The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(69)

For a moment he was speechless. “Did you just rebuke me for not being respectful enough to my servants?”

“Yes, I did. And for being angry with me even after you knew I did not mean to hurt you and never wanted to deceive you.” Her voice had lost some of its forceful tartness. Still, she sounded like her old self, when she had boldly proclaimed her opinions about love and marriage and duty and everything else he’d asked her about.

“Perhaps you are right. I should not have sent you to the servants’ quarters in anger, with an injured ankle. I regret it.”

She was very still, and he imagined his answer had shocked her into silence.

The outline of her shoulders in the dark room showed how small and frail she was. He imagined his arm embracing her, pulling her back against his chest, her head resting against him, her temple against his cheek. How good it would feel to turn her face toward him and kiss her.

A sharp ache stabbed his chest. He must not think such things. She was a servant and he was a margrave.

He could neither love her nor marry her. Besides, she was impertinent and opinionated, two of the very worst traits a woman could have. So why could he not stop thinking that she was the only woman he would ever want?



Avelina was getting cold sitting in the unheated room. The only part of her that was warm was her arm and shoulder, pressed against Lord Thornbeck. If only she was Lady Dorothea. She would shamelessly tell him she was cold, ask for his embrace, and rest her head against his chest.

Doing such a thing would be an invitation to Lord Thornbeck to make her his mistress, and she would never do that. She might only be a servant, but she deserved respect, even from a margrave, like Lady Magdalen believed. She was a human being, created by God to do good works. So she was not sorry she had rebuked him for being disrespectful to his servants, but she was shocked to hear him agree with her and say he regretted sending her to the servants’ quarters out of anger.

He had still been angry with her for deceiving him, so why had he saved her from the wolves?

“Did you know I was the one being attacked by wolves when you came to my rescue? Or did you only hear screams, unaware of who was in danger?”

He spoke slowly, pausing between sentences. “My guards told me they saw you leaving with Irma, so I knew it might be you. We were getting ready to set out to hunt the wolves, and my horse was saddled first. So I was able to reach you first.”

Perhaps he did think it was her, screaming for help. At least she had the memory of his taking her back to Thornbeck on his horse, carrying her in his arms despite his bad ankle, until he was able to hand her off to one of his guards. Then he had held her against his chest to stop her shaking. He was so warm. If only he would hold her again.

Lord Thornbeck leaned forward, straining to see through the tiny crack into the library.

“Is the guard still there?”

“Yes.” He sat back.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but always Avelina could feel the tension of his being so near in the tiny, almost completely dark room. If he had not made it clear that he would never have tender feelings for a servant, she might be worried he would try to kiss her . . . and that she would let him.

Avelina leaned forward to look through the crack. “Do you think we will have to stay here all night?”

“My hope is that by morning, he will send these guards elsewhere and we can escape. Or I will cause a distraction so you can get away.”

She shook her head. “You are the one who is in danger, who needs to escape.”

“If Geitbart finds out you warned me, he will likely kill you, or at least lock you in the dungeon. I cannot allow that.”

Why? Why could he not allow that? She wanted to ask him, but whether or not he still cared for her, they both knew that he shouldn’t. She should be thinking about how to get to safety, not about how much she longed for a love that could never be.

She couldn’t imagine how either of them would escape, truthfully. She should pray. Perhaps God would give them favor and save them from Geitbart. God could keep them from dying as they tried to escape. For those things she could pray. But it seemed too much to ask God for her heart’s desire.

Father God, if You cannot save me, then at least save Lord Thornbeck. But perhaps she should not have said “cannot” to God. Forgive me, God. I did not mean to imply that there is anything You cannot do. However, I know that You do not always do everything we ask, so I plead with You to save us. Save us precisely because it is impossible, and because You are God. And make a way for me to marry Lord Thornbeck, unless that is too presumptuous of me.

“Are you in pain?”

She realized she’d been leaning forward, her head almost between her knees, as she concentrated on her silent prayer. She straightened. “No, I am well.”

“Does your ankle hurt?”

“Only a little. I know your accident was a long time ago, but does your ankle pain you all the time or only sometimes?”

“It is worse when the weather changes.”

“I am sorry.”

“I pray your ankle shall heal better than mine has. I believe it will, if you stay off of it.”

He sounded gruff. Avelina leaned forward again to watch the guard. He was still shuffling through papers. Then he stopped to light a candle, as it had grown quite dark outside.

“You said you have a brother and sister. How old are they?”