Magdalen had imagined that Steffan often thought about her after the dance at Thornbeck. She had thought the duke had fallen at least a little in love with her, that he wanted her. She had been pleased to marry him, to leave her home for his.
She felt sick, her stomach rising into her throat. He must think her a lack-wit.
Meanwhile, he said nothing. What could he say? He did not want to marry her, had never intended to marry her. Truly, she should not feel angry at him. It was all his uncle’s fault and he had nothing to do with it, but in spite of this, she suddenly hated his calm demeanor and silence.
“How daft you must think me.” The words slipped out before she could halt them. She turned away as her lips trembled with impending tears. Stop! How she hated herself for those tears, for trembling lips!
“I don’t think you’re daft,” he said, a groan in his voice.
And she hated his groan! He did think she was daft. And pitiable. If only she could disappear. But she couldn’t run away. She had to stay with the geese.
“I’m so sorry, Lady Magdalen.” A hand touched her shoulder.
“Don’t.” She should pull away from him, refuse his pity. But his hand was warm and, unfortunately, she wanted his comfort. “It isn’t your fault anyway. I suppose your uncle meant for me to marry his son.”
Her words were steady, thankfully, but they made the tears spill from her eyes down her cheeks. At least he couldn’t see them. She had her back to him.
“And now he’s gone and married your treacherous maidservant. Serves him right.”
Bitterness permeated his voice. He’d already forgotten about her. Good. Magdalen hoped she could get these tears under control before he realized she was crying.
She did her best to surreptitiously wipe the tears from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry for all that has happened to you, Lady Magdalen.” He patted her shoulder as someone might pat a sister.
The tears she wiped away were quickly replaced with more.
“I’m going to get a drink.” She practically ran to the little spring at the edge of the trees. She fell to her knees beside it, bent, gathering the cold water in her hands, and splashed it on her face. And still the hot tears squeezed from her eyes onto her cold cheeks.
She took deep breaths. Thoughts flitted through her mind.
Mother will be so angry that I’m not marrying a duke after all.
I was a fool to think a duke would marry me.
The handsome shepherd, who’s also the handsome duke I met years ago, doesn’t want me, isn’t even willing to do the honorable thing and promise to marry me.
Her heart ached, but her pride was injured the most. Foolish pride.
Why should I care if he doesn’t want me? I have to focus on getting back to Mallin.
But her mother would be furious and blame Magdalen. Somehow everything was always her fault. Such as the time when her mother’s favorite dress had become entangled in a thornbush after she alighted from her horse.
This is your fault, she had screamed after looking down at her ripped dress. You love these ridiculous bushes with their berries and flowers. Now look at my dress—it’s ruined!
Mother could not accept that anything was her own fault. So her dress had ripped because Magdalen loved the flowers of the thornbush that ripped it.
And now, whether Steffan was able to take back his rightful place as the Duke of Wolfberg or not, it would be Magdalen’s fault that he didn’t marry her. She would face the humiliation of having thought she was to marry a duke, as well as her mother’s many recriminations for allowing it to happen. Magdalen might as well face it and go home forthwith, even though she would have to walk the entire way.
And the Duke of Wolfberg would just have to solve his own problems.
These empowering thoughts completely stopped her tears. She took out her cloth and dried her face, taking more deep breaths as she reclaimed her dignity and stood up straight and tall, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. Without even a glance behind her, she turned and started walking toward the servants’ quarters.
“Where are you going?” the duke asked, much closer than she might have expected. He must have followed her to the spring.
“Home.” She flung the word over her shoulder and kept moving at a brisk pace.
“What do you mean?”
She didn’t answer. Let him figure it out.
“You cannot go. Not yet.”
“Why not?” She should have had the self-control not to ask him that, because she truly should not care. She quickened her pace as he caught up with her.
“I may need you to help me prove who I am. You are a witness.”
“But no one believes I am Lady Magdalen, so I am useless to you.”
They were climbing the path up the castle mount and would soon be in the bailey and among other servants.
“But I need you not to tell anyone what is happening here, not until I can prove my identity.”
“You had better hurry up and prove it, then. Because as soon as my mother finds out what has happened, she will demand justice, spreading the news from one corner of the civilized world to the other.” She was not at all sure that was what her mother would do, but it sounded good.
“I cannot allow that.” Panic was in his voice now.
She rather enjoyed his distress. It lifted her shoulders.
“Please, Magdalen. For the sake of our friendship.”
“Friendship?” She halted just short of the top of the hill and faced him. “Friends don’t go two years without writing.” Now he would know that she was angry he had not written to her, that she had expected him to after their time at Thornbeck.
“Well . . .” He seemed at a loss for what to say to that. “Some friends don’t write. Some friends stay friends even though they haven’t seen each other or spoken for two years, or many more years than that. Some friends, like us, recognize each other even after two years have passed and one has grown a beard and the other has become a goose girl.”
Magdalen clenched her teeth to hold in the growl of contempt in her throat. “I would be a fool to stay here now that I know you never wished to marry me. I came here to marry a duke, and now I am going home. Do you hear me? Home. Where people respect me and care about me and have my—my—welfare in mind.” Not her mother, perhaps, but she would not tell him that.
“Lower your voice.” Steffan glanced around. “Someone might hear you.”
“Is that all you can say to me?” She spun around and marched straight to the servants’ quarters.
“You cannot leave now. Wait until tomorrow.” He followed her across the open yard.
She suddenly realized something else and spun around so swiftly, he had to bring himself up short to keep from running into her.
“You were never planning to send my letters, were you?”
The guilty look in his eyes and the way his mouth hung open gave her the answer.
“Give them back to me.” She thrust out her hand. “Immediately. I demand you give me back my letters.” She stared pointedly at the big leather pouch hanging by his side.
He put his hand protectively on the bag.
How dare he keep her letters from her? She lunged at the bag. He held on to it, holding the flap closed. She tried to rip it out of his hands, but he was too strong.
“Stop. I will give you your letters, if you are so determined to have them.”
She let go and he reached in, pulled out her two letters, and held them out to her. She snatched them from his hand and marched to the servants’ quarters.
Just as she reached the door, a voice called out, “Agnes!”
The voice was so familiar, Magdalen turned her head.
The real Agnes was walking toward her with one of the guards from the castle. But she was not smirking. Her eyes were wide and she looked almost . . . afraid.
“Where are you going?” She tried to smile. “I thought you were taking care of the geese.”
“I . . . I was . . . looking for something in my room.”
“What is that in your hand?”
Magdalen’s stomach sank like a stone.
“Nothing. Just some paper.”
“Magdalen, I want you to work in the castle, close to me. Come. Get your things and I shall make you an indoor servant. You would like that better than being a goose girl, would you not?”
Her mind was racing. Why would Agnes want her working in the castle where the duke—Alexander—might see her? Did Agnes know he was not the real duke? Or was she planning to lure Magdalen into the castle and then lock her in the dungeon? Either way, this would ruin everything. She had to run away, to get back to Mallin, and she could not if Agnes held her captive in the castle.
She glanced back at Steffan, but she could not ask for help from him. He was supposed to be dead—or he would be if Agnes’s husband and Lord Hazen discovered he was still alive.
With the guard standing there, she had little choice but to go inside the servants’ barracks, gather her things—the things Agnes had allowed her to have—and head back out to where Agnes and the guard were waiting for her.
Steffan stood not far away, watching, but she ignored him.
But as she passed him, he asked, “Should I watch the geese for you?”
“Oh, Ag—I mean, Lady Magdalen, won’t you find someone to watch the geese? This shepherd will not be able to watch both the sheep and the geese.”
“Of course.” Agnes looked down her lashes and said, “I shall have someone take care of finding a new goose girl.”
Magdalen was following behind Agnes, with the guard just beside her, when Steffan touched her arm and whispered, “Are you in danger?”
She shook her head, even though she was not certain, and whispered, “You should go.” And she handed him the two letters.
He stuffed them in his bag.
“What was that?” Agnes turned around.
“The shepherd was bidding me farewell. Farewell!” Magdalen called, waving her whole arm in the air as Steffan hurried off. “Take good care of those animals.” She turned back to Agnes. “He is very good with sheep, but he is not so good with geese.”
“As I said, I shall send someone to help with the geese,” Agnes said with the kind of tone one might use with a child.
Out of the corner of her eye, Magdalen could see Steffan gazing over his shoulder at her. She refused to look in his direction.
They went inside the castle, up two flights of stairs, and then down a corridor. Agnes paused in front of a door and told the guard, “You may stand guard here.”
The guard bowed, and she led Magdalen inside and shut the door behind them. Did Agnes plan to murder her here in the castle? Magdalen was determined to fight to the death. She glanced around, looking for a weapon.