s work with a sharp
tug on the cloth, he spoke directly to Tessa for the first
time.

“Now, girl, here it is. I do not want to
take you with me, but I would rather not have to kill you. If you
go quietly, I will not harm you, and I will try to treat you fairly
when we arrive in England. If you give me trouble, I will drown you
in the river. Do you understand?”

Unable to do anything else at the moment,
Tessa nodded. Trying to convey with a look how vile she found them
both, she saw her uncle cringe, which gave her some satisfaction
despite her plight. Brixton arranged the cloak over her shoulders
so her bound hands were hidden and pulled the hood low to cover her
hair and face.

“How will you get her on board ship?” Cawdor
asked. “They won’t be planning for any women.”

“I’ll say I’m taking the girl to England as
a favor to the thane,” Brixton answered. “The captain will be
surprised, no doubt, but he’s well paid to keep his thoughts to
himself.”