Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  Magic again. I was heartily sick of magic. I wanted nothing more than to be normal, and to let the Christian priests deal with heaven and hell, angels and demons. Religion was about as much magic as I could stomach, and I never wanted to see another damned cat for as long as I lived. Which would probably be less than a week.

  Hugh’s face came to within inches of mine, his breath warm and sweet on my cheek. ‘Cat,’ he murmured.

  ‘Why do you call me that? You did so even before you discovered what I am.’

  ‘It is short for Caitlyn, is it not?’

  ‘Cate is short for Caitlyn,’ I said.

  ‘See, I must have had some sixth sense, and my heart knew what my head did not. I loved you from the moment I first saw you.’

  ‘The first time you saw me you tried to kill me.’

  ‘The first time I saw you as you, I was the one who ended up injured, if I recall. The first time I really saw you, I had to rescue you.’

  Hugh was referring to the episode with the ginger tom. ‘Ah, but you didn’t know it was me, then. You thought I was a cat, so that meeting doesn’t count.’

  ‘I think it does, and how many times do I have to tell you – I was not aiming to kill you, but was trying to keep you away from William’s chamber and the woman inside it.’

  He drew in a ragged breath. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Cat. I’m not sure I will be able to take you to the brink of death and beyond.’

  ‘You have to.’ My voice was hoarse. ‘If you want to set me free.’

  Could I do this to him? Joan had to be dealt with, there was no question of that, for Eva’s sake. But Hugh should not have to be the one to kill me. He would live with the knowledge of what he did for the rest of his life, and I couldn’t let that happen. The death of a loved one was hard enough to bear; the guilt of being the one to cause it was a burden I did not want him to carry.

  There was so little chance of Blod breathing life back into my corpse, that my demise was almost inevitable, whether Hugh did the deed or I. A faint echo of pounding waves and wheeling, screeching gulls played in my mind. A long fall from a tall cliff was my solution. If the impact failed to end me, the sea would finish the job. I would wait until Joan lost her magic and Eva was safe, then set myself and Hugh free.

  Letting him burrow any deeper into my heart was folly. I had no right to encourage his love, and even less right to return it. We had no future together, but God help me, the more I grew to know him, the more I cared for him.

  I turned to face him, to tell him exactly that.

  He kissed me, his lips soft and urgent, and when I opened my mouth to protest, he deepened the kiss, and my objection turned to a soft moan when his tongue touched mine. My insides melted, drenching me with a desire hotter and more liquid than molten iron. I gasped with sudden lust.

  Hugh drew back, breathing hard. My own breath caught in my throat, his kiss as heady as I remembered. All my good intentions were in danger of being swept away by its sweetness.

  It seemed he was done for now, though, and he lifted his arm off my middle, leaving me cast adrift without it to anchor me. The whimper of loss came from my heart not my mind, involuntary and unexpected. He stroked my cheek, and I pressed my face into his palm, like the cat I was.

  ‘I want to savour this,’ he murmured. ‘You are so beautiful.’

  So, he was not finished then, and flames of desire flared, burning brightly, consuming me with need.

  His hand left my face and sought my breast, the night-loosened bodice giving him easy access. He cupped it, kneading gently. I pushed against him, moaning deep in my throat. Lips on mine, hard and insistent, he moved restlessly against me. I hoped he was busy unlacing his straining breeches.

  I didn’t care if it was the fae in him, or the man himself I reacted to. I wanted him. All of him.

  ‘We cannot.’ Hugh sat up. ‘Not here, not now.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Cat.’

  ‘Why?’ I cleared my throat and tried to steady my breathing.

  ‘I will not take you like a stag rutting a hind. I want it to be in a feather bed, with the moon glinting through the window. I want it to last all night.’

  Take me now, I almost pleaded. Tonight may be our only chance.

  ‘I would also prefer to be alone,’ he added, shooting a swift look at Blod, his breathing harsh and rapid.

  A part of me revelled in the effect I had on him, another part—

  Wait.

  The breathing did not come from Hugh.

  Blod.

  Hugh moved faster than me and was at her side in an instant. He put a hand on her brow. ‘She has a fever,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘What should we do?’ I asked.

  ‘Go back to your lovemaking,’ Blod said, barking out a hacking cough. ‘I shall brew a willow bark tea later.’

  ‘You need it now, not later,’ I said, scooting over to her and placing my own hand on her forehead. It felt like touching a recently boiled pot.

  A violent shiver wracked her tiny frame, and she coughed again. Breath, shallow and fast, rattled in her chest.

  ‘How has this come on so quickly?’ I demanded. Fear pricked at me with prodding, sharp fingers.

  ‘I am old, my lovely. Death has decided it is time,’ Blod wheezed.

  ‘Death? What is this talk of death?’ I cried.

  She must be wrong. She had been fine earlier, chopping holly, stomping through the trees. She had not said much for the rest of the journey, but neither had any of us. Torrential rain tended to dampen spirits as well as clothing.

  ‘I have been ailing for some time,’ she said. ‘This journey has hastened it somewhat, although I had hoped to fulfil my end of the bargain before my final rest.’

  ‘No, Granny. It cannot be.’ Hugh gathered her to him, cradling her in his arms. ‘You only have a cold. With rest and plentiful food, it will pass. It must pass.’ Despair gravelled his voice, and distress creased his face.

  ‘It is more than a cold, son, and you know it. Death cannot be thwarted, and he wants me tonight.’ Blod struggled to free herself from Hugh’s embrace. ‘Let me go. It is time to celebrate Alban Arthun.’

  ‘To hell with the solstice. You need to rest. Cat, ask upstairs for some boiled water. I’ll find the willow bark.’ Hugh laid Blod down with infinite care, and dived at the saddlebags, searching through them with hasty, frantic fingers.

  ‘Hugh,’ Blod said.

  He paid her no heed, intent on his task. I ran for the stairs, aiming to complete mine.

  ‘Caitlyn, ask if they will warm the wine,’ Blod said. ‘Hugh – stop.’

  He pulled out a small cloth bag, coloured thread wrapped around the end, holding its contents secure.

  ‘That is valerian. I use it for flatulence,’ Blod said, her voice stronger. ‘Let me worship, then I will drink whatever you wish.’

  Defeated, he dropped the herb, and sat back on his haunches. ‘When were you going to tell us?’

  ‘Not until I had to. If it hadn’t rained for so hard and for so long, you would be none the wiser.’ Blod shrugged off her cloak and fumbled with the ties on her borrowed dress.

  I thought she intended to observe the festival naked, but she stopped disrobing when she reached her chemise. All the while, her laboured breathing rasped loudly in the stillness of the barn.

  ‘Fetch those.’ She pointed to the branches.

  Hugh, moving like someone had dealt him a mortal blow, gathered the greenery and placed the boughs where Blod indicated, until the three of us stood inside a circle of everlasting green. She bent, picked a holly twig, resplendent with vibrant berries and gave it to Hugh. I was handed a bunch of white berried mistletoe.

  ‘Holly for the man, mistletoe for the woman. Male and female together, both needed to bring forth new life.’ She gave us each a candle.

  ‘Douse the flames,’ she said.

  Shuffles and whispers floated down the stairs, and several faces appeared at the top of the steps, bef
ore the candles were extinguished. No one wanted to miss a druid’s blessing.

  Darkness, as total as the womb, enveloped us. The silence was as absolute as the night. Not even an animal stirred. As I waited, my senses straining, I felt magic gathering, coalescing, gaining solidity.

  Blod’s voice rang out, resonating with power.

  Hail to those who lived before us

  Hail to those who follow us

  Magic sparked in the air as she called to Mother Night to allow the light to be born. Tiny hairs all over my body stood on end, and my skin thrilled at its touch. It crept into my mind, filling the spaces inside me with radiance. I was lit from within, luminous and euphoric, my soul weightless and full of joy.

  Darkness is death, light is life

  Let the wheel turn

  Let the darkness end

  Bring forth day from night

  Let the sun bless us and nurture us

  Death and birth

  All is one

  There was the sound of a flint, and a spark lit the darkness, the flame of one solitary candle banishing the night.

  Out of darkness, there is light

  Out of death, there is life

  We thank you for the gift of it.

  The tiny flame took hold. Blod, chanting words too ancient to understand, passed the candle to her left. I took it and lit my own candle, before giving it to Hugh.

  The three of us, our heads bowed, came together in the circle of the still-living branches and raised our flames to the heavens.

  Light has triumphed

  Darkness is banished

  The sun will rise

  And the cycle begins anew

  The wheel has turned.

  With great care, she took our flames from us and walked to the foot of the stairs. ‘Here,’ she said, handing the candles to the farmer’s wide-eyed wife. ‘Take them away, lest they set fire to the straw. Do not forget to put your Yule log in the hearth, and let it burn for twelve days and nights.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ The woman hastened up the stairs.

  ‘And fetch the warmed wine,’ Blod called after her.

  ‘Did you not want it for the ceremony?’ I asked.

  ‘Nah. I want to drink it, not worship it.’

  I laughed with relief. She was back to her usual self. Gone was the mysterious druid, gone was the ill old woman. She was Blod once more.

  I looked over my shoulder to give Hugh a reassuring smile, and watched the colour drain from his face.

  When I turned back, Blod was in a crumpled heap at my feet.

  Chapter 31

  Hugh and I lay either side of the old woman, giving her our warmth. Though she felt hot to the touch, she shivered, violent tremors wracking her body. Her chest gurgled and burbled, each breath hard fought and harder won.

  Blod was right – she was dying.

  The tea had dribbled from the corners of her mouth, and the drop she had managed to swallow made her splutter and gasp. I suspected more went into her lungs than her stomach.

  ‘We should turn her over and thump her back,’ I suggested.

  ‘She is drowning, not choking on a lump of meat.’

  ‘It might help clear the fluid from her chest.’ I had to do something, anything. Lying here, watching death win by slow, painful inches, was torture.

  ‘I will support her. I might hurt her if I do the striking,’ Hugh said.

  He lifted Blod, grimacing at the heat rolling off her, and turned the old woman over with infinite care. She draped over his arm like an old cloak, head hanging, her spine a knuckled ridge down her back.

  I tried massaging her upper body, the ribs like fragile twigs under my fingers, and still she wheezed and gasped. Gentle thumps failed to dislodge the fluid from her lungs, but I was scared to hit harder, for fear of breaking one of those twigs.

  Hugh gently lowered her back down, and our gaze met above her head. His despair mirrored my own.

  Blod took a deep, hitching breath.

  This is it, I thought. Her last one, to be let out in a slow sigh as her chest settled when her soul left her body. I waited for the death rattle.

  She pushed at the straw beneath her with weak hands. ‘Help me up.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper and ended in a cough, but she spoke. Morning was near, and these were the first words she had uttered since collapsing.

  A good sign?

  I nodded at Hugh. She might be able to breathe better propped up.

  He wadded his now-dry cloak into a bundle and placed it behind her head.

  ‘No. I mean “up”.’ She tried to lift herself off the make-shift mattress, but barely managed to raise her head.

  ‘You want to sit up?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She forced the word out around a deep hacking cough, and plucked at the neck of her borrowed dress. ‘The Blood of Christ,’ she said, drawing it out, her fingers shaking with the effort.

  ‘What about it?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘You must have it. Keep it safe.’ She closed her eyes, sunken cheeks drawn further into her face as she sucked air into her labouring lungs.

  ‘It matters not,’ Hugh said.

  Hugh and I exchanged another look. This time panic and confusion joined the grief. I had forgotten about our mission. I had forgotten about Eva and Joan, and everything else, except the dying woman in front of me. Despair was a sword, and Hugh’s eyes reflected the pain from each blow. Not only was he to lose his grandmother, but Eva’s fate was uncertain. That I would now also be lost to him, was also evident. Either I remained in bondage to my witchy mistress, or I ended my life. I knew what was best for Hugh.

  ‘It does matter. It does!’ Blod twisted her head from side to side, agitation on her sallow face. Her skin had taken on a yellow hue, and the creases and folds so dear to me were gone, replaced by tight-stretched leather over her skull; the old woman had turned into a corpse over the course of the night. Death had stamped her with his brand. She was one of his now, even if her heart did still beat in her chest.

  ‘Granny, the cause is lost. I will take you home and lay you to rest on the hill above the sea,’ Hugh said.

  ‘Pah!’ She coughed, a weak and feeble sound. ‘Bury me here, boy, then carry on north.’

  He shot me a helpless look. ‘Fret not, Granny,’ he said.

  I noticed he was careful not to make any promises. He intended to carry her body back to Pembroke, and I would accompany him. Perhaps he would bury me somewhere near Blod. I would like that. We could keep each other company.

  ‘You cannot give up.’ Her eyes bored into mine. ‘Make him see sense.’

  How could I, when our hopes would die with her? She was the reason for the journey, her skills were the ones to make the flimsy plan work. Without her, we were nothing.

  ‘He has the power,’ she said to me. ‘He does not realise how powerful he is.’

  ‘What is she saying? What power?’ Hugh lifted Blod’s head as another bout of coughing shook her tiny body.

  Gasping, her chest rising and falling like a bellows with the effort to draw breath, she said, ‘Not fae. Druid. You have the makings of a powerful druid.’

  ‘I do not understand. You have not mentioned this before. I am no druid.’

  ‘Druid is not learned – it is part of you. Anyone can chant and observe the rituals, but it takes more than simple ritual to be a druid.’ Blod’s head lolled on his arm, her body lifeless except for her labouring lungs and intense gaze. In the last moments, Blod’s voice resonated with magic and energy.

  ‘Do you want her to die?’ Her eyes shot to me, then back to Hugh. ‘Do you want Eva to die?’

  ‘Of course not, but—’ he began.

  ‘That is what will happen if you fail. You will lose both of them. You must render the witch helpless, and at the same time you have to take Caitlyn to the brink of death, and bring her back.’

  ‘How? I cannot do this…’ Hugh’s anguish stabbed my heart. His face, twisted and tortured by grief, hardened by the
thought of what she demanded from him. ‘What if I fail?’

  ‘Then your betrothed is dead, and you must deal with Joan.’

  I didn’t want to listen any more. Blod had no idea what she was saying. Hugh was not going to kill me. I wouldn’t let him.

  ‘Cat. Do as I say and put your trust in Hugh. You have no choice,’ Blod panted.

  I do have a choice, I thought, and that choice will come into play when I deem the time is right.

  I reckoned without Hugh.

  ‘You are saying I will lose both Cat and Eva if I do nothing?’ Hugh demanded.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I will do it, even if I have to kill Joan.’

  ‘Shhh, lovely boy,’ Blod said. ‘Killing Joan will be the death of you.’

  ‘If I cannot breathe life back into Cat, then my own life does not matter. Besides, I have no idea how to use the Blood of Christ.’

  Blod barked out a harsh, coughing laugh. ‘Easy,’ she said.

  I waited for the coughing to subside, wondering what magic Blod expected Hugh to employ.

  ‘You just have to get Joan to drink it,’ the dying druid said.

  ‘Is that it?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye. Easy.’ The twinkle in the old woman’s eyes belied her fast-approaching demise. This was the Blod I knew and loved.

  ‘Are you certain?’ Disbelief and confusion pasted themselves on Hugh’s face. ‘No incantations, no rituals?’

  ‘No nothing. It works from the inside out. The Blood will do its job if you get it into her.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ Hugh promised.

  For the first time since he became aware of Blod’s condition, hope flared in Hugh’s expression. He meant to go ahead with this far-fetched plan, and I would have to go with him.

  ‘You know what you must do, so do it.’ Both of us had to lean in close to hear Blod’s voice.

  ‘I will, Granny.’ Hugh held her close and kissed her dry, burning forehead. The effect that the small amount of tea we had managed to trickle into her, had long since worn off, and the fever raged hot and hungry inside her, consuming her flesh. She was dwindling as we watched, leaving nothing but skin stretched over a frame of bird bones.