Chapter Fourteen
The captain of the Bonnie Blue chuckled to himself at the greenness of the boy who booked passage on his little ship. Dressed in oversized clothes that must have belonged to an older brother, nervously touching the auburn hair that had been hacked off with no skill whatsoever, the lad was quite undecided about how to approach him. Finally he stammered out that he needed to get to Inverness, and would the ship be stopping there? Of course it would, but the captain made as if thinking hard about it, wondering how much money the boy had and how much he could get of it.
“How much have you got, lad?”
The boy opened a small purse at his belt and spilled out a few coins. The captain, seeing the thinness of the purse, named a reasonable figure, and the boy carefully counted it into his outstretched hand. The hands were dirty but very delicate, with long, slim fingers. There wasn’t much left in the purse after the fare was paid, but the captain did not know the “boy” had been clever enough to keep only a few coins in the purse. The rest were secured in the lining of the clothing.
On the voyage the boy kept to himself, though he seemed friendly enough when spoken to. He watched the sea for hours on end, apparently thinking deep thoughts. When one of the sailors commented that he ate and drank very little, another responded, “Never takes a piss, either. Wonder where the little runt keeps it all.” Because they were not men accustomed to thinking about anything very deeply, that was as far as it went. In fact, Tessa suffered agonies in disguising her femininity and was happy for a multitude of reasons when the little ship landed at the very pier she and Jeffrey had sailed from the year before.
Gathering up the few things she had brought from Brixton Hall, she wrapped them in her cloak: a few extra clothes Auntie Madeline had scavenged, the knife and toiletries Eleanor had given her, and the wooden box, which she’d brought for no real reason. She’d promised Eleanor she’d give it to Jeffrey, but both Eleanor and Jeffrey were dead. She’d considered burying it at Brixton, but she had no intention of ever returning there. She might have given it to Auntie Madeline but feared it might betray the love between Eleanor and Jeffrey, which would have diminished the old lady’s memories of both of them. Madeline claimed Eleanor had told her everything, but Tessa doubted it, since Auntie wouldn’t have approved of the affair. She considered reading through the papers in the box herself and then burning them, but somehow could not make herself do it. Unsure what to do, she carried it along, delaying any decision about what should come of her promise and Eleanor’s last wish.
Not knowing how best to proceed and wondering how things stood with the household, Tessa went to the castle kitchen and asked if there was work. The cook declared she could use a boy if he knew how to work, not like most of the boys nowadays. Tessa, or Tom, as she named herself, vowed to work hard and was set to various kitchen tasks. Her childhood ways stood her in good stead, because her first job was killing and plucking chickens for the evening meal. After that she watched others and copied them, managing to satisfy the demands of the first day. When the evening meal was eaten and cleared, she was allowed a corner to sleep in. Exhausted from the work and the stress of watching every word and deed to keep up her disguise, little “Tom” found it no trouble at all to fall asleep on the rush-covered stones in the great hall.
Macbeth was not at Inverness. The kingship made demands on him that kept him at Scone or elsewhere. The atmosphere in his home was tense, and hardly anyone spoke except from necessity. Several of the women she’d known before were still in attendance upon Queen Gruoch, but the lady herself never showed at dinner the first night or the next. Tessa kept to her disguise, unsure how to proceed. Something told her not to approach her aunt, but to wait for her uncle’s return.
The second night she was asleep, again exhausted from the day’s work, when she was awakened by the sound of someone speaking. Being the newest member of the household, Tessa’s sleeping spot was on the floor farthest from the fire and closest to the entryway, which required vigilance or she might be stepped upon as people got up in the night to go to the privy. Opening her eyes, Tessa saw the glow of a candle on the stairs. Squinting in the darkness, she discerned her aunt, dressed in nightgown and cap, descending the stairs and mumbling. She couldn’t make out the meaning of the words but thought she heard the word “blood,” then some singsong phrases. The look on the lady’s face in the candlelight was totally blank. She was asleep, unaware of her surroundings or her behavior.
As Tessa watched, an attendant came and gently turned her so that Gruoch went back up the stairs, still muttering. The woman stood aside to let her pass, then followed her out of sight. Around Tessa several heads had raised at the sounds, silhouetted in the firelight, but no one said a word, and one by one the heads sank back into the general shape of the room. It did not do to take notice of such things.
The next morning she sought out Jamie, a boy who’d been friendly about showing where things were and how the cook wanted tasks done. “Is the queen ill?” she asked.
He looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Best no’ speak o’ it, Tom,” he said. “Her is sick, well enough, but ’tis sickness o’ the mind, nae the body. They say it’s guilt for things done sae her husband should come t’ rule Scotland.”
“You mean—” He shook his head to indicate it must not be said aloud. “And the king? How does he?”
“He ha’ nae been himsel’ neither, talkin’ to shadows and rantin’ aboot things we canna see. We pretend along wi’ him or he becooms mae violent.” Jamie passed a dirty hand through his unruly hair, which returned immediately to its upright position.
“This is not a pleasant place to be,” Tessa remarked.
“True enough. Many has left a’ready. That’s why ye got a job sae quick, though, so ye shud be grateful.” With that Jamie returned to his own tasks.
After two more days, Tessa feared approaching either Gruoch or Macbeth. The King had returned to Inverness in a foul mood, speaking as little as possible, though he looked every inch a king with his dark, brooding looks and his tall form clothed in robes much finer than those he had worn as soldier and thane. Something had changed him. He seemed unable to feel anything for his wife, ignoring her almost completely.
By day Grouch walked the castle in a sort of daze. When she saw her husband, she made pitiful attempts to reach him, caressing his face and holding his arm, but Macbeth seemed unable to abide her touch. He had no patience for anyone but spent his time alone with his own thoughts, glaring at walls or mountains alike. Tessa felt sorry for him, for he had changed greatly in a year.
Though Cook would scold “Tom” for it, Tessa went for a walk along the hillside one afternoon, feeling the need to escape the atmosphere of dread prevalent at the castle. From the distance she looked back. It was hard to believe how the place had deteriorated in a year. Although still a handsome edifice from the outside, things were different inside. Without her aunt’s strict hand and with as many servants leaving the place as could arrange it, the hall had become dirty and the remaining help slovenly. The rushes hadn’t been changed since she left, so the place smelled of dogs, mice, and decaying food. Only the cookhouse remained fully functional, and that was due to Cook, who kept her own standards there but dared not intrude on the main house.
As she walked, Tessa was glad for fresh air. Spring was extending even to Scotland by this time, and buds and flowers greeted her on every side. In the year she’d been gone, Tessa too had become a different person. She had experienced so much: love, gaiety, grief, and despair. What was left to her? she wondered. Would she return to the Cairngorms, those beautiful peaks before her? Would she find a place with her uncle here? Only time would tell. Sitting down in the open meadow and resting in the sunshine, Tessa soon felt sleepy, having had little enough rest the night before in her cold, busy corner.
She didn’t know how long she dozed, but a sense that someone was there awoke her. Opening her eyes, Tessa saw the three crones standing before he
r as they had so long ago, smiling and nodding as if she’d said something clever. They said nothing until she spoke to them.
“Well, it seems you were right,” she said to the first. “I did go to England. How did you know?”
“Question not,” croaked the woman, her breath causing Tessa to recoil in disgust.
“Her happiness is dead,” grinned the second.
“Dead but not forgotten,” added the third. “He has forgotten her name.”
She spoke in the present tense. Someone had forgotten her, but who? These odd creatures would say what they had to say, whether she spoke or not, so she merely looked directly at them to indicate interest.
“He has forgotten much,” said the first woman.
“And he will remember much.” The third woman touched Tessa’s arm.
“Look for him where the lands meet.” This one’s eyes didn’t both look in the same direction, which was disconcerting, so Tessa didn’t comprehend her meaning right away.
“Look for him?” As she realized the import of what she heard, her heart leapt. “For whom should I look?” The three only grinned stupidly and joined hands, backing away at the same time. As they retreated, the first one spoke again. “He took you away, and he brings you back.”
“Please, tell me what you mean. Is Jeffrey alive?” Taking a step toward them, she tripped over a large stone and went down on one knee, catching herself with her hands before she fell all the way to the ground. When she looked up, the three women were gone, but her mind spun with the message they’d left behind. Jeffrey Brixton was alive!
Returning to the castle, Tessa decided she had to speak to her uncle. After the evening meal, she waited in the passageway until his step sounded on the stairs, heavy and slow, like that of an old man. She heard him dismiss the attendant who would have followed him into his chamber to assist with preparations for bed. Giving the man a moment to be gone, she peeped around the corner to find Macbeth alone in the hallway that led to his room. He started when he saw her, and she made haste to assure him the boy she appeared to be was no threat.
“Sire, a moment of your time. Is there somewhere we can talk about your family and one you once knew?”
He was distrustful at first, making her walk ahead of him into a small closet where linens were kept. She had brought a candle, and she lit a torch that hung on the wall, then turned to face him in the light. “Look at me, closely, sire. It is I, Tessa macFindlaech.”
Macbeth squinted at her, then his eyes widened. “Niece! We thought you dead, drowned in the river.”
“I was captured by my Uncle Cawdor, who sent me to England so I would not tell you I’d heard him treating with the Norwegians.”
“England! You’ve been there?”
“Yes. Malcolm Canmore is there, trying to raise an army against you.”
“I have heard the same. Has he had success?”
“I fear he has. The English are always ready to come to Scotland to war, it seems.”
“How did you escape those devils?”
“A kind lady took me in and treated me as her daughter. She is dead, but another lady gave me the money to come home. I traveled as a boy for my own protection, then found work here to wait for your return.”
He nodded. It seemed as they talked that he became more like his old self, less tense and wild-eyed. His eyes focused not unkindly as she gave him the details of her capture on the night of Jeffrey’s visit. Finally he spoke. “It seems you have managed well despite your troubles. Now what do you want of me?”
Tessa sighed. It was important he understand her reasoning, but she couldn’t judge his mood. Macbeth seemed under control at the moment, but she’d heard of wild rages and rash actions when he felt someone was against him.
“Sire, I seek a certain Englishman, the one who came here that night with Cawdor. I know he is not your friend, but I made a vow I would find him.” The heavy eyebrows lifted, then lowered threateningly. “I’m sorry, Uncle. The man’s family was kind to me, and I owe them word of him if I can find it.”
There was a long silence. Macbeth seemed to lose interest, and his gaze went to the floor. Tessa felt she would burst with apprehension. She admitted she had been befriended and in turn had befriended the hated English. The Macbeth who was now a king had reportedly killed people for less than what she had confessed. Desperately she tried to find the words to convince him. “His family thinks him drowned, but I met three weird women in the meadow today who say he is alive. I must try to find him.”
Macbeth’s head came up suddenly and his eyes locked on hers. “You saw the weird sisters?”
“Twice now. Before I arrived here, they told me I would go to England. I thought them mad.”
His eyes glazed and he looked past her. “They called me thane of Cawdor and King. I thought them mad, too, but their words haunted me.”
Tessa seized on their similar experience. “Today they told me Jeffrey is in the mountains. I must look for him. Uncle, can you give me a letter of protection? It’s all I ask, so I may travel unmolested.”
Macbeth’s eyes focused again, and he nodded his understanding. “I can help you in no other way. I must ready for battle with Malcolm and the English, and I will need every loyal man. I will give you my order of safe conduct and a bit of gold, perhaps more valuable among the outlaw clans who call no man their king. If they have your Englishman, they are holding him for ransom and should already have sent word to his family.”
Tessa’s mind conjured up a sudden picture of a rough, bearded Scotsman leaving Brixton Hall in disgust, the man William had called a rascal. Had he brought news that Jeffrey was alive and would be returned for a price? It was common enough practice among some clans, holding prisoners of war or even unlucky passers-by for ransom. How would the Scots know William didn’t want his brother back, at least not enough to part with any money?
“Sire, where should I begin to look?”
“I don’t know, lass, but you know the hills better than most. Why don’t you start at home?” When he saw her look of dismay, he added gently, “Your mother is dead. She sent your sister Nettie to serve my wife—” Here he stopped and his eyes saddened for a moment. “But she went home when the news came, some three months back.”
“Mother is dead?” Tessa waited for grief but felt only regret. Having known Eleanor, who longed for children to love and treated everyone kindly, Tessa could feel little sorrow for one so un-motherly, could only feel sad that life had been so unhappy for Kenna macFindlaech.
Macbeth went on, “Your oldest sister…”
“Meg,” Tessa supplied.
“Yes, Meg—has married and inhabits the house my brother built, keeping your younger sisters with her.” He tactfully didn’t mention that Tessa might be welcome at home now, but he must have understood it.
“Thank you, sire. I will go there first, then. Tomorrow at first light.”
“Take a pony if it will help. But I have a request in return. On the way, will you show me where you met the weird sisters? I would speak with them about my own future.” His face held a curious vulnerability, and she saw again a tortured man. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward eagerly, reaching out a hand in unconscious appeal.
“Of course, Uncle.” Tessa led the way out of the small room. She wanted to warn him, to plead caution, but she sensed he was past caring. “You know, I am sure, that they speak in riddles, and only tell as much as they will and no more. But I can show you where I met them last.” With that, Tessa bade him goodnight and started back to the hall and her place near the stairs. She glanced back once at her uncle, who sat staring into the dark corner of the corridor, his lips working as if speaking to an unseen visitor.