The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(46)

She wiped her cheek and tried not to sniff. “Thank you, Lord Thornbeck, for saving me.”

“I thank God I was able to reach you in time.” He reached over and squeezed her hand, the one Magdalen was not holding.

Guilt froze the tears behind her eyes. She had no right to enjoy his touch. She was a terrible friend in that moment, because she wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him to love her! To always be near to hold her and protect her. She turned her head away from him and made sure her hand stayed limp inside his.

“I shall leave you alone, then.” Lord Thornbeck turned away and walked out of the room with the guard who had carried her in.



Reinhart rubbed his face with his hand. He could still smell her light, flowery scent, like springtime and lilacs, could still feel her in his arms, and his heart skipped a beat. Seeing her dangling from the balcony, hanging over that deep ravine, knowing she was one moment away from death, sent a bolt of lightning through his veins. Thank You, God. He had arrived in time.

He limped back to the balcony. Thankfully, his lameness had not prevented him from saving Dorothea. He must have thrown down his walking stick when he heard her scream, and a guard retrieved it for him when he was holding her on the balcony.

He made it to the balcony and approached the railing. He got down on his knees to examine it, but most of it was gone, and unless he was mistaken, even the part that Dorothea had been clinging to was gone. There was only a broken bit farther over on the balcony. Had someone done something to the railing, possibly cutting it, so it would break when someone leaned on it? They could have broken off the part that was cut and gotten rid of it.

But who would do such a thing?

He would discuss it with Jorgen. They could send someone to fetch the broken pieces of the railing from the ravine below and possibly discover if this was an accident or a deliberate attempt at murder. First the pottery shards, now this. Was someone trying to harm Lady Dorothea?

Reinhart pushed himself up with the walking stick, remembering again how he had pulled her from the edge of death. He closed his eyes and relived how she had clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. Later, when Lady Magdalen had held her hand, she’d clung to her, but when he tried to hold her other hand, it had laid in his like a wilted flower.

He still had no idea if she cared for him or not, and the ball was tomorrow night.

He turned and went to find Jorgen.



Avelina raised her hand to her face, the one Lord Thornbeck had squeezed a moment ago, and was overcome by his familiar scent—the smell of evergreen trees and mint leaves the servants put in his laundry. Warmth washed over her as she remembered how he had held her tight, much tighter than necessary, sitting on the balcony floor.

Surely it was only a reaction to the frightening situation. Surely he did not love her.

“Dorothea, what in heaven’s name has happened to you tonight?”

Avelina had a sudden urge to tell Magdalen her secret, to tell her everything. “I . . .” No, she should wait until all this was over, after the ball. “I fell off the balcony. The railing gave way behind me and I . . .” She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and forced herself to go on. “I was holding on to what was left of it. I could barely breathe but I managed to scream, at least once. If Lord Thornbeck had not come and pulled me up, I would have fallen from the balcony.” She shuddered and closed her eyes.

“You poor girl.” Magdalen pulled her hand up to her heart. “That is terrifying. It is no wonder you are still shaking.”

“I am well, but I lost my shoes.” She lifted her skirts, revealing her bare feet.

“Do you not have any more?”

“No.” Who would believe an earl’s daughter did not have another pair of shoes? But Lord Thornbeck had said he would bring her some.

“Perhaps I have some that will fit you.”

“Do not worry about it tonight, please. It will not be the first time I have walked in bare feet.” She grimaced. Though Magdalen had surely been shod all her life, Avelina had many times been without shoes.

“Where is that servant of yours, Irma?” Magdalen said, with the closest thing to irritation on her face that Avelina had ever seen. “She is never around when one needs her.”

Magdalen’s maidservant suddenly entered the room.

“Hegatha, go get a pair of my shoes for Lady Dorothea.”

A tear ran down Avelina’s cheek. She hastily wiped it with her hand.

“Please don’t cry, Dorothea.” Tears welled up in Magdalen’s eyes. “You’re safe and well now. Do you want to talk about it some more?”

Avelina took deep breaths to force back the tears. “Forgive me. I don’t want to make you sad. I am well now.”

Magdalen surprised her by climbing up into the bed beside her and hugging her arm. “Now tell me exactly what you feel. I make my little sisters do this whenever they cry.”

What was Avelina feeling? “Afraid. Tired. Shaken. Guilty. Sad.” She sniffed.

“What were you doing on the balcony . . . in the dark?” Her brows drawn together in a look of bewilderment, Magdalen propped on one elbow to stare down at Avelina.

“That is what I don’t understand. I came back to my bedchamber after praying in the chapel and there was a note on the floor saying to meet on the balcony tonight. When I went to your room, there was a note on the door saying you were waiting for me there.”