Her head ached, but that was nothing compared to the way her heart squeezed.
A tear, followed by another and another, spilled down her face.
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. He was being 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 to have a 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.
“Don’t worry. I shall be near.”
“Thank you.” Magdalen lay on the blanket he had spread out for her. He had even made her a small pillow.
“I hope my clothes will be dry by morning,” she said.
“You are not enjoying wearing men’s clothes?”
“I am grateful for them, but I am not used to them. I shall be glad to give them back to you.” How much more awkward this moment would be if she believed Steffan might want to marry her. It was good that he did not.
“How is your head feeling? Are you in much pain?”
“Only a small headache.”
After a short pause he said, “Are you certain you are well?”
“Yes.” But she didn’t feel sleepy. In fact, she was afraid to fall asleep, afraid she would dream about the man who had grabbed her.
“Can you believe that about Katrin? She betrayed us. And I had no idea.” A pang went through her middle at the remembrance of what Katrin had done to them.
“I did not realize she was our betrayer either, although I did have some suspicions.”
“Did you?” Magdalen must be a poor judge of character.
“She was the obvious person, though she seemed so kind and innocent.”
“And yet I never suspected her. I do not easily trust people, but I was completely fooled. Is it not strange that she warned us to flee?”
“Ja. Perhaps my uncle wanted us to flee.”
“But why? What purpose did that serve? Nein, I think she warned us because she was a little in love with you.”
He made a sound of air blowing between his lips. “That seems unlikely.”
“Not at all. You were the only handsome young man among the servants. That is what she once said.”
“You think I am handsome?”
Magdalen laughed a short, quick laugh. “I suspect you know you are handsome. Leastways, Katrin thought you were.”
After a pause, Steffan said, “I suppose she had little choice but to inform on us. My uncle probably brought her to Wolfberg from Arnsbaden, and she felt her loyalty was owed to him. He probably threatened to murder her family if she did not ferret out information for him.”
Tears rose to Magdalen’s eyes again. “I feel as if all anyone ever does is betray me.”
“I have not betrayed you.”
“I felt a bit betrayed when you took my letters but did not send them as you promised.”
After a slight pause, he said, “That was wrong of me. I deceived you. Please forgive me. The letter to Thornbeck has been sent now.”
“You did save my life tonight. That can make up for a lot of sins, I suppose. I forgive you.”
“Indeed, we are fortunate all the clanging of swords did not bring Hazen’s men upon us.”
“The forest is rather good at muffling sound. I suppose it is all the trees and ferns and moss and endless bushes. But you did save me.” She let the tone of her voice take on the seriousness she was feeling. “And I am very grateful.”
“And I am grateful God let me be here when you needed me.”
Did he long to reach out and hold her hand the way she was longing to, so much so that her hand ached? How good it had felt earlier when he’d held her in his arms, so tender and warm. If only he would hold her like that again.
But she must not long for that. She should be trying to think of what to do next. That was what her friend Avelina would do. “What is our plan, now that we’ve likely found what Lord Hazen wanted in our mines?”
“We can hope that Lenhart made it safely to your mother’s house, and that my courier is able to deliver your letter to Thornbeck—or that at least one or the other will reach their destinatio
n. Therefore, we should try to get back to Wolfberg to be there when they arrive.”
Magdalen thought for a moment. “That sounds reasonable.”
“And now I suppose we should go to sleep. We will need our wits about us tomorrow.”
She thought back on how she had wiped the blood from his face when he’d been beaten. Twice. How she had sympathized with him when he was afraid of small dark places. And now to hear the gentleness in his voice, the kindness and sympathy, it caused a strange tugging at her heart.
She should stop thinking these thoughts and go to sleep.
After what seemed like a long time, she heard Steffan’s breathing grow loud and even. Soon she drifted off to sleep as well.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Steffan awoke with a start. What was that sound? And why could he not see? Had his fire gone out in the hearth?
Then it came to him—sleeping in the servants’ quarters, trying to get his place back from his cousin and uncle, and being on the run with Magdalen.
“Magdalen? Are you there?”
The only answer was a small cry, then, “Steffan!”
“I’m here. What is wrong?” He scrambled to his knees and crawled to where he thought she should be. He reached out his hand and touched her.
Her hand grabbed his, and then he heard a tiny sob. He put his arms around her. Would she be shocked and pull away? She didn’t, but instead leaned her head on his shoulder. He could feel her breath on his neck.
“What is wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” He’d had enough of them to know how they could make your heart race and keep you awake for a long time afterward.
“Something was chasing me, a wild animal.” She pressed her face closer to his shoulder and took deep breaths. “I couldn’t get away. I tried to move. I think I kicked my foot against the wall and woke myself up.”
Holding her in his arms made his chest expand, and a strange sensation overtook him. She was holding him back, with her arms around him. The darkness seemed to whisper to him that he could kiss her and no one would know, that she would not push him away.
It was a dangerous thought.
“I know it sounds foolish, but that dream frightened me so much.”
“It’s not foolish at all. Dreams can be very frightening.” When he was very young, after he had fallen in the well, his sister had often comforted him.
“I knew it was a dream. After all, there are no animals that walk upright like a man and have red eyes and fangs that drip blood and saliva. I even kept telling myself to wake up.”
“I think those are the worst, when you’re telling yourself to wake up but you can’t. I’m sure you dreamed that because of what happened tonight.”
Gertrudt had told him once, after a servant girl burst into tears after he chastised her, “Women don’t want brutal honesty. They prefer a gentle, encouraging word. You had better learn that before you get married, or I pity your wife.” Did he sound gentle and encouraging?
“I’m sure you’re right. What do you do when you’re afraid?”
“Lately a Scripture passage keeps springing into my mind. ‘I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.’ ”
“Oh, I know that one. It’s in my Psalter. I especially remember this part: ‘The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.’ ”
“That’s excellent.” Hearing her quote Scripture made his heart leap, just as it had earlier when they were trying to get out of the mine. He’d never felt this way about any woman before. But then . . . his heart beat faster as an image of his distraught father invaded his thoughts, a memory of him sobbing over Steffan’s mother’s grave, and of the vacant look in his eyes in the weeks and months following her death.
If something happened to Magdalen, would he grieve as his father had?
“Do you know another passage of Scripture?”
He blinked to dispel the memory. “My tutor used to make me memorize scriptures. I liked this one: ‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the Lord Almighty. ‘What are you, mighty mountain? Before Zerubbabel you will become level ground.’ ”
“Oh, I like that. I wanted to ask you before, how do you know so much Scripture? I only know a few passages that the priest taught my sisters and me, besides what’s in my Psalter.”
“I only had a Psalter and a Book of Hours before I went to the university, but we studied all the Scriptures there. I even had the entire Bible translated for me in German.”
“Oh.”
She didn’t say anything else. Did she disapprove? Did it surprise her?
“I wish I could read it in German.”
He considered telling her that she could, and often, if she married him. But Magdalen might still be excited about not having to marry.
His heart sank a little.
“When all is well again in Wolfberg, you can stay as long as you like and read it.” There. His sister would be proud of him for his gentle invitation.
Magdalen swallowed the lump that came into her throat. He was talking of her staying in Wolfberg to read his Bible, as if she were no temptation to him at all, just a common guest like any other.
Why did she care? She’d promised herself she’d never care for him in that way. But the tears that pooled behind her eyes were proof that she had broken that promise.
At least he couldn’t see her.
“I think, when I am back in Mallin, I shall commission someone to translate a copy of the Holy Writ for me. I shall be rich enough after our mines are operating again.” She’d have her own Bible. She wouldn’t need to read his.
“Oh. Yes, you could do that.”
Why did he sound sad? Men were beyond comprehending.
They lay quietly in the dark. Why wasn’t he talking? Had she hurt his feelings by not accepting his offer to come and read his Bible?
“Is there anything you need?” he asked. “Can I get you your water flask?”
“Thank you, but I am well.”
“I’ll let you go to sleep then.” Neither of them spoke.
With the assurance that Steffan was nearby keeping watch over her, she drifted back to sleep, trying not to think about the man who had attacked her or the bad dream that had awakened her.
Magdalen and Steffan stood just outside the entrance with the sun shining down through the trees. The horses were grazing on what grass they could find, and Magdalen prayed Lord Hazen’s men would not find them at this mine, which was not on his map.
“That looks very bad.” Steffan’s tone and expression were both somber as he stared at the side of her forehead.
Magdalen carefully touched the bump on her head, then tried to cover it with her hair. “It doesn’t hurt.”
He gave her that quizzical, doubtful raise of one eyebrow.
“It feels sore if I touch it, but it doesn’t throb like it did last night. I am well now.” She smiled as cheerfully as she could.
“Are you sure you do not want to try to get to your home in Mallin?”
“I want to go to Wolfberg. If Lenhart was able to make it home without getting captured, then I don’t need to go. And if my letter reaches Thornbeck, Avelina and Lord Thornbeck will come to Wolfberg, and I want to be there when they arrive.”
“It will be dangerous.”
“I would rather face danger than explain things to my mother. So what is our strategy?”
“I think our goal is covertness rather than speed. But we do need to go into the village to replenish our supply of food and water. You can go with me, but someone might recognize you and draw attention to you, and Lord Hazen could be nearby. Will you be all right to stay here while I go?”
“I think so.”
“I will come back for you as soon as I can.” He stared at her, running a hand over his short beard. “I was about to promise you that I will come back, but the trut
h is, I could get captured by my uncle and his men. Many other things could happen, and I don’t want to leave you.”
Did he care about her so much?
He touched her shoulder, looking into her eyes.
She couldn’t stop staring at his lips. His bottom lip wasn’t swollen anymore. When had it healed? His mouth was very close, and coming closer.
She closed her eyes and held her breath. Was he going to kiss her? She should not let him, but . . . she wanted him to, and she would let him.
His lips touched her cheek. They were warm and gentle. He then pressed his cheek against hers before pulling her into an embrace, his arms around her and her face pressed against his shoulder.
It felt so good to feel his warmth, his tenderness . . . But did he not notice that she had closed her eyes and practically invited him to kiss her? And not on her cheek either.
What kind of silly, wanton girl was she? No. He could not know that she’d hoped he would kiss her, that she’d expected him to kiss her lips.
She took several breaths.
Oh, but he must have seen the way she closed her eyes, that she was still thinking about kissing him. Her face burned. What was wrong with her?
She pushed away from him.
Chapter Thirty
Steffan’s heart was still pounding after he decided at the last moment to kiss her cheek instead of her lips. Magdalen had pushed him away after he embraced her. Wise girl.
He hurried to pack their belongings on the horses. Magdalen helped by strapping the first bag to the back of her horse’s saddle.
He’d always been told, by his priest, his tutor, his grandmother, and even by Jacob, that he should never kiss a maiden. The only woman he should ever kiss was his betrothed on their wedding day. Kissing, they said, was for senseless, indiscreet men, for wayward sinners, and for the poor, who had few pleasures in life.
He had been sorely tempted several times in the last several hours, especially seeing how Magdalen had clung to him after he saved her the night before and after her nightmare. Not that it was her fault. He had wanted to comfort her. But to feel her breath on his neck . . . and then this morning, to see her stare at his lips and then close her eyes. He wouldn’t be breathing if he had not been tempted.
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