The Silent Songbird

  “Come. I shall confront Shiveley and we shall fight, if necessary. Who’s with me?”

  “We’re willing to die for you,” they said.

  Westley and the others surged up the steps toward the chapel. God, keep Evangeline safe, and make us victorious.

  Evangeline studied the one doorway leading out of the small chapel, the position of Shiveley and his guards, and the priest, who stood two feet in front of her with his eyelids so low over his eyes he almost looked as if he was asleep standing up.

  Lord Shiveley kept glancing about the room, mostly at the entrance to the chapel behind them. He fidgeted, shuffling his feet, and avoided looking at Evangeline.

  Why was the king taking so long? If only he would never come. What was happening with Westley? Was he safe somewhere?

  But instead of feeling anxious, fidgety, or searching the back of the chapel as Lord Shiveley was doing, Evangeline stood calmly, almost numb. God, You will do something. I believe in You. I believe in Your lovingkindness. After all, God had allowed her to escape long enough to learn how to defend herself and fight off an attacker. Surely God would allow her to use that knowledge to save herself from Lord Shiveley.

  He suddenly faced the priest and grabbed Evangeline’s arm, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Start the vows,” he growled. “We can’t stand here all night. My guards can be witnesses.”

  The priest nodded. He opened the book in his hand and seemed about to speak when a rustling sound came from the back of the room. Evangeline turned. King Richard was walking toward them.

  Would her cousin stop the wedding? She stared at him, her heart in her throat.

  Richard reached them. But he only looked at the priest and nodded.

  The priest read the vows, his voice droning on. Her feeling of numbness and calm left her, and she cast about in her mind for an excuse to stop the ceremony. It was going so swiftly. The priest said, “If there be anyone present who knows of any impediment or any reason this marriage would not be lawful, let him speak now.”

  “I have a question.” Richard’s voice was even, betraying no emotion.

  Shiveley glared at him, his face turning red.

  “I would like to know what happened to your first wife, Lord Shiveley.”

  “She died.”

  “Indeed. And how did you say she died?”

  Evangeline’s heart beat fast. What was the king doing? Would he save her?

  Shiveley’s jaw hardened and twitched. “She fell down some stairs at our home.”

  “I see. And how did my fair cousin get that swollen, bloody lip and the red mark on her face? Did she fall down some steps too?”

  Air rushed into her lungs.

  “I do not know what she did before she came to Berkhamsted.” Shiveley licked his thick lips. “She says she was in Glynval. She may have—”

  “Evangeline?” The king cut him off. “What happened to your face?”

  Shiveley pinched her arm.

  “Ow! This mans truck me.”Evangeline stomped on Shiveley’s foot.

  He grunted and loosened his hold on her arm just enough that she was able to snatch her arm away and run. Shiveley’s guard began to scramble to block the doorway leading out, but before she had gotten very far, one of the guards sidestepped in front of her and she ran into his broad chest. He seized her arms and held them behind her with one hand while holding her firmly to his side with the other.

  The earl’s guards snatched their swords from their scabbards, the blades ringing in the small room.

  “What is this?” Richard said, ice in his voice. “Will your guards draw their swords on the king’s ward?”

  Shiveley stood straight and tall, but his pointy beard trembled. “Have you decided not to allow your ward to marry me? I have been loyal to you.”

  “Why do you want to marry Evangeline so badly?”

  “Why? Because . . . she is beautiful.” Shiveley seemed to be waiting for the king to say something, but when he didn’t, the earl continued. “She-she is . . . your ward. I want to care for her. Any man would want to marry her.”

  “And I thought you fell in love with her sweetness and spirit and beautiful singing.”

  “Yes, of course. All of those things as well.”

  “Then why are your guards still holding their swords?”

  “My men have been instructed to do whatever it takes to ensure that your ward stays in this chapel until the priest has finished speaking the vows,” Lord Shiveley said from behind clenched teeth.

  “You are prepared to defy your king, then? For I forbid your marriage to Evangeline.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she wanted to laugh in Shiveley’s face. If the king intervened, she would not have to hurt this guard, for she was already planning how to inflict pain on him to get away.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The guard was wearing a hood and she couldn’t see his face.

  “Why do you forbid it?” Lord Shiveley leaned forward menacingly.

  “I do not wish it. I am the king. I do not need a reason.”

  “And I say, she will be mine—and so shall the throne! Men, seize the king.” But before he could finish his command, shouts rang out behind them, near the entrance to the chapel.

  The guard who was holding her suddenly grabbed her by the waist, threw her over his shoulder, and ran for the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Evangeline screamed. Men, including Lord le Wyse and guards wearing the colors of King Richard, surged into the room and fought with Lord Shiveley’s guards. But the one holding her passed right through the middle of them and out the doorway and into the corridor.

  She screamed over and over, beating at his back with her fists. He set her feet on the floor and pulled off his hood.

  “Westley!” Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. She threw her arms around him as a sob escaped her throat. “You’re alive. Thank You, God.”

  “I have to go help.” He kissed her forehead and then drew his sword. He plunged back into the chapel and into the fight.

  Evangeline followed and watched as he leapt into the fray. He attacked one of Shiveley’s guards and immediately divested him of his sword, but the fight ended soon after. Shiveley’s men surrendered. Richard held his sword point to Shiveley’s throat. Lord le Wyse was standing over a man lying on the floor, as the king’s men had subdued several others.

  Westley stepped toward her and put his arm protectively around her waist.

  The king relinquished his prisoner to one of his guards. “Take these traitors down to the dungeon and lock them up.”

  Westley pulled her out of the way, still holding her, until everyone had departed from the chapel except Lord le Wyse, the king, Westley, and Evangeline. Even the priest had disappeared around the chancel. They all seemed to be waiting for the king to speak.

  “Lord le Wyse, I presume.” He nodded at the older man.

  “Your Majesty.” Lord le Wyse bowed to the king.

  “That was fine sword fighting.”

  “My son Westley taught me everything I know.”

  Westley responded with a slight smile, standing very straight.

  “The truth is, I owe you three my life.” The look on the king’s face was quite somber. “I shall make certain that Shiveley and his men are no longer a threat, but I wish to speak with the three of you later in the Great Hall.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Westley and his father bowed and Evangeline curtsied as the king left the room.

  Westley tightened his arm around her waist, as if afraid she might try to get away, and asked his father, “Are you well?”

  Westley pointed to a thin line of blood on Lord le Wyse’s chin. His father touched his chin with the back of his hand. “Only a scratch. But be sure and tell your mother and brothers and sisters that the king complimented me on my sword-fighting skills.”

  “I shall.” Westley grinned, showing all his teeth.

  “I’ll go wash this off.” Lord le Wys
e gave a smile and nod to Evangeline and left the chapel.

  Westley gazed down at her, now that they were alone. “Are you all right? I wish I could have gotten here sooner.” His tone was hushed, and his thumb gently stroked beside the cut on her lip.

  Her heart filled and overflowed into her eyes. She pressed her face against his chest.

  “Wait. I don’t know how clean this thing is.” Westley pulled away and stripped off the surcoat that bore Shiveley’s colors. He threw it on the floor and then pulled her to him. She didn’t even mind that the clothes underneath were still damp from his swim in the moat.

  They walked over to a bench against the wall near the chapel entrance and sat down, their arms around each other. She touched his hair.

  “Still wet.”

  “I don’t suppose I smell very good after being in the stinky moat.”

  “I don’t care what you smell like. I was so afraid you’d drowned.” She held him tight, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.

  “Nah. I’ve been swimming since I was a wee child.”

  She suddenly wished she could have seen him swimming through the moat. “But what happened after that?”

  He explained to her how he sneaked in and hid in King Richard’s bedchamber and everything that ensued.

  “Thank you for saving me.”

  He squeezed her tighter to his side and kissed her head. “Not still angry with me, then?”

  “No. You were right. I should have stayed in Glynval since I turned out to be useless to you.”

  “That’s not true. If you hadn’t been here, we probably could not have proven to the king that Shiveley was a traitor.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I do.”

  It felt so good to be in Westley’s arms again. But a sharp pain inside forced her to say, “You hurt me with what you said on the way here, that I was foolish and I would only make trouble.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” He stared intently into her eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was angry with you for placing yourself in danger, and I was afraid something bad would happen to you. Please forgive me for saying those things. They weren’t true.”

  “I do forgive you. I said some unkind things about you too.”

  “That I was stubborn and proud?”

  “You’re not stubborn or proud. Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course.” He placed a kiss on her temple. “Is there anything you need?” Westley said softly.

  She’d never realized how warm and pleasant his voice sounded—sweet but masculine at the same time. But there was something else getting in the way of her joy, something else she needed to say.

  “No, but, Westley . . . I’m sorry if I’ve always seemed selfish. I promise I will try not to be so selfish in the future.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I was so afraid you would think I was too selfish to . . .” She was about to say, “too selfish to love,” but he hadn’t said anything about loving her.

  “Why would you think you were selfish? You’ve risked your life more than once for me.”

  “I’ve always feared that if people knew how selfish I was, they couldn’t possibly love me.”

  “But why?”

  “I . . . I had a very unkind nurse as a young child, before Muriel came to me. She would yell, ‘You’re so selfish.’ And her face would scrunch up, as if being selfish was the most disgusting thing imaginable. I would feel so hated every time she said that. I learned to hide my feelings. I didn’t even tell Muriel how I felt about most things. I was afraid I was unlovable, afraid she would hate me the way that nurse seemed to hate me. I just don’t want you to hate me.” Had she said too much? What would he think?

  Westley kissed her forehead as she kept her head down.

  “Evangeline.” His voice was gentle. “I could never hate you. That nurse was cruel and unreasonable to treat a child that way. All of us are selfish sometimes. We’re weak men and women. But you are kind, you feel remorse when you hurt someone, and you jump into rivers to save people who are about to die.”

  His words made her smile and drove away the pain in her heart.

  “You also point arrows at people you think might murder me, and you disguise yourself in men’s clothing to try to help. You’re not selfish, Evangeline. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Her heart ached with the truth of it as she closed her eyes. “I love you so very much.”

  They sat shoulder to shoulder in warm silence. Finally, she said, “I told myself I would run away from Berkhamsted Castle. For a long time I thought I just wanted to avoid marrying one of Richard’s friends. But a year or two ago I began to realize . . . I longed for things.”

  It felt good to tell Westley this, especially since he was listening so intently. “I longed to be held, to feel safe. I longed for someone who would comfort me when I was sad. I longed for someone who would never think I was selfish, who would never hate me. I decided I wanted to be like the peasants—free to marry for love. But . . . it’s not possible.”

  “Of course it’s possible. I am holding you and comforting you right now.” He pulled away, and with his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face. Very gingerly, he kissed the corner of her mouth, pressing his lips oh so softly to her cut. The tender gesture sent a thrill all the way to her toes. She closed her eyes. His warm lips caressed her cheek as well.

  He whispered, “I could kill that man for striking you. Tell me what he did.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open, and Westley brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, letting his hand linger on her skin. It was difficult to concentrate on speaking when he was so close.

  “He took me to my room and locked me in to get dressed—I don’t think he liked my men’s clothing. But on the way up the stairs, I told him God would punish him, and he slapped me. Oh dear.” She suddenly remembered. “Where is Muriel? Is she all right?”

  “Yes, she is well. She’s with Frederick.”

  “Did you see her?”

  “She looks like she’s had a hard two weeks, but I think she will be well.” He caressed her cheek again. “You know, you said you wanted to be held. And to be free to be married to someone you loved.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what I want?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I want to fall in love with a beautiful young woman, to marry her, and to have beautiful red-haired children.” He stared into her eyes, his body turned toward her on the narrow bench. “I’ve already fallen in love with her. Do you think her guardian will give me permission to marry her?”

  “You can ask him.” Would he say no? If he did, she would run away from Berkhamsted Castle again. Perhaps there would be a place for them in France. Or the Holy Roman Empire.

  Westley leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

  “What is this?”

  Evangeline pulled away. The priest was giving them a horrified look. She hadn’t known his eyes could open that wide.

  “Are you kissing in the Lord God’s chapel? There is no kissing in the chapel! Unless it is to seal a marriage vow.”

  Westley stood and kept hold of her hand. He did not apologize. He only nodded at the priest as they left, and he led her down the steps. “I’ve never been asked to leave the chapel for kissing before,” he said.

  “Are you sure? Because you don’t seem very embarrassed about it.”

  “Why should I be embarrassed for kissing the woman I plan to marry?”

  Evangeline bit her lip. The king had not given them permission yet. And he might not. After all, Westley had no title, and the king did not believe in marrying for love. She was Richard’s political pawn, and Lord Shiveley had revealed to her just how valuable a pawn she was. Would her cousin give her up to Westley?

  As they reached the main floor, Lord le Wyse and King Richard were walking into the Great Hall, talking as if they were old friends.

  Westley stopped her short and turned to face her in a
dark corner near the stairs. “I haven’t thanked you for being willing to give yourself to Shiveley to save me.”

  His handsome face was so close to hers, she could almost count his eyelashes, even in the dim torchlight. His gaze was focused on her lips, but he leaned down and touched his lips to her cheek.

  “I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

  “When you told Shiveley you would willingly marry him if he would save me from the moat. I thought you were still angry with me.”

  “I was very angry with you. You also accused me of wanting to marry Shiveley. But I knew you didn’t mean it, and I still loved you.”

  His lips brushed her cheek again, but this time an inch closer to her lips.

  She should probably ask him what he meant by kissing her, since the king had not given him permission to marry her, or mention that he did not smell very good after his swim in the moat. But if she spoke, he would know by her voice how much his simple kisses affected her.

  “I’m sorry I doubted that you could be helpful.” He kissed her other cheek, pulling her even closer.

  Why didn’t he kiss her lips? Didn’t he know she wanted him to?

  He kissed her chin.

  “I already forgave you,” she whispered.

  “Will you marry me?” He kissed her forehead. “If your cousin the king will give us permission?” He looked into her eyes and brought his hands up, his palms cradling her face.

  “I will marry you even if he doesn’t give us permission.” She sounded breathless.

  He brought his mouth down to kiss her lips. She did her best to kiss him back. Was she doing it well? Were there rules to kissing? If there were, she didn’t know them, but Westley didn’t seem inclined to complain.

  He ended the kiss and caressed her jawline with his thumb. “I’m so in love with you, Evangeline.” His breath was warm on her temple. “And seeing you stomp Shiveley’s foot to get away from him . . . I wanted to carry you off right then and there, all the way back to Glynval.”

  She closed her eyes and savored his words. “I felt the same way when you were sword fighting with Lord Shiveley. You looked so powerful.”

  His expression showed her praise affected him.