Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  The image of Hugh lying on top of me, being totally, wonderfully, indisposed, filled my mind. My breasts ached. I wanted his lips on mine. Heat, hot and liquid, radiated out from—

  ‘Enough!’ I said.

  He smirked. He actually smirked. He guessed at the image playing out in my head. The cad.

  ‘I can stay here forever,’ he said. ‘There is no need to leave this chamber. We can eat, play cards… sleep… bathe.’

  More images. Hugh feeding me, one sensuous mouthful at a time, stroking his finger across my lips; Hugh in bed, sprawled on his back, the covers pushed down to his waist; Hugh, curled in a wooden tub, rising naked out of it like a steaming god…

  ‘I can whittle wood, you can embroider,’ he continued.

  I threw a pillow at him.

  ‘In all seriousness, Cat. I will not leave you. I cannot.’

  ‘Because you cannot bear to be apart from me?’ I was scornful.

  ‘Because I do not trust you not to kill yourself.’ He stepped closer and took my hand, kissing the fingers I had crossed. I gasped at the touch of his warm, soft lips.

  He released me and smiled. ‘Go to sleep, Cat. I will be here when you wake.’

  As if I could sleep after the fire he had ignited in me.

  Damn his gift.

  ~~~~~

  Curled together, like two foxes in a den, Hugh’s warm chest was against my back, my bottom pressed into his lap, his knees curved into mine. I wriggled deeper into him, and his arm tightened around me. I was savouring the moment, knowing it could not last, listening to his steady breathing, the scent of him filling my lungs.

  He murmured, more asleep than awake, and kissed my neck. I wriggled again, feeling his subconscious excitement digging into my behind.

  He pushed me away and almost tumbled to the floor in his haste to clamber from my narrow bed. ‘Sorry. I did not mean to accost you, but the chair was so hard, and I grew chilled…’ He straightened his tunic and ran his hands through his tousled hair.

  ‘I need a bath,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, er, I shall, er, send for hot water?’

  ‘And a tub?’

  ‘Yes, a tub. You will need a tub.’

  ‘And someone to help me bathe? Unless you want to?’

  A part of his anatomy under his breeches showed how much he wanted to, and I imagined strong fingers soaping my hair, his hands draped with long, dark, dripping strands of black silk.

  He opened the door and bellowed down the hallway. I sat up and dragged my creased cloak from under the covers. At some point in the night it had worked itself free of me, so I pulled up a blanket to cover my chest and handed him the cloak.

  ‘Please give it to a servant to be aired,’ I asked.

  Hugh instructed the servant who stuck his head around the door, to bring food and hot pails of water for a bath, then he threw my chemise at me and steadfastly turned his back. I got out of bed, put it on, and waited for his reaction. The chemise, although falling to mid-shin, was made from thin linen. I guessed the effect might be more sensual than full-blown nakedness. The poor man didn’t know where to rest his eyes, so he stood by the window and examined the weather.

  ‘At least two foot of snow fell in the night, and it is still falling,’ he announced.

  The door opened, and we both looked towards it, Hugh hoping for a distraction and I expecting food. My stomach growled. The last thing I had eaten was a handful of berries, and not for the purpose of satisfying my hunger.

  ‘Good.’ Blod strode in, black skirts flapping around her legs like crows’ wings. ‘I see you got properly acquainted,’ she said, then spied Hugh’s expression. ‘Or perhaps not. Tup her, son, and be done with it.’

  I spluttered.

  Blod rolled her eyes. ‘Leave your indignation for another day. I have news.’ She pulled out the chair and dropped down onto it with a grunt. ‘Is she a virgin?’ She looked at Hugh.

  ‘Uh, no.’ Hugh shot me an apologetic look.

  ‘Pity,’ she said. She spoke to Hugh, putting a hand to her mouth to shield her words, and whispered louder than a bard in tale-telling mode, ‘What were you waiting for, if she has not got a maidenhead to worry about popping?’

  He closed his eyes, and his chest rose and fell with each deep breath. Bet he had to count to more than ten.

  ‘If she were a virgin, tupping her might have broken the spell,’ Blod said.

  ‘You are thinking of the Oracle of Delphi, Granny.’

  ‘Nah, that one was no maiden.’

  ‘I was no virgin when she ensorceled me,’ I pointed out. ‘The witch who did that was much too clever to use so simple a spell.’

  Blod gave me an imperious look. ‘I was thinking aloud,’ she said. ‘Running through the possibilities.’

  She tapped her fingers against her chin, staring at a point above our heads. Hugh and I waited, Hugh with hope, me with certainty. I had nearly two hundred years to consider my situation, two centuries of wrestling with the magic which bound me. The only way out was death. My death. I waited for her to come to the same conclusion.

  Blod stopped tapping and leaned forward, her beady eyes sparkling.

  ‘I have an idea,’ she announced.

  Chapter 27

  Christmas fast approached, a time of joy and birth. The monks of St Mary’s Priory would be distracted by the birth of Jesus and long days filled with worship and celebration. It would be a good time to steal the Blood of Christ.

  First though, we had to discover the whereabouts of this oil and whether the plant it was made from had been properly prepared for our purpose. If the friars did not possess any Blood of Christ, or if the flowers were not gathered under the right conditions, our plan would fail.

  I still couldn’t believe I had agreed to go along with it.

  The food had arrived and been eaten, my bath had been poured and bathed in, and the three of us continued to argue and squabble over Blod’s plan. Blod loved it; I thought it might work, but had reservations; Hugh hated it. Especially the part where he killed me.

  ‘Killing you should be the easy part,’ Blod said, as if my death would be nothing more than a stroll through the herbery.

  Thanks, Blod.

  ‘Is there a healer at the Priory?’ I decided not to rise to her baiting.

  ‘Yes,’ Hugh said. ‘The sick of the village attend in the morning after Terce prayers. He sees to their needs. His name is Friar Dunn.’

  ‘Would it be appropriate for Blod to ask him for aid? Or would she be expected to consult with someone in the castle?’ I asked, trying to think of a feasible way of discovering what we needed to know. The whereabouts presented few problems; determining the method of manufacture of the potion might be a different matter.

  ‘I vote for a man of the church every time,’ Blod said. ‘It is always good to have a prayer or two to back up a bit of ground root or a poultice. I could say I have women’s problems.’

  Hugh and I raised our eyebrows.

  ‘Rather old for that, aren’t you?’ Hugh said what I dared not. I sat closer to her than he did.

  ‘You need to watch your manners, young man.’ Blod huffed and stuck her nose in the air.

  ‘Is that all the plant is used for?’ I asked her.

  ‘No. I could say I needed a physic for my stomach,’ she suggested.

  ‘Are there any other medicines he might give you instead?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh – plenty.’

  ‘Then that is what the friar will give you, and we will be no better off.’ I flicked my hair out of my face and searched through my bag for a ribbon to tie it back.

  ‘At least we will know where he keeps his potions and ointments,’ Blod said.

  ‘We can find that out without having to invent fake illnesses,’ Hugh countered. ‘Could you ask for an audience with Friar Dunn, one healer to another, and pretend you need his advice on the correct preparation for the Blood of Christ?’

  Blod worried at a nail. ‘It might work.’ She sto
od and brushed the crumbs from her dress, her creased face filled with determination. ‘I shall go this afternoon,’ she announced. ‘Cat, you should come with me. As a cat.’

  ‘Oh.’ Back to four paws and sneaking through rat tunnels.

  ‘I want you to witness what he says, but I also want you to find a way into the Priory,’ she said.

  ‘Easy.’ Cats can get into surprising places. I often did.

  ‘I am talking about finding a way for me to break in, steal the Blood of Christ and sneak back out with it,’ Blod said.

  ‘I should do that. You are too old to sneak anywhere,’ Hugh objected.

  ‘Manners again. What would your mother say if she knew you insulted me?’ Blod grumbled.

  Hugh muttered under his breath. ‘What would she say if she knew you planned to steal from the Church?’

  ‘I heard that!’

  He shook his head. ‘Do what you want. If you are caught, I intend to say I don’t know you, that I have never seen you before.’

  ‘I should steal it,’ I said. ‘I am the obvious choice. I can enter as Cat, change into Caitlyn, do what needs to be done, and leave as Cat. No breaking-in involved. Only stealing.’ I didn’t mention the risk of my being caught transforming from one form into another, and in a house of God, too. I would be burned for certain.

  ‘Why would you need to become a woman, and how will you bring it out?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘Is it large?’ I had no real idea what the Blood of Christ really was, apart from that it was some kind of potion.

  ‘Nah. It will be in a vial or jar of some kind.’ Blod indicated the size with her fingers.

  Something that small should not pose a problem with secreting it in a pocket to remove it from the Priory.

  I nodded my agreement.

  ‘Then it is settled,’ Blod said. ‘Any questions?’

  I shook my head. The next part of our plan depended on the success of this one, so until we procured the Blood of Christ, there was little point in any further discussion.

  ‘A military campaign takes less organisation than this,’ Hugh grumbled. ‘I would prefer to face a dozen armed men on horseback than all this skulduggery.’

  ‘You are nothing but a baby.’ Blod gave him a shove as she stalked out of the door. ‘Come,’ she called to me, and she sounded as though she was speaking to a dog.

  I deliberately did not move. The woman brought out the worst in me. Hugh and I listened to her footsteps on the flagstones outside my door as they grew fainter.

  ‘A baby. She called me a baby,’ Hugh said. ‘With that mouth, I am surprised no one has strangled her before now.’ His voice was full of love and exasperation. He took my hand and kissed it. ‘No more talk of killing yourself?’

  ‘It looks like I shall be leaving the killing to you.’

  His expression hardened, and I caught a glimpse of the warrior behind the man. ‘There must be another way,’ he said.

  ‘If there is, neither Blod nor I have discovered it.’

  ‘Hurry up,’ Blod yelled from the bottom of the steps. ‘I want to get there before my three-score-years-and-ten are up.’

  Hugh grunted. ‘She is way past that. I have never seen a woman as old.’

  I giggled. It wasn’t something I did often, and I clapped a hand to my mouth in surprise.

  ‘You have a beautiful laugh,’ he said.

  Our eyes met. I saw love in his and looked away, scared of what he might see in mine. I must not love him back. I could not. If I didn’t die by his hand, if our plan didn’t work, then I must die by mine; and I didn’t, for one heartbeat, think our plan would work. Too many holes, too many uncertainties.

  He placed a finger under my chin and tilted my head. I knew what he was about to do and God forgive me, I didn’t stop him.

  He tasted of honey, and his lips were soft and warm, and I trembled from head to toe with each fluttering caress. With a deep groan, he pulled me towards him and kissed me hard. I melted into him, wanting to stay in the safety of his embrace forever.

  ‘Be safe.’ He let me go.

  I took a moment to regain my wits, and drew in several deep breaths. Then I left him standing in my small chamber with his eyes full of love and his breeches full of something else.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Blod said when she saw me.

  ‘It is your fault, putting ideas in his head. He thinks he loves me because of all this betrothal nonsense,’ I growled.

  We stepped outside, and she held onto my arm when she saw the bailey crisscrossed with paths through the snow. There must have been little wind last night, for the layer was deep and even. No windswept places, no piled drifts. I looked up. The heavy clouds and yellowed sky held the promise of more to come.

  ‘He does love you,’ Blod said. ‘What I say makes no difference. He loved you from the first moment he saw you, if he but knew it.’

  ‘I had a tail, four paws, and whiskers when he first clapped eyes on me,’ I said.

  ‘He loved you from that point, then,’ Blod insisted. ‘It was probably fortuitous you were a cat, for that means that he loves you whatever form you take.’

  ‘It is lucky for him I do not turn into a toad,’ I retorted. ‘I would like to see his reaction to warts and slimy skin.’

  ‘Talking of cats. Were you not supposed to change into one before we enter the priory?’ Blod looked expectant.

  ‘Sorry, I forgot. Do you want to wait here while I go back to my room and transform?’ I thought of Hugh and his breeches, and bit my lip.

  She stuck a pointy elbow in my side. ‘I want to see Friar Dunn today, not tomorrow.’

  ‘I will have to be your apprentice, then.’ I smiled sweetly. She glowered back.

  Reaching the Priory porch, Blod let go of my elbow and strode inside, stamping the snow from her boots and shaking off stray clumps of ice which clung to the hem of her woollen skirt.

  I pushed the door open and gazed around. A mass of candles brought the pictures painted on the walls to dancing, flickering life. Moses, Jacob, David, the story of creation – all were depicted in vibrant colours, painted directly onto the whitewashed walls. Statues of saints sat in recesses, and gold leaf shone and gleamed, emphasising the wood carvings around the stained glass. Several smaller side-chapels were separated from the nave by intricately carved screens and metalwork.

  ‘Hallooo,’ the old woman yodelled.

  ‘Shush, Blod!’ Didn’t she have any respect? ‘You are in a house of God.’

  ‘I don’t think God suffers from sensitive hearing. Helloooow,’ she called again.

  My mouth dropped open at her irreverence.

  ‘Quiet, mistress. Do you not know where you are?’ A friar bustled towards us, wiping his hands on a scrap of cloth. Rotund was the kindest way to describe him; he was almost as round as he was tall, and his tonsure glistened in the candlelight, a thin film of sweat coating his brow.

  ‘I know exactly where I am, young man, and I would like to see Friar Dunn.’

  ‘He has tended to the sick and injured for today. Come back on the morrow.’

  ‘I am not in need of his healing. I am seeking his wisdom.’

  ‘What wisdom?’ the monk asked, peering at her.

  ‘I, too, am a healer.’ Blod ignored the friar’s snort. ‘I seek his advice in a certain matter.’

  ‘He is busy.’

  ‘I can wait.’ Blod dropped onto the nearest pew and folded her thin arms across her chest.

  The friar shrugged and turned away, turning back again with considerable haste as Blod started singing. Loudly. She was also horribly out of tune, but at least she was singing a hymn and not some bawdy tavern song.

  ‘You cannot do that here,’ the friar objected, his three chins wobbling.

  ‘What? Not sing a hymn in church?’ Blod cackled and the friar’s already red face purpled. She continued to worship at the top of her creaky, warbling voice, Dies Irae, sung in perfect Latin, bouncing off every wall and corner, and flooding the nave with ja
rring sound.

  The friar plugged his ears with his fingers. The words of the hymn were beautiful, but the singing was painful. ‘I will see if I can find him, mistress. Please stop the noise.’

  Blod closed her mouth and gave him an innocent smile. ‘Try not to tarry. I feel another hymn wanting to be sung. The Magnificat, maybe?’

  The friar shuddered. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Mistress Blodwen, and this is my apprentice, Mistress Caitlyn.’

  She waited until his footsteps faded, then hissed, ‘Where do you think they keep it then?’ The hiss susurrated around the nave.

  ‘Shhh.’ My voice was little more than a murmur. The aural qualities of this building were phenomenal.

  ‘Why did you tell him my name?’ I demanded.

  ‘He asked for it.’

  ‘Now he knows who I am.’

  ‘The whole of Abergavenny probably knows who you are. You know how swiftly gossip travels.’

  I did. She was most likely right, and I wished I had come as Cat after all. My story was developing more holes than a barrel used for target practice. Who would believe that the woman who Princess Joan had sent to befriend Eva’s daughter, was all of a sudden an apprentice healer. I said as much.

  ‘By the time anyone queries it, we will be long gone,’ Blod said.

  ‘When are you thinking of leaving?’ I had a suspicion it might be earlier than I expected.

  ‘As soon as you procure the Blood of Christ.’

  ‘But it is the middle of winter. There is two foot of snow on the ground.’

  ‘Scared of a few flakes?’ Blod turned her rheumy eyes on me.

  ‘Yes! Travel will be nigh on impossible.’

  ‘And that means…?’

  I shrugged, wondering what on God’s good earth she was thinking. I swear the woman was half mad. ‘It means we won’t get far before we freeze to death.’

  ‘It means your Lady Joan won’t be expecting us until the spring.’

  ‘She won’t be expecting you at all.’

  ‘Good. I like surprising people. Now, where do you think this monk hides his potions?’

  ‘The transept usually has rooms closed off on either side, so perhaps there,’ I suggested. ‘Or Friar Dunn may tend to the sick in another of the Priory’s buildings.’