Macbeth's Niece (2 page)

Tessa’s mother often berated the girl for
her behavior, for her lack of interest in caring for the younger
children, and for anything else she could think of. “You are a
disappointment,” Kenna would tell her daughter. “Look at your
sister Meg! She can weave a fine tartan, prepare an appetizing meal
of venison or trout, she is as tall as ever your father was, and
best of all, she can keep silent when silence is called for!”
Tessa’s older sister was “the good girl,” according to their
mother, cleaning and cooking and wiping small noses and bottoms
without a word of complaint. Kenna discouraged Meg’s chances of
marriage, hoping to keep her most dependable helper, but Tessa she
despaired of marrying off. It was no good pointing out she caught
the fish her sister fried so nicely, or that Meg couldn’t take
credit for her height any more than Tessa could change hers. It was
silence she needed to practice, and Tess had done so, at least in
that instance.

When Evan macCady pulled her into the pines
for a kiss at Samhain that fall, she remembered her mother’s advice
and tolerated his embrace briefly, despite the fact that his
leering grin gave her the shivers. However, when his hands began
wandering places they should not, she reacted. “Mind who you put
those big paws on, you great beast! I’ve bested better than you in
a fight!” With that she thwacked him soundly on the nose and
stomped back to the fireside. The look on her mother’s face at that
moment presaged the tirade to come on how Tessa had ruined her last
chance to get a husband. Never mind that Evan macCady was the
lowest sort of oaf who would have made the girl’s life a misery, as
he had his first wife’s.

“Mother, the man tried to have his way with
me right then and there! Besides, he drinks more than even Laddie
Ross, and he smells terrible! I could not marry such a one as
that!”

“You’ll never marry at all with your airs,
Miss Highboots! Evan has a fine herd of cattle and sheep that could
have helped your poor mother put food in her children’s mouths. You
think only of yourself!”

Kenna had changed over time in ways her
children could not know. As a girl, she had been a beauty, trained
to smile and say little. She had seemed meek and sweet until she
married the handsome Kenneth. Once she had him well and truly
snared, Kenna’s true self emerged: a spiteful, whining woman who
saw the actions of those around her only in light of how they
affected her. People who once commented on her beauty now saw eyes
squinted peevishly as she corrected imagined faults, a nose that
had grown sharp as she poked about for reasons to be angry, and a
mouth that curled in scorn far more often than in humor at the
actions of those around her.

When the first scent of spring came to the
air, Kenna informed her daughter there were two possibilities for
her future: her mother’s brother, now thane of Cawdor; or her
father’s family, the macFindlaechs. Kenna sent the girl to Macbeth,
making it clear Tessa’s task was to be agreeable so that her aunt
would be willing to take on one or two of the younger girls as time
passed.

“I do not know these people,” Kenna told
Tessa, “but it is their duty to educate you. Macbeth may even
provide a dowry, if you behave yourself—”Her tone dripped with
threat. “There will be opportunities there to meet men who do not
know your faults, unless you display them as carelessly as you have
here.” Tessa felt a pang of guilt at her mother’s criticism. Had
she been so difficult, then? Why was she not satisfied with the
Alan macMauras or the Evan macCadys in life? Why did she imagine
she was made for something—or someone—better?

The parting with her family had not been
particularly sad. Only Meg showed any grief at Tessa’s departure,
since they had always been close. The other children were too young
to grasp they might never see their sister again, and Kenna had
long ago lost any feeling for anyone on earth but herself, though
she felt deeply there.

Having known no other kind of mother, Tessa
accepted the contention she was a flawed female, not realizing the
jealousy Kenna macFindlaech felt for her own beautiful daughter.
Kenna saw all of her children as burdens, but Tessa could not be
tamed, and that she took as a personal insult. Almost gleefully,
she said as they parted, “I believe you are a hopeless case, but
you have one last chance. Do exactly as your aunt and uncle bid you
and guard your reckless tongue, or you’ll come to naught!” With
those words, her mother sent Tessa off to foster with people
neither had ever met.

Because propriety demanded a young woman of
good birth not travel alone, old Banaugh went along as escort when
Tessa came down from the mountains for the first time. The man
seemed ancient, lacking most of his hair, many of his teeth, and
any visible spot of unfreckled skin, but he nevertheless kept a
steady pace all day, every day, at whatever he was doing.

When it was announced Tessa would be leaving
the Cairngorms, Banaugh cheerfully offered himself as escort to her
uncle’s castle. “I’ll see th’ lassie safely there, y’ may be sure
o’ it,” he promised. Even Kenna found little to criticize in
Banaugh. He was loyal, respectful, and enterprising in all he did,
so she merely warned him to return as soon as possible so as not to
leave her shorthanded for too long.

Early on the designated morning, the old man
showed up with a pack on his back containing necessities for the
trip: food wrapped in cloths portioned for each day’s travel, a few
basic tools such as a knife and a small axe, his strong-smelling
cumin liniment for his aches and pains, and flint and tinder sealed
well to keep them dry in all conditions. Banaugh was swathed in his
tartan, a four-yard length of rough cloth that served as cape,
tablecloth, blanket, and various other things. He wore trews, or
trousers, of wool and a tunic over a loose linen undershirt. Tessa
had dressed for travel in the best dress she owned, a loose,
sleeveless garment that fell over a long-sleeved linen shift and
tied behind at the waist. Over it she wore a gray cape that served
as her blanket at night. After a last quick hug for Meg and a pat
for each of the four younger girls, the two travelers were off.

Banaugh led the way down the mountainside
toward Inverness, to the north of their home in the Cairngorms.
These mountains rise higher than any others in Britain, and on
their slopes Tessa had learned something of the great variety of
the Scottish Highlands. Her father’s lands lay halfway up, in the
pinewoods: slopes where huge Caledonian pine trees eventually gave
way to acres of purple heather. Above were the shady corries, where
odd little alpine plants grew, and still farther up, the plateau,
where cushions of moss campion covered the rocky land with pink
flowers in summer.

It was not until they had traveled downward
for some time that Tessa realized how high her home in the
mountains was. She looked back, trying to get some perspective on
her former abode. The mountains were beautiful, but she wondered
why her father had moved so far from his brother’s lands. Were the
brothers so different? She would know soon.

Chapter Two

The trip was
pleasant. Tessa was fond of Banaugh, who often comforted her when
her mother’s mood was particularly spiteful. “Ye’re a merry lass,”
he would tell her, “and tha’s somethin’ yer puir mother canna
understand.” Banaugh and Meg were the only things she would truly
miss about home.

As the day warmed and the path led steeply
downward, Banaugh entertained Tessa with stories of her clan, of
glorious Scottish deeds and insidious English lords, some recited
and some sung. She already knew them all, but it was good to hear
his voice, drowning out her questions about life with her
uncle.

Would she fit in? Would they be kind? Did
they know she was “outspoken and hoydenish”? What would happen if
she didn’t suit them? Tessa was not expected to return home, ever.
She was an extra mouth to feed, and her mother had solved the
problem as best she could. If her uncle could not marry her off,
she would make herself useful to the family in some way, tending
children or sewing. That was not a pleasant prospect, since Tessa
had neither the talent nor the patience for either.

Unwilling to betray her nervousness, the
girl could not help but ask Banaugh, “What sort of man is my uncle?
Do you think he will like me?”

Banaugh chuckled as he walked ahead down the
rock-strewn, winding path. “There’s few men I culd think of tha’
wuld not fall in love w’ the sight of ye, lass.” He walked on a bit
and then continued, “Macbeth was ever serious, likely to brood on
things, especially slights from others. He is one tha’ wants to do
well, and he seeks fame as yer father did not. When the twa were
boys, Kenneth was angered by th’ injustices o’ the world and wanted
t’ right them, but Macbeth saw it differently. T’ him life’s
injustices are unavoidable. Tha’ is an honest man, t’ be sure, an’
brave as they coome, but when th’ time came, I chose t’ go wi’ yer
father int’ the hills.”

“And why did he do that?” Tessa asked,
though she knew the story already.

“As youngsters, the boys saw the auld king
killed by Duncan in a fierce rebellion. Later, when yer grandfather
was slain, his sons culd do bu’ two things: fight back or leave
Glames an’ his thanedom o’ Moray to Gillacomgain, their cousin. Yer
father Kenneth ha’ seen eno’ bloodshed betwixt Scot an’ Scot. He
went int’ the mountains where life is hard bu’ he culd choose
whether he’d come doon to figh’ or no. Macbeth stayed an’ regained
his father’s land, bu’ he’s been constantly at war since: wi’ the
Scots, wi’ the Danes, wi’ th’ English. I doot it has made him a
happy man, but ’tis the way he chose. They say he is a hard man t’
know, an’ that only his lady is truly in his bosom. Still, as swee’
a thing as ye will capture his heart, I ha’ no doot.”

Banaugh seemed sure enough, and he had once
known Macbeth well. Watching her step on the treacherous hillside,
Tessa hoped he was correct.

Near the end of their journey, the two
travelers stopped by a tiny stream that tumbled down the last of
the steep slopes and then ran away across a flat into a nearby
wood. Tessa opened the pack and removed the last of their food:
cheese and two fried scones. Banaugh dipped cool, clear water into
a tin cup he carried on his belt, and they sipped from it
companionably as they ate. When the food was gone, Banaugh went off
without a word to attend to his personal business. Tessa sat
wrapped in her cloak, waiting patiently. He was an old man and
would be a while.

The day was somewhat cool, but she sat on a
rock that had warmed in the sun, the rays also warming her face.
Closing her eyes, the girl hummed a little tune, trying to picture
her uncle in her mind. Her own father had been dark and strongly
built, so she guessed his brother would be the same. She remembered
Kenneth’s warm expression, his craggy face with the many small
lines etched onto it by Scotland’s unforgiving weather. Her father
had been sickened by the violence of Scottish politics, where
brother slew brother and son slew father with no regret if it meant
power. She supposed no matter how much they looked alike, that was
the fundamental difference between the brothers macFindlaech:
Kenneth had rejected such practices, and Macbeth had accepted
them.

A noise made the girl open her eyes. Before
her, indeed too near for comfort, were three wild-looking women.
They stared at her intently and she drew back, startled. They were
an eerie trio, with disheveled hair, tattered clothes, and odd eyes
like hooded lanterns letting out small but intense rays of light.
They paraded around the rock on which Tessa sat, making muttered
sounds and little mewling cries. Recovering from her surprise
somewhat, the girl spoke with a hint of challenge in her voice to
cover her nervousness. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The muttering continued with no notice taken
of her question. One of the three reached out and took a strand of
the girl’s hair in gnarled fingers. Annoyed, Tessa pushed the hand
away. The skin felt like old paper, dry and likely to crumble. She
repeated, “Who are you?”

“On your way to England, are you?” one woman
rasped.

“Of course not,” Tessa replied. “I travel
north, away from England.” Like most Scots, Tessa had no use for
the English, who claimed they ruled Scotland. They were usually
wise enough not to try to prove it.

The crone smiled dreamily and repeated, “On
your way, on your way!”

The second spoke, her voice high and
keening. “Always seeking!” A long, grubby finger waggled under
Tessa’s nose. “You’ll find happiness only among the dead!”

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

The woman repeated, “—only among the
dead.”

The one who’d touched her hair now spoke,
her face close to Tessa’s. She was missing several teeth in front,
and her tongue slid through the gap, making her words slushy and
sibilant. “Two men who marry you, Pretty, will never be your lover,
but your true lover will forget your name!”

Tessa tried to make sense of the words, but
in the end her temper got the better of her. For one thing, each
woman repeated a part of her statement, and the cacophony became
irritating. For another, the foul odor emanating from the women, a
mixture of unwashed bodies, bad breath, and ancient, musty wool,
was nauseating. Tessa tried for a polite tone, practicing ladylike
meekness.

“I will remember what you’ve said, but
please leave me alone. I prefer to rest in peace and quiet.”

The trio laughed gleefully at this, gasping
out, “Peace and quiet! Peace and quiet!” until Tessa shut her eyes
in frustration. Suddenly there was silence, and she opened her eyes
to find them gone. There was no sign of their departure, no
rustling in the bushes or movement in the grass. They had simply
disappeared.