Where are we?” she whispered.
“In my sister Gertrudt’s room. We’re safe for now.” Her hand was soft and warm inside his. They stood very close. Her bright eyes stared up at him. The two of them were like comrades on a crusade. He wanted to tell her he thought she was clever and brave, that he felt fortunate to know her.
Instead, he said, “Come, you can see a beautiful view from here.” He let her hand go and walked to the other side of the room, to the window that faced the sea. He unfastened the shutters and let in the late-day sunshine.
Magdalen drew closer, her mouth forming a circle. They stared out at the dark-blue sea meeting the pale-blue sky. “It is very beautiful.” She drew even closer, her nose touching the glass that had been installed only a few years earlier, and looked straight down. “Even the trees are beautiful. Green, then blue, then more blue.”
His heart tightened as he stared at her lovely profile, but he was not a silly boy mesmerized by a girl’s comely face. He should be thinking how to help his people, how to help the servants whom his uncle had cast out.
“What are you thinking about?” She did not take her eyes off the view out the window.
He sighed. “I was thinking how, because of my uncle, I killed two men.”
Compassion suffused her expression as she turned her gaze on him.
“That was not your fault,” she said softly. “You had no choice.”
“Perhaps. But as long as my uncle is free to send men to murder me . . .”
She turned her whole body toward him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “We shall pray he is captured before anyone else is hurt.”
Just as he was allowing himself to enjoy her touch, she took her hand away.
“When I was the Duke of Wolfberg, I had so much power, but I did not appreciate the power I had to do good. And then I let my uncle come in and take over while I went to Prague. But when I have my place back, I’ll not waste my power again.”
“I believe you.”
She had such a sweet smile, and it reminded him of the time they’d spent together in Thornbeck talking and dancing. He’d thought her a pleasant dance partner and enjoyed talking to her, but he’d been very aware that she was only a baron’s daughter.
Her eyes widening, she reached out and tapped him on the arm. “We should be looking at what you found in the box.”
How had he forgotten? No more foolishness, Steffan.
He took the parchment out of his pocket.
He unrolled the paper, then held it up facing the window so they could both see by the light streaming in.
“It’s some kind of map,” Magdalen said.
“I’m not sure of what or where, though.” They both leaned closer. “These are hills.” He pointed.
“And forests here, and a stream,” Magdalen indicated. “But how can we tell where this is if there are no names anywhere?”
“Something is here.” Steffan traced a line of dots with an X at either end.
“This looks strangely familiar.” Magdalen suddenly gasped. “This looks like the map my father had in his library. And look at these small circles here, here, and here.” She placed her finger on the map. “This is a map of Mallin’s copper mines. These circles are the openings to the other mines, and the one with the Xs is another mine that has two entrances.”
“Are you certain?”
“I used to wander all over those hills as a child, and I often went with my father to visit the mines.” She looked up at him with a wide-eyed smile. “I am certain.”
He couldn’t help smiling back at her.
Her smile faded, and she returned her attention to the map, holding one corner. “But why go to the trouble of stealing this map and my father’s books? All of the copper was mined out a few years ago. What is Lord Hazen looking for here?”
They both studied the map.
“I just remembered.” She pulled something out of her pocket and held it out. “It’s my necklace. I found it in Agnes’s room. My father gave it to me before he died. But I think it’s only jasper. He didn’t tell me it was valuable. He only said it was a pretty rock he found in one of the mines.”
Steffan reached out and held the pendant against his palm. “It looks like a fairly ordinary stone, but I suppose it could have some kind of significance.”
“I’ve been thinking about something else,” she said, a crease between her brows. “There must have been some reason for your uncle to send my mother a letter proposing marriage, planning for me to wed his son in your place. Why did he do it? What is he after?”
“Since you have no brother to inherit your father’s title and land, he must want his son to inherit whatever he thinks is valuable in that mine.”
She nodded, then pulled the necklace over her head and absently dropped the stone inside the neckline of her dress. “What do you think we should do now?”
“I would love to examine these mines for what my uncle thinks is so valuable. But first we need to be able to prove our identities, and we need someone powerful to prove them to, which would be easy enough if your mother and the Margrave of Thornbeck came to the wedding celebration my uncle is planning.”
“But Agnes told me her father will make sure the invitations are lost. And without an invitation, my mother and the margrave might never visit me.”
The truth of it made his heart sink, for the obvious reason, but also because her mother did not seem to care about her.
“Then we must make sure they come here. We must get word to them.”
“That is exactly why I wrote those letters and asked you to send them.” Her eyes were narrowed as she stared at his face.
“I did not want to send for help until I was sure I could prove who I was.” And he still could not, which was why he should be searching for his portrait.
She looked as if she might say something, then took a step away from him. “We should go. Someone might find us in here.”
The room probably had not been touched since his sister left to marry nearly a year before, so it was unlikely anyone would find them. But she was angry with him for not sending the letters.
“Yes, we should go. And I shall hide the map in a safe place.”
“In the same safe place you’ve hidden the letters?”
He didn’t answer.
“You should tell me where you’re hiding them.”
“So that when Lord Hazen kills me you can still send the letters?” He hoped she would at least smile at his bad jest.
She huffed out a breath, then pressed a finger to her chin, glancing up at the ceiling. “Ja.”
He sighed. “I will go now to place this in the same box as the letters, which I buried under the large rock under the tree we sat beneath. Do you remember that day?”
“That was the day you told me about getting trapped in the old well when you were five. You were thinking about that when we were hiding under the bed, weren’t you?”
“What makes you think that?” How did she know?
“It was the look on your face. And if I had fallen in a well I would have been terrified to be in a tight, dark space.”
Her voice was always so soft and compassionate, and something about her green eyes made him want to draw closer. But he could not let himself get close to her, either physically or in any other way. He could not marry her, and he would not do anything to hurt such a kind, noble maiden. “I hope I did not embarrass myself too much.”
“Not at all. You were very brave, and we escaped safely, so all is well.”
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is time. I will go out tonight and find a courier for the letters. Come.”
He led her to the door, opened it, and cautiously looked out. The corridor was clear, so they went back to the west wing of the castle. As they parted to go to their separate duties, he impulsively touched a finger to her cheek, just grazing her skin. It was as soft as he thought it would be.
“Be careful,” he said.
She stared back at him, probably thinking he should keep his hands to himself. He turned away and hurried down to the kitchen and his work.
Magdalen’s insides trembled as she brought her hand up to her cheek. Why had he done that? It was just a little brush of his finger on her face. So why did it make her heart flutter? She’d felt the same way when they were in his sister’s room, when he held her hand longer than necessary, his long slender fingers wrapped around hers. And when they’d stood looking out at the sea together, she had felt so close to him, as if their thoughts were melding and he was as drawn to her as she was to him.
Foolish. As foolish as her belief that he had wanted to marry her based on their meeting at Thornbeck.
Magdalen went to her stool and sat down to work on resewing her dresses to fit Agnes. Katrin had not joined her today. No doubt she was needed in the kitchen. The cooks would already be preparing for the great company of guests coming to Wolfberg Castle in the next two weeks.
The work was monotonous, but at least she had been able to dispel the bitter thoughts about Agnes by imagining her letters reaching her mother and Avelina in Thornbeck, imagining their outrage at the thought of Magdalen being so wrongly treated.
“God,” she whispered, “please help Steffan find couriers to deliver my letters. Give him success, and give the couriers and their horses speed and safety on the journey.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Everything depended on those letters, for even if she and Steffan could prove who they were, it did them no good if they had no one to prove it to, no one who could defend them against Lord Hazen.
Surely God would not let her down.
The thought of her father’s death, as well as her brother’s, sprang so sharply into focus that tears stung her eyes. She had tried to deny it, even to herself, but she felt so hurt that God would allow her father and brother to die. And she did not understand why she and Steffan were being mistreated now.
When she’d confessed her pain and disappointment to the priest in Mallin, he said, “God cares for His creation, and He cares for you, Lady Magdalen. It is written in the Holy Scriptures, so it is surely so. You must not doubt, but believe.”
“But if He cares for me—”
“That is why we call it faith—His loving-kindness is not seen or fully known at times, but we have faith that it exists.”
Faith. She had to have faith that God’s loving-kindness existed even in the situation Magdalen was in now. But it was so much easier to have faith when her father and brother were alive, when she was not serving her usurper.
Footsteps approached the room, but they did not sound like Agnes’s soft shoes. They were louder and sharper and quicker.
Lord Hazen appeared in the doorway, a strange, lax look on his face. He strode toward her.