Witches With the Enemy Page 8

The offense on Lionel’s face increased—as this was a clear insult—but Céline understood Rurik’s insistence. Céline had no wish to sleep alone in this castle. Nor did she want Amelie alone . . . or Helga. More, she was relieved by the idea of Anton and Rurik sleeping in a nearby room.

  Anton must have understood as well, because he turned to Lionel. “See to it.”

  Lionel’s mouth tightened. “Yes, my lord.”

  * * *

  Not long after, Anton was finally in his assigned room, with some privacy. He’d sent Corporal Rurik down to check on their men and horses.

  Anton leaned against the wall, feeling sick.

  A servant had delivered hot water in a pitcher and a steaming cup of tea. He’d ignored both.

  He barely noticed the room’s furnishings, which were sparse: a bed, a wardrobe, a small table with a basin and pitcher. He didn’t care. He would have given almost anything to go back in time to the moment he’d introduced Amelie and Céline to Damek.

  Closing his eyes, he relived the horrible moment in his mind again, cursing himself.

  He’d given himself away, given his feelings for Céline away.

  Damek knew. He’d heard the slight shift in Anton’s voice. And Damek would now focus upon her as a target. Since childhood, Damek could always manage to learn what Anton loved, what he cared about . . . in order that it might be made to suffer.

  Damek couldn’t love anything or anyone, so he needed to torture whatever Anton loved.

  Before coming here, Anton had promised himself he’d give nothing away, that Damek would read nothing on his face, nor hear anything in his voice. Fool that he’d been, Anton believed he could keep this up for the duration of the visit.

  He hadn’t lasted through the first hour.

  He realized he’d spent too long away from his family. For nearly six years, he’d been prince of Castle Sèone, and he’d begun to view the world as a sane place populated by sane people. He had even begun to respect himself, no longer the terrified favorite victim of a mad older brother.

  He’d pictured himself arriving at Kimovesk as the man he had become: an authority figure with pride in his province and his own rule. Now . . . he was wavering. He was reverting into what Damek had once made him.

  Biting down on the inside of his mouth, he pictured Céline in his mind. She saw him as he had always wanted to be seen. He had to hold on to that. He could not revert.

  Walking over to the bed, he sank down. He still had time before he’d have to dress for dinner, and he planned to spend every minute of it inside himself, shoring himself up, preparing himself for what was to come. For the remainder of this visit, he would not give away a single emotion for Damek to use against him.

  Not one.

  * * *

  “You get out of that mud-spattered dress and get over to the wardrobe and pick out a gown for this evening,” Helga said with a hint of threat in her voice. “Or I’ll pick one for you.”

  Amelie stood near the bed with her arms at her sides, glaring back at Helga. After choosing this room, out of the three that had been prepared for them, all three women had had time for tea and to rest in the late afternoon. Though Céline had taken off her travel dress and napped in her white shift, Amelie had insisted on remaining fully clothed.

  She had two sheathed blades strapped to her forearms, and she’d promised Jaromir she’d keep them a secret. Normally, she never kept secrets from Céline, but . . . Céline was the type to worry most about maintaining the ruse, and she might try to talk Amelie into leaving the blades behind at dinner, in case someone saw them up her sleeves and began to wonder why the wealthy daughter of a wool merchant chose to wear weapons at the dinner table.

  “Helga’s right,” Céline said. “You must pick a gown. I suggest that dark burgundy silk. It will complement your dark hair.”

  “I couldn’t care less what complements my hair,” Amelie retorted.

  The doors to the wardrobe were open, exposing a ridiculous number of velvet, silk, and satin gowns. How had Helga managed to pack so many? And why?

  Céline walked over and took out a silk burgundy gown with a voluminous skirt. “Please put it on?”

  At least it was long-sleeved.

  Helga strode over, took the gown from Céline, and turned back around, waving one hand at Amelie. “You heard her! Now get that muddy thing off.”

  Thankfully, Céline turned her attention back to the wardrobe, probably deciding on a gown for herself, and Amelie used the moment to unlace the front of her sky blue travel dress—which was indeed mud-spattered—and pulled it off quickly.

  She held it over her forearms and said, “Helga, just lay the gown on the bed. I’ll put it on myself.”

  Helga caught her off guard by grabbing the travel dress, jerking it away, and dropping it. “Don’t you start that. I’ll need to hold that gown while you step in or it will wrinkle, and then I’ll need to . . .” She stopped speaking upon seeing the sheathed blades.

  Céline’s back was still to them, and Amelie shook her head, just once, at Helga.

  A flicker of something unreadable passed through Helga’s eyes, and then, instantly, she went on as if nothing had happened. Picking up the silk gown, she lowered it almost to the floor. “Now you step into this, and get your arms in so I can pull it up.”

  Moving as fast as she could, Amelie nearly jumped into the gown and shoved her hands into the long sleeves. With one swift movement, Helga had the garment up and over Amelie’s shoulders—while still barking orders.

  “Now, you turn around and I’ll lace you in.”

  The idea of wearing anything that required a second person to “lace her in” struck Amelie as beyond absurd. She disliked the wool travel dress, but at least it laced up the front. In the end, though, she only cared that her weapons were now covered and that Helga hadn’t given her away.

  As the cranky old woman pulled and prodded at the back of the gown, Amelie glanced about herself. Their room here was not as nice as the one back at Castle Sèone. The furnishings were adequate: a large bed with several comforters, a wardrobe, and a vanity table with a chair and mirror. But there was no fireplace and no window.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t cold. Perhaps heat from the lower hearths was coming up, and the lack of a window helped keep it in.

  Helga handed Amelie a pair of flat silk shoes. Normally, the idea of leaving her boots behind would have panicked her—as it meant leaving her dagger behind. But tonight, she was well armed, so she put the shoes on without comment.

  “Helga, what gown would you choose for me?” Céline asked. “I want Lady Helena to think us quite privileged.”

  Her comment brought Amelie a pang of guilt. Céline didn’t enjoy playing at “dress up,” either. For her, these gowns were costumes they needed in order to fulfill a part. Amelie realized she herself would do well to remember that.

  “The amber velvet,” Helga answered. “That should take anyone’s nose out of the air.”

  “All right.” Céline drew out a fine gown with a V neckline, and she held it up to herself while turning toward the mirror. “My hair up or down?”

  “Depends on what you’re after. You look more fetching with it down, but you look more the proper young lady with it up.”

  “Up, then,” Céline said.

  She stepped into the gown herself. Perhaps velvet didn’t wrinkle? Helga went over to lace her in. Amelie had to admit Céline looked quite prosperous. The rich-toned amber velvet seemed to almost magically draw Amelie’s eyes.

  Sitting at the vanity table, Céline kept still while Helga twisted the majority of her hair, piled it on top of her head, and pinned it. Several strands were left to curl down past her cheekbones.

  “Perfect,” Céline said as if assessing a properly baked pie. “And we’ll have to put Amelie’s up as well. It’s long enough to pin now.”

>   “Oh for the gods’ sake!” Amelie exclaimed, forgetting her resolution from a moment ago. “Nobody is pinning up my hair.”

  “Yes, we are, dear,” Céline answered sweetly.

  Amelie drew in a long breath and was about to protest with greater ferocity when an almost inaudible knock sounded on the door.

  All three women froze, and a soft, female voice called, “May I enter? I am alone.”

  Raising one eyebrow, Céline answered, “Come in.”

  The door opened hesitantly, and a face peered inside. Amelie was startled when she saw the face.

  A beautiful young woman stepped into the room with her hands pressed together. Her hair was black and silky straight. The top of it was held back by a thin silver band. Her dress was simply cut, but of good quality, brushed wool in a shade of light peach. Her dark eyes were slanted, giving her a hint of the exotic. Her nose was small, and her mouth was heart-shaped.

  “Forgive me,” she said, looking at the floor. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Master Lionel sent me up to see if you might need anything to help you prepare for dinner.”

  “Master Lionel?” Amelie asked. She’d assumed the odd little man was Damek’s personal attendant.

  “Yes, my lady. He manages the household, and he wishes to make certain you have all that you require. He sent me.”

  The young woman spoke quietly, with a frightened, almost defeated tone.

  Céline walked over to her. “Please assure him that we have everything necessary. And I thank you . . . ?”

  “Johanna, my lady.”

  “You needn’t call us that,” Céline said. “I am Miss Céline, and this is Miss Amelie, and this is our faithful maid, Helga.” She said this last part with humor in her voice, and Helga grunted.

  “Very good, miss,” Johanna whispered. “When the gong sounds, you must go down to dinner. Master Lionel is very particular about the gong. Make sure you come down directly.”

  With that, the young woman fled the room, closing the door behind her.

  Céline turned around with a puzzled expression. “What do you think of . . . ? Was she a servant? And what did you make of the whole ‘Master Lionel’ deference? He may be higher placed than we thought.”

  Helga grunted again. “I wouldn’t try and make sense of anything just yet.”

  Amelie shrugged at Céline. Helga was probably right, and they’d have a better idea of the hierarchy here after dinner tonight.

  “All right, then,” Helga said, pushing Amelie forward. “You sit yourself down at that table and let me pin up your hair.”

  Céline gave Amelie a stern look of warning, and with a loud exhale, Amelie gave up. She plopped down at the dressing table and sat there stewing as Helga brushed out her shoulder-length hair and then deftly pinned it up, again, with a few loose strands at her temples. When it was all done, Amelie looked into the mirror in surprise, barely recognizing herself. The burgundy gown did suit her pale skin . . . and Helga had arranged her hair so effectively that no one would even be able to tell it only reached her shoulders.

  “Lovely,” Céline said approvingly. “We should be able to play our parts well.”

  From somewhere below, a gong sounded.

  Before going to his own room, Anton had explained that as the Kimovesk guards would now be under orders to treat Amelie and Céline as honored guests, they were safe to walk the common areas of the castle on their own—such as between their room and the great hall. He did stress that he preferred they walk together.

  Further, he’d told them that most of the Sèone guards in their party had been assigned for protection along the roads, but it was considered bad manners for any visiting guest, even a prince, to have too many guards inside a castle. So apparently, there would only be a few Sèone men in the hall and the rest would remain in the barracks. Anton, of course, was free to do as he liked, but for much of the time here, Rurik would be with him playing bodyguard, as would be expected by everyone else.

  Before coming here, Anton had promised he would protect the sisters, and Amelie couldn’t help noting that while Jaromir’s idea of protection was constant vigilance and a sword, Anton’s idea was to look ahead for any possible threat and cut it off before it happened.

  So . . . it was now time to head down for dinner.

  Amelie could see Céline in the mirror, and Céline met her eyes.

  “You ready for this?” Amelie asked.

  After a few breaths, Céline nodded.

  Chapter Five

  Locating the great hall took little effort. At the bottom of the stairs of the east tower, the sisters entered a passage that ran down the backside of the middle portion of the castle, and it emptied directly into the hall itself.

  Still, as Céline walked into the hall through an archway, she feared that she and Amelie might be late, and she was surprised to see only Anton, Damek, several servants, and fifteen guards in the hall. The number of guards didn’t surprise her, but one color in the mix of tabards did. In addition to the five black tabards of the Kimovesk men and the five tan tabards of Sèone men, there were five guards wearing the bright red tabards of the house of Väränj . . . and the Väränj were always assigned to protect whichever of the houses had a leader serving as grand prince at the time. They must be here in temporary service to the family of Quillette, and their very presence spoke strongly of the importance of Damek’s future bride.

  Corporal Rurik and Captain Kochè both stood a respectful yet close distance from their lords. Among the Sèone guards who were present, Céline recognized Guardsman Voulter, Guardsman Rimoux, and Sergeant Bazin, who all stood at attention at various positions around the hall.

  However, none of the other dinner guests had arrived yet.

  Céline took in her surroundings.

  The vast chamber was rectangular, with a long table and high-backed chairs positioned at the far end. A blazing fire burned in the hearth.

  There were no dogs.

  Directly across the hall was another archway, on the west side, which led to the first of the double towers on that end of the castle.

  Both Anton and Damek turned as the sisters entered, and as they were standing side by side, Céline couldn’t helping noting how alike they were in appearance, even in their choice of clothing tonight. While Anton wore a sleeveless midnight blue tunic over a white shirt, Damek wore a red sleeveless tunic over a white shirt. Both men wore black pants and boots. Anton wore his long sword, while Damek wore a sheathed dagger at his left hip. Damek’s hair was longer and a little darker, but their faces were almost identical. The effect was somewhat eerie considering how different they were in temperament.

  As the sisters approached, Damek glanced at Amelie—who was beautiful tonight—and then smiled at Céline.

  “Ah, Miss Céline,” he said. “What a vision you are.”

  His attention unnerved her. Why did he focus on her? The emphasis he’d placed on the word “Miss” dripped with sarcasm, as if reminding her that he knew exactly who she was: a peasant from one of his own villages.

  She shot a quick look at Anton, worried that he might take offense. But his expression didn’t change, almost as if he hadn’t heard the slight.

  “Are we early?” Céline asked him. “I thought we heard the gong.”

  “No, you’re precisely on time,” Damek answered. “All of Rochelle’s family enjoy making . . . an entrance, and who am I to object?”

  Anton’s gaze swept over her gown and hair, and then he took in the transformation of Amelie.

  “You both look lovely,” he said politely, but his voice held no emotion at all.

  Céline wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Several large casks of wine had been stacked against the wall across from the hearth, and the striking black-haired woman, Johanna, was drawing a pitcher.

  “A precaution,” Damek expla
ined. “After Carlotta’s death, I ordered several casks that had been locked in the deep cellars to be brought up here and guarded. No one but Johanna has been allowed to touch them.”

  “You trust Johanna above anyone else, my lord?” Amelie asked, speaking directly to Damek for the first time.

  He glanced at her absently. “Johanna can be trusted.”

  As Céline mulled that over, movement from the archway caught her attention. Two middle-aged, finely dressed people walked into the hall: a man and a woman.

  Damek offered them both a bow, and then said, with some ceremony, “The Lady Helena and Lord Hamish.”

  Céline took in as many details as possible in the next breath. Lady Helena’s hair must have once been reddish blond, but was now fading, leaving only hints of its past color. It was elaborately arranged on top of her head in a fashion that must have taken a maid at least an hour. She was statuesque, with her waist just beginning to thicken and her generous bosom beginning to sag—even though she was tightly laced into a satin gown of sapphire blue. Her expression caught Céline’s attention the most: haughtiness mixed with a hint of desperation.

  Lord Hamish was well over six feet tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was thinning, and this made his overly broad features look even broader. He had the appearance of once having been quite fit, but was now going to fat. The only thing Céline could read in his expression was privileged arrogance.

  However, the instant he spotted Céline and Amelie, his eyes raked over them both with a glint of lecherous interest, and Céline fought not to shudder.

  This was going to be a long night.

  Lady Helena paused at the sight of Anton.

  “My lady,” Damek continued. “May I present my brother, Prince Anton, Miss Céline and Miss Amelie of Castle Sèone?”

  Helena ignored the sisters as her eyes locked on to Anton. Céline had no idea how this would play out, as by all reckoning, Lady Helena should be in a state of mourning.

  “My lord,” Helena said, with a curtsey to Anton. “It is an honor. I remember meeting you once when you were but a youth.”