Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  Sitting up as best I could, I poked a paw through the bars and felt the outside. It was as smooth as the rest, and I assumed that the damage inside could not be seen from the outside, else the piece of wood would have been replaced.

  I tested it with my paws, pushing against it, feeling the bar give, ever so slightly.

  Setting to with frantic determination, I began to gnaw, and when my teeth started to ache and there was a taste of blood in my mouth, I used my claws, digging and shredding. And every so often, I would stop to check my progress, throwing my weight against it.

  Then, finally, it gave, with a small crack.

  I halted, the sound loud in the ensuing silence. My heart pounded, and my breathing had become harsh panting, but there was no noise from beyond my prison that I could hear.

  Using every bit of strength I could find, I pushed against that damned bar, again and again, until it reluctantly gave way, and I sank back with relief.

  Get up, Cat, I urged, this is not the time to rest, so with that rebuke running through my mind, I gathered myself for the next section of my escape plan – squeezing through that very, very small hole.

  If I had more time, I would have worked away at the slat below it, but time was something I did not have. Tostig could send a servant for me at any moment. I would have to risk becoming stuck. If I waited any longer, it might be too long.

  I knew from experience, that if I could get my head through that hole, the rest of me would fit through, too. The hole was three, possibly four inches wide – just enough room for a small cat to squeeze through.

  Gathering up my courage and praying that I would not become stuck, I worked my head into the hole, twisting and turning, wriggling and squirming, trying to force myself through it.

  For one awful moment, I was trapped, unable to move, the widest part of my head caught between the bars. Using my hind legs for leverage, I gave an almighty push and my head popped free. The rest of me quickly followed, though I did have to twist my shoulders and pelvis several times to fit through the awkward-shaped hole.

  I was out.

  Poking my head underneath the tapestry, I scanned the room. It was larger than mine, and when I dropped to the floor and prowled around it, I saw that it was better constructed too, with little in the way of holes for a cat to slip through.

  Ah, there was one, a chink between the floorboards and the wall.

  It would have to do.

  I flattened myself to the ground and squirmed through it. It always amazed me just how little space Cat needed. As Caitlyn, I would never have guessed that an animal the size of a feline was able to squash itself through such small openings.

  Unfortunately, this one did not lead directly to the passageway which I assumed to be outside Tostig’s room, so I had to traverse the inside of the thick wall, winding my way up and down, until I came to a point where I could leave my stony escape route.

  For the first time in my life, I had reason to thank the rats which lived alongside us people. It would not prevent me from hunting them in the future, but…

  Future? At least I had one now, and I was looking forward to it.

  There was nothing like a close shave with death to make a person appreciate life, and with that in mind, I crept out of Castle Cary and began the long journey back to William and Normandy.

  Chapter 32

  My journey had not been a pleasant one but I had suffered worse, and so, at the end of six long days and nights, I slipped back into the castle, my paws sore and my body aching, and in desperate need of a meal and rest, and managed to enter William’s chamber without notice.

  It was empty and for one awful moment, I wondered if I was too late. Thirteen days had gone by since I had left with Wulfstan, and William must be close to sailing for Normandy. But I could smell him, he had been in this room very recently, and on closer inspection I spied his chainmail lying on the chest and his cloak on a hook by the door.

  Wearily, I did what was necessary, and became Caitlyn yet again, then opened the door and yelled for a servant to fetch me water for bathing, food, wine, and more importantly, William.

  William arrived first, slamming into his chamber as if the hounds of hell were after him, and he dashed to my side. I was slumped in a chair, and made to rise, but he waved me back down and dropped to his knees, bringing himself to my level.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What news?’

  No greeting, no asking after my health or wellbeing, William was only concerned with his crown – or should I say, the lack of it, I thought cattily.

  ‘Godwin has petitioned the Irish King, Diarmaid, for support. Diarmaid will land his forces in the west, using Wulfstan’s lands as a base. But not until the spring,’ I added, when William tried to interject. ‘And Godwin is not planning on overthrowing Edward. All he wants is to be reinstated as the Earl of Wessex.’

  ‘That is news indeed!’ William cried, jumping to his feet and slapping a hand on his thigh. You have done well, Cat.’

  I squinted at him, wishing he would go away and leave me to rest. I was deathly tired and the only thing I wanted was food and sleep, but William wanted to talk.

  ‘I have been thinking,’ he began, and I sighed. The result of William thinking often meant fighting or laying siege to things, which was fine if he did not involve me. The last time William “had been thinking” had resulted in a campaign against the Count of Anjou, who William saw as a threat to his dukedom. William drove the count out of his lands and claimed them for his own – with a little help from his mother and me, of course.

  I wished to God William would stop thinking…

  ‘You need a man,’ the Duke announced. ‘I should have realised it before now.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I sat up, my weariness forgotten in the face of this preposterous statement. ‘I do not need a man.’

  ‘Unless a woman is pledged to God, then she needs a man. And you, clearly, are in sore want of one.’

  My mouth opened and closed of its own accord, but no words were forthcoming. I had so many to say, and no idea where to begin.

  ‘Your dalliance with Brihtric Mau tells me you most definitely need one,’ William retorted. ‘I have a better one in mind for you. Julot.’

  Julot was one of William’s most capable and trusted knights. He was also unwed, handsome enough, and had always been pleasant to me, but that did not mean I wanted to share his bed.

  ‘He is a good man on the battlefield, and he has some breeding,’ William went on. ‘What he lacks in land and gold, I will make up for. You won’t starve, Cat.’ William really was serious, I saw.

  My incredulity held me speechless. I could not believe the Duke was actually contemplating something so idiotic.

  ‘You can still serve my mother,’ he added.

  ‘How, pray?’ I genuinely wanted to know.

  ‘My mother is never far from my side, and neither is Julot.’ William shrugged, as though the simple fact that I transformed into a cat was irrelevant.

  ‘You had better speak to Arlette before you wed me off,’ I began, but he held up his hand and turned away. As far as he was concerned the conversation was over. He had made his decision and so it would come to pass.

  Had he forgotten what I was? What I am capable of being? Maybe I had not made myself clear when I had tried to explain the relationship between his mother and me. Perhaps he thought that just because his mother was married, then my being wed would be no impediment to me being Cat every time it was demanded of me.

  It seemed that the duke needed reminding.

  ‘William,’ I said, in a soft voice, and waited for him to turn to look at me. Then I dropped to the Moorish carpet and began to change.

  He had seen it once before and recently too, the cat in his arms becoming the woman who had helped raise him, but it was far less easy to watch the other way around, as my features distorted and my body shrunk, I became half beast, then full beast, until I was all Cat once more.

  The disgust in his eye
s was hurtful to see, but I felt I had no choice. I was Arlette’s creature not his, and it was about time William realised it. We stared at each other for long moments, my duke and I, then he slowly nodded. The dawning knowledge in his eyes, reflected the dawning sadness in mine – I had lost him. He would never be able to think of me again without remembering the hideous sight. I had brought it home to him what his mother really was, what I really was, and he did not thank me for it. The repulsion on his face told the story as well as if he had spoken the words aloud.

  He looked away and swallowed hard, and when I began to change back to Caitlyn, William took himself off to the window and steadfastly stared through it until I was done.

  ‘I belong to your mother,’ I said, not rising just yet; the impact of two changes in quick succession having taken their toll. ‘No amount of commanding me otherwise can alter that. If it makes you feel any better, I do not believe she has any choice in the situation either.’ I wanted to say more, much more, but the constraints of the spell would not allow it. The only dice I was allowed to throw was the transformation one, and I had already cast that on the table.

  William’s shoulders were bunched somewhere around his ears. I watched his back carefully, noting the tension there.

  ‘I did not ask for this,’ I tried to explain, wanting him to turn to look at me without that revolted expression on his face. ‘It was not my choice—’ That was as far as I could go, as far as the magic would allow me to go. No more words would come, however much I wanted to say them.

  ‘You truly cannot leave her?’ he asked, and by “her”, I understood that he meant his mother. ‘Did she do this to you?’

  My heart ached for him. The vitriol in his voice when he spoke of his mother was hard to bear. Arlette was going to find her son somewhat changed in his attitude to her when he returned, because as well as loathing, I had detected William’s fear of her, too. My poor, poor boy…

  ‘No,’ I replied, thinking I should get to my feet, but feeling too weak and heart-sore to make the effort. ‘Herleva—’ I began, and halted. Once again, the enchantment stopped my mouth.

  ‘Can my mother set you free?’ he asked. ‘Do you want to be free?’ He still could not bring himself to look at me, and that hurt me to the quick.

  ‘I do not know if she can, although I suspect not. And yes, I want my freedom more than I want anything.’

  It was hardly likely to happen, however much I wanted it to. As a witch, Arlette was nowhere near as adept or as powerful as Herleva had been. Arlette did not have the skill to make a familiar, so it was unlikely she would be able to un-make one, even if William got down on his knees and begged. The only way out was death. Either hers, or mine.

  And death came sooner than I anticipated. Much, much sooner…

  Chapter 33

  Pain, great, great pain. It ate me up from the inside, churning and tearing at my bowels as if some beast was ripping at my flesh eager to get out. Please, let me die, I begged, heat coursing through me, pouring out of my skin in baking waves. And I was thirsty, so very thirsty.

  Make it stop…

  I opened my eyes with a gasp before realising I was not actually sleeping. This was real, not a dream or a memory, this was happening right now.

  My body was rank with sweat and it trickled down my back and between my breasts, dampening my gown. I was sitting on the floor hunched over, my arms folded protectively against my lower belly, and I could still feel the agony of a few moments ago.

  I knew whose pain it was.

  Arlette’s.

  I also knew something else – she was not long for this world. My mistress was dying. I sensed it with every fibre of my being. The stink of it was in my mind, so strong I could smell it, along with the herbs she insisted that her gentlewomen burn to cleanse the air. The smell of thyme was nauseating, filling my nostrils so thoroughly it was as though William had just thrown a handful of those hated leaves on the fire.

  William!

  His back was still turned to me and he continued to gaze out of the window. I had no idea how long he had been standing there; time had slipped away and had been replaced by the death throes of an agonised woman.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, finally risking a swift look over his shoulder.

  Had I spoken? Ah no, I had made that noise, a gasp too similar to a rattling, dying breath for comfort. It was that which had alerted him. The relief on his face when he saw Caitlyn was quickly replaced by concern, when he noticed my hands clutching at my stomach and the sweat-sheen on my skin.

  He was at my side in a moment, kneeling on the floor, taking my hands in his and scrutinising my face. William, despite his gruffness and roughshod attitude, and the shock he had just received, really did care for me.

  ‘What is it?’ he repeated, running his gaze over my limbs and checking for catness. When he saw I was all Caitlyn, and there was no outward cause for my distress, he gave me a gentle shake.

  I uttered a small cry, high and thin.

  ‘I am sorry, I did not mean to hurt you,’ he said. ‘What can I do to help? Shall I send for a physic?’

  Best not do that, I thought, breathing hard through the cramping in my bowels, for there was nothing earthly wrong with me. My malady was of the magical variety. It was ironic that during the time Arlette had controlled me, there had been little connection between us. Now that she was dying (and oh, how well-timed and convenient that was!) I felt her every ache and pain.

  A terrible thought occurred to me.

  What if I was dying too? What if the magic, with nowhere to go and no one to pass me on to, decided to end me here and now, and I would take my last breath as Arlette was taking hers.

  ‘Nooo,’ I wailed. I had not suffered through over two decades of Cat to have my life snuffed out just when I had a chance of getting it back again.

  ‘Cat, speak to me.’ The concern in William’s eyes touched me to the core, and guilt swept over me.

  How could I tell him his mother was slipping away? Although slipping was the wrong word – she was going down fighting and in agony, writhing and squirming at the fire in her belly. I should know, because I was feeling it too.

  A wave of nausea was accompanied by a roiling in my bowels as the pain ripped through me, and I let out a tormented groan.

  When Arlette’s innards exploded out of her in a steamy, stinking, bloodied mess, and mine stayed firmly inside, a small ray of sunshine broke through the clouds of my despair. Along with thyme, the stench of shit and blood was so intense I wondered how William failed to smell it, and bile rose in my throat, making me gag and cough. But underneath my discomfort, a small hope stirred.

  My symptoms were not physical.

  I was experiencing Arlette’s death and it was horrible, but it was hers and hers alone. My time was not yet upon me. Whatever rank air, or daemon, or lack of balance in her humours was causing her illness, it had not transmitted itself to me. I was well and whole and hearty, except for this connection of our spirits.

  As I had done when Herleva was dying, I found myself with mixed feelings about Arlette. Anticipation and excitement were coloured by some small sorrow. I had watched Arlette grow from a self-absorbed, sulky girl, into a self-absorbed, power-hungry woman of considerable importance. I had spent the last twenty-odd years at her beck and call, so I supposed it was only natural I should feel a measure of grief at her passing, along with the elation of anticipated freedom.

  ‘William,’ I croaked, my lips dry and my throat parched. Arlette’s projectile vomiting had taken it out of me, though I had yet to actually be sick myself.

  ‘I’m here, Cat. Tell me what I can do. What is wrong?’

  ‘Water.’

  He lowered me gently back down to the floor and went to pour some diluted wine. The tart taste revived me and I cleared my throat, attempting to sit up. William sat behind me and lifted my head onto his lap.

  ‘Shh,’ he murmured. ‘Rest a little. This changing from one form to another is not d
oing you any good.’

  I grunted out a croaky laugh. You do not say! It had not done me much good from the very first time Herleva had forced me to transform. Besides, it was not becoming Cat and turning back again which was causing this particular problem.

  Time to grasp the sword edge and tell him. ‘Your mother,’ I blurted, then a spate of terrible cramps took hold of me and I writhed in William’s arms, gasping for air. Arlette’s pain was terrible and all-consuming, and it was many moments before it abated.

  I wished the witch would get on with it and die and release me from this second-hand suffering.

  ‘I wish I could send for her, Cat, but she would not arrive for days. Tell me what I can do to help.’ He thought I was asking for his mother so she could heal me. She was the one who needed healing, but from the stink of impending death, I knew that whatever anyone did for Arlette, it would not be enough.

  ‘Not send,’ I grunted, between waves of torture. ‘I am her.’

  ‘She is delirious,’ he said to the empty room. ‘Yes, Cat, you are here, with me, in London.’

  ‘No, not here. Her. I am your mother. She is in me, in my head.’ I panted hard. It was not going to be long now, I sensed, wondering whether she would lose consciousness and slide into oblivion or whether something inside her would rupture and drag her screaming to hell.

  ‘I do not understand,’ William said.

  ‘Arlette. Is. Dying.’ I forced the words out through teeth so clenched that I thought my jaw might shatter. ‘I am feeling it.’

  ‘Be still, shhh,’ he said, not believing a word. ‘My mother is in Caen, with Matilda.’

  ‘She might be,’ I said, the pain easing enough for me to speak again. ‘But she is dying. I swear it.’ I could feel it, a hovering darkness in her mind, greedy and gleeful. I shuddered at its dark presence, hoping its hot, avid gaze would sweep over me without noticing me. I wanted nothing to do with this creature from hell, but I was convinced it had been sent to escort her there. Death and the daemon – someone should write a ballad…