Macbeth's Niece (21 page)

Hawick’s eyes traveled up and down Tessa’s
frame in a way that made her blush. “So this is the king’s
niece?”

“I have said so.” Jeffrey’s eyes came up and
met Tessa’s briefly, but she could read nothing in them. “She says
I met her at Inverness when I visited Macbeth, but of course, I
remember none of it.”

“My sister has had an idea I find
interesting. The last invasion of Scotland failed, did it not?”

“I have heard it said,” Jeffrey
answered.

“True enough, Brixton. You sold your sword
to the wrong side in that instance.” Hawick had no delicacy, no
tact, when an opportunity came to belittle one who could not
challenge him on it. “Macbeth was largely responsible for
Scotland’s victory, being a capable soldier and a strong leader of
men. So the present question is, which side of this…disagreement
over the kingship should I be supporting, Macbeth as king in fact,
or Malcolm as the one named to succession?”

Jeffrey said nothing, but Tessa thought he
looked pale. Had he some idea of where Hawick’s thought was going?
She herself had no idea.

Hawick tore a piece of bread from a nearby
loaf and ate it while he continued. “My sister is by many
considered a perfect example of feminine beauty, but those who know
her well understand she possesses a mind that rivals her
appearance. She suggests that if I were married to the king’s
niece, I would be doubly blessed. First I would have a comely wench
in my bed, and second—” Here he looked at Tessa. “—I would have
access to the king of Scotland himself.” His own perceived
cleverness made Hawick’s flat face shine with delight.

Tessa almost laughed aloud. He had vastly
overestimated her importance to her uncle. She opened her mouth to
tell the man his mistake, but Jeffrey caught her eye and flashed a
look of such vehemence she almost heard the words, “For once, Tessa
macFindlaech, keep quiet!” Perhaps it was her own mind that spoke
them, because she realized in the next instant that her value as
the king’s niece was all that kept her alive at the moment.

“So I consider the institution of marriage,”
Hawick said smoothly, and the assembled company buzzed
appreciatively. Finally the man who had fetched Tessa chuckled, and
soon general laughter filled the room. Everyone seemed to know what
was going to happen except Tessa, but Hawick soon let her in on the
secret. “I keep a pet priest nearby for such ‘holy’ needs as I
might encounter, so we will knit this matter up quickly. Prepare
yourself, woman. You have one hour. We will wed this night, and I
will be king of Scotland someday because of it.”

There were cheers from his men, and Hawick
ordered more ale be brought out. Conversations broke out among
small groups as people discussed the news and what it might mean to
them. Tessa stepped closer to the table so only Hawick, Jeffrey,
and Mairie could hear her.

“The Scots would never accept you as king,”
Tessa spat at him. “You are an outlaw as well as a swine.”

There was a flicker in Hawick’s eyes, and
Tessa knew if he had his way she would pay dearly for that insult.
But he recovered himself and smiled again. “Macbeth has no
children. If he defeats the English and remains king, what better
heir to the throne than his niece’s husband? I may be an outlaw
today, but I’m willing to work my way to the kingship, as your
uncle himself did.” He and Mairie both found this remark funny.

Jeffrey smiled rather weakly and late at the
jibe, then spoke languidly from his seat, keeping his gaze hooded
and away from Tessa. “What if the English win, my friend? You’ll be
saddled with a wife whose family is disgraced.”

“Not likely,” Hawick replied. “None but we
know she’s here, and none but we will know or care what happens to
her if Macbeth is defeated.”

Tessa’s blood froze as he coolly admitted he
would kill her if she became useless to him. Her eyes sought
Jeffrey’s, but he did not look up. Mairie was at the moment
tempting him with sweetmeats from a plate before her. As he took
one, Tessa imagined the smile he managed was less than sincere.

Hawick noticed Tessa’s gaze. “Do you suppose
this one is a virgin, Brixton?”

Jeffrey’s smile froze and he spoke only
after a moment’s pause. Tessa saw the look on Mairie’s face and
knew she had taken note of his discomfort. “I don’t know m’lord.”
With Mairie’s eyes on him Jeffrey threw off the look of unease and
displayed his mask of amusement. “I have no memory of her morals,
or my own for that matter. But seeing her makes me hope that if the
opportunity arose, I was able to relieve her of that state.”

Hawick tensed for a moment at the thought
that Jeffrey might have done just that, but he relaxed with a
chuckle. “I say it matters not, for if she is a virgin, then I
alone will have the pleasure of her, and if not, then I hope you
taught her well.”

Tessa’s face burned to be discussed in this
way, and once more she wondered at the man who could bring her such
shame after promising to help her. Jeffrey continued to accept
sweets from Mairie, who glanced once at Tessa with a haughty smile
then returned her attention to her lover.

Hawick spoke to the little maid who’d waited
on Tessa. “Take her away and make her presentable.” To a man at his
left he ordered, “Have the priest here in an hour. I will become a
complete man tonight.”

The girl put her hand timidly on Tessa’s
arm, and seeing no other option, Tessa left the room with her. A
few voices called out bits of marital advice they thought humorous.
Tessa feared she would be sick but controlled her nausea for the
sake of pride.

Once they were alone, the girl, whose name
was Brenda, was as kind as she dared be. There were clothes already
laid out, fine ones. “Mistress Mairie was told to provide ye with a
wedding gown, but she didna like it much. Fine clothes are hard to
come by here, but she dares not stand against Hawick’s wishes. ’Tis
a pity your hair’s chopped off, but it ha’ plenty o’ curl, so
t’will look well enow.”

Tessa had no one to talk to but this
frightened, ignorant girl. She spoke to herself as much as to
Brenda. “I am already married.”

Brenda’s eyes widened in fear. “Oh, miss, is
it so?”

“I was married in York last summer. If I
tell—”

Brenda’s hand was on her arm. “No! He’ll
kill you!” The girl knew well how ruthless her employer was.

“You are right, but what can I do? I can’t
speak the words again.”

“True, t’ would be a deadly sin, I’m
thinkin’.” Brenda considered for a moment, her freckled face
earnest in the rush-light. “Say nothing. That’s the best. If ye say
nothing, perhaps ye’ll not really be married this second time.” It
wasn’t much. Would Hawick force her to say the words, or would it
be enough for him to go through the sham of a wedding ceremony?
Tessa had no better idea.

For such an occasion a bath was called for,
which felt good despite the circumstances. Brenda then helped Tessa
dress and adjust the gown of creamy white satin with full sleeves
and a fitted bodice. It was meant to have a colored tunic over it,
Brenda said, but it was fine enough to be worn alone for such an
occasion. The skirt was a bit long for Tessa, but her breasts were
fuller than Mairie’s so the top was tight. Brenda managed to make
it fit by slitting the bodice a bit lower, an effect that
embarrassed Tessa when she looked down. “I’m sorry, Mistress. It’s
the best I can do with sae little time.”

“What does it matter? I am to be married by
force, and in the company of men who are hateful and lawless. There
is little sense in worrying about how much of my bosom shows.”

When they’d finished Tessa’s toilette to
Brenda’s satisfaction, the two girls sat quietly in the chamber,
nothing to say. Finally a knock came on the door and a man almost
as large as the other came to fetch Tessa. He grinned when he saw
her and with exaggerated courtesy bowed her through the door. At
the last moment Brenda remembered and brought a length of sheer
fabric she draped over Tessa’s head to serve as the traditional
bridal veil. She looked back at the girl, whose face showed
sympathy for her plight. “Thank you for your kindness,” she told
Brenda, and she answered with a smile and a blush.

As she descended into the great hall again,
Tessa noticed one change. Neither Jeffrey nor Mairie was at the
table. Where had they gone? She had little time to wonder, for her
attention was taken up with her own predicament. Before her stood
Hawick, who had not bothered to change or even wipe the grease from
the meal out of his beard, and a priest who looked half-frightened
yet half-eager, probably for the payment he would receive for this
unusual wedding.

As Tessa was led reluctantly through the
crowd of waiting people, Mairie slipped back into her seat at the
head of the table. When she gestured with disgust at the mess left
from the meal, two servants cleared it away.

“Well met, Mairie. I thought you might miss
my wedding altogether with your dallying,” Hawick teased.

“I would not miss it for the world,” Mairie
responded, “but I fear Master Brixton has become lost in the castle
yard. He will not be joining us.”

Hawick chuckled. “We must only hope he does
not black the other eye stumbling around in the dark. Now, let us
begin. I grow weary and would take to my bed.” General laughter
accompanied his remark, and Tessa’s stomach tightened. For a moment
she imagined Hawick’s hands on her body, but with determination she
shut out the image. It was too much to consider. She would face the
disaster when it happened, not before.

The method suggested by Brenda to avoid the
marriage vows worked. Tessa never said a word. It seemed the priest
had not even bothered to learn her name, referring to her only as
“this woman.” When the old man asked if she took Hawick to husband,
she stood mute until someone bawled, “Of course she does, ye
ninny!” and the priest went on with a flinch. Hawick, for his part,
tried at least to be half-serious about the matter, but it was hard
with the snickers and jibes from the men of his company.

There was not much to it, and the ceremony
was over in minutes. Tessa found herself dizzy and a little
confused. Was she married to this outlaw baron or to Cedric? Oh,
Eleanor, this was not what either of us planned.

After the ceremony, such as it was, the
health of the couple was drunk many times. Tessa sat stonily beside
Hawick, who at one point planted a greasy kiss on her lips, to her
horror and to the enjoyment of his men, and then paid her no more
attention whatsoever. Mairie and her brother discussed their plans
for the future.

“The honeymoon must be short, I fear. I will
leave with my troops in the morning and march to Inverness.”

“Perhaps the plan should change a bit,”
Mairie purred. “Methinks your wedding will explain well why your
troops do not arrive to help the king until it’s too late.” She
smiled as she waited for Hawick to catch on.

“I see,” he mused. “I am so in love that I
delay my departure, and if our English informant is correct, things
will be decided before I arrive.”

“That would be much easier for you,” Mairie
said.

“True. Once we see which way the battle has
gone, I will join the winning side. If Macbeth wins, I come to him
as his newest kinsman, willing to help but a little too slow. If
the English win, I join Malcolm, claiming my intention was always
to fight on their side.”

“Once things are settled, you can decide
what to do with her. Malcolm may be won over if you deliver to him
one of the tyrant’s family as a token of your loyalty.” Mairie
hardly spared a glance at Tessa, listening to her own death
discussed for the second time that evening.

“What about Brixton? You say he remembers
nothing, but is it wise to have him about?”

“He’s easily led if one has the right
weapons.” The smile Mairie sent Tessa’s way was arch.

“My English friend tells me he’s a dangerous
man in a fight. I’ve only kept him because you enjoy his company,”
Hawick growled. “Once I saw there was no ransom, I’d have slit his
throat. What say you, Mairie? Do you trust your Englishman while I
am gone north?”

Mairie’s sly gaze rested on Tessa for a
moment before she spoke. “You are right to be concerned. I wager we
can no longer trust him at all. He has begun to remember his past,
though he pretends otherwise. Besides, he has begun to bore me. Do
with him as you like.” Her eyes went to Tessa again, waiting.

Hawick glanced about the room, seeking his
henchman Dougal. Seeing it, Tessa knew what he would be told to do
unless she thought fast. Calling herself all kinds of fool, she
spoke, hoping to save Jeffrey Brixton’s life, for no matter what he
had done to her, she could not see him murdered in his sleep.

“My lord,” Tessa said, hardly trusting her
voice to stay even. “Brixton’s family may not pay ransom for him,
but some would pay in gold.”

“And who might that be?”

Tessa put forth the strongest argument she
could think of. “If you want to gain favor with Macbeth, you would
benefit from delivering an English spy to him. Why do you think my
uncle sent me here? It was to find this Brixton, who plotted with
rebels and invaders while he was a guest in Macbeth’s own home. The
King would pay well to get his hands on Brixton.”

“Fie! Why would he send a girl and an old
man to capture an Englishman?”

Tessa remained calm, at least outwardly.
“Not to capture, only to find where he is. My uncle knew I could
identify Brixton, having traveled with him for several days when he
held me captive.”

“Brixton abducted you?”

She looked directly at Hawick for the first
time. “I’m afraid you’ve made a bad bargain, for I speak the truth.
I journeyed to England as Brixton’s prisoner, the two of us alone.
I’m sure I need not tell you what I suffered. I for one am glad the
man has lost all memory of the past, but my uncle has not
forgotten. You know how he repays his enemies.” Tessa guessed
rumors of Macbeth’s revenge on those who betrayed him had reached
Hawick’s ears, and the look on his face confirmed it.