Page 31 of The Noble Servant

“Give me one of those sheets of paper. You only need two, after all.” He reached toward the paper she was holding in her hand.

She gave him one. He pulled out a piece of drawing charcoal from his bag and sat down. Drawing always helped him forget things he’d rather not think about.

“What are you doing there?” She came and looked over his shoulder.

“Should you not be writing your letters?”

“I will, but I want to see.”

“You can see when I’m finished.” He motioned with his hand for her to go away. The lump that had formed in his chest began to fade somewhat as he traced the outlines and contours of Magdalen’s face on his paper. He sketched in her hair and gradually brought out her eyes and nose and mouth.

Meanwhile she was hunched over her paper, the ink pot by her side, as she wrote her letter. She was quite lovely, with her small nose and delicate eyebrows that were browner and darker than her reddish-blonde hair. She also had a cute little chin that jutted slightly forward. Yes, he remembered that chin from the last time he had sketched her portrait—two years ago at Thornbeck, though she had not known it then.

She paused and looked up at him, a furrow wrinkling her forehead. “I don’t know how I will get these letters to their destinations.”

“I suppose you’ll have to pay a courier. Do you know someone you trust?”

Her sad eyes stared across the field. “No.”

His first impulse was to tell her he would take care of it forher. But what if the letters brought important people here, like the Margrave of Thornbeck, before he had proof of his own identity? He needed proof that would help him defeat his uncle and cousin at their nefarious game.

“Let me find someone to deliver your letters for you.”

“But I don’t have any money, or anything else, to give them.”

“I shall take care of that for you.” He would take care of it, but he would also hold the letters for a while first.

A pang shot through his chest. He was deceiving her, but he would make sure she eventually got back her place as the daughter of the Baroness of Mallin. The girl who would champion a mute boy at risk to herself deserved a champion of her own. He would help her. But perhaps not in the way she was expecting just now.

“You would find two trustworthy couriers and pay them to take my letters to Mallin and to Thornbeck?”

“I cannot make any promises. A courier with a dependable horse who is available for hire is not that easy to find.”

“But you will try to find two, one for each letter? I would be so grateful, and I would pay you back whatever money you give them, once I—once my letters find their way to their destinations and I receive ... what I’m expecting.”

He could not look her in the eye as he grunted, then nodded.

He spent most of the rest of the day finishing his drawing of her face. Later, when he showed it to her, she gasped.

“You are very talented at drawing.”

“Thank you.”

She was still studying the drawing, but he took it away from her and tucked it into his bag, afraid she might ask to keep it.

As he had been sketching her, his mind was busy planninghow to get back into the castle and find his portrait. He prayed it had not been destroyed. Fury rose inside him for the thousandth time at what his uncle had done to him. Steffan had been forced to kill two men because of his uncle. Locked out of his own home, he felt helpless, but when he finally captured his uncle, thenhewould know what helplessness felt like.

When his grandmother had come to live at Wolfberg Castle, Steffan was a fatherless, motherless heir. If his grandmother had not had some powerful friends, his uncle would have forced her from Wolfberg and become Steffan’s guardian himself. So whenOmadied, Hazen wasted no time moving in and trying to influence Steffan.

Steffan had been grieving his grandmother—and his parents’ deaths had come back to haunt him—and he had not been thinking prudently. If he had been, he might have been able to discern his uncle’s evil intentions.

Magdalen spent most of the rest of the day writing her letters. She must feel as angry and helpless as he did, but she still managed to smile and speak with kindness. He couldn’t help but admire her. He also felt guilty for not admitting his own identity—and the fact that he knew hers.

“I finished my letters,” Lady Magdalen said. “I have no way to seal them, so folding them is the best I can do.”

He took the letters from her, his fingers accidentally brushing hers. She had writtenBaroness Helena of Mallin, Mallin Park Houseon the outside of one letter andLady Thornbeck, Thornbeck Castleon the other.

Lady Magdalen and the woman who ended up marrying the Margrave of Thornbeck had been inseparable at the ball and party at Thornbeck Castle. Of course Lady Magdalen would ask them forhelp. But Steffan needed to find that portrait. If his uncle were to destroy all proof of Steffan’s identity, then, rather than ensuring his salvation, the margrave could side with his uncle and cousin, which would bring about Steffan’s ruin.