Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  And Matilda? Her face was veiled, but I had no doubt she would be radiant. After all, this man was the one whom she desired above all others, and she had no idea that her feelings for him were a result of black magic and witchcraft. I wondered how long before the spell wore off and she realised what she had done. For her sake, I prayed it would not be for some considerable time, at least, not until she was with child and had a babe to focus her love and attention on.

  Still, she was no worse off than I had been when my father had arranged my marriage to Rhain. At least Matilda had actually met her husband-to-be before the ceremony. And she had been bred for this, she was well aware of her duty and responsibility.

  When the vows had been said and the veil lifted for William to claim his bride, Matilda’s expression surprised me. I had been expecting calf-sick love, but what I saw lurking behind the radiance was the same satisfaction that was in Arlette’s face, and a degree of glee to go with it.

  Matilda had got what she wanted.

  If I didn’t know better, I might have thought that the young bride knew exactly what it was she had got – and what she had got was the chance to be England’s queen.

  Chapter 16

  The taste of salt had been on my lips for two days and two nights, and still the journey was not yet done. I was desperate to wash the brine from my skin and hair, and I could feel the stiffness of it on my clothes, especially on my finely-spun, red, woollen cloak with the otter fur around the hood. Arlette had instructed the seamstresses to kit me out with a wardrobe suitable for her ambassador. I did laugh aloud at that. Ambassador indeed! Spy was more like it and no matter what she called me, “slave” was my true name. I had taken advantage of her offer, and had requested otter fur for the cloak’s lining. It seemed fitting somehow, to return to England wearing the fur of the same creature as that which I had been wearing when I left, all those years ago.

  I was in my accustomed place at the prow of the ship, facing into the wind, letting the spray blow into my face as I waited eagerly for the sight of land. The smudge on the horizon had been to the north-west since yesterday, off the port side. I had expected it to be straight ahead, but William had patiently explained that the flotilla of ships had not set sail from Cherbourg on a direct northward course, but instead was traversing the English Channel in an easterly direction, letting the flow of the current sweep us away from Normandy and up towards the North Sea. The current would take us through the narrow straight with English Dover on the one side and French Calais on the other, and around the headland. From there, it was a relatively easy swing due west and into the River Thames. Apparently, we could have landed anywhere on the south coast and ridden to London, but William wanted King Edward to see the might of his fleet. And of course, William rode in the biggest of them all, his flagship.

  As the channel narrowed and the purple of the distant land which flanked us on either side grew nearer, the fleet edged closer to England. I watched, awestruck, as mighty white cliffs hoved into view, shining in the mid-afternoon sun. William assured me that we would not attempt to land there, and that we would be at sea for the rest of this day and night. He planned on sailing up The Thames and into Edward’s heartland in the bright glare of the morning. He wanted England and her people to remember the sight.

  We stood in companionable silence, watching England pass by in all her glory.

  ‘One day this will be mine,’ he said, and I did not doubt for one minute that William spoke the truth. After all, Herleva had foretold it, although William’s ambition and determination were probably enough on their own to secure the crown.

  He had a look of deep, unbridled joy on his face, and his eyes were fierce, like a hawk spotting its prey. The afternoon sun caught the russet glints in his hair as he stood, one leg cocked, shoulders back, chin up, defying both the elements and the gods alike, and I felt a surge of pride.

  I had helped fashion this man. Me! Herleva might have brought him forth with her magic, and Arlette may have brought him forth with her body, but I had helped keep him safe. I had helped mould him, tutor him, love him. Others, like Walter, had played their part, although I could not deny that if it had not been for Walter’s skill with the sword, our boy might not have lived to manhood. But I had been the one he had turned to when he was little and his mother had been too busy with affairs of state and trying to run a dukedom that she’d had no training for and no entitlement to. It had been hard on her, I admit. So little William had turned to me, and I had loved him for it. I still did.

  He continued to turn to me even though he was no longer a boy, although since my recent illness he had a certain wariness in his eyes. I suspected that it would never go away. Something like that could not be unseen or forgotten. Yet, he had done his part in nursing me back to health and with the memory of his care fresh in my mind, I put a hand to my side and felt for the wound. It had long since healed, but the scar was still rather tender.

  ‘Does it pain you?’ Trust William to notice – nothing escaped him.

  ‘A little, Sire,’ I admitted, and he threw back his head and laughed at my premature use of the address, as I had hoped he would. He was not “Sire” yet, but he would be, one day.

  ‘I do love you, Cat,’ he said, and not for the first time I wondered at the nickname He had often called me Cat, and from a very young age, too. Maybe he had known all along what I truly was, but he had never been forced to admit it to himself before that dreadful day when I had changed form in his arms.

  It was one thing knowing something in your heart, but it was another thing being forced to witness it with your own eyes. No wonder he was wary of me.

  The taste of the air changed as we entered the North Sea. It was nothing tangible, more of a feeling. Although the land to our left varied only a little, there seemed to be a new wildness to it, and to the sea itself. This was the Danes’ sea, the one they had crossed again and again in their repeated raids on England from Denmark, and though I understood that Denmark was much further away from England than Normandy was, the Danes’ influence tainted the breeze on which we sailed. Edward was safely ensconced as England’s king but the Danes, Godwin in particular, was hard on his heels, harrying and snapping at him, hoping to bring him down and reclaim the throne for themselves.

  ‘I wonder if Edward has changed much?’ I mused. ‘He was a trifle effeminate when he was younger.’

  ‘Of course!’ William cried. ‘I had forgotten you knew him. My mother once told me that you travelled with him and his brother from England to Normandy.’

  ‘I did. Prince Alfred smuggled me out of Wessex after I killed a man.’

  He dipped his head to me. ‘Pray tell.’

  I could have sworn he already knew the story, but I obliged him and retold it anyway. ‘The man murdered my husband, so I thought I would return the favour.’

  William threw his head back and barked out a sharp laugh. ‘You are always full of surprises, Cat.’

  I most certainly was, and he was aware of most of them. The only one he did not have full knowledge of was my relationship with his mother, and the dark magic at the heart of it. It occurred to me that he may not realise that I was totally and utterly bound to Arlette, but I was not about to share that with him, nor the fact that I could not wait for her to die. Unfortunately (for me) she most likely had a good few years left in her yet, and could foreseeably live for another thirty.

  The thought panicked me and I took several deep draughts of salt-laden air until my heartbeat returned to normal, telling myself that it didn’t matter if I remained in her thrall for one year or ten – I would emerge from it in the same state as I went into it, and not a day older, although I hoped I would be considerably wiser.

  ‘What ails you?’ William asked, and I recounted the tale of my near-drowning on the short crossing of the River Severn, to explain away my anxiety.

  ‘You have done well to control your fear of the sea,’ he said, draping an arm around my shoulders. ‘I would never hav
e guessed. Never mind, we will soon be turning from the North Sea and into the Thames. The captain assures me that it should be an easy journey as we are set to hit the tide right.’

  I sent him a questioning look.

  ‘The Thames is a tidal river at its mouth, and my fleet will rely on the incoming tide to carry us a goodly distance inland, although at some point we will be forced to row against the might of the river.’ He shrugged. ‘It will not be for long.’

  We stood side by side in silence for a while, until hunger drove us to seek food and wine, and by the time we had devoured our meal William’s attention was demanded by his lieutenants, and I was once more left to my solitary vigil at the prow. So it was I who first saw the discolouration in the water and realised the point when we turned inward. Before long, the ships were battling the waves, as the force of the river met the might of the sea, the deck surging and dipping, and I clung to the nearest rope for dear life, terrified that I was going to be flung overboard, yet too scared to move from my spot and relinquish my grip on the rope.

  William chuckled when he saw me. He strode about the deck, impervious to its tossing and rolling, as if he had been born to be a sailor, defying the elements. A surge of pride overtook me – he was so very handsome (in a gruff way), broad-shouldered, tall… So much taller than his diminutive wife. He could tuck Matilda under his arm without her having to stoop. What did the feisty lady think of her new husband, I wondered, and I hoped he had gotten his new bride with child already.

  ‘There! See?’ William cried, and a rush of knights and other assorted nobles scurried to the prow.

  In the distance, the air was blue with the smoke from a thousand fires, yet through the haze, a fortress built of stone was clearly visible.

  ‘Is Edward there?’ one of William’s knights asked. ‘I expected him to be at Winchester.’

  I wanted to know the answer to that question, too. Winchester was the base of Edward’s power, his capital, so why had we travelled to London?

  William said with surety, ‘He is there.’ He gave a wolfish smile. ‘The Danes would also expect us to meet Edward in Winchester, would they not?’

  Ah, I see. William was always fond of doing the unexpected.

  I hung over the rail, eager to see my homeland. Except, this was not strictly mine, was it? I was born a good few days ride away, and from what I could see of the land either side of this mighty river, it was nothing like the wild hills where I had been born and raised. This was a gentler vista, of rolling plains, and subtle green valleys, and patches of higher ground. I would bet my right arm that come the spring snowmelt, this land would flood, but we would be home long before the winter set in.

  I paused – home. Was that Normandy, which had been my home for as long as Wales had been? Angrily, I dashed a stray lock of hair from my face. I had no idea where I belonged anymore. Where was home?

  A longing for the fast-flowing streams and the sheep grazing on the moorland high above Llandarog almost felled me. It had been many seasons since I had felt as homesick as this, and sick was more than accurate to describe the feeling sweeping through my heart and my soul.

  Quick, think of less painful things. Meeting Edward – that would do. I wondered if he wore his kingship in a more manly fashion, and another little pang from the past hit me. Alfred. He would have made a far more fitting king in terms of looks and presence, I thought. But then, England had enjoyed ten years with Edward at the helm and those years had been peaceful enough, I supposed, so maybe the brother who wore the crown had been the right one after all. What did I know about kings, and rulers, and affairs of state, anyway? I just did as I was told and tried to stay out of trouble.

  Which brought me back to thinking about Arlette. I cannot recall her care of me, nor what she did to save my life, and possibly that was a good thing. I did not know whether she used her dark arts, or whether it was simple herb-law, but save my life she did, and I didn’t know whether to thank her for it or curse her. I had been ready to die. I had made my peace, though there had been a certain amount of fear. I was not scared of the dying part, I was scared of the ever-after part and what it might entail. It was a long time since I had felt God in my heart, and I worried that He had abandoned me. Being spelled into a cat was not my fault and I would be dismayed if the Almighty were to punish me for it, but the killing of a man was not to be so easily forgiven, I suspected. And it had not just been Idris, had it? There had been others since, too many of them, and although their deaths had been to preserve William’s life, murder was murder, however I wanted to couch it. So, maybe I had not been as ready to meet my maker as I had thought…?

  I hung back, firstly to let the sailors do their work of bringing the ship into its mooring then, as befitting a woman of little note, I kept to the rear of William and his entourage as we disembarked.

  Edward did not meet us himself, and I sensed William’s ire at the supposed slight, though he hid it well as he stalked down the gangplank towards the waiting welcoming party.

  It was not clear to me whether King Edward knew the story and if he did, whether he deemed it to be of no matter. Or whether the act was deliberate and calculated on his behalf – because the man he had sent in his place to greet William, Duke of Normandy, and the soon-to-be-named heir to the English throne, was none other than the man who William’s new wife had thrown herself so unashamedly at.

  Brihtric Mau.

  Chapter 17

  I understood enough of the old Saxon language to know that “Mau” meant snow. I also knew enough to know that Brihtric was probably more powerful that Godwin – he was certainly as wealthy.

  A little of that wealth showed today, for his garments were impeccably made and of the finest quality cloth. Yet, he seemed to wear them with a carelessness and a certain lack of regard for them. For some reason, and I have no idea what put the idea in my head for he did not look as much like a fighting man as William did, I sensed he would be happier with a sword in his hand and a horse underneath him.

  A sudden blush swept up my chest and into my cheeks. An image of myself underneath him rather than his horse, was so vivid it stole my breath, and in a heartbeat, I saw why Matilda fell for him.

  He was by far the most handsome man I had ever clapped eyes on. With his short, white-blond hair and fair skin, it was no wonder he was called “snow”. Eyes bluer than a lake in summer regarded William with a steady gaze, and a firm mouth resided in a close-cropped, well-trimmed beard.

  Poor Matilda – the maid had not stood a chance. I was not sure whether I did, either. My heart did a slow roll and a stab of excitement hit me in the belly. He was more handsome in the flesh than he had appeared in the skull, and once again, I felt the same shiver run down my spine, as I had felt when Arlette had shown me his face in that repulsive liquid.

  I had never met him before, but I felt I knew him already…

  William, at first unaware of who this man was, had greeted him with the easy grace he was capable of when he put his mind to it, but as soon as Brihtric was introduced the set of the Duke’s shoulders stiffened and his head came up. I could not see his face, for I was directly behind him, but his stance told me all I needed to know.

  With haste, I pushed through the throng, not caring whose toes I trod on nor whether they were actual flesh and bone toes, or merely hurt sensibilities – it was imperative I reached William’s side before he did anything he would most certainly regret. The future of England hung on the next few heartbeats. The future of William himself was in my hands.

  It had taken less than the blink of an eye to reach his side, and I laid a warning hand on his arm. He tried to shake me off, his attention fixed firmly on the fair-haired god before him, and I knew he was weighing up the comparisons between himself and the former rival for his wife’s affections, and finding himself wanting. Like a hound protecting his bitch, he bristled and if he’d had a tail it would have been standing at full mast.

  I kept my grip, increasing the pressure on
his arm, and hissed in his ear, ‘Calm yourself, your lordship.’

  The unaccustomed address did the trick, though it took a moment for the Duke to compose himself. He pasted a smile on his face which did not reach his eyes, and met Brihtric’s bow with a brief and stilted one of his own.

  To his credit, the other man’s face gave nothing away, but he must have noted William’s reaction and he surely guessed its cause.

  Crisis averted for now, I vowed to keep a close eye on William. It would not do for him to seek revenge on his wife’s honour, though I knew William would do it in such a manner that no blame would lead to his door. That was as may be, but the man did not deserve William’s wrath, if the tale of Matilda’s infatuation was true. Even Arlette had acknowledged that Brihtric had not bedded her, and subsequent gossip had led me to believe that Brihtric had let her down as gently as possible, considering the circumstances.

  Regardless of this, I still did not trust the man, however gentlemanly he had acted towards Matilda. Why would a man so high in favour with the King of England, turn down an offer to marry one of the most marriageable and desirable women on earth? He must have an ulterior motive, for the wealth, the prestige, and the status such a union would have brought him almost equalled the wealth, prestige, and status it had brought to William.

  With a silent vow to try to discover the reason, and for no other purpose than to satisfy my own avid curiosity, I followed the two men and their various nobles on the short walk to the fortress.

  It was impressive, I gave Edward that. Not as grand as the ducal palace which belonged to Baldwin, Matilda’s father, and not as fortified as William’s own castles in Fecamp and Falaise, it was nevertheless imposing. It was clearly a work in progress, for there was still much to be done, but the main hall was large, with high vaulted ceilings and rich tapestries on the walls. Edward, it appeared, was as keen to show off his wealth as every other man I had ever met.