The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(62)

“I’m sorry your father was killed, John. No one, least of all me or my father, would ever have wanted that to happen. We would have done anything to prevent it.”

“You didn’t care about my father. He always said you were too soft. He didn’t even want me to play with you as a child, but I believed my father was wrong. I would sneak away and go fishing with you. I listened to you, but my father was right and you were wrong.”

Westley tried to remember those conversations. “Your father loved you, John, and you loved him. That is a good thing. God would not—”

“Shut your mouth! Don’t talk about my father, and don’t talk to me about God!” John stabbed his finger at Westley’s face and spittle flew out of his mouth as he yelled, “You were wrong, and now I want you to admit it. Admit you were wrong!”

Madness seemed to shine out of his bloodshot eyes. A dark vein in his neck bulged as if ready to explode; another swollen purple vein at his temple throbbed.

“You and Lord le Wyse killed my father. With all your softness and talk of all men being equal in God’s eyes. You filled the villeins with these notions, and they rose up and killed my father. And I blame you.”

“Then why are you trying to hurt Eva? What did she do?”

“I was only using her to lure you here. But if she doesn’t do as I say . . .” He curled his lip again. “She must have seen me when I pushed you in the river. I wasn’t planning to kill you. You just made me so angry. But now . . . You will admit you were wrong about the villeins, that your father was wrong, and that my father was right.”

“Sabina must have been lying.”

“I didn’t know Sabina then.” He actually smiled. “But when I explained to her that you are not the perfect man everyone thinks you are, she told me she was sorry she ever helped that other girl save you. Now she wants to be my wife.” His smile grew wider.

“When did you become so full of hatred?”

“What I am full of is justice and truth. I want justice for my murdered father, and I want you to say that he was right, about everything.”

“So, will you hit me in the head and push me in the river again?” The knife was still pressing in between his ribs, but he was trying to buy some time.

“I should kill you the same way they killed my father—with a knife through the chest and beaten with sticks until his face was unrecognizable.”

Westley glanced around. He had to make a move soon. But the oaf beside him tightened his grip on his arm. John pulled out his own knife and held it up to Westley’s nose.

His stomach twisted. How would he get out of this?

Suddenly a high-pitched yell split the air. They all turned around to see Evangeline holding a bow and arrow aimed at the man behind John. She let the arrow fly.

The man screamed. “She shot me!”

Just as suddenly, the man on his left grunted and fell face-forward into the ground, his knife still clutched in his hand.

The man to Westley’s right, with a block of wood in his hand, suddenly disappeared behind Westley’s back. Scuffling, like two people fighting, ensued behind him.

Seeing the shock on John’s face, Westley tried to snatch his knife away. But John did not let go, and they both struggled for control of the weapon.

Westley was slightly taller, and he used his height to push down on the knife handle, pushing it toward John’s forehead and forcing him backward so far he fell to the ground on his back. Westley pinned his left hand to the ground while he pounded and squeezed John’s right hand until he knocked the knife loose.



Evangeline aimed her next arrow at the man’s left shoulder and let it fly. The arrow struck him just where she aimed it.

The man screamed and grabbed at the arrow shaft. “I’m killed!” He stared at her, then roared like a bear. He started toward her, and she tried to snatch another arrow from the leather pouch at her hip. Her fingers fumbled and nearly dropped it. Finally, fitting it to the string, she pulled it taut and aimed at the man’s chest.

His eyes bulging, he stared at the arrow.

“You should go get that shoulder bandaged.” Her voice was surprisingly even.

The man backed away, his left arm hanging limply at his side.

Evangeline kept her arrow nocked. The man Reeve Folsham had attacked first was lying on the ground, still not moving. The reeve had been struggling with the other man, but he suddenly slammed his fist into the man’s temple and he sunk to his knees, then fell forward.

Westley seemed to have overcome John Underhill as well. They were on the ground with Westley holding his wrists.

Evangeline ran over, aiming her arrow at John’s chest.

Westley let go of John’s wrists, snatched up the knife lying on the ground, and stood. “Very impressive, Evangeline.”

“You did well too.”

He looked back at Reeve Folsham. “Thank you, old friend. The two of you saved my life.”

“Eva found out from Sabina where they were taking you. You should thank her.”

He turned his sky-blue eyes on her. One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I will.”

A few people burst through the bushes and trees toward them. Reeve Folsham sent a couple of men to find some of Lord le Wyse’s strongest men to help secure John and his henchmen and escort, drag, or carry them, as the case warranted, back to the castle where they would be locked in one of the outbuildings.