Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  As I lay on the floor gasping, I wondered why women turned themselves inside out every few years. Sod giving your husband a son. Let him carry the child and force it out between his own legs and see how much he liked it. Yet here was I transforming voluntarily, without being commanded to do so? I must be insane.

  It was done now, though it did occur to me to remain in this form until the return journey, and maybe not change back into a woman even then. Ships had cats, didn’t they? I could be a mascot…

  I had lain on the floor for long enough. It was time to move. With caution, I had squashed myself under a chink in the door, and for one anxious moment I had thought I wasn’t going to make it through, but I had wriggled and squirmed and eventually it was done. I would have to enlarge the hole a fraction before the next time – not that I intended there to be a next time, but just in case.

  I had not been followed and no one had taken any notice of me. No one had been on the staircase when I trotted down it, tail held high, and I had not warranted so much as a sideways look when I returned to the feast, the smell of poached hare tickling my nostrils, only to discover that Brihtric had gone again. Which was why I was now to be found skulking along corridors and darting this way and that, attempting to seek him out.

  Voices made me flatten my smoke-grey body to the ground, the guard hairs along my spine rose and bristled.

  One of them belonged to Wulfstan and he was speaking in low tones, almost whispering. I wondered why he was away from the hall – he should be at supper with the others, not out here, skulking in the shadows.

  He was talking to a man I had never seen before, and in Danish, no less.

  Well, well, well, Wulfstan was full of surprises, though why I should be amazed was beyond me. This was the man who had been one of King Canute’s earls, yet he had once harboured the exiled Prince Edward and clearly played both sides to his advantage, as he had now gained a place at the King’s side. This was also the man who had supported Idris’s plan to usurp Rhain, and he might even have actively helped him in his venture. Wulfstan was not to be trusted, and whatever he was up to would unlikely be to William’s benefit. When I heard the word “Godwin”, my ears pricked even higher.

  Oh, how I wished I spoke Danish!

  After a few more muttered sentences, with the man he was speaking to nodding every so often, Wulfstan clapped him on the shoulder, and the fellow went on his way.

  I followed the Lord of Castle Cary as far as the privy, waited for Wulfstan to complete his business, only to abandon my stalking when he made his way back to the hall without further incident. Whatever mischief Wulfstan was planning had been concluded for tonight. I would simply have to file the information away until I could pass it on to William later, and keep my little, pointed ears open for anything else which might be of interest.

  I resumed my hunt for Brihtric and finally I found what I sought.

  Brihtric stood alone on one of the high walls, staring out across the river. His expression was pensive. Abruptly, I wished I had come to him as a woman, so I could ask him what was wrong. With no other alternative, I picked a spot and sat, curling my tail tightly around my paws, and proceeded to study him.

  His profile presented me with a straight nose, a good brow (not too deep or overhanging), well-sculpted lips, and a firm jaw. A light breeze ruffled his short hair and, as he lifted his face to it and closed his eyes, I thought I saw wetness glistening on his cheeks.

  He radiated sadness and I longed to comfort him, but even if I was Caitlyn right now, it was not my place. I hardly knew the man, nor him, me.

  The fur on my tail fluffed out and the guard hairs along my spine lifted once more, and I cast about for the intruder, only to realise it was Arlette. She had found me. I sensed her more easily when I was Cat, as though being in feline form brought me closer to the magic which bound us, heightening other senses besides the physical ones. Or maybe it was the spell itself at work, forging more solid links in the chain connecting me to her, although I was still resentful that neither Arlette nor her magic had been there when I needed help.

  Get away, I hissed up at her. You are not needed, nor wanted. I have nothing for you.

  Either she failed to understand my unspoken thoughts, or she most likely did not care, for I continued to feel her detested presence for several more heartbeats before she left as abruptly as she had arrived, freeing me from her interest. No matter how often I asked her not to scry on me, she carried on. She did not care that her intrusion made me lose concentration, and that one day the loss might prove fatal.

  My hiss had drawn Brihtric’s attention. When I sat up from the flattened crouch that her scrying had sent me into, it was to find him watching me.

  ‘You too, eh?’ he said.

  Me, too, what? I wished I could ask, and my question came out as a soft mewl.

  He crouched down and held out a hand, making clicking sounds with his tongue. ‘Aren’t you pretty?’ he crooned. ‘Here, kitty, let me get a closer look at those lovely eyes. I promise I won’t harm you.’

  No, I did not presume he would, but I stayed where I was, all the same.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ When I failed to move, he straightened up, patting his pockets, before saying, ‘Sorry, I’ve got nothing for you.’

  I didn’t think he had. Not many would keep a chicken leg about their person and I chuckled, wondering what he had expected to find hidden in his jerkin.

  The chuckle came out as a chirp, and he knelt, going down on one knee with surprising grace. Suppleness such as his would be an advantage on the battlefield, and I guessed his fluidity would prove a match even for Wulfstan’s brute strength.

  The image of Brihtric in combat sent a tingle through me. Underneath his gentleness, I sensed a heart of steel. He reminded me of Arthur, a coiled spring of watchfulness yet with an inner core of tenderness. He was showing the kindness side of him now, in his dealings with a mere cat.

  Most folk would have ignored me or pushed me away, but this man was intent on making friends, and against my better judgement I shoved my innate wariness to one side and I rose to meet his hand.

  Though calloused and hard, his palm caressed my head with a light, soft touch. I arched into him, both woman and cat delighting in it. How I longed to be myself, to feel skin on skin, to have him stroke me with the same delicacy with which he caressed a cat.

  No, I amended, I did not want delicacy. I wanted his strength, his hardness, in more ways than one and, fearing the sudden desire that surged through me, I swiped at him, claws unsheathed.

  Quick as any feline, he snatched his hand back with a laughing curse, and licked the side of his thumb where I had scratched him. ‘You must be female,’ he joked, and I was relieved to see he did not bear me a grudge for my treatment of him.

  Nevertheless, fear got the better of me, and I turned tail and ran.

  Chapter 19

  Consumed with guilt, I looked for him on the morrow, but as Caitlyn, not Cat. Or was it desire, not remorse, which drove me to search relentlessly, until I eventually found him at the smithy, brandishing a freshly-forged sword in his fist. Whatever the reason, delight spread through me at the sight of him standing there, legs apart, one foot slightly more forward than the other, the muscles of his shoulders bunching under his tunic.

  He tossed the weapon from one hand to the other, checking its balance, catching the hilt with an ease born of long familiarity. He jabbed and poked, then hefted it above his head and swung it several times, before bringing the steel up to eye level and staring down the length of the blade. Finally, he ran his thumb, the same one I had already spagged, across the sharpened edge. A line of bright blood welled out of the small wound, and some strange part of me wanted to lick it off his skin.

  I resisted the urge and waited patiently for him to finish speaking with the bladesmith.

  Brihtric cocked his head when he noticed me, a question on his face, and he pointed to his chest. A tiny bead of blood dripped from the cut, to be
lost to the dry dirt. I stared at the stain, mesmerised, believing I could almost smell the copper. For some reason, this man brought out the animal in me, no matter what guise I happened to be in.

  He was smiling, a lazy half-smile, laconic and teasing, so unlike the Brihtric of last night. This was an entirely different beast.

  I wasn’t certain which one I actually preferred, because I liked them both far too much for my own good.

  ‘It is Lady Caitlyn, is it not?’ Even his voice, the tone, and the timbre were different today, more confident, more cavalier. There was a tease in it, a promise, a suggestion…

  My eyes met his and for a moment puzzlement flashed across his face. ‘Have we met?’ he asked.

  ‘You have seen me at court, my lord.’ I said.

  ‘No, it is something more.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps it is simply that you remind me of someone,’ he added.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I agreed, but he continued to search my face, coming back to my eyes, a faint frown on his brow. Those darned orbs would be the end of me – even when I was Cat, they were far too Caitlyn for comfort. First, Godwin’s wife had remarked on them, and now Brihtric thought they seemed familiar.

  Ha! Familiar! He had got that right. I certainly was familiar, but not in the way he was thinking!

  He handed the sword back to its maker with a nod. ‘Sharpen the blade some more and I will pick it up on the morrow.’ Turning to me, he said, ‘I heard your mother was English.’

  If I’d had fur, it would have bristled. Keeping my tone as neutral as possible, I replied, ‘I believe she was Welsh, my lord.’ English indeed! Even after all these years, I still had a certain hatred for the would-be invaders. If Wulfstan had not stuck his English nose in where it was not wanted, then Idris might never have plucked up the courage to betray Rhain.

  ‘Yes, that would explain it,’ Brihtric said, cutting through my reverie.

  ‘Explain what?’

  ‘I thought it must be, because although French is your first language, now that you mention it I can hear the Welsh lilt in your voice when you speak English. It is quite becoming.’

  I blushed (not a normal occurrence for me), in part because I had not considered my accent and how it might betray me, in another part because he was interested enough in me to know something of my parentage, and also (the biggest part, if I was honest) because he had complimented me in a small way.

  Control yourself, Caitlyn, I admonished in silent annoyance, lest you read too much into a few simple words. He had not said anything untoward or forward – it is all in your fevered mind. The man is being polite, as befits a nobleman of his standing.

  ‘Who told you my mother was English?’ was the only thing I could think of to say to him.

  ‘Wulfstan said he knew her, that she had resided with him for a short while, so I assumed….’ He shrugged.

  The “short while” had been barely a day and a night. I wondered whether it was Brihtric who had asked about me, or if Wulfstan had volunteered the information.

  ‘She was fleeing her homeland,’ I explained. ‘I believe Lord Cary gave her sanctuary.’

  ‘How does England compare to Normandy? This is the first time you have set foot in this part of my country, is it not?’

  My country? Was that a figure of speech, or did he consider England to be his, believing that he had a chance of the crown? ‘It is very similar to Bruges, my lord,’ I retorted, more sharply than I intended.

  His face hardened. It was almost imperceptible, but I could not fail to notice, considering I was examining him so closely. What was it which caused such a reaction – Count Baldwin, Godfrey, Matilda?

  ‘How is Lady Matilda?’ he asked, and jealously flared in my chest again. But there was still the question of why he had failed to take the lady for himself when he had the chance.

  ‘The lady is a duchess now,’ I said, ‘and happily wed.’ I sounded defensive.

  His expression did not alter. ‘I am pleased to hear it. Lord William seems a fine man.’

  ‘Oh, he is!’ Damn, but now I sounded like a love-struck maid and, at the raising of Brihtric’s eyebrows, I realised he thought so, too. The last thing I needed was for him to think I was in love with William. ‘I have every respect and admiration for the Duke,’ I added. ‘He has gone through much to retain his hold on his title.’

  ‘So I heard,’ was his dry response. ‘You have not answered my question; what do you think of my country?’

  He said it again – my country. Not, our country. Was he taunting me, knowing that William had been named Edward’s heir? Or did Brihtric really believe he might rule England one day; with Godwin out of the picture (temporarily at least), maybe he thought his chances were good. My mind raced ahead, imagining Edward dead, William in Normandy, and the English crown there for the taking. No matter who Edward decreed as his heir, when he died Brihtric would be in situ and he was English to boot.

  Dragging my attention back to the present and filing the future away to discuss with William later, I considered his question. From the little I had seen of it, England wasn’t a great deal different to Normandy. From the ship, I had spotted rolling hills, the odd village, several farms. It was only when we docked in London, did the differences begin to outweigh the similarities.

  Edward, the Confessor as he was known because of his propensity to seek forgiveness from God whenever he acted upon the temptation to dip his wick into a man, had begun to build in stone. The work was far from complete, and although he had attempted to emulate the Norman style – high walls, square towers – he had failed when it came to opulence. There was no comparison with the luxury and lavishness of William’s castles. Except for the abbey. Now that was a building fit for a king. Edward must feel that he needed to atone a great deal, if the abbey was any indication.

  I smiled to myself, recalling the awe I had felt when I first saw Wulfstan’s fortress, but that had been nothing compared to the castle at Falaise. How small and insignificant Rhain’s stronghold appeared now. Insignificant or not, my heart still yearned for it every so often, usually in the depths of the night on the rare occasions when I allowed my mind to wander where it had no business going. Sometimes, I simply could not help myself.

  ‘It is beautiful, my lord,’ I said.

  ‘But?’ He was perceptive.

  ‘You have seen Bruges,’ I said, again.

  He nodded slowly. ‘It is early days. These things take time, and there is time enough for everything.’

  Once more, I heard the hidden words underneath the spoken ones. Time enough for everything – was he referring to the fact that the king had yet to produce offspring? One would have thought that nearly six years of marriage would have resulted in a babe or two by now, although of course, the man had to mate with the woman for that to happen and the King preferred to mate with his own sex rather than the opposite one – hence such an impressive building as Westminster Abby. I bet he spent a lot of time in its hallowed walls praying for forgiveness, time which could be better spent bedding his queen.

  But for William’s sake, I was glad that Edward did not visit his wife’s bed. A legitimate son would be a disaster for the prophecy, and although there were ways around the problem, should it ever arise, I shuddered to think what the magic might have in store for any babe of Edward’s. No, it was better for all concerned if the English king left his wife well alone.

  There appeared to be nothing left to say on either side, and so I nodded at him and turned on my heel, skirts swishing around my legs.

  ‘Lady Caitlyn?’

  I hesitated, not wanting to leave, glad of the brief respite, and looked over my shoulder.

  ‘Will you be at supper tonight?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘There will be dancing,’ he continued.

  ‘Will there?’ Oh Lord, I was flirting with him, and acting all coy. I would be fluttering my lashes at him next, and simpering.

  ‘May I dance with you?’ he asked.

 
‘Considering you asked so nicely, the answer is yes,’ I replied and began to walk away again, my heart fluttering like a dove caught in a net.

  ‘Lady Caitlyn?’

  This time, I turned and shook my head at him, a wry smile on my lips. He was toying with me and I found I was enjoying it.

  ‘Would you like to see more of my country?’ he asked.

  I raised my brows and gave him a questioning look.

  ‘The King has arranged a hunt,’ he said, amending it hastily to, ‘He has given permission, he will not be riding himself. Will you join us?’

  Will I? I had never hunted before. It would be a new experience, and I could do with escaping from the castle walls – too many people in one place always unsettled me. Besides, it was a while since I had ridden and the exercise would be welcome, as would the change of scenery.

  ‘Unless you have other matters to attend to,’ he continued in the face of my hesitation. ‘Or do you think it is unseemly?’

  ‘Unseemly?’

  ‘Your husband may not approve?’

  In a round-about way, he was asking me if I was married. ‘I have no husband, my lord, and no, I have no duties to attend to. I will join you,’ I conceded graciously, ‘if you supply the horse.’

  His smile widened. ‘Of course, my lady,’ he said, and he gave a slight bow. ‘Until later, then.’

  I inclined my head, and this time when I made to leave, he let me go.

  Hunting and dancing, eh? I looked forward to the former more than the latter, for I had not danced since the last time I was in this land, and that had been with Idris, the man who had killed my husband, and who I had nearly promised to marry.

  Idris died by my hand.

  I hoped Brihtric would not suffer the same fate.

  Chapter 20

  Emerging into the sunlight of the bailey and blinking the shadows away, I hesitated, counting at least thirty knights, and several noblewomen dotted amongst them. I felt awkward and out of place, and I had hoped William would be there, but I heard he had expressed an interest in the longbow, having not seen one before. I was quite familiar with them, because the Welsh used them for fighting, and Rhain had been adept with one. The English disliked the size of the weapon and tended to stick to their smaller bows, but William, interested in anything and everything to do with warfare, had eagerly asked if he could shoot one, so I was left to attend the hunt by myself.