The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(10)

“I cannot believe we are here, defying the king like this, traveling with these strange peasants,” Muriel muttered. “I’ve never slept on the ground in my life.”

“It is an adventure, Muriel,” Evangeline whispered back. “And you can return to Berkhamsted Castle anytime you wish.”

“And what do you think they will do when they realize you lied to them and you are not mute at all? They’ll be furious. They will cast you out of their midst.”

Evangeline shook her head. They would not be that angry, surely. Perhaps she would tell them she had been miraculously healed. But that lie seemed worse than one that did not include God.

They went back to where the men were spreading blankets on the ground.

Evangeline sat down several feet away on the grass. She pulled off her thin slippers and shook out the dirt and small rocks from her shoes. Muriel did the same while she huffed her displeasure.

Evangeline lay down on the soft, cool grass, hugging her bag to her chest. Muriel stretched out beside her. “I am dirty and tired and I do not have proper shoes for this kind of walking. I have no way of washing even my face, as we have no water.”

“If we ask,” Evangeline dared to whisper back, “the men will probably let us share their water.”

Muriel huffed again. “I’m too tired tonight. I will ask them in the morning. Are you not sorry yet for what you have done?”

“No.”

“Sleeping outside on the ground is not something any lady should be doing. How will either of us get a moment of sleep?”

Evangeline did not answer. Muriel was always prone to complaints. Evangeline would send her back to Berkhamsted as soon as she was settled into a new life. Then Muriel could not complain—and Evangeline would not feel guilty about her not being pleased.

She herself felt quite content on the soft grass, staring up at the peaceful stars. She could imagine God winking down at her. Was God thinking, My beloved child Evangeline has escaped from Berkhamsted Castle? She imagined God as the father she had never known, a perfect Father. He was proud of her for not staying and marrying someone she could never love. It was also possible that God was angry with her for not doing as her king had directed her. But she preferred not to believe that.

She closed her eyes, stretching her arms above her head, then pillowed her cheek on her hands. She was free of Berkhamsted Castle and free of her own identity.

The day that had begun as the worst of her life had ended as the best.



Evangeline awoke to a soft light all around her and blue sky above her. She turned her head and saw flattened grass beside her.

It was not a dream. She truly had run away and escaped from the castle, King Richard, Lord Shiveley, and her own wedding. And she had slept all night on the ground.

A smile broke out on her face as she opened her arms up to the sky, barely stifling the giddy laugh that bubbled up inside her.

Evangeline finally sat up and looked around. The men were packing up to leave, and Muriel stood over her.

“Get up. We must go. Though how you could sleep all night and still be sleeping at dawn . . . The ground was so hard I barely slept at all.”

Evangeline dug through her bag and pulled out her sturdy shoes. As she put them on, she took a deep breath through her nose. Even the air smelled better away from the castle. All around her was fresh and clean and green with life. Birds sang into the stillness like minstrels with no thought for their audience, singing for their own joy.

Westley, the apparent leader of their little group, approached her with that compassionate look on his face. The sun was rising behind him and illuminating his head like the halos surrounding the saints on the chapel windows at the cathedral she’d visited once as a child. His eyes were the same blue as the sky. His chin was slightly square—a chiseled continuation of his masculine jawline. His slightly parted lips gave him a vulnerable expression.

“Mildred told me you did not have a container for water. I have an extra flask.” He held it out to her.

Evangeline opened her mouth to thank him, but her chest emptied itself of air.

She had almost forgotten—I am supposed to be mute!

She thought she must seem addled as she gazed up at him, so she changed her expression to a sheepish smile.

“I filled it up for you.”

She nodded, enjoying the view of him, his brown hair lying in a perfect tousle across his forehead, framing his matching brown brows and thick lashes.

“May I help you up?” His large hand reached down to her.

The touch of his hand sent a sensation through her fingers and up her arm, and she let him pull her to her feet.

He was a bit taller than she was, and he was staring into her eyes. Did he think she was pretty? Even though she was wearing a plain servant’s dress and her hair was hanging down her back, having not been brushed since the day before. But the way he was looking at her . . .

“I did not realize you and your friend did not have a blanket last night. I would have given you one of ours.”

He did not expect her to answer him, of course, so she shrugged and kept smiling.

“As soon as you are ready, we will be on our way.”

Evangeline bent and picked up her bag. She was ready. Ready to follow him wherever he was going on this beautiful, perfect morning.





Chapter Four


Westley could not help looking at the red-haired beauty every time she came within his view. Her hair was a color that caught the rays of the sun and absorbed them, glowing and triumphant. Her skin was pale and yet vibrant and healthy, with only a sprinkling of freckles across her upper cheeks and nose.