Page 82 of The Noble Servant

Steffan put his arms around her and pulled her close, still kneeling beside her.

She buried her face in his chest and sobbed softly.

Steffan’s heart clenched at her sobs, at the way her shoulders shook, at the hot tears that soaked through his linen shirt. He sat back on the floor of the mine, settling her comfortably against his chest. “You’re safe now,” he whispered against her hair. “I won’t let anyone harm you.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was watery and punctuated by another soft sob.

“For what?”

“I’ve ruined your clothes.”

“Don’t worry. I have other clothes.” He stroked her hair—a dangerous move, as it was so silky.

“I’m sorry you had to kill that man.”

“It was necessary, and certainly not your fault. It’s Lord Hazen’s fault.”

Oh, God, what if I had not gotten to her in time? What if the man had dragged her away and my uncle had tortured or even killed her?

Sweet, lovely Magdalen. How would he have been able to bear that? He suddenly realized he did not feel any remorse for killing that man. Of course God forgave him. God helped him save her.

She finally ceased crying and sat up, pulling away slightly, and wiped her eyes with her hands. He picked up the blanket she had left when she went outside and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Thank you.” Her voice was small, and she took a shuddering breath and sighed. “Thank you for saving me.”

In her bowed head, her slumped shoulders, and her downcast eyes, he read her determination not to ask him to comfort her. She would not expect anything from him. And somehow that thought stabbed him like a knife.

He liked being with her. He liked talking to her. And he very much liked holding her in his arms. He had told himself over and over that he couldn’t marry her, that he owed it to his people to follow his grandmother’s advice and marry for political gain. But it was all a lie. The reason he told her and himself, repeatedly, that he wouldn’t marry her was because of fear. He was afraid—no, terrified—of falling too deeply in love, of loving someone the way his father had loved his mother. Her death had destroyed him.

Did Steffan dare to risk marrying for love? It was not hard to imagine loving Magdalen ... very much.

His breath quickened.

He wasn’t certain he could overcome this fear, or even if he should.

“I’ve made you a bed a little farther into the mine,” Steffan said, “and I will sleep at your feet, so if anyone comes exploring, they’ll face me first.”

“You are being very kind.” She couldn’t meet his eye. Hewasbeing very kind. Should she be embarrassed? Gratified? Humbled? Or annoyed that she had let him see her cry? She did not want to feel indebted to him, this man who was handsome and brave and strong and intelligent, mostly because she knew when this adventure was over, when they both had their lives back, she’d never see him again. And he probably wouldn’t care.

She should say, “How very chivalrous of you” and smile saucily at him. His brows would raise in that amused way of his. But she did not feel very saucy.

“Can you walk?” He spoke so gently, it made a tear fall from her eye. At least he couldn’t see it.

He touched her shoulder, so she took his hand and he pulled her up. Unable to see anything at all, she clung to Steffan. Soon, he stopped her.

“Here is your bed.” He guided her hand down until she felt something soft on the ground.

“You seem to have found the right spot.”

“I counted my steps so I would know exactly where I was.”

“That was wise.” She could hear his retreating footsteps in the silence, which seemed to meld with the darkness and press in on her. And she hadn’t fallen in a dark well as a child like Steffan.

When his footsteps returned, she asked, “Are you well? It’s very dark.”

“I think I’m beginning to forget my fear of dark holes.”

“That’s fortunate. I think I am beginning tohavea fear of dark holes.” She tried to chuckle, to let him know her fear was nothing serious, but it came out as a nervous sound.