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Chapter Thirty-Five
MAGDALENA SAT in her bedchamber, staring blankly at the wall. She hadn’t undressed, or lit a fire, or thanked God yet for her safe return. Surely in the morning she would be able to do such things again.
In the morning, she would be able to return to everything that was proper and mundane and grey. Right now, though, it seemed to be requiring all her strength simply to sit on the edge of the bed and breathe.
Her eyes felt red but dry, as if they’d been rimmed in sawdust. Her hands were shivering as if they were cold, but she didn’t feel it. She stared without seeing or feeling or thinking.
Then, dimly, she heard the door downstairs click open.
No…. It couldn’t be.
She heard the low tread of boots on planks. Her heart hammered, lifting in her chest.
It could not be.
The buoyancy that lifted her heart also lifted her to her feet, her heart tumbling then leaping. Reckless happiness expanded inside her, a hot bubble of hope.
The boots came softly up the stairs. She closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to watch herself hope so ardently.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“That I did, Magdalena,” replied a cold voice. “I came back for you.”
Fear broke and ran down her spine like ice melting. She looked up to see Lord Sherwood in her doorway.
Behind him stood the mayor.
Shaking, she got to her feet. Sherwood smiled. She realized bravado was her only hope now.
“You,” she said coldly. “I thought you were done aggrieving me.”
“Not yet,” he replied softly.
“My lord mayor.” She turned to Albert with haughty dignity. “I must protest these constant intrusions. Perhaps this English n
obleman can see to his own business, and you can begin seeing to the town’s?”
The mayor glanced at Sherwood nervously. “Mistress, his business is the town’s business, on the order of the king.”
She looked back at the baron. “’Friends with the law’ indeed.”
He gave the faintest imitation of a bow and stepped into her bedchamber. “I shall keep this as simple as possible, mistress. Where is Tadhg?”
Her blood ran cold, but she said in a flat, disinterested voice, “I do not know what your words mean, sir.”
“Do you not?”
At her doorway, the mayor fluttered like a fat little bird. “Now, my lord, please. You cannot go in her bedchamber— I—I cannot countenance this molesting of my townsfolk—”
“Can you not, Albert?” asked the baron softly. “Are you quite certain of that?”
The mayor fell silent. Maggie’s heart simply fell.
From downstairs the sound of more boots moved through her shop, then a voice called up the stairs, “My lord, we found nothing.”
“He is here somewhere,” Sherwood called back, never taking his eyes off Magdalena. “Search the outbuilding and outhouse.” He took another step into the bedroom. “Tell me where he is.”
She couldn’t help herself. She backed up a step in fear. “Where is whom?”
