Page 65 of The Noble Servant

“So that when Lord Hazen kills me you can still send the letters?” He hoped she would at least smile at his bad jest.

She huffed out a breath, then pressed a finger to her chin, glancing up at the ceiling. “Ja.”

He sighed. “I will go now to place this in the same box as the letters, which I buried under the large rock under the tree we sat beneath. Do you remember that day?”

“That was the day you told me about getting trapped in the old well when you were five. You were thinking about that when we were hiding under the bed, weren’t you?”

“What makes you think that?”How did she know?

“It was the look on your face. And if I had fallen in a well I would have been terrified to be in a tight, dark space.”

Her voice was always so soft and compassionate, and something about her green eyes made him want to draw closer. But he could not let himself get close to her, either physically or in any other way. He could not marry her, and he would not do anything to hurt such a kind, noble maiden. “I hope I did not embarrass myself too much.”

“Not at all. You were very brave, and we escaped safely, so all is well.”

He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is time. I will go out tonight and find a courier for the letters. Come.”

He led her to the door, opened it, and cautiously looked out.The corridor was clear, so they went back to the west wing of the castle. As they parted to go to their separate duties, he impulsively touched a finger to her cheek, just grazing her skin. It was as soft as he thought it would be.

“Be careful,” he said.

She stared back at him, probably thinking he should keep his hands to himself. He turned away and hurried down to the kitchen and his work.

Magdalen’s insides trembled as she brought her hand up to her cheek. Why had he done that? It was just a little brush of his finger on her face. So why did it make her heart flutter? She’d felt the same way when they were in his sister’s room, when he held her hand longer than necessary, his long slender fingers wrapped around hers. And when they’d stood looking out at the sea together, she had felt so close to him, as if their thoughts were melding and he was as drawn to her as she was to him.

Foolish. As foolish as her belief that he had wanted to marry her based on their meeting at Thornbeck.

Magdalen went to her stool and sat down to work on resewing her dresses to fit Agnes. Katrin had not joined her today. No doubt she was needed in the kitchen. The cooks would already be preparing for the great company of guests coming to Wolfberg Castle in the next two weeks.

The work was monotonous, but at least she had been able to dispel the bitter thoughts about Agnes by imagining her letters reaching her mother and Avelina in Thornbeck, imagining their outrage at the thought of Magdalen being so wrongly treated.

“God,” she whispered, “please help Steffan find couriers to deliver my letters. Give him success, and give the couriers and their horses speed and safety on the journey.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Everything depended on those letters, for even if she and Steffan could prove who they were, it did them no good if they had no one to prove it to, no one who could defend them against Lord Hazen.

Surely God would not let her down.

The thought of her father’s death, as well as her brother’s, sprang so sharply into focus that tears stung her eyes. She had tried to deny it, even to herself, but she felt so hurt that God would allow her father and brother to die. And she did not understand why she and Steffan were being mistreated now.

When she’d confessed her pain and disappointment to the priest in Mallin, he said, “God cares for His creation, and He cares for you, Lady Magdalen. It is written in the Holy Scriptures, so it is surely so. You must not doubt, but believe.”

“But if He cares for me—”

“That is why we call it faith—His loving-kindness is not seen or fully known at times, but we have faith that it exists.”

Faith. She had to have faith that God’s loving-kindness existed even in the situation Magdalen was in now. But it was so much easier to have faith when her father and brother were alive, when she was not serving her usurper.

Footsteps approached the room, but they did not sound like Agnes’s soft shoes. They were louder and sharper and quicker.

Lord Hazen appeared in the doorway, a strange, lax look on his face. He strode toward her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

What are you doing there, servant girl?”

A chill went down Magdalen’s arms. “I am mending some clothing for my mistress.”

“Mending Lady Magdalen’s dresses?” He came over and picked up the dress she had just finished, then lifted one from the pile that had not yet been mended, and he seemed to be comparing the two.

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but it looks as if you are cutting these dresses and shortening them. Why would Lady Magdalen need her dresses altered? Has she grown ... shorter?”