Her friend Avelina knew what to do in a fight, knew how to think and plan and devise a way of escape. But Magdalen had been raised gently, taught little more than how to dance and greet dukes and princes and embroider tapestries. She had no idea how to contend with rebels and fiends.
Erlich snatched the dress as soon as Magdalen pulled it over her head. He held Agnes’s knife pointed at Magdalen’s heart while Agnes took off her own dress and threw it on the ground. Then she donned Magdalen’s blue silk.
Agnes and Erlich still stared at her, so Magdalen picked up Agnes’s brown woolen kirtle and pulled it on, letting the stiff material fall to her ankles, then tied the laces at the top of the bodice.
“Now give me your necklace.” Agnes pointed with her knife at the rock pendant her father had given her. “Do it or I’ll cut it off.”
Magdalen’s hands were steady as she unclasped her precious necklace, which represented the bond she and her father shared, all the times they had gone to the mines together and he had carefully taught her about copper ore and how it was mined, stories about the beautiful countryside around Mallin.
Her blood was ice-cold as she handed the necklace over to Agnes and watched her put it around her own neck. Magdalen would bide her time and watch for an opportunity. She would get her necklace back from the usurper.
Magdalen was a baron’s daughter. She could get help from one of the noblemen and women who knew her mother. But they were headed in the opposite direction of her friends in Thornbeck, and no one who had met Magdalen lived anywhere near here, except the Duke of Wolfberg. His sister, Gertrudt, had been at Lord Thornbeck’s two-week party, but she had married and moved far away.
What if she told the duke she was Lady Magdalen and he didn’t believe her? Agnes had the same pale skin and similar hair coloring, though Magdalen’s was reddish-blonde and Agnes’s was more of a yellow-blonde. Magdalen’s eyes were green and Agnes’s were hazel. But he still might believe Agnes was really her.
“Now I shall ride in the cart the rest of the way to Wolfberg while you walk beside it.” Agnes smirked in a way that made Magdalen clench her teeth.
She would plan a way of escape, just as Avelina would have. Even when she was afraid, Avelina had worked hard to stand up to the evil that had been afoot in Thornbeck Castle. Did Magdalen have that kind of strength and determination?
She was about to find out.
Chapter Three
Steffan had slept at the inn a day’s ride northeast of Prague, but he awoke with the same heavy feeling he’d lain down with.
He traveled an hour before coming to a village. The church’s bell tower rose above all the other buildings, and he turned his horse in its direction, with his attackers’ horses following behind by use of tethers.
He tied the horses to a stake just outside the church and went inside. “Is the priest here? I need someone to hear my confession.”
“I am here,” a voice called from behind the chancel. “Go in and I shall be there in a few moments.”
Steffan stepped into the wooden confessional box and closed the curtain, then lowered himself to the kneeling bench, focusing his mind on the Lord Jesus’ death on the cross.
The priest shuffled into the box.
Eager to get this done, Steffan blurted out, “I have committed a great sin against God and against humanity.”
“There is no sin the Lord cannot forgive,” the voice said from the other side of the slatted window. “What have you done that you wish to confess?”
“I killed two men.”
The priest made a strangled sound, as if he’d choked on his own tongue. He coughed, drew in a loud breath, and coughed again.
“Shall I go get some water for you?”
The man cleared his throat. “No need. I am well. So you killed two men?” His voice rose higher as he spoke.
“They tried to kill me.”
“Why did they try to kill you, my son?” His voice almost regained the peaceful tone he’d had at the beginning of the confession.
“They said my uncle sent them.”
“Why would your uncle want to kill you?”
“I don’t know. He probably wants my inheritance.”
“So these men attacked you?”
“Yes. They attacked me with swords.”
“And you killed them both?”
“Yes.” Steffan had never had a priest ask so many questions. “Have you had anyone confess to murder before?”
“You are my first murderer. But Jesus says when we hate someone, we have committed murder already in our hearts. You did not hate these men?”
“No, I never saw them before.”
“I see. Since it was in self-defense, your penance shall be light. You must spend today and the next day in prayer for these two men’s families.”
“Very well, I shall.”
“And you may sleep tonight on a cot at the back of the church. Then if you will promise never to kill again, you will be absolved.”
Steffan was silent as he thought about it. “If I am attacked again by my murderous uncle or his henchmen, I shall be forced to defend myself. I am not sure I can promise that.”
The priest made a clicking sound, as if with his tongue against his teeth. “Well then, you must vow never to kill unless out of necessity to save yourself from being killed. And you must remember, vengeance belongs to the Lord.”
Vengeance? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought much about, but he did want to make sure his uncle was brought to justice if he was found to be guilty. His uncle deserved the greatest punishment for causing Steffan to kill two men.
“I shall do as you have said.”
“Very good. Now seek peace, my son.”
Steffan spent the two days at the little village church, kneeling in prayer. He prayed so much and so long, his mind sometimes wandered. And when the assigned penance was over, he was not sure if the heaviness on his shoulders was any lighter. Had his prayers made a difference? Had he prayed fervently enough to receive God’s forgiveness?
It seemed only right for him to feel guilty for taking two lives. Was praying for two days enough penance for two men who would never have a chance to repent and ask for the remission of their sins?
Regardless, Steffan had had little choice. He had killed the men in self-defense. And now he rode toward the home he had not seen in almost two years.
Erlich and Agnes moved a bit faster now, and they reached Wolfberg before sunset.
As they neared the gate that led to the castle, Agnes whispered, “Not a word out of you, or Father will kill the mute boy.” She glanced in Lenhart’s direction.
Magdalen merely glared back. You and your father will pay for hurting Lenhart.
The cut over the boy’s eye was still crusted over, and his expression reminded her of a stray dog she’d seen once in the village of Mallin when some boys threw rocks at it. The thought of anyone hurting a kindly, innocent boy like him made her blood boil.
She had to be brave like Avelina and watch for an opportunity to right this wrong.
The gate was high and impressive, and the guards wore the gold and burgundy livery of the dukedom of Wolfberg. In the gray twilight, the castle emerged from the trees as they passed through the gate. The five towers loomed over them, one giant round one in the middle and one square tower at each of the four corners of the massive building.