To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) by Barb Hendee Read Free Book Online Page A

I’d say he’s a useful man. Why do you think I brought him along?”
    He started back up the slope, and Céline fell into step beside him. The situation seemed somewhat upside down. She’d expected Helga to be glad upon learning about Marcus, and she’d expected Jaromir to explode. But Helga had been the one to become upset, and Jaromir wasn’t even fazed.
    To her mild annoyance, he chuckled. “You really thought I didn’t know?”
    She didn’t dignify his question with an answer, andthe two of them came up over the top of the slope, making their way back into the camp.
    “There you are,” Helga scolded Jaromir. “What did you do, wet down your shirt and use it to wring water into the bucket?”
    “Give me some peace tonight, old woman,” he growled back, pouring water into the teakettle. “I’ve had a long day behind the reins.”
    “Don’t you ‘old woman’ me,” she said. “You wanted to play at being a Móndyalítko, and our men fetch the water.”
    Amelie watched this exchange with some amusement. The large cast-iron cooking pot now sat on the ground near the fire, and Helga was busy chopping onions and potatoes on a flat board. Oliver sat nearby, watching her, occasionally twitching his tail when the knife slammed down on the board.
    “Be sure to cut the onions in large chunks so Marcus can pick around them,” Céline said. “He likes the flavor they add, but not to eat them.”
    Amelie looked over and frowned. “When did he tell you that?”
    Céline felt herself turning pink.
This
was the problem. She’d never eaten a meal with Marcus, and he’d never told her any such thing. But she knew.
    Thankfully, Jaromir didn’t notice her discomfort. “I’ll go and take care of the horses,” he said. Then he looked around. “Where is Marcus?”
    As if on cue, Marcus came walking out of the forest. Céline’s breath caught, and the sight coming toward them gave even Jaromir pause.
    Marcus carried a dead rabbit in one hand and hisshirt in the other. Thankfully, he was wearing his pants, but spots of blood smeared his face and his upper right arm. His black hair was tangled. His bare torso exposed his long, tightly muscled arms and chest.
    He stopped a few paces from camp. “What?”
    Céline almost pitied him. He was the most . . . natural person she’d ever met. He had no vanity but no modesty, either. Sometimes he seemed more animal than man, even in his human form.
    The spell was broken, and everyone but Helga pretended to go back to their duties.
    Helga stood up from her cutting board. “Do you have no manners at all?” she asked him. “Traipsing back in here like that? With ladies about? Why didn’t you get dressed proper?”
    Céline wanted to roll her eyes at the “ladies” comment, but her heart went out to Marcus as he flinched and then looked down at himself in some confusion.
    Holding out his shirt, he said, “I didn’t want to get blood on it and cause extra laundry.”
    When those words left his mouth, Helga’s face changed. Something happened, and suddenly she was the one who looked chagrined. Stepping forward, she took the rabbit and the shirt. “Of course you didn’t. Go down to the stream and wash up. I’ll keep your shirt here.”
    “Thank you for the rabbit, Marcus,” Céline added.
    Seeming slightly relieved, he headed off.
    Helga waited until he was gone and then sighed. “You’re right. He is safe.”
    “I told you,” Céline said. “And Amelie is right. You need to be nicer to him.”
    Helga only grunted again, dropping back to her cutting board. “Come here, girls. Let me show you how to skin a rabbit.”
    “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Amelie exclaimed. “We know how to dress down a rabbit.”
    “Not like a Móndyalítko. Now, you start here at the neck.”
    *   *   *
    The following day, a change in travel arrangements proved a relief for Amelie.
    After breakfast, as they were breaking camp, Céline lifted Oliver to carry him to the wagon.