Page 2 of The Noble Servant

“Be quiet!” Mother shrieked. “You’ll make me go deaf.”

Magdalen absently patted her sister’s shoulder. “But I thought the duke studied in Prague at Karl University.”

“He has come home, then.” Mother held up a crisp parchment and shook it, making the ribbons dance from where they weresealed into the wax. “Because here is his seal and his colors on the letter. He wishes you to come to Wolfberg at once.”

Her duty to her family and to her people required that she marry the wealthiest man she could to save them from extreme poverty. Indeed, she had hoped the duke would want to marry her. He was young and handsome, unlike most of the wealthy unmarried men in the Holy Roman Empire. Two years had passed, however, since she had seen him, and marrying him had sunk into the realm of the impossible.

But the impossible was happening. She, Magdalen of Mallin, was to marry the Duke of Wolfberg.

She took the parchment from her mother’s hand and read it. It seemed to be in order, but the missive contained no reference to meeting her at Thornbeck, no expressions of eagerness to see her again, and no sentiment of any kind. Her heart sank. He barely knew her, but she’d hoped ...

“He doesn’t say why he wants to marry me. He must know I have no fortune.”

“You will marry him, and do it quickly.” Mother shook her finger at Magdalen. “Don’t you dare tell him you are poor either. Lady Thornbeck, whose father was nobody, managed to get herself a margrave, and now you’ll have a duke.”

Mother’s lip curled in that way of hers that always made Magdalen’s insides squirm.

“And you had better not think of going to Wolfberg and being mousey and submissive. After he has made you his wife, you will demand he live up to his responsibilities to your family. Make him think there is still copper in our mines, but insist that he send money and livestock. He can well afford it. Everyone is depending on you.”

Mother jabbed her finger one last time in Magdalen’s face. “Now make haste and pack your things. You shall leave at dawn tomorrow.”

What if he’d heard false information about her fortune? She had been betrothed to an earl three years ago, but he had the betrothal annulled when he realized how poor she was. Her face still felt the sting of that humiliation.

Magdalen had hoped her mother would want her to be joyful in her marriage. A lump formed in her throat as she went to her room and began to collect her things.

Her desire was for true love, but perhaps that was selfish. And yet, the thought of having the same kind of marriage as her parents felt akin to a boulder sitting on her chest.

At least her marriage would save the people she loved from starving.

Steffan rode his horse between the two men his uncle had sent to escort him back to Wolfberg.

The road heading north from Prague was frequently shaded by large oak and birch trees in this verdant part of the Holy Roman Empire, but Steffan hardly noticed his surroundings. He had begun to doubt the honesty of these two guards. His suspicions had grown the farther down the road they traveled.

“Do you know Sir Burgen?” Steffan asked them just as a hawk took flight from the tree several feet in front of them.

“Oh yes, Your Grace,” said the tall, dark-haired guard. “He was well when we left Wolfberg a few days ago.”

“And Sir Ruger? He was in good health as well?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The stockier blond guard answered this time. “He sends his greetings to you.”

Steffan felt a twist in his gut as all his senses heightened. Breath rushed into his lungs and energy flowed through his limbs as he noted the sword on each man’s hip. What other weapons did they carry?

His own dagger was in his saddlebag. He had a smaller knife in the sheath on his belt, and his sword hung at his hip.

The dark-haired guard said, “Let us leave the road and enter the woods to find a place to sleep for the night.”

Darkness had not yet descended, and they had only been riding for a few hours. Steffan eyed the two men. “There is an inn a few miles ahead.”

The guards glanced at each other. “Very well, Your Grace.”

They approached a stone bridge over a swift-flowing river.

“I believe my horse needs a drink,” the dark one said. “And truth be known, I am thirsty myself.”

Steffan slowed his horse to let the two men move ahead. When they reached the river, the guards dismounted from their horses. Steffan approached the water’s edge. The men didn’t even look his way, so he let his horse drink. He dismounted, keeping his hand on his sword hilt.

The men stared and slowly started moving toward him and away from each other. They flanked him, preparing to attack from both sides.