His eyes narrowed. “Why should I be the one to buy your boots? You’re not my cat. As you said, cats belong to themselves.”
“You should buy me boots because…” I paused, casting about for a good reason. I considered telling him the truth but decided against it. I wanted his help—his hands and height and strength. I could not risk the chance that he would flee when he learned I had an ogre for an enemy.
My eyes fell upon the two books beside his pallet, and my memory recalled the words of Julian’s brother, That boy has always gotten above himself.
“You should buy me boots because I was sent to help you.”
“Help me?” he asked. “How?”
I looked him over. He was handsome but unassuming, and too mild tempered to fight his brothers for his share of the mill. If he had been of noble birth, I would have thought him the perfect patsy for the princess to marry.
But what had birth to do with nobility? Unlike many of my class, I was not so haughty as to believe that having been born of a noble bloodline was proof the gods favored me above all others. My parents had been born amidst the highest echelons of society, and fallen far through their mistakes. If men could fall by their own actions, could they not rise by them? Or by the actions of others? I saw no reason why the son of a miller could not become husband to a queen. All it would take was the right plan and a little effort.
“You deserve a better life,” I said. “I am here to make sure you get it. You will have money, a title and respect.”
He laughed. “Just because you can talk, I don’t suppose it means you have to tell the truth. There is no way a commoner such as I could become one of the aristocracy. Certainly, my mother had some noble blood in her veins, but my father was a miller. I haven’t a penny to my name. And you have seen my half brothers.”
Had I my human features, I would have frowned. The miller’s son would not be easy to convince.
“Have you never thought you were destined for a life better than this?” It was a safe question. Who among us does not secretly believe he is meant for a better life than the one he was dealt? Despite my rise from child of traitors to consort of the king, I still imagined I should have been born a goddess, with no more responsibility than to lounge about on satin pillows all day and be admired for my beauty and grace.
Julian did not answer.
“Have you never seen the nobles riding by in their grand processions and wanted that life for yourself?”
“Aye.” A look of longing washed across his handsome face. Longing and the memory of lust. “I saw the procession of the late king’s consort when she journeyed to the capital for her wedding. I saw her face through the window of her carriage…”
His eyes drifted closed. “I have never wanted wealth or power as much as I wanted her.”
His words warmed my heart, causing a deep purr to rumble from my chest. It was a pleasant sensation, thick and relaxing. My eyes drifted closed. I felt his hand on me, stroking me. The purr intensified.
“But what do you care what I want?”
“I care a great deal.” I arched under his hand. “A wizard is plotting to force Princess Etheldred to marry him and I need your help to save her. In return I will see that you get all that you ever desired.”
“This sounds like something out of my book of tales.” He crossed his arms. “Why should I believe you?”
I looked from his pallet to his meager pile of possessions. “What have you got to lose?”
“Point.” He flashed me a rueful smile as he scratched behind my ears. “Suppose I do agree to help you. What must I do?”
“Keep scratching behind my ears. It feels divine.”
“That’s all?”
I remembered myself and ducked out from beneath his hand. “You must follow my advice, my lord.”
“Why do you keep calling me that? I don’t have a title.”
“You will.” I set my feline face into a smug, knowing expression, regarding him through nearly closed eyes. “You need only come with me, and you will get the life that you were meant to have.”
His expression remained reticent.
“Tell me, my lord, how is it that you are yet unmarried? You are handsome, and of age.”
“I’m the third son of a poor miller.” He shook his head, his firm mouth drawn into a frown. “It is not as though I haven’t asked. I asked Miss Chandler but she wouldn’t have me. She said I’d no prospects. All she wanted was—” He broke off abruptly.
“What did she want?” I’d an inkling of his answer, for I knew what I would want of a man so well-favored and well-formed.
He drew himself up and shook his head. “A gentleman doesn’t speak of the ladies of his acquaintance.”
Had I been human, I would have arched a brow. “Shall I take your silence to mean you gave her what she wanted?”
He looked away.
“I’ll take that as a yes. And I’d wager she wasn’t the only young miss to turn down your honorable offer.”
He shook his head.
“But just think,” I whispered, “if you’d a title and a fortune, no lady in the kingdom would turn you down. Why, you could marry the princess herself if you wanted.” I waited for some sign of interest to show in his expression. When it failed to manifest, I added, “Why, you might even woo the Lady Catriona.”
His eyes went hot. When he came back to himself moments later, he said, “All right. As you said, what have I to lose?”
“That’s the spirit.”
He smiled and I caught my breath. There, beside his straight, white teeth, above his chiseled jaw, was the most endearing dimple I’d ever seen. The longer I was in his presence, the more handsome he became.
“I still can’t buy you boots.”
My purring ceased abruptly. “Why ever not?”
He turned the white pockets of his breeches out. “No money, and not a thing to sell.”
“What about those books?”
“Those books belonged to my mother!” His dark eyes flashed. “My father and brothers sold the rest of her possessions one by one. I have nothing else of hers left.”
“Surely you can sell one of them. If I am to make a noble of you, you must make some sacrifices.”
“But I don’t see how getting you a pair of boots will benefit me.”
“Of course you don’t.” I laughed softly. “If you understood it, you would already be a wealthy noble. You must trust me. Every grand plan begins with the right pair of shoes.”
He looked at the books and picked the one with the fewest lines across its embossed spine. “I shall sell this one, I guess. I never did care for the old philosophers.”
“What is the other?”
“Can you not read the title?”
“I never learnt the skill.” I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice.
“You should, reading is the most pleasurable thing one can do by oneself.”
“I can think of other things,” said I with a tilt of my chin.
He laughed, and shook his head as though he felt he oughtn’t encourage me. “Anyhow,” he said, awkwardly raising the book as though he meant to sell it to me, “it is a book of tales. Tales of wicked fairies and cursed princesses, and boys of humble background who become kings through acts of bravery or cleverness. I loved it as a child.”
“I can see why you would.”
He looked down at the book of philosophers. “We’ll get little enough for this in town. The apothecary who buys old books cares little for philosophy and less for children’s tales.”
“Then we shan’t take it to him,” said I.
“But we must. He has a fine library from which he often lent me books. I owe him something for his kindness, even if it is only the chance to refuse to buy this book.”
“When you are wealthy, you may buy that blasted apothecary a hundred books. We need blunt, and we’ll get more for your book in the city than out here in the sticks.”
“The city?”
&nbs
p; “Where else would a young man of humble background and lofty aspiration go to make his fortune?”
He laughed. “Where else, indeed!” He clapped me on the back, and I stumbled a few steps. “Sorry.”
“Quite all right.”
“What shall I call you?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him my name, but then I thought better of it. The Lady Catriona was a dream to him, a prize to be won. He would not want her if he learned she had been turned into an animal by her ex-lover. I did not want to alter the image of Catriona he had in his head—the glimpse of my face through the carriage window those years ago.
And so, I did what I have always done in order to get what I want. I lied. “We cats, among ourselves we do not have names.”
“Well, then, I shall have to make up a name.” He was silent for a moment. “I know. Let’s call you Boots.”
“Let’s not.”
“Puss—”
“Definitely not. ‘Puss’ isn’t a name, it’s an invitation to ribald puns.”
“What am I to call you, then?”
“Call me Cat.”
Chapter Four: The Escape
Julian wrapped his meager possessions in the blanket from his pallet. Two sets of clothes, the books, soap and toothpowder, a cracked mirror and a wicked-looking razor. Just before he tied the bundle, he removed the razor and stowed it in his pocket.
“For the journey,” he said. “We’d make a thin catch for thieves, but I hear they are hungry on the road to the capital.”
Though I ordered him not to, Julian insisted on saying goodbye to his brothers. Alfgar and Dunstan Miller were drunk on a flagon of cheap wine when Julian knocked. They invited him in with a great show of tears and protestations that they did not want him to leave.
They invited him to stay with them and share the undercooked chicken sitting on a dented pewter platter at the center of the table. Julian’s beautiful brown eyes softened, and he smiled tentatively.
“Don’t trust them,” I hissed, but he didn’t listen.
“They’re my brothers,” he whispered as he set his pack down beside the door and joined them at the table.
Alfgar served him a drumstick. Dunstan offered him some wine. And after he’d had a few bites of food and sips of wine, Alfgar stood on the pretense of visiting the outhouse, and clouted Julian on the back of the head as he walked past.
Julian tumbled from his chair. I rushed to him, and as his eyes opened blearily, I hissed, “Stay down. I want to hear their plans.”
Finally the stubborn man listened to me. He really was too kind for his own good. Wasn’t he lucky he had me about? I had never been accused of kindness, selflessness or any other brand of human virtue.
“Open his bundle,” Alfgar said. “You know he’ll have packed whatever is left of his bitch mother’s things. What he’s been hiding from us these past years.”
“Do you think he has her jewelry?”
“No, Father sold the last of it for whiskey years ago.”
“Aye, and do you remember the beating he gave the boy when Julian tried to stop him?”
The miller’s elder sons laughed loud and long.
“I told him he’d get nothing,” Alfgar said. “And I mean to make sure I’m obeyed.” He undid the knot on the pack and dumped Julian’s meager possessions to the floor.
“Look at this. A mirror. Books. He’s been holding out on us.”
Dunstan held up the jar of toothpowder. “What’s this for?”
Why didn’t that question surprise me? The hairy man had more black spaces in his mouth than white. And his breath could have dropped a dragon at a hundred yards.
“Toothpowder, you dunce. For that shining white smile of his.”
Dunstan stood and loomed over Julian’s prone form, his leg held back as though winding up for a kick. “Well, he won’t need it iffin he hasn’t any teeth.”
I imagined my handsome Julian toothless. It was too great a crime! I leapt onto the table, caromed off it and threw myself at Dunstan’s hairy face, claws first. He recoiled when my claws sank into his cheeks, screaming and stumbling back against the hearth. His head hit the mantel and he collapsed, bleeding profusely from a gash at the back of his skull.
I would have leapt at Alfgar next, but the brutish bald man grabbed me by the scruff, and I could not twist around and catch my claws into his skin.
“Julian,” I cried. “Help me!”
“What the—?” Alfgar’s bloodshot blue eyes went wide with shock. “It talks!”
Just at that moment, Julian surged up from where he’d lain on the ground, and drove his fist into his brother’s ugly face. Alfgar staggered back and collapsed beside his brother against the hearth.
“Are you all right, Cat?” Julian turned to me, concern writ in his tight brows and worried eyes.
Behind him, Alfgar struggled to his feet.
“Look out!”
Julian whirled, fist out, and connected with his brother’s jaw. Alfgar’s eyes rolled up behind his lids, and he fell in a heap upon the floor.
I hurried to the fallen man and swiped my claws across his cheek. When he didn’t stir, I said, “Next time a man attacks us, punch him in the crotch. That way you’ll know he’s incapacitated.”
“I—I can’t do that.” Julian knelt to repack his belongings. “Decent men do not deal low blows.”
“The purpose of participation in a fight is victory,” I said, reciting my father’s instructions on the subject.
“I do not mean to belittle your advice, Cat, but it hardly sounds chivalrous.”
I thought of my father, a convicted traitor and as-yet-uncaught card cheat who diligently maintained the illusion of honesty. “The man who told me this wasn’t honest, but he was right. If you are to improve your lot in life, you shall have to learn to sell high, punch low and lie well.”
Julian stood, but did not look me in the eye. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t do as you ask.”
“Well then,” I said as I lifted Alfgar’s coin-purse from the unconscious man’s belt. “Aren’t you lucky to have me?”
“Leave that,” he said. “I won’t steal from family.”
I walked to him and looked up, meeting his eyes. “They would have stolen from you.”
“So I should make myself no better than they?”
“You are better than them,” I snapped. “You’re standing and they’re on the ground. Take the chicken and the wine. I’m going to check the larder to see what else I can find.”
“We’ve no need to rob the larder, too,” he said. “I can hunt. Do you fancy pheasant? Venison? Wild hare?”
My stomach growled. “I fancy a quick meal that doesn’t take time away from our journey to the city,” I said, already walking toward the larder. “But do remember to take the bow and arrows I spy beside the hearth. We may need them ere this adventure is through.”
In the larder I found some sausages that were only the slightest bit moldy and a loaf of bread in the same condition. The cheese was surprisingly fresh. As was to be expected, there were several sturdy bags of flour stacked upon the shelves. Since we could not take them with us, I slashed the side of each with my claws and let the flour spill onto the ground.
When I returned to Julian, dragging a flour sack filled with food in my jaws, he said, “Why are you coated in flour?” He covered his eyes with his hand. “Wait. I don’t want to know.”
“Good choice, my lord,” I said after I’d dropped the sack at his feet. “Now do let us be on our way. Your brothers won’t sleep forever.”
Actually, given the way Dunstan’s head wound was bleeding, it was highly likely that he would sleep forever. But Julian would never forgive himself if his brother died, so I deemed it best to get him away before he noticed.
Once we were outside, I urged Julian to steal Dunstan’s mule, but he refused, leaving us to set out for the city on foot. As I had decided to keep secret my human identity and past, I occupied Julian with questio
ns about himself. It was surprisingly enjoyable to listen to a man speak of his life and his interests. Usually I preferred they use their breath and voice to compliment me, but I was fascinated by everything he chose to tell.
He told me of the mill, how it worked, with all the great gears converting the force of water sluicing through the mill chute into energy used to grind grain into flour. He spoke a great deal of books he had read, and books he hoped to read. I was surprised anyone could show such passion for ink scratchings on parchment.
“No, no, Cat,” he argued. “You only say that because you do not read. If we have some quiet moments, I’ll teach you. When you catch the hang of it, it will seem as though the world has opened to you. Maths, sciences, faraway lands, times long gone—anything man can experience or imagine may be set to the page.”
“Anything man can imagine may be said aloud, as well,” I said sourly, “and one does not need pens, ink, parchment and candlelight in order to convey or receive the spoken word.”
Perhaps I was too harsh in my assessment, but I did not want to believe I had missed so much in life as he implied. My mother had refused me reading lessons, arguing they were a waste for a girl who would make her fortune with her face and form. Though I hated to admit it, she was proven correct. The king had not cared one whit that I didn’t read or write. I became the highest-ranking woman in the kingdom (after the princess) without knowing so much as the letters of my own name.
“I remain unconvinced.”
“That is your choice, Cat, but have you never wondered what you are missing?”
I must have let something show in my expression, for the smile he gave me was so smug and self-satisfied I was certain he believed he had struck the truth of it. Perhaps he had. It always bothered me that a woman as clever as I had to rely on others to read and write her letters and accounts. It bothered me more that Julian had discerned the direction of my thoughts. As punishment, I did not speak again that day, but instead grumbled and simmered in silence.
By nightfall we had made it halfway to the city. My feet hurt and I scarce had the energy to clean all that flour from my lovely fur. I managed it, though, sitting before the fire long after the moon had risen. When I was done, I went to Julian and curled myself against his sleeping body, trusting my feline instincts to wake me should anyone approach our campsite.
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