Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  I was rambling, my thoughts straying along strange paths, and I fought to keep them in the here and now, guessing that it was the ramblings of Arlette’s fevered mind which I was experiencing. I had never had this vivid a connection with her before – it reminded me of Herleva, but stronger. I was inside Arlette, looking out from her eyes, living her agony and her fear. I did not think she knew I was even there. She was not in my head, so much as me being in hers. It was terrible and terrifying and fascinating, all at once. Is this what Herleva felt like when she had been in my mind? This was power indeed…

  Her heart was my heart, the fluttering rapid and uneven, her breath coming in shallow gasps. I felt her strength fade with each exhalation and I held my own, praying that each laboured, agonised pant would be the last.

  William was sitting there, wooden and unbelieving, clearly not knowing what to think. He had witnessed enough in his life to make him understand that there was far more to his mother than a simple woman, but this latest leap was a jump too far.

  It was ironic that he could accept that I turned into a cat, yet he had trouble understanding that his mother’s death was being portrayed through someone else.

  Or maybe, he did not want to believe that his mother was actually dying.

  Without warning, I went stiff, my body like a branch of wood, and my feet drummed against the floor. My teeth clenched and my eyes rolled back in my head, and William’s anxious face was lost to me for a moment.

  This was it, Arlette was fading fast, but she was not going quietly. She fought death every inch, digging her metaphorical heels in, raging at it with every part of her. Her thoughts were as clear to me as if she had spoken them aloud.

  ‘…no, no, I’m not ready…’

  ‘…you cannot take me yet. I will not go…’

  ‘…what about my son, what about England? He needs me…’

  An icy chill rippled down my spine. Who was she pleading with? Satan? One of his minions? Or was she speaking to death itself…

  I wanted desperately not to hear, but her voice was querulous and insistent inside my head.

  ‘You can have anything you want. I will give you anything,’ she cried silently. ‘Anything… Caitlyn?’

  Ah dear God, she had finally noticed the connection between us. I sensed the light in her mind, the sudden realisation that she had something to barter with, something that whichever dark forces were amassing to witness her demise would accept.

  Then my heart stopped.

  With a strangled gasp, I prepared to do some bargaining of my own, but my heart started again with an almighty thud, and I realised it was not my heart that had ceased pumping, but Arlette’s. Mine was beating normally, if a little fast.

  ‘...you can have….’ The voice in my head faded away before she could do any more damage. I could only hope and pray that whatever had come for her, had not been listening too closely to her pleas.

  The rigour relented and I relaxed into William’s lap, taking in a great lungful of air with each sobbing breath.

  I was free.

  I was free!

  No more Arlette. No more witch, no more dark and dangerous magic. I had my life back. I could begin making amends for the stain on my soul, and maybe, just maybe, God would forgive me. Not for all of it (that was too much to ask, for I lacked the excuse of witchcraft to alleviate me of the guilt of Idris’s murder), but for all that came after reaching Normandy. It had not been my choice to darken my soul with evil – it had been thrust upon me, and surely God would forgive me for that which was not of my own doing.

  William was stroking tendrils of damp hair off my brow when I finally came back to my senses, and when he saw the life flood back into my face and body, he crooned, ‘It is all better now, Cat. You are better now.’

  I most certainly was! I had never felt as good as I did at this moment. Even my sore and aching body felt remarkably light, as though the magic had weighed me down. I could do as I pleased, go where I wanted, love as I wished. Life was mine to live as I saw fit. Without the enchantment, I could begin to try to wipe my soul clean, starting with my first confession since Llandarog.

  However, there was a blot on my parchment – Brihtric. If I was to begin making amends and seeking forgiveness for my sins, then stripping another woman of her husband was not the way to do it. However much Brihtric and I felt for one another, however much we thought we were in love, Brihtric’s heart belonged to Odella, and it was no more her fault that her mind was diminished and feeble than it had been my fault that Herleva had set me in her sights and cast a spell on me.

  So, where was I to go, what was I to do? I could always return to Normandy with William (eyes, I could see eyes, blue ones) for that was the only home I had known for over half my life. Or maybe I could return to Wales, to revisit the places and memories of my youth and join William in Normandy later. I was sure he would provide me with an escort (and they were staring at me, willing me to…?) if I asked him sweetly.

  Of course, he would have to recover from the news I was about to impart to him (summoning, demanding, imperious) and there was no time like right now, to tell him. He would hear it soon enough anyway. I guessed that even as I lay there gasping like a landed fish (compelling me to rise and…) a rider was being sent to Cherbourg to meet our ships and to inform the Duke of Normandy that his mother, Lady Arlette, had died of dysentery, or the bloody flux, or whatever affliction it was that had seen her off.

  (no words, only needs and demands, a call…)

  I shook my head to clear it. Something was not right, but I could not put my finger on it, and I pushed William’s hands away, crossly. There was nothing wrong with me, he need not fuss, but I let him help me sit up nevertheless, my senses turning inwards once more. It was not a voice exactly, more like a feeling, a knowledge, an awareness...

  ‘Cat?’ William asked.

  ‘I will live,’ I retorted, coming back to myself, then I bit my lip in remorse – that was not the best thing to say, considering the news I was about to give him. ‘My lord,’ I began, hoping my formality would alert him to the fact that what I was about to say was important.

  ‘Shh, Cat, there is no need to explain,’ he said, getting to his feet. The concern on his face had been replaced by wariness – he would never lose that around me, I feared.

  Feeling vulnerable and ill-tempered, I scrambled to stand, albeit somewhat wobbly for a few moments. ‘I must, there is something you need to know.’ Unbidden my feet took a few steps towards the door.

  I stopped, and looked down at them, in confusion. Where was I going? With a shake of my head, I began again. ‘Your mother… she really is dead, William. I am sorry.’

  Oh, that was such a lie! I was not sorry at all. I was elated and joyous and (mine, mine, need, want…) so very eager to begin a new life. My feet could not wait to carry me away, I thought in wonder, watching them move of their own volition. Two more steps nearer the door, then another.

  William’s face was ashen, his expression stricken and lost. This time, he did believe me.

  Another few steps and my hand reached for the doorknob.

  The renewed movement caught William’s attention and he finally focused on me. ‘You cannot tell me my mother is dead, then flee,’ he warned.

  ‘I am…’ I was not sure what I was doing, or where I was going. My body seemed to have a mind of its own, and although I wanted to stay and comfort the Duke, it seemed I was leaving, whether I wanted to or not. I opened the door.

  Before I could step through it, William was at my side and slamming it shut. ‘Did you not hear what I said?’ he growled.

  ‘I did, my lord, but…’ I trailed off, a spark of hideous realisation making its way into my harried mind. I had experienced this once before, my feet moving without instruction from me…?

  Surely not. Arlette was most definitely well and truly dead. I felt her depart this earthly coil, I felt her spirit fade from her body, leaving nothing but a shell behind.

 
; ‘But what? You say my mother is dead? How do you know?’ William demanded.

  I tried to move him out of the way, but he was taller than me by a head and twice as heavy. He was going nowhere. I, on the other hand, felt his fingers dig into the tops of my arms as he gave me a shake.

  ‘I felt her death, my lord,’ I said hastily, my teeth almost rattling I my head.

  ‘You…? She…?’ He let go of me abruptly and I banged against the doorframe. ‘You were not ill at all,’ he accused, ‘were you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How—?’ He appeared to be at a loss for words. I had few I could share with him. My own words were of the swearing variety. I knew what that movement of my feet signified.

  ‘Stop me,’ I ground out between lips pulled tight against gritted teeth. If he did not prevent me from opening that door, then I would be gone.

  Giving me a strange look, he duly obliged and leaned his bulk against the door, crossing his arms. ‘Well?’ His tone was hard and unyielding.

  ‘I do not know how,’ I admitted. ‘It was as if I was a part of her. I could feel what she was feeling.’

  ‘Did she suffer?’ His voice broke and he cleared his throat.

  ‘No,’ I lied.

  I so desperately wanted to move past him. I was having trouble thinking, but I knew I needed to head west, towards home. The summons was strong and irresistible. I had no chance of denying it.

  The hope which had swelled so briefly in me, had been flattened by the necessity of doing as I was bid.

  Aye, I was caught in the spell’s web once more – if I had ever been free of it, which I now doubted. I should have guessed Herleva’s foul magic would not be so quick to release me from its grasp.

  The question now was – where was I headed and who was I headed towards?

  Chapter 34

  ‘Cat?’ William was watching me, warily, but behind the caution, there was grief and my heart went out to him. He had just lost his mother, and he was about to lose me, too. He deserved an explanation.

  ‘Come, sit. I will tell you as much as I am allowed.’ I tugged his sleeve and drew him away from the door.

  Sitting side-by-side on the settle, I told him what I could, and left the silence fill in the blank parts.

  ‘She suffered a little,’ I admitted, knowing that whatever was happening to me, William wanted to know about his mother first and foremost, and also he would hear about it soon enough when he landed in Normandy. ‘I think it was some kind of flux.’

  William raised his eyebrows. ‘Flux? Is anyone else struck down with it? My wife?’

  ‘I know very little more. I was only party to your mother’s illness, no one else’s.’

  ‘Did she pass over when you…?’ He jerked his head towards the floor where I had lain with my fevered head in his lap.

  I nodded. ‘Yes, so in a way, you were with her when she died,’ I said, by way of comforting him.

  ‘Did she know I was there?’

  ‘I am certain of it.’ Huh, the only thing I was certain of was that Arlette only had thoughts for herself, and when she did become aware of someone else, namely me, her first reaction was to use me as a bargaining chip to avoid being taken by whatever darkness had come to claim her.

  William sat and pondered for a while. What he said next was not what I had expected, not at all. ‘Finally, I am my own man.’

  It gave me pause, and I guessed that William might have felt Arlette’s dominance almost as much as I. She had been behind everything her son was and did, from his conception to his recent wedding. Her hand and influence had been everywhere, and maybe it had begun to rankle a little.

  It must be hard for him, I realised – he wanted England so badly, but he had never been certain whether he was getting it of his own accord and by his own merits, or because his mother had sold her soul to the devil. I would also bet everything I owned that William was wrestling with his own soul, and was wondering if his compliance and acceptance meant that he was as damned as his mother undoubtedly was.

  He was lucky, though – he was now free of her.

  I, however, was destined for another’s control.

  Something else occurred to me, and I did not intend to share this little nugget with anyone, not even William. Especially not William. There had been no sign of any illness in Arlette when we left Normandy’s shores. Aware that I was maybe jumping to the wrong conclusion, but sensing that something was wrong about her sickness, I considered two possible causes.

  The first was Matilda. Newly-wed and with a powerful and headstrong mother-in-law, she must be finding married life hard, especially since her groom had dashed off to another country before the ink was even dry on the parchment. Would she have done something to rid herself of the one woman who was a rival for her husband’s affections? I would not put it past her. Matilda was just as headstrong and determined as Arlette. Arlette would never have seen it coming because now that Matilda was safely married to William, the witch no longer had any need to spy on her. I wondered how easy it would have been for Matilda to procure some poison. Or maybe she had the forethought to bring it with her.

  The second was the magic itself. If I considered Herleva and Arlette to have been cruel mistresses, magic was worse. I remembered Herleva telling Arlette that magic always seeks balance – rise too high and it would shoot the wielder out of the sky. Perhaps this was what had happened to Arlette. She was almost at her pinnacle; the next rung up the ladder would have been to become the mother to the King of England. I suspected that if Matilda was not to blame for Arlette’s demise, then the magic had found its own balance.

  I was itching to get moving. The insistent call from the west was muted now, but still there. It would not stay that way for long if I failed to make a move soon.

  William had been thinking along similar lines, in that he was eager to return home and bury his mother. He also assumed I would go with him.

  ‘My mother’s shoes will not be easy to fill, but I am counting on you, Cat,’ he said.

  ‘I cannot accompany you,’ I replied, wishing with all my heart that I could. ‘I am no Herleva and no Arlette. I do not have their abilities.’

  He squinted at me. ‘But you are still Cat?’

  ‘Yes.’ The feline part of me was still there, I could feel her paws twitching, eager to be off.

  ‘Then you will still be of great use to me.’ His tone brooked no argument. As far as he was concerned, I would do as he commanded. It was time to put him straight.

  ‘I belonged to your mother,’ I began, ‘and to Herleva before her. It seems I now belong to another.’

  ‘Yes, me.’ He was adamant it was so.

  ‘Not you. You do not have… you are not…’ I could not say the words. Even with my first two mistresses now dead, the spell was determined to keep their secrets.

  He waited for me to continue, and when I didn’t he huffed with impatience. ‘You need to spit it out,’ he urged.

  ‘I am not allowed. It will not let me.’

  ‘It?’

  I nodded.

  ‘It ties your tongue and prevents you from speaking of it?’

  I bit my lip.

  ‘I am right, aren’t I?’ He scratched at the bristle on his cheeks. ‘I have known since I was a small boy that my mother was not like other mothers, other women. It did take me some time to work out the how and the why, and I do not think I was actually aware that I was doing it, until the realisation hit. My mother is – was – a witch, wasn’t she?’

  I worried at my bottom lip again.

  He sighed and nodded. ‘Is this why I am named Edward’s heir, because she worked her magic?’

  I shrugged. Even if I was allowed to answer, I could not, for I did not know myself. Had Herleva merely seen what would come to pass, or had she orchestrated it? Maybe it was a little of both, for without the enchantment that she had cast on William’s father, William would never have been born. On the other hand, maybe she had foreseen that the first-born
son of Robert, Duke of Normandy, would become England’s king, and all she had done was ensure the wench he came out of was someone of her choosing.

  The whole thing was too complex and too complicated to work out. And anyway, did it really matter? What was done, was done.

  ‘My mother has passed on,’ he said to me, his voice oddly gentle. ‘Are you telling me that you are not mistress of your own destiny, now?’

  ‘It seems not. I have to leave, I have no choice.’

  ‘Where will you go?’ He seemed genuinely concerned.

  ‘West.’ That was where the summons was coming from – my homeland, or as near as dammit.

  ‘To whom? Who is this new mistress you speak of? How do you know about her? Did she send a messenger?’

  ‘I do not know the answer to the first two questions, but as to how I know about her – she is in my mind, commanding me to go to her. A messenger was not needed. I will depart on the morrow,’ I decided, hoping the spell would allow me a final night’s rest and the few hours in between to prepare.

  ‘You cannot go,’ William insisted. ‘I will not let you. You are still dear to me, Cat.’

  Sudden tears filled my eyes, stinging and bitter. He did not have to say that, and I was not entirely sure that he meant it, because I suspected he would be glad to be rid of this final reminder of his mother’s dark arts when he was finally free of me. But how was I to leave this man who I had watched being born, who I had cherished and protected, loved and killed for? He was like a son and I was being forced to abandon him. It was so unfair.

  I could not do it. I would not do it. Staying with him was not an option, but I could choose my own way to leave.

  It would have to be quick, and I did not fancy messy either, but beggars have little choice. Poison was out – I had none and had no idea where to procure any (besides, I did not fancy the pain, I’d had enough of that with Arlette’s messy, tormented death). I could open a vein and bleed to death… hmm, that would work. As would throwing myself off the topmost tower.