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.
Her head ached, but that was nothing compared to the way her heart squeezed.
A tear, followed by another and another, spilled down her face.
Steffan put his arms around her and pulled her close, still kneeling beside her.
She buried her face in his chest and sobbed softly.
Steffan’s heart clenched at her sobs, at the way her shoulders shook, at the hot tears that soaked through his linen shirt. He sat back on the floor of the mine, settling her comfortably against his chest. “You’re safe now,” he whispered against her hair. “I won’t let anyone harm you.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice was watery and punctuated by another soft sob.
“For what?”
“I’ve ruined your clothes.”
“Don’t worry. I have other clothes.” He stroked her hair—a dangerous move, as it was so silky.
“I’m sorry you had to kill that man.”
“It was necessary, and certainly not your fault. It’s Lord Hazen’s fault.”
Oh, God, what if I had not gotten to her in time? What if the man had dragged her away and my uncle had tortured or even killed her?
Sweet, lovely Magdalen. How would he have been able to bear that? He suddenly realized he did not feel any remorse for killing that man. Of course God forgave him. God helped him save her.
She finally ceased crying and sat up, pulling away slightly, and wiped her eyes with her hands. He picked up the blanket she had left when she went outside and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Thank you.” Her voice was small, and she took a shuddering breath and sighed. “Thank you for saving me.”
In her bowed head, her slumped shoulders, and her downcast eyes, he read her determination not to ask him to comfort her. She would not expect anything from him. And somehow that thought stabbed him like a knife.
He liked being with her. He liked talking to her. And he very much liked holding her in his arms. He had told himself over and over that he couldn’t marry her, that he owed it to his people to follow his grandmother’s advice and marry for political gain. But it was all a lie. The reason he told her and himself, repeatedly, that he wouldn’t marry her was because of fear. He was afraid—no, terrified—of falling too deeply in love, of loving someone the way his father had loved his mother. Her death had destroyed him.
Did Steffan dare to risk marrying for love? It was not hard to imagine loving Magdalen . . . very much.
His breath quickened.
He wasn’t certain he could overcome this fear, or even if he should.
“I’ve made you a bed a little farther into the mine,” Steffan said, “and I will sleep at your feet, so if anyone comes exploring, they’ll face me first.”
“You are being very kind.” She couldn’t meet his eye. He was being very kind. Should she be embarrassed? Gratified? Humbled? Or annoyed that she had let him see her cry? She did not want to feel indebted to him, this man who was handsome and brave and strong and intelligent, mostly because she knew when this adventure was over, when they both had their lives back, she’d never see him again. And he probably wouldn’t care.
She should say, “How very chivalrous of you” and smile saucily at him. His brows would raise in that amused way of his. But she did not feel very saucy.
“Can you walk?” He spoke so gently, it made a tear fall from her eye. At least he couldn’t see it.
He touched her shoulder, so she took his hand and he pulled her up. Unable to see anything at all, she clung to Steffan. Soon, he stopped her.
“Here is your bed.” He guided her hand down until she felt something soft on the ground.
“You seem to have found the right spot.”
“I counted my steps so I would know exactly where I was.”
“That was wise.” She could hear his retreating footsteps in the silence, which seemed to meld with the darkness and press in on her. And she hadn’t fallen in a dark well as a child like Steffan.
When his footsteps returned, she asked, “Are you well? It’s very dark.”
“I think I’m beginning to forget my fear of dark holes.”
“That’s fortunate. I think I am beginning to have a fear of dark holes.” She tried to chuckle, to let him know her fear was nothing serious, but it came out as a nervous sound.
“Don’t worry. I shall be near.”
“Thank you.” Magdalen lay on the blanket he had spread out for her. He had even made her a small pillow.
“I hope my clothes will be dry by morning,” she said.
“You are not enjoying wearing men’s clothes?”
“I am grateful for them, but I am not used to them. I shall be glad to give them back to you.” How much more awkward this moment would be if she believed Steffan might want to marry her. It was good that he did not.
“How is your head feeling? Are you in much pain?”
“Only a small headache.”
After a short pause he said, “Are you certain you are well?”
“Yes.” But she didn’t feel sleepy. In fact, she was afraid to fall asleep, afraid she would dream about the man who had grabbed her.
“Can you believe that about Katrin? She betrayed us. And I had no idea.” A pang went through her middle at the remembrance of what Katrin had done to them.
“I did not realize she was our betrayer either, although I did have some suspicions.”
“Did you?” Magdalen must be a poor judge of character.
“She was the obvious person, though she seemed so kind and innocent.”
“And yet I never suspected her. I do not easily trust people, but I was completely fooled. Is it not strange that she warned us to flee?”
“Ja. Perhaps my uncle wanted us to flee.”
“But why? What purpose did that serve? Nein, I think she warned us because she was a little in love with you.”
He made a sound of air blowing between his lips. “That seems unlikely.”
“Not at all. You were the only handsome young man among the servants. That is what she once said.”
“You think I am handsome?”
Magdalen laughed a short, quick laugh. “I suspect you know you are handsome. Leastways, Katrin thought you were.”
After a pause, Steffan said, “I suppose she had little choice but to inform on us. My uncle probably brought her to Wolfberg from Arnsbaden, and she felt her loyalty was owed to him. He probably threatened to murder her family if she did not ferret out information for him.”
Tears rose to Magdalen’s eyes again. “I feel as if all anyone ever does is betray me.”
“I have not betrayed you.”
“I felt a bit betrayed when you took my letters but did not send them as you promised.”
After a slight pause, he said, “That was wrong of me. I deceived you. Please forgive me. The letter to Thornbeck has been sent now.”
“You did save my life tonight. That can make up for a lot of sins, I suppose. I forgive you.”
“Indeed, we are fortunate all the clanging of swords did not bring Hazen’s men upon us.”
“The forest is rather good at muffling sound. I suppose it is all the trees and ferns and moss and endless bushes. But you did save me.” She let the tone of her voice take on the seriousness she was feeling. “And I am very grateful.”
“And I am grateful God let me be here when you needed me.”
Did he long to reach out and hold her hand the way she was longing to, so much so that her hand ached? How good it had felt earlier when he’d held her in his arms, so tender and warm. If only he would hold her like that again.
But she must not long for that. She should be trying to think of what to do next. That was what her friend Avelina would do. “What is our plan, now that we’ve likely found what Lord Hazen wanted in our mines?”
“We can hope that Lenhart made it safely to your mother’s house, and that my courier is able to deliver your letter to Thornbeck—or that at least one or the other will reach their destination. Therefore, we should try to get back to Wolfberg to be there when they arrive.”
Magdalen thought for a moment. “That sounds reasonable.”
“And now I suppose we should go to sleep. We will need our wits about us tomorrow.”
She thought back on how she had wiped the blood from his face when he’d been beaten. Twice. How she had sympathized with him when he was afraid of small dark places. And now to hear the gentleness in his voice, the kindness and sympathy, it caused a strange tugging at her heart.
She should stop thinking these thoughts and go to sleep.
After what seemed like a long time, she heard Steffan’s breathing grow loud and even. Soon she drifted off to sleep as well.