Page 3 of The Noble Servant

Steffan took a step to the left and one back, to shift nearer to the short guard. “Who sent you?”

“We told you,” the tall one said. “Your uncle, Lord Hazen.” A devious smile stretched his thin face.

“You said Sir Burgen and Sir Ruger were well.” He continuedto move to the left and back. “Sir Burgen died ten years ago, and Sir Ruger fifteen years ago.”

“Everyone must die sooner or later.” The tall one drew his sword with a metal-on-leather sound.

The short one followed suit, but Steffan beat him to the draw. He leapt at him and hit the man’s wrist with his sword blade. The short, blond guard dropped his sword with a screech.

Steffan crooked his arm around the man’s neck and jerked him around, holding the short one in front of him like a shield.

The tall one struck at his sword, but Steffan parried his strike. The tall one brought his blade down for another strike. Steffan shoved the short guard at him. The tall one struck his companion instead, slicing through his neck. The short guard made a gurgling sound as he fell face-first on the ground between them.

Steffan kept striking at the tall guard, beating him back several steps. He refused to look at the river just behind his opponent so as not to reveal its proximity.

Steffan gripped the sword hilt with both hands, wielding one overhand blow after another. He forced his enemy back one step at a time until he stood at the very edge of the bank. Only then did the man’s gaze dip to the river below.

His eyes went wide and he hesitated, giving Steffan one extra moment. Steffan struck the man’s raised sword and pushed him. The man threw his arms out wide as he fell.

He cried out just before he hit the water and went under.

Steffan watched and waited. The man bobbed to the surface several yards downriver, flailing his arms, then went under again.

Steffan walked back to where the first man lay in a puddle of blood. “Oh God in heaven,” he breathed, lifting his head andgazing downriver. The attack had hardly lasted five minutes, it happened so fast.

“I just killed two men. Forgive me.” He made the sign of the cross with his right hand. The two men had intended to kill him. He’d had no choice, but the thought made him so sick he sank to the ground.

Home. He would think of Wolfberg Castle. The chalky-white shore next to the sea behind the castle. The grassy-green pastures and the roar of the crashing waves.

Who had wanted him dead? Could his uncle have sent assassins? Even if Steffan were dead, Lord Hazen would not inherit his title. Since Steffan had no heir, the title would become extinct, and yet it was likely that King Karl would bequeath Wolfberg Castle and all of Steffan’s properties to his uncle, unless the king had another loyal subject on whom he’d rather bestow this favor.

Before she died, his grandmother had warned him about Lord Hazen’s greed and lack of feeling. Still, it was difficult to accept.

Steffan walked to his horse and sheathed his sword. His two would-be murderers’ horses had shied away, but Steffan was able to catch them. He tied them to his horse and started toward Wolfberg and home.

But what would he find when he arrived?

Chapter Two

What would life be like in her new home, married to the Duke of Wolfberg?

Magdalen’s cart jolted as they hit another hole in the road, knocking her nearly into the wooden side rail. She had begged her mother to let her ride her horse, but Mother said riding a horse all the way on a three-day journey was not appropriate for a lady. Did she think it was ladylike to ride in a cart for twelve hours a day, rattling her teeth every time a wheel found a dip in the road?

But no one argued with the Baroness of Mallin.

Erlich, who had served Magdalen’s family for years, rode his horse while his daughter, Agnes, walked. And Lenhart made up the fourth member of their group as he walked beside the mules who pulled Magdalen’s cart.

Wolfberg Castle stood on a hill overlooking the sea. She’d never beheld the sea. What would it be like to hear the waves crashing against the shore? What kind of rocks might she find there?

“Rosings Abbey is just ahead.” Erlich pointed to the lane off to the right.

Darkness closed in on them. Erlich reined in his horse as he waited for Lenhart to turn the mules, drawing Magdalen’s cartinto the lane that would carry them to the abbey. The tall convent buildings, with their steep roofs, were visible above the rows of trees.

At the abbey a young nun greeted them with a bow. She led Magdalen and Agnes to a long, low building, then to an austere room with two small cots. Magdalen’s legs were like jelly after using them all day to brace herself as she rode in the jarring cart.

Agnes set her bundle on the floor. She turned one way then the other, her tight blonde braid swaying as she stretched her back. “I shall go and speak with my father and return soon.” Agnes did not ask permission but simply walked out before Magdalen could reply.

Gretha, who had been her constant companion since Hegatha had died of a sudden apoplexy, had been all set to come to Wolfberg with her. The day before they were to leave, Gretha told Magdalen she would not be going with her, but Agnes would be taking her place.