The curse of Kalaan Read online

  There was indeed a ship sailing into the cove after passing the ramparts. It was a small transport ship, the kind more often used to operate between the mainland and the other islands of the Pink Granite Coast, but they never came to Croz. What could they possibly be doing there?

  By the time Kalaan reached home, got out his spyglass and took his position on the plateau, passengers had already boarded a dinghy headed, towards the embankment.

  “Lad! Yer here!” Lil’ Louis shouted, out of breath. He’d just climbed up the path from the village and was lumbering towards Kalaan.

  “Where else would I be?”

  “Oy dunno, at ole Jaouen’s cottage with Salam?”

  “What? You’re not calling him crazy anymore?”

  Lil’ Louis started muttering in his beard, but decided not to respond. Kalaan brought the spyglass back up to his eye.

  “So? What is all this din about?” his chief mate asked.

  “Ye d’know yer filthy dirty, don’t ye? Ye look like ye’ve bin playin’ with da pigs and rolled in da muck…though ye don’t smell as bad…”

  “Blast it all, we’ve got a problem!” Kalaan spit out, cutting off his friend.

  Seeing Lil’ Louis’ surprise, he continued, his voice harsh with anger, “’Tis the Duchess Delatour who’s arrived. She’s the biggest gossip in the kingdom! What’s more, she is accompanied by two men. The one in the cassock is her grandson, I presume. He’s in seminary school, studying to become a priest. As for the other, the one with the white hair, that’s Darius Borgas!”

  “That ‘orrible devil?” Lil’ Louis gasped, narrowing his eyes, his face set in a bitter expression.

  “Yes.”

  “Wot’s he doing here?”

  “I doubt my mother invited him. As for Her Grace, I have no idea…Blazes!”

  Kalaan swore again, and after a quick glance at Lil’ Louis added, “I must go change, put on a dress and all the paraphernalia. If the duchess ever sees a woman dressed in men’s clothing, the Croz reputation is ruined!”

  Kalaan threw the spyglass to Lil’ Louis who caught it in midair. The next minute the young count was striding up to the castle, leaving his poor chief mate alone with his thoughts. The lad clearly was not having much luck. He came home to the isle to find refuge and in fact what he found was the complete opposite.

  “Oy’ll go say a prayer at da church, Oy will,” Lil’ Louis thought as he went back down to the village.

  But, rather than going to the house of God, he took another path and went in the direction of Rachel’s Inn. A good invigorating drink would do more good than all the prayers in the world.

  Chapter 14

  Fear in her heart

  Someone banged on Virginie’s door and she almost jumped out of her skin. She wasn’t expecting a visit. Sitting at the foot of her bed with her hands calmly crossed in her lap, she was lost in her thoughts and had been ever since Gwendoline left. The chambermaid had prepared her bath and rubbed her down with a liniment to prevent a fever. She then helped her to dress for dinner, which was most likely going to be later than usual. All the time Gwendoline was with her, Virginie only half listened to her chatter; however she did hear that ‘people from high society’ had chosen this, of all times to invite themselves to visit the Croz family here, on the island and that was why the bells were tolling and Madame Amélie was very preoccupied.

  “Yes?” she called out. “Come in,” secretly praying it wasn’t Catherine for she was in no condition to see her.

  When she saw Isabelle peeping around the door, Virginie sighed in relief. The young lady came in and closed the door behind her.

  She sat down next to her friend on the bed and said, excitedly, “Ginny, I have to speak with you before we go down to dinner! It’s urgent!”

  “Me too,” Virginie said in a tortured whimper. Her tone unnerved Isabelle whose good mood disappeared in an instant.

  “What happened?”

  “I… I… don’t really know… to be honest.” Virginie’s voice faltered and Isabelle frowned.

  “It’s Catherine, isn’t it? I heard you returned from your morning outing in a sorry state! Has she been behaving badly again?”

  “No!... well, ..Yes… I mean no! Oh, Isabelle, ‘tis not at all what you think!”

  Isabelle’s eyes widened in surprise and she shook her head in puzzlement. The long curls hanging down over her ears bounced quite comically, but not enough to lighten Virginie’s mood.

  “Now I’m worried! Tell me everything Ginny. You know you can trust me.”

  The young woman opened her mouth several times to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. The only sound she could make was a sort of whimper.

  “Ginny!” This time Isabelle sounded more annoyed than worried, and the situation was beginning to play on her nerves.

  “I think I have feelings for Catherine!” Virginie blurted out. She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to see the look of disgust she was sure would be on her friend’s face.

  Isabelle was very quiet for an instant. But then Virginie heard tittering and promptly opened her eyes to see her friend holding her hand over her mouth trying as best she could to control her laughter.

  “Well, I never!” Virginie jumped up, indignantly. “You are mocking me!”

  “No, of course not!” Isabelle said, lying shamelessly. She was trying very hard to keep a serious expression on her face. “All right then, you think you have feelings for Catherine. Exactly what kind of feelings do you mean? Friendly, sisterly?”

  “No, neither. The other kind,” Virginie’s reply was almost a whisper, so quietly murmured, that Isabelle wasn’t certain she heard correctly. Virginie’s pacing back and forth between the bed and the window didn’t help.

  “Why do you say that?” Isabelle asked, calming down.

  “When she touches me, or speaks in my ear, what I feel is… very… well very disturbing. ‘Tis the same whenever she looks at me. I... feel shivers running through my body, my pulse races and I start breathing heavily. I’ve even found myself hoping she would kiss me! Oh, only for a terrifying second after which I collected myself quickly enough. But… Isabelle! Am I losing my mind?”

  “Now, now, my friend,” Isabelle tried to reassure Virginie. She approached her and took her trembling hands in her own. Shaking her head, she asked, “What has Kal... Catherine done to you, and in just two days?”

  “B…but it isn’t her fault!” Virginie protested. “It is I who has the impure thoughts about her, and she…”

  “Cannot possibly pretend not to have noticed.” Isabelle said sharply, cutting her off. “Have you ever felt this way for another woman?”

  “No!”

  “Are you quite sure? If I came closer to you and started to caress your hand or if I placed my lips on yours…”

  “Isabelle, please!” Virginie had a shocked look on her face. She stepped back, pulling her fingers from her friend’s hands.

  The young Isabelle Croz grinned from ear to ear with such a mischievous attitude, the resemblance with her brother was remarkable.

  “You see? There’s nothing wrong with you after all.”

  “Yes, there is! Everything is wrong!”

  “All right then, and how can you know that you have ‘feelings of a physical nature?’ Have you ever had these feelings for someone else?”

  Virginie flushed bright red and, yet again, looked away from her friend to avoid her eyes.

  “Yes, I have… for your brother.”

  “Amazing,” Isabelle murmured, pensively.

  This time she didn’t laugh. In fact, she was astonished by Virginie’s confessions. This meant that her heart and body had instinctively recognized Kalaan in the form of Catherine, but her mind hadn’t! How could Isabelle even begin to explain this to her friend? If she hadn’t seen her brother transform with her own eyes, she would have laughed at anyone who told her about the curse.

  “Ginny,” she said, after a moment of thought, “You kn
ow, it’s not necessarily wrong to be attracted to a member of the same sex. In ancient times, in Egypt and even Greece, this type of desire was quite common and generally accepted. In Egypt they concocted philters and love potions to develop love among women, and in Greece, well all the scholars know about the affair between Alexander the Great and Hephestion, the Macedonian general. Most of the Greeks of that period were bisexual. To quote Plutarch on the subject,‘The lover of human beauty will be equally and favorably disposed towards both sexes instead of supposing that men and women are as different in the matter of love as they are in their clothes.’ I could give you hundreds more examples if you wished. Love knows no boundaries and does not care whether it happens between two men, two women or a man and a woman. When two kindred spirits meet, they recognize each other.”

  Virginie looked at her young friend with a blend of admiration and endearment.

  “What you say Isabelle, is true and I found it fascinating when I read it in the books on that period. However, there is a difference between reading it and feeling it. How can I explain the uneasy feeling inside me?”

  “’Tis simply the teachings of our church. You should follow your heart Ginny, as I do.”

  “What are you saying?”

  This time it was Isabelle’s turn to blush.

  “It is to do with Salam. That is why I came to see you.”

  Another knock on the door interrupted them.

  “Yes?” Virginie called out, a little annoyed. A servant’s voice came through the closed door.

  “Madame Amélie requests your presence in the sitting room, where her guests will be arriving shortly.”

  “We will be there in a minute,” Isabelle’s reply came almost too quickly, as if she was relieved.

  “What has happed with Monsieur Salam?” Virginie was impatient to know.

  “I will explain later Ginny. We must go right now; my mother is expecting us!”

  “You are avoiding the question? After I told you everything?” Virginie blithely asked, following Isabelle towards the door. “Please, keep everything I said to yourself.”

  “No need to worry, I’ll be silent as the grave. But we must discuss this more. There is something you should know.”

  Isabelle decided that she didn’t have the right to leave Virginie in this state of torment. As soon as they had a quiet moment together she would tell her friend everything about Kalaan’s curse.

  When Isabelle and Virginie arrived in the hallway, they froze, not believing their eyes. There, before them was Catherine, once again wearing Grandmother Anna’s clothes. They were old-fashioned but now, she was wearing a more colorful outfit that a talented seamstress had altered. The cousin looked quite charming and so different from the day before! Her hair was up in a bun, giving her a deceptively angelic appearance.

  “The first one to laugh gets my foot in her posterior!” But to follow through with her threat Catherine would have to be able to stand properly in her lace-trimmed silk slippers.

  “Ooops!” She had barely taken one step and fell against the wall, almost twisting her ankle.

  “One step at a time,” Virginie explained, trying to help. “Slowly, do not stride.”

  “Thank you.” Catherine, despite her ill temper, followed the young woman’s advice, but made a face at Isabelle, who was far too quiet.

  For a change, the sister surprised the brother by acting subdued. She did not make an attempt to tease him and in fact seemed preoccupied. Catherine took Isabelle’s arm, letting Virginie walk in front of them.

  When there was enough distance between them she whispered to her sister, “You’ll have to explain why you were spying on Salam this morning!”

  “W..what?” Isabelle squealed and pulled away from her brother’s grip.

  When Virginie heard her friend squeal, she turned sharply around, knitting her brow and Isabelle was afraid her friend would think she was telling Catherine everything! As if to confirm Isabelle’s fears, Virginie stiffened and continued on her way without waiting.

  “Kalaan, you half-wit! Ginny and I will have a falling out because of you!”

  “I would like to know why! And please, be careful what you say. For the unwanted guests downstairs, I must remain Catherine!”

  Isabelle shrugged her shoulders, pulled a face at her brother and ran off, down the stairs.

  “Come back here!” Catherine called out before losing her balance again. She would have loved to know what was going on between her sister and Salam, and… how speaking with the visiting cousin could cause a falling out between Isabelle and Virginie.

  “Slowly, one step at a time…” Catherine muttered under her breath, following Virginie’s advice. “Oh, Blast it all!”

  The next minute she was walking in a most unfeminine manner, a slipper in each hand. Ah, yes, this is much easier! She would put her shoes back on before facing the Duchess Delatour. Today was not the day that the family reputation would be destroyed. Honor of Croz!

  Virginie let Isabelle enter the sitting room alone. Before meeting the new arrivals, she wanted to find out if by any chance the letter she was expecting had come on the ship.

  Seeing Clovis she started to ask, “By any chance, was there…”

  “No, Mademoiselle,” the butler seemed in a hurry. Then, seeing her distress, he added more gently, “I would have informed you immediately.”

  He looked at her, a hint of worry in his eyes.

  “Please forgive me if I am too forward, Mademoiselle, but is something worrying you?”

  “No, Clovis. Of course you are forgiven. Thank you for your concern.”

  She turned around and went towards the sitting room just in time to see Catherine lifting her skirts, well above her knees, to put her slippers back on. Virginie could hear Clovis clicking his tongue behind her and smiled. She found the young cousin’s devil-may-care attitude refreshing. The butler passed in front of them to open the door and stood aside for them to enter.

  “Oh! There they are,” exclaimed Amélie feigning delight. She threw a thankful look at Catherine for her appearance. “Your Grace, I believe you already know the young Marchioness of Macy.”

  “Your Grace,” Virginie murmured as she curtsied to the Duchess Delatour, a very unpleasant potbellied woman in her eighties, stuffed into a candy pink dress.

  “Your mourning period must be over if you are dressed in such colorful clothing,” observed the old duchess in a dry cutting voice.

  Virginie’s pale blue outfit was sedate, especially compared to the duchess’ flamboyancy. The spiteful woman was completely tactless to allude to the recent loss of her father.

  “It is,” she replied, looking the duchess in the eyes and smiling politely when she would have preferred to skin her alive. Behind her, Virginie could feel Catherine stiffen with rage.

  “And who is this… person?” the duchess asked, looking with contempt at the young woman behind Virginie.

  “Catherine of Croz, the daughter of my late husband’s cousin. We are very pleased to have her with us here and…”

  “Does she not have the means to hire a seamstress?”

  Kalaan stood up from a clumsy curtsy and held himself straight and tall looking down on the old woman.

  “Please excuse my paltry appearance, Your Grace,” he began, ignoring Amélie who was shaking her head in fear of what he might say. “It does not do you honor, I am sure, but my trunk with all my silks as well as my jewels was lost overboard. The storm that occurred just before our arrival did not spare us. Perhaps it was a sign from God, a punishment for my frivolity. What do you think?”

  The duchess coughed, making her triple chin shake, and brought her hand to her throat, where an ostentatious diamond necklace sparkled like a constellation of stars. Kalaan secretly rejoiced at the old bat’s reaction. She understood his message. If you push him too far, the retaliation would be most unpleasant and unavoidable.

  Amélie cleared her throat to continue the presentations when Salam, dressed
as usual in his blue Tuareg clothing, was announced. The old aristocrat was positively contemptible, mocking the pagan’s attire.

  Virginie was monopolized by the odious old woman who felt she could take all the liberties she wanted as she was a distant cousin of the king of France, Charles X. She did not have the chance to notice the two other people who accompanied the duchess. The first was presented to her as the duchess’s fourth grandson, destined for the priesthood. He would most likely become a bishop, thanks to the Delatour family’s immense fortune. In his early twenties he looked emaciated in his novice’s habit – a dark cassock and a black rabat with a white border. He had smooth features, a sallow complexion and his brown hair was cut very short.

  “Charles-Louis is my pride and joy,” the old duchess said, positively cooing.

  The poor grandson did not himself appear very joyful. In fact, he seemed sad. He didn’t smile and his eyes revealed a certain weariness. His attitude was that of a man worn out by the years and completely dispassionate. Could it be he was hiding behind this façade, to escape his overwhelming grandmother?

  When the third person, hidden behind Salam’s tall stature came forward, Virginie thought her heart would stop beating. Her blood froze in her veins and her head began to spin. If Catherine hadn’t discretely held her up, she probably would have fallen backwards.

  “And this is Darius Borgas,” the old biddy simpered as she placed a gloved hand on his forearm. “A gentleman and close friend the family. He is also special advisor to the king on matters of health for he is the most renowned apothecary in the kingdom and his medical knowledge is unequaled. He always has a miraculous potion to cure any illness, truly a godsend!”

  Or a gift from the devil! said a little voice inside Virginie’s mind. To her, every word of praise concerning Darius was a slap in her face. She could not take her eyes off of the smiling monster. His pale gray eyes had a hypnotic quality to them. He was tall, though not as tall as Salam, and dressed in a brown ensemble, a beige shirt and cream-colored silk scarf perfectly knotted around his neck. Darius was incredibly elegant, and could have been handsome if his features weren’t so harsh and his expressions so cruel.