Page 51 of The Noble Servant

“You don’t have to help me,” he said, even as his foot caught on the next step and he stumbled.

“I want to. Besides, I don’t have to assistmy ladyfor a few more hours.”

Finally, they made it to the fourth level of the castle.

“Let me make sure no one is in the men’s bedchamber.” He removed his arm from around her shoulders and opened the door. “Anyone here?”

Chapter Seventeen

Magdalen followed Steffan inside. She forced herself not to think about his pain, what he had done, or what had been done to him, but to concentrate on tending each injury.

He went straight to a bed and lay down, moaning as he did so.

Never had she been inside a man’s bedchamber or near his bed. She halted midstride. But no one was around and this was Steffan. He would not harm her.

He took the cloth, which was nearly saturated with bright-red blood, away from his mouth. His bottom lip was terribly swollen, and the lower half of his face was bloody.

“It appears to have stopped bleeding.” She tried to look at him as a task, to be cold in her assessment of him. She did not want to break down in tears as Katrin had done—which had brought tears to Magdalen’s eyes as well.

“I am well,” he said. Or at least she thought that was what he said. It was hard to understand him, and his lip might still be swelling.

“I wish I had some ice or snow to put on your lip.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Wrong time of year.”

“And your other injury only bled a bit.” She pointed to the cut over his eye. But dried blood stained the side of his face.

Footsteps shuffled down the hallway, coming closer.

Magdalen turned and watched as one of the other menservants walked through the doorway with a bucket and a cloth.

“I thought you might need this.” He headed over to the table against the wall and poured some of the water into a pitcher and some into a pottery bowl. Then he handed the cloth to Magdalen.

“Thank you, Dietrich,” Steffan said.

Dietrich came over and looked down at Steffan. “I’ve seen raw meat that looked better than your face. But you won’t die.”

“Ah, that’s very encouraging,” he managed to say in spite of his fat lip.

“We all heard what you did,” the man said. “That was ...” He paused, nodded, and raised his brows before he said, “Very brave.” He tilted his head to one side. “Stupid, but brave.”

Steffan seemed to be trying not to smile, not to stretch his lips. “Ja. Danke.”

“I must go back to my duties and leave you to your lovely healer.” He winked at Magdalen.

“Thank you for the water,” she said, then realized what he’d called her. She felt herself blushing and went over to get the bowl of water so she’d be facing away from Steffan. She took a deep breath, then carried the bowl back to him and set it on the bed.

She squeezed the cloth out over the bowl. “I feel as if I’ve done this before.” She had to make light of the situation because she felt her heart twisting in pity and admiration as she started to wash the blood from his cheeks and beard.

She stroked the side of his face where the cut over his eye had left traces of blood. She would not think about how he haddefended an old man and willingly allowed himself to be beaten so the thief could go free. She would not think about how unfair life was at the moment to both Steffen and her, about how he was the only person who knew her pain.

She dabbed at the cut over his eye. He winced.

She might have told him something that Hegatha had once said, that the cut might not scar if it did not scab over. But she did not trust herself to speak.

She wiped the blood from the whiskers on his chin with the cloth. His eyes were half open, watching her face. She pretended not to notice and dipped the cloth into the bowl of water and squeezed it out, turning the water pink.

Her heart beat faster and her breath became shallow. She tried to think of something to say to break the tension in the air as she dabbed at the spot just below his bottom lip.