The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(53)

Westley imagined the king taking away their home, their lands, everything. They might be forced to move back to Father’s place of birth in Lincolnshire. But they would lose even those holdings if the king had a political friend he wanted to reward. People out of favor with the king often found themselves destitute—or exiled from the country.

“How can I ask you and Mother to risk your home?”

“I don’t see it as you asking us to risk it. I am willing to risk it for the sake of mercy and righteousness.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“But, son, I can also see that you are in danger of letting your heart become attached to this woman. Don’t be guided by your emotions, Westley. Be wise and guard your heart. You hardly know anything of this woman’s character, and she has deceived us once already.”

“She says she saved my life when John pushed me in the river.”

“But are you certain she is telling the truth? It has not been proven.”

Westley said quietly, “I shall be careful, Father.”

Would he and his family have to face the king’s wrath for Evangeline to be free from marrying Shiveley? Only time would reveal her destiny. And his. But for now, it seemed wise to rein himself in where the king’s ward was concerned. He was too eager to forget that he had only known her for a short time.

As his father and mother had quoted to him on numerous occasions, “The heart is deceitful above all things.”





Chapter Twenty


Evangeline was sitting on a cushion on the ground in the little reading alcove when Westley came and held out a wooden bowl to her.

“What is it?”

“Apples and cream.” Westley sat beside her with a second bowl.

She held the bowl up to her face and breathed in the aroma of cooked apples, cinnamon, and cloves. “Mmm.” Her mouth watered.

Westley handed her a spoon. The adorable smile on his face made her forget the apples, but when he started eating from his own bowl, she dipped her spoon in.

“Did you eat apples and cream at Berkhamsted Castle?” he asked between bites.

“Yes. But our cook was not very generous with her cloves and sugar. It didn’t taste as good as this.” When she glanced up at him, he was grinning.

“I’m glad you like it. A king’s ward should have good things to eat.”

Evangeline lowered the bowl even as her stomach sank.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should not have brought up . . . that. I won’t speak of it again, if you wish me not to.”

“I suppose I cannot change it. I’m glad you know the truth. It was a relief to finally tell you.”

He was quiet for several moments. “What is it like being a king’s ward?”

“It is very lonely. I used to dream of being a peasant. You must think that was foolish.”

“No, but I think any peasant would be astonished.”

“And would think me foolish?”

“Yes. But they don’t know what you have experienced.”

“People probably think my life has been blessed and favored.” Evangeline stared down into her bowl, unable to look him in the eye. “It is true that I have never had to worry about food or clothing or shelter. But one of my earliest memories is of my nursemaid pinching my leg so hard it left a red-and-purple mark. I had done something she didn’t like, I suppose. I don’t remember much else about that time. When I was seven, Mildred—her real name is Muriel—became my personal servant. She has been taking care of me ever since, but she is more of a companion now than a servant. I came to Berkhamsted Castle ten years ago when King Edward, Richard’s father, was still king. He ordered that I had to stay in the castle and could only go outside when at least three guards were with me. He was afraid one of his enemies might kidnap me and hold me for ransom, or force me into marriage.”

She finally got up enough courage to look across at Westley. He had set his bowl aside and was leaning toward her. His eyes peered directly into hers.

“And now we are forcing you to stay in our castle.”

“But it is not the same. You must not think it is. I am around people such as you and your mother. Your mother speaks kindly to me, and she did so when she thought I was only a peasant. Your father is kind, too, in a different way. And you.” Her stomach turned a somersault as she looked into his eyes. “I saw you save that little girl while I was standing at my window, and I knew you were a good person.” She put her bowl aside as he had done.

He shifted so his body was facing her. “I remember seeing you. I heard you singing.”

“I liked to sing every morning, standing at my window.” Her cheeks warmed. “I started doing that when I was a little girl. I tried to stop a few years ago, but the servants complained, so I kept singing, at least one song every morning.”

“You have a beautiful voice. My men and I talked about the voice from the castle for days. I . . . I even dreamed about meeting the person behind the voice.”

“Were they pleasant dreams?”

“Very pleasant dreams.”

She cleared her throat. “You were so courteous to me on our way here. You have always been . . . very courteous.”

“Not so very courteous. I forgot to check your hands again.” He reached out and took her hands from her lap and turned them over. She cringed, knowing they were still far from healed. In fact, they still looked a mess.