“Does that woman not plan to kill you?”
“I don’t think she has the courage to kill me, but that man at the stable who tried to choke me, he is her father and he would kill me. She wants me close so I don’t run away to Mallin. She thinks she can keep my identity a secret forever, I suppose. Thinks she can prevent me from exposing her.”
Magdalen had always disliked beards, but his was dark brown and short enough to show the contours of his face. It made him look quite rugged. No wonder she had not recognized him from the refined, young, kind face she remembered from before. At this moment, however, his warm brown eyes were soft and vulnerable, just as they had been when she’d danced with him at Thornbeck Castle.
“You still have some blood in your beard.” Her voice sounded a bit harsh as she tried to make sure he did not guess her thoughts.
She dipped her cloth in the water bowl and squeezed it out. She lifted the cloth to his face and rubbed his beard, cleaning the drying blood. This time his gaze was on her, watching her.
“Thank you,” he said.
She couldn’t meet his eyes. She looked down, threw the cloth in the bowl, and carried it back to the table. She would put a bandage on his wound, send him back out of the castle . . . and then what? Somehow she had to come up with a plan of escape—without getting them both killed.
Chapter Fourteen
Steffan held his breath as Magdalen wiped the blood from his beard, the wet cloth cooling his heated face. She was quite near. Even through his haze of pain, he noticed the reddish color of her hair and the pleasant perfection of her pale skin and lips. She was so close he could see the tiny flecks of gold in her green eyes.
She abruptly stood and carried the water bowl away. She opened the window casement and threw out the bloody water. “I’ll need to find something to bandage that wound over your eye.”
He should probably tell her it didn’t need a bandage, pretend it did not send bolts of pain through his skull. But he actually hoped she’d come back and bandage it, just so he could feel her gentle touch.
Foolish thoughts. He had far too many things to worry about at the moment.
“It is well, I’m sure.” He took away the cloth he’d been holding to the wound and looked down at it.
“Wait. Let me see.” She hurried over and examined the small gash. “It’s ceased bleeding, but you need a bandage to protect it.”
“Should you sew it up?”
“Perhaps. Forgive me, but you’ll have to find someone else to perform that task. The thought of piercing your flesh with a needle makes me feel like I might lose the food in my stomach.”
“What every duke wants—a scar on his face.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have run in here, knowing you were putting yourself in danger.” She walked away and returned with some cloth bandages.
“My chivalrous actions were not appreciated, I can conclude.”
“I did not say I didn’t appreciate it, but . . . I did not need your help, and, well, I was surprised you would rush in here to rescue me.”
“You think me selfish and unfeeling, then? That I cannot be concerned about a lady in danger and in need of a protector?”
“I am glad to see how unselfish and self-sacrificing you are, that you are willing to risk your life for mine.”
She was making a jest from the smirk on her lips. He grunted. Truly, it had been foolish. She had not even needed his help, and even if she had, he could not have helped her. He was too busy getting thrashed by the guard’s fists and sword hilt.
His pride had taken an even worse beating. If only he’d had a sword.
She was taking a long time with the bandage as she folded the cloth into a rectangle and finally pressed it against his wound.
He sucked in a breath between his teeth, creating a hissing sound.
“I’m sorry.” She lessened the pressure, then she wrapped another cloth around his head and tied it in place.
Her hands were gentle and soothing.
“There.” She stepped back. “You look as if you’ve just returned from battle, a warrior who won, but only just.”
She was smiling. Her teeth were perfect except for two that overlapped each other a bit. But that tiny flaw somehow made her more endearing.
The blows had addled his brain, apparently. But she was pretty. He had always thought so. Still, she didn’t seem to like him very much, and he had no time for errors in judgment. One had already cost him a beating. And admiring her beauty was only one step away from the most unwise and costly mistake he could make—falling in love.
“Thank you for the bandage.” He could at least be courteous. Magdalen might be his only ally, and now that she was in the castle, she could be an even bigger help to him.
Why had he not thought of that before?
Magdalen was starting to clean up the blood from the floor.
“Listen. I need your help. Now that you’re in the castle, you can help me prove that I am the duke.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something is hidden in the castle that will prove my identity. If I can recover it—” But the thought of asking her to risk her life for him . . . Perhaps there was another way, so she was not putting herself in danger looking for the things he needed.
“Do you think you could help me get a job working inside the castle?”
“Do you not think that is dangerous? If your cousin or your uncle should see you—”
“With my beard, I don’t think they will recognize me. Besides, I will keep my head down when they are around, and they rarely pay attention to servants.”
It was a huge risk, but she did not have to know that.
“Very well. I will do what I can.”
He stood, thinking to help her clean the floor, but the room started spinning, and the pain in his ribs made him gasp and bend over.
“Oh dear.” She grabbed him by the arm. “You should sit.”
He was already doing so, as the room continued to tilt and turn. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, perhaps he’d have his balance back.
“I hope you will be well. I’m so sorry.”
“It is not your fault.”
“Thank you for attempting to save me. It was very chivalrous of you.”
He could hear her wiping up the floor. Most ladies in her position—wrongly forced to act as a servant after being served all her life—would not have taken it as well as she had. Most would have either dissolved in self-pity or become enraged and lashed out. The first behavior would have gotten her scorned by the evildoers, and the latter would have gotten her killed.
She moved away from him and seemed to be cleaning up the room, as he heard the swish of her skirts on the flagstone floor.
The door to the room suddenly opened. Steffan lifted his head.
“What has happened here?”
Magdalen’s usurper entered the chamber, her gaze coming to rest on Steffan.
Before he could speak, Magdalen hurried forward. “Forgive me, my lady.”
She was good at pretending to be the humble servant.
“What is this man doing in my chamber?”
“This is but a lowly shepherd who wandered into the castle in search of me.” She spoke quickly, as if expecting the woman to interrupt her at any moment. “He had attached himself to me when we were both in the fields tending our animals. He is very simpleminded, but he is a hard worker. Perhaps you could allow him to work in the castle so he will not be so anxious for me.”
She made him sound like a lovesick imbecile. Again he felt a stab to his pride, but he could not afford pride, not until he had his identity back. Neither of them could.
She curled her lip as she stared at him. “Why should I? We don’t want a daft man in the castle.”
A man’s voice sounded just outside. “Liebling?”
Alexander’s face appeared in the doorway.
Steffan ducked his head, covered his face with his ha
nd, and prayed, God, don’t let him recognize me.
“Oh, please, Your Grace.”
He peeked out from between his fingers. Magdalen had fallen at Alexander’s feet, onto her knees, in fact, and was pleading with clasped hands.
“Your Grace, please do not have this poor man beaten any more. He is a simple but good soul. He only wants to be near me, and if you allow him to work in the castle, I promise he will work hard and I can watch over him.”
“Liebling, what is this?” Alexander looked at his new bride. “I do not think it can hurt to allow the man to work in the castle. Do you know anything about him?”
“N-no,” Agnes stuttered.
“Is this your new maidservant?” He looked down at Magdalen.
“Yes, my liebchen.”
“I promise he will be no trouble to you,” Magdalen added.
“Is he your sweetheart? Is that why you want him working in the castle?”
“Oh no, Your Grace. He is but a poor, simpleminded shepherd who has formed an attachment to me because I look after him sometimes. Please have mercy on him. I fear for what will become of him if he is forced to work outside. Those servants are sometimes cruel to him. If you send him back outside, he may do harm to himself. In the name of all that is merciful and holy, please allow him to stay.”
She was better than the traveling mummers who put on miracle and passion plays at Easter.
Alexander turned his gaze on Steffan. He quickly ducked his head again.
“I do not like to think of a simpleminded person suffering cruelty.” Alexander always was easily swayed. Thankfully. “What do you think, my dear?”
“Oh, of course, liebchen. I would not want him to come to harm either. I am ever compassionate to unfortunate souls like him.”
Now he just had to figure out a way to get past Alexander without being recognized.
Magdalen stared openmouthed at Agnes. She wanted her husband to think she was compassionate. Surely she was too coldhearted to be in love with him.
Agnes was smiling at Steffan’s cousin. It would be fitting and just if she worried that he would find out what a mean-spirited, selfish person she was, but it was too difficult to fathom that she could be genuinely in love with him.
“And if he cannot do the work or causes problems, we can give him some other job.”
Magdalen couldn’t help glancing back at Steffan. Dear God, don’t let his cousin recognize him.
“I will speak to Frau Clara. But I would like him to leave now.” Agnes’s gaze darted around the room, not focusing on anyone, and she fidgeted with her hands and her dress—one of Magdalen’s best and most expensive dresses. In fact, it was Magdalen’s favorite.
“Of course. St-Stoffel,” Magdalen’s heart thumped at her nearly calling him Steffan. “Come, Stoffel. No one is going to beat you anymore. We will find you some work to do in the castle.”
So many deceptions existed in this one room. Alexander did not know his wife was a servant from the household of the real Lady Magdalen. Agnes did not know that her husband was the cousin of the real Duke of Wolfberg. And indeed, since they both used false names, they were not married in the eyes of the law, nor in the eyes of the Church authorities.
And neither of them realized that the real Duke of Wolfberg was in the room, pretending to be a simpleminded shepherd.
Steffan got up and shuffled toward her, his shoulders slumped and his head down. She took his arm and led him out the door.
“Darling,” Agnes said with a tremulous smile. “I shall return in a moment. I need to speak with my servant and with Frau Clara.”
“Of course, my darling.” He stood in the middle of the room while she shut the door.
Agnes’s smile vanished. She gave Magdalen a sharp look. “Come with me, both of you.”
They went down the stairs. Magdalen dared a few quick glances at Steffan. He was pale, and he peeked at her in return, but neither of them attempted to speak as they followed Agnes.
Soon they found Frau Clara instructing a servant on how to clean the wall sconces.
“Frau Clara,” Agnes said, “can you find some indoor work for this young man? He is said to be a hard worker but simpleminded.”
With a scowl on her face, Frau Clara looked him up and down. Then she reached out and squeezed his upper arm. “He seems strong. He can attend the kitchen fires and fetch and carry firewood and water. Is he injured?” She pointed to the bandage on his head. “Is he able to work today?”
“He was beaten by one of the guards,” Agnes said.
“Is he violent? A troublemaker?”
“Oh no,” Magdalen said. “If you please, Frau Clara, he is a very gentle soul.” She dug her fingernails into her palm and prayed he would live up to what she was saying about him. “He has an attachment to me, you see, and the guard misunderstood his desire to see me for some kind of mischief. But as long as he thinks I am safe and well, he will be quite calm and hardworking. Isn’t that right, Stoffel?”
Steffan grunted and nodded without making eye contact with anyone.
“Very well,” Frau Clara said in a resigned tone. “If it is what Lady Magdalen wants.” She looked to Agnes.
“Yes, thank you, Clara,” Agnes said, without the title of respect everyone else used when speaking to Frau Clara, who didn’t seem to notice or mind.
Magdalen touched Steffan’s arm. “This is Frau Clara. You will do everything she tells you, ja?”
Again, he grunted and nodded.
“I will try to see you tonight at the evening meal,” she said softly.
“Come, Agnes,” Agnes said.
As Magdalen was watching Steffan shuffle away, she realized Agnes was talking to her.
They went back toward the stairs, and as they climbed halfway up the first flight, Agnes turned to her and whispered, “I expect you to behave as a servant should. And if you say anything you should not to the duke, I shall not only let my father do what he wanted to do from the beginning, which is to get rid of you, but I shall also make sure he kills the mute boy your family is so fond of—and this new daft man you have collected. Truly, your taste in companions has not changed.” Agnes rolled her eyes. Her top lip curled in disgust.
“Do not worry, Agnes—”
Agnes pinched her arm, hard. “Don’t ever call me that. I am Lady Magdalen.”
“Lady Magdalen.” She let her own lip curl as she resisted the urge to rub her arm. “I will not say a word to your husband.”
“Good.”
“But I truly do not know how you expect to keep this a secret forever. At some point my mother will come to visit me, and so—” She almost said, “And so will the duke’s sister.” But of course, Agnes did not know her husband’s similar secret.
“My father has some plans for when your mother and sisters visit.”
“Does he plan to kill them?” Her heart rose into her throat.
“Be quiet. Not another word.”
They continued up the stairs in silence. When they reached the third level, where Agnes’s rooms were located, Agnes hissed, “You will leave my chamber any time you see my husband enter. You are also not to sleep on the servant’s cot in the adjoining room. When I have released you every evening, you are to go up to the next level where the other indoor servants sleep. And if I find you have spoken to any of them about our little secret, I will have my father kill them and you.”
Agnes looked into her eyes, but it was as if she was not seeing Magdalen. Agnes’s eyes were dark, but something besides hatred and murder suffused them. If Magdalen did not know better, she’d say fear was in the pinched expression on Agnes’s face.
“Why are you not taking yourself upstairs to the servants’ quarters?” Agnes whispered. “My husband is waiting in my room, so go.”
Magdalen hurried up the stairs, praying for herself and for Steffan.
Hazen eyed the snippet of a girl who had married his son as she nervously glanced at the cloth across her lap. She seemed quite unaccu
stomed to cleaning her hands on it, as she hesitantly touched it after eating her pheasant with her fingers. She kept leaning over to say something in Alexander’s ear, as if she was afraid he would stop thinking about her if she did not speak to him nearly every moment. Her gaze kept darting to his face. She was even more unsure of herself than his spineless son, though she tried to hide the fact with haughty looks.
When the meal was over, Hazen said, “Your Grace, I have a small matter of business I’d like to speak with you about. Will you accompany me to the library?”
“Yes, of course.” He turned to his wife. “I shall come to your chamber.”
She accepted the squeeze of his hand before she departed.
He and Alexander walked to the room where Hazen wrote his letters. “Please be seated.” He indicated a chair and then sat behind the desk.
“Is everything well?” Alexander asked.
“I wanted to ask you the same question. Is marriage to your liking? What do you think of your new wife?”
“It . . . it is good. We are well suited to one another, and she is . . . a good wife. All is well. W-why do you ask?”
Hazen clenched his jaw at the timid way his son answered him, stammering and stumbling because he was afraid of saying something that would displease him. His son’s behavior was a disgrace to the Hazen title. He should not have entrusted the boy’s care to nurses and servants and the boy’s mother. He should have taken him in hand much sooner. Or perhaps the boy was just too much like his mother—frightened and unable to support an independent or ambitious thought. Ambition was everything. How many times had he told his son that?
“You are aware that I have asked all the servants to report anything suspicious to me, especially of anyone disloyal to you or me.”
“Yes, Father.”
He gave his son a withering look.
“Oh, I meant to say, Uncle Hazen.”
“It has come to my attention that there is a servant girl who came here from Mallin at the same time as your wife, and this girl’s name is Maggie.”