Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  The aroma of smoking meat drifted on the light breeze and my stomach growled. Supper was a long way off and I had missed the midday meal, too busy making a spectacle of myself and playing the spy. The latter had been an attempt to appease Joan’s wrath.

  An ox bellowed in sudden fear, the noise breaking off to a gurgle, and I glanced to one side as the smell of fresh blood caught the back of my throat. The animal, on its knees with its head hanging and blood pooling beneath, reminded me of Hugh lying prone in the hard-baked dirt, blood reddening his head. I had truly thought him dead.

  I slowed, not wanting to watch but unable to look away. The ox toppled onto its side, legs kicking weakly. For a moment, I felt sorry for its suffering, but my pity died along with the beast. I recognised the senselessness in keeping too many bullocks through the winter, when feed grew scarce and human mouths demanded food. Besides, I liked beef as much as anyone.

  Joan glanced neither left nor right, her steps brisk, and I hurried to catch up with her, conscious of many eyes on both of us and the calls of “my lady” as she passed. She nodded at each greeting but didn’t pause until she reached the pantry.

  ‘Is Mistress Margedd here?’ Joan asked the scullery wenches as they bobbed curtsies and muttered greetings.

  Empty barrels lined the walls and casks of vinegar sat on fish-littered tables. The boats had been successful today, the fishermen taking advantage of the calm autumn weather before winter storms ravaged the coast. Throughout the castle, food for both man and beast was being stockpiled and preserved to prepare for the lean months ahead.

  ‘My lady.’ Margedd stepped forward from a back room and dropped a quick curtsy. She turned to the servants. ‘Carry on, if you want full bellies come February.’

  As well as being the wife of Barris and the lover of Hugh, Margedd held the title of the castle’s chatelaine. I eyed this mere housekeeper with rancour, then chided myself for my pettiness. Her role was an important one. Between her and Barris, the castle ran efficiently, and I had liked her well enough before Hugh had tupped her.

  Joan led her to the door, where fresher air tempered the stink of vinegar, and I followed, eager to rid my nose of the sting.

  ‘Prepare an inventory, both for goods already preserved and anything left to be done,’ Joan instructed. ‘They say winter will be unduly harsh this year and I want to ensure we are well-provisioned.’

  ‘I will see to it at once, my lady,’ Margedd said.

  Joan jerked her head at me. ‘This is Caitlyn, my new lady-in-waiting. She needs training, but she is eager and biddable, if a little excitable,’ Joan said. She was referring to the face-slapping incident, and I knew she would take me to task for it sooner rather than later.

  Margedd stared at me. I stared back.

  Comely, after a fashion, Hugh’s playmate had a pretty face, a ready laugh, and generous breasts and hips. Plenty for a man to hold on to and Hugh had done plenty of holding. I sensed it would not end well; Barris, short, stocky, and of red hair, had put his stamp on all of his children. He may well spot a cuckoo in his nest if Hugh had planted a child in Margedd’s belly. I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes. If I read her expression correctly, she knew I had slapped her lover across the face, in public.

  She must be wondering why.

  Joan took her leave, and with one last look at Margedd, I followed my mistress.

  ‘What have you to say for yourself?’ The Princess strode across the bailey, a handful of skirts clasped in each hand, to keep the hems out of the dirt.

  I studied my shoes as I trotted alongside her.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded, when I failed to answer.

  What could I say? That I had struck her husband’s “guest” because I had a sudden dislike of the way everyone, including Llewelyn’s horse, was fawning over him? Because he had seemed to enjoy each second of the attention and it had annoyed me beyond reason? There – I admitted it. I had slapped him out of temper, and for the smirk he gave me, and because he expected me to worship at his feet along with everyone else. Even the darned animals were playing into his hands, Cat included.

  ‘Nothing,’ I muttered, like a disobedient child.

  ‘I should make you live out the rest of your days as a cat,’ she threatened, and I bit back a retort.

  The rest of my days was far longer than she would ever get to see! Although I did not fancy being a cat for the next twenty or thirty years, and Joan was more than capable of carrying out her threat if pushed.

  I decided not to push. ‘It will not happen again.’

  ‘Be sure that it doesn’t,’ she warned. ‘What has got into you, Caitlyn?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I spent too long as a cat and not long enough as me?’ I glanced at her, hoping the barb had hit home.

  Joan didn’t bother with a response, but I could tell she was not pleased.

  ‘Dafydd is going to marry one of William de Braoses’s daughters,’ I blurted, aiming for a diversion, before she decided to make good on her threat.

  It worked. She halted and turned, grasping my arm. ‘You are certain of this?’

  ‘I heard the Prince with my own ears. He intends to wed him to Isabella, Lord Abergavenny’s eldest daughter. There is more.’ I glanced around, ensuring no one was in earshot, and lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘Once they are married, Llewelyn intends to kill Lord William. Dafydd will then become Lord of Abergavenny.’

  I expected her to be delighted with the plan, but instead shock, so fleeting that I wondered if I saw it at all, flashed across her face before being swiftly veiled.

  Her quick mind grasped Llewelyn’s plan immediately, however. ‘It is a dangerous game he is playing,’ she murmured, releasing her hold. Her eyes were on me, but her gaze was turned inward, the picture in her mind creasing her brow. ‘When will this wedding take place?’

  ‘He did not say, but I got the impression it would be sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Find out,’ Joan shot back. ‘I have to know how much time I have.’

  She turned in a whirl of skirts and almost ran across the bailey, leaving me gawping after her. Rarely had I seen my mistress this agitated.

  I wondered what part of her husband’s plan had disturbed her so.

  Chapter 8

  ‘We meet again,’ a voice said, and I stopped in mid-stride, as my heart dropped to my calf-skin slippered feet and my hands clenched into fists. I had avoided this man for three days, but today my luck had deserted me.

  ‘Sir Ifan.’ I kept my eyes downcast, hoping he would see it as modesty, not wariness.

  ‘You are new to Criccieth.’

  I nodded, continuing to examine the flagstones. Hewn from Welsh slate, deep grey in the gloom of the passageway and slippery as an old pike when wet, these riven rock slabs lined every floor of the castle.

  ‘I am told you hail from Leominster?’ he continued.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And you are Lady Joan’s gentlewoman?’

  I had already told him this. As had Llewelyn. That he felt the need to verify the story, worried me. I nodded for a second time, keeping my gaze firmly on the floor. Those flagstones were fascinating.

  ‘Have you a name?’ he asked.

  Another nod. He must think me an imbecile. I hoped he did, then perhaps he would leave me alone. Imbecile would be infinitely preferable to spy. Concentrating hard, I uncurled my fingers and willed myself to stay calm. A man of his intelligence and cunning would be able to sense discord at a hundred paces, and as he already suspected me of some kind of treachery, I did not want to give him any more reason.

  ‘God’s blood! This is like pulling hen’s teeth.’ He ran a hand across his face. ‘What is your name, lady?’

  ‘Caitlyn, sir.’ He already knew my name. I swallowed down the urge to slit his throat at his persistence, and the image of the dying bullock came into my mind. I blinked it away.

  He placed a finger underneath my chin, and I recoiled a little, resisting his touch for
a heartbeat, before letting him raise my head. My eyes met his.

  He was smiling. Eyes the colour of hazelnut shells, speckled with flecks of sunlight and rimmed with dark lashes, stared into mine. To my consternation, I saw no threat in them, only interest and appreciation. Had I read him wrong?

  ‘That is better,’ he said. ‘Eyes like yours are meant for looking into. I can’t decide whether they are violet or bluebell.’ He turned my face from side to side to catch the faint light shafting through the slitted window set deep in the three-foot-thick wall of the passageway.

  I said nothing, though he sensed my amusement. My eyes were an unremarkable blue-grey, and both of us knew it.

  ‘No husband,’ he murmured, more to himself than me I suspected, and I felt somewhat like a horse for sale at market. Would he inspect my teeth next? I wished he would remove his hand. I had the urge to remove it for him. Permanently.

  I could go one way or the other with this man. I chose the easier route.

  ‘No, no husband.’ My voice was non-committal, but I let my eyes fill with warmth. The role of coquette did not appeal to me, but I had used it before. It usually worked, especially when coupled with my long dark hair, my cream-pale skin, and sufficient curves to keep most men happy.

  He tilted my chin further. My lips parted a fraction and I watched his eyes settle on them, but I pulled away when he bent his head. I did not intend to let him kiss me yet, and maybe never, although a faint thrill of – was that lust? – stirred deep in my belly. The sensation disturbed me. Perhaps I needed more time to adjust to being Caitlyn? Days used to go by when I stayed as Cat, not bothering to revert to Caitlyn unless Joan wanted to speak with me, and I did not recall feeling desire while padding through life on four paws. This unfamiliar feeling was unsettling.

  A small scar on his right brow caught my attention, and I wondered how he had come by it. Battle, most likely. He would undoubtedly have more scars underneath his tunic. I had a disconcerting vision of Ifan without clothes.

  I dropped my gaze, appearing modest and demure once more, although I felt anything but inside. I needed to keep my emotions in check – I should not forget my situation, and it would not do to tease this man too much. A normal woman could enjoy a little flirtation, maybe encourage him, and I swallowed down sudden bitterness. A normal woman would be married by now. She would have children clutching at her skirts, a home of her own, and a man to love her. I took a breath to let the fantasy go, saving it for a time better suited for wallowing in life’s unfairness.

  I stepped back, eager to put some distance between us. Ifan, too close for comfort and with an evident gleam in those hazelnut eyes, radiated a tangible heat. He desired me, and I reacted as any woman would when faced with the appreciation of a handsome man – I revelled in it, feeling more alive than I had felt for decades. My mind preached caution, but my body had other ideas, and my cheeks reddened and a sneaky tingle spread upwards from my belly.

  ‘Will you be at supper, later?’ Ifan asked.

  ‘If Lady Joan allows it.’ For the past three nights, Joan had taken her evening meal in Llewelyn’s chambers and I had readily danced attendance on them both, choosing the role of servant to avoid the great hall and all those eyes.

  ‘I expect she will,’ Ifan said. ‘Barris has returned from Winchester with news. Llewelyn will soon be two thousand pounds richer and he will be in the mood to celebrate.’

  Good. Perhaps that would appease my lady. She was still harping on about a private meeting with William of Abergavenny, and so far I had done nothing to arrange it. Her patience, like her temper, was getting short.

  ~~~~~

  I loved dancing. I had not danced for more years than I could remember. My foot tapped along to the music, a brace of fiddlers playing a lively jig, my heart beating in time to the rhythm, as I watched maidens and wives alike swirl and dip, their partners handing them off to the next man in line. I wished I was dancing with them.

  ‘You owe me an explanation. Or a dance, at least.’

  I jerked as Hugh appeared at my shoulder. Within hours I had encountered both of the men I had spent days avoiding. Wonderful.

  I stopped toe-tapping and turned to face him. ‘You can have the explanation, but not the dance.’

  ‘I prefer the dance.’

  He had tied his hair back with a leather thong and was dressed for the occasion. Whose clothes were those, I wondered, admiring the black velvet tunic edged with gold thread, his attire more suited to a wealthy lord than a fighting man. All in black, with raven-wing hair and a hint of dark stubble, his eyes were the only colour about him, bright blue and glittering in the light from the many lavender-scented sconces positioned around the walls of the hall. I suspected he was well aware of the picture he portrayed – handsome and with a slight air of danger.

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ I said, aiming for the truth. Too many lies could trip a person.

  He laughed aloud, his head thrown back, exposing his throat. I shuddered at the urge to kiss the little dip at its base. Then I shuddered anew at my reaction to him. What was wrong with me? Had Joan put one of her love spells on me? Two men, a few hours apart, and I was lusting after both like Llewelyn’s prize bitch in heat.

  ‘You hit me because you were disappointed I wasn’t dead?’ He shook his head, chuckling. ‘Wait, let me find you a sword so you can finish the job. I hate to disappoint a lady.’

  I bet you do, I nearly said, pressing my lips together in a firm line. I was no Margedd to be wooed by a handsome face and a self-assured manner. I ignored the throat-kissing urge. It was an aberration, nothing more. I was not the falling-at-his-feet kind of woman.

  His hand went to his left hip and came away empty. ‘My regrets, my lady, but I appear to be without my weapon. You could always use your dagger. I promise to be still and not to make too much noise as you cut me.’

  My fingers itched to close around the little knife which I wore at my waist, the one I used at supper to cut my meat. It was far too small to do much damage, although if he kept teasing me, I might be tempted to see how deeply I could thrust it into his chest. That would take the confident smile off his face.

  My lips remained clamped shut. If I spoke now, I might make more of a fool of myself than I already had.

  He was silent for a moment, studying me. I stood there and let him. No coquette this time, for I had nothing to fear from this man. He would soon be gone, back to his home, ransomed along with Lord William, although for far less a sum. I would quickly forget him.

  ‘You are one of Lady Joan’s gentlewomen, are you not?’ he asked.

  ‘I am.’ I finally remembered my task and realised I would have to endure Hugh for a while longer, if I wanted to complete it. I needed to arrange a private meeting between my mistress and his master, and Hugh would provide the means.

  I bobbed a quick curtsey. ‘Caitlyn, sir.’

  ‘You clearly know me.’ His hand went to his cheek, remembering.

  I had the grace to blush. For all his way with women, and his evident belief in his own irresistibility, he had not deserved the slap.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Lord William and his capture is the main topic of discussion at court.’

  ‘So I heard.’ His tone was dry. Although he had fared better than Lord William in that he appeared to have free rein of the castle, Hugh of Pembroke was a prisoner nonetheless, and it must gall him.

  I had to ask. ‘Why are you allowed to wander the castle and Lord William is guarded?’

  ‘Because I am of no value to Llewelyn.’

  ‘No, that cannot be the reason. The soldiers captured alongside you do not have the freedoms which you are allowed.’

  ‘It must be my charm,’ he joked, but I saw his reluctance to discuss it. ‘Anyway, William has been released from his prison, now that Llewelyn’s terms have been met.’

  Surprised, I glanced around the hall, trying to see the Lord of Abergavenny through the throng. He had not been at the high table for
supper.

  ‘He remained in his rooms this evening.’ Hugh guessed who I was searching for. ‘Something about penning a letter to his wife.’

  Weak excuse, William could do that on the morrow. I suspected he had another reason for not attending the meal.

  Joan. Where was she? She’d sat next to Llewelyn all through the numerous courses, picking at her food. I had seen her myself; but where was she now? Her husband was still in his seat, in deep conversation with some of his barons, no doubt plotting his next move against the English, but Joan was nowhere to be seen. Her ladies were dotted about the hall – I counted them off on my fingers – but there was no sign of my mistress. Everyone of any importance was here, enjoying Llewelyn’s meat and ale. The rest of the castle would be almost deserted, except for the ever-present guards stationed along the battlements and around the fortress. What a perfect time for Joan to do what she wanted without being observed.

  Joan’s absence had not been noticed. Yet. But I needed to find her before it was.

  ‘I think you owe me a dance, considering you failed to explain why you hit me.’ Hugh held out his hand, expecting me to take it.

  ‘I think not.’

  The crestfallen expression on his face almost made me smile. He hadn’t anticipated a refusal, but he rallied quickly and gave a bow. ‘Another time, my lady.’

  I nodded acknowledgement and edged away. Should I hunt for her as Cat or Caitlyn? I might need to intervene, and I could not do that easily as Cat. Changing from one to the other couldn’t be done in the blink of an eye, and there was also the risk of being seen. I decided to remain as Caitlyn, start searching for her in William’s rooms, and go from there.

  As I walked away, swinging my hips, I was conscious of Hugh’s stare.

  Chapter 9

  Cold seeped through the castle walls, the stone sucking heat from air and body alike. Even during high summer, three feet of hand-hewn rock, effective at keeping intruders at bay, proved to be equally good at preventing the warmth of the sun from penetrating. I shivered at the sudden chill on the winding staircase, a stark contrast to the heat of the hall.