The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(65)

“They might come and demand we set him free.”

“At the very least,” Lord le Wyse answered.

They stood talking over the possibilities while Evangeline listened. It was Lord le Wyse’s responsibility as the local lord to deal with lawbreakers, but John was also a lord, making it a more complicated situation. When they mentioned taking him to Berkhamsted Castle in the hopes that King Richard would still be there to hear the accusations against him, Evangeline felt her stomach dive like a swallow after an insect. The king would surely find out that she was in Glynval.

Lord le Wyse seemed to notice her. He bowed. “Forgive me, Evangeline. I will let you and Westley enjoy the festival for now, but he and I need to make a decision by tonight.” He turned to his son. “After the singing contest I want you back here.”

“Yes, Father.”

They hurried away, Westley’s hand on her elbow as he ushered her away from the house.

“As I was saying.” Westley cleared his throat. They were walking across the grassy area in front of the castle, headed back to the road that would take them to the meadow and the festival.

“Yes?”

“Would you ever consider marrying me, a man without a title, if it meant defying the king?”

“Yes. I would consider it.”

Did he say what she thought he said? It was not exactly a proposal of marriage, but very nearly. Her insides seemed to go numb at the thought of being so close to her greatest wish coming true. They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Westley! Eva!” A group of people, including his brothers and sisters and several townspeople and servants, approached them on the road.

“Where have you been?”

“We heard someone tried to kill you.”

“Was it John Underhill?”

“Are you injured? What happened? What did he do?”

Westley said in her ear, “We will talk more of this later.”

She squeezed his hand.

He smiled at the people surrounding them.

“Leave the poor young man alone,” someone said. “Cannot you see he wants to spend time with the pretty maiden?”

Westley raised his voice to be heard over the crowd. “I am very well, thank you. The people who attacked me are being dealt with by my father. Now, please go back to enjoying the festival.”

Someone else shouted, “The man is obviously not injured. Stand back and let him through.”

Westley managed to work his way out of the crowd, and he and Evangeline made their way toward the festival. Soon they were entering the area where the vendors were selling their wares, and jongleurs and minstrels were performing.

Westley bought some buns and some freshly roasted meat, and Evangeline walked beside him to the rear of the newly built stage. He pushed back the curtain that was strung over some rope between two trees, and they sat in between the two curtains, one at the back of the stage and the other at the front. They were alone.

“I thought I was dreaming when I saw you shoot that man with your arrow.” He swallowed a gulp of ale from a flask he was sharing with Eva.

“Did you see Reeve Folsham knock that man out with a block of wood?”

“He’s as big as a bear. The man’s lucky the reeve did not break his neck.”

“And the look on John’s face?”

“When you held your arrow pointed at him—for the second time?”

They both laughed softly. Westley’s hand brushed hers as she reached for the ale flask. She took a drink, letting her shoulder press against his as they sat side by side at the edge of the stage. She put down the flask, and Westley was staring at her.

“Will you miss Berkhamsted Castle? If you stay here with us?”

She shook her head.

“We cannot let anyone know who you really are. You can never see the king again. You will have to hide for the rest of your life.”

“I do not mind.”

He deliberately brushed her little finger with his.

“I like Glynval Castle better.”

He leaned his head until it was touching hers. “Why?”

“I like the people who live there.”

“All the people?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any one in particular you like better?” He took one of her tiny braids that was lying on her shoulder and rolled it between his fingers.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Lady le Wyse.”

He dropped her braid and leaned away.

She laughed at his insulted expression. She reached out and took his hand. Then she looped her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. She sighed, her heart dancing inside her chest.

They sat together, holding hands and not saying anything. Evangeline did not want the moment to end, the feeling that Westley enjoyed being with her, that he liked her, that he was even thinking of marrying her.

He finally pulled away enough to gaze into her eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?”

“To sing?”

Westley brushed her hair back from her eyes, then let his fingers trail down her cheek—and she was no longer thinking about singing. Her breathing shallowed. They were alone. No one was watching as his blue eyes focused on her lips.

He bent lower, his eyes nearly closing.