The Silent Songbird

  “Yes, I imagine it is.” She should not be staring at his lips. But they were just so perfect, so appealing.

  But he did not care about her. And Sabina would do anything, obviously, to make sure he married her and no one else.

  If he wanted someone as despicable as Sabina, then he was not worth desiring. Or mourning over. Even if he did make heart-swelling apologies and have a deep, gentle voice and an even gentler touch.

  She spun around on her heel, forcing him to let go of her hand. “I forgive you. And I thank you for the bandages.” Over her shoulder she added, “Please tell your mother thank you.”

  She limped to the door.

  “I will walk you to the undercroft.” He caught up with her in two long strides. “Wait. You have not had your dinner.”

  “It is all right.”

  “No, no, we will go to the servants’ dining room. They should still be there.”

  “I would rather not go in there.”

  Understanding dawned on his face. “I will go get you some food. We can go together, to the kitchen.”

  She sighed, deciding not to protest, and followed him out.

  It was dark already as they walked across the yard to the kitchen. She waited outside while he went in. A few minutes later he came out with a large bundle.

  “You must think I’m very hungry.”

  “In case you get hungry again during the night.”

  They continued on to the undercroft. At the door she took the warm bundle from his hand. “Thank you.”

  Perhaps it was wrong for her to be angry with him for not trusting in her. After all, she was still hiding some rather big secrets. If only she could tell him who she was. But she could not risk it.

  “Be careful of that ankle.”

  “I will see you tomorrow, perhaps.”

  “You will.” He gave her that smile again. She did not like the way it made her breathless, and she especially hated that Sabina was so in love with this man that she would try to get Evangeline beaten or even killed just to make sure Westley would not look favorably upon her. Surely no man was that exceptional.

  Evangeline got out of bed before the break of day and hobbled toward the cow barn. She found Nicola already milking one of the cows.

  “I thought you were resting today,” Nicola said.

  Evangeline took her place under a cow. “I am well enough to help you milk the cows. I did not want you to have to do all the work by yourself.”

  Nicola gave her a concerned look over her shoulder. “I heard what happened yesterday. Are you sure you are all right?”

  “Yes, I only sprained my ankle.” Evangeline shuddered a little as she remembered her terror and the people’s determination to do her harm.

  “Why did they think you were trying to poison everyone? Did you put poison mushrooms in the pottage?”

  “It was Sabina.” Evangeline told Nicola everything that happened.

  “Sabina.” Nicola was silent for a few moments before continuing. “She would do anything to make you look bad to Westley. I’m so sorry, Evangeline.”

  “Don’t worry. She cannot fool me again.”

  “I suppose she cried to get out of being punished.”

  “How did you guess? She said she didn’t know they were poisonous and sobbed until everyone seemed to feel sorry for her. Why is it that you and I are the only ones who know she was lying?”

  “She doesn’t show her true self to most people. She’s sneaky. But you and I have seen it.” Nicola stood and moved her full bucket near the door, then grabbed an empty one and moved her stool to the next cow. “The other servant girls are afraid of her, so they try to please her and do whatever she wants.”

  “But you don’t do that.”

  “No. And she hates me for it. And she hates you because you’re pretty and Westley has noticed you. Most men aren’t very wise when it comes to women.”

  Evangeline knew little about such things, having never been around anyone except the Berkhamsted Castle servants, and they did not share intimate details with her about their love affairs. She had always believed love was what she sang about in the minstrels’ ballads. But life seemed much different from anything in those love ballads.

  “Why are men not wise about women? I mean, why would Westley not see that Sabina is not very kind?”

  Nicola lifted her head off the cow’s side.

  “She behaves much differently around him. Besides that, men become addled by their own lusts. A man’s judgment becomes clouded by a pretty face.”

  Muriel had told her something similar before.

  “Women think with their hearts, and their judgment is clouded by compliments. A man tells her a few flattering words and she will do anything he wants and will fancy herself in love. That’s what happened to my sister.”

  Surprised that Nicola was talking so much, Evangeline waited for her to go on.

  “One of the blacksmith’s sons, Hugh, lured her into the woods, telling her she was pretty. She never thought she was pretty, and I suppose she wanted to believe that he loved her. He got her with child and then ran off to join a band of outlaws. Then he got himself hanged for attacking travelers and robbing them. She cried for weeks and weeks, even though she knew he was a knave.”

  “That is very sad.”

  “But I must say that Westley seems a much more noble young man than most others I’ve known. I hope he is too wise, ultimately, to marry Sabina.”

  “I saw him rescue a little girl from a runaway horse once. And he was very kind to me when he thought I was mute. The other men only looked askance at me. At that time I had no idea he was the son of a wealthy lord.” And he had walked her back to the undercroft last night, taken care of her blistered hands twice now, and . . . She should not think about him anymore.

  Evangeline finished milking her first cow and then moved on to another one before Nicola finished her second.

  “You’re getting faster.” Nicola flashed her a smile.

  After finishing the milking, Evangeline walked with Nicola to the servants’ dining hall to break their fast. Her heart thumped nervously. She was about to encounter the same people who had wanted to commit violence against her only the night before.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Westley came around the side of the kitchen, just catching sight of Nicola and Eva as they walked—Eva was barely limping at all now—through the door to the servants’ dining hall. He followed at a distance, slipping in with some other men. He stood in the corner, watching.

  The atmosphere was subdued. A man brushed against Eva’s arm. When he turned to see who was there, he stepped back. “Excuse me.” He politely nodded to her.

  Eva nodded back and moved away.

  People gave her furtive glances, humble looks on their faces for the most part. Sabina was not there, of course. He didn’t know what she had been doing picking mushrooms for the cook. She was always nearby, it seemed, instead of at her home at the mill on the edge of the village.

  The other servants were starting to notice him standing there watching them. Eva seemed safe, as she stayed next to one of the other maidservants, but he wanted to make sure.

  He waved Robert over. “All is well, but I wonder if you would keep watch over Eva.”

  “Of course. Piers, Aldred, and I will make sure no harm comes to her.”

  “Thank you, Robert.” Westley slipped outside.

  Westley hurried toward the back of the castle. After helping his father all morning in the planning of a new dining hall for the servants, he hoped he might sit with Eva for a bit while she was reading, but he did not see her in her usual reading alcove. Had she decided not to cease working today, even though his mother had told her to rest all day?

  Just as he was about to go in through the back door, he spied her with Reeve Folsham at the other end of the garden, in the open space between the meadow and the fruit trees. They were facing the back of the oat barn, and the reeve seemed to be offering some sort of instructi
on.

  Westley walked toward them. Eva lifted a longbow, drew back the string, and let the arrow fly toward the barn wall. It stuck fast in the wood.

  “Very well done,” Reeve Folsham said. “Now try again, only this time, let your cheek rest against your hand, hold only as long as you need to get your sights perfect, and then release.”

  The reeve and Eva turned to see him.

  “Good morning to you, Westley.”

  “Good morning, Reeve Folsham. Eva.”

  She nodded, then drew back the bowstring, her face as taut as the string as she focused on the bull’s-eye drawn in charcoal on the barn wall. She let loose the bowstring, and the arrow shot fast and straight, striking the middle of the target.

  “You have a talent for archery, you do.” The reeve looked as cheerful as Westley had ever seen him—strange, since his first interaction with Eva was when she cut a line across his side.

  “How long have you been shooting?” Westley asked.

  “For a couple of hours,” Eva said with a smile.

  “When did you learn?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Westley nodded, pretending not to be surprised. Though she wasn’t very good at servant tasks like feeding pigs, cutting wheat, and knowing which mushrooms were poisonous, she was apparently very good at archery.

  “It’s as if she was born to shoot an arrow,” Reeve Folsham said. “Now, Eva, come over here and I will show you how to strengthen your arms. That is all you need to be a good longbowman, indeed.”

  They walked over to the barn, and the reeve put his hands on the wooden wall, stepped back a couple of feet, and pushed himself off the wall. “Put all your weight on your arms, and do this over and over every day. It builds the muscles in your arms that you need to shoot long distances.”

  Eva imitated his exercise.

  “And when you get good at that, you can do it on the ground, like this.” The reeve got down on his stomach, holding himself up on his hands and toes, and demonstrated lowering himself, then pushing himself up again.

  “Ah yes, that should strengthen my arms very well,” Eva said cheerfully. “Will you teach me knife throwing and sword fighting now?”

  The reeve smiled—or at least one side of his mouth went up. “I have work I should attend to now, but I shall return later. Perhaps Westley can teach you sword fighting.”

  “Thank you so much for teaching me archery.” She smiled so big at the reeve that Westley felt a pang in his chest, wishing he could have been the recipient of that smile, which brought out the dimple in each of her cheeks.

  The reeve strode away, leaving them alone.

  “You have never been a servant, have you, Eva?”

  Her lips parted and she looked away, facing the orchard and fiddling with her bowstring. “Whatever makes you say that?”

  “You have a way about you. It’s different from the other maidens in Glynval.”

  “Are you saying I am special?” She gave him a coy half smile.

  A warning went through his gut, like a tiny bolt of lightning. “The main reason is that you don’t know how to do anything.”

  “That is an insulting thing to say.” She drew her brows together, but the look of outrage never reached her expressive mouth.

  “You don’t know how to cut wheat or make bread or spin wool into thread. You haven’t built up the strength in your arms to carry a full bucket of water, and your hands turned to blisters in one day. But you do know how to read Latin, something no servant I know is capable of. Who are you, Eva? Where do you come from?”

  Her face had become pale by the end of his list.

  “You can either tell me the truth or tell me some outrageous tale like the one about your master and mistress beating you until you were mute. But I will not be likely to believe any more lies.” He would not be easily fooled, as John Underhill had taunted him.

  Her jawline hardened as if she was clenching her teeth. “I told you the truth. I told you I ran away because a man wanted to marry me, and I did not wish to marry him.”

  Again he remembered the Earl of Shiveley’s men, along with the king’s men, looking for two women, one of whom had red hair.

  “Was this man who wanted to marry you Lord Shiveley?”

  She looked away. But surely Lord Shiveley would not marry anyone who wasn’t of royal blood, or at least aristocratic. Perhaps it was the captain of Shiveley’s guard or someone of his household staff who wanted to marry Eva.

  Suddenly Eva grabbed Westley’s arm and pulled him down. “What is it?” He squatted beside her and followed her line of vision.

  John Underhill was walking across the small area between the back of the main house and the garden, heading around the side.

  “There he is again—the blond one who struck you and tried to kill you!”

  He and Eva squatted behind a bush as John wandered around the gardens.

  “Are you sure you are not mistaken?”

  She still gripped her bow. “That man is not your friend.”

  “But why would John try to kill me?” His stomach was sinking.

  “You exchanged angry words with him, then he struck you and pushed you into the river. It is he. I saw him.”

  Her gaze bored into his. Could she know how hurtful it was to think of John doing such a thing?

  John started walking in their direction and waved, as he must have seen the tops of their heads.

  Eva stepped back, retrieved an arrow off the ground, and nocked it to her bowstring. She raised the weapon and aimed it at John.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Evangeline pointed her bow and arrow at Westley’s friend John, the same man who had tried to kill him.

  “Don’t come any closer!” Evangeline had faced a throng of angry men and women, so she could surely take on just one—or two—if Westley still did not believe her. Her heart beat fast, sending the blood racing through her body.

  Now she had a weapon, and she knew how to use it. She almost smiled.

  The man stopped and held up his hands.

  “Eva,” Westley said, a growl in his voice, “what are you doing? Put that bow and arrow down.”

  “This man tried to kill you.”

  John Underhill scrunched his face at Evangeline. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about. You did not see me when you passed by on your way to attack Westley with that block of wood in your hand or you might have tried to kill me too.”

  “You’re insane!” John barked out a laugh, but there was no humor at all in his hard, dark eyes. “Westley, tell this lunatic woman that’s ridiculous.”

  Westley warily kept his body partially angled toward John, but he did not speak.

  “I don’t believe I have met this servant girl.” John stepped toward her with an arrogant smile.

  Evangeline did not lower her arrow even an inch but kept it trained on the man’s chest. “I advise you not to come any closer.”

  John halted again.

  “Westley, do you allow your servants to threaten your friends? I do believe this little firebrand would do me bodily harm.”

  “Do you know what she’s talking about? Why does she say you attacked me, John?”

  “How would I know that?” John’s voice rose in pitch and volume as he flung his arms out. “She is addled, or drinking some kind of strong ale. I heard you fell in the river and hit your head, but I don’t know what kind of satanic dreams this little servant girl has been having.”

  The man was obviously trying to insult her, for as tall as she was, no one had ever called her a “little” anything.

  Westley glanced from her to John Underhill.

  “Is anything amiss, sir?” One of the stable boys approached them.

  “Go fetch Sabina, the miller’s daughter,” Westley said.

  “Yes, sir.” The young man turned and ran.

  “Do you not trust me, Westley? Can this be?” John’s face was a mixture of amusement a
nd anger. “Who is this little annoyance? This . . . girl?”

  “I am neither little nor a girl,” Evangeline said, her voice as icy as her blood was boiling. “And you are the man I saw strike Westley le Wyse in the head and push him in the river. If I had not been there, he would have drowned.”

  The man studied her, his eyes so cold he surely would have frozen her heart if he could have. But the fact that he was pretending to be Westley’s friend, bold enough to lie to his face after trying to kill him . . . He must have heard that Westley could not remember what happened.

  Instead of feeling afraid, strength coursed through her. Nothing would keep her from at least wounding the man should he make an aggressive move toward either her or Westley.

  Westley said nothing. John Underhill crossed his arms over his chest.

  Finally, someone was approaching from the direction of the castle.

  “Sabina,” Westley said in an expressionless voice, “is this the man you saw running away when I fell into the river?”

  Sabina shook her head emphatically. “No, of course not. This is John Underhill. Why would he want to harm you? The two men I saw running away from where you fell in had, um, black hair and red hair. Neither one of them could have been John Underhill.” She smiled openmouthed, as if the idea were ridiculous.

  Evangeline’s stomach roiled, but she gripped the bow and arrow even tighter, the bow and string digging into her fingers.

  “Eva was not even there when you fell in the water.” Sabina made a derisive sound with her lips.

  “It is Sabina who was not there. She only said she saw two men running away because I told her there were two men.”

  “Westley,” John said, “if you are just going to stand there and let her accuse me of trying to kill you, pointing an arrow at me, then I’m leaving. I did not know our friendship meant so little to you.”

  John Underhill turned to leave. Westley opened his mouth to speak but ultimately said nothing.

  Sabina smiled slowly as she stared at Westley, her eyes trained on him even as she started walking back the way she had come.