Page 39 of The Noble Servant

“Ja, of course.” Magdalen ran to the water pitcher while the guard shuffled out the door. She grabbed two cloths and poured water into the bowl, splashing it on the floor in her haste. She carried the bowl and cloth back to Steffan, then set it on the bench beside him.

“Hold your head up. Let me see.” She pushed on his shoulder to make him sit up straighter and knelt in front of him. The blood flowed from a cut above his eye. She pressed a cloth over it.

“Hold this here.” She put his hand over the cloth. “Press it firmly to stop the bleeding.”

His lip was also bloody. She dipped the other cloth in the bowl of water and squeezed it out. “Are you in much pain? Say something.” She wiped the blood that had run down his cheek.

“I will live.”

She started dabbing at the blood on his lip just as he started speaking.

“What did you say?”

He touched her wrist and pushed her hand away. “I said, why did you tell him I was daft?” His voice was strained, as if it hurt to talk.

“I was trying to save your life. And it worked. If I had not said that, he would have beaten you senseless and dragged you down to the dungeon.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

His hand was still holding her wrist, and her stomach did a strange flip-flop, partly in sympathy for the pained look on his battered face and partly because his hand felt warm and gentle on her wrist.

But neither of them were safe at the moment. She needed to keep her mind clear.

“Here. Let me see.” She pulled his hand away from the wound. “It’s still bleeding. Keep holding it.” She pressed the cloth back to the cut above his eye. “What were you doing coming into the castle, drawing attention to yourself? You know it’s dangerous for you. What if Lord Hazen or your cousin were to see you?”

“They’d have me killed.”

“Yes! Why did you do it?”

“I thought that woman might try to murder you.”

Her heart clenched at his bloody face, wounds he acquired while trying to protect her. He didn’t meet her gaze. But she knew already that he did not care for her, not any more than he would care for any other lady. She needed to hold on to that anger because he took her letters but did not intend to send them. He lied to her. She should remember that.

“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.