Worse, she’d almost had to wrestle Amelie into the seafoam green dress, as both gowns were cut rather low across the bosom, and at first Amelie had refused to wear either of them, but when forced to choose she’d decided that she disliked the pink more than the green. Once she’d finally been laced in and her hair had been brushed, she looked both startlingly pretty and painfully uncomfortable at the same time.
Again . . . the latter was hardly reflective of a lady of court.
However, neither Captain Keegan nor Corporal Quinn appeared to notice the creases as they watched their guests enter. Jaromir brought up the rear of the trio. Apparently, as a mere guardsman, Rurik had not been invited, and Céline hoped he was faring all right among a group of unfamiliar soldiers.
“A sight for sore eyes,” Keegan said, appraising Céline, who had put up her own hair with soft fringes hanging down. “I’ve not seen a lady in a proper gown since this past spring.”
While she found this rather forward, she managed a smile. The table was adorned with more silver candlesticks and pewter goblets.
As Quinn pulled out a chair for her, Jaromir stepped in to hold one for Amelie. He’d not teased her once about the silk gown, but he also seemed unable to take his eyes off her. This had not helped Amelie’s comfort level.
Once they were all seated, Keegan snapped his fingers. A Pählen soldier entered from the back of the tent and began pouring wine like a servant. When he finished, he vanished again.
Keegan looked down the table at everyone seated there and cleared his throat.
“Lady Céline,” he began with what could only be called a lecturing intonation. “I’ve been informed you spent the entire afternoon tending to that filth living in the miners’ camp.”
Céline’s hand stopped with her goblet halfway to her mouth. “I beg your pardon?”
He took a long swallow of his own wine. “I thought you were going in order to attend to a few injuries for the workers. But most of those miners and gypsies will do nothing to help themselves. Of course you have my full cooperation in your efforts here, but you must not tire yourself out or waste medicine by giving it to those little better than animals. It does them no good, and they won’t thank you.”
Céline stared at him, and Amelie’s face had gone red.
“Lieutenant,” Quinn blurted out, as if trying to change the subject, “how was your summer crop back in Sèone?”
“Abundant,” Jaromir answered, perhaps equally glad to be speaking of anything else. “The weather has been kind.”
Two more soldiers entered, one carrying a plate of steaming flatbread and another carrying a large tray with two roasted birds on top. The tray was placed directly in front of Keegan, who picked up a knife and two-pronged fork to carve. Both soldiers vanished.
“We have a well-stocked provisions tent, with a stove, and I brought a cook with me from Pählen.” He gestured to the tray before him. “But we also have plenty of game here. These are wild pheasants baked with pears. I think you’ll enjoy the dish.”
At the sight of the pheasants, Céline heard Marcus’s voice in her ears.
I hunt, and we eat whatever Captain Keegan doesn’t take.
Marcus had probably caught those birds himself. Thinking of the tragic conditions she’d seen in the miners’ encampment, she wondered if she could manage to swallow a bite. Looking across the table, she guessed Amelie was thinking the same thing.
Thankfully, Keegan seemed oblivious to their discomfort, nor did he expect conversation from the women at the table, and he proceeded to carve while continuing the discussion of the summer harvest with Quinn and Jaromir. Somehow, Céline managed to get through the meal and eat enough for the sake of manners, hoping she might be excused soon. Between the wine and the overly long day, the table was beginning to swim before her eyes.
Through the pointless dinner talk, she heard Jaromir ask, “How many men do you have stationed here now?”
Keegan and Quinn both went silent, and then Quinn answered, “Subtracting current losses, I believe we are down to forty-one.”
“Forty-one?” Amelie repeated. “With the women and children added in, I’d guess there are maybe two hundred people or a little more over in the miners’ encampment. Do you need forty-one armed guards to keep them here?”
Keegan shifted in his chair. “Well . . . some of those men are reinforcements my lord sent to assist with recent difficulties.”
Yes, Céline thought, and those reinforcements have not helped.
A commotion sounded outside the front of the tent, and to her shock, four soldiers dragged Mariah and Marcus inside. Mariah was openly frightened, but Marcus shoved both the soldiers holding him away, and he glared at one as if daring the man to touch him again. Then he looked as if he was about to strike the nearest man holding Mariah.
Céline jumped to her feet, knocking her chair backward. “What is this?” She spoke to the soldiers. “Take your hands off that girl, now!”
They let go of Mariah and looked to their captain.
Keegan stood and frowned at Céline. “You told me you wanted to read them. You claim to be Anton’s seer? As does your sister?” From his tone, it was clear he believed she and Amelie possessed no real power at all and were merely bored ladies playing up to Anton.
And this was not at all what she’d intended when she’d spoken to Keegan earlier.
“Now that they’re here, you should read them,” Jaromir said, his voice tight.
She turned back to him and knew what he was thinking. They were here to play a part, to do a job. If she was to convince Keegan that she was a true seer who should be allowed to read his men, she’d better start proving it.
“Mariah,” she said softly, “it’s all right. If you can come here and sit with me, I just want to touch your hand. That’s all I want to do. Afterward, you can go home to Mercedes. I promise.”
Some of the panic in Mariah’s eyes faded, and Céline reached out with one hand. “Come and sit with me.”
She straightened her chair and pulled another over for Mariah. Hating herself for doing this in front of Keegan and Quinn and all these men, she kept her hand out, and Mariah came to her, gripping her fingers. The girl’s hands were so small. She couldn’t be more than two years younger than Amelie, but somehow she seemed much younger.
Céline sat, and Mariah sat, too, almost as if she would find protection by close proximity. “It’s all right,” Céline said again. “I’m just going to close my eyes and see your future. No one will hurt you.”
It might have been more useful to have Amelie read the girl’s past, but Amelie was not skilled at soothing or comforting someone frightened. Céline needed to show Mariah there was nothing to fear.
Holding the girl’s hand, Céline closed her eyes and tried to shut out everyone and everything else in the tent. She cleared her mind and focused on Mariah’s spark of spirit . . . on her future. The first jolt hit almost instantly, and Céline steeled herself for the second. Then she was rushing forward on the white mists.
The journey was short.
A scene materialized around her, and for a moment, she was confused. She found herself standing in this same tent, only at the back, near a bed. The tent was much darker and only a single candle lantern burned on a small table. There was a basket of food on the floor near a hanging tapestry that divided this section of the tent from the front. Moving closer, Céline saw that it contained jerked beef and biscuits: the staples of traveling soldiers.
Suddenly, Keegan stepped past the tapestry and into the back section of the tent. He wore only his breeches and shirt, with the tails of his shirt hanging loose, and he carried a goblet of wine.