The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(45)

Suddenly Eva grabbed Westley’s arm and pulled him down. “What is it?” He squatted beside her and followed her line of vision.

John Underhill was walking across the small area between the back of the main house and the garden, heading around the side.

“There he is again—the blond one who struck you and tried to kill you!”

He and Eva squatted behind a bush as John wandered around the gardens.

“Are you sure you are not mistaken?”

She still gripped her bow. “That man is not your friend.”

“But why would John try to kill me?” His stomach was sinking.

“You exchanged angry words with him, then he struck you and pushed you into the river. It is he. I saw him.”

Her gaze bored into his. Could she know how hurtful it was to think of John doing such a thing?

John started walking in their direction and waved, as he must have seen the tops of their heads.

Eva stepped back, retrieved an arrow off the ground, and nocked it to her bowstring. She raised the weapon and aimed it at John.





Chapter Seventeen


Evangeline pointed her bow and arrow at Westley’s friend John, the same man who had tried to kill him.

“Don’t come any closer!” Evangeline had faced a throng of angry men and women, so she could surely take on just one—or two—if Westley still did not believe her. Her heart beat fast, sending the blood racing through her body.

Now she had a weapon, and she knew how to use it. She almost smiled.

The man stopped and held up his hands.

“Eva,” Westley said, a growl in his voice, “what are you doing? Put that bow and arrow down.”

“This man tried to kill you.”

John Underhill scrunched his face at Evangeline. “What are you talking about?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about. You did not see me when you passed by on your way to attack Westley with that block of wood in your hand or you might have tried to kill me too.”

“You’re insane!” John barked out a laugh, but there was no humor at all in his hard, dark eyes. “Westley, tell this lunatic woman that’s ridiculous.”

Westley warily kept his body partially angled toward John, but he did not speak.

“I don’t believe I have met this servant girl.” John stepped toward her with an arrogant smile.

Evangeline did not lower her arrow even an inch but kept it trained on the man’s chest. “I advise you not to come any closer.”

John halted again.

“Westley, do you allow your servants to threaten your friends? I do believe this little firebrand would do me bodily harm.”

“Do you know what she’s talking about? Why does she say you attacked me, John?”

“How would I know that?” John’s voice rose in pitch and volume as he flung his arms out. “She is addled, or drinking some kind of strong ale. I heard you fell in the river and hit your head, but I don’t know what kind of satanic dreams this little servant girl has been having.”

The man was obviously trying to insult her, for as tall as she was, no one had ever called her a “little” anything.

Westley glanced from her to John Underhill.

“Is anything amiss, sir?” One of the stable boys approached them.

“Go fetch Sabina, the miller’s daughter,” Westley said.

“Yes, sir.” The young man turned and ran.

“Do you not trust me, Westley? Can this be?” John’s face was a mixture of amusement and anger. “Who is this little annoyance? This . . . girl?”

“I am neither little nor a girl,” Evangeline said, her voice as icy as her blood was boiling. “And you are the man I saw strike Westley le Wyse in the head and push him in the river. If I had not been there, he would have drowned.”

The man studied her, his eyes so cold he surely would have frozen her heart if he could have. But the fact that he was pretending to be Westley’s friend, bold enough to lie to his face after trying to kill him . . . He must have heard that Westley could not remember what happened.

Instead of feeling afraid, strength coursed through her. Nothing would keep her from at least wounding the man should he make an aggressive move toward either her or Westley.

Westley said nothing. John Underhill crossed his arms over his chest.

Finally, someone was approaching from the direction of the castle.

“Sabina,” Westley said in an expressionless voice, “is this the man you saw running away when I fell into the river?”

Sabina shook her head emphatically. “No, of course not. This is John Underhill. Why would he want to harm you? The two men I saw running away from where you fell in had, um, black hair and red hair. Neither one of them could have been John Underhill.” She smiled openmouthed, as if the idea were ridiculous.

Evangeline’s stomach roiled, but she gripped the bow and arrow even tighter, the bow and string digging into her fingers.

“Eva was not even there when you fell in the water.” Sabina made a derisive sound with her lips.

“It is Sabina who was not there. She only said she saw two men running away because I told her there were two men.”

“Westley,” John said, “if you are just going to stand there and let her accuse me of trying to kill you, pointing an arrow at me, then I’m leaving. I did not know our friendship meant so little to you.”