To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) (17 page)

This left him in shock, and he was quiet for a little while. I glared at him.

“I’m the new commander of Prince Anton’s guard,” he said finally. “And you’re right. Some of this has gone to my head.”

I wavered. Maybe I’d been wrong about him. Maybe.

“No one has talked to me like you just did in some time,” he said, and then he pointed up at the castle. “I’ll make you a bargain. If you come with me, I’ll give you your own room and a job. You can live and work and eat there as long as you like. In exchange, you call me out when you see me getting above myself. No matter what I say, you’ll never be afraid of me, and you’ll . . . as you put it . . . ‘take me down a peg or two.’ Deal?”

It took a moment to absorb his offer. My own room and a job. A home.

Closing my eyes, I saw Renata again, and this time, she nodded.

I looked at the soldier.
“Deal.”

When Helga stopped talking, Céline had no idea what to say.

So many revelations coming all at once were difficult to take in.

Helga was Mist-Torn. All this time, she’d had her own innate power and had never given a hint.

Worse, Céline had been warned the story was ugly, but the raw nature of it was almost overwhelming. To lose Renata in childbirth was terrible enough, but to lose Jo in such a senseless and violent manner . . .

“Oh, Helga. I’m so sorry.” At least she understood why the older woman had not been able to speak of these things. “I never meant to bring it all back like this.”

“You had to know.”

“So, after meeting Jaromir, you spent five years working up at the castle?”

“Yes, and I learned things were not so smooth in Sèone before he came. I’d never tell him what I really think of him. It would go to his head.”

Céline’s mind flashed back to that morning, to the
sight of Helga holding a knife and calling for Marcus when she’d found Jago in the wagon. Céline shivered. Though Jago had made her uncomfortable, she’d had no idea.

“Does Jaromir know about Jago?” Céline asked.

“He knows some, but no one who matters knows all of it except for the leaders of all the families, and they’ll do nothing.”

“Well, Jaromir should be told everything.”

“You do it. I can’t talk about it again.”

The weight of the incredibly long day and all its events suddenly weighed down upon Céline.

“Helga, please get some rest,” she said. “Again, I’m sorry for putting you through this, but I do thank you. It helps me so much to know.”

Helga nodded once without speaking.

“I’m going to go and check on Amelie,” Céline said. “Will you be all right?”

“Of course.”

Céline wasn’t so sure Helga would be all right, but she did need to check on her sister. With a final pat of Helga’s hand, she stood up. “Crawl into bed and get some rest.”

Turning, she left the wagon and breathed in the night air, trying to push some of the long story from her mind to contemplate pieces in small doses as she could let them in.

The camp was nearly empty now, with most of the people having gone inside their wagons to sleep. Marcus sat by the campfire nearer to the white wagon. Wearing no shirt or boots, he watched her approach.

“How was the hunting?” she asked.

“Good. We brought back a deer.” He paused and then motioned to the white wagon. “I wouldn’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

“Because Amelie and Jaromir are in there together.”

Céline shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I think they are together. Leave them be.”

As she walked to him, her eyes widened. “You mean . . . ?”

He nodded.

How did he know that? Perhaps he sensed it? Céline looked to the wagon. In truth, she’d known this was only a matter of time. The pull between her sister and Jaromir was so clear that nearly everyone saw it but the two of them.

Slowly, Céline sank down beside Marcus. The fire burned low.

“Where’s your shirt?” she asked.

“I can’t remember where I left it. I’ll find it tomorrow.”

He spread one blanket on the ground and shook out another one to cover them. As with last night, Céline was so exhausted she tried to tell herself that there was nothing unusual about any of this, about sleeping on the ground with Marcus.

But tonight, instead of pulling her up against his chest, he used one hand to gently push her down onto her back, and then he lay down with his face directly above hers. She looked into his dark eyes for a long moment.

Lowering his head, he kissed her. The pressure was soft, as if he wished to savor it, and the feeling was so
familiar she almost wept. Somewhere, at some time, they had kissed and made love and slept by a campfire many times.

Moving her hand up to his chest, she kissed him back, taking comfort in the warmth and strength and familiarity of his body. It would be so easy to lose herself in this, to let it go on as she forgot everything else but the connection with him.

A small tinkling bell rang in the back of her head.

This was no sweet season of love as Helga had enjoyed. If she gave herself to Marcus, it would mean a good deal more. He’d be destroyed if it started and then ended.

With her hand on his shoulder, she pushed carefully. “Stop.”

He stopped, staring down at her face. “Why?”

“You know why.”

There was another face, a different face between them: Anton.

Marcus didn’t even pretend ignorance. “I can give you things he can’t.”

This conversation hurt, and she tried to look away.

“Marriage,” he went on. “Children. You could live with me out on the homestead. I could live with you at the shop. I don’t care where we live.”

This day had already been too much, and she closed her eyes. He was right. Everything he said was right. Her mind drifted to the picture he painted. He could marry her, raise children with her, build a life with her.

Anton could not.

And yet Anton was adrift and alone, and somehow
she knew that if she cut him off and married Marcus, Anton’s last vestige of any hope for internal peace would die. She couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t do it to herself.

Also, no matter what Marcus said, he wouldn’t be happy living in Sèone. He might think so now, but after a few months of being trapped inside the city walls, he’d be desperate for acres of forest. He’d long to shift to his wolf form, to run, and to hunt.

No wife, no children, could ease that.

Céline might have lived many lives with him before this one, but all the visions and images of these lives were in the open air on the open road, sleeping by a campfire.

In this current life, she lived in Sèone and her heart belonged to Anton.

With regret she couldn’t express, she crawled out from beneath Marcus and got to her feet. “This isn’t fair to you,” she said, “me sleeping in your arms. It’s not fair.”

He flinched.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him, not ever.

Turning, she went to the blue wagon and slipped inside. Helga was asleep in the bottom bunk. Without bothering to undress, Céline climbed into the top bunk and lay there restlessly for the remainder of the night.

*   *   *

The following morning, Amelie opened her eyes to find her head resting on Jaromir’s chest.

The night came rushing back.

In the darkness, it had been so easy to lose herself
in him. She’d never known the pleasure men and women could give to each other, and some of the sensations she’d experienced still left her reeling.

But now sunlight filtered through the windows, and she lifted her head. She’d never seen his bare chest and arms up so close before and couldn’t help taking in the sight now. His forearms showed tight sinews, and he had scars on one shoulder and down across his rib cage.

He opened his eyes. “Good morning.”

His voice was so casual and welcoming that it caught her off guard, but then she realized this was nothing new to him. He’d probably awoken with more women than he could remember.

It was new to her.

“You all right?” he asked, as if reading her face.

“Yes.”

She was naked and didn’t want to remain in the bunk but also didn’t want to climb out. Why should she be embarrassed? She and Jaromir had exchanged every possible intimacy in the night. And yet she was embarrassed.

Again, as if reading her expression, he sat up and reached for the top bunk, pulling down another blanket.

“Here.”

Gripping it, she wrapped it around herself and climbed from the bunk, picking up her clothes. When she glanced back, his eyes were filled with concern.

“You’re not sorry?” he asked.

“No,” she answered instantly. “I’ll never be sorry.”

He smiled and leaned back.

After dressing quickly, Amelie left the wagon and went outside.

She found Céline already up, attempting to get the fire lit.

“Where’s Marcus?” Amelie asked.

“He went for water.” Céline’s voice sounded strained, and her eyes met Amelie’s. “Are you and Jaromir . . . ?”

“Don’t ask me yet. Please. I don’t know what we are.” It was then that she took a good look at her sister. Céline’s clothing was rumpled and wrinkled, and her hair was in a tangle. “How was your night?”

Céline sighed. “So much happened. Amelie, I have so much to tell you.”

The door to the white wagon opened, and Jaromir emerged. Amelie quickly crouched to help Céline with the fire.

“What’s the plan for this morning?” Jaromir asked, stretching. “More readings?”

His question brought her skidding back to reality. This was the start of their second full day here—as their day of arrival hadn’t counted for much—and they were no closer to learning who had placed the curse.

“I’d like to go back up to the castle,” Céline said, “on the excuse of checking on Lysander. The key to finding whoever cast this curse lies in rooting out the motive, and it’s most likely that someone is trying to hurt Prince Malcolm or one of his family members.”

“Agreed,” Jaromir said. “I’ll go up with you.”

“All right,” Amelie agreed. “I’ll stay and do readings down here. I can at least clear more people and try to take note of who doesn’t want to be read.”

Jaromir glanced at Céline and motioned with his hands at her clothing. “You might want to . . .”

She looked down at herself and then touched her
tangled hair. “Oh yes. I’ll need a fresh blouse, and I’ll see if Helga packed any other skirts.”

Marcus came walking back with a bucket of water. He avoided looking at Céline.

Amelie couldn’t help wondering why.

*   *   *

After Céline spent a little time changing clothes and tending to her appearance inside the wagon, she gathered up her box of medicinal supplies.

Though she hadn’t slept well, she was glad to be launching back into their investigation first thing today. She didn’t want to think on what had passed between her and Marcus in the night.

She’d done the right thing by leaving the fire and sleeping in the wagon with Helga, but the right thing was often the most difficult.

Opening the wagon door, she looked down to find Jaromir waiting for her.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Is Amelie all set up?”

“Yes, she’s in the other wagon, and Helga is already gathering people for her to read.”

The mention of Helga brought back other aspects of last night. Walking to the fire, Céline spoke directly to Marcus. “Would you stay in camp, near to Amelie, while we’re gone? Don’t let Jago Taragoš anywhere near her.”

Jaromir had followed, and he frowned. “Why?”

Céline knew this couldn’t be put off. As succinctly as she could, she told them the last part of what Helga had related last night, the part about Jago. Jaromir’s mouth dropped halfway open.

“What?” He turned to Marcus. “You knew nothing of this?”

Marcus looked abashed. It probably bothered him that this had happened right under his nose those years ago, and he’d been living his life between hunting and sleeping at that age to the point that he’d remained unaware of possible murder among his own people. “I remember something . . . and I told Céline what I did remember—but things had become difficult for my own family around that time, and I didn’t pay attention to much else.”

Céline defended Marcus. “It’s not his fault. It seems that everyone involved tried to hush it up quickly.”

“Poor Helga,” Jaromir said. Then he frowned again. “She should have told us the details sooner.”

“I don’t think she could,” Céline answered, and looked to Marcus. “You’ll watch out for Amelie while we’re gone?”

“Yes.”

Céline and Jaromir set off, leaving the meadow and walking east, up the road toward the castle.

“When we arrive,” Céline said, “could you leave me to go in on my own? I want to see the women this morning, and women will tell each other things they wouldn’t say in front of a man.”

He didn’t answer, but she took his silence for agreement, and when they arrived at the gate, they were ushered through without asking.

Jaromir noticed a few guards playing dice across the courtyard. “You’re sure you want to go in alone?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can learn out here.” He
pointed to a door on the south end. “That one leads past the kitchen. You’ll be closer to the tower if you want to check on the boy.”

He walked over and joined the dice game.

Céline went to the door he’d pointed out and shifted her box to one hand so she could let herself in.

Within moments of passing through, she saw a large kitchen to her right, and she recognized a girl standing at the stove. It was the young maid she’d met in Lysander’s room.

“Jane,” she said.

The young maid looked over and smiled. She pointed to a large teapot on the stove. “Miss Céline, how good of you to come. You’re here to see Lysander? I was just heating this to bring it up to him and Lady Anna. It seems to help so much.”

“How many times have you put him over the steam?”

“Only once more since you left yesterday, but he’s having a little trouble this morning.” The water wasn’t boiling yet. “You go on up and tell them I’m coming. Do you remember the way?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Céline set off down a short passage toward the base of a tower. She passed a few doors and stopped outside one of them when she heard a gasping sound. Was someone hurt?

“Faster!” a female voice moaned.

Céline felt her face going red as she realized what was happening on the other side of the door.

A man gave a cry, followed by more gasping. “My love,” he said. “My Lilah.”

It was Prince Malcolm’s voice.

Going tense, Céline was torn between fleeing and listening. Malcolm was in a side room of the main floor of the castle with Lilah while his wife sat upstairs with their sick son.

“You do love me,” Lilah said. “You want to spend your life with me.”

“You know I do. You make me young again.”

“Put your hands on me here,” Lilah said, “and promise we’ll always be together.”