Macbeth's Niece (26 page)

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Authors: Peg Herring

Tags: #romance, #adventure, #scotland, #witches, #sweet, #spy, #medieval, #macbeth, #outlaws, #highlands

BOOK: Macbeth's Niece
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“Go ahead, Banaugh. It will be all right.”
She smiled at Ayla, who for some reason inspired trust. The two
left with their escorts, and Tessa found herself alone with the
pitifully deformed woman, who had as yet not spoken a word.

Recalling Jamie’s warning that Miriam was
“odd” and believed by some to be a witch, Tessa tried to look past
the obvious ugliness and find the personality beneath. The woman
let her form her own impression, saying nothing. She supposed this
place could be another like Hawick’s, where travelers were held for
ransom or perhaps murdered for their goods, but she did not think
so. In this woman’s eyes Tessa saw only interest, not the greed so
easily read in Hawick’s expression or the self-interest in
Mairie’s. Truth would do here, not all of it, perhaps, but
most.

“You seek news of Macbeth?” she asked the
woman.

“Yes,” the voice was surprisingly strong,
belying her physical weakness. “It is important to my people that
we know what lies before us.”

Did the woman hope to see the king deposed?
Many did, judging from talk she and Banaugh had heard on the trip
north. The woman interrupted her thoughts with an assurance, for
the first time showing some humanity. “You should know, whoever you
may be, that I wish the king well, and I care not who knows it. He
has been for many years our friend, and lately our liege lord. He
and my husband traveled together as young men, to Spain, where we
became friends. He was present at my wedding to Arbeen
Arleigh.”

Tessa’s surprise must have shown plainly,
for the lady chuckled. Her explanation explained the odd
differences in the castle’s furnishings, the exotic look of the
servant girl Ayla, and the stories and rumors Jamie had heard of
this place and this woman. Her foreignness alone would have been
enough to convince the superstitious locals she was a witch.
Digesting the information about her friendship with Macbeth, Tessa
revised her assessment of the situation. Here was an ally who might
be trusted with all of the truth. Still, she was cautious.

“I cannot tell you the final outcome, but I
was with the king when the battle began. The English troops,
supporting Malcolm Canmore, came upon his castle in great strength.
Many of the king’s troops deserted him in the days before, and many
fled with us as we escaped. The king chose to leave the castle and
meet his enemies full on.” Here the image of her uncle’s despairing
mien as he made that decision overpowered her, and her eyes filled
with tears.

“He sent you to safety?” The dark eyes
showed understanding that this girl disguised as a peasant boy was
somehow valuable to Macbeth. Tessa wondered how she had guessed
that of the three visitors, this one was more than appearances
indicated.

“Yes. He had lost so much, he said. He
wanted me to live. I—” The tensions of her last encounter and the
escape caught up with her again, and Tessa fought back tears. “—I
doubt he has survived, though he had some hope of it, claiming he
cannot be killed.”

“By a man born of woman. Yes, he told me.”
The old woman’s tone revealed disbelief in Macbeth’s claim, and
Tessa’s eyes widened at the information. “Perhaps I should explain
who I am, and that will give you some idea of how much you will
want to trust me.” This was said in a matter-of-fact tone,
acknowledging the need Tessa might feel to lie, or at least
withhold some facts. “Twenty years ago, more or less, I lived in
Spain. I am a Moor. Are you acquainted with my people?”

Tessa blushed and admitted she knew little
aside from the fact that the Moors ruled Spain and were of a
religion other than Christian. She had vague memories of her
father’s stories of his travels and of the Islamic Spaniards who
had befriended him. She recalled tales of their odd customs, their
interesting religion, and their impressive accomplishments.

Miriam smiled. “My people came from Africa
three hundred years ago and conquered the Gothic tribes of Spain.
Although we are Muslims, followers of the Prophet Mohammed, we
gained the respect of many Christians because of our devotion to
learning. Still, our empire has begun to fail of late, and it’s
only a matter of time until we are driven from Spain. The vizier,
Almazor, struggles to keep his power, but there is dissention
within the government and strong movements outside it to
Christianize Spain once more. It is sad to see the end of an era
when Christians and Muslims lived together in peace.”

Miriam examined her claw-like hands for a
moment. “Of course, I cared little about history and politics as a
girl. I grew up in a beautiful city called Granada where my
father’s wealth provided me with lovely things, a good education,
and a happy childhood. When I was fifteen, three young men came
into my life. They were on a sort of discovery tour, traveling
through Europe as knights-errant, winning tournaments and sampling
the delights of each city they visited. They would never have come
into contact with us except for an unusual circumstance.”

“As my father returned form a business trip,
word got out he carried a large sum of money. A band of brigands
attacked his party, killing the two guards he’d hired. He managed
to ride off, but the robbers pursued and would have overtaken him
except for the three young men I mentioned earlier. Seeing his
situation they came to his rescue, defeating all six bandits and
killing two. My father was so grateful that he invited these young
men to stay in his home, where he rewarded them and ordered a
banquet in their honor.”

“And there you met them?”

The woman smiled and her ravaged face was
transformed. “Not at first. It is not the custom among Muslims to
introduce females of the household to guests. Still, my father was
very proud of me, and especially of my musical talent. He was not
as strict as some, and after several visits, when the young men had
shown themselves to be honorable sorts and good companions, he
asked me to sing and play the lute for them. I did so, completely
veiled, of course, but I became enthralled with these three giants,
Arbeen in particular.

“I arranged to play for them more and more
often.” She stopped momentarily and looked again at her hands, now
twisted and useless with huge lumps at the joints. “I was a good
musician—before this. Arbeen was always soothed by the sound of my
lute, and he used to beg me to play in the evenings, until he saw
how much it hurt me. My husband was always concerned for my
comfort, even at the last, when he was in such pain himself.”

Her voice took on a dreamy quality, as if
she had forgotten Tessa was there. “His heart failed him, and he
slowly faded from the man I fell in love with in Granada to a
pitiful shell, unable to cross this room without tiring. Still, I
loved him just as much as—” With an effort, Miriam pulled herself
back to the story.

“At any rate, much to my father’s dismay, I
found myself in love with this pale-skinned, red-haired Scotsman,
and he with me. We began meeting in secret, with his two friends
playing Cupid by distracting Father’s attention. They would ask him
to take them hawking or riding, and Arbeen would claim prior
engagements. I would tell my chaperone I simply must visit the
marketplace, and there he would be. The poor woman didn’t know
whose anger to fear more, mine or my father’s, but in the end I
won.”

Miriam shifted her body to a less painful
position, and the chair squeaked in protest. “I was a headstrong
girl, you see, determined to have my way. In the end I told my
father I would marry Arbeen and no other. At first he raged,
threatened to lock me away, threatened to marry me to the first
Muslim who would have such a witless woman, but I knew him well.
Father could deny me nothing, and in the end I got my
Scotsman.”

Tessa imagined the shocked reaction of
Miriam’s friends and family. The Moors considered themselves more
advanced than Europeans in general, but Scots were seen as mere
tribesmen with no culture whatsoever. The wedding must have been
the talk of Granada for months.

“My father gave in,” the lady continued, “on
the condition Arbeen agreed to live in Granada. His two friends
returned to Scotland without him. He tried to be happy there, but I
knew he missed his homeland. When my father died, I suggested we
come here to live, and I have never looked back.” The lady’s lips
closed as if she could tell more but would not. Living here had
probably not been easy for her.

Clarification was needed on one point,
though Tessa thought she knew the answer. “The two companions who
accompanied your husband to Granada?”

“Macbeth and Kenneth macFindlaech,” came the
brusque answer, “as if you did not already know. Did your father
not tell you of his friend and his Arab wife?”

Tessa blushed. “He did, but it was like the
tales of fairies he also told. I was never sure it was true, and he
did not know you had come to Scotland.”

Miriam nodded. “Kenneth had by then rejected
Scottish politics and moved into the hills. He was always the
gentler of the two, careful of everyone’s feelings and concerned
with the wrongs of the world.” She smiled. “He fretted over our
marriage, fearing we would be outcasts.”

“And were you?”

Miriam considered her answer. “We were, but
it meant little to us since we wanted only each other’s company.
The Moors snubbed Arbeen’s lack of sophistication, and the Scots
refused to accept my race and religion. Aside from your uncle and a
few others, we were left to ourselves.”

“How did you know he is my uncle? I never
said so.”

Miriam’s smiled slyly. “You wonder if the
tales of witchcraft might be true. It is not magic I practice,
merely deduction and years of observation. You have your father’s
eyes and his way of tilting your head to one side when you ask a
question. Macbeth took pains to get you away from danger, which
means he cares about you. I know he has but one brother—” She
shrugged expressively.

“Had. My father died several years ago.”

“I am sorry. Kenneth was a good man.” She
smiled in remembrance. “I think I could have fallen in love with
any of them back then. They were so big and full of life, so
different from what I had known.”

“I’m sure they were impressed with you as
well.”

“In those days I was not as you see me, of
course. I was thought a beauty. Even the Scottish bigots admitted
that: ‘Poor Arbeen—blinded by the charms of a heathen.’
This…affliction came on slowly, over the years, first just
stiffness in the joints, then more and more difficulty, until I
could no longer walk, or weave, or even hold a book.” It appeared
the last was the most difficult to accept.

“You saw my uncle recently?”

“Yes. He had not been here since Arbeen’s
funeral, but about ten days ago he appeared at the lakeshore,
looking lost and half-dazed. Hamish brought him across in a boat,
and he stayed a few hours, telling strange things.”

Tessa nodded. “About three weird women?”

Miriam’s eyes showed interest. “You know of
them?”

“I have met them.”

“They said he could not be killed by an
ordinary man.”

“He said something of the same to me. I
don’t remember the exact words.”

“‘No man of woman born shall harm Macbeth,’”
Miriam quoted.

“When they predicted my future, I thought
them mad,” Tessa said, biting her lip, “but the things they said
came true. Not in the way I imagined, but true, nonetheless.”
Suddenly she felt weary beyond speech. So much had happened to her
since she first met those three. They had foreseen, if not
engineered, the ruination of her family. Tears stung her eyes.

“I would be interested in hearing more about
that,” said Miriam, her face softening at the girl’s unhappiness,
“but I have worn you out with an old woman’s babbling.”

Ayla appeared in the doorway, where she
probably had awaited some signal from the lady of the manor. “It is
almost time to eat, and you have had no chance to refresh
yourself.” Miriam gestured to Ayla, who moved to a small closet
directly off the large room, gesturing for Tessa to follow. “We
will continue our conversation later, if you are so inclined,”
Miriam said as a servant came forward to assist her, pushing the
chair from the room.

Once inside the smaller room, Ayla pulled a
curtain for privacy and invited Tessa to sit on a small cot while
they waited for the things she had arranged for her guest’s
comfort. She sat on a nearby stool.

“You will feel better when you have bathed
and changed. I’ve had your things brought up from the boat.”

“You are very kind.” Tessa breathed a sigh
of some depth. “I’ve had so many surprises today I don’t know how I
feel. We were not sure if our presence here would be welcome or
not.” She didn’t say what she had heard.

“The lady allows tales of her prickliness to
circulate. It discourages visitors.” Ayla smiled. “Mystery and dark
hints are her way of protecting her territory. I am sorry if Hamish
frightened you on the tarn. He is utterly devoted to our lady, but
he is sometimes formidable.” An understatement, but it was good to
hear he was loyal to Miriam. “Hamish is responsible for our
defense, but you will see we are very few in number. This has made
him rather more serious than he was in the past, when he was only
one of Arbeen’s lieutenants.”

“I’m sure it’s a strain to be in charge of
the lady’s lands as well as her safety.”

“Laird Arleigh trusted Hamish completely.
Because he was away much of the time from his lands in his younger
days, he refortified this old crannog to make it difficult for
invaders to reach. Since it lies upriver and away from main travel
ways, there aren’t many passers-by, and we have had no trouble.
Still, since the laird’s death, Hamish spends much time inspecting,
repairing and watching.” She sounded almost angry at her
protector’s industriousness.

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