Page 90 of The Noble Servant

She made sure the beds were not too close together but still close enough that she and he could talk.

“Just knowing Lord Hazen could come back any moment makes me nervous,” Magdalen whispered from her makeshift bed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Shall I sing for you?”

“That would be lovely.”

“But you might not like my singing, and I’m not sure if I can sing quietly enough.”

“Oh no, you cannotnotsing now. You must.”

“Will you laugh at me if I sing poorly?”

“Probably. No, please, do sing something. I’m sure you have a lovely voice.”

“Well, there is a ballad that Engel, one of the nursery servants, used to sing to me at bedtime.” He began to sing. When he reached the end of the first verse, he stopped.

“You sing beautifully. Won’t you sing all of that song?”

“That’s all I remember. Are you not sleepy now? Have I not put you to sleep?”

“If you sing it again, I think it will.”

“Very well.” He sang it again, and her eyes locked on his as she watched his face in the scant light that came in through the window glass. His eyelids were beginning to droop, and he lay down.

“Thank you. You have a good voice.” Truly, he had sung very well, so well that she was afraid to say just how impressed she had been.

Steffan mumbled something she didn’t understand, and then she heard the regular, even breathing that signaled he was already asleep.

They spent the next morning talking quietly, and Magdalen’s heart nearly burst every time she looked into his eyes. It felt as if he wanted to tell her something. Several times he opened his mouth and she thought he was about to confide something important, but then he would give a slight shake of his head and look away.

Steffan said, “I need to show you something, in case our secret place is found out and Lord Hazen tries to come up here.” He led her over to the cluttered side of the room where a broken table lay top down on the floor. He moved the table with care so as not to make too much noise—and showed her a tiny handle in the wooden floor. When he lifted the handle, a three-foot square came up with it, revealing a hole in the floor.

“It’s called a trapdoor. A ladder leads down to a small room. My father showed it to me before he died, but I was too afraid of dark holes to go down in it and explore, and I don’t think anyone else even knows about it. So if you hear anyone coming, I want you to hide here.”

“And you.”

He shrugged, then nodded.

The hole was very dark. Poor Steffan. How would he manage hiding in such a dark, tiny hole? She would just have to pray that they would never need to.

“I’m going down to the west wing to try to spy on Alexander and Agnes. I want to see what they know.”

“Don’t be gone long. Please?”

He looked back at her. Then they both seemed to step toward each other. She hugged him and he kissed her cheek. Then he departed while her stomach flipped around inside her.

When Steffan returned half an hour later, they took out the food that Steffan had scavenged the night before.

“Tell me everything you heard Alexander and Agnes say.”

He sighed and his brows drew together.

“What is wrong?”

“Nothing, but ... it was very confusing.”

“Confusing?”