With sullen eyes and sullen temper, I watched Joan laugh at something Hugh said, before I was hauled away like the piece of furniture I sat in.
‘Pretty kitty. Does it hurt? Mama will make it all better,’ the lady crooned, and I wanted to say to her, ‘Of course, it bloody well hurts’. Stupid woman. I bet Joan would be delighted at being called my Mama, too.
I scowled at the cooing and baby noises emanating from the mouth of the woman who carried me to Joan’s chamber. Most cats were ignored by the castle folk. They were there to do a job, to keep the vermin down. It was rare for one to be a pet, although little girls tended to adore kittens. Perhaps my bandaged paws made me irresistible. The gentlewoman deposited me carefully on the floor of Joan’s chamber and left, after stroking my ears. I flattened them against my head in annoyance.
For a few moments I stayed there, motionless and miserable, various hurts and pains throbbing and pulsing, before summoning the energy to transform.
I almost wished I had stayed a cat. I felt worse as Caitlyn than I did as Cat. Cats were tough little blighters, and although my mind remained human, my body and physical aspects became pure feline when I was in cat form. Cats seemed to be less delicate and more robust than people.
Still in my nightshift, I staggered slowly to a chair and lowered my aching body onto it. Each muscle had a voice and screamed at the top of it. Unfurling the bandage, I studied my hands. Ironically, the fingers were curled inwards, like claws, and nothing I did would straighten them. Two fingernails were missing from one hand, and the tips of all of my fingers were raw and oozing. One nail on the other hand had blackened, so I would probably lose that one, too. My feet were in better shape, although nearly every toe bore some damage.
All the wounds looked clean. Hugh had done a passable job, and I sent him silent thanks.
My shoulders were an agony to me, every limb ached to the bone, and I had a fever. I was in no condition to travel, and I prayed Joan would delay my journey.
I told Joan this when she checked my wounds.
‘You must travel with William. Drink.’ She handed me a cup of vile-smelling, brown liquid. No respite then. She fully intended for me to go.
I screwed up my nose at the bitter taste. Willow bark and something else. I hoped it was not liquefied newt, or anything equally revolting.
‘It will help your fever and your aches, and will promote healing. I will give you some to take with you. Simply add the powder to boiling water and stir.’
She poured some powder into a leather pouch and pulled the drawstring tight.
‘I have packed the other items. You know what to do with them.’ She meant the contents of the saddlebags. ‘You will remain in Abergavenny at least until the spring. Take your time before you act. You must be above suspicion. Remember your story. You are there at my behest to befriend Isabella, so when she weds Dafydd, she will have at least one face she knows to help her settle in her new home. Her mother will understand the wisdom of this and will appreciate the gesture.’
Déjà vu. I had been here before, too. Was everything in my life destined to be repeated over and over again? I had a feeling of unease – look what had happened the last time I performed the exact same task. I had killed a man and had almost died myself. Matilda had been worth it, though. She had proved to be a fine Duchess of Normandy and an even grander Queen of England.
Joan had her back to me, grounding up something indescribable with a pestle and mortar, linen strips laid ready, and water on the boil.
‘I heard you failed to return to the prison and Sir Ifan searched your room.’ She glanced at me over her shoulder. ‘You were careless.’
I explained my predicament and how Hugh had rescued me.
‘It was lucky for you he was on hand,’ she said, her tone wry. ‘This is not the first time he has come to your aid. Be careful you do not give him cause to wonder about you.’
Too late. I blamed last night’s antics on shock and relief, and perhaps the beginning of the fever. I would never forget the disbelief on his face when he realised he could communicate with me. But I wasn’t going to admit any of that to Joan.
She bathed my hands and feet, dried them, and smeared on a grey paste, before wrapping them in strips of linen.
‘I have mixed honey with the herbs,’ she said. ‘It will help keep putrefaction at bay. You will lose this nail.’ She tweaked the offending finger, and I winced. ‘You must change the dressings regularly. Remove the old ointment and reapply. You are lucky winter is nearly upon us. No one will see your wounds under thick woollen mittens, and I will ensure you are given a pair of boots large enough for your bandaged feet.’
I looked at the huge white lumps at the end of my legs. Sitting on a horse would be interesting, mounting and dismounting would be excruciating.
She saw the direction of my gaze. ‘You are to ride in the cart.’
‘The cart?’ I echoed, wishing I was not to travel at all.
‘Llewelyn is sending betrothal gifts with Lord William: bolts of satin, a beaver-fur cloak, some silverware.’ She waved a hand, dismissing the items. ‘Too many and too delicate to strap to the back of a horse.’
I contemplated the freezing, jolting journey ahead of me and hoped the cart was a covered one.
‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘Ifan. He still suspects treachery. You have put me in an intolerable situation. He asked how I thought you escaped from your cell, and I had to tell him I sent one of my ladies to unlock it. I even produced a spare key as evidence.’ She jingled the substantial clutch of keys attached to her girdle.
‘He didn’t believe me, I could tell, but he dared not challenge my authority. I told him I am sending you with William under the guise of befriending Abergavenny’s daughter, with the sole intention of castrating Lord William. Llewelyn has agreed that the plan is the only way to prevent William siring a male heir, but Ifan was not convinced. He wondered why I didn’t send any of my other ladies. I told him none of them had the wit or the cunning to do the job. You have made an enemy of Ifan,’ she added.
I knew I had. When I returned to Criccieth, it would be as Cat.
Joan brought her face close to mine. ‘Do not fail me. You have caused me to tell more lies and stories than I can keep track of. Stay out of trouble and do what you are bid.’
‘I will, my lady.’ I lifted a bandaged hand, the throbbing subsiding as the potion took effect. ‘What story should I give for my wounds?’
Her look plainly said that I had got myself into this mess and she was annoyed at having to clean it up.
‘I had to give yet another convoluted story to cover your stupidity. I told William that Ifan suspected you of double-dealing because he caught you outside William’s chamber and tortured you for information. How else could such injuries be explained?’
She threw a dress at me. ‘Wear this.’
I let it land on the floor, unable to catch it. The look she gave me would have quailed anyone else.
‘You cannot go out in your nightshirt,’ she said. ‘I have ordered your clothes and other personal items to be packed and placed on the cart.’ She glared at my bandaged hands. ‘I suppose I will have to help you dress,’ she sighed.
She was not happy about it, but neither was I.
~~~~~
Huddled under a pile of furs, I lay inside the canvas-covered cart trying to make myself comfortable, and shivered. Fever claimed me, I longed for a bed, and we had yet to move an inch. How long does it take to saddle a few horses?
A thump on the side of the cart made me jump, until I realised it was a signal that the men were ready to move out. Two voices caught my attention.
‘I tell you, ’twas the devil’s work. Went up in a puff of smoke, she did. I saw it with my own eyes,’ one of them said.
‘Aye. I heard she had horns and a tail,’ replied the other.
He’d got the tail bit right, and it was not such a tall tale as it sounded.
‘His lordship ain’t ’aving none
of it. He reckons she be nothing but a woman. But how come a woman can lock and bar a door from the inside, and not be in the room herself? It ain’t natural. Then there’s the matter of the gaol. Them guards swear that no one entered or left, in spite of what Lady Joan claimed. I say there is no way anyone could have got past ’em without being seen.’ The men’s voices faded as they walked away and I relaxed, only to stiffen again at an all-too-familiar one.
‘Good morning, Sam,’ Hugh said. ‘Have you missed me?’
A soft whinny and the stamp of a hoof greeted him.
‘Shit. Did you just answer me?’ Hugh’s voice carried a tinge of disbelief.
I suppressed a snigger.
‘Glad to be rid of you, you bag of English shite.’ Ifan spat the words, and I stiffened when I heard his voice, praying he wouldn’t decide to check the inside of the cart for any reason. I really didn’t think I could face him right now.
‘I, sir, am as Welsh as you,’ Hugh replied, haughtily.
‘As long as you pledge allegiance to the English, I will call you English. Why fight against your countrymen, traitor?’ Ifan asked.
‘I fight for peace.’ There was sadness in Hugh’s voice. ‘The English are too strong, and too many. Wales will fall one day.’
‘Aye, you might be right, but if all the buggers who thought like you fought at Llewelyn’s side we might stand a chance,’
‘I have a debt to pay, and I owe it to Lord Marshal.’ Hugh sounded even sadder.
Marshal? My ears pricked up. Marshal owned Pembroke Castle and all the lands surrounding it, plus a whole lot more, all over England and Wales. Aside from the King, Marshal was probably the most powerful and influential man in England. He was also Eva’s father, William de Braose’s father-in-law.
Hugh hailed from Pembroke, as his name suggested. Was he titled? Did he have lands of his own? I realised I knew nothing about him, except that he had a grandmother and that he believed he had the ability to make people and animals like him. I was sceptical of this absurd claim, but if it was true, it would explain why he had been allowed such freedom at Criccieth, while his lord had languished under lock and key. In fact, thinking about it, in my limited dealings with him there weren’t many who responded to him in a negative way. Men slapped him on the back, Llewelyn’s dreaded stallion had snuffled his hand, and women… it was obvious how much women liked him, often well enough to spread their legs. I pushed the image of him lying on top of Margedd out of my mind.
The only man, woman, or beast not to fawn over Hugh was Ifan – and me. I was not affected by him either. In fact, I found him positively annoying. Especially when he tried to kill me.
The cart lurched and we were finally underway, and for mile after mile I lay in misery, being swayed and jostled, each bump an agony, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. My fingers throbbed in time with my pulse and I panted with the effort of remaining silent.
The shivering worsened, and I knew my forehead was hot to the touch, but I could not get warm. It would be hours before we stopped for the night. Barris had sent ahead to Harlech to warn the manor of our intention to overnight there, but the fortification was many miles to the south, and a tidal river lay between it and us. I was beginning to wonder if I would actually survive until supper.
Time held little meaning, and we might have been on the road for hours or days. Too ill to feel hunger, although thirst tickled the back of my throat, I stayed put during the short stop when hard, dark bread and cheese were handed out, and jugs of mead were passed from hand to hand.
When the canvas lifted and I squinted in the weak afternoon light, it was to find Hugh staring back, his expression unreadable.
‘We meet again, Mistress Caitlyn,’ he said.
My weak smile galvanised him.
‘Will just told me what Ifan did to you,’ he said. ‘If I could kill him I would.’ He sounded like a small boy denied a sweetbread.
‘Will?’ My voice was a dry croak.
‘William. Here.’ He held out a waterskin. I looked at it longingly but didn’t take it, so he tossed it inside the cart, within easy reach.
‘I don’t blame you for your wariness of me.’ He stepped back. ‘I did not mean to scare you.’
‘Scare me?’ I hissed. ‘You tried to kill me.’
‘Harming you was never my intention.’
If he had not been trying to kill me, what had he been doing? I blinked at him, trying to think through my clouded, pain-filled mind, my thoughts a jumbled mess. Too many stories, too many lies. Was Hugh lying now?
‘Are you in much pain?’ he asked. ‘You do not look well.’
‘I will live.’
‘One day, I will kill Ifan for what he has done to you.’ Hugh’s face hardened, and I caught a glimpse of the warrior underneath. The sight gave me pause. I believed him.
I waited for Hugh to drop the canvas back in place before taking my hands out from underneath the furs. Those bandages had to come off, and I worried at the cloth knots with my teeth and slowly unravelled each strip. My hands were swollen, especially the fingers, but there was no angry redness to the wounds, no smell of suppuration.
Cradling the water skin under one arm, I used my teeth to pull the stopper free, and poured the liquid into my left hand, dabbing Joan’s ointment off with the clean end of the bandage. Then I did the same with the other.
I used one of the gifted silver goblets to mix the potion with water, and swallowed it down in three nasty gulps, then drank the rest of the water. Lying back exhausted, my mind whirling, the main thought running through it was the realisation that Hugh had not meant to hurt me.
For some reason, the news made me feel a little better.
Chapter 16
Harlech reminded me of Criccieth. Although Harlech was not a castle, it might grow up to be one. A heavily fortified manor house, built on a rocky outcrop, with the only access a wooden bridge which could be raised at the first sign of attack, it held a prime spot for defence. With the sea to the east, a tidal estuary to the north, and the foothills of two mountain ranges to the west and the south, I wondered if Harlech would be Llewelyn’s next project. After all, he was soon to be two thousand pounds richer. He could build a fair few castles with that.
‘You can spend the night in my bed,’ Hugh announced without warning, lifting the canvas once more.
I gaped at him, shocked at his temerity and his confidence. His optimism also astounded me. As if I would enjoy the experience considering the state I was in. Love would not cure my ailment, Hugh, I almost said to him, however handsome your face and however skilled between the sheets you might be.
I wanted food, wine (but not too much), and a bed. I guessed I might get the first, and probably the second, but I did not want any bed if Hugh was warming it.
‘William will not care,’ he said.
‘Care about what?’ Puffs of dandelion seeds filled my head. I felt decidedly unwell and thinking clearly was beyond me.
‘You joining us in our chamber.’
Now he had my attention. He wanted a threesome? I itched to slap his self-assured face.
‘I will not share a bed with you, let alone my body. As for sharing it with both of you—’ I began.
‘You do not understand. I shall not be in the bed. Anyway, it is not really a bed but a pallet on the floor. William has the only bed. The pallet is meant for me, but you may have it, and I will take the floorboards.’
Ah.
‘This manor is too small to house all of us in comfort, and there is only the one chamber for guests,’ he added. ‘It is small but serviceable, and I have food waiting.’
He helped me from the cart and led me slowly across a muddy courtyard, past the manor house and into the wooden keep behind. Singing came from the hall, and I guessed the lord of the manor and his guests were partaking of his ale. The aroma of roasting meat wafted up my nose, and I salivated.
Following Hugh up the steps and into the keep, I was led into a
room hardly bigger than the cell I escaped from at Criccieth. A wooden tray awaited me, and I plonked down on the bed and set to. Or tried. I couldn’t hold a knife to cut my meat, and even if I could, I did not have sufficient strength in my hands. The claw-shape had eased somewhat, but my fingers had not yet regained their usual flexibility.
‘Let me.’ Hugh loosened his own knife from his belt and sliced off pieces of hare. I went to pick one up and winced. I wished he would leave. I didn’t want him to witness my humiliation and discomfort.
He stayed my hand, speared the sliver of hare with the tip of his dagger and brought it to my lips.
I didn’t like this, being fed like an infant on her mother’s lap, but hunger won over vanity, and I opened my mouth. The hare, coated with blueberry sauce, fell apart on my tongue. I hadn’t eaten for a day and a half, and I closed my eyes in bliss.
Opening my mouth, I begged for more, and when the chunk of meat was gone, he fed me spoonfuls of mashed carrot coated in honey. I wished for more hare. It might be the inner cat in me, but I tended to prefer flesh.
Far from satiated and with more food on the tray, I nodded towards the cheese. My head was still woolly, but a good meal had me feeling better.
Hugh picked up a small chunk of the cheese and dipped it in chutney. I stared at his face and the concentration on it. His fingers touched my lips. I opened my mouth, and he popped the morsel in. I chewed and swallowed. ‘Another, please.’
He duly obliged, chutney dribbling down his finger, and he licked it off, his pink tongue curling.
I cleared my throat. ‘Thank you.’ I was glad not to have been forced to eat in the hall. ‘Will you be missed?’ I asked him.
‘I pleaded a headache. Two blows in less than a week, and it is to be expected. I persuaded a maid to bring supper to me, rather than me go to it.’
‘We have to talk,’ I said. ‘I am not sure how much Joan has told you—’ I left it hanging, hoping he would supply the details.
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