‘Cat.’ Resignation greyed his voice. ‘Leave me.’
‘No! I can get you out.’
‘Then what? The castle is locked up tighter than the church silver. I cannot escape.’
‘You can. You will.’ My own voice dropped. ‘You must.’
‘How?’
‘I will think of something.’
‘Cat?’
‘Yes?’
‘If your mind is set on doing this, go and get a torch.’
‘I can’t see, not even a hand in front of my face.’
‘That is the point of a torch.’
‘You sound like Blod,’ I said, relieved to hear that the dread had left his voice. I took another blind step, hands held out in front. ‘Ow!’
My nose came up against something hard. I put up my hands, felt a cold, rough- clothed body and let out a scream, batting it away. It disappeared.
One of my flailing hands connected with it again, and it hit me in the face. I stumbled backwards, falling on my bottom with a grunt. Something brushed the top of my head, and I yelled again.
Hugh shouted, but I was screaming too much to answer him. Another touch wafted across my hair.
Light. Thank God! A faint glow slid underneath the door at the top of the steps, not enough to see my assailant, but oh, so welcome. The door opened, torchlight flooding down the steps in a golden cascade. I scuttled out of its reach, crabbing backwards on my behind. I wanted the light, but I didn’t want to get caught. Two figures stood at the top of the steps.
‘I tell you, I heard a woman screaming,’ a man’s voice said.
‘This place is haunted. I ’ave said it before, an’ I say it again. Haunted.’
A figure above my head loomed into view and I almost shrieked again, before I realised it was half a cow, dressed in sacking, suspended from a tar-black beam, its pendulum path slowing with each swing.
‘See that?’
‘What?’
‘Summat moved.’
‘Nah. There is nothing down ’ere. Only the prisoner. Mayhap he was doing the screaming.’
Keeping to the furthest, deepest shadows, I edged and wormed my way closer to that wonderful light. The nearer I could get to the bottom of the stairs, the more chance I had of finding them when total darkness returned.
‘Sounded like a woman,’ the first man insisted.
‘I might sound like a woman if I was shoved in the hole.’
‘Aye, you might be right. Got a set of lungs on him, he does.’
The door closed and the blessed light disappeared. I estimated the distance to the steps to be about twenty feet. If I walked straight ahead, I would reach them or hit the wall. Either would do.
Gingerly I shuffled forwards, waving my arms in front of my face like a cockroach waving its feelers, until my foot came up against stone. I raised a leg, feeling my way until the stone wall became a step.
It took a long time to reach the top, my arms stretched out either side, fingers skimming the wall, one slow step at a time, checking my balance as I went, disorientated in the absolute darkness.
I let out a trembling breath when I reached the final step and touched wood. Fumbling for the handle, I turned it and pushed. Nothing happened.
It was locked. Of course, it was. Why had I failed to anticipate this? Neither Barris nor Margedd, who between them saw to the smooth-running of the castle, would leave the cellar or the stores unlocked under normal circumstances. With a valuable prisoner to be kept secured, security was even more critical. I put my ear to the wood and listened for any sounds from the other side. Nothing. Perhaps those guards weren’t stationed directly outside the door. I crossed mental fingers in the hope I was right, otherwise as soon as I got it open, I would be caught.
Drawing the tiny dagger from its sheath on my leather girdle, I dug it into the lock, twisting and poking, jiggling it around to connect with the tumblers. I feared the noise too much and stopped to listen again. Still nothing. I tried again, sighing in frustration when it failed to work, and pulled the little blade out, wiping it on my skirt, though I had no idea what good that would do, before jamming it back in the lock for a third try.
The cellar, cold enough to keep food fresh in summer, was bitter in winter, yet sweat broke out between my shoulder blades and across my brow. I yanked the dagger out. This was pointless. The blade was too wide.
In an ill-conceived moment of frustration, I slammed my fist against the door, then froze, waiting for the guards to come running. All was quiet on the other side. Trembling with relief and hopelessness, I wanted to let the tears fall. Rarely in my long life had I felt so helpless, so inept. If I got the door open, what then? Fight those two guards, and anyone else in my path? Knowing there was nothing else for it, I gathered my determination about me like a shroud, and turned to make the return journey back down the steps.
Wait. There was something… maybe…? It was worth a try before I tackled the stairs. I reached up to the back of my head and pulled the copper pin from the clip, my hair falling free to my waist. The clip part dropped to the floor and I ignored it; the pin was what interested me.
Kneeling on the unforgiving stone, I renewed my grip on the pin. Nearly as thick as my little finger and twice as long, it was sturdy enough to lift the spring. Using the fingers of my other hand, I felt for the hole, slipping the metal deep into its depths. Wiggle, wriggle, twist, turn, repeat. It took several attempts before the pin finally caught with a click.
Turning the handle with trepidation, taking a heartbeat to move a fraction, I cautiously opened the door just enough to put an eye to the crack. Darkness lived beyond, but not the all-encompassing hell-pitch night of the cellar. This darkness had a gleam of light at the end of it. Storerooms lay between the cellars and the end of the corridor, each one sturdily closed, but beyond those were the pantries, then the kitchens. The light came from the kitchen.
No guards. I listened hard for any noise, but heard nothing. Placing my feet down, silent and slow, I eased away from the door, followed the corridor to the end and peeked around the wall.
Snoring. Snorting. Farting.
The cook slept in an alcove close to one of the fires, a bundled figure. Others, lesser cooks and servants, and probably those very soldiers who had been ordered to guard the cellar door, lay scattered throughout the kitchens. The lure of the kitchens’ warmth must have proved too much for them, and the hour was later than I thought. Good. A sleeping castle was an easier castle to escape from – if I could get Hugh through the postern gate and lead him across the cliffs in the dark.
A torch hung a few feet from my face, and I risked stepping out of the dark passage to grab it, the stench of burning fat and wax irritating my nose. Darting back to the cellar with as much haste as the need for stealth allowed, I listened with one ear cocked for any stirring from the kitchen, and paused at the top of the steps. The brand’s reach was woefully small, and I would have given my soul not to have to descend into the blackness once more. The hardest thing I had done in a long time was to close the cellar door behind me.
Going down was far swifter than going up, and I reached the bottom without incident, heading to the furthest corner. I wedged the torch between two barrels and called softly.
‘Hugh?’
‘Here.’
‘I am going to lift the lid.’
‘Get on with it, then.’ He sounded more like Blod every time he spoke.
I heaved, arms straining. The lid rose, and I dragged it to the side, grunting with the effort. Dropping it, I leaned over the edge. Hugh’s face was just visible in the greater darkness of the hole.
We stared at each other.
‘Now what?’ he asked. ‘Have you a rope?’
‘Er…’
‘How, exactly, are you planning on getting me out?’
There was only one way I could think of to raise him from that pit without help. Even with a rope, I did not have the strength to haul him to the surface. Not wide enough to wedge back an
d feet and lever oneself out, with walls marble-smooth and slick with damp and moss, the vertical tomb was impossible to escape from.
I changed into Cat and leapt to join him.
Hugh grunted with surprise when I landed on his head. I scrabbled for purchase, and he struggled to hold me.
‘You might have warned me. What in Jesus’s name are you thinking of?’ he cried.
Getting you out, I wanted to snap, trying to sheath my claws which were entangled in his hair. He lifted me up and moved me down to his chest. I wriggled, wanting to be put down.
‘Stop struggling. I am not going to drop you.’
Oh yes, you are, I thought, and spagged his face.
He dropped me. ‘Cat! You have drawn blood.’ He reached down, possibly to pick me up again, and I hissed. ‘What did I do?’ he demanded, and squawked in surprise when my body blurred and stretched. As I struggled to my feet, jammed up against him in the tiny space, Caitlyn once more, his eyes were firmly shut and his back hard up against the dank stone.
‘I don’t like you doing that,’ he complained. ‘It is not natural.’
I kicked his shin. ‘Imbecile. Of course, it is not natural. Do you think I like it?’
‘Uh, no?’
‘No. It will take some manoeuvring, but you have to climb on my shoulders. I am five foot, and you are over six. Between us, you should reach the top. Do you have sufficient strength to pull yourself out?’
He kicked me back. Gently. ‘Do you have sufficient strength to support my weight?’
That remained to be seen. Squashed against each other, this chamber had not been dug with two in mind. I barely had enough room to crouch down. He had just placed one booted foot on my shoulder when I sensed my mistress, her eyes boring into my mind.
Joan had found me.
Please, no. Not now, not here.
Bitch! You will pay for your treachery.
How was she doing that? I had felt her distant eye on me many times, but never once had her thoughts travelled over the connection when she scried. Only Herleva had ever been able to do that.
Joan’s fury took my breath away, freezing my heart. She knew. Of course, she knew. How could she not?
I lifted my bowed head, terror piercing my heart, my face twisted with despair. Her anger beat and pulsed against my mind, swelling and throbbing, filling me with second-hand rage. Her wrath sought to possess me, insistent and bitter, and I fought it with everything I had, even as I dropped my shoulders in defeat, unbalancing Hugh.
‘Steady, Cat.’ His hands felt the sides of the shaft, his fingers seeking purchase on the smooth moss-covered stone, waiting for me to straighten my aching, trembling legs and lift his considerable weight a few feet into the air.
I twisted, as much as the confines allowed, and his feet slipped from my shoulders. He stumbled to the floor, and I straightened up, the top of my head reaching his shoulders, my face almost pressed against his chest, tears filling my eyes. How could we have been so vain as to think we could outsmart her.
‘This won’t work,’ he said. ‘You aren’t strong enough.’
I kept my head bowed, fearing what he might see in my eyes, even though the dim light from the torch hardly penetrated our prison and his own face was merely a lighter disc against a raven-black backdrop.
‘Cat?’
Not trusting myself to speak with Joan’s incredible fury surging through me, I remained rigid and silent. Her incandescence seared my mind, the terrible burning rage scorching my soul.
I lifted my head, hoping she could see me well enough in the darkness of the pit and welded an expression of confusion on my face. She had to believe I was still faithful to her – she had to!
The image she slammed into my mind almost stopped my heart – Hugh, dangling from a rope. She wanted him dead. Me, too. I could feel her desire to tear me into pieces.
My hands inched to Hugh’s throat, touched the soft skin, my thumbs either side of his windpipe, scalding tears running down my face. Not Hugh, please not Hugh…
‘What are you doing?’ he wanted to know. ‘You won’t get me out by playing with my neck.’ He sounded puzzled and a little cross. ‘Now is not the time for kisses. Kneel down again, and I will try to hold some of my weight with my fingers, but it is not easy. The rock is too smooth and slippery to allow for decent hand-holds. Stop it, Cat.’ He jerked back, bumping his head on the wall of the shaft.
My fingers stayed where they were, frozen like my soul.
He brought his arms up, in between mine, and forced my hands away. ‘Stop!’
The energy in his voice sent me reeling. His command sizzled in my mind, sparking like lightning from Hugh to me
Joan’s departure from my mind was sudden and unexpected, and left me as empty as a grain-sack at the winter’s end. Released from her clutches, my body and mind my own once more, I gave in to tears.
Hugh didn’t attempt to comfort me, and I didn’t blame him. He must think me mad or possessed.
Possessed – ha! Joan had done exactly that, then cast me aside like a broken toy, and I was unsure whether Hugh had driven her away or whether she had left of her own accord.
‘Do you want to tell me what just happened?’ The distance in his voice shocked me. For two people who were in such close proximity, I felt we were a sea apart.
‘My mistress found me.’
‘Found you?’
‘She scried. Not only did she see me, she spoke to me.’
‘I didn’t hear her.’
‘Her voice was in my head. She intends to hang you’ I wiped my eyes with a sleeve.
‘Ah, I understand.’ Warmth crept back into his tone and his hand found mine.
‘She is gone but may return at any moment. We must get you out of this hole, then you have to leave.’
‘I’m not going without you, Cat.’
‘You must. Joan wants you dead, and even if she doesn’t kill you, Ifan most surely will.’
‘Listen to the lady, Pembroke. She speaks sense,’ a familiar voice said, and I screamed as a silhouette loomed above us.
Chapter 35
Hugh and I froze, hardly daring to breathe, our hands entwined. My veins ran with ice, and cold encircled my heart. My man was going to die. I couldn’t free him now, and if he died, then so must I. I had reconciled myself to death long ago, but my heart weighed heavily in my chest, a solid ball of sadness at the thought of Hugh no longer walking this world. He did not deserve this. The only shred of comfort to be gleaned from this whole sorry mess was that Eva was safe. I sent her a silent prayer for happiness, hoping our deaths would not be in vain.
Ifan had laid a trap, and I had been stupid enough to get caught in it. I should have guessed the reason for the lack of sentries. No one would leave such a valuable prisoner unguarded.
‘I caught myself another rat, I see,’ Ifan gloated, thrusting a torch over the hole. A molten-hot drip of liquid fat dropped onto my shoulder and I winced.
‘Or should I say, cat?’ Ifan’s head and shoulders filled the circle of light above our heads.
‘What did you tell him? I whispered, nudging Hugh’s leg with my own.
‘Everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yes.’
‘Everything, even…?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pembroke told me a fantastical story,’ Ifan said. ‘You are a cat, and Princess Joan is a witch, and she carries Abergavenny’s bastard in her belly.’
Shock rendered me speechless. I never guessed Hugh had revealed all. No wonder Ifan had laughed and thrown him in the oubliette.
‘However, I don’t think your story is false. Not now,’ Ifan continued.
‘Huh?’ Hugh and I shared a look, barely making out each other’s faces.
‘Let me get you out of there, and we will talk,’ Ifan said. ‘Watch out.’
Thank you, Ifan, for not enough warning, I thought, as a rope ladder dropped on top of us. I climbed first, Ifan dragging at my arm once
my head broke the surface. Hugh followed so quickly behind, he almost had his head up my skirts. Ifan replaced the wooden lid with a grunt. His sword was unsheathed, held loosely in one hand, and never once did he take his wary eyes off us.
‘You said you wanted to talk?’ Hugh leaned forward and put his hands on his knees, rounding his back. The oubliette was too narrow to allow much movement – that was part of its “appeal”.
‘I believe you when you say Lady Joan is plotting Llewelyn’s murder, and she has made a cuckold of him with William of Abergavenny. I believe you when you say she plans to wed Abergavenny, and I believe she has cast a spell on him – but only the enchantment that all men have for the women they fall in love with. It is the work of the devil alright, in the same way that Eve tempted Adam. Abergavenny is blinded by love, and that makes him stupid, not bespelled. I don’t doubt sorcery exists, but Lady Joan is no witch.’ He paused. ‘But she is.’ Ifan pointed his sword at me.
‘She is not.’ Hugh straightened up. ‘Cat is innocent of any crime. Why do you believe one half of the tale and not the other?’
‘Because I saw Lady Joan outside Abergavenny’s chamber that night. It didn’t take a scholar to know why she was there. What I do not understand, is why you tried to kill Mistress Caitlyn, yet now you are in league with her and planning Llewelyn’s murder.’
‘I didn’t try to kill her. Why will no one believe me?’ Hugh protested. ‘I was trying to drag Cat away before she realised her mistress was canoodling with my lord. Disaster would have befallen both parties if their liaison were discovered. And we are not planning Llewelyn’s murder; we are trying to prevent it.’
‘My man heard you.’
‘He heard wrong. Joan wants us to dispose of her husband tonight. She has to wed Abergavenny within days if she is to stand any chance of convincing the world that the babe she carries isn’t Llewelyn’s but is William’s premature son.’
‘She is with child? She has not given Llewelyn a babe for many years.’
‘That is because he cannot. Joan rendered him sterile. The boy is not Llewelyn’s.’
‘The Lord of Abergavenny has only ever sired females.’ Ifan frowned.
Caitlyn Box Set Page 76