The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(26)

How could this adventure end well for either of them?

Something caught her eye. By her foot a small frog crawled forward, then leapt away. An ant walked up a nearby tree trunk. And in the water below her, unseen, swam fish and eels, countless water beings full of life. What was it they wanted? What did Evangeline want?

The memory rushed in, of Lord and Lady le Wyse the previous night, how they had hurried to touch each other, to speak to each other. After all the years they had been together, all their children birthed and nurtured, they still looked at each other with love in their eyes.

“That is what I want,” Evangeline whispered.

Her own parents had not been able to enjoy each other like that. Her mother died shortly after she was born, and her father soon after that. She was supposedly born outside of marriage, but she liked to think her parents did end up marrying secretly before she was born. Perhaps they intended to make their union known but died before it was possible.

She had never been privy to a married couple and their relationship. But she very much suspected that true married love looked similar to what she saw between Lord and Lady le Wyse. She closed her eyes, crossed herself, and clasped her hands. Please give me a love like that, God.

A sound caught her attention. Not wishing any of the other servants to see her doing nothing, she made her way off the path and hid in the trees and bushes, staring out through the leaves.

Two men walked past. One was carrying a short but heavy-looking block of wood. He was blond and dressed in a fine linen shirt with a finely worked leather sleeveless tunic—much too fine for a servant. She caught a bare glimpse of the other man, noting his dark hair.

Evangeline left her hiding place and followed them from a distance. Ahead, she heard them talking, gradually realizing they were speaking with a third man. As she drew closer, she saw that the third man was Westley.

Suddenly the blond man raised the block of wood and struck Westley in the head, then pushed him off the bank into the river.

Frozen, unable to breathe, Evangeline watched as the two strange men ran in the other direction.

Westley.

She ran as fast as she could, stumbling over her skirt before jerking it up to her knees.

She scrambled down the side of the bank. He was lying facedown in the water a little farther downstream, his body caught on a tree whose roots extended into the river.

Evangeline jumped into the river feet first, water splashing on her face. The water pushed her skirt up to her waist, but she had to get to Westley. He would surely drown. O God, help me! Please, please.

Walking through the chest-high water was slow, no matter how hard she pushed her legs to move faster. Her eyes were locked on Westley’s body. Every moment his face was under water brought him closer to death.

She finally reached him, grabbed him under his arm, and used her other hand to pull his head up.

He was heavier than she imagined. Using all her strength, she put his arm around her shoulders and held his head out of the water. His eyes were closed, his face pale. A trickle of blood ran down his temple. Was he . . . ?

No. He could not be. She would not believe it.

Stumbling toward the bank, nearly going under herself, she managed to prop his head and shoulders against the side of the steep bank. Her arms under his, climbing up the bank, she pulled as hard as she could. He did not budge. His lower half was still under water.

“Help! Someone, please!” She had to get him out of the water and breathing again. He had to live. Whatever happened to her, she had to save Westley.

She wedged her body underneath his and pushed. She only managed to move him an inch.

“Help! Westley is hurt!” She brushed the trickle of blood away from his closed eye as a sob shook her.

A voice called, indistinguishable in the distance.

“Help! Someone help!” Evangeline screamed.

“Who is that?” the voice called, getting closer.

“Westley is hurt! Please help me!”

Finally, Sabina’s face appeared above her.

“Eva!” Her mouth fell open. “You spoke. Is that Westley?”

“Yes, help me, please. He’s nearly drowned.”

“Maybe I should go get help.”

“Just help me drag him to the top of the bank.”

Sabina eased herself halfway down the bank. She took one of his arms and Evangeline took the other, and together they managed to pull him to the top as Evangeline dug her toes into the muddy bank and climbed out beside him.

Instinctively Evangeline turned him onto his stomach, holding one shoulder up so his face was not in the dirt, and pounded on his back.

Suddenly he vomited. Thank You, God, he is alive!

Sabina screamed. Evangeline kept hold of his shoulder so he was lying on his side and slightly forward.

“I’ll get help!” Sabina ran away down the path.

He stopped heaving and lay still. She studied his face. He was pale, but perhaps not as pale as when she first pulled him out of the river. She wished she had a dry cloth to wipe the blood from his temple and the side of his face.

The bandages he had put on her hands were dripping water. She yanked them off and threw them on the ground.

He groaned, then started coughing. Again, he lay still.

“Westley? Are you all right? Please don’t die. You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

His eyelids eased up, as though it hurt to open them. He gazed at her for a moment, a dazed look in his eyes. Then his eyes closed again.