The boy, once I found one, would have no trouble identifying who he should pass my message to.
But I never did find a boy, for Tostig found me first.
His French was appalling, but I understood him nevertheless.
‘A pretty maid as you should not be on your self,’ was what he actually said, but his meaning was clear, as was the arm he placed across the narrow hallway to block my progress as I stole down a deserted corridor. I hadn’t seen him coming or sensed his presence – he had simply stepped out of a doorway and into my path. It was almost as though he had been expecting me…
‘I am unwell, my lord. Please let me pass,’ I pleaded.
‘Where do you go?’ His eyes were narrowed slits and a leering smile played about his lips.
I thought swiftly. I had no reason to assume he knew who I was, but he would soon find out if he wished, therefore lying would be stupid. My room was behind me, so I would not dare to say I was going to it.
‘The kitchens, my lord,’ I said demurely, clasping my hands together in front of me in an unaccustomed modest gesture.
His gaze dropped to them as they lay just over my sex, and I cursed myself for drawing attention to that part of my anatomy. With a man like this, every move could prove significant.
‘I go in search of some herbs to ease my aching head,’ I added, before he could question me further.
He scoured me from top to foot, before coming back to my face. His eyes bored into mine, and I had a fleeting feeling he recognised me. ‘I call you a servant?’ he asked.
I took a moment to understand that he was not referring to me as a scullery maid or some such, but that he was offering to send for one. ‘Thank you, sir, but I want to supervise the making of the tea myself. Chamomile to soothe my nerves and willow bark to ease the ache.’
‘Why have you the nerves? ‘
Damn, but this man was starting to annoy me. It should be clear from my apparel that I was no mere servant, so why was he making it his business to question me?
Paranoia again – the insidious little creature kept scratching at my mind, but I shoved it to one side. Tostig was more than a little drunk. Maybe he thought he was as irresistible to me as he had been to the wench I had seen him talking to a few days ago. She clearly had been very keen to show him how desirable he was.
I, on the other hand, found him too brash, too full of himself, and rather uncouth. Besides, even if I was in the mood for a little dalliance, I had my doom in my pocket. I could feel it burning a hole in my hip, scorching me with its dangerous contents.
‘I have got something to ease your ache,’ he replied, and the leer on his face made me flinch. He was far too cock-sure, too certain of himself and his attractiveness.
I gave him a measured stare, taking him in. To some women, maybe he was attractive, but not to me. I preferred a more subtle man, and this one lacked finesse. Plus, the stink of ale on his breath was enough to fell an ox. He reminded me of a large hound, with his hint of menace and the certainty that he could have whatever he wanted.
However, I was no bitch to be cowed by his dominant attitude, and I found neither his looks nor his demeanour to my liking. The power he wielded by virtue of his father might have given him a degree of status in England, but in Flanders, he was nothing but an exile.
It was time he remembered that.
I took a step forward and made to push his arm out of the way, but Tostig was not to be foiled, and he also took a step, bringing him so close that our bodies were almost touching.
I couldn’t help recoiling. This man was taller than me by a head, twice as broad, and built for warfare. He could do me some serious damage.
‘Let me pass, my lord,’ I asked politely.
‘I will when you give me a kiss.’ His smile was wide, but his eyes were hard. He was determined to have his fun, it seemed.
‘Lady Matilda would not be pleased to hear that you have been harassing one of her ladies,’ I warned, bargaining that he did not want to risk the wrath of Matilda’s father.
‘But you are not one of Matilda’s ladies, are you? You are the bastard’s wench. I bet you let him kiss you.’
Blast! It seemed that my fame, or should I say, notoriety, had travelled wide. I would have staked my life on Tostig not knowing my history and I would have lost.
‘Duke William gave me to Lady Matilda to ease her into her marriage,’ I said, ‘but that does not mean I am not hers, and she will not take kindly to hearing that I have been abused.’
‘Abused? We are merely talking. How have I abused you?’ His ire escalated, and I could feel it radiating from him, the menace in the air as pungent as the stink from a midden.
Before I could gather my wits, he was upon me, his arms pinning mine to my side, his breath hot and putrid on my neck. His nuzzling lips made me flinch, but at least his arms were occupied in keeping me still, so I was spared being groped and mauled for the moment.
The moment didn’t last, and he pushed me against the wall, using his body weight to pin me to it, freeing one of his hands. The action served another purpose, and as soon as I found my own arm free, I wasted no time in trying to rake my nails down his face. I did not intend to be taken without a fight.
Adder-swift, he caught my hand before I could do any damage and pinned it above my head. His chest was hard up against me, crushing my ribs and my breathing became shallow panting as I struggled for air. He stopped nuzzling, drew back, and looked me in the eye.
‘One kiss, that is all,’ he said, making a lie of his words even as they left his mouth, when he grabbed my breast and squeezed.
This man was going to force himself on me and bugger the consequences, I realised.
Taking as deep a breath as I could, I opened my mouth to scream just as his hand clamped hard over my lips. The cry was suffocated before it had a chance, as his palm pressed hard against my teeth and his fingers and dug painfully into my cheeks. I squirmed, but he had me pinned so tightly, there was little room to manoeuvre, and all he did was grunt and force his leg between my thighs when I attempted to bring my knee up to meet his privates.
The bastard was smiling as he fiddled with my bodice, trying to stuff one hand inside, and I understood that nothing, and no one, could save me from what was about to happen. I may just as well give in and let him get on with it, or risk being seriously harmed.
I went limp, all the fight suddenly gone, and resigned myself to my fate.
Grunting at my abrupt acquiescence, he stopped playing with my breast and went for the kill, and began to hoist my skirts up around my waist. Despite my resolution not to struggle, I twisted and turned as his fingers delved underneath my petticoats.
The folded parchment in my pocket decided at that very moment to fall to the flagstones.
The sound was a small one, but it was enough to make Tostig glance down. His sudden stillness matched my own.
He took his time pulling away from me, his eyes never leaving the floor. When he bent down to retrieve the letter, my heart hammered so hard he must surely have heard it. My chest hurt as he slowly unfolded the parchment, and not just from the force of his attack, either. He skimmed the words, his face a blank mask, then he turned his attention back to me. I was careful to keep my own expression as empty as his, even though my fate was already sealed.
Footsteps, two pairs, growing louder. Thank God. Tostig would have to let me go. Even he would not dare to carry on with his assault now. I wondered if he could smell my relief. I certainly could. But I understood my reprieve would be short-lived. He would come after me now he had seen what I had written, and I waited for his reaction with bated breath.
‘A love letter?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ I was surprised how calm I sounded, as I realised he did not read French. The tremble started in my knee, and I shifted my weight to lock the joint in place.
‘Who gave it to you?’
‘Pelle.’ I named one of Baldwin’s most trusted men.
Tosti
g stared at the parchment again, but his expression revealed little understanding of the words written on it.
The other knee shook and I bit my lip.
Tostig jabbed a finger at one of the many inkblots. ‘He writes like a pig.’
A pair of servants rounded the corner, coming to an abrupt halt when they spotted us. Tostig glared at them, then turned back to me.
‘Go,’ he said, and waited expressionlessly as I adjusted my bodice, smoothed down my skirts, and replaced the note. When my modesty was restored, I scurried away, leaving him standing there watching me leave.
It was only when I rounded the corner that a thought occurred to me. In all the time he was pressed against me, not once did I feel the hardness of his cock. Either Tostig had been too drunk to get it up, or he had not been nearly as drunk as I thought and his ardour had been contrived. Which was it?
Chapter 11
The suspicion that something was amiss gnawed at me. I had learned long ago to trust my instincts, and this time they were telling me to flee. However, my own safety was of little concern; what spurred me on was William’s.
Godwin was raising an army and I did not want William caught in the middle of it. It was imperative that my message reached him, but I dithered, wondering whether it was best to return to my room and try again tomorrow, or whether to continue with my quest to find a lad willing to carry my letter tonight for a coin. Or should I risk taking it myself? The letter had almost fallen into the wrong hands once already, and I was not prepared for it to do so again.
Decision made, I reluctantly headed towards the depths of the palace. If I wanted to catch the old man in the tavern, I would have to make my move now, otherwise the opportunity would be lost for another day. I needed to become Cat, because to leave the palace as Caitlyn, traipse the streets to find a tavern, then try to return unseen and unchallenged was nigh on impossible
Even as Cat, the risk I was taking was great – changing from Caitlin to Cat and back again meant four more transformations this evening, and each time I turned I increased the chances of being seen. I would simply have to be careful.
The palace had yet to settle down for the night, supper was still in full swing, and servants and soldiers alike were in abundance. Several times on my way to the granary my scalp prickled and I had to turn to check whether I was being followed.
No one was there.
Nerves shredded, I nevertheless fought to keep my pace unhurried, ignoring the curious stares of any servant I passed, until finally when I left the busier areas and headed down some steep steps and into the bowels of Baldwin’s palace, the noise of the castle gradually abated, until it faded away altogether. It was then that I thought I heard quiet foot-falls and soft breathing. I imagined the rustle of clothing and the scrape of metal on stone, and more than once I felt certain that someone was behind me.
I made two mistakes that night, and both of them contributed to a man’s death, but I was focusing too hard on my task to listen to that inner voice urging me to abandon my mission and try again tomorrow.
I kept imagining the old man drinking the dregs in his tankard, slowly rising to his feet and reaching for his staff. Undoubtedly he would be there tomorrow, and the next day, but I was reluctant to wait, so instead my thoughts led me to imagine his eyes flicking cautiously to me as I walked through the door, and the realisation on his face that I was the one he had been waiting for these several evenings. I would give him the parchment, and we would go our separate ways.
Damn, but I wished I had the foresight to steal an old cloak. My gown was too rich for the likes of the women who frequented taverns. I should have—
What was that?
My hand was on the granary-door latch when I heard a rustle. I cocked my head, listening intently, peering back down the passage, my eyes trying to pierce the gloom.
These subterranean corridors were ill-lit, only one brand burning in each, and the light they produced was not enough to chase away the shadows in my mind.
A rat ran over my foot and I bit back a cry at the suddenness of it, before letting my relief out in a long, slow breath. Rodents did not bother me unless they walked on two legs instead of four, and I chided myself for my jumpiness.
Satisfied that I was alone, I opened the door and slipped inside. This had to be quick. I wanted to transform swiftly and be on my way. The sooner I reached the inn, the sooner I would be back in the palace and curled up in the relative safety of my own bed.
It was not to be.
Tostig’s man caught me in mid-change, although I wasn’t aware of his presence at first, too engrossed in the pain of becoming Cat. His gasp of revulsion swiftly brought me back to myself, and I could only guess what sight I presented.
The shock of seeing a man with a knife in his hand and an expression of horror on his face was enough to halt the transformation process for a heartbeat.
The faint light from the open door behind him fell on me, sufficient enough to show him the hideousness of the half woman, half cat which I had momentarily become. His eyes bulged in their sockets and his mouth was agape.
I expected a cry or a scream, or even a roar of rage, but what he said shocked me. ‘Lady Gytha was right,’ he whispered in a horrified voice.
Gytha – even as I heard his words, I was shouting at myself for my own stupidity. When would I learn to trust my instincts? I had known in my heart that Gytha had made a connection between Cat and Lady Caitlyn.
There was nothing for it – it was him or me. One of us had to die. I suspected it was probably going to be me, by the murderous look in his eyes. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live” rang in my head as clear as the bell for mass, and I understood that my time in Flanders was done, either way.
Never before had I tried to reverse the process of transformation halfway through, and I wasn’t sure it was a conscious attempt on my part, or whether whatever magic was at work had decided that Caitlin was better than Cat in this situation.
Without waiting for the change to be fully complete, and ignoring the agony crashing through me, as soon as my limbs lengthened and my half-formed paws became hands once again, I launched myself at him.
His reaction was instinctive.
He brought the knife up, slashing at me even though he was falling, knocked off balance by my unexpected charge and the horror of the grotesque creature coming at him out of the dark. My weight and his revulsion drove him backwards through the open door behind him, and he fell heavily onto the floor, his head hitting the flagstones with a loud crack.
He went limp underneath me, and I collapsed on top of him, fully Caitlyn once more, and hurting more than I had ever hurt in my life. I had killed him. Thank the Lord.
The fight went out of me as suddenly as it had come upon me, but for a while I was unable to move, so I lay there, sprawled on top of a corpse and praying no one would choose this moment to need a bucket of oats.
A faint shifting below me, made me stiffen, and I waited for it to come again, guessing what it might be, trying to will away the torment still coursing through my limbs and the rest of my poor, battered body.
The steady rise and fall of the corpse’s chest gave lie to my assumption that my attacker was dead, but a dreadful realisation that I soon might be occurred as the pain coalesced to a point just below my ribs, and I knew what had happened.
With a groan, I rolled off him clutching at my side where his blade had cut my flesh, warm blood seeping through my fingers. I wasn’t sure whether the pain still flooding my body was from any other wounds or the aborted transformation, and I had no time to examine myself. I had to get the man inside the grain store and put an end to him before he regained his senses.
No, wait, think, Caitlyn. He is insensible now, but he might not stay that way for much longer. Better to kill him now, then move the body. Whether he was unconscious or dead made no difference to the weight of him, but if he became conscious when I was trying to shift him…
The knife was on the
floor a foot away, the blade listening darkly with my blood.
Saying a silent prayer, although whether it was for myself or for the hapless man I was about to dispatch into God’s keeping, I was uncertain, I reached for it and grasped the hilt, raised my arm high then plunged the knife into his heart.
His eyes flew open and he tried to hitch a breath, the rasping gurgle far too loud in the quiet.
I stabbed him again, and then once more, just to be certain, and as the twitching of his limbs diminished the life faded from his open eyes.
I sat back on my heels. What had I done? I had killed a man, not quite in cold blood, but not in hot blood either. I should have continued to change and attempted to escape as a cat, but my body had other ideas and had made the decision for me. Or was it the spell which had been responsible? After all these years, I was still not certain how the magic worked. I do not think Arlette had been either, but that was by the by, and I understood that my mind was rambling from shock.
Forcing myself to do what was needed, I considered my options. There weren’t any, apart from concealing the body, and hoping it would not be found until I had decided on my next course of action.
I could do nothing about the stains on the stones beneath him, and I did not even try. I was hoping they wouldn’t be discovered until morning, and maybe not even then. So instead, I clambered unsteadily to my feet and staggered towards him.
My grimace as I took hold of his ankles, turned into a rictus of pain as I began to drag the dead weight of him through the door.
After shifting him a foot or so over the granary door’s threshold, and unable to move him any further, I stopped, panting, and checked the corridor once more. It was empty and I sagged against the door frame, my fingers going to the wound in my side. They came away sticky with blood and I wondered just how badly he had injured me.
Caitlyn Box Set Page 33