‘Travel to Bruges, I mean,’ he clarified, with a wry smile.
I laughed. Did he expect me to fly? Or maybe, he expected me to walk on four feet…
‘On horseback,’ I answered, dryly
‘You misunderstand me, Cat. Bruges is a fair distance and there are many dangers along the way.’
‘I have Walter,’ I replied, ‘and the men he commands.’ We had been accompanied by a score of well-armed soldiers on our journey from Falaise. I had no reason to think they would not continue to guard me on the road to Bruges.
‘I want to come with you,’ he said.
I smiled again. He sounded like the five-year-old child he had once been, begging his father to take him with him to Jerusalem.
‘It would be wiser not to,’ I said, around a mouthful of mutton.
‘What if your persuasion does not work?’
‘It will.’ I was positive about this. Poor Matilda did not stand a chance.
‘How will her change of mind be explained?’ he persisted.
Good question. I had no idea. ‘Maybe she will see the sense of doing her father’s bidding?’ I suggested.
‘Count Baldwin is not the type of father to force her hand,’ William pointed out. ‘He agreed to the marriage, but he will not hold her to it if she refuses, and her refusal was rather public.’
‘How much do you want her?’ I countered.
‘It is not her I want, it is what she brings with her to the marriage bed.’
‘Is there no other maid who would have the same advantages?’ I asked.
William looked me in the face. ‘I have not considered others. I left my choice of bride to my mother.’
Ah. No wonder Arlette took such umbrage at the girl’s rebuttal. Arlette had hand-picked her for William, and although her fury might well be explained as a mother’s natural ire, I suspected there was more to it. Had Arlette seen Matilda’s destiny in the murky depths of the skull or in the reflection of her mirror’s polished glass? Did she know what part the girl would play in William’s future? Maybe the Duke’s wife had to be Matilda, if Herleva’s vision of William sitting on England’s throne was to be fulfilled.
‘What if you fail to get near enough to Matilda to speak with her?’ William asked. He laid a hand on my arm and his eyes bored into mine.
‘I will,’ I assured him, although speaking was not what I had in mind. Getting near to the maid was the easy part; getting away with my task completed and my head still attached to my shoulders might prove a tad more difficult.
He searched my face. ‘You have not aged even a little in all the years, Cat,’ he said.
I shrugged, not wanting yet another inquisition on the subject of my eternally youthful looks. What was it with Walter, and now William? Maybe it was something in the air, or maybe they were sensing the turn of destiny’s wheel…
As if to himself, William uttered softly, ‘A cat is not a thing to be remarked upon, but my mother does like keeping her grey one close. I wonder how many she has had over the years?’
Just the one, William, just the one…
Abruptly he got to his feet, my audience with him over. ‘Send for me if you need me,’ he said, and once more his eyes drilled into mine.
I nodded, resisting the urge to gather him into my arms.
‘And, Cat,’ he added, as I turned for the door. ‘Take care. You are dear to me.’
Yet again my heart was torn between hatred for the woman who had birthed him, and love for the man who I had watched grow from an infant into a duke.
Chapter 4
In the end, I had to send for William. I had not intended on doing so, but my hand was forced. I had spent seven days as Cat, and I was no nearer to relieving the girl of a lock of her hair than I had been when I arrived in Bruges.
The problem was that Matilda was never alone. Not ever. Her maid slept in her chamber at the foot of her bed, so a night-time visit was out of the question, and during the day the girl was constantly surrounded by her servants and gentlewomen. I did have a brief idea to steal Matilda’s brush and be done with it, but after I witnessed one serving girl then another swipe the brush through her own tresses, I dared not risk a stranger’s hair being caught up with that of William’s future bride.
Walter waited with increasing impatience in lodgings outside the palace walls, and each morning which passed without a word from me saw his temper deteriorate.
I knew this because I spied on him without being seen, like any good cat. I had to know he was still there for me if I needed him, and had not buggered off back to Fecamp. But he remained constant, and every morning before he broke his fast, he knocked on the door of the room he had secured for me, and every morning the knock went unanswered because I had nothing of note to report and I did not want to open myself up to his disgruntled mutterings.
Today, though, I finally admitted defeat. Matilda was well guarded, and although I had woven around her ankles and had been awarded a pat in return, I had not been in a position to do anything to further my mission. As Cat, I was at worse ignored and at best semi-tolerated. As Caitlyn, I would be lucky if I kept my head attached to my shoulders. A strange woman would be as unwelcome as the plague, and I would probably not get within twenty feet of this cossetted, protected young woman without being apprehended.
As I slipped between a crack in the boards and entered the room which Walter had procured for me, I breathed a sigh of relief mixed with despair. Arlette would not take kindly to my failure and as I waited for Walter’s knock, I changed to my human form once more and pondered my options.
There was only one. It was bold and daring, and in keeping with William’s reputation, but it was not without considerable risk. I had contemplated a number of scenarios as a ruse to get close to Matilda and had discounted all of them, including setting fire to the palace and hoping to reach her side in the confusion. None of them was feasible.
But this idea might be, and it had to be done soon, otherwise the impact would be lost.
From what I gathered during my eavesdropping sessions, skulking from one room to the next in that enormous fortress which Count Baldwin grandly called a palace, was that no one had yet informed William formally of Matilda’s response to his proposal.
Maybe the girl’s father was hoping she could be persuaded to change her mind… but I guessed he did not know her as well as he thought he did, despite Matilda making a fool of herself over Brihtric, King Edward’s right-hand man (another shiver crept down my spine as I thought of this stranger, but I ignored it).
As I studied the girl over the course of the last few days, I realised that Arlette was correct – Matilda was still in love with this Brihtric and still smarting from his rejection. I shrugged; she was not the first maid to have thrown herself at a man, and she would not be the last. But Brihtric had refused her advances, and I once again wondered why. From whatever angle I peered at the riddle, I failed to solve it. Matilda was linked by blood to the French throne, and she was also descended from the royal house of Wessex, King Edward’s own house. She would be a valuable asset to any man. So why had Brihtric refused her?
The only conclusion I could arrive at, was that perhaps Brihtric preferred men, namely Edward. The English king was well known for his proclivity in that direction, despite his marriage to a Danish noblewoman. So far that marriage had proved childless, leaving Edward without an heir.
I weighed the puzzle. Britric might well be playing his own game. If he had indeed succeeded in gaining Edward’s affection Brihtric, as one of the most powerful men in England, might be hoping that Edward would name him as successor to the throne. But surely marriage to a noblewoman such as Matilda would only serve to strengthen Brihtric’s position?
Bah! Whatever the reason, his refusal had left Matilda furious, shamed, and humiliated. She had acted in a most unseemly way for a woman of her noble birth, and she was lucky that her reputation had not been tarnished beyond repair. Asking Brihtric to marry her had been foolish a
nd foolhardy. If she had wanted him so badly, she should have approached her father to petition on her behalf, and not send Brihtric messages asking him to marry her. The girl had been lucky to escape with little more than a blot on her reputation and a bruised heart.
Secretly, I admired her daring. It was clear, though, that Matilda had not yet recovered from the incident. Although I had not heard anyone say as much, it occurred to me she suspected William, Duke of Normandy, had only dared ask for her hand because of the incident with Brihtric, that he thought her damaged goods and therefore she would have little choice.
William would have to do something spectacular to change the maid’s mind.
The anticipated knock came.
‘Come in,’ I called.
Walter uttered a snort and barged his way through the door. ‘Well?’ he demanded, without preamble. ‘Can we leave now?’
‘Not exactly. You may leave. I shall stay.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Explain.’
‘I have failed. The girl is too well guarded, and I have been unable to get close to her.’
‘Have you spoken with her father?’
‘That was not Arlette’s intention.’
‘I thought you were supposed to persuade her to see the error of her ways? If she will not receive you, then you have to beg an audience with the Count.’ He slumped into the only chair.
My gaze was steady. ‘Not exactly,’ I repeated. ‘Arlette’s means of persuasion does not involve speech of any kind.’ (If you ignored the chanting, and any other muttered incantations as she prepared the spell).
Walter huffed, but he did not bother questioning me further. ‘Now what?’ he asked instead.
‘I want you to take a message to William,’ I said, and had the satisfaction of watching his eyes widen in disbelief when I relayed it to him.
Chapter 5
I sprawled languidly across the back of a horse-hair stuffed settle and watched Matilda’s women prepare their lady for church. It was late spring and the mornings were still chill. Matilda’s servants had lit a fire without any direction from their mistress, knowing her preference for warmth, and had hung kettles of water above the flames, letting them come to the boil while they went about straightening her chamber after the ravages of the night.
The lady in question was unashamedly naked, and the rumours were correct – she was beautiful. Her skin was as pale as a newly risen moon, and almost as luminous in its perfection. There was no mark, no blemish on her, and I watched her graceful movements as she presented various parts of herself to be washed with a piece of flannel cloth dipped in warm water and rose oil.
When I first saw her, I had thought her a child because of her diminutive stature, but the flare of her hips and the fullness of her breasts showed she was no mere girl. This maiden was all woman and more than ripe for plucking. At eighteen, she was desperate for a man, even if she was not prepared to acknowledge this herself. Which probably explained why she threw herself at Brihtric. Count Baldwin should have secured a husband for his daughter several seasons ago.
Four-foot-six if she was an inch, Matilda would be dwarfed by William, who was considerably taller by more than a foot and a half. Tiny in stature she may be, but I suspected Matilda was tall in determination and very aware of her worth, both as a consort and a woman in her own right. William may well find he had his work cut out to keep this spirited lady in check.
I had been Cat for eleven days straight, except for that one brief respite when I had informed Walter of my plan, and it was beginning to take a toll on my mind. I was still essentially Caitlyn, but there was a dawning awareness that my thoughts were simplifying. This morning, despite knowing what the day would bring, I was content to lie out, paws and tail dangling in relaxed abandonment, my eyes half closed as I purred with contentment. Being a cat was so much less stressful than being a woman. Would it really be so bad to live like this for the rest of my days?
This morning, for instance, Matilda had broken her fast with soft white bread dipped in honey, followed by sweetened milk and fruit-laden pastries. She had shared her milk with me, and had presented me with some of last night’s lamb’s liver which she had kept back for me. It seemed that the haughty, spoilt young woman had taken a liking to the stray cat who haunted her private rooms.
Her dainty hunting hound tolerated me as long as I did not try to usurp its place on its mistress’s bed, and right now, at this very moment, I was as close to happy as I had been for many a long year. If it was up to me, I might have chosen to spend the rest of my days in such luxury.
Arlette, as usual, had other ideas.
The hairs along my back bristled as I sensed her and I sat up in sudden consternation, my tail swishing. The witch was here, in this very room. Her presence was strong, so forceful that I wondered why no one else could feel it.
Unlike Herleva, my mistress was not powerful enough to speak to me directly and never once had I heard her voice in my mind, but I often felt her eyes on me, a silent watchful warning to perform my task. Maybe she had sensed my mood…?
As abruptly as she had arrived, Arlette was gone, leaving me disgruntled and unsettled. The scrying had served its purpose though, and my attention and focus returned to William and his unwary bride-to-be.
As her gentlewoman went about their work they chatted, as young women were want to do, about who is in love with whom, and Matilda giggled along with the ladies as they poked gentle fun at one of their number for a young knight’s interest in her. A final swipe of the flannel between Matilda’s legs (I noticed a sudden stillness and quick intake of breath as her private parts were touched and I prayed William would not take too long before he made her his wife and took her to bed) and the lady was ready for dressing.
She always wore her hair loose, as befitted an unwed maiden, and it fell to below her waist in shining shades of autumn. Her features were delicate, from her small, straight nose, her blue-grey eyes, and high cheekbones, to the pert breasts and the triangle of chestnut hair at the juncture between her thighs, down to her well-formed little feet. For some reason, she reminded me of the palfrey Duke Robert had sent to carry the young Arlette to the castle all those years ago, high-prancing and arched neck, and well aware of her beauty and value.
Not that Matilda ever pranced, or rather I had never seen her behave in such a manner. She could be somewhat imperious, I admit, but mostly she was gracious and considerate and queenly. She would be a good foil for William’s gruffer and more soldierly manner.
The lady was finally dressed. All that was needed before the visit to the church was a coif to cover her hair, and for her to exchange her slippers for slightly sturdier footwear – not that Matilda would be required to do much walking, just from the carriage to her private pew and back again.
William would need to time this to perfection.
Abruptly, I was all Caitlin as the enormity of what he was about to do struck me anew and I slipped off the back of the settle with a yowl of surprise, landing clumsily on my paws. Cat had left me, and though I was still encased in her body, my mind now wholly belonged to Caitlyn.
A glance out of the window told me that the time was close upon us. Very soon, Matilda would leave for church, and it was essential I was in my own body and ready to flee. This plan of mine had the propensity to go horribly awry and I needed to be able to run at a moment’s notice.
I left the ladies to their gossip and flutterings, and scampered back to the lodgings, praying that my room had not yet been rented to another. Walter had paid for several more nights, but Walter was with William now and the landlord may well have decided to risk the absent Walter’s wrath, and double-let the room.
It was blessedly still mine, and I crept into its relative safety with a sigh of dread and anticipation. The next few moments would hurt.
When I was Caitlin once more and feeling out of place in my own body, I paced around the small room, forcing my limbs to remember two legs, not four, and flexing my hands. Of al
l of me, my fingers always felt the strangest, as if they had forgotten how to work.
Shortly, the bell for mass would ring, summoning the good Christian folk to worship. Matilda, as devout as the next person, usually prayed in the private chapel in the depths of the palace, but not on Sundays. The holiest day of the week saw the Count and Countess, Matilda and her siblings, and a goodly selection of the court’s nobles, trek to the city’s grandest church. Today was no exception, and my plan hinged upon this routine and Matilda’s part in it.
I needed to be at the church now.
Donning my cloak, I left the lodgings without a backward glance. The bells rang in my ears with sombre insistence, drawing the worshippers and I slipped into the crowd of people making their way to the square, just another face in the throng. The streets were narrow, and I felt hemmed in and nervous, and now and again I would meet someone’s eye and I felt certain that my apprehension at what was about to take place showed in my face.
I kept my head down as much as I was able, following the steady trundle of feet, and attempted to control my breathing, fear for William making me feel weak and sick. If this was to go wrong, William might be hurt, or worse. Arlette would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself…
The streets opened out into an impressive square and I saw that a crowd had gathered outside the massive church, and were slowly filing its way in through the huge doors and the relative darkness beyond.
William would come from the west, I knew, and I looked in that direction searching frantically for Walter’s face, before finally spotting him. I nodded and Arlette’s brother nodded back, his expression inscrutable.
As instructed, William would be waiting a small distance away, and my plan involved several lookouts posted at regular intervals along his intended route. One gesture from me to Walter would be all it took to set the wheels of this particular prophecy in motion.
Caitlyn Box Set Page 28