Page 15 of The Noble Servant

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.”