The Noble Servant Page 5

  The back of her neck prickled as she listened for him to call her back, to call her a liar, but she kept walking. Only silence loomed behind her.

  Her heart thumped hard as she hastened through the corridor. Was this the way to the stairs? She had no idea, but she kept going, trying to look confident. Finally, she came to a back staircase made of unpolished wood—the servants’ stairs. She practically ran to them and hurried up the narrow steps. When she reached the next floor, she had to decide whether to go up to the next floor or search this one. Not wishing to lose any time, she ventured out into the corridor.

  A long hallway stretched out in front of her with doors along either side. How could she know what she might find if she opened a door? Magdalen could be tossed out of the castle before she found the duke.

  This was madness. She had no idea where his bedchamber was, and he might still be in bed. But if he was up this early, he might be in the Great Hall breaking his fast, especially since he had a guest in the form of Lady Magdalen. Didn’t he realize she wasn’t the same woman he had danced with at Thornbeck? Or did he think Agnes was to be his bride?

  Magdalen walked a few more feet, listening, hoping to hear the duke’s voice. But she heard not a single sound.

  She turned and went back down the servants’ stairs. Still she saw no one. Apparently the inhabitants of Wolfberg Castle were not early risers. Otherwise, servants would be scurrying up the stairs bringing whatever Lord Hazen, “Lady Magdalen,” and the Duke of Wolfberg wanted or needed.

  At the bottom of the stairs she encountered another guard. She ducked her head and walked by him as if she knew exactly where she was going. Her throat went dry until she was past him.

  She found her way to the Great Hall. It was not hard to find since it was the largest room in the castle. She approached the door carefully and peeked inside—empty of people except for one maidservant cleaning the table. Did she dare ask if the duke would be coming down for breakfast?

  She could barely breathe at the thought of being ordered out, so she took a step back and pressed herself against the wall, but her gray underdress sleeves and white kerchief practically glowed, even in the small amount of light in the windowless corridor. She looked all around her, walked a few feet away, and ducked into a doorway.

  The room was dark, having no window or candle or torch. She stood just inside and watched the Great Hall door. Soon servants milled around, setting goblets and platters of bread on the table.

  Her hands trembled. Would she see the duke? Would he recognize her? What would he say? What should she say?

  She stood as still as she could, trying not to blink, but still no one came. The servants seemed to disappear as well.

  Magdalen leaned her shoulder against the door frame as she continued to watch the entrance to the Great Hall. She yawned, her sleepiness reminding her of the dream she had the night before, of ferocious wolves attacking the geese while she watched, helpless and horrified.

  One wolf raced toward her, snarling as he stared at her with hostile yellow eyes. Three or four other wolves attacked the geese, carrying them off amid the most awful honking.

  “Please stop.” It was futile to beg the hungry wolves not to take them. Finally, they left, having decimated her gaggle of geese. She sat down and cried in frustration, then awakened with tears under her eyes, that helpless feeling almost overwhelming her.

  But she was not helpless. She was here in the castle, ready to use her voice to stand up for herself and for Lenhart and all the people of Mallin. She would not let Agnes get away with stealing her identity.

  Voices and footsteps sounded on the flagstone floor. Finally, someone was approaching. She took a step back into the shadows of the room and clenched her hands together as she tried not to move.

  Two people came into view: Agnes—Magdalen could tell by her walk and the way she held her head and shoulders—and the other was a young man.

  The young man should be the Duke of Wolfberg, but somehow she wasn’t sure. He was tall, and he was thin, and the duke was both of those things, but something did not look right about him, though she was only seeing him from the side and behind.

  The couple entered the Great Hall. Agnes was talking and laughing, and hatred rose in Magdalen like bile in a sick person’s throat. It was so strong it seemed to choke her for a moment as she took a step toward the Great Hall.

  No. She could not think like that, especially not now. She pushed her rage away, ignoring Agnes and her high-pitched voice, and followed several feet behind them. She had to speak to the duke.

  It had been more than two years since they’d seen each other. Could he believe Agnes over her?

  But the longer she watched the opulently dressed man walk across the expansive floor, his heels clicking on the polished stone, the more she kept thinking . . .

  “That is not the duke.” She whispered the words into the empty corridor. His head was all wrong—too round—and his hair hung down on his neck, whereas the duke’s hair was perfectly cropped. Still, he could have changed his hair. But this man’s manner was hesitant and halting—the way he walked and the way he hovered next to Agnes and moved his hand toward her back, then pulled it away without touching her.

  This man’s hair was the same brown color, but the Duke of Wolfberg’s hair had been thicker and not as straight.

  Magdalen crept up to the doorway to the Great Hall and peered inside. Agnes and the young man seated themselves next to each other at the high end of the table on the dais. She could see his face now, and she was more confused than ever. He had regular, even features, but was the duke’s skin as white as this man’s? Were his lips as thin? She tried to picture the duke as he had looked when she had danced with him. Her spirit told her this was not the same man.

  “What are you doing here?”

  A man’s voice made Magdalen jump. She ducked her head, recognizing the duke’s uncle. She curtsied.

  “Get back to your duties.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Keeping her head down, Magdalen scurried away.

  Over her shoulder she saw Lord Hazen disappear into the Great Hall.

  Magdalen hurried toward the other side of the Great Hall where the servants would be coming and going.

  A young male servant carrying a pitcher came from the kitchen. He passed through the back doorway into the Great Hall. He had not noticed her. A few minutes later, he rushed back out.

  “Please, may I ask you a question?” Magdalen stepped quickly toward the young man.

  “Yes? What is it?” Interest seemed to light his eyes as he stopped and gave her his full attention, looking her over.

  “Can you tell me”—Magdalen kept her voice low—“who is that man sitting in the Great Hall?”

  “The young man is the Duke of Wolfberg and the older man is his uncle, Lord Hazen.”

  “Are you certain? Forgive me, but I need to know if that young man is definitely the Duke of Wolfberg.”

  “That is what they tell me. He just returned after being away from Wolfberg for two years.”

  “Were you here before he left?”

  “No.” He was smiling now as he seemed to be staring at her lips. “What is your name? I have not seen you before.”

  “Perhaps I shall see you at mealtime. Thank you for this information.” She backed away from him even as she spoke.

  “Come to the kitchen with me.”

  “I must go now. Back to my duties.” She turned and fled.

  A heaviness settled over her chest. What was happening here? Was there an imposter in the duke’s place?

  What could she do? Who could she turn to? She hurried back toward the door she had come in through before someone who knew all the indoor servants confronted her.

  The same guard who had let her into the castle was still guarding the door. He stared at her as she approached. He opened his mouth, as if about to say something.

  “Frau Clara sent me to fetch . . .” She smiled at him and let her voice trail off
as she reached the door. She left as the door shut behind her.

  She ran to the maidservants’ barracks. Inside the empty room, she knelt beside her bed. Tears leaked out as she put her hands over her face. “God, I’m so afraid . . . so alone. What do I do? Where do I turn?”

  She had put all her hope in finding the duke and convincing him she was Lady Magdalen. Now she did not even know who the duke was. Had the man at Thornbeck Castle two years ago been a pretender? Or was this man talking with Agnes in the Great Hall the imposter? And how could she ever prove her identity now?

  She had to get someone to help her, someone like the Margrave of Thornbeck who was married to her friend Avelina. They would certainly help her figure out what was going on here in Wolfberg and with the duke. But how would she get to them? They lived at least a two-day journey from Wolfberg to the southwest, while Mallin was to the southeast. It was not safe for her to travel alone, but who would she ask to accompany her?

  “God, help me. Please. I don’t want to be lost and alone, and I don’t want to be a goose girl.”

  Steffan approached the castle, a feeling of anticipation in his heart. He had not seen his home in nearly two years, and he had also not seen any familiar faces. What had happened to all of his loyal servants whom he had grown up with? People he loved and who loved him? According to Frau Binder, the indoor servants had been ousted from their positions, but perhaps he would at least get to see his favorite horse groomer, Ansel, who had taught him as a small child how to ride a horse.

  As he approached the stables, a man he did not recognize walked out and gave him a sullen stare.

  “I’m looking for Gregor, the man in charge of the outdoor servants.”

  “He’s at the blacksmith’s on the other side of the castle.” The middle-aged man spit on the ground and gestured with his arm.

  “Thank you. And I was wondering . . . is Ansel still working here at the stables?”

  “Never heard of any Ansel here.”

  Steffan nodded and moved on, walking across the bailey and around the castle. How could everyone he ever knew have vanished? Surely his servants had not all been killed, as Jacob had been. Were they living in the village below, struggling to survive? Or had his uncle banished them from the region?

  Magdalen had been watching the geese for a week. She was learning which of them were friendly and liked to have their backs stroked and which she should stay away from, like Gus.

  She walked behind the waddling birds as she guided them to their little shed, closed the door, and locked it. Then she trudged the rest of the way up the hill to the servants’ dining hall.

  As usual Katrin joined her as they lined up to receive their food. “There is a new shepherd.” She whispered loud enough for Magdalen to hear over the rest of the servants’ voices. “I think he is very handsome. See him there?”

  Magdalen turned to see a man walking along the far wall of the dining hall, then finding a seat at the table. She couldn’t help but stare. He looked so familiar. He looked like . . . the Duke of Wolfberg.

  Could he possibly be the duke? This man had a beard, and he wore coarse woolen clothing, the kind poor peasants and outdoor servants wore. Besides that, he seemed larger, broader in the shoulders, and more muscular. It was certainly possible that the duke might have grown a bit larger, since he was only nineteen when she met him, and he could have grown a beard, but he would not be working as a shepherd.

  She tried not to stare, especially since Katrin found the man handsome.

  They got their food, and Katrin led her to a seat not far from the new shepherd. Again, Magdalen could not help looking at him. Did he have the same eyes? The same brown hair? The same mouth? It was so difficult to remember exact features from two years ago. Were his mannerisms the same? He did sit very tall and straight, reminding her of the duke.

  Besides the fact that he wore the clothing of a shepherd, he had a scowl on his face, an angry wrinkle between his brows. The Duke of Wolfberg had nearly always been smiling, a kind, mild expression on his face. Still, that did not prove it wasn’t him.

  The man’s head was down as he stared at his food. Tonight was frumenty. It was bland and grainy, similar to thick pea soup, but Magdalen was getting used to the meatless meals. No doubt it resembled what her people were eating.

  “What are these bits that are sometimes in our food?” Magdalen pointed at a small piece of something fatty on her spoon.

  “Oh, that is bacon,” Katrin said. “Have you never had it?”

  She shook her head. “It tastes quite good in the evening stews. I’d like to have a bowl of only bacon someday.”

  Katrin laughed. “So would we all.”

  Magdalen tried to eat the rest of her food without attracting attention. She had found that one or two of the male servants could be aggressive in the way they asked her to accompany them somewhere in the evenings after their duties had been attended to.

  The maidservant on Katrin’s other side started talking to her, and Magdalen focused on finishing her meal. When she was almost done, Katrin turned to her and grabbed her arm.

  “Maggie! I almost forgot to tell you. Brigitta says that Frau Clara said that the duke is getting married in a week. We shall have a share of the feast.” Katrin’s eyes were wide and bright.

  Magdalen’s stomach sank. Would the duke marry Agnes? Would Magdalen be doomed to tend geese for the rest of her life? And where was the man she had met in Thornbeck, the one who claimed to be the Duke of Wolfberg? Had this shepherd been masquerading as a duke, as Avelina had pretended to be an earl’s daughter?

  She stared down at her bowl and its contents. Life had become so confusing ever since she left Mallin. She’d been so glad to get away, to feel as though she was about to live a full life, the life of an adult, away from her mother and her cruel words, which often felt like a load of bricks falling on her shoulders. But at least she’d had food, her own bed, and her loving sisters in Mallin. There she had been Lady Magdalen, an important person everyone knew.

  Now she felt as if the ground had given way beneath her and the world had tipped upside down.

  She had to do something. She could not continue taking care of geese and pretending to be an uneducated servant girl. Tomorrow she would not be quite so tired. Tomorrow she would think in the manner of her brave friend Avelina, and Magdalen would come up with a plan of action.

  Chapter Seven

  Steffan clenched his fists as he neared the door on the back side of the castle. The door was locked, as always. He used the key, quickly opened the door, and put the key back in his pocket.

  Time was running out. It was only a few days before Alexander would wed Lady Magdalen. Steffan made his way to the back stairs. He climbed the empty staircase to the third floor, to his own bedchamber. To keep up the farce, would Lord Hazen have given his son the duke’s bedchamber?

  Steffan walked straight to his own door and opened it. He stepped inside.

  The room was completely dark. He strode to the window. If Alexander was here, Steffan welcomed the confrontation. He could hardly wait to demand Alexander admit to him what he and his father had plotted against him.

  He could see by the moonlight coming through the window, but no one was in the chamber. It looked just as it had when he left it. He walked to the trunk against the wall and opened it. Steffan’s clothing and belongings still lay inside. Nothing was out of place and nothing had been added to the room.

  If Alexander was not sleeping here, then where was he sleeping?

  Steffan left the room and looked up and down the hallway. He kept the hood over his head in case he ran into his uncle or his cousin.

  He heard voices and footsteps.

  Steffan ducked back into his bedchamber, leaving the door open just a crack.

  The voices came closer. One was his cousin Alexander, he was sure of it. The other was a woman. They must have stopped before passing Steffan’s hiding place. He could not make out what they were saying.


  A third set of footsteps approached. “Ah, the two lovers await their forthcoming wedding,” a voice boomed. His uncle, Lord Hazen. He’d know that loud, obnoxious voice anywhere.

  “Father, don’t embarrass Lady Magdalen.”

  Lady Magdalen. How could she be fooled into thinking his chicken-hearted cousin was him?

  Lord Hazen blustered on. “I’m not embarrassing her. She is as ready to have the vows said as you are. Look at her grin!”

  Did Lady Magdalen believe Alexander was the duke? Perhaps she was too afraid to try to escape him and Lord Hazen.

  Steffan took the chance of opening the door a bit more and putting his head out so he could see.

  The three of them were in the corridor several yards away, standing in front of a bedchamber door. He would wait until Alexander and his father were gone and then Steffan would slip into her room and assure her that she did not have to marry his cousin. He’d sneak her out of the castle and take her to safety, and then he’d figure a way to save both of them.

  Soon Lord Hazen’s voice tapered off. Steffan stuck his head out again and—Lady Magdalen was kissing Alexander!

  His stomach roiled. What madness was this?

  He had not thought she could be so easily duped by Alexander. How could she kiss such a whey-faced, long-necked, fox-nosed man like him?

  He found himself disliking the girl. Even though he had not intended to marry Lady Magdalen—his uncle had no doubt forged his name and sealed the proposal letter with his signet ring—Steffan had found her interesting and lovely when they talked together at Lord Thornbeck’s ball. They had read a lot of the same books, and she had a kind, compassionate manner. Indeed, he’d spent most of the ball at Thornbeck talking with her.

  Finally, Alexander’s shuffling footsteps passed right by where Steffan stood hidden behind his own bedchamber door. He longed to reach out, clap a hand over Alexander’s mouth, drag him into the room, and threaten him with immediate death if he did not reveal his true identity.