The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(54)

“Eva.” His voice was soft and deep. “You must keep these hands wrapped.” He raised one of her hands so close to his face, her insides trembled. Would he kiss her hand?

He closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. His breath fanned her wrist, making her skin tingle.

She shouldn’t long for his kiss. She did not know what the future held for her. But she did long for it. Her heart ached with longing.

He lowered her hands and stared at them. Neither of them spoke for several moments. Finally, he said, “What would your guardian say if he could see these hands?” He seemed to try to make his voice lighthearted, but he was failing.

“I’m sure the king is quite angry with me right now. He thinks I deserve this and worse.” Her stomach twisted at the truth of that. “Even Muriel thought I was foolish. She thought I would go back to Berkhamsted and agree to marry Lord Shiveley after spending a few days as a servant.”

“She underestimated your will.” Westley looked at her, still holding her hands in his.

“I do have a strong will, I suppose, although I am usually quiet about it.” She smiled at a memory. “Maudie, one of my nursemaids—not the one who pinched me—once said, ‘She will smile like a cherub and say, “Yes, Maudie,” but then she will run away when your back is turned.’ ”

“That sounds like a normal, healthy child’s will to me.” Westley was smiling now. He finally let go of her hands.

“For my place in life Muriel would say I have an unnatural will. I do not acquiesce to the king’s requests as a king’s ward ought to do.”

“And I am very grateful that you do not.”

Her heart took a tumble at his words. Did he mean that he was grateful she had not obediently married Lord Shiveley because he . . . wished to marry her? Oh please, God, let him mean that.

“If you had not run away, I would have drowned.”

The breath rushed out of her. Of course he had not meant he wanted to marry her. “Oh. Yes. I thought you were dead for a moment.” She averted her eyes while she recovered from her foolish disappointment.



He must keep his head.

Westley forced himself to remember that he had only known her for two short weeks. He let go of her hands so he would not be as tempted to kiss her soft skin.

She was telling him about when he almost drowned.

“Did I open my eyes at all?”

“No, you looked very much dead. Your skin was pale, blood was trickling from your head, and you did not seem as if you were breathing. I was glad when I turned you onto your side and you vomited. Sabina screamed and ran.”

“How very romantic. The minstrels will no doubt be singing of this story for years to come.”

She actually laughed, a lovely sound. She covered her mouth.

“It is very well. You may laugh. If I had died, though, you would be sorry for laughing.”

“But you did not die.”

How could he not sacrifice everything for a woman who saved his life? Had quite possibly saved his life twice, since she warned him about John Underhill?

“You have been a blessing from God to me. And I have not treated you nearly so well.”

“I think you have treated me well. You bandaged my hands. You told Lord Shiveley’s men that I was not here. You allowed me to travel with you and your men. You brought me apples and cream.”

“Speaking of your hands, stay here.” He got up and went into the house, grabbed the jar of his mother’s healing salve and some bandages, and hurried back outside. He sat in front of her.

She trustingly gave him her hand. She had such an innocence about her. She had lived in a sheltered world all her life, which had given her the childlike wonder he had seen when she had gasped over every butterfly and flower on the road to Glynval. She had chased pigs and fallen in the mud like she had no care for her appearance. She had pulled him from the river and had not run away screaming when he threw up, half drowned and bleeding.

He needed to talk about something to distract himself from how soft her hand felt.

“You are still planning to sing for us at the Harvest Festival, are you not?”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“King Richard is unlikely to attend the Glynval Harvest Festival.” He gave the words a wry tone. “And I will look out for you.”

She gazed up at him. “Perhaps I do not sing as well as you think.”

“You can practice on me and my family tonight.”

She frowned. “You are very persistent.”

“Yes, I am.” He smeared the salve over her open blisters. “Besides, I know you sing beautifully. I’ve heard you sing twice now.”

“Ah yes, you did. What is in this salve? It smells like honey and herbs.”

“That is what it is, mostly. Honey and comfrey. My mother has used it on many people. She even gives it to people to eat if they have stomach problems.” Better to talk of disgusting things so he could keep his thoughts in line.

“I have not seen Sabina around here lately.”

“She says she has been sick since she gave you those poison mushrooms. Perhaps she is ashamed to show her face here, or afraid the other servants are angry with her.”

“Most people seem to believe it was an accident, that she did not intend to pick the poison ones.”