Mist-Torn Witches 03:Witches With the Enemy

by Barb Hendee

  Maddox had tried to do what he could for the young man, including arranging private lessons so he might learn to use a dagger, but Maddox had never been comfortable around Heath. The situation had been better when Baron Alexis was still alive—for both Heath and Lizbeth. Their father had exuded a warmth their mother lacked, and he’d balanced out the family. But when Heath and Rochelle were sixteen, their father had died after a short illness. Heath had been named baron, but this had only caused him to vanish further inside himself. Lord Hamish openly despised his nephew and disparaged him at every opportunity.

  “Am I late?” Maddox asked as he walked in, still wondering about the roses and the silver candelabras.

  “Not at all, Captain,” Lady Helena answered smoothly.

  She wore red silk tonight with jewels in her ears.

  “Come and have some wine,” Lord Hamish said, gesturing to Maddox’s usual spot at the table.

  Maddox sat. He’d never cared much for Lord Hamish. This manor had belonged to his brother-in-law, and now Hamish treated it as his own, even though it technically belonged to Heath—along with the wine business.

  Heath was allowed no say in the running of either the house or the business, but he didn’t seem to mind. He expressed no other interest than being left to spend time with Rochelle or Lizbeth. Maddox supposed it was because the girls accepted him as he was.

  “Pour some wine for Captain Maddox,” Lord Hamish called to a servant.

  Lady Helena leaned forward. “Lizbeth, do not slurp your wine like that. Set it down and sit up straight. Your uncle has an announcement.”

  Lizbeth set down her goblet.

  Lord Hamish stood, and to Maddox’s puzzlement, the man beamed at Rochelle. “My dear niece,” he said, raising his own goblet. “Your mother and I have such news for you . . . news for the entire family. We’ve been in quiet talks with the house of Pählen. Your sister Carlotta received a letter this morning from Castle Kimovesk, and we have now entered formal marriage negotiations between you and Prince Damek . . . who we all know will be the next grand prince of Droevinka.” He held his goblet toward Rochelle. “My dearest girl . . . you will be the grand princess of our nation.”

  Maddox sat frozen, thinking he hadn’t heard correctly.

  Rochelle stared at her uncle and then looked down at her plate.

  “Are you not happy, my sweet?” Lady Helena asked. “Is this not the best news?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Rochelle answered. “I am overwhelmed.”

  Then it hit Maddox that this was really happening. Surely, Rochelle would speak up now. She’d have to. She couldn’t allow such negotiations to continue. Then he saw her glance at Lizbeth and Heath.

  Of course she would not wish to speak of her love for Maddox . . . of her relationship to Maddox in this mixed company. She would request a private counsel with her mother and uncle . . . and Maddox himself.

  He understood this, and he relaxed in his chair.

  “You cannot be serious?” Heath’s voice carried down the table. The young man had risen to his feet and looked to his mother. “Damek? Prince Damek? You know his reputation.”

  Maddox had never seen Heath show anything close to this kind of spirit.

  “Sit down,” Lady Helena ordered, “and conduct yourself as is proper at this table. We have great cause for celebration, and you will drink to your sister’s impending marriage.”

  With his eyes downcast, Heath sat. He took a sip from his goblet. Still, Maddox wished he could ease the young man’s mind. This talk of Prince Damek would soon be over.

  * * *

  The rest of dinner was a quiet affair, broken only by Lord Hamish’s occasional question to Carlotta about Damek’s initial dowry request. Maddox didn’t listen to the answers, but he realized that Carlotta had been put entirely in charge of negotiations.

  As the meal ended, Maddox grew more anxious to speak with Rochelle alone so they could make a plan for speaking with Lord Hamish and Lady Helena. He was well aware of the disruption and disappointment they were about to cause, but it had to be done tonight.

  “Rochelle, did you still wish me to look at your mare’s hoof?” he asked. “You mentioned earlier that she was limping.”

  For the first time since dinner began, she looked at him. “Yes . . . yes, that would be kind.”

  “I apologize for not seeing to her sooner. Will you walk out with me?”

  He could not read her face.

  “Must you go now?” Lady Helena asked her daughter. “I wanted to discuss the wedding feast.”

  “I should have the captain see to Mira’s foot, Mother, and I’d like to hear his thoughts on treatment. We won’t be long.”

  Everyone knew she was fond of her horse.

  “Can I come?” Lizbeth asked.

  “No, you’d best stay here,” Maddox answered. “It’s a cool night.”

  Rochelle fell into step beside him as they walked through the manor, but the instant they were out the front doors and alone in the courtyard, he drew her to one side.

  “We must speak to your mother and uncle tonight,” he said. “We should have spoken up weeks ago, and now Carlotta will be caught in an unpleasant situation with Prince Damek as she breaks things off.”

  “We can’t speak to anyone,” she whispered, keeping her eyes downcast so he couldn’t see them.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you see?” she went on quietly, regretfully. “My family is on the verge of royalty. A great deal of work has already gone into this. I cannot destroy it for my mother. I will not.”

  He stepped back. “But surely you don’t mean to marry Prince Damek? You and I . . . we belong to each other. We must marry.” Anger began rising inside him. “And what if I go to your mother and your uncle myself and I tell them everything?”

  “If you do that, one of two things will happen. Either my uncle will do anything necessary to hush it up and he’ll have you quietly killed as soon as possible, or . . . he will explode in a rage, call me out as a whore, and send you back to Prince Rodêk while calling you out as a seducer of young daughters. I will be ruined, and you will never hold a position in a great house again.” She sobbed once, and tears streamed down her face. “Which of those outcomes would you prefer?”

  He took another step back, reeling. “Then you . . . you intend to marry Damek?”

  “Forgive me. I have no choice.”

  * * *

  Nearly two weeks passed, and the manor was abuzz with nothing but talk of the marriage negotiations. It pained Maddox when he realized that Rochelle was going out of her way to avoid any chance of being alone with him.

  He began making excuses not to attend the family dinners.

  A part of him believed that Rochelle might still somehow find a way to end the negotiations, and once that happened, he and she might have a chance to speak to her mother and uncle without fear of destroying the family’s interests.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the hungry way Rochelle used to seek him out, and they would hide in guest rooms or storage rooms or once in the tack room of the stable, and she would struggle halfway out of her dress before he got the door closed. She’d wanted him so badly. Now . . . she barely spoke to him.

  It was torture.

  The manor had a small contingent of private guards—with few duties, as Quillette Manor was located in one of the safest areas of Droevinka—and one of Maddox’s duties was to oversee the watch rotation.

  He lived in a small room on the upper floor of the manor, and he was in his room, sitting at his writing desk, attempting to concentrate on the watch rotation—and failing—when a knock sounded on his door.

  He swiveled his head. Had Rochelle come to him? She’d never come to his room before, but no one ever knocked on his door. Getting to his feet, he strode over and pulled it open.

  Lady Helena stood on the other side, looking frazzled and distracted.

  “I do apologize for disturbing you in your room, Captain,” she said, “b
ut it couldn’t be helped. It seems that via written communication, the negotiations for the betrothal have come to a standstill. We are willing to dower Rochelle quite generously, but Prince Damek is asking too much. He wants a portion of the wine income for life. Lord Hamish thought a meeting in person might help with matters, but of course he would never be coarse enough to say that.”

  Maddox didn’t understand where this was going. Why would suggesting a personal meeting with Damek be considered coarse?

  “So Lord Hamish arranged for a family visit at Kimovesk. Prince Damek welcomed the idea as charming.” She paused. “I told my sister, and Prince Rodêk instantly assigned a contingent of Väränj soldiers to accompany us. They arrive tomorrow afternoon. You’ll be in command of them. I regret giving you such short notice, but we leave in two days.”

  The Väränj guarded the family of whoever was serving as grand prince during any given nine-year period. For Lady Helena, arriving with a contingent of Väränj soldiers in red tabards would only give more credence to her claim of royal connections.

  Yet Maddox still didn’t quite understand the situation.

  “My lady . . . the family? You don’t mean Lizbeth and Rochelle?”

  “Of course Rochelle. Once Prince Damek sees her, he will . . .” She trailed off and gave him a hard look, as if he was being impertinent. “You will act as bodyguard to the children. We leave tomorrow.”

  She swept away down the upper passage.

  Maddox fully grasped the scheme now.

  Prince Damek was asking for more than they were willing to pay, and Helena and Hamish were banking on what would happen as soon as Damek saw Rochelle . . . spoke to Rochelle. He’d probably drop half his demands. Helena was using her own daughter’s beauty and sweet nature as a bargaining chip . . . but she was doing so on the pretense of a seemingly innocent family visit to meet an impending new member.

  Gripping the door latch, Maddox felt so ill he considered packing up and riding away. He couldn’t bring himself to take part in this. A moment later, he changed his mind. This wasn’t going to be some garden party in the company of a handsome prince. The most common term he’d ever heard applied to Damek was “twisted,” and his soldiers had the worst reputation for violence in Droevinka.

  Maddox couldn’t let Rochelle be forced to walk into this without proper protection, not to mention Lizbeth.

  No, he had to go.

  Then he thought . . . perhaps this was for the best after all. Once Rochelle saw the reality of the future her mother and uncle were creating for her, she might be shocked enough to forgo her duty to the family and refuse.

  That thought gave him comfort as he began to pack.

  * * *

  After a two-day journey, the entire family arrived at the gate of Kimovesk in the late afternoon with Maddox and ten Väränj guards riding at the front and another ten guards bringing up the rear. The family and their personal servants rode in the middle.

  The party was expected and accorded with an instant entrance through the gatehouse tunnel.

  Prince Damek was not in the courtyard to meet them.

  Instead, they were greeted by a strange, small man with a birthmark—who introduced himself as Master Lionel—and a paunchy captain with an unkempt mustache named Kochè.

  The castle was ugly and forbidding, and there was no one in the courtyard but guards in black tabards. Maddox knew his instincts had been right. Even before meeting Damek, who should be out here, Rochelle could see the trappings of the dim future before her.

  Master Lionel informed them that Prince Damek was not yet ready to receive guests, but that they would all be shown to their rooms. They were taken through the castle to the third floor of the east tower. The family was assigned rooms nearest to the stairwell, and Maddox was assigned a small room a good distance down the passage, all the way at the end. He didn’t mind; he wouldn’t be using it much.

  He noticed the air throughout the entire castle smelled dank.

  While the family rested from their journey, he went down to make sure the horses and Väränj guards were properly housed and fed, and by the time he got back, he knocked on Heath’s door to check in and learned that the family was dressing for dinner.

  Not long after that, a gong sounded, and then everyone began emerging from their rooms. Lady Helena and Lord Hamish were both dressed in their finest, complete with jeweled rings on their hands. Heath wore a simple blue tunic over the top of a black wool shirt, and he looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. Lizbeth had put some effort into her appearance, dressed in a light green satin gown with her hair in a neat braid.

  Carlotta wore black with her hair in its usual severe bun. She also wore a tight, determined expression as if she were about to head into battle.

  And then . . . Rochelle stepped out from her room.

  She, too, wore black, but it was a velvet gown with a scooped neckline that exposed the white skin of her throat and collarbones to the tops of her breasts. The dress fit snuggly around her small rib cage and waist, and then draped to the floor at her hips. He’d never seen it before, so he assumed it must be new.

  Her hair had been brushed until it shone and then left to hang loose, but her long bangs had been pinned back at her forehead with a small, jeweled clip.

  “Perfect,” Lady Helena said approvingly. “You are a vision, my dear.”

  She was.

  Master Lionel appeared from nowhere and escorted them down the stairs, and then down a long passage along the back of the castle that emptied into the great hall. A single table had been prepared at the far end. A fire burned in the hearth.

  With the exception of a few downcast-looking servants and Captain Kochè, the hall contained only one occupant. He stood by the fire with his back to the archway, but he turned as the family entered.

  Prince Damek.

  Revulsion flooded Maddox at the sight of him. Damek was slender and sleek with long, dark hair. His skin was nearly white, and his narrow features could certainly be called handsome. But his face had a feral merciless quality, as if he was incapable of understanding the suffering of others.

  He smiled, revealing straight white teeth. “Lord Hamish,” he said, sounding like an actor in a play. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

  Maddox assumed they had met somewhere before.

  “My prince,” Hamish answered, returning the smile.

  Lady Helena was to his right, and Carlotta was to his left. Damek greeted Lady Helena, who introduced Carlotta as her daughter, and as Damek’s eyes shifted to Carlotta, a look of undisguised horror passed through them.

  He must think she was the intended bride.

  Damek’s expression was so obvious that Helena rushed to correct the misinterpretation. “Oh, my prince, this is my eldest daughter, Carlotta, to whom you have been writing.” She stepped aside. “May I present Rochelle?”

  As Rochelle moved into Damek’s view, an entirely different expression altered his face. He looked stunned.

  “My lord,” Rochelle said gently, keeping her eyes on the floor.

  Prince Damek had the manners of a peasant. First he had openly insulted Carlotta by not bothering to hide his revulsion, and now he stared at Rochelle like a hungry wolf.

  Maddox hated him already, but again, prince of Pählen or not, at least Rochelle could see how hopelessly unsuitable he was.

  Heath and Lizbeth were quickly introduced, but Damek barely glanced at them. He went to Rochelle, took her hand, and kissed it. “My lady.”

  Maddox wanted to run him through.

  Carlotta watched Rochelle with a stony expression, but to Maddox’s surprise, he also caught a glint of hate. This took him aback. It had never occurred to him that anyone could hate Rochelle.

  “Am I late?” a silky voice said from behind.

  Maddox turned to see a slim woman with long silver-blond hair, wearing a long purple robe, glide in through the east archway.

  “You’re always late,” Damek responded, bu
t his tone was light, and he gestured to the woman. “My counselor, the Lady Saorise.”

  As she approached, Damek introduced her to everyone, and her gaze lingered on Rochelle. “Oh yes . . . yes.”

  Something about her gave Maddox the shivers.

  “Please,” Damek said, motioning toward the table, “come and sit and we’ll have wine before dinner.” He called to a servant, “Johanna, bring the pitcher.”

  Looking over, Maddox saw a striking young woman with black hair and slanted eyes. In her own way, she was almost as lovely as Rochelle—which was rare. Johanna carried a large pitcher toward the table, but she stole a few glances at Rochelle, and in her eyes . . . Maddox saw alarm.

  He noticed Lizbeth watching Johanna, too. Lizbeth didn’t miss much.

  The family sat where Damek directed them, with Carlotta as far down the table as possible.

  Maddox stood against the wall, invisible. On this occasion, he was only a bodyguard.

  Somehow he managed to keep himself expressionless and standing at attention through dinner and into the late evening. At some point, Carlotta and Prince Damek went up to his private chambers for further bargaining.

  Maddox believed their efforts would be a waste of time, and he believed that by morning, Rochelle would have privately informed her mother she could not possibly wed Damek and become mistress of this dank castle.

  But the following day, the family gathered in the great hall in the late morning, and they ate breakfast, and they waited out the day. Damek never appeared. No one even mentioned leaving. Heath wandered the castle for lack of anything better to do, but for the most part, everyone else seemed in limbo.

  And Maddox realized they were not leaving.

  Rochelle was going to be sacrificed to Damek.

  In the late afternoon, the family went upstairs to change for dinner, and a repeat performance took place once they all went down to the great hall in the early evening.

  Before any food appeared, Damek asked his guests to be seated.

  Goblets and plates had been laid out on the table, and Johanna went from guest to guest, pouring dark red wine. Maddox paid no attention to the Lady Helena’s attempt at polite conversation, but he knew this was going to be another long night.