The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(32)

“When the next group from Glynval travels to Berkhamsted, I shall go with them.”

“I understand, but do you think you will be safe? Lord Shiveley might harm you to get you to tell him where I am. If it comes to that, I want you to tell them.”

“Let us talk no more of it now. Why don’t you sing to me one of your pretty songs?”

Evangeline tried to think of something pleasant, something that would cheer them both up. She thought she heard something moving in the trees between them and the village. She stared but did not see or hear anything else. It must have been only a bird or a hare.

Finally, she started singing a song that she had heard from the minstrels who traveled with King Richard the last time he had visited Berkhamsted, a love ballad about a shepherd boy and a goose girl. Her heart gradually grew lighter as she wove small flowers into Muriel’s hair and let the music cheer her heart.



Westley took the dipper from the bucket at the well and drank several deep gulps. Then he stood staring down at the bucket. This water was nice and cool to drink, but water had nearly killed him three days ago.

“What are you thinking about?”

He turned to find Sabina just behind him.

“I was thinking how grateful I am that God put you nearby when I fell into the river yesterday.”

Sabina smiled up at him. “And how grateful I am that I could save you.”

“Did you see me fall in? Is it possible that someone struck me?”

A hesitant look came over her face. Then she drew her brows down in a thoughtful squint. “Now that you say that, and after thinking about it, I believe I did see someone running away when you fell into the river. I think it very likely that person struck you. Truly, you should be careful and not allow yourself to be alone, my lord.”

Sabina was one of the few people who called him “my lord.” At some point, if something happened to his father, everyone would call him that. Normally he didn’t like to be reminded that someday he would take his father’s place. But something about the way Sabina said the words, so admiring, made him feel . . . taller.

“Thank you for your concern, Sabina. Perhaps you are right.” He remembered what Evangeline had said, how it was strange that he would simply fall in. “What did this person who was running away look like?”

“It may have actually been two men, but definitely one man. I did not see his face, so I cannot say what he looked like. I’m very sorry.” She spoke as if slightly breathless. “I would do anything to protect you. I only wish I had seen him.”

She was standing quite close to him, peering into his eyes. Truly, she was looking particularly fair today, with her blonde hair dangling in loose curls around her jawline, in addition to the adoring expression on her face. Her lips were slightly parted, and she was staring at his mouth.

Someone had asked him a few days before if he would marry Sabina. “You are the lord’s oldest son,” his father had said when he complained about the question, “so everyone naturally wonders.” And Sabina’s father was the miller. He was wealthy compared to the other villagers in Glynval. Sabina was fairly well educated, and she had apparently made no secret of the fact that she hoped to marry him. She was always milling about near his house or the well, where she would often see him.

Should he marry Sabina? It was not the first time he had asked himself that question. He must marry someone, after all. Why not Sabina? She seemed to adore him. What man wouldn’t want a wife who adored him?

None of the other Glynval maidens interested him. His father and mother had offered to take him to Lincolnshire where his father had grown up and find him a bride from among his relatives’ friends, but he had declined. But now that he was twenty-one, he seemed to be thinking more about who he might marry.

For some reason, this thought pattern brought to mind the new maiden, Eva, with the vibrant red hair and the thoughtful green eyes. Sometimes the way she looked at him . . . It was not the same as Sabina, but it was wistful, sweet. And knowing she had been so mistreated made him want to protect her.

“Westley.” Sabina leaned even closer, so close her shoulder was pressed against his arm. “I don’t think I could bear it if someone hurt you. When I think about it . . .”—tears welled up in her eyes—“my heart breaks in two.”

Westley realized he was leaning away from her. But what if he did allow her to kiss him? What if he put his arms around her and kissed her? He cleared his throat instead.

“Perhaps if we went to the place,” Sabina said, also leaning away, “where I saw you fall in, one of us would remember some detail about what happened. Perhaps your memory would return.”

“That is a good idea.” Westley pushed himself away from the stone wall around the well. He allowed her to hold on to his arm while they walked down the path toward the river.

Sabina chattered on about the upcoming harvest festival that would take place soon, about how much she looked forward to it every year. It was rather pleasant to listen to her cheerful voice.

Suddenly he heard another voice, and this new voice was singing.

“I think I hear something.” Sabina turned her head, as if listening. “It’s coming from over there.”

The closer they got, the more beautiful the voice sounded. So pure and lovely. It made a warm feeling sweep over him. He recognized the song—a ballad about a shepherd boy and a goose girl. His mother used to sing it to him. And the voice sounded somehow familiar, as if he had heard it before but indistinctly.