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.”
“Ah.” Cawdor suddenly looked unhappy, chewing his lip and frowning. “I wouldna have the girl suffer,” he began. “She is blood, you know.”
Brixton sniffed. “You Scots have been s
pilling each other’s blood for centuries, family or no. How did Duncan become King Duncan? How did our host last night gain his castle and his wife? Killing relatives, that’s how.”
Cawdor became angry, too, but on him it was less than impressive. His paunch quivered as he tried to draw himself up to full height, and his jowly cheeks shook. “And are the English any better? I think not.”
Suddenly Brixton smiled sheepishly. “You’re right. We English also kill each other, relatives and all, for personal gain. It’s the way of men, I fear.” His face took on a pensive look, but he shook it off and changed the subject. “Do not worry, sir. I will not abandon your niece, and I have no desire to hurt her. I will take her to my brother’s wife, who may take on a half-grown brat, having no children of her own.”
Tessa considered objecting that she wanted no part of his wicked family, but in the end remained silent. She had to think of a way to reach Macbeth, who would save the king, or even Gruoch, who would never side with the English despite despising Duncan. She watched and waited for any chance as Brixton bade Cawdor goodbye and herded her to the pier where a small ship was being readied for departure.
The morning was still gray, but the fog was thinning, its damp hold on the riverbank reluctantly letting go. She saw several sailors, all English judging by their harsh-sounding speech and unfamiliar clothing. Would any of them help her if she were to scream out that she was being captured? Looking into the eyes of one who stopped his labor to leer at her, she doubted it. They despised the Scots, she knew, and would side with Brixton against one who was both female and Scot. He had their allegiance, he had money, and she had nothing. Tessa’s heart was heavy as she accepted that her situation was hopeless. She cursed Jeffrey Brixton silently as they proceeded in apparent amity toward the ship that would become her prison.
Brixton kept a hand lightly on Tessa’s neck as they walked up the gangplank. He explained casually to the captain there would be an extra passenger. Gold was exchanged, and the captain gave her the merest look of interest before returning to his preparations. Brixton led her into a tiny cabin formed by canvas sheets draped from the mast, the only private place on the ship. Once he’d pulled the curtain to shield them from curious eyes, he untied her hands and moved his belongings to a corner of the space, spreading a blanket on the floor.
“You may take the pallet, as much comfort as it will give,” Brixton told her. “No one can help you. The men on this ship are in my employ and have no interest in what happens to a Scottish brat. If I have to beat you to keep you quiet, well, I will do that, too.”
It was said in such an offhand manner that she knew he meant it. Soon Tessa heard the men cry out orders as the ship left its docking and started out to the sea. There had been no chance to escape, no chance to warn of Cawdor’s treachery. And now she was on her way to England.
Suddenly, the three crones’ faces appeared in her mind, and she heard the first one repeating, “—on your way, on your way, on your way.” Falling onto the tiny bunk, Tessa turned away, shivering despite the heavy cloak.