Steffan did not look Katrin in the eye.
“I hope your head will be all right. I knew a man who was dizzy and had trouble walking for the rest of his life after a few blows.”
Steffan swallowed the bite he was chewing. “I assure you I’m not dizzy.”
“I am very glad to hear that. Maggie.” She leaned behind him to talk to Magdalen. “All the house servants seem to think your name is Agnes. That is very strange.”
“My mistress, Lady Magdalen, insists on calling me Agnes. It is very odd, but one cannot argue with one’s mistress.”
Katrin gave her a strange look, as if she was thinking something she could not say aloud, and turned around to eat her food.
Lenhart suddenly loomed in front of them on the other side of the table.
“Lenhart! I’m so pleased to see you. Are you well?”
Lenhart came around the table and embraced Magdalen. How good it was to see a familiar face, someone she trusted completely. She hugged him tight.
Steffan could not imagine his own sister, Gertrudt, hugging a male servant.
Both Magdalen and Lenhart were smiling with their whole faces—their whole bodies, actually. Could the pain inside Steffan’s chest be . . . jealousy? Magdalen trusted this boy, but she did not trust him, and rightfully so.
“Where are you working? Are you still in the stables?”
Lenhart shook his head. He held up one hand, then brought his fingers out straight and his thumb up to meet them. He moved his hand as though the tips of his fingers were a beak pecking the ground.
“You’re tending the geese? Oh, that is good! Be careful, though. One goose likes to bite. His name is Gus, and he has a black spot on the top of his beak.”
She went on to explain which other geese were prone to bite and which ones liked to be petted.
“Come and get your food,” the grumpy kitchen servant called out.
Lenhart went to fetch his bowl of food, then sat between Steffan and Magdalen.
No respect. Even when Steffan was in Prague, his wealth made people respect him. Now . . . he had no control over anything or anyone in his life, and no one gave him any special treatment, not even Magdalen, the one person who knew who he was.
Magdalen was always kind to him, but she didn’t treat him as she should a duke. Magdalen, the girl with pretty green eyes. Magdalen, who was smiling so warmly right now at Lenhart, who was attentive to Katrin even when she talked too much. She had been so gentle and concerned about his wounds, washing his face and bringing him fresh water to drink.
What could Steffan do to make her smile at him the way she was smiling at Lenhart?
This was a foolish way of thinking. He’d always said he would honor his grandmother’s wishes, which was never to marry beneath his station, to think of his people’s needs above his own, and here his people were, some of them starving and being mistreated by Hazen’s guards.
Steffan had been a fool to listen to his uncle and go to Prague, leaving his people in the hands of his evil uncle. He would not be so unwise again, and he would not lose his head over a woman.
He clenched his spoon so tightly, the handle broke.
“Are you well? You look a bit pale.” Katrin leaned toward him, staring hard.
“I am well.” Steffan sat up straighter.
Magdalen and Lenhart stood up as if to leave. She looked down at Steffan. “I hope they will not work you too hard today. I do not think you are yet recovered.”
Her wavy hair framed her face as she stared down at him. She was one of the fairest maidens he’d ever beheld. He’d hardly be alive if he didn’t notice. But that only increased his resolve not to fall in love with her.
Hazen trudged up the stairs. His head had been aching since he’d arisen from bed that morning, and now it was as if needles were stabbing him behind his eyes. He’d have to send someone to the village to buy some healing herbs.
His mind kept revisiting the fact that his guards whom he’d sent to kill Steffan had not yet returned. He had not given them the bulk of their payment, and it could only be collected when they’d shown proof of his nephew’s death. Many things could have delayed them, but such a long delay did not bode well.
Someone was walking on the level above him. Then his son’s wife appeared on the staircase. She saw him and stopped.
“Lady Magdalen. Come. I would like to speak with you. Let us continue down to the library.”
She hesitated, then complied.
Tideke, his guard captain, stood at the bottom. Hazen motioned for him to follow him into the library, then closed the door.
“One of the servants will be expecting me.” She glanced at the closed door and took a step away from him. “And my husband, the duke, will be looking for me.”
“I only want to ask a few questions.” He committed the fearful look in her eyes to memory so he could enjoy it later.
“Of course.” She crossed her arms and then immediately uncrossed them.
“I was wondering if you thought your husband had lost some weight since seeing him in Thornbeck two years ago. Has he changed at all?”
The color drained from the girl’s lips. “I . . . no, he looks very much the same. I always thought he was very handsome, and so he is. Very handsome.”
He simply stared at her, hoping she might become so nervous she would reveal something. But she only squirmed and glanced about the room.
“How often do you anticipate that your mother will send you letters?”
“My mother? In a few months she will probably write. I do not like writing letters, so she will probably not write me very often.”
He had heard Lady Magdalen’s eyes were green and her hair was tinted red. This girl had blonde hair and hazel eyes.
“Who was the servant girl who came to Wolfberg with you?”
“Servant girl? Oh, her name is Agnes. She is a terrible servant. I sent her away to work outdoors.”
“I see. But you have a new servant helping you in your rooms. What is her name? Maggie?”
“Y-yes.”
“Is she not the same girl who came here with you?”
“No, she is not. Who is telling these lies?” Her bravado suddenly rose and her cheeks reddened.
“Lies?”
“As I said before, I must go. People will be looking for me.” She eyed the door.
How dare she think she could fool him? He motioned to Tideke.
His guard stepped forward and grabbed her around the neck, pulling her up on tiptoe. Tideke smiled as though relishing the frailty of her bones, his thumb pressing the middle of her throat.
She gasped and grabbed at his hands, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.
Hazen took notice of the way her face turned red, and he imagined he was the one squeezing the breath, the life out of her as the look in her eyes became more and more panicked.
Tideke must have lessened the pressure because she drew in a noisy breath.
“I rule Wolfberg, and those who are disloyal to me will not be allowed to live, whether one is the wife of the duke . . . or merely a servant girl. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I do hope you will not disappoint me.”
She gasped, still clutching at Tideke’s hand.
“If you promise to be loyal, only to me, you may go.”
She seemed to try to nod.
Hazen jerked his head at Tideke, who let go of her neck.
She gasped and coughed, then scurried to the door, snatched it open, and ran down the corridor.
This girl was not Lady Magdalen. His son was a fool.
Magdalen’s step was lighter as she mounted the stairs to Agnes’s room carrying a pitcher of fresh water. Already Agnes had moved Lenhart from the stables to watch the geese, probably suspecting Erlich would not cease mistreating Lenhart if he remained nearby. And if Lenhart and Steffan could stay safe, she could concentrate on finding Steffan’s portrait.
She also needed to get those lette
rs sent to her mother and Avelina and the margrave so they could come and help her, preferably before the wedding celebration, which barely gave her enough time.
Magdalen entered Agnes’s room and set the pitcher on the table next to the basin. There was no reason to think Steffan’s portrait was hidden in this room, but Agnes was nowhere in sight, and Magdalen had thought of her necklace every day since Agnes had taken it. She was determined to have it back.
She looked in the bottom of the large cabinet where Agnes hung her clothing. There was nothing there except shoes and a small box. She snatched up the box and opened it. Inside were ribbons of various colors. Magdalen pushed them aside, but there was nothing else except some metal hairpins scattered on the bottom.
She closed the cabinet and went to the trunk on the other side of the room. She raised the lid and found her box where she kept her favorite rocks that she had collected. She looked inside it, but her necklace was not there. She definitely wanted that back when she was Lady Magdalen again, but she had nowhere to hide it at the moment.
She set the box to the side and kept looking, finding more shoes and different odds and ends. Then her eye caught something—a little leather side pocket attached to the inside of the lid. Magdalen stuck her hand inside it even as she heard footsteps in the hall coming her way.
Her hand felt velvet. She pulled it out. The footsteps were so close Magdalen didn’t even look to see what was in her hand. She closed the lid to the trunk, stood up, and slipped it in her apron pocket and quickly moved away from the trunk.
Agnes entered the room. She was breathing sharp and fast, her hand over her heart. Her face was pale, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.
“What is the matter, Agnes?”
She drew in a loud, labored breath. “He knows.”
“Knows what? Who?” Magdalen approached her.
“Lord Hazen,” she said gruffly. “He knows I am not Lady Magdalen.”
“How could he know?”
“Did you tell him?”
“No. It was not I.” Magdalen searched her mind. Who knew that Agnes had taken her place besides Erlich and Steffan? There was Lenhart, but he couldn’t speak and most people avoided him as if he had the pestilence.
“He’s going to tell Alexander, I just know it.” Agnes’s voice rose in pitch with each word until she was almost screeching.
“It’s all right. Keep your voice down, and tell me what Lord Hazen said.”
“He asked me a lot of questions. He asked me if you were the servant girl who came with me from Mallin. He knows! You must have told him!”
“I did not tell him.”
“I thought it was a good idea to bring you into the castle, to keep you close so you wouldn’t run away and tell your mother what happened, especially when my husband said he didn’t remember what you looked like. But somehow Lord Hazen figured it out. I thought he was going to have me killed!” Tears ran down her face as Agnes clasped her hands together.
“What do you mean?”
“He had his guard choke me!” She pointed to her neck. Small red marks showed on her pale skin.
“And what else did he say?”
“He said I must be loyal to him. He frightened me so much.” She let out a sob.
“And what did you say?”
“I said I was the daughter of the Baron of Mallin. I said whatever he had heard was a lie. I demanded he tell me who had said such a thing, but he wouldn’t tell me. I just pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about. Should I tell my father? He will try to kill Lord Hazen. And then Alexander will never forgive me.” Her tears suddenly dried up. Her eyes grew huge, and her face changed to a shade of ashen gray.
“Calm down. Take some deep breaths. It might help to wash your face. I brought some fresh—”
“Listen to me.” Agnes grabbed Magdalen’s forearms. “If he asks you, vow to me that you will tell Lord Hazen that I am Lady Magdalen.”
Magdalen did not wish to tell Lord Hazen anything. She knew the man was evil after what he did to Steffan. He might kill Agnes—if it was discovered that she had forced the real Lady Magdalen to switch places with her, Agnes’s life was in danger anyway.
Magdalen said, “I think it is best that Lord Hazen not know the truth and that your father not know that Lord Hazen suspects your true identity. Do you agree?”
Agnes’s mouth hung open for a moment, then she said, “Yes.”
“Then let us agree that neither of us will tell Lord Hazen our secret, and neither of us will tell your father about what Lord Hazen said today.”
“I agree. But why are you doing this? Why would you not want Lord Hazen to know the truth about who you are? You surely don’t care what happens to me after what my father and I did to you.”
She did not owe Agnes any explanation at all. “I have my reasons, one of which is . . . Even after what you did to me, I don’t want to see you killed, since you might repent someday.”
Agnes stared at her a moment, then burst into tears again.
“Come. Wash your face.” Magdalen led her over to the pitcher and basin where Agnes washed her face and then went to lie down on her bed. Agnes soon began breathing loudly and evenly.
Magdalen went into the small changing room adjoining her bedchamber and took out the velvet object she had found in Agnes’s trunk.
It was a small red velvet pouch that was closed at one end by a drawstring. Magdalen pulled it open and dumped the contents in her palm. Her necklace lay in her hand.
Chapter Twenty
Steffan climbed the stairs after his work was done. His feet were heavy, and he could barely keep his eyes open. How would he ever have time to look for his portrait when he was so exhausted he could barely put one foot in front of the other?
“Steffan!” a whisper came from his right.
He lost his balance and started falling backward. A hand caught his arm and pulled him back solidly onto the step.
“Sorry to startle you.” Magdalen emerged from the dark staircase.
“Are you well? Do you need my help?”
“No, I am well.” She came closer and accompanied him up. “I wanted to tell you that Lord Hazen suspects that Agnes is not Lady Magdalen.”
For some reason, her raspy whisper made his heart beat faster. “What else does he suspect?”
“I don’t know, but apparently someone told him something to make him suspicious. Do you know who it could have been?”
He was so tired and she was so near him her arm kept brushing against his. “No. Do you have any ideas?”
“The only people who know are Agnes’s father, us, and Lenhart.”
Warmth and compassion imbued her voice. What made her so caring? He already knew she did not have a kind and compassionate mother. His grandmother had never let him doubt that she loved him, but she’d also been rather stern. And he did not remember much about his own mother except that she kissed his cheek every night at bedtime.
“I can’t help wondering if someone—even Lord Hazen—might have overheard you and me or Agnes and me talking.”
“Hmm, yes.”
“You are very tired. I should let you go to bed. But I am anxious to get those letters sent by courier.”
“Do you know a courier?”
“Well, no, but—”
“The letters are safer where they are. What if Lord Hazen were to search your possessions?”
“I suppose you are right.” She sighed. “And we probably should not be talking on this dark stairwell. Someone might be listening. I will try to talk to you tomorrow.”
“Very well.”
They were on the fourth level now, walking down the hallway to their rooms. Before they parted, he reached out and grasped her hand. She turned and faced him, looking up into his eyes. Her green eyes sparkled in the light of the one torch.
“Be careful. If you feel you are in danger, come to me. I will protect you.”
Her lips parted and her mouth hung open. She just
stood there.
“Gute Nacht,” he whispered.
“Schlafen Sie gut,” she whispered back, then hurried to her room, leaving him at his door.
Magdalen sat on a stool making alterations to some of her own gowns. Agnes had her sewing a higher waistline on one of the dresses.
“I can’t let Lord Hazen think these dresses were made for someone else,” Agnes said.
Agnes should be making her own alterations to the dresses, but she claimed she was too afraid of getting caught doing menial work by Lord Hazen. Fortunately or unfortunately, Magdalen’s mother had ordered her to learn to sew from the other house servants just in case she needed to know it someday, as sewing was one of the only tasks a lady of means was allowed to perform.
As Magdalen ripped out the seam, she tried not to hate Agnes’s teeth, which jutted out slightly, or her smirk, which she’d enjoy wiping from her face, or her laugh, which sounded like a dying animal. It was difficult not to hate her for stealing Magdalen’s identity. And yet, she could be thankful that Agnes had taken her place, since Lord Hazen no doubt would have forced her to marry his son—or murdered her when she protested that he was not the real Duke of Wolfberg.
“God,” she whispered, “forgive me for hating Agnes. I want to curse her, but I know that I must not hate anyone. Give me the power over my hatred to forgive her. I can pity Agnes for her evil father and be thankful that my father was kind and good. Besides, I know Agnes will be punished for her deception and wrongdoing when she is caught and I am restored to my rightful station.”
The prayer made her feel calmer, but then she stuck her finger with the needle. She put her finger in her mouth as someone approached, their soft footfalls on the flagstones of the corridor announcing the person to be a small woman wearing soft-soled slippers.
Katrin appeared in the doorway.
“Katrin! I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“Maggie, how do you fare? I was sent to assist you in your work.”
“You were?”
“Yes, Lady Magdalen sent me.” She looked pointedly at the dress in Magdalen’s lap and then at the stack of dresses beside her. “She said you had some mending I could help you with.”
The Noble Servant Page 15
