The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(16)

Surely everyone in the village would hear of what she had done. Would they force her to leave? Was Westley horrified that he had let her come to his village to work? And was he only making light of the incident in front of the reeve so he would calm down?

When she opened her eyes, Reeve Folsham was stalking toward the castle and Westley and the other man were looking at her.

“Father,” Westley said, “I’m sure she did not mean to sling the scythe at Folsham.”

Was Westley’s father the lord of the village? The older man was wearing finer clothes than the other men she had seen; he had on a fine linen shirt that was so bright white it reflected the light of the sun. He was definitely not a peasant or a servant, or even a tradesman. But along with his eye patch, one of his hands appeared to be afflicted in some way, as he held it against his middle.

Finally, he said, “Did you want to hurt Reeve Folsham?”

Tears welled up in Evangeline’s eyes. She shook her head.

“Father, she can’t speak. She and her friend traveled with us from Berkhamsted Castle.” Westley had the same masculine jawline as the lord and the same thick hair. He took a step toward Evangeline. “Eva, this is my father, Lord le Wyse.”

Lord le Wyse was still looking at her. “Can you tie up sheaths?”

Tie up sheaths? What was that? Evangeline shook her head and shrugged.

“Perhaps she is a house servant,” Westley offered. “Are you?”

How should she respond? Eva nodded. At least if she worked inside, she couldn’t nearly decapitate someone.

“Go with Westley.” Lord le Wyse nodded to his son. “Take her to the castle. Let your mother find something for her to do there.” He bent to pick up the scythe while Evangeline turned to go with Westley.

She had imagined joy and sunshine and freedom, and instead she had nearly killed a man with her incompetence.



“Don’t feel so bad.”

Westley walked toward the house beside Eva. Her head hung low and her shoulders drooped.

“The reeve will be well. He will enjoy the attention of getting bandaged, no doubt.”

She glanced up at him with a sad smile, then slowly shook her head.

Truly, she was very pretty. He had never seen hair quite the color of hers. But the way she expressed her feelings through her facial expressions was particularly fascinating—vulnerable and yet unashamed.

How sad that someone had abused her. How unfair that she might never speak again. To think of someone striking her at all, and especially to brutally and intentionally injure such a lovely, gentle maiden . . . It was hard to fathom. He was almost sorry they were dead so he could not exact justice on the maiden’s behalf.

He remembered her look of abject horror when she stared at the blood on Reeve Folsham’s side. But thank God it was only a scratch. Anything worse and she would have had to stand trial at the next manorial court.

“My mother will take good care of you. She is very kind. You will see. And the other house servants are friendly. They will help you with whatever you need.”

She smiled up at him. In truth, she was nearly as tall as he was, but with her head down, the way she looked at him through her lashes made it seem as if she was gazing up at him.

When they reached the house, he said, “Everyone calls it the castle to distinguish it from the manor house. But it is not exactly an impressive fortress such as Berkhamsted Castle.” She looked at him with interest, so he went on. “My father had planned to build another wing and a new tower, but after the Peasants’ Uprising, he changed his mind.”

They climbed the front steps and he opened the door, motioning Eva inside. “Mother!” he called.

“Here I am.” With a smile on her face, Mother emerged from the storage rooms at the back of the house. She hurried forward and threw her arms around him. He kissed her on the cheek.

“I missed you while you were gone,” she said. “Oh, is this Eva?”

“News travels fast in Glynval.”



“My dear, let me welcome you to our little household.”

Lady le Wyse was as beautiful as Lord le Wyse was handsome, in spite of his eye patch. Her hair was blonde, with a braid coiled around her head and other braids caught in a ribbon at the back of her neck. Her smile was her most beautiful feature, however. She took Evangeline’s hand and squeezed it. “Do you have any special skills, Eva?”

“Mother, she can’t—”

“I am aware that she cannot speak. Eva, do you cook?”

She shook her head.

“Do you sew?”

Evangeline nodded, then shrugged. How could she tell her that she embroidered pictures on tapestries but had never done any mending and did not know how to make even the simplest article of clothing? Evangeline had to shake her head.

“Have you ever worked in a dairy, separating the milk and churning butter?”

Evangeline bit her lip. She had never done anything except read books, hunt, sing, and embroider. What kind of servant would she be? Would they send her away?

“No matter. We will find something for you to do.” Lady le Wyse smiled kindly at her.

“I shall see you later, then.” Westley stepped forward, bent, and kissed his mother on the cheek. He nodded to Evangeline. “Mother will take care of you.” He gave her a reassuring smile and walked away.