“You will enjoy my country home,” Lord Shiveley said quietly, bending his head toward Evangeline. “I will not require you to travel with me when I am with the king, but you may join me at the king’s favorite residence, Sheen Palace, when I accompany the king there.”
His gaze dipped to her chest. Evangeline cringed and leaned away from him, but he did not seem to be bothered by her reaction. His small, alert eyes did not seem to miss a thing, in spite of how low his eyelids hung.
“I hope you are as eager for the marriage as I am. The king has said no one else has asked for you, no doubt because your birth was illegitimate.”
Evangeline’s face burned. “I should be thankful you are willing to marry me, then?”
His smile disappeared. “Marriage to me will greatly improve the way you will be remembered. Any woman in England would be glad to marry the king’s closest advisor.”
“I am surprised you do not marry someone more worthy of your status, then. After all, I am illegitimate and have neither fortune nor title.”
Lord Shiveley’s nostrils flared. “Be that as it may, you have royal blood, which is what I want, and tomorrow you will be my wife.” His voice was low and harsh. “Whether you wish it or not.”
Her stomach churned. If only she could wipe the smirk off his face. He must think he had Richard completely within his power, proclaiming himself the king’s closest advisor.
“It grows late,” King Richard said. “Evangeline, you go on and enjoy yourself. I am too tired from my travels to join you for the feast in the Great Hall, but Lord Shiveley will keep you company.”
They all began to take their leave of the king, but Evangeline hung back. “Your Majesty, may I speak to you alone for a moment?”
She sensed Lord Shiveley standing behind her, waiting for the king’s answer. Was the king shocked at her boldness?
Richard stared at her for a moment. “Everyone leave us. I will speak with my childhood friend.”
The others shuffled out the door as she locked gazes with the king. Finally, all were gone except for two guards who stood discreetly in the corners.
“Now, what is it, Evangeline? You must have something important to say.” The warning in his voice was unmistakable. “But before you say anything, I want you to understand that it is quite an honor to you that I have granted Lord Shiveley permission to marry you.”
“Yes, he has made it clear that I am fortunate to be marrying him, since I am only an illegitimate daughter of the king’s dead uncle.”
“Who left you without any fortune.”
So this was the king’s attitude toward her. She needed to be strong, to stand up in dignity to him, even if he thought her selfish. Crying would only confirm to him that she was but a weak female. She bit the inside of her mouth.
“It is true, I have no fortune.” She carefully considered what she would say. “But you do not resent allowing me to live here, do you? I have not cost you much, have I? All I ask is that you not force me to marry Lord Shiveley just yet. Delay the wedding.” It was all she could possibly hope for.
“What is the matter, Evangeline? You are of age. Seventeen is quite old enough for marriage.”
“But I do not wish to marry Lord Shiveley.” Her voice sounded so desperate, surely Richard would take pity on her.
“My dear,” he said after a short pause, “marriage is nothing to be afraid of. And none of us marry who we wish to or whom we have fallen in love with. Love before marriage is for peasants, a foolish notion invented by poets and minstrels. I was fifteen years old, as was Anne, when we married. Two and a half years later, our marriage is as peaceful and pleasant as anyone could wish. I have no doubt that you and Shiveley will be the same.”
This was as she had feared. The king not only would not come to her aid and postpone the marriage—during which Evangeline hoped something might happen to prevent it—but he thought she was selfish and unreasonable for not accepting his will.
“As a king, my situation is always precarious. I must take care to make alliances with the most powerful people I can to preserve our country’s well-being, not to mention my own. I married the woman I believed would bring me the most powerful and influential allies in England’s struggles against her enemies. And I have my own personal enemies, Evangeline, of which you could know nothing. You are safe here at Berkhamsted Castle, while I am the object of hatred for some, not the least of which is the Duke of Templeton, who is even now trying to turn the opinion of the nobility and parliament against me. He would have me deposed and would set up his own puppet in my place. Even though I despise Templeton and he would stab me through the heart if he could, I would gladly marry off my daughter, if I had one, to his son, simply to ensure that he would not someday put that knife through my heart, either literally or politically.”
The king sighed. He shook his head. “As I told you, no one marries for love except peasants or perhaps a merchant or landowner who has no political enemies. But you are the king’s close cousin, the granddaughter of a king, and therefore . . . Shiveley is a good man, you will see. Steady and reliable, he is everything you could want in a husband.”
“I am very grateful for your kindness, I am sure,” she murmured, hoping he would stop talking. But if he stopped talking and sent her away, where could she go except to join Lord Shiveley in the Great Hall for the feast?
“You are pleased, then, with marriage?” Evangeline said the first thing that popped in her head. “What I mean is, marriage is something I have never been near enough to observe. I am very close to Muriel, as we are together every day. I imagine marriage is similar to that—a close sort of depending upon each other. And yet I had hoped marriage could be . . . romantic.”
Richard’s gaze wandered to the ceiling for a moment as though he was thinking. “You have made a good description of it, a close sort of depending upon each other. Muriel is your companion, more than a servant, but marriage is nothing like the relationship between a servant and master. Or it should not be. It is a bit like two souls becoming connected, a stronger bond, even, than friendship or family. You shall understand the mystery I speak of, my dear, once you and Shiveley have been married for a few months.”
Hearing him describe that type of bond was beginning to stir a longing inside her—until he mentioned Shiveley. She had no wish to have that sort of bond with him. In fact, the very thought made her sick in her stomach.
Should she try to convince the king that Lord Shiveley was not as virtuous, perhaps, as he thought? That she sensed an ugliness of character to match his less-than-handsome face? That the thought of kissing the man and becoming his wife made her fear she might never be able to eat again?
“Perhaps I will come with you to the Great Hall after all,” the king said. “I am feeling more rested now.”
“Very good.” Evangeline let out a relieved breath. At least she would not be alone with Shiveley.
They walked down the keep steps to the Great Hall where all the guests were waiting. Lord Shiveley’s eyes widened when he saw the king, and he shifted his feet as Evangeline and Richard approached.
“I thought you would eat in your room, Your Majesty.” Shiveley stood, waiting for the king to be seated at the end of the table.
“I changed my mind.”
They sat at the long table with a few other lords and advisors who had traveled with the king, as well as several knights at a separate table.
Evangeline settled herself a few seats away from Richard, allowing some of the earls and barons to sit between her and their monarch, on the opposite side of the table from Lord Shiveley.
The king caught her eye and motioned to her. “I insist you sit beside your future husband. Come, over here.”
Everyone turned to see to whom the king was motioning.
She tried to think of an excuse. Finally, she had no choice but to stand and move to the other side of the table. With as much dignity as she could muster, she sat primly beside Lord Shiveley.
 
; King Richard introduced Evangeline to the nearby guests as Lionel of Antwerp’s daughter and the soon-to-be wife of Lord Shiveley. Evangeline barely heard the guests’ names as she acknowledged each of them with a nod.
The food began arriving, and thankfully Lord Shiveley and the king were listening to an earl tell about his hunt for a deer earlier that afternoon. She talked with the woman next to her—the only other woman at the table—about her journey. The woman was the wife of one of the courtiers, a baron, and they were traveling with the king but would be separating from his retinue soon to go to their home in Derbyshire.
Evangeline was even able to eat some of the food, as it seemed Lord Shiveley would continue to ignore her through the entire meal. As she reached for her goblet, her elbow brushed against his arm. She snatched her arm away as if she’d touched a hot ember.
She felt Lord Shiveley’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean toward her. The urge to lean away from him nearly overwhelmed her, but she controlled it. His voice rumbled near her ear, “You are not afraid of me, are you, Evangeline? I do not want a wife who is afraid of me.”
Her spine stiffened and she glanced at him. “Of course I am not afraid of you.”
For several moments he said nothing. Then he leaned even closer, so close she felt his hot breath in her ear, as he growled, “You may not care for me, but you will submit to me.”
Her cheeks burned. She glanced at the king. He was laughing at something someone on the other side of the table had said. Lord Shiveley’s hand pressed against her back. She squirmed, but there was no way to escape the hand without slapping it away or otherwise drawing attention to herself.
Evangeline turned to Lady Pettwood. “Will you walk with me to my room? I am feeling unwell.”
“Yes, of course, my dear. I am very tired myself.”
Evangeline stood, breaking away from Shiveley’s touch. She only had to wait a moment for Lady Pettwood to tell her husband she was leaving, and the two of them took their leave of the king, curtsying and hurrying away.
“Will you be well?” Lady Pettwood seemed genuinely concerned.
“I shall be well in the morning. I only need to go to bed early.”
“It is to be your wedding day.” Lady Pettwood patted Evangeline’s arm. “Do you need me to tell you what to expect? My own daughters are too young yet to need to be told any—”
“No, no, I assure you, I do not need . . . no, though I thank you, Lady Pettwood.”
They arrived at Evangeline’s door first, but then she had to show Lady Pettwood to her room, as she had lost her way in the corridors of the large building.
When Evangeline arrived back at her room, she closed her door behind her and locked it.
Her heart raced as she ran to the trunk where she had stowed her bag. She drew it out and quickly folded her undergowns and stuffed them into the cloth bag. The servants’ clothing she had taken only left enough room for two of her oldest and least fine overgowns if she was to include any books at all. And she simply could not bear the thought of not packing her Psalter and Book of Hours.
She closed the bag and stood staring at the door, her bag clutched to her chest. Should she try to leave now? Or wait until everyone had gone to bed? If she left now, Muriel would surely discover she was gone. Could she trust Muriel not to tell the king?
But she could not wait until morning, as the wedding would take place tomorrow. If she waited, Shiveley and the king would send their guards after her and she would not get far.
Her heart pounding, she went to the window. The castle bailey was deserted except for a servant who was drawing water from the well. But then several men appeared, walking away from the castle and across the bailey toward the gate. They approached the well and refilled their water flasks. They packed away the water on the cart their donkey was pulling and continued toward the gate leading out of the bailey to the road beyond.
The party of travelers was the same group with the kind man who had saved Alma’s little sister.
She had to take off her elaborate silk dress. But the neckline was too small to pull over her head, and the dress buttoned down the back.
She took hold of the neckline and jerked with all her strength. Buttons flew off, pinging against the wall behind her. She pulled it over her head and flung it away. She grabbed one of the gowns she had borrowed from the servants’ quarters, then pulled it over her head and over her long white undergown.
She snatched up her bag and ran out the door.
Chapter Three
As she hurried down the darkened corridor lit only by a few torches, Evangeline pulled the metal circlet from her hair, then took it and the veil attached and stuffed them behind a loose stone in the wall. Her hair fell unencumbered down her back, and she ran her hand through the few small braids that had been woven through her hair, unbraiding them and jerking her fingers loose when they became entangled.
No one else met her in the corridor, but once she reached the back stairs, she could hear voices. The servants would be running around tending to their extra duties due to all the guests in the king’s retinue—all the extra food to be prepared, extra beds to be readied, as well as the care of the extra horses.
She could only hope they would be too busy to notice her.
Evangeline slipped from the bottom step to the door that led outside. Just as her foot touched the ground, someone grabbed her arm from behind.
Evangeline cried out.
“What are you doing?”
“Muriel!” Evangeline clutched her bag closer to her chest.
“Where are you going?”
“Do not try to stop me. If you do, I shall kill myself before morning. I would rather die than marry Lord Shiveley.”
They were whispering as men milled around the inner bailey near where they stood.
“You foolish girl!” Muriel’s voice was bitter and her brows drew together, wrinkling her forehead. “Why can you not accept your fate as any other woman would?”
“Let me go.” A fierceness rose inside her. Evangeline pulled out of Muriel’s grasp.
“I am coming with you, then.”
Her words made Evangeline stop and look back. “No, Muriel. You cannot.”
“I will not let you get killed out in a world you know nothing of. I am coming.”
“You will cause me to be discovered. I can blend in better without you.” Evangeline tried to say whatever would be most likely to deter Muriel. Searching the bailey for the man and his companions, she saw some men just passing through the gate over the first moat.
“I must go now. I cannot wait for you.” She blinked back tears at saying such a thing to her friend, but she was desperate.
Muriel only hesitated for a moment. “Let us go, then.”
Would Muriel alert the guard at the gate that the king’s ward was escaping? Would she get word back to the king where Evangeline was staying? Short of doing bodily harm to her friend and companion, she had little choice.
“Come then. But do not betray me.” Evangeline frightened herself with her passionately whispered words.
Muriel answered in her own harsh whisper, “If I wished to betray you, I would run back into the castle and tell the king what you are doing.”
“Hurry.” Evangeline hastened across the bailey. Her skirt was a bit too short for her tall legs, but that enabled her to move faster. Soon Muriel, with her shorter, heavier frame, was huffing and puffing behind her. Evangeline pushed forward, as the men had already exited the gate.
The main gate on the other side of the double moat was guarded by four men. Would they demand to know their names and what their business was? Servants rarely left the castle, and they certainly should not be leaving now, while the king was there. What would she and Muriel tell them?
Evangeline slowed her pace and kept her head down as they approached the guards. Muriel walked beside her. Evangeline held her breath. At any moment the guards could command the
m to halt.
As she and Muriel entered the gate, the guards looked at them but then glanced away without pausing their conversation. None of them said anything to Muriel or Evangeline.
Evangeline hurried on, and after several more yards she bowed her head to speak quietly in Muriel’s ear. “I will pretend to be mute so no one will suspect my true identity. You will tell this group of men that we wish to travel with them. You may tell them we are peasants whose lord has died of the plague and we are looking for work.”
Muriel’s eyes widened. “This is your plan?”
Evangeline straightened. “You may go back to the castle if you wish.”
“Very well. I suppose it is a good disguise—for you, at least. I will do the talking.”
Muriel’s dress was much too fine for a peasant’s. What if the men did not believe them? What if they became suspicious and alerted the guards?
And why was Muriel being so helpful? Perhaps she wanted to do her duty and protect Evangeline. She probably thought she could talk her into going back to Berkhamsted Castle later.
The men and their cart were just ahead. When Evangeline and Muriel had nearly caught up with them, the two men at the rear turned and saw them.
“Good evening,” Muriel said to them, a smile on her face.
The men called to the others in the group, who also stopped and stared.
“We are traveling tonight,” Muriel said, “and would be very grateful if you would allow us to travel with your group.”
“Where are you going?”
The man who had rescued the child from the runaway horse stepped toward them. He was even more handsome close up in the light of the moon and stars.
“We are going . . . in the same direction as you. We are free women servants whose master died in the last outbreak of plague, and we are in search of work. Is there work where you are going?”