“Alexander was a sickly child and very pampered by his nurses. On the rare occasions we were together as children, he was forever getting some slight injury and blaming me for it. I did not have a good opinion of my cousin.”
“When was the last time you saw him, before you went away to Prague?”
“About three years ago, before my grandmother died, Alexander and Uncle Hazen came for a visit. When they left, my grandmother told me never to trust my uncle. ‘He is greedy,’ she said. ‘Greedy men are dangerous men.’ But she could be rather cynical sometimes, and it never entered my mind that my uncle would try to kill me.” After a moment he went on. “During that visit I remember I actually felt sorry for my cousin.”
“Why?”
“He seemed afraid of my uncle, defeated by him, as if he could not stand up to him and was not allowed to have his own opinions or do what he wanted.”
“That is sad.”
“But I should not have felt sorry for him. I should have told him what an immature child he was for not standing up for his own desires and goals. Now he’s his father’s puppet in stealing my inheritance.”
“It is very unjust.” But what bothered Magdalen the most, when she allowed herself to think about it, was how her usurper, Agnes, had found love with Alexander. How unfair that they were enjoying married love when Magdalen, even when she did get her identity back, would be unlikely to ever be loved in marriage.
But she certainly did not plan to talk to Steffan about that.
“No more unjust than what was done to you. What did you say Agnes’s father’s name was?”
“Erlich. He’s one of Lord Hazen’s assistants, so he got what he wanted as well.”
“Sometimes it seems the wicked prosper more than the righteous, but I have to believe that they will get what they deserve eventually. And in our cases it will be in less than two weeks.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes, but not unless we stay out of sight of Lord Hazen and his men. I think these horses are well enough, since I have no hay or oats or grass to give them. Let us lead them farther in so they will be less noticeable, and we shall sit where no one passing by can see us.”
They did as Steffan suggested, and she found herself sitting with her back against the rock wall of the mine beside Steffan.
“Did you go away to Prague at your uncle’s urging? I suppose that was when he got rid of everyone who would know that Alexander was not you.”
“He did not urge me to go at first. I wanted to go . . .” His forehead creased as he stared through the opening, into the rainy night. “I had a notion that I could help my people prosper if I went to the university. We were already prosperous, but I thought I could bring new sources of income to our town and region if I increased my knowledge.”
“That was very noble of you.”
“And I selfishly wanted to travel and learn things my tutors couldn’t teach me. My uncle was supportive. I thought he sincerely wanted me to help my people. Now I know he just wanted me out of the way. How imprudent I was.”
“You could not have known. Wicked people are good at being deceptive, I imagine.”
“That’s true enough.” He seemed to rouse himself and turned his body toward her. “What about you? How did you end up with a mercenary servant who would steal your position? She must know she won’t get away with it.”
“Agnes said it was her father’s idea, but I never would have thought he could do something so evil. He’s been with our family since before I was born.”
He was looking down at her so intently that it made her heart flutter.
Foolish girl. He does not fancy you.
“Did they harm you?”
“No, they just threatened Lenhart and me if I did not do as they said. I wanted to fight back, but I had no weapon. I felt helpless and angry because I did not know how to stop them.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You had no idea they would do such a terrible thing, and understandably so. You could not have been prepared.”
“I suppose not.” He couldn’t know how much it meant to her to hear him say, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“And were you relieved that you did not have to marry?”
“I . . .” She glanced up at him. He was watching her closely with those dark-brown eyes. Why would he bring that up? “I was willing to marry you because I thought it would help my people. I hoped you would increase their prosperity.”
“So you were sacrificing yourself for your people.”
“Most men think women are eager to marry anyone who asks them.”
“I would never assume such a thing.”
“Oh, I think you did assume that about me.”
“Well, you were crying when you saw that your servant was marrying the supposed Duke of Wolfberg.”
He had her there. Or perhaps not. “I was crying because I did not know what to do. I was a goose girl, another person had taken my position, my authority, my freedom, and even my clothes. I suppose you think I was desperate to marry any man claiming to be a duke.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Forgive me. You had many better reasons to cry than not marrying me. Or my look-alike cousin. In fact, I’ll be the first to say that I was a selfish, spoiled young man who was easily led by my cunning uncle.”
He ended with a sad look on his face, but she could not help jabbing him a little. “Was?”
“You are very amusing.” He lifted just one brow, and one corner of his mouth followed. “I believe I have learned a lot about sacrifice and empathy since having everything I’ve ever known stripped away from me.”
“You still had a heavy purse to buy whatever you needed.” She wasn’t sure why she was goading him. Was she bitter about his rejection?
A slight smile graced his lips and he nodded. “Perhaps I would have learned even more had I been poor as well.”
Why was he being so humble? It was making her want to scoot away from him, even as it drew her to him. Was he trying to impress her? Well, she would not fall for his charm.
“I believe”—he leaned toward her, an intense expression in his eyes—“that I have learned to value the truly valuable, and what is truly lasting and valuable is not money.”
“Oh!” she cried out as the realization struck her as if she had just run into a stone wall. “Do you know what this means?”
“What?” His gaze fastened on hers.
“Now that we have found the iron ore in the mine, I don’t have to marry in order to provide for my people! They will be able to start mining again! Oh, and they can build one of those new furnaces you were talking about. Mallin will be a prosperous place again, more prosperous than before.”
As she talked, the smile on his face faded.
“I won’t have to marry some wealthy duke or baron, some old man I barely know.” She laughed and clapped her hands. “Are you not glad for me?”
But Steffan did not look glad at all. He leaned away from her and no longer met her eyes. “Oh yes, of course.”
But his lack of enthusiasm could not dampen her joy. Mallin would be prosperous again!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Steffan leaned back against the wall of the mine and watched the joy play across Magdalen’s face.
He had not thought for a moment that once he was a duke again and in his rightful place, she might not want to marry him. Now, to see her so joyful about not having to marry at all . . .
She didn’t need him, and she obviously did not want him either.
He closed his eyes. He was tired. He was slightly cold and his hair was still wet. He was stuck in a mine running from his evil uncle. And now Magdalen, the girl he had thought was so sweet and beautiful, the girl he imagined would love to marry him if he would have her, was thrilled she would not have to.
Of course she was glad. He had rejected her. He’d told her, when she finally realized he was the duke and that his cousin was an imposter, that he had never intended to marry her.
But she had not been in love with him. She’d barely known him and had not seen him in two years. He could see that she felt hurt by what he’d said, but she shouldn’t have. And now that he knew her better, had been through so much with her and had seen her compassionate nature . . .
After bragging about all he had learned since his selfish days as a spoiled duke, he did not want to look like a selfish, spoiled duke now. Of course she was glad that this discovery would help her people.
“Tell me more about what you learned.”
“What?” His eyes popped open.
“At the university. You said you learned about mining and iron ore and a new way of melting it.”
“Oh. Of course.”
While the old Steffan wanted to be angry with her for not wishing to marry him, and the old Steffan might have even been gruff with her, how would the new, less selfish, less spoiled Steffan respond? It was sad that he had to think this hard about it. But the way she was staring at him, with that sweet smile of hers lifting her perfect lips . . . he wanted to be better than the old Steffan.
He started telling her about mining iron ore, about the process of melting it and turning it into iron tools and weapons. While he talked about things other young women might find dull and tiresome, she nodded or asked a question every so often. Her green eyes sparkled with such interest. Perhaps she was interested in more than just mining. Perhaps she was also interested in him.
But that was only the arrogant Steffan rearing his head.
“It’s quite dark now,” Magdalen said. “The rain has lessened too.”
“We’d better try to sleep. But before we do that we should move deeper into the mine so Lord Hazen and his men can’t see us if they pass by with a torch.” His stomach sank even as he said the words. The last thing he wanted to do was move farther into a dark mine. But he also didn’t want to die at his uncle’s hands and cause the death of this innocent lady.
“I am very tired.” She yawned and covered her mouth. “But first I have to . . . go out and take care of something.”
“Of course. Don’t go far, and keep an eye out for Lord Hazen and his men.”
She nodded, left her blanket on the floor, and hurried out the opening. She stepped over the fallen tree and disappeared into the darkness. Overhead the clouds were dissipating, but there was very little light.
He set about gathering blankets for their makeshift beds, trying to think how he might make Magdalen’s sleeping spot as comfortable as possible.
Where was she? She was taking a long time. It was still raining a bit so he would have thought she’d be quick.
He dropped the blankets and raced to the entrance. He stepped over the fallen tree trunk and looked all around. All kinds of man-eating animals resided in the forests of these regions of the Holy Roman Empire. Bears, wolves, wild cats—all were known to attack people. In addition, Lord Hazen and his men were probably nearby.
“Magdalen?” he whispered as loudly as he dared. No answer.
He went back into the mine and retrieved the sword he had brought with him. Then he came out with his sword drawn, his jaw clenched, ready to defend her.
Magdalen moved to find some bushes to squat between, far enough away from the entrance of the mine. Leaves and limbs pulled at the tunic and hose she was wearing, though she tried to avoid them as best she could to keep from getting her dry clothes wet.
Just as she finished taking care of her needs, she realized she was near the Hünengräber, or giant’s tomb, which was in a small clearing in the forest that she had often visited when she was growing up. In the waning light, she could just make out the large boulders set up like a tomb in the middle of the forest.
The Hünengräber had been there since before anyone could remember. Hegatha had always warned her never to disturb it or even go near it. Magdalen asked her, “Why not?”
“It’s where the giants left their treasure, and now it’s guarded by fairies and trolls. I was told when I was a child, and now I’m telling you—nothing good comes of disturbing a giant’s tomb.”
Magdalen obeyed, for she never liked to incite her nurse’s displeasure.
“But what a superstitious notion that is,” she whispered now as she looked at it, a superstition left over from the ancient country’s heathen ways.
She drew nearer to where the huge stones were stacked and placed so as to create a little aboveground tunnel leading under the largest stone, which lay across the tops of the long, upright boulders that stood on either side.
As she left the path and went around to the back side of the giant’s tomb, an opening led underground, with smaller flat stones holding back the earth, as it were, leaving a space large enough for someone to walk into if they stooped. The ground at the mouth of it was covered in leaves and weeds, but the interior was too dark to tell what lay inside.
Magdalen had no time to go exploring a giant’s tomb, with Steffan waiting for her and a misting rain falling. She turned to head back to the mine when something growled.
A long, white-striped head poked out of the giant’s tomb. Magdalen jumped back. “Don’t worry, Mr. Badger,” she said as soothingly as she could as she backed away from him. “I am going. Moving away . . . See?”
The badger made another sound, slightly less threatening than his growl, then waddled away.
Magdalen moved back up the little mound to the trail. The badger had probably been foraging for earthworms in the cool, damp earth.
Magdalen picked her way through the darkness, trying to avoid brushing against the wet limb of a beech tree. She heard a rustling in the bushes beside her. Was it another badger? Badgers could be aggressive. She certainly did not want to make one angry.
Suddenly, a man loomed beside her. Two hands came toward her face. Before she could scream, hard fingers clamped over her mouth, gouging into her face.
Her heart pounded painfully hard. She clawed at the man’s hands.
He growled in her ear, “Cease that or I’ll slap you.” He shook her so hard she couldn’t see for a moment.
If only she could scream, Steffan would come and save her. But the man’s hand over her mouth made it impossible.
Terror like liquid heat seeped into her veins. What would this man do to her? Was he one of Lord Hazen’s men? He would surely take her to Lord Hazen and torture her to force her to tell them where Steffan was hiding.
The man chuckled in her ear. “Lord Hazen never said I couldn’t have a little fun with you before I take you to him.”
She started fighting him again, raking her fingernails over his hands and arms.
The man let out a yelp. Just as his grip on her face relaxed, something solid slammed against her temple. Her whole body, bereft of strength, melted as everything went black.
Steffan hurried through the wet brush. Was he going in the right direction? He started to call out her name when he heard a man’s voice speaking low. It sounded threatening. He headed toward it. Two figures standing very close emerged up ahead. One was a large man and the other was a woman.
His heart crashed against the wall of his chest. Magdalen was struggling against the man’s grip on her face. The man slammed his fist against her head, and she went still.
Steffan charged forward, his sword raised over his head.
The man dropped Magdalen’s limp body on the ground and drew his sword. Steffan struck, but the man blocked his blade. Steffan struck again and again, beating him back.
Ice flowed through Steffan’s veins as he was reminded of the last time he’d wielded his sword. He fought for his life then, and now he fought for Magdalen’s. He could not let this man go back to Lord Hazen and his men. He could not allow him to escape. And after what he saw him do to Magdalen, he had no desire to.
Steffan used both hands and struck his most powerful blow. The man lost his footing and his balance. As he fell he tried to stab Steffan in the stomach. When he did, he left his upper body unprotected, and Steffan plunged his sword throug
h his enemy’s heart.
The man stared up from the ground. His hand shook, then loosened. His sword dropped and he lay unmoving.
Steffan pulled his sword free of the man’s chest. Then he hurried over to Magdalen and fell to his knees beside her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The water on the cold ground was seeping through her borrowed clothes. Magdalen groaned at the pain in her head. Someone was putting an arm under her shoulders. Then she remembered the guard who struck her in the head. She opened her eyes, clenching her hands into fists and tensing her whole body.
“Magdalen.”
“Steffan!” A sob caught in her throat and sounded like a squeak.
“It’s all right now. That man is dead.” He leaned over her, a dark but welcome shadow. One arm was underneath her shoulders, and his other arm slid under her knees. He lifted her as if she were no heavier than an armload of firewood.
Her hands slipped around his shoulders. They just naturally seemed to fit there. In the barest bit of moon- and starlight, she could see the intense look on his face as he carried her through the brush and trees. How thankful she was that he had come. To be safe and warm in his arms, when she might have been brutalized by that terrible man.
He stepped over the fallen tree and into the mine. Then he set her gently on the floor and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?” He moved her hair away from her face. “You have a big bump on your head.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off his face, even though she could barely make out anything more than his outline. She should say something. Instead, she shuddered, still feeling that man’s hands on her mouth, his hot breath in her ear. Was she truly safe? Steffan said he killed him.
“Magdalen? Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
By his tone she knew he meant a different kind of hurt than the bruise on her head.
“Nein.” Her voice was so raspy as to be barely audible. She swallowed and tried again. “He didn’t hurt me.” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, trying hard not to start sobbing. If Steffan had not come, that man would have done unspeakable things.