Macbeth's Niece (6 page)

Jeffrey’s blue eyes blazed. “My hands on
you? Why, I wouldn’t touch you at all if I didn’t have to! Hell
kite!” He still held her close, and Tessa felt an odd sensation she
had never known before. It was a kind of heat in the center of her,
like melting from inside out. Fighting it back, she concentrated on
her anger.

“Then let me go, Englishman,” she said as
calmly—and as haughtily—as she could.

Brixton looked in confusion at first his
left hand, and then his right, as if they disobeyed him. Finally
they opened and released Tessa, who stepped back, face flushed and
heart pounding. Neither said a word. Brixton bent to retrieve his
journal, his face red but expressionless. Tessa stood rigid where
he’d left her, feeling a mix of emotions she did not understand.
Anger was there—she clung to that—but underneath was the heat of
his touch. Her mind whirled with an unusual urge to apologize, to
say she understood his disillusionment with life. She, too, had
been rejected—by her own mother. She hadn’t seen the treachery of
political struggle that he had, but she’d begun to understand at
Inverness Castle the false smiles and hidden hatreds between those
who had power and those who wanted it. Should she tell him she was
sorry she’d read his private thoughts?

Tessa found it difficult to form the words.
She’d never apologized to anyone but her father, and she’d been
sure of his forgiveness. “Master Brixton, I—” She turned to face
him and found he’d recovered himself, replacing the look of anger
with the one she had disliked from their first meeting, amused
scorn. His blue eyes gazed directly into hers, and one eyebrow rose
in a sort of question as his lips quivered with humor and the tiny
line appeared beside his mouth. It was his way of saying she hadn’t
hurt him, and nothing ever could.

Any desire Tessa might have had to apologize
fled. “Master Brixton, when next you enter this cabin, the
civilized thing would be to give warning. A lady shouldn’t have to
abide unannounced visits, even from an Englishman, who, of course,
knows no better.” With that she lay down on the bunk and turned her
back to Jeffrey Brixton, who stared in disbelief for a few seconds,
then exited the cabin in disgust.

Chapter
Six

By the time the little ship sailed up the
Humber, the weather had warmed considerably. They were far south of
Inverness, of course, and spring was farther advanced. Flowers had
begun to peep out of the hedges and roadsides, many Tessa had never
seen before, and their fragrance wafted over them as they journeyed
along to the west.

They left the ship at Kingston Upon Hull and
traveled on in a small fishing boat Brixton hired to take them up
the Ouse to York. Brixton Hall was actually south of the town
somewhat, so Tessa did not glimpse the sights young Rob had
described so glowingly. The home of the Brixtons was made of stone,
as befitted their station. Rising two stories in height, it was
stately but not ornate, large but not grand. Set back from the
riverbank far enough to avoid floodwaters, it was near enough for
convenient travel and provisioning. Trees as yet only lightly green
formed a backdrop, making a charming frame for the house. At the
east side were gardens and on the west various outbuildings.

Not truly a castle, the house was defensible
enough, with strong outer doors that led into an entryway with a
second set of doors. There being no immediate threat, both sets
stood open, facing the river so Tessa could see directly into the
great hall.

Jeffrey Brixton straightened and dusted his
tunic with both hands, then helped Tessa out of the boat and led
her up the path to the house. She felt very nervous, as she had
when approaching Macbeth’s castle, only worse, since these people
were not family, but enemies.

“Say nothing at all until I’ve had the
chance to explain,” Brixton ordered. She resented his tone, but the
anger that welled up helped her face her fears. “It’s not that she
won’t take you, but she shouldn’t think I assumed she would. Even
if I did,” he admitted.

Tessa recalled Jeffrey’s journal had
revealed he loved this Eleanor who was married to his brother. She
ignored him as if he had not spoken.

The great hall, the home’s center of
activity, was a large, sparsely furnished room where everyone
passed on their way to everywhere else. The ceiling was two stories
high, useful for dispersing the smoke in winter. Around the edges
of the hall were small rooms, or closets, where various people
slept. A spiral staircase circled up one side of the room, and
there were more closets upstairs, these slightly larger, for family
members. No room was terribly large, for that would make it hard to
heat in winter. At the back of the hall were the fireplace and a
door to the cookhouse outside, where meals were prepared.

Later a servant would explain to Tessa that
Brixton Hall, like other modern homes, had a specially designed
“water closet” on the second story where the back wall of the house
was extended a few feet and a board with a hole in it laid across
the span. Tessa would come to appreciate this improvement to the
outhouses she had experienced all her life.

At that moment Eleanor Brixton appeared on
the stair, and Tessa saw why she held Jeffrey’s heart. Here was a
lady from a fairy tale, one Banaugh might have described in his
stories of Tristan. Tall, willowy, and fair, she seemed to float
downstairs as she hurried to embrace Jeffrey.

“Dear little brother!” She laughed as she
greeted him, and well she could laugh, for she didn’t look a day
older than he. Her blue eyes sparkled and her skin was perfectly
white with only a faint flush of happiness at his appearance. “I
wish you had warned us of your arrival. I have made no
preparations, and William is away.”

“All the better,” Jeffrey answered
deliberately. “I would have neither of you go out of your way for
me.” But he embraced her warmly, and Tessa could see affection in
his eyes. A very different man than she had seen thus far.

“And have you brought home a wife, then?”
Eleanor stepped back and examined Tessa. Her gaze was good-humored,
and no jealousy showed in her face. Tessa knew her appearance could
not be flattering after days aboard ship, and she blushed under
Eleanor’s gaze. The lady herself was elegantly turned out in a
dun-colored dress with long, tight sleeves and softly draped skirt.
A simple garment, but on Eleanor it was transformed into
loveliness. While Tessa had hurriedly braided her thick hair into
two long plaits as the best she could do, Eleanor’s blond hair was
gathered smoothly at the back of her neck and tied up in a snood of
the same color as her dress. To her credit, the lady seemed not to
notice Tessa’s disheveled state.

“No, this is no wife of mine,” Jeffrey
responded to Eleanor’s question. “She is the niece of a friend, who
asked me to watch over her while he is on business.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows rose. “This friend left a
young female in the care of a man only a few years older? Is he
mad? He can’t know you as I do, and trust you would not harm her.”
Tessa, searching for clues to their relationship, reacted to the
lady’s assumption. Was she so sure of his love that she had no
doubts as to his fidelity?

Tessa almost spoke, but Brixton’s grip on
her arm tightened. “The Scots’ ways are different from ours.”

“I would say so,” was the woman’s reply.
“But Jeffrey, she cannot travel around England with you
willy-nilly. She must stay here with us until it’s time for her to
return to her family.”

The grip on Tessa’s arm relaxed a bit. He’d
got what he wanted. Tessa guessed he was used to it, with his looks
and the charm he exuded when it suited. “You are kind, Eleanor, as
always.” He smiled wryly. “Truthfully, I hoped you would ask. The
girl is a detriment to my work.”

“Then it’s settled. Will you introduce us,
or must we acquaint ourselves?”

Jeffrey’s handsome face showed consternation
and his feet shuffled nervously as he struggled for an answer and
finally gave up. “Acquaint yourself with her, Eleanor, for I’m
blessed if I know the girl’s name.”

Eleanor looked confused, then incredulous,
then amused. “Jeffrey, Jeffrey,” she admonished. “What other man
could travel from Scotland with a lovely young woman and never
think to ask her name?” She turned to Tessa. “I apologize for my
brother-in-law. He thinks only of war and combat and has no time
for the fair sex. I am Eleanor Brixton, and I welcome you to
Brixton Hall.”

Tessa responded unconsciously to the first
kindness she’d experienced in days. “I thank you, Madame. I am
Tessa of the clan macFindlaech, and I appreciate being in the
company of civilized folk once more.” She glanced at Brixton as she
said this, and he rolled his eyes in aggravation. Eleanor saw but
went on without comment, taking Tessa’s arm and leading her into
the house.

In a very few minutes, Tessa was established
in a small closet off the main hall which held a pallet, a stand
with a pitcher and basin, a peg for her cloak, and a stool.
Eleanor, noticing she had no personal belongings, gave Jeffrey a
probing look and promised a hairbrush and other items she would
need. She then left Tessa to rest, telling her a bell would ring
when the evening meal was ready. “You must sit beside me, Mistress
macFindlaech, so I can learn more about you,” Eleanor said in
farewell.

Tessa found she actually needed rest, for
though she’d had little activity on the two boats, she’d slept
fitfully due to the movement of the waves and her own disquiet.
Nodding, she wondered briefly what Jeffrey Brixton would tell his
sister-in-law when they were alone. How would he explain her to his
lover?

When Tessa awoke, there was a small pile of
items on the stool beside her pallet. She was delighted to find a
clean dress and undershift, both long for her, which she took to
mean they were Eleanor’s own. The dress was a deep blue, and a
girdle of bleached hemp was folded inside it. There was a rough
cloth to wash with, and the water in the pitcher was warm. She
washed, put on the clean clothes, and brushed her hair, putting
into its heavy waves two combs made of some type of shell. The last
gift, a pair of soft slippers, were also too big, but she could
keep them on if she shuffled a bit.

As she finished her toilette, the bell rang
for dinner, and Tessa pulled back the curtain to find the hall
transformed. The trestles had been brought out, and the boards laid
across them were laden with food. Some people milled about, some
hurried back and forth with more trays of food, and still others
were already at table, their knives ready.

Eleanor spotted Tessa and gave her
brother-in-law a push in her direction. Reluctantly, Jeffrey
approached Tessa and offered his arm. He spoke sidewise to her as
they moved to their places. “Eleanor knows your story, for I could
not lie to her. She will tell no one else the truth and will treat
you as a guest. If you insist on airing your troubles, I will take
you off in the morning and leave you in an alley in York where you
may fend for yourself. It’s your choice.”

What choice was that? Tessa asked herself as
she looked at the tables crowded with alien, curious faces. No one
here was going to help her get back to Scotland to warn her uncle
that the English and Norwegians were plotting with rebels to
overthrow the king. She was alone in a country of enemies, or at
the very least, not friends. “I understand,” she told Brixton. “But
you must understand that someday I will repay you for the ruin of
my life. I have nothing now, no family, no home, and no reputation,
and it is your doing.” This last was whispered in a hiss, as they
kept the appearance of amity between them.

Jeffrey, his face a mask and his arm stiff
beneath Tessa’s, seated her next to Eleanor and went to his own
place across the table. When she looked at him next, the expression
of amused scorn was back, as if to let her know Jeffrey Brixton was
not one to succumb to threats or worry about earning the hatred of
one small Scottish girl. She turned to the meal, but the food was
oddly tasteless and the wine bitter on her tongue.

The next morning Tessa awoke early, before
most of the household was astir. She had always been an early riser
and liked the quiet time in the morning when no one else was about.
After briefly exploring the castle, she decided to walk outside and
orient herself so that if the chance to escape ever came, she would
be familiar with the grounds and the habits of the workers. Pulling
her cape from its peg by the door, she stepped out into the
mist.

Being a mountain girl, Tessa was used to
morning fog, thick and damp, which chilled as one passed through
it. The difference in York was the elevation. The fog was thinner,
more ethereal, like dust settled on the countryside. She expected
it would pass off more quickly than at home, since the land was
much flatter hereabouts. Once that happened, she saw, the day would
be pleasant. Passing buildings they’d come by the day before, she
saw all the crafts essential to country living: a blacksmith, a
leather worker, a brewer, and various others. Most had begun to
stir, opening doors and checking the weather, some sniffing the air
testily, others peering at the sky with speculative eye, a few
apparently with eyes not yet focused. Farther off, on the
riverbank, was a mill operated by the power of the flowing water,
and behind the house were the stables, far enough removed to lessen
the odor of manure but close enough for convenience.

Between the river and the house was a
vegetable garden, as yet unplanted but showing evidence of
preparation: turned soil and tools scattered about. Closer in was a
low wall separating the house from its surroundings, and here lay
the flower garden. Again, not much variety yet, just early
daffodils and jonquils, but it was quite large, with stones laid
out for walkways and trees and bushes of various heights to provide
interest and privacy. It would be lovely when the sun shone and one
could see the whole without the tendrils of mist that obscured
parts of it. Someone cared deeply about encouraging the beauty of
nature, and Tessa knew instinctively it must be Eleanor
herself.