“The baby is asleep. Don’t worry.” He winked at her.
She smiled, his oft-spoken phrase sending a jolt to her heart.
“Let me hold the baby.” Steffan reached for the precious bundle.
Magdalen helped transfer her to his arms, carefully making sure her head was supported.
Steffan held her against his chest, staring down into the baby’s face. “We will be good parents, do you not think?”
“I think so.”
“I think so too.” Avelina came up behind them.
The four of them, plus the baby, walked down the stairs.
Steffan looked around the Great Hall, where his great-grandfather’s sword and battle-ax were prominently displayed, as well as the banner and shield bearing his family’s colors and coat of arms.
Steffan was back in his familiar place at the head of the table. Lord and Lady Thornbeck and Magdalen sat in the nearest seats around him, while Alexander and Agnes, who had been released from the dungeon, sat at a lower table with Lenhart.
How strange it was that Alexander, the person who had seemed his biggest enemy, had decided to help him and actually had a hand in saving their lives. Steffan’s cynical side said it was due mostly to his knowing that Lord Hazen would not get away with what he had done, and Alexander had helped Steffan and Magdalen in an effort to save himself. But now that he knew what it felt like to be in love, he couldn’t help believing that love had played some part in Alexander’s decision to do the right thing.
Thinking of love made him turn his eyes on Magdalen. She was radiant in a pink gown and pink ribbons in her hair. She smiled nearly every moment, but that was mostly due to having Lady Thornbeck here with her. But when Magdalen turned her glowing countenance on him and touched his arm, he somehow felt taller.
Steffan had Lenhart brought up to the dais, and he stood beside him and announced that he had something to say to all their guests—the Baroness of Mallin, Lord and Lady Thornbeck, and all of the knights and guards they had brought with them.
“This young man, Lenhart”—Steffan set his hand on the boy’s shoulder—“risked his life in loyalty to his mistress, Lady Magdalen. He was able to explain, even without the ability to speak aloud, all the treachery that was taking place in Wolfberg. He is the one who brought help, and Lady Magdalen and I will always be grateful to Lenhart.”
Everyone cheered, and smiles beamed on every face. People congratulated Lenhart as he walked back to his seat, clapping him on the back and raising their cups of wine in salute.
When the meal was nearly over, Steffan leaned closer to Magdalen as she gave him her full attention.
“What will happen to Lord Hazen, Erlich, and Alexander and Agnes?” she asked. “Have you spoken about it?”
“Yes. Lord Thornbeck and I discussed it—your mother also had an opinion. We will send Lord Hazen to the king’s castle in Prague to let him decide his punishment. It could be some time before the king returns, as he is visiting the pope in Avignon, but he should be secure in the king’s dungeon until then. We will have Erlich banished, and we will ask the king to pardon Alexander and Agnes since they helped us. If the king strips Alexander of his property in Arnsbaden, I will make sure he is not destitute, at least.”
“That is kind of you. What did my mother think should be done?”
“She thought Lord Hazen should be made to walk in leg irons all the way to Prague and that Alexander and Agnes should be locked in the dungeon until the king pronounced their punishment.”
“Oh my.”
“You are not much like your mother, are you?”
“No.” She giggled. “And Katrin?”
“She’ll be sent back to Arnsbaden with most of Lord Hazen’s other servants—unless you have another preference.”
“No, I don’t want her to be punished, even though she did betray us to Lord Hazen. At least she warned us.”
He smiled and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “I want to ask you something.”
“Oh? Another interesting proposal like the one from earlier today?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He cleared his throat. “The guests who are coming in a few days will be expecting a wedding celebration.”
“Shall you let Alexander and Agnes have their wedding celebration after all? That is generous of you.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then saw the smile on her lips. “You are very amusing. I was about to ask you . . .”
“Ask me what?” A twinkle glittered in her eye.
“Will you marry me while the guests are here?”
“Yes, I believe I will.”
He liked this flirty, self-confident, cheerful Magdalen.
She looked behind him. “Is that your father’s portrait up there on the wall?”
“Yes, it is.”
“He was almost as handsome as you.”
He squeezed her hand under the table, then winked at her. “Yes, it is fortunate that Lord and Lady Thornbeck were able to recognize me.”
“And that I was here to vouch for you?”
“Yes.” He leaned down and kissed her.
A thought suddenly came to him—the other place where he used to play as a small child. “I just realized where my portrait is.”
“What? Where?”
“In Gertrudt’s room.”
Magdalen leaned over and told Lady Thornbeck, who told Lord Thornbeck. And when the meal was over, the four of them went up to his sister’s room to see if his guess was correct.
During the meal Lord and Lady Thornbeck’s baby had been put to bed, and Magdalen and Lady Thornbeck were talking softly, following behind the men on the stairs.
Lord Thornbeck had been giving Steffan advice about how to help Wolfberg recover from what his uncle had done, to build up his guard once again, and to acquire more knights and soldiers to defend Wolfberg.
“I hope you will stay,” Steffan said, “for as long as you feel comfortable. I very much value your opinions and advice to me, especially now that I no longer have my steward, Jacob.”
Lord Thornbeck stopped and looked him in the eye in the light of the torches on the wall. “I shall be happy to help you in every way I can, not only for your sake, but for the sake of the Holy Roman Empire.”
“Thank you, Lord Thornbeck.” The sincerity in his tone and eyes touched something in Steffan’s heart. If he’d had an older brother, he’d have wanted him to be like this man.
They reached his sister’s door and they all went inside.
“What makes you think the portrait is here?” Magdalen asked.
“I used to play with my sister in here. There’s a little door behind her bed.” He walked to her bed, which was in the corner against the wall. “Jacob used to find us here, hiding and play-acting our own pretend stories, and when I was older he would talk about what good friends Gertrudt and I were, how we made up such interesting stories.” He pulled aside a curtain and revealed a decoratively carved wooden door.
“What is in there?” Magdalen asked.
He turned the little handle and opened it. “It’s a closet where my sister kept her toys and favorite things.” It was completely dark inside.
Lord Thornbeck went into the stairwell and returned with a torch. He held it while Steffan stooped slightly to go inside. He moved aside some old toys, and in the back against the wall he found something large and rectangular covered with a velvet cloth. He took hold of it and brought it out.
Magdalen gasped.
He pulled the velvet cloth off, and there it was. Jacob had hidden it where his uncle would never look—Gertrudt’s storage closet.
Magdalen took it from him and held it up. “It is very like you, I must say, though you look a bit younger—just as you did two years ago.”
She and Lady Thornbeck discussed the portrait, comparing it to him, and how clever a hiding place it was.
Steffan had been stripped of everything for a short season, but it turned out for his good: so he might discover love
and life and joy, and so God could take away all his fear.
A week later, when all the guests that Lord Hazen had invited arrived, Steffan and Magdalen made the walk down the castle mount to the Wolfberg Cathedral to say their marriage vows on the church steps before the priest. Clouds had overspread the sky from early morning, but as they walked down the street toward the church, the sun came out, the clouds continued to disperse, and soon it was a bright, clear day.
Magdalen gazed up at her soon-to-be husband and sighed.
Steffan waved to several people as they walked toward the church. He had managed to round up and bring back almost all of his old servants and guards whom Lord Hazen had sent away. His smile was genuine, and the crease between his eyes was seldom visible anymore. It was completely gone today.
They held each other’s hand during the speaking of the vows. She tried to listen to what the priest was saying, but her thoughts kept wandering to Steffan and what he was thinking, to how thankful she was to be marrying him.
When the priest declared them man and wife, she kissed her husband to seal their marriage, and the crowd cheered. They partook of the Holy Eucharist with the people of Wolfberg, with Lord and Lady Thornbeck, and with several other noble men and women from the northern regions who had been invited.
Once they were outside the church in the bright sunshine again, Magdalen caught sight of a group of wild geese flying overhead in a perfect V shape. One of the birds honked to keep the others following in perfect formation.
Magdalen wondered if those birds felt the way she had once felt—following and obeying but always feeling as if she was going in the wrong direction. But now it seemed all of her fears had come to naught and her true direction was clear. And through every hardship, she could be still and know the One who was guiding her way.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank my editors, Becky Monds and Julee Schwarzburg, who took a very rough draft and helped shape it into something a whole lot better. So thank you, Julee and Becky and all the copy editors and others who helped to polish it up.
I want to thank my oh-so-competent and hardworking agent, Natasha Kern. She is a sweetheart to me, and I am grateful to her. May God bless her always.
I want to thank my uncle, Roy Lawrence, who helped me with my questions about raising geese. I’m not the only person who thinks he knows a lot about a lot!
As always, thanks to my family, Grace, Faith, and Joe, for helping me brainstorm, and to friend and brainstormer Terry Bell. And I want to send another big shout-out to my readers, who encourage and support me in ways that I truly cherish. Thank you all.
And thanks to God, who gives every good and perfect gift. His light shines in the deepest darkness.
An Excerpt from
The Silent Songbird
Chapter One
Summer 1384. Berkhamsted Castle, Hertfordshire, England.
Servants may marry whomever they want, but a king’s ward has no freedom at all.”
Evangeline broke off the song she was singing. A lump rose in her throat. Through her open window facing the castle bailey she watched the servants talking and laughing and milling about, finishing their morning chores.
A kitchen maid was drawing a bucket of water at the well in the center of the bailey. A young man approached her.
Alma gave him the dipper, and he lifted it to his lips.
The stranger’s hair was brown and fell over his brow at an angle. He was tall, and even from Evangeline’s bedchamber window on the third level of the castle, she could see he was handsome, with a strong chin and a sturdy stance.
He passed the water around to the other men who had followed him to the well. Evangeline leaned out the window to try to catch what they were saying.
“Thank you,” the man said as he handed the dipper back to the servant. He wore the clothing of a peasant—a leather mantle over his long linen tunic.
“Where are you from?” Alma asked.
“Glynval, a little village north . . . brought . . . to sell . . . and wheat flour . . .” Evangeline couldn’t make out all the words.
The man wasn’t like most peasants. Not that she had seen very many. But this man held himself upright with an air of confidence and ease she had rarely seen before.
Evangeline leaned out a little farther, hanging on to the casement. The man was moving on as the cart started forward, Alma still staring after him. He turned to say something to the other men and suddenly looked up at Evangeline.
“Evangeline!”
She jumped backward, her heart crashing against her chest.
“What are you doing, hanging out the window like a common—? Don’t you know better than to behave that way?” Muriel hurried to the open window and peered out, then closed it and clamped her hands on her hips.
“Am I not allowed to look out the window? I’m no better than the prisoners in the dungeon. You know, I feel much pity for them. I daydream sometimes about releasing them and running away with them.” She tipped her face to the ceiling as if turning her face to the sun and closed her eyes. “How good it would feel, walking free through the fields of wildflowers I read about in a poem once, breathing the fresh air, free to go wherever I want.”
“You think your jests are amusing,” Muriel said, “but when the king of England is your guardian and is planning your wedding to a wealthy nobleman, you should not expect pity. Envy is more likely.”
“Wedding? What do you mean?” Evangeline’s heart seemed to stop beating. “What do you know?”
“It is only gossip, but it is said that the king has promised you to one of his closest advisors.”
“Who?”
“The Earl of Shiveley.”
Evangeline reached out and placed a hand on the stone wall as the room seemed to teeter from side to side. How could the king betroth her to him? Lord Shiveley was old—almost forty—and Evangeline was barely seventeen. She had only seen Lord Shiveley a few times when he had accompanied the king to Berkhamsted Castle. He stared at her in a way that made her stomach sick, and he always managed to put a hand on her—on her shoulder or her back, and even once at her waist. She would always writhe inwardly and step away from him as quickly as she could.
Besides that, it was rumored that Lord Shiveley’s first wife had died under mysterious circumstances.
Evangeline shuddered.
“The king and Lord Shiveley will arrive tonight, and you must be ready to greet them.” Muriel bustled over to the wardrobe where Evangeline’s best dresses were kept. She opened it and rummaged through her clothing. “You should wash your hair. I have ordered your bath sent up, and I shall—”
“Muriel, stop!” Evangeline stared at the woman who had been her closest companion and confidant for ten years. Though Muriel was nearly old enough to be her mother, she could not be so daft.
Muriel stared back at her with a bland expression. “What is it?”
“Surely you must see that I cannot marry that man.” Her voice was a breathy whisper.
“My dear,” Muriel said, not unkindly, “you know, you have always known, you must marry whomever the king wishes you to.”
Evangeline’s throat constricted. “The king does not care a whit about my feelings.”
“Careful.” Muriel’s gaze darted about the room. “You mustn’t risk speaking against the king. You never know who might betray you.”
“I shall tell the king to his face when he arrives that I shall not marry Lord Shiveley, and it is cruel to ask it of me.”
“You know you shall do no such thi—”
“I shall! I shall tell him!”
“Evangeline. You are too old to get in such a passion. Sit down and calm yourself. Breathe.”
Evangeline crossed her arms over her chest and ignored Muriel’s order. She had to think of some way to escape. Women often married men they did not particularly want to marry, but she could not marry Lord Shiveley. She was not like other women. They might accept unfair treatment, but Evangeline
would fight, argue, rebel against injustice. Other women conformed to what was expected of them. Perhaps they did not dream of freedom and a different life.
“You must listen to reason,” Muriel said. “Lord Shiveley is rich and can give you your own home. You will finally have the freedom to do whatever you wish. You will have servants and your own gardens and even your own horse. Many ladies enjoy falconry and hunting. You can have as many dresses and as much jewelry, or anything else your heart desires.”
Only if her husband allowed it.
Muriel knew her well enough to know what might sway her. But a husband did not give freedom. A husband made rules. He took away his wife’s control and replaced it with his own. A wealthy, powerful husband could order his wife around, beat her, do whatever he wished to her, and she could do naught.
Peasants, if they were not married and were free men and women, might be poor, but was it not a hundred times better to be free than to have fancy clothes and expensive food and servants to do everything for you? Freedom and independence were worth more than all the gold a castle could hold. Freedom to choose whom to marry, freedom to walk about the countryside unhindered, to drink from a cool, clear stream and gaze up into the trees, to ride a horse and eat while standing up. To bathe in the river and laugh and sing at the top of her voice—that was freedom.
And now King Richard was about to force her to marry an old, disgusting man.
“But you said it was gossip.” Evangeline began to breathe easier. “Perhaps it was only idle talk.”
Or if it was true, once she was able to talk to King Richard, he would understand. They’d been friends since they were very young, being cousins and only six months apart in age. Although she had not seen much of Richard in the past few years, surely he would listen to her pleas.
Her stomach sank. She was fooling herself. Richard would not listen to her if he had made up his mind. His loyalty to his advisors came before any childhood friendship he might still feel for Evangeline.
“At least Lord Shiveley is taller than you are.” Muriel arched her brows.
The Noble Servant Page 26
