As soon as Evangeline had finished, she left the table and went to see if Westley and his family were ready for her. But when she peeked through the doorway to their family table in the Great Hall, her stomach fluttered. She pressed her back against the wall and closed her eyes to pray.
“Eva?”
Westley stood staring at her. “What are you doing? Are you coming in to sing?” He touched her elbow and tugged gently.
“But I don’t know what to sing.”
“Sing that song you were singing to Mildred.”
She nodded and let him lead her inside.
As she walked across the room with Westley, the others turned their heads.
Several children were seated at the table—six, since Westley had six brothers and sisters—and Lord and Lady le Wyse.
Lady le Wyse bestowed her with a welcoming smile. “We are so pleased you are willing to sing at the festival, my dear.”
“Thank you.” After feeling so incompetent at everything since she’d arrived in Glynval, she felt rather pleased at the thought of singing for the people who had welcomed her and allowed her to feel free for the first time in her life.
The children sat quietly watching her, as did Lord le Wyse. Westley sat on the bench, too, facing toward her.
“Do you need a stool? Would you like to sit?” Lady le Wyse asked.
“No, I thank you.” Evangeline closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Preparing to sing, she let herself dwell on joyful and pleasant thoughts. The moment she realized Westley was still alive after drawing him out of the river . . . the moment she first hit the target with her arrow . . . being held in Westley’s arms . . .
As Evangeline began to sing, pleasant memories of Glynval mingled with the pictures conjured up by the words of the song, a story about a shepherd boy and a goose girl falling in love and getting married in the springtime. Halfway through the song, she opened her eyes. The family was completely focused on Evangeline’s face, including Westley, his mouth slack.
As soon as she finished, they all began to exclaim and talk at once. Westley smiled broadly and clapped his hands together. Lady le Wyse embraced her. The children were calling out, “Sing another! Sing another!”
When they all quieted, Lady le Wyse said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard more beautiful singing.”
“I’ve never heard better,” Lord le Wyse said. “If you do not win the contest at the festival, it will be an injustice.”
“Thank you,” Evangeline said, unable to stop smiling. It felt good to hear their praise, but seeing Westley’s genuine smile was the best of all.
“Will you sing one more for us?” Lady le Wyse prompted.
Evangeline nodded, then closed her eyes to choose another song. She finally thought of one, a lullaby she and Muriel sometimes sang together.
As she sang, even the youngest two, who could not have been more than eight or nine, gave her their rapt attention.
When she finished, they all reacted as before. Singing in front of an audience of Glynval’s people would be much more rewarding than singing for a wealthy, privileged king and his equally wealthy, privileged retinue.
Evangeline was gradually getting to know the other house servants, but she missed Muriel and Nicola, whom she rarely saw now, as they did most of their work at the dairy and the kitchen.
When Sunday came again, Evangeline searched through the crowd of servants walking toward the Glynval Church until she spotted Muriel. She hurried toward her and the two women embraced, then continued on behind the others.
“Evangeline.” Muriel’s eyes were swimming in tears.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
Muriel’s chin trembled. “You will have to forgive me, Evangeline, but I cannot stay here any longer. I am traveling back to Berkhamsted Castle with a group of men who are taking a load of cheeses to the castle.”
Evangeline stared, trying not to let Muriel know how panicked her words made her.
“I’m not a servant, not the kind I have to be here. I want to go home.” Tears streamed down Muriel’s cheeks. “And I want you to come with me. Evangeline, think what you are giving up, what you sacrifice every day. Look at your hands. Are you not in pain? Why are you putting yourself through that? You could go home with me and live in luxury and at ease as Lord Shiveley’s wife.”
Tears formed in Evangeline’s eyes at her friend’s distress. “I cannot.” They were both crying now.
“Are you so in love with Westley? Do you think you might be able to get him to marry you?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“If you think he will marry you, I could tell the king and Lord Shiveley that you died, and they would stop searching for you.”
“Are you that miserable, Muriel? Is it truly so bad? I will ask Lady le Wyse to let you work with me in the castle. I think she would agree.”
She shook her head, staring down at the road instead of at Evangeline. “I’m leaving. I have made up my mind.”
“What if they don’t believe you when you say I am dead? What if they force you to tell them the truth? Or ask you where my grave is so they can make sure?”
“I don’t think they would.”
“But what will you do when you go back to Berkhamsted? What if there is no place for you there?” Since Evangeline would be gone, she would have no one for whom to be a companion.
“I shall ask the king to take me into his household and give me a place there.”
Evangeline could think of no other objections. “Are you sure you are willing to lie to the king?” Her insides trembled at the thought that Muriel might decide not to lie. After all, she thought Evangeline should return to Berkhamsted Castle and marry Lord Shiveley. Perhaps she’d tell them where Evangeline was, to ensure she had no real choice in the matter.
They were nearing the church. Evangeline caught hold of Muriel’s arm. “Please don’t leave.”
“You only want me to stay so you will not be found out. But I hate it here.”
“Why? Is someone mistreating you? I will do something to stop them.”
“No, it isn’t that. I just . . . I am homesick. I . . . I miss someone.”
“Who?” Who could she mean?
“Frederick, the stable master.”
Evangeline stopped and stared. “The one whose wife died a year ago?”
Muriel nodded.
“Why did you never tell me?”
“You are young. And I suppose . . . I was a bit ashamed of myself.”
Evangeline waited for her to continue.
“He is below my station. And I . . . I knew you would not approve.”
“Why would I not approve? Look at me. I am working as a servant, cleaning hearths, making food, and emptying slop buckets in the pigsty.”
Muriel wiped the tears with the backs of her hands. “You know how I always said falling in love before marriage was something only peasants did, that falling in love was low and common. It was prideful of me. My foolish pride . . . Perhaps that’s why he hasn’t asked me to marry him. But when I go back, I vow I will not care. I will ask his forgiveness for thinking he was not good enough to marry, and I will marry him—if he will have me.”
Evangeline had never thought about Muriel getting married, or even imagined her falling in love before. But she loved Muriel and wanted her to enjoy her life, not to be miserable. Evangeline threw her arms around her. “I am so pleased for you, Muriel.”
“But I am afraid. What if King Richard disapproves? Is it selfish for me to get married?”
“No, not at all. After your service to King Richard all these years, you deserve to marry whomever you want.” Evangeline squeezed her arm. “Come, let us go into church before someone comes looking for us.”
They went inside and stood near the back of the nave, listening to the plainsong hymn. Evangeline’s mind wandered. What was to happen to her? Could Muriel persuade Lord Shiveley and King Richard that she was dead and to call off their search for he
r? Surely the earl did not want to marry her that much. He could find someone else, another relative of the king’s, though perhaps more distantly related, to marry.
Muriel had asked her if she thought Westley would marry her. She was afraid to even hope for such a thing. Westley was free and wealthy. He could marry anyone he wanted, or no one at all. Why would he marry her? He’d caught her in a blatant lie, pretending she couldn’t speak. She’d also accused his best friend of trying to kill him. Why would he ever want to marry her?
She had saved his life. But she could offer no proof that she was telling the truth.
She tried to force her mind to concentrate on the priest’s words, but her thoughts were scattered. Muriel was to leave her.
Perhaps it would be better for everyone if Evangeline left Glynval. If she moved on to another village, then Muriel could have a clear conscience by telling the king the truth about where she was. Evangeline would simply have to leave when no one else was watching so no one would know where she had gone. That would involve leaving at night, with no escort to protect her.
But she knew how to protect herself now. She could use a longbow, she was learning how to throw a knife, and she knew how to fight back if someone attacked her. Still, Reeve Folsham had warned her that she might prove to be no match for a man who was determined to harm her. And if there was more than one man, it would be even more difficult. She had to rely on surprising them, hitting them quickly, then running away and screaming for help. Unless she was able to use a weapon, of course.
She was only half listening to the priest’s homily when his words caught her attention. “Jesus carried your sins to the cross. Why, O man, do you insult the Lord God by continuing to carry the burden of your sin? Lay your burden down.”
When the church service was over and everyone began filing out, Evangeline whispered to Muriel, “I want to be alone for a few moments to pray.”
Muriel nodded and left with the others.
Evangeline moved into the corner of the nave, into the shadows. When everyone was gone, including the priest, Evangeline went to the place where she had carved into the stone wall at the back of the church. She traced the words Absolve me with her fingers, then traced the three crosses underneath. “I can’t bear this awful feeling of guilt,” she whispered. It was as if she carried a tree trunk on her shoulders.
But Jesus took that guilt away when He sacrificed Himself. Wouldn’t He feel hurt to know she was refusing to lay it down? That she was still carrying it?
“I believe You took my sin, and I am forgiven.”
Air filled her lungs, and she felt so light she might have lifted up to the ceiling. “Thank You, God.”
She waited until the feeling passed, then she whispered, “What will happen to me, God?” She placed her finger on the middle cross. “I’m afraid to ask.” She closed her eyes and Westley’s face loomed before her mind’s eye. “Is it a sin, God? To ask for Westley’s love?”
A tear slid down her cheek. “I won’t ask You to make him love me. He should have the freedom to choose whom he wants. But I’m all alone, God. I need . . .” What did she need? A friend? A husband? Disquiet filled her heart at the thought of asking for either. It didn’t seem right to need a person.
“I need an all-powerful God who cares for me. I need You.” Her spirit quieted within her. “You’ll never leave me or forsake me, and I’ll always trust You. I know I’ll be safe with You in my heart. I’ll not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day.”
Her tears dried on her cheeks. She would miss Muriel, and she did not know what would be her fate, but somehow the fear and guilt and pain were so weak and faint, they no longer oppressed her spirit. She was at peace.
Eight days later, Evangeline awakened to Muriel standing over her, shaking her shoulder.
She held a burning candle, which spread just enough light to illuminate Muriel’s face in the darkness of the predawn. “I wanted to bid you farewell,” she whispered.
Evangeline sat up and hugged her friend. “I will pray for you.”
“And I you.”
After a few more whispered words, Muriel disappeared, leaving with three of Glynval’s men carting a load of cheeses to Berkhamsted Castle.
Evangeline lay awake until it was time to get up, thinking about Muriel, praying for her, and praying Shiveley would give up and stop searching for her.
Later in the day, Evangeline was taking all the linen sheets off the beds and bringing them down to be washed. When she walked out the back door, Sabina sat beside the washtub talking with the servants who were doing the wash.
Evangeline’s stomach clenched and heat boiled up inside her. She pretended not to see her. The last time she’d seen Sabina was the night when she gave her the poison mushrooms to put in the pottage. All the emotions from that night rushed over her, sending her heartbeat into a strange rhythm.
“Good morning, Evangeline,” Sabina said, smirking.
“Good . . .” Evangeline let her voice trail off. She could not in good conscience tell Sabina she wished her a good morning.
“What’s the matter? You aren’t mute again, are you?”
Several of the other maidens giggled.
Evangeline dumped the sheets on the ground and turned to leave.
“Oh, don’t go away like that,” Sabina called after her. “You are not still angry with me about the mushrooms, surely.” She ended her words with a laugh.
Evangeline turned back and said, “Next time you pick mushrooms, I hope you eat them.” She walked away to the snickers of the other servants, hurrying before Sabina could say anything else.
When Evangeline was on her way back outside to take the last of the linens, Westley stepped out of one of the rooms along the corridor.
“Sabina is back today, I see. I can send her away if you wish.”
“No, no. I will not allow her to bother me. I did not do anything wrong. She is the one who should be uncomfortable.” Evangeline brushed past him.
“Wait.” Westley touched her arm. “Let me see your hands. Come into the light.” He pulled her toward a window. She placed her hands in his, palms up.
“You aren’t covering them.”
“I can get more work done with them uncovered. They are nearly healed now.”
“I don’t want you letting them get worse again.”
“They need to toughen up, don’t you think? If I am to be a servant for the rest of my life, I need tough hands.”
He was still holding her hands in his as he stared into her eyes. There was a serious, sad expression on his face. He said softly, “You were never meant to be a servant.”
“But I can work. I can be free and . . . do what I like.” Only if she could manage to stay free from the king and Lord Shiveley.
And only if Muriel would not tell them where she was.
“Besides, we are all meant to be servants of the Most High God. Even you.”
Westley smiled. “Yes. Even me.” He suddenly let go of her hands. “Tomorrow is the first day of the festival, when you are to sing.”
Evangeline sucked in a deep breath. “I am ready.”
Even if the worst happened, she was at peace.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Evangeline sat on a stool at the back of the castle and closed her eyes as Nicola prepared her long, wavy hair by adding tiny braids and weaving wildflowers into the plaits. Lastly, she pinned a crown of white flowers on top of her head.
Nicola handed her the small looking glass. Evangeline gasped. “How did you get it to curl so perfectly?” Normally her hair was wild and unruly. Somehow Nicola had calmed her hair into perfect ringlets, with tiny braids interspersed. “It’s beautiful. You have a special talent for hair dressing.”
“Thank you very much.” Nicola curtsied, smiling. “And now I can hardly wait to hear you sing.”
Evangeline placed a hand over her stomach. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. I have been singing every night with Lord and Lady le
Wyse and their family.”
“And have you been singing privately to Westley?” Nicola winked at her.
“No, I have not.”
“I have heard that the two of you can be seen sitting alone together every day just before the evening meal.”
“We are reading.”
“Reading? Has he kissed you?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you kiss him?”
“I cannot do that.” Evangeline gave Nicola her best horrified look. The thought, in truth, did not horrify her much at all.
Evangeline straightened the belt around her hips. “Westley is an honorable young man. He does not go around kissing girls.”
“Perhaps if you kissed him, it might help him make up his mind.”
“Make up his mind about what?”
“About whether he should kiss you, whether he should marry you.”
“Why would he want to marry me?” Evangeline turned away from Nicola and bent to put on her shoes, then reached for her overdress.
“Because you are beautiful. You know how to read. You apparently come from a wealthy family.”
“A wealthy family?”
“It is obvious, Eva. You don’t know how to perform the ordinary tasks that any other girl would have been doing since she was six years old. But you know how to read.” She gave Evangeline a pointed look.
Evangeline’s heart suddenly ached to tell Nicola her whole story, ached for a deeper friendship with another girl her age. But wouldn’t that put Nicola in danger?
“I did have an unusual upbringing,” Evangeline finally said. “I was an orphan and my guardian kept me a prisoner, you might say. He wanted me to marry someone I didn’t want to marry, and I ran away.”
“Why didn’t you want to marry him? Was he rich?”
“Yes.”
“But he was old and ugly?”
“Yes.”
Nicola shook her head and sighed. “I would have done the same.” She stepped toward Evangeline and helped her on with her overdress. Then she made some adjustments to her hair. “And now, if you can get Westley to marry you, you will not have to marry that other person.” She smiled.