Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  And, talking of Edward, there was the fellow himself, seated on a raised platform at the far end of his long hall, perched on a throne of gleaming silver metal, surrounded by his courtiers, nobles, and men of high office.

  As he graciously welcomed William, I realised that Edward had not changed much in the years since I last saw him. If anything, he had grown more effeminate, as though it had been Alfred who had anchored him to his manliness and now that his brother was dead, Edward was free to follow his true nature. His voice was higher pitched than I remembered, and his gestures were slow and languid, with a certain womanliness to them. He kept shooting laden glances at a man standing to his right, and every now and again, he would reach out to pat the courtier on the arm. Edward clearly had a love interest, and it was not his wife.

  I had nothing against Edward, but I did feel sorry for Edith, his queen, and I wasn’t surprised that she was not at her husband’s side. If I wore her shoes, I would want to spare myself the sight of my husband fawning over another man, too.

  There could also be another reason– Godwin. Edith might have had no choice in the matter of whether she was here or not. Edward might have instructed her not to attend him, and it probably wasn’t sensitivity for Edith’s feelings at having her father, mother, and brothers exiled, and a Norman to be declared England’s heir, which was causing her absence, but rather that Edward did not want his wife to witness his meeting with William. Although it was not a secret (too many people from both sides of the Channel were present, and besides, keeping a secret this large would be impossible in any court), I expected that Edward did not want to see his wife’s disapproval as he promised the crown of England to a stranger and a foreigner to boot.

  How she must be cursing the lack of an heir from her own body, but with Edward’s inclinations still leaning so firmly towards the masculine sex then she would continue to be disappointed, and I wondered if the marriage had actually been consummated.

  To my shame, I was pleased. Edith’s loss was William’s gain, and I was more than happy that she was childless.

  Ignoring the guilt niggling at me for delighting in another woman’s misfortune, I tried to concentrate on my surroundings, committing strangers’ faces to memory and trying to identify who held power and who could be safely ignored. But the memory of my own barren state intruded on my thoughts, and I could not help feeling a smidgeon of pity for this woman whom I had never met, and her undoubted sadness. She had probably never known the joys of the marriage bed and, unless Edward died, she never would, yet the blame for the lack of progeny would be placed firmly at her door, for Edward would never admit that his lance was not up to the job of piercing his wife. She would be forever known as a barren queen, which was unjust when the fault lay with the dog and not the bitch. Such was the way of the world, and sometimes its unfairness stung.

  Brihtric Mau caught my eye again as he moved into view to stand behind, and slightly to the right of his king. If regency were dictated by looks, Brihtric would be a ruler indeed. In appearance, he was far more kingly than the only man in the room who was seated, and he seemed more relaxed and more confident than Edward too, who was picking nervously at the ermine on the sleeve of his surcoat, his gaze roving unceasingly around the hall and failing to settle on any one thing, unless it was the effeminate courtier by his side. I had the impression that Edward would like to be anywhere other than in this room.

  The usual pomp, ceremony, and posturing which normally accompanied the meeting of two rulers followed, and I was soon bored with the proceedings. I could tell William was a little put out at being required to kneel to Edward (his pride would be the death of him one day, if he were not careful) but I was certain no one else could tell. Walter might have, but he had been left behind to act as an advisor to Matilda, although in reality, it was Arlette who was the senior advisor. But William, with unusual insight into what his young bride might find acceptable (or not), was using Walter as a smokescreen, with Arlette sticking her nose and her fingers in on a regular basis. I wondered how long Matilda would put up with that!

  My attention was once again drawn to Brihtric, but a feeling of being watched brought my attention back to Edward again.

  The King’s gaze was on me and I ducked my head in dismay at the speculation on his face. What if he recognised me? I hadn’t changed one little bit since he had last laid eyes on me. He would be sure to notice – the man might not be as kingly as I would like, but he was far from stupid.

  Nausea made my stomach roll.

  Oh lord, and now there was yet another problem. Wulfstan.

  I spotted the bear standing amongst Edward’s nobles and he too was studying me with frank curiosity.

  My wits scattered and for a moment the urge to flee was so strong I almost acted upon it. Calm yourself, Caitlyn, I urged, else all will truly be lost. I berated myself, knowing I should have remained in the shadows. Better still, I should have remained with Arlette, for I could be of limited use here and, worse, my presence might jeopardise the whole mission.

  When I found the courage to raise my head once more, I saw Edward’s attention had returned to his intended heir, and Wulfstan had also lost interest in me. I let out a slow, measured breath and gave thanks to God.

  Too soon, as it happened, because I was to encounter the King and Wulfstan again before the day was done.

  I intended to keep a low profile for the rest of our visit, but when I said as much to William later, the duke was having none of it. ‘What is the point of you being here, if not for your counsel?’ he argued.

  ‘What indeed,’ I replied with a shrug. ‘Your mother wanted me by your side, so here I am, although I do not think I have much counsel to give.’

  ‘You will,’ he said, ‘as soon as you are fully healed.’ We both understood what he meant.

  The day was not far off when I would be back to full health. Strangely, I found I had missed Cat, and the knowledge filled me with an unexpected unease. For so many years, I had prayed to be only Caitlyn and nothing more, that discovering I actually missed being Cat was quite disconcerting. I had not realised just how much I had come to enjoy being her.

  It was Edward who challenged me first. Supper had been a lavish affair, the king apparently keen to show off his wealth and influence, and I had eaten my meagre meal (my appetite had diminished in direct proportion to my worry) while seated a suitable distance from the high table, and hoping to escape notice.

  It was not to be.

  Once the food had been cleared away, Edward called me forward.

  I dropped into a deep curtsey, wishing I was anywhere but there. It didn’t help my state of mind that as well as William, both Wulfstan and Brihtric were also sitting on the dais in close proximity to the King, and both watched my approach with interest.

  ‘Your Grace,’ I said, head bowed.

  ‘Come closer, child. Let me look at you.’

  I got to my feet and did as the king bade.

  ‘You have the look of your mother about you,’ he said. ‘I remember her well.’

  I risked a swift glance at William, who smirked back. I might have known he would have prepared an explanation. I hoped he had also warned his men not say anything – all it would take was a slip of the tongue or an offhand comment reaching the wrong ears and Wulfstan would know he had been lied to. Would the man care? Possibly. I suspected that he had not taken kindly to having his plans for a foothold in Wales being scuppered by a mere woman, and the fact that I had killed a man in cold blood could not be ignored. There was a chance he would let bygones be bygones and do nothing to irk Lord William, but on the other hand, Wulfstan may well call for a pound of flesh – though I suspected hanging would be a more suitable and fitting punishment for a murderer.

  ‘Many claim I look like her, Sire,’ I said. ‘I do not see it, myself.’ I forced myself not to look behind to check on the reactions of my fellow travelling companions.

  ‘You are the image of her,’ Wulfstan interjected. ‘I
f I had not been told otherwise, I would have bet my best horse that you were her.’

  He would have won, if only he knew the truth.

  I nearly opened my mouth to ask about his wife, Lady Sigrid, but I realised the error before I made it.

  ‘How is your mother, Lady Caitlyn?’ he continued. ‘Is she well?’

  Caitlyn? The name threw me, until I understood that for me to use anything other than my own name would be foolish – all who had left Normandy with us knew that I was called Caitlyn. The best I could hope for here was that everyone would assume I had been named after my “mother”.

  ‘She... er… died, my lord. A long time ago.’ I was telling the truth. Almost.

  ‘Pity. She was rather feisty as I recall.’ He guffawed, his loud laugh ringing in my ears. ‘Did she tell you that she killed her husband’s murderer, and under my own roof, too?’

  Was that my heart pounding in my ears, or was it the shuffling and murmuring of William’s men? William was going to have a task on his hands to keep their mouths shut about this little snippet. I wondered how soon it would be before one of them let slip the truth of my identity.

  ‘I believe I heard something of the tale, my lord,’ I said, neutrally.

  ‘Aye, and then she was smuggled out of England by none other than the King’s own brother.’ He sounded as though he admired her, and I wondered what would have happened if I had stayed at Castle Cary. Would he have admired me then, or would he have hung me? Somehow, I suspected the latter.

  Wulfstan had not changed much either, I noticed, daring to look him in the eye. A little fatter, more grey in his hair than yellow, the lines deeper around his eyes and mouth, but otherwise he was still as huge and bear-like as ever, and still as gruff and congenial.

  But I had not forgotten that he had conspired with Idris to take Rhain’s throne, and in the process, the pair of them had taken my husband’s life. Wulfstan bore equal blame in my eyes, for if he had not pledged his support then I strongly believed that Idris would not have found the courage to dispose of Rhain. The pair of them had also taken my life too, in more ways than anyone could imagine.

  It was strange to hear the English tongue being spoken and although Edward had spoken in French, Wulfstan had addressed me in English. Too late, I realised my mistake in answering him in the same language, and thought frantically, before arriving at a feasible explanation. Of course, it was entirely feasible that my mother would have taught me, and if push came to shove, I would simply have to brazen it out.

  Edward, meanwhile, had lost interest in a no-account woman, and was speaking to William who was seated on the dais next to him. I wandered back to my place at the table and tuned out their conversation, concentrating on the courtiers instead, and once more my attention was caught by Brihtric.

  He stood to one side, his stance lazy, one hand on his hip. The other rested on where his sword would have been had he been wearing one. He was a fighting man then, I gathered. He reminded me in some ways of Prince Arthur, and I understood Brihtric’s role to be that of protector of the throne and the backside which sat on it, too. Would he prove to be as loyal to William when the time came? I hoped so. I did not want William to be forced to dispose of him. The Duke of Normandy would need all the English supporters he could lay his hands on, if he were to succeed Edward, because I doubted that William would be able to take England’s throne by might alone. Announcing that the Duke was Edward’s air was a mere technicality at this stage – William would need to win the hearts and minds of the English if he was ever to feel the crown on his head. At least he had a legitimate claim, and I gathered there was little love held for the Danes. Even a Norman was better than those damned Vikings, in English eyes.

  I felt I was being watched again, and although I expected to be stared at in this foreign court, I knew without looking that it was Brihtric doing the staring.

  With great control and careful to keep my expression guarded, I met his amused gaze, and gave a start to see that my attraction for him was mirrored in his own face.

  This man wanted me, as much as I wanted him.

  Chapter 18

  The night was my cloak, stealth was my armour, and I used both to my advantage. We had been at Edward’s court for a week, and only now had I felt confident enough in the healing of my wound, to become Cat. When I did finally transform, it was like greeting an old friend. I had missed her. If I could be both Cat and Caitlin without the yoke of Arlette, I might be content with my lot, and I realised it was not the enchantment itself which bothered me unduly now, it was my bound state. Being mistress of my own destiny appealed, and as Cat I had certain freedoms which Caitlin did not.

  As I slipped through the shadows and crept along passages and around corners, I contemplated how life would have been for me if I had stayed in Llandarog. Would Rhain’s men have followed me, would they have obeyed my commands? Hardly. They would have looked to a warrior to lead them.

  There were such things as independent women, but they were rare and were usually viewed with mistrust. Even Herleva had sought out a husband to give her status and respectability. And Arlette, too, had been forced to wed, had seen the sense of it, though Herluin, Count de Conteville, would not have been her first choice – Duke Robert was that, but he had not been strong enough to stand against his nobles and wed his mistress. But at least her husband was easily manipulated, and I do not think she needed to resort to the dark arts to do so. Arlette, for all her faults (and she had many), had developed into a woman to be reckoned with. But again, it could be said that it was probably mostly down to the man she had given birth to and her position in William's life.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Tonight was not for William, or Arlette, or the prophecy. It was for me. I had my own reasons for being Cat, or should I say one reason – Brihtric.

  Seven days into our visit and my desire for him was growing ever stronger. Each time I saw him, my heart did a little skip and my insides flooded with liquid heat. These were not feelings I was familiar with, and they disturbed me greatly. My thoughts kept turning to him, and I appeared to have a sixth sense where he was concerned, knowing when he was near, even if I could not see him.

  Take tonight, for instance. Edward had finally named William as his heir, announcing it to his court with great ceremony. Brihtric, I noticed, had not been at his usual place by the King’s side, but I sensed his presence the moment he entered the hall, although my back was towards the huge double doors. The hairs on my neck rose and I felt his gaze on me as solidly as though he had stroked a finger down my spine.

  When I turned, it was to find him watching me with a half-smile on his lips.

  The man, damn him, was surely well aware of the effect he had on me. Had he acted this way with Matilda? If he had, no wonder the poor maiden had fallen for him. A hot lance of jealousy caught me between the ribs, and knowing that he had refused her did not make the stab any less keen.

  With suspicious eyes, I studied the women around me. Did they simper at him? Flutter their eyelashes? Draw nearer to him? Or was it my imagination, my longing for that which I could not have, that made me believe he was the object of desire for every other lady.

  That was it! I had discovered the reason for this silliness – we all desire that which we cannot have. The very fact that we cannot have it, makes it all the more desirable, whether it be gold, a maiden promised to another, a fine sword priced beyond our means... It mattered not what it was. The wanting was everything, and I had often seen men and women alike swoon over something, only to almost discard it when it became theirs.

  So it was for me. It must be, for what other explanation was there? Brihtric was the first man to have stirred me in this way; it was no wonder I yearned for him. Rhain had been thrust upon me, and I’d had no say in whether I wanted him or not. Idris’s affection for me had been false (oh, how false it had turned out to be), and mine for him had been based more on necessity and a longing to reclaim my life in Llandarog, than wanti
ng the man for himself.

  Duke Robert had turned my head for a little while, but that was only because of what he could give me – an escape from the drudgery of the tanning pits. I had not actually considered the reality of having him for a husband. He had been a means to an end, nothing more.

  There was none other since who had any effect on me and, to be fair, none had tried. Had they sensed my otherness, or had Arlette frightened them off? Probably neither. A more likely explanation was my own aloofness. I had not looked at a man twice in that way, and no man had looked at me, either.

  Until now, until Brihtric.

  And tonight, I wanted to discover why.

  I had no idea what I hoped to see or hear. Maybe I would catch him fornicating with a servant. Maybe he treated all women, whoever they were, to his singular charm and arrogant self-assurance. Maybe he drank to excess, or gambled, or had other, nastier vices. Becoming Cat was the only way to see what kind of man he truly was. I wanted to catch him when his guard was down, when he thought he was unobserved, when he was being himself. Although why it mattered, I could not explain, and I recognised the futility of getting to know him better. This entire thing was totally pointless. Yet, still I did it.

  I had left William at the table, enjoying the feast which Edward had thrown in his honour and revelling in the political intrigue that the announcement had provoked. William, I knew, would be actively seeking supporters and noting who appeared less than enthusiastic at having a Norman for a king. He was in his element, so I slipped away as soon as it was polite, pleading a headache, and returned to the privacy of my chamber to transform.

  Bugger, but it had hurt! Other women had told me how quickly they had forgotten the pangs of childbirth once the babe was in their arms, and I swear I had forgotten my own singular pain too, otherwise I might never have changed again.