Chapter Sixteen
Jedburgh was a lovely little town on the bank of the River Teviot. An old Celtic church loomed over the whole town, ruined but still impressive. The road leading out of Jedburgh and on to Hawick, however, was little more than a cow path that followed the riverbank. Not many people of the town went there, it seemed.
When Tessa and Banaugh reached the place a few hours later, they approached a castle of the old motte-and-bailey type. A large stone structure, a motte, had been built on a small knoll for easy defense, then surrounded by an area fenced with upright wood pilings called the bailey. They passed one set of guards at the outer gate then walked onward, passing several small cottages where people plied their trades. Leatherworkers, smiths, bakers, millers, and weavers sat in the mid-September afternoon, finishing the day’s work as their wives and children moved around them, tending to the attendant tasks of the trade. A couple of young churls polished armor by dropping each rusty piece into a barrel of sand and then rolling it vigorously between them until the sand scraped the rust away. It was a busy group, but Tessa sensed a difference in their demeanor from other demesnes they had visited. No one sang, few even talked, and there was about them a watchful quiet that spoke little of happiness and much of fear.
More armed men stood guard at the castle doorway, and Tessa had to show her safe conduct from the king for a second time in order to get inside. Even then the men seemed loath to let them pass.
At the main hall, they had to show the paper yet again, this time to a blank-eyed, reed-thin seneschal who was only a shade more courteous when he saw Macbeth’s seal. Hawick was out hunting, the man told them, and would not be back until dinner. Somewhat grudgingly he assigned them a place at the evening meal and showed them a corner where they could leave their bundles. Tessa took the opportunity before dinner to wander through the hall, hoping for a glimpse of Jeffrey, but she had no luck.
The meal was impressive, though not in its pomp and splendor. As soon as the bell rang, ten or twelve burly men appeared from several directions and took their places at the head of the table. One of them seemed familiar to Tessa. His bushy beard and broad shoulders reminded her of something, but she could not decide what it was. In contrast to the people Tessa had seen working, these men were noisy and full of hilarity at each other’s antics. They tripped an old woman as she carried in bread for the table, then passed a young serving girl among themselves, each man kissing her in his turn. She stumbled off, looking close to tears, but no one seemed able—or willing—to control the actions of these rowdy jacks.
Behind them came various lesser types, men and women of the household, Tessa guessed, who seated themselves at the two sideboards. Banaugh and Tessa were led to their places near the head but just barely above the salt, in recognition of their status as king’s messengers. For the first time in months, Tessa felt fearful. Something about the place made her uneasy. She noticed Banaugh kept glancing about also, ever watchful and on guard.
At the last, three people entered the hall to signal the start of the meal. The first was a huge man with a barrel of a chest that seemed to precede him rather than form part of his frame. The chest continued into a large belly hanging over a rope belt that cinched his black velvet tunic. The rest of his body looked small by comparison, especially the legs, which were encased in black stockings and seemed far too slim for such a torso. His under tunic was bleached linen, and over the whole he wore a tartan cloak pinned at the shoulder with a large gold brooch. The man had light brown hair and eyebrows, a wide, flat face, heavily jowled though he was not yet thirty-five, and small eyes. The lower lip jutted out from the upper, its shiny inner surface showing red against his skin and giving him an arrogant expression. With mouth turned down and eyes glaring, he strode in, then seemed to make an effort to appear genial as an afterthought. Speaking with several people as he made his way to the head table, he clapped the men on the back and teased the women. This was their host, Ian Hawick.
Behind him came a woman of striking beauty with dark hair set off by a skin so white as to be worthy of the overused comparison to alabaster. Almond eyes tilted slightly at the corners, and her lips were so red Tessa knew they weren’t naturally possible. She was taller than Tessa, but not by much, and exquisitely formed. The clothes she wore were carefully chosen to enhance her looks. The gown was crimson with creamy accents, and she wore a matching cap with pearls sewn onto it so they dangled bewitchingly around her face.
In the doorway the woman turned back and smiled encouragingly at someone, and Tessa’s eyes followed her gaze. She had to stop herself from crying out.
It was Jeffrey!
He was certainly alive and seemed in good health as well, dressed in a brown tunic of wool, green stockings, and a linen undershirt. None of these garments fitted him well, but their condition was good. If Jeffrey was a prisoner, he had not been mistreated. He even took his meals with Ian Hawick and his companions. Jeffrey seated himself at the head table, next to the woman in red. The look in his eyes as he spoke softly to the beautiful woman confused Tessa, for the look said more than any words could that he was captivated by this glorious creature. At Tessa’s side, Banaugh studied the girl’s expression, confirming his opinion of her unconscious purpose at this place. His wizened face settled into disapproval of the man who caused the pain he saw in his Tessa’s expression.
Later, on the rough plank floor, Tessa tried yet again to find a comfortable way to lie, but it wasn’t really the hardness of the boards that kept her awake. Beside her Banaugh slept peacefully, and on the other side a young servant snored, his mouth open slackly. The events of the evening replayed in her mind. She and Banaugh had been introduced and formally invited by Hawick to stay the night, as was proper due to their letter from the king. They said nothing of their mission, making an appointment to speak with Hawick the next morning in private. Once that was settled, they had been ignored for the rest of the evening, for Hawick had as guest a traveling bard, and all were anxious to hear his performance.
He began, of course, with a listing of all the clans and their chiefs who were part of his story. It was important to be mentioned, and everyone waited eagerly to hear the names of his own forbears, nodding happily when they occurred. Then the rather rambling account began, much less of a narrative than rhythmic boasting, overall quite confusing. Still, the audience knew the events already and were mainly concerned with cheering their heroes. Tonight’s rendition was a tale of battle, magic, and emotion mixed together and told in an extended, singsong style, and the bard pleased his listeners greatly.
Tessa heard very little, for she watched Jeffrey Brixton. He sat next to the beautiful creature, who, they were told, was Hawick’s stepsister, Mairie. The man on Banaugh’s left explained that this sister had been born and raised in France, coming to Scotland rather unwillingly when her mother had married Hawick’s father. Mairie considered herself above the Scots, and the man admitted grudgingly that she was unusual in these parts. She spoke several languages, danced and sang prettily, and even wrote poetry. “Not my style of woman,” the man grunted. “Still, I wouldn’t mind bedding her onct or twict, hey?” and he’d elbowed Banaugh knowingly.
There was no doubt Jeffrey was enthralled by her. His eyes never left Mairie, and he helped her with each course of food that was brought in, first cutting off choice portions of venison for her and then slicing an apple to hand to her piece by piece. Mairie accepted this as her due and smiled into Jeffrey’s eyes a look of promise.
Tessa was sickened by the whole picture. His family thought him dead, she had thought him a poor captive among ruffians, and here he sat at a full table, dallying with a pampered, Frenchified doll! Anger flaring, she’d excused herself and walked along the Teviot until the evening was concluded.
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!”