The Noble Servant

by Melanie Dickerson

  Magdalen pulled her arm free from his grasp. She was not used to anyone touching her without her permission or talking to her this way—at least, no one except her mother. If Steffan treated her like her mother, it was a good thing he didn’t want to marry her. She’d rather die than be married to someone for the rest of her life who treated her as if she didn’t matter, as if she didn’t deserve respect.

  “You have no right to forbid me from doing anything,” she said, her voice low as she fought off the anger that had stolen her breath. “I have a stake in this too.”

  He sighed. “Forgive me. I am in no position . . . You are right.”

  His contrite tone made her breath return and her heart stop pounding.

  “I am used to being in control,” he went on, “and I wanted to feel as if I could get myself out of this situation. Perhaps you are in a better position to look for the portrait. But even if one of us finds it, we should probably leave it where it is for now, as we have nowhere to hide it. We will need someone powerful to help us fight Lord Hazen and get our places back, so the portrait is only the first task.”

  He was staring her in the eye now. “I want you to be cautious. There is no need to feel any urgency about the portrait just yet. Take your time, and if you are absolutely certain Lord Hazen is not in his chamber and will not be returning soon, I suppose it will be acceptable if you take a quick look.”

  “I will be careful.”

  “And make sure his guard and personal servant are not nearby. They may be greater impediments than Lord Hazen himself.”

  “Of course. I shall be cautious of them as well.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “Please. Don’t get caught.”

  Her heart was a lump in her throat. Did he care so much about her? No, he probably just did not want Lord Hazen’s suspicions to be aroused.

  She slipped her hand out of his loose grasp. “Do not worry. I understand the seriousness of our situation. If I cannot safely enter and leave Lord Hazen’s chamber, I shall stay away.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  Agnes would not expect her for more than an hour, so Magdalen found one of the other servants who shared the fourth-level bedchamber with her. She was carrying sheets down the stairs from the third level.

  “Hilde, I would be pleased to help you change the linens on Lord Hazen’s bed. Is he still in his chamber?”

  Hilde halted on the steps and stared, mouth slightly ajar. “Lord Hazen? He is down in the Great Hall breaking his fast. I changed his linens already, but you can change them next week.”

  “Thank you, Hilde. But please don’t tell anyone I asked to do that. They might be jealous, or you might get scolded by Frau Clara. It can be our secret.”

  Instructing Hilde not to tell might have the opposite effect. But it was too late. Magdalen couldn’t take the words back.

  She ran up the steps to Lord Hazen’s chamber and paused in the corridor. No guard stood in front of the door, which was half open. She hurried toward it and peeked inside. No one was in sight, so she went toward the water pitcher, as if she were taking the pitcher to refill it. But no one called out to her, and she faced the rest of the room.

  The bed was enormous and draped all around with dark curtains. A couple of trunks stood near the bed, but would Jacob have hidden the portrait in one of Lord Hazen’s trunks? That wouldn’t make sense.

  She let her gaze travel around the room looking for possible hiding places. The thing that caught her eye was what was set against the wall. Stacks of small wooden coffers were laid out in the shape of a large rectangle. Most of the boxes would require a key to open. The small coffers were of varying sizes—some as big as three handbreadths and others as small as a black walnut with its green hull still on.

  They were too small to hide a large portrait, unless it was folded or rolled up, but Steffan had not said how large the portrait was. She had assumed it was several handbreadths tall, as befitted a wealthy duke, but some portrait painters preferred a smaller canvas.

  She decided to search the larger places first. She opened a trunk and rummaged around inside. Nothing except clothing. She ran her shaking hands around the sides and inside the lid, but found no secret compartments. She did the same with the second trunk. Still nothing.

  She stood and looked around, but the wooden coffers were drawing her to them. Magdalen walked across the room, intent on the little coffers. Even if the portrait was not here, she might find something important. She reached for one of the top boxes and the lid lifted easily. Inside was a foreign coin and three buttons. She closed it and opened the next one. It was larger and held a pair of shears one might use for clipping hair.

  Her hands were shaking harder than before as she reached for a large one. She shifted two smaller ones so she could lift the lid. Inside was a large book, a book she recognized.

  Her father’s mining book. She lifted it to find a second one. They’d both been missing since just after her father’s death. But how did they get here?

  “Magdalen.”

  She jumped and spun around, her heart pounding out of her chest. Steffan came through the door toward her.

  “Dear heavenly saints,” Magdalen whispered. “I nearly died of fright.”

  Steffan’s footfalls were silent as he walked toward her. He wasn’t wearing any shoes.

  “My father’s books.” Magdalen pointed down at the box.

  Steffan leaned over to inspect them. “Quickly. Let’s check all the boxes.”

  They lifted the lids of all the coffers on top, then moved them one at a time, but they began encountering locked coffers. In fact, many of the others were locked.

  As quickly and carefully as they could, they restacked the boxes as they were before.

  Magdalen whispered, “He could return at any moment, and you cannot let him see you.” She wanted to take her father’s books, but she had no good place to hide them. Besides, she didn’t want Lord Hazen to know someone had discovered them.

  “I’m not arguing,” Steffan said as they both hurried to the door and looked out.

  She did not see anyone, but the sound of footsteps resounded on the wooden stairs. Someone was coming.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She put a hand on Steffan’s back as they both rushed out the door and ran until they reached the servants’ stairs. Magdalen started to go up, but Steffan caught her arm and motioned her to follow him as he went down one flight of stairs. Then Steffan dashed into an open doorway and pulled her against the wall. He stood with his finger over his lips, still holding on to her arm.

  She was breathing hard but trying to stay quiet. The room they were in was dark, as the shutters on the windows were closed. She listened, very aware of Steffan’s nearness, his hand on her arm, his shoulder pressing against hers.

  “Did they see us?” she whispered.

  “Wait.”

  They stood silent and unmoving. In the dim light, his face was pale. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.

  “You are in pain,” she said.

  He said nothing for a moment. Then, “I am well enough.”

  They stood for several more moments. Finally, Steffan said, “He must not have seen us, or else my uncle would have his guards looking for us. I think we can go now.”

  Her breathing had finally slowed to normal as she followed Steffan out of the room and back up the stairs. He was moving slow and breathing hard. She followed him all the way up to the room he shared with the other menservants, then touched his arm.

  “Let me see you.” She got in front of him. At least he wasn’t bleeding anywhere, but his puffy lip was purple.

  “You should lie down.” She went and poured him a cup of water and brought it to him where he sat on his bed. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  He shook his head and drank the water.

  “You should not have been out of bed and engaging in dangerous activities.” She stood by his bedside.

  Steffan pulled the cup away from his mo
uth. “And I told you to be patient and wait for a good opportunity.”

  “It was a good opportunity. Hilde told me he was not in his chamber.”

  “Who is Hilde?”

  “The servant who changes his bed linens.”

  “And when does she change his bed linens?”

  “Every Wednesday. She said I could change them next week.”

  He was either looking down or his eyes were closed. “I am sorry for my ill temper. You did well. And if Lord Hazen did not notice us running down the corridor or see anything amiss in his chamber, then he will have no reason to suspect that anyone is sneaking around and searching through his things. He will not be on his guard, and we shall have an advantage. I thought of another place where I used to play as a child, so I will need to look there if it’s not in my parents’ old bedchamber.”

  “I can look in Hazen’s bedchamber next week when I change his linens, and we can also sneak in when we know he’s in the Great Hall or doing something else.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything for several moments.

  “I should go. Agnes will need me soon.”

  “Magdalen?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  She had a sudden urge to reach out and smooth the hair off his forehead, but of course, that would be foolish, not to mention awkward. How brave he had been to take a beating from that burly guard. What kind of duke would take the punishment for an old man who was stealing bread?

  But she didn’t want to let her heart soften toward him. He may have done a noble deed, but he was still a duke who had rejected her.

  Magdalen sat in Agnes’s bedchamber waiting for her return. She wanted to search for Steffan’s portrait, but she was afraid Agnes would come back and find her gone, and she wasn’t ready to anger her.

  With nothing to occupy her, her mind wandered to the letters she had written to Lady Thornbeck and her mother. Where were they? She had given them back to Steffan, but she wished she had asked him where he’d left them. He didn’t have a chance to collect his things before he ended up here in the castle.

  If Agnes or Lord Hazen found those letters and read what she had written—the truth about what was happening here in Wolfberg—she and Steffan would both end up dead.

  She needed those letters. She needed to send those letters! But how would she find a courier, and if she found one, how would she pay him?

  Voices drifted in from the corridor.

  “I don’t want you to be ashamed of me,” Agnes said.

  Magdalen tiptoed toward the door and listened.

  “How could I ever be ashamed of you?” a man answered.

  “I only care about what you think,” was Agnes’s breathy comment.

  No one said anything for several moments and Magdalen imagined that they were kissing. Ick.

  A bit later, the man said, “I have to go to my father now.”

  “You mean your uncle?”

  “Oh, of course. My uncle. He wants to speak with me.”

  So, Steffan’s cousin was still lying to his “wife” about who he was.

  “Will I see you later?”

  “Ja.”

  Magdalen started tidying up, moving to the other side of the room, picking up and putting away some articles of clothing that Agnes had left on the floor or draped over the furniture.

  “What are you doing in here?” Agnes said.

  Magdalen looked over her shoulder, pretending surprise. “I was just cleaning. You told me you would need me.”

  Agnes huffed a breath, as if undecided about whether she should scold Magdalen. But she said nothing as she wandered over to a cushioned chair and sat down. Magdalen peeked at her occasionally as she folded Agnes’s clothes. Agnes stared at the wall with a pucker between her eyes, her lips pouty. Finally, she got up and came toward Magdalen.

  “In two weeks Lord Hazen is giving my husband and me a wedding celebration and inviting the nobles from all over the northern regions. But your mother’s invitation will have to get lost. I cannot risk her being here, of course. And your friends, the Margrave of Thornbeck and his lady—that invitation will also be misdirected. My father has promised to take care of that.”

  Magdalen forced her expression to remain unchanged.

  “You are very quiet,” Agnes observed. “I heard that your imbecile friend, the shepherd who is so attached to you, was beaten by a guard again. You should keep a better watch over him.”

  What a cruel, mean-spirited . . . “What would your husband say if I were to tell him that you are not Lady Magdalen after all, but are only a stable worker’s daughter and a servant?”

  “If you dared to tell him such a lie, my father would—”

  “Your father the baron, who is now in heaven? Or your father the stable worker?”

  “He isn’t a stable worker anymore. Lord Hazen promoted him to be the assistant to the captain of the guard.” Agnes actually smirked.

  “So you don’t mind if your new husband discovers your deception?”

  Her smirk disappeared. “You won’t tell him. You wouldn’t want Lenhart or Stoffel to be harmed.” But fear shone from her eyes.

  “Do you care so much what your husband thinks? You know you aren’t really married to him, since you were married under a false name.” Should Magdalen tell Agnes that her husband wasn’t the real Duke of Wolfberg?

  “Please don’t tell him. He would be hurt if he found out I lied to him. And you do not understand how ruthless Lord Hazen is.”

  Magdalen felt a tiny pang of pity for Agnes at the anxiety on her face. Could Agnes actually care that Alexander would feel hurt at her deception? Probably she was only afraid of what would happen to her and Erlich when Lord Hazen discovered the truth.

  “You cannot tell him, Magdalen. Vow that you won’t.”

  “Very well. I won’t tell him—yet. But in exchange you must not allow any harm to come to either Stoffel or Lenhart, because as soon as you do, I will tell your husband everything.”

  “Well.” Agnes tossed her head, turning half away from Magdalen. “You have no proof. He won’t believe you.”

  “Perhaps I do have proof. Proof I can show to Lord Hazen.”

  Agnes’s lips parted and her chest rose and fell.

  “But you must tell your guards not to beat Stoffel again, and tell your father and the stable workers to be kind to Lenhart.”

  Agnes clamped her fists on her hips. “I cannot tell the guards not to beat some particular servant. What would they think? They might tell Lord Hazen. And I certainly can’t tell the stable workers what to do.”

  “And why not? You are the Duchess of Wolfberg. I should think it would be well within your authority.”

  “What would Alexander say? If I were to single out two obscure servants and tell the guards and other workers to give them special treatment, he would think I had lost my senses.”

  Magdalen shrugged. “If you do not wish to risk it, that is all well and good. I shall tell the duke and the baron the truth.”

  “Very well. I shall speak to the guards and the stable workers.”

  Magdalen had never done this sort of bargaining before. It felt foreign, but her situation, as well as that of Steffan and Lenhart, was desperate.

  She smiled. Avelina would be proud of her.

  “You were ruthless enough to steal my place in life, but Agnes, surely you are too shrewd to fall in love with the duke.”

  Agnes crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You probably think I’m evil for what I did to you. But it was all my father’s idea. He was tired of being told what to do. He said, ‘Why couldn’t we be the ones telling others what to do?’ He made it sound easy and as if we were entitled to do it. Why did you have all the privileges? What had you ever done to be the daughter of a baron? Nothing. But when I met my husband . . . I would do anything to keep him from discovering the truth.”

  Perhaps Agnes did love Alexander, in her own warped way. Was Alexander evil? Or was he on
ly a pawn of his father’s? Steffan called Alexander a whey-faced imbecile, and yet Agnes seemed to care what he thought of her.

  “You need me as well, to protect you.” Agnes made her voice sound gruff, but the fear lingered.

  As if Magdalen would ever accept help from Agnes. But if she and Steffan were not able to find his portrait so he could prove his identity, Magdalen would need help to prove that she was Lady Magdalen. She couldn’t expect to get that help from Agnes, however.

  Regardless, in two weeks guests would arrive in Wolfberg to celebrate the fake marriage of Agnes and Alexander.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Magdalen glanced around the dining hall while waiting in line for her food. Where was Steffan?

  He walked in, and she moved to the end of the line with him.

  “In two weeks,” she said softly, “there will be a wedding celebration. Lord Hazen will invite all the nobles, but Agnes’s father will make sure my mother and Lord Thornbeck will never receive their invitations.”

  He said near her ear, “It was very clever of you to discover that.”

  “I want to send my letters.” She glanced around to make sure they weren’t attracting attention to themselves by whispering together. “Where are they?”

  “I put them somewhere safe before I came into the castle.”

  “I can retrieve them and find a courier to deliver them.”

  “You might get caught leaving the castle. I’ll fetch them.”

  “Forgive me if I do not trust you.”

  Steffan stared down at her, a pained look in his eyes.

  They had reached the front of the line and took the proffered bowl of food. The people sitting in front of them were quiet and kept looking across at them, so neither Magdalen nor Steffan spoke as they ate. Then Katrin came and sat on the bench beside Steffan.

  “Are you well?” she asked. “I found out the man you saved was once a servant here at the castle. He was sick during planting season and was unable to plant his vegetable garden early enough. He and his wife were nearly starving. You probably saved his life.”