The man backed away, his left arm hanging limply at his side.
Evangeline kept her arrow nocked. The man Reeve Folsham had attacked first was lying on the ground, still not moving. The reeve had been struggling with the other man, but he suddenly slammed his fist into the man’s temple and he sunk to his knees, then fell forward.
Westley seemed to have overcome John Underhill as well. They were on the ground with Westley holding his wrists.
Evangeline ran over, aiming her arrow at John’s chest.
Westley let go of John’s wrists, snatched up the knife lying on the ground, and stood. “Very impressive, Evangeline.”
“You did well too.”
He looked back at Reeve Folsham. “Thank you, old friend. The two of you saved my life.”
“Eva found out from Sabina where they were taking you. You should thank her.”
He turned his sky-blue eyes on her. One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I will.”
A few people burst through the bushes and trees toward them. Reeve Folsham sent a couple of men to find some of Lord le Wyse’s strongest men to help secure John and his henchmen and escort, drag, or carry them, as the case warranted, back to the castle where they would be locked in one of the outbuildings.
Westley, Reeve Folsham, and Evangeline kept watch over their foes—Westley with John’s knife, the reeve with his block of wood, and Evangeline with her bow and arrow aimed and ready. When help returned, more people came with them, asking what happened.
Westley tried to answer their questions as briefly as possible. Some of them left to follow and heckle the prisoners. In the chaos Westley took Evangeline’s bow and arrow from her, gave them to Reeve Folsham, and clasped her hand.
She followed him away from the crowd while the reeve tried to get everyone to go back to the festival and enjoy themselves.
Westley led her to the clearing where he’d first heard her sing, the place where he’d discovered she’d been deceiving him about being mute.
He faced her, holding on to her arms and standing quite close. “Thank you for saving me, both today and when you saved me from drowning. John confirmed that it wasn’t Sabina.” He took both her hands in his. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Will you forgive me?”
“Of course I forgive you. I cannot blame you for not believing me.”
He was beautiful. After she had heard that John Underhill was going to kill him, her whole body exploded with strength. She assaulted Sabina and held her on the ground. She shot an arrow that could have killed a man and did wound him in the shoulder. She had not even been afraid, because she was too furious that anyone would try to hurt Westley.
“Did John’s men hurt you?” he asked. “Or was he lying about capturing you?”
“I am not hurt, but they grabbed me and put something over my head and carried me to the dairy.” Her heart pounded and her knees went weak as she recalled it. “They left me at the bottom of the stairs, and I . . . I broke the door handle with a churn. I’m sorry, but you will have to repair the door.”
His arms enfolded her, pulling her close. She pressed her cheek against his, her height a perfect match for his. He only had to lean down a bit.
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m so sorry they did that to you. But . . . you amaze me,” he said softly, stroking her shoulder.
“Did they hurt you?” Evangeline closed her eyes, memorizing the way it felt to embrace him, his arms around her . . . warm and solid and comfortable . . . the way he smelled . . . like lavender and fresh air and Westley.
“No, I am well,” he said, his breath warm on her neck, “now that I know you are well. And later I shall think more about how much I want to punish those men for laying hands on you.”
Do not think about that now. Just think about what I’m thinking about, which is how much I want you to kiss me.
“Evangeline?” His deep voice rumbled next to her ear.
“Yes?”
“I don’t want you to work as a servant anymore.”
“Why not? What shall I do?”
“You are the king’s cousin.”
“Perhaps your mother would allow me to do some mending. I embroider very well, and I imagine mending would not be so different from embroidery.”
He leaned back and gazed intently into her eyes, an unhurried searching, before saying, “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
“I am sure.” Why didn’t he kiss her? She might just kiss him. Nicola would applaud her, but what would Westley think? Kissing him was no different from Ruth uncovering Boaz’s feet. But would he react to her the way Boaz reacted to Ruth? The uncertainty kept her lips six inches from his.
“Westley?”
Evangeline pulled away and turned around. Westley’s sister Cate approached them.
“There you are. Mother is very worried and wants you to come to the castle right away. Both of you.” Cate raised her brows at them, a half smile on her lips.
Evangeline started after his younger sister, but Westley stayed her with a hand to her shoulder. He bent and brushed his lips against her temple. After squeezing her hand, he started walking behind Cate.
Her heart fluttered and she squeezed back.
“What were you two doing out here by yourselves?” Cate asked with a backward glance.
“Talking,” Westley said.
As they emerged onto the road, people stared at them, but Westley seemed to purposely avoid making eye contact as he hurried toward the castle. One called out a question about whether someone was trying to kill Westley. He simply shook his head, smiled, and waved as he kept up his fast pace. Evangeline followed beside him.
People were staring at their joined hands. Westley would have a lot of questions to answer—when he slowed down long enough to hear them.
Lady le Wyse was waiting for them in front of the castle. “I am so relieved to see you both! Your father is questioning John and his men. I hope they did not harm either of you.”
“We are well.” Westley let go of Evangeline’s hand to embrace his mother. “Neither of us are hurt.”
Lady le Wyse reached for his side near his waist. “Then what is this blood on your shirt?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Evangeline gasped at the circular red stain about the size of a fist that had soaked through Westley’s white linen tunic. His mother pulled his shirt up to show a small wound in his side.
“Mother, please. It is nothing.” Westley pulled his shirt out of her grasp and back down over his stomach.
“Come inside then. I must put something on that.”
As they followed her inside, he gave Evangeline an apologetic look.
“Your mother is right. Let her take care of it.”
“What happened?” Lady le Wyse led the way into her small room where she kept the bandages and her homemade remedies.
“John’s man stuck me with his knife.”
Evangeline and his mother gasped at the same moment.
“Nothing more than a scratch. A prick of the knife point while he was forcing me to walk with him into the woods. It is not as if he stabbed me through my liver.”
Westley laughed, but neither Evangeline nor Lady le Wyse even smiled.
His mother ordered him to sit on the stool in the middle of the room, and Evangeline hovered close where she could see. Lady le Wyse lifted his tunic, exposing his side and a swath of his lean stomach as she peered down at the wound. “Hold this,” she said, and Westley took the hem of his tunic from her, holding it up so she could see.
“It is not very deep,” his mother said.
“I told you,” Westley muttered.
“Evangeline, get me that jar there, will you?” Lady le Wyse pointed to a shelf behind her.
Evangeline fetched the container. Lady le Wyse finished wiping the blood from the wound, which seemed to have almost stopped bleeding.
As his mother smeared the healing salve on the small puncture wound in his side, Evangeline said softly, “I’m so so
rry I didn’t even notice you were bleeding.”
“It is nothing.” Westley gave her a jaunty half smile. Evangeline’s stomach flipped.
Lady le Wyse took up a roll of cloth and wrapped it twice around his middle. “It should heal without much more bleeding, but it is difficult to tell with puncture wounds, since I don’t know how deep it is.”
“Thank you, Mother. I’m sure it will be fine. Evangeline will think this is too much fuss over a little knife prick. She is so tough herself—working all day every day with bleeding hands.”
“My hands are not bleeding anymore.” She smiled back at him as his mother took the shears from her and cut off the bandage, then handed them back to Evangeline and tied the bandage in place.
“There.” Lady le Wyse stared at him, then blinked rapidly.
“Mother, please, do not cry. I am very well, as you can see.”
“But you were nearly killed.” She placed her hand over her mouth.
“There, now.” Westley looked a bit awkward as he stood and embraced his mother, patting her shoulder. “I don’t think John would have actually killed me.”
“He would have left you in the river to drown.”
“Yes, but Evangeline will not allow anyone to kill me, you see.” He pulled away from his mother and gave Evangeline another jaunty smile and a wink. “We are both safe as long as we have each other.”
“And Reeve Folsham,” she added.
Lady le Wyse turned to Evangeline and threw her arms around her. “Yes, thank you, my dear. You are our guardian angel. I could not bear it if anything happened to Westley.”
Nor could I. “I am only grateful I was able to help. God guided me, no doubt.”
“Of course.” Lady le Wyse sniffed, drew out a handkerchief, and dabbed at her eyes. “God is merciful and has kept us all safe once again. Forgive me, my dear. I am just a bit overcome at the thought of someone trying to harm my son.”
“Of course. There is nothing to forgive.”
“Come, come,” Westley said, his voice loud as he laid one arm around each woman’s shoulder. “This is a strange way to spend the Harvest Festival. Let us go and enjoy ourselves.”
Lady le Wyse clasped Evangeline’s hand and looked into her eyes, her gaze at once penetrating and kind. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Mother . . .”
“Very well. Go on.” She took a few steps away from them. “I must check on my youngest son and daughter upstairs, and all three of us will be there soon.”
Westley was already holding Evangeline’s hand again, heading toward the door.
“See you at the singing contest,” Westley said as they left the room.
“I nearly forgot.” Evangeline put a hand over her mouth.
“Forgot you will be singing this evening?”
“Yes.”
“I should get some food in you so you don’t faint on the stage.”
Evangeline laughed. “I won’t faint. I have sung for—” She stopped herself.
They seemed to be alone as they walked through the castle toward the front door, but she still did not think it wise to make any indiscreet announcements.
As they reached the door, Westley stopped and whispered near her ear, “You sang for the king. Is that what you were about to say?”
“Yes.”
“Evangeline.” He moved to stand in front of her, the smile gone from his face. “I know you are far above me in social status. You are the granddaughter of a king and King Richard’s cousin, but do you think you could—?”
“Westley! There you are.” Lord le Wyse started toward them from the other end of the corridor.
Westley seemed reluctant to tear his gaze from hers and glance at his father. Evangeline turned to face him as well.
“We must discuss what to do with John Underhill. He is making all sorts of threats. And when the men from Caversdown hear we have their lord locked away . . .”
“They might come and demand we set him free.”
“At the very least,” Lord le Wyse answered.
They stood talking over the possibilities while Evangeline listened. It was Lord le Wyse’s responsibility as the local lord to deal with lawbreakers, but John was also a lord, making it a more complicated situation. When they mentioned taking him to Berkhamsted Castle in the hopes that King Richard would still be there to hear the accusations against him, Evangeline felt her stomach dive like a swallow after an insect. The king would surely find out that she was in Glynval.
Lord le Wyse seemed to notice her. He bowed. “Forgive me, Evangeline. I will let you and Westley enjoy the festival for now, but he and I need to make a decision by tonight.” He turned to his son. “After the singing contest I want you back here.”
“Yes, Father.”
They hurried away, Westley’s hand on her elbow as he ushered her away from the house.
“As I was saying.” Westley cleared his throat. They were walking across the grassy area in front of the castle, headed back to the road that would take them to the meadow and the festival.
“Yes?”
“Would you ever consider marrying me, a man without a title, if it meant defying the king?”
“Yes. I would consider it.”
Did he say what she thought he said? It was not exactly a proposal of marriage, but very nearly. Her insides seemed to go numb at the thought of being so close to her greatest wish coming true. They stared into each other’s eyes.
“Westley! Eva!” A group of people, including his brothers and sisters and several townspeople and servants, approached them on the road.
“Where have you been?”
“We heard someone tried to kill you.”
“Was it John Underhill?”
“Are you injured? What happened? What did he do?”
Westley said in her ear, “We will talk more of this later.”
She squeezed his hand.
He smiled at the people surrounding them.
“Leave the poor young man alone,” someone said. “Cannot you see he wants to spend time with the pretty maiden?”
Westley raised his voice to be heard over the crowd. “I am very well, thank you. The people who attacked me are being dealt with by my father. Now, please go back to enjoying the festival.”
Someone else shouted, “The man is obviously not injured. Stand back and let him through.”
Westley managed to work his way out of the crowd, and he and Evangeline made their way toward the festival. Soon they were entering the area where the vendors were selling their wares, and jongleurs and minstrels were performing.
Westley bought some buns and some freshly roasted meat, and Evangeline walked beside him to the rear of the newly built stage. He pushed back the curtain that was strung over some rope between two trees, and they sat in between the two curtains, one at the back of the stage and the other at the front. They were alone.
“I thought I was dreaming when I saw you shoot that man with your arrow.” He swallowed a gulp of ale from a flask he was sharing with Eva.
“Did you see Reeve Folsham knock that man out with a block of wood?”
“He’s as big as a bear. The man’s lucky the reeve did not break his neck.”
“And the look on John’s face?”
“When you held your arrow pointed at him—for the second time?”
They both laughed softly. Westley’s hand brushed hers as she reached for the ale flask. She took a drink, letting her shoulder press against his as they sat side by side at the edge of the stage. She put down the flask, and Westley was staring at her.
“Will you miss Berkhamsted Castle? If you stay here with us?”
She shook her head.
“We cannot let anyone know who you really are. You can never see the king again. You will have to hide for the rest of your life.”
“I do not mind.”
He deliberately brushed her little finger with his.
“I like Glynval Castle better.”
He leaned his head until it was touching hers. “Why?”
“I like the people who live there.”
“All the people?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any one in particular you like better?” He took one of her tiny braids that was lying on her shoulder and rolled it between his fingers.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Lady le Wyse.”
He dropped her braid and leaned away.
She laughed at his insulted expression. She reached out and took his hand. Then she looped her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. She sighed, her heart dancing inside her chest.
They sat together, holding hands and not saying anything. Evangeline did not want the moment to end, the feeling that Westley enjoyed being with her, that he liked her, that he was even thinking of marrying her.
He finally pulled away enough to gaze into her eyes. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?”
“To sing?”
Westley brushed her hair back from her eyes, then let his fingers trail down her cheek—and she was no longer thinking about singing. Her breathing shallowed. They were alone. No one was watching as his blue eyes focused on her lips.
He bent lower, his eyes nearly closing.
She lifted her hand and touched his face. Her stomach did a flip. He touched his lips to hers, and she pressed in closer, bringing her lips flush against his.
His hand on her cheek, he kissed her firmly and boldly, stealing every thought from her mind except how it felt to kiss Westley le Wyse.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Evangeline’s eyes fluttered open to see Westley’s handsome face only inches from hers.
“You are the most beautiful archer in England. Thank you for saving my life. Again.”
Pure, delicious joy welled up inside her as he pulled her into a tight embrace.
Westley thought she was beautiful! Westley kissed her. The only thing keeping her from floating up to the clouds was her arms around him.
“Where is Eva of Glynval?” a woman asked just before someone pulled the curtain aside.
“Yes?”
“It is almost time for the contest. The other singers are waiting in front of the stage. You shall be the second one to sing.” The woman, whose eyes were as wide as her smile, turned and opened the front curtain the rest of the way.