by Unknown
The dining room door was not completely closed, and Virginie heard Catherine ask in a voice dripping with sarcasm,“Must I continue to wear dresses?”
“For pity’s sake!” Amélie raised her voice. “Wear the men’s clothes if that is what you wish; nothing could be worse than your behavior at the table!”
“So,” asked Isabelle with a sad voice, “It was all just a game for you?”
“And you were not enjoying yourself?” Catherine retorted. Then she sighed heavily and added,“You must try to understand that what I am going through right now is so very trying. Please, leave me with some semblance of dignity. Dressing me up in dresses and feminine trinkets is, well, like cursing me a second time.”
“Oh.... my poor Catherine,” Amélie replied, very touched.
Virginie slowly and silently backed away from the door and went up the wide staircase leading to the upper floors. She decided she needed to get some air and put on her fur-rimmed cape. The storm had passed and the sun was shining through the remaining clouds. She was going to take advantage of the break in the weather and go for a walk. She needed to think and try to make some sense out of everything. A walk on the tracks to the circle of stones would help clear her mind.
Chapter 10
Getting to know Virginie
Back in Catherine’s room Kalaan went to the bathroom to rid himself of the dress, petticoats and life-threatening boots. Finally alone, he would be able to have some peace and reflect on the recent events.
Dinner had been quite trying for his mother and sister, but it was not easy for him either. He realized he had acted like a perfect swine and he hated himself for it. It was, however, a necessary evil. How else could he make those two stubborn women understand what he was going through?
And what in the blazes went on in their minds that made them dress him up like a woman and call him Catherine? Kalaan could have easily stayed hidden in the longhouse during the day when he was the thing and only shown his face at nightfall. That was his original plan. He would have taken advantage of the short winter days and those who knew nothing of the curse wouldn’t have noticed a thing. But no, the ladies who should have been in Paris, had yet again decided otherwise. Not only were they not where they should have been, but they also invented an outlandish story about a second cousin.
The emotional shock of witnessing his transformation must have disturbed them more than they showed for Amélie and Isabelle to play doll with him. Well, perhaps it was the case with his mother, but when it came to Isabelle, Kalaan suspected his sister of enjoying some form of revenge.
But he also had to remember that everyone was surprised by Virginie de Macy and Lil’ Louis’ momentous arrival at the longhouse. So, Amélie and Isabelle weren’t really very perturbed after all and, if he were honest with himself, Kalaan should thank them for their intervention.
“Never!” He swore under his breath as he came out of the bathroom where he had wrapped his breasts tightly in an effort to make them less cumbersome before putting on his own clothes.
Nothing was happening according to the plans he’d elaborated before arriving on the island, and now Kalaan found himself in a horrible scrape, thanks to the ladies. They wanted to play his game and they lost! Amélie and Isabelle should have remembered that he always gets his way using whatever means may be necessary, except violence, for he loathed violence. Now he could come and go as he wished in men’s clothing, and better yet, he didn’t have to wear his hair parted down the middle with those ridiculous ringlets falling down over his ears.
He didn’t understand why so many women insisted on making themselves so ugly. Why follow fashion so blindly? Kalaan preferred natural beauty, rare natural beauty such as Virginie’s. Sweet and graceful Virginie, with her porcelain complexion, rosy pink lips and superb blue-gray eyes. She looked delicious in her cerulean blue gown, with her magnificent fiery golden hair twisted into a simple loose bun. Virginie was a beautiful ray of sunshine unto herself, sunshine that, for a change, Kalaan didn’t deplore.
“The butterball,” he murmured in the light feminine voice he detested. He pulled on his black thigh boots and folded the top edge down over his knees. He picked up his dark three-quarter length jacket and put it on. How could he have ever given Virginie that horrible nickname?
True, in his defense, he was only fourteen at the time and she a plump awkward little girl who followed him around all the time, a real pot of glue. He found her devotion suffocating. And she had destroyed the precious gift from Maden, who had only just been buried — his first Egyptian papyrus. The young Mademoiselle de Macy of that period had given way to dazzling sylph. He hadn’t felt this taken by a woman in an eternity. Come to think of it, this may well be the first time ever. But could he trust his feelings?
When he took on the appearance of Catherine, his way of perceiving people and all of his senses were heightened to a point that was almost unbearable. Kalaan was often surprised to realize he behaved in a manner he would never have as a man. Catherine was a real calamity! She was hot tempered, stuck out her tongue when she was annoyed, or stamped her feet when she didn’t get her way. She was over-sensitive and this was impossible to manage — the total opposite of Kalaan as a man. He didn’t know what his real feelings towards Virginie were.
Kalaan walked over to the high window that looked out at the rear of the castle and took advantage of the sunlight to adjust his cuffs. Glancing out the window he saw Virginie, wrapped in a heavy burgundy red cape, leaving the grounds. She was taking the gravel path leading towards the northwest part of the isle. Catherine, feisty as ever, thought that was an excellent idea — go for a walk! What better way to get to know Virginie! He could “accidentally” run into her on the path. Kalaan dashed out of the room and down the stairs. In the entrance hall he met the butler coming back in with a pack of letters in his white-gloved hands.
“Clovis, my good man!”
“Mademoiselle Catherine,” replied Clovis, solemnly after a brief disapproving glance at his clothes. His attitude reminded Kalaan of an undertaker.
“Could you tell me where the Marchioness of Macy is going?”
“I do not know, Mademoiselle.” Clovis replied reluctantly and disdainfully. “The young lady inquired after the post as usual, and then went out.”
“And was there a letter for her?” Catherine, always curious, could not help but ask, much to Kalaan’s displeasure.
Who could Virginie be corresponding with, he wondered. The thing was right to ask the question, as much as he hated to admit it.
“That would be her business, Mademoiselle Catherine. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Clovis had most certainly said everything he would.
“Good job!” Kalaan said in his shrill voice as he slapped the butler on the back before going outside.
Clovis was a remarkably devoted servant. He protected the Croz family from curious eyes and ears and apparently he had little confidence in Catherine, a good point in his favor.
I should increase his wages; he certainly deserves it. Kalaan said to himself as he strode down the gravel walkway. According to his pocket watch, it was almost four o’clock and the days were short in January. The sun would be setting shortly and Kalaan would become a man again. He could have waited a little longer and gone to find Virginie as a man, but Catherine’s impatience to be in Virginie’s presence made the wait impossible. What’s more, Virginie was heading northwest in direction of the broken circle and the highest cliffs of the island and he was worried.
It was a dangerous spot for those who didn’t know the area well. The dirt tracks ran at barely a yard from the edge of the cliffs and the void. After the rain, the muddy tracks and slippery grass could easily cause a deadly accident.
Kalaan started walking faster, happy not to be burdened with a dress. He could easily avoid all the stones and brambles that obstructed the wall-lined path. Ten minutes later, when he saw Virginie, his heart skipped a beat. She was in the semi-circle formed by st
anding stones and much too close to the edge!
He swore and began to run towards her as quietly as possible. He didn’t want to startle her, in case she lost her balance and fell over the edge. Once he was close enough, he deftly grabbed her by the wrist. As he thought, she did indeed lose her balance and a little scream escaped her lips. However, she didn’t fall into the void, but instead into Kalaan’s arms, safe from any danger.
“Catherine! Good heavens! You gave me a terrible fright!” Hand over her heart, she pulled her wrist out of his grip and raised her furious blue-gray eyes to his face.
“Not nearly as much as you frightened me!” he shouted angrily. “Are you insane? This place is extremely dangerous and you could have killed yourself if you had slipped!”
Her anger slowly gave way and the expression on Virginie’s lovely face began to relax.
“You were afraid for me and wanted to save me? I... um... well, thank you.” Virginie moved away, towards one of the standing stones far from the cliff, which was more than a hundred feet above the jagged wave beaten rocks below.
Thank you, that’s all? Thank you? Kalaan could have kicked her posterior for being so thoughtless! She had no idea of the anguish she’d caused him, not to mention the state of turmoil she’d put him in. Part of him wanted to shake her and another wanted to kiss her. Zounds! Kalaan was feeling all sorts of contradicting emotions and he didn’t like it one little bit.
“There was really no need to worry about me,” Virginie said, pulling him out of his reverie. “Besides,” she added looking around her and making a sweeping gesture in direction of the spectacular scenery, “I know the Isle of Croz very well, even if I haven’t yet discovered all of it, it’s so huge.”
“How is that you know it so well?” Kalaan asked, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Despite the bandages binding them, his breasts were still large and uncomfortable and he wasn’t used to them.
“Thanks to the large map hanging in Amélie’s office.”
“You mean Kalaan’s office, don’t you? He is the Lord of Croz after all!”
“If you prefer,” Virginie said lightly. She did not want to seem annoyed with Catherine’s stubborn arrogant attitude.
“Yes, I do prefer,” Kalaan replied with a wry smile. “So, the map?”
“Yes, it was meticulously drawn by Maden of Croz. It is so beautiful, a real work of art. As a child, whenever I stayed on the island with my father, I would sit for hours gazing at it.”
Kalaan had done the same thing as a child. He remembered sitting at Maden’s side when he was eight. They were at the big oak table in his study and his father was drawing the contours of the isle with his quill and using his pastels to add color. He could still hear his father’s gravelly voice describing the island, teaching him its history.
“You see, son, our Croz is very unusual — It is shaped like a giant crescent and is almost four miles long and two miles wide at the widest point. When you look at the map you can see that both its ends curve south across from Paimpol and the pink granite coast of the mainland. The ends are extended by high, fortified walls built by your ancestors. And what do these ramparts form?
“The sheltered cove we call “the closed port!”
“Exactly, Kalaan. Then, from the cove we climb up to the high plateaus where you see the forest and the moors where heather and yellow flowered brooms grow. The prairies are separated by low stone walls. The plateaus are bordered by sharp cliffs on three sides. By the way, my little rascal, remember that you are forbidden to venture up there unaccompanied. Is that clear?
“Yes father...”
“What is the highest point on the isle?”
“The broken circle. It was built in the northwest part of the isle, on a rocky butte over 100 feet above sea level! Right, father? But papa... Did our ancestors also put those big rocks on the butte?
“Standing stones, my son, or menhirs in Breton. Yes, most likely, but it was a very long time ago, well before the druids and the Romans.
“The druids... like crazy Jaouen?
“Yes, but don’t call him that! He is more intelligent than you think.”
“He frightens me...”
“You shouldn’t be afraid of him… He is my friend, and yours and the only person alive today who knows the real history of Croz, from its creation.”
“Ohhh...”
“Now back to your lesson. What is the other name of the isle?”
“The Invincible! Or Didrec'hus for us Bretons. The enemy invaders gave it that name because they never managed to put their filthy feet on our land!”
“Exactly, and Kalaan, keep your voice down, I wouldn’t want your mother to hear you speak that way. This is just between you and me.”
“Oh, yes, Papa; this is our secret.”
“Our enemies, the Vikings and the English have always been pushed back thanks to our arrows and cannons. And those who never got near the ramparts were lost at sea, impaling their ships on the many reefs or other tricky areas surrounding and protecting Croz. They were all poor sailors and navigators, I tell you. The ships were ripped apart and sank. As a result, the sea around the isle is a real cemetery. Ships from many different periods in our history lie at the bottom and provide an excellent breeding ground and nursery for lobsters.”
“Lobsters grow up around dead people? Yuck!”
Kalaan still remembers Maden’s sparkling eyes as well as his warm laugh echoing in the study, when his father ruffled his hair. It was so many years ago, yet it felt like only yesterday.
“Catherine?” Virginie’s voice sounding a little worried made Kalaan jump and brought him back to the present.
“Yes?”
“I was asking you what happened to your hand,” she repeated.
Damned scar! Kalaan had almost forgotten it. The scar was going to make things more complicated. He would have to wear gloves when he turned back into himself, and not forget that detail at every transformation. Now he had to find an explanation for Virginie that would fit in with the story his family made up, and quickly!
“I burned myself with an ember on my father’s boat two months ago.”
Virginie looked at him suspiciously; pursing her lips, and then, taking Kalaan’s hand, looked at the wound, which was not at all the same roundish shape an ember would leave.
“That is why, when, by pure chance, we encountered Ar Sorserez in the Mediterranean Sea, my cousin took me on board. It was to take care of my wound. Do you understand?”
Kalaan had the unpleasant feeling he was getting in over his head and his voice was getting higher and higher as Catherine was getting more and more agitated.
“No, I don’t really understand. You didn’t have a doctor on your ship?”
“No, I mean yes, but he didn’t have the remedies I required. And where we were going, my wound would have got infected and I could have contracted gangrene. Rather than take the risk, Father told me to leave with Kalaan and return to Brittany so I would be treated quickly. There, you have it. Enough,” he brusquely said, pulling his hand away from Virginie’s gentle touch.
Her warm touch was so troubling he could no longer control his thoughts and might start speaking nonsense. Catherine was so sensitive; her emotions were hard to bear.
“What is your father’s name?”
“Diogenes.”
Blast it! Kalaan could have slapped himself! He just gave her his old dog’s name. The dog died a long time ago, may he rest in peace. They had named him Diogenes because he was permanently infested with fleas. Even after several baths and intensive grooming, the poor old boy’s fleas always returned, His full name was Diogenes bag of fleas, because it rhymed. He was a gem of a dog. The Fawn Brittany Griffon, was Kalaan’s loyal companion in everything he did as a young boy, until his dying breath, which he took while in his human friend’s arms.
“Oh, as in the famous Greek philosopher and cynic, Diogenese Sinope?” Virginie asked with a pretty smile that lit up her gray eyes. “Are there
lovers of Greek philosophers among your ancestors?” The young woman looked so happy to discuss ancient history. Kalaan bit his tongue. He wanted to reply “no, lovers of fleas.”
Instead, he said, “We, in the Croz family, are adventurers. Like Kalaan, my cousin, the Egyptologist, it’s in our blood, passed down from father to son!”
“And daughter, Catherine. You are the living proof; you cut a fine figure, much like a lady buccaneer.”
Kalaan knew he was blushing like a young girl under the soft caress of Virginie’s melodious voice, and he quivered when she touched him again, though it was only in a friendly manner. The young woman also quivered and jumped back before turning to look out to sea. Kalaan was certain. Virginie felt it too, the delicious arousal that ran through his body. All of his senses were heightened. A distraction, Kalaan needed a distraction, and quickly. Otherwise he might do something foolish, such as kiss Virginie.
“Your first name is very pretty.”
Virginie’s head was turned away and he could only see her profile. The wind was rising again, with the tide, and it blew through her hair, freeing some of it to dance in the wind. She was magnificent. An artist could have created a masterpiece, sketching her standing there among the five standing stones, facing the sea and its reefs.
“My mother, whom I never knew, loved the name. She discovered it reading the tragic novel Paul and Virginie, by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. Mama loved the female character so much, that I was given her name.”
Kalaan’s heart went out to the young woman. The emotions of the thing made him more empathetic and it was difficult to bear. He would have loved to take Virginie in his arms and comfort her to chase away both her sadness and the sadness she’d passed on to him with her words. He preferred to take refuge in indifference.