The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(70)

Evangeline forced herself to push away Westley’s words and ignore the way he stalked away from her, as if he could no longer stand the sight of her. She could not let herself cry or she would appear weak.

Lord le Wyse came to stand before her, the other men hanging back but staring intently. “You’ll have to come along with us, in any case. We cannot spare a man to escort you back. Try not to get in anyone’s way.” Then he started barking orders to the men to get busy tending to their horses.

Her chest felt hollow. Westley would hate her now. She had defied him. She had made him both angry and sad. But he had called her foolish and asked her if she wanted to marry Shiveley. How could he say such things? Did he not know how much they hurt her?

Everyone was getting ready to sleep for the night.

She turned to retrieve her bedding from her horse, aware that the men kept glancing her way or outright watching her. Did they think she was as foolish as Westley did? Well, she didn’t care what they thought. Or Westley either, for that matter. If he could get so angry and think so little of her abilities, then perhaps he wasn’t the man she thought he was.

Tears pricked her eyes at that thought, but she had no time for tears. Now that the men knew she was a woman, she had to be on her guard. She had thought to sleep near Westley, but she was too angry to want to be anywhere near him. Besides, she could take care of herself. She refused to be afraid.

Westley placed his bedroll on the ground next to a large oak tree. She placed hers about ten feet away from him and the other men. While they sat in a circle talking and eating with each other, Evangeline went into the woods to relieve herself. When she returned, Westley watched her walk back to her blanket.

She pretended to look straight ahead. She sat by herself and ate the bread and cheese Nicola had retrieved from the kitchen for her.

Would Westley get over being angry with her? Would she only get in everyone’s way? If so, the men would utterly scorn her.

She would focus on saving Muriel and warning Richard about Lord Shiveley.

She put away her food, lay down, and closed her eyes. What would happen when they arrived at the castle? Would they be able to rescue Muriel? What would an actual battle look like?



Westley watched where Evangeline placed her blanket. She did not join the men as they ate. Did she have enough food? He supposed it would not be proper to invite her to sit and talk with the men. They might say something bawdy, although with his father on the trip, they were not likely to say anything very uncouth. Besides, she might not want to sit and eat with him. She was already lying down. And she was angry with him.

He had been rather harsh to her. But why couldn’t she have stayed in Glynval as he asked her to? How did she not understand that she was in danger? Perhaps when he wasn’t so angry, he might admire her for having the courage to come and want to fight with them. But courage would not protect her from Shiveley and his trained soldiers.

Westley left the group of men and their inane conversation. He went to his own blanket and lay down facing Evangeline. Her back was to him, and he couldn’t see her very well, as dark as it was, but she seemed to be using her hands to rub her face. A moment later he heard a slight sniff coming from her direction. Surely she was not crying. He heard another sniff, barely audible, as if she was purposely trying to be quiet.

He listened for several more moments. Loud laughter from the men drowned out any sounds from Evangeline.

This was ridiculous. He got up and squatted next to her. “Can I get you anything? Do you need food or water?”

“No. I thank you.” After a pause, she said, “I have food and water.”

Perhaps he had imagined that she was crying. She seemed fine. “I shall see you in the morning, then. Don’t go anywhere without telling me first.”

His only answer was silence.



The next morning Evangeline was up with everyone else, taking care of her horse—even though she didn’t actually know how to care for a horse. She kept looking over at what the men were doing and imitating them. Then she refilled her water flask as the other men were doing. Westley seemed to be keeping an eye on her but did not speak to her.

The other men either eyed her askance or nodded politely when she came near. See, Westley? You overreacted. No one here was so thrown off balance by me as you are.

A few men had already mounted their horses. Evangeline took hold of her horse’s reins and was about to hoist herself into the saddle when someone shouted. One of the men drew a dagger from his belt and cursed.

Evangeline spun around as a group of men rode toward them on horseback, at least a dozen, surrounding them on all sides. Their arrows were nocked and pointed at them when another group appeared with swords drawn. And riding in the forefront was Lord Shiveley.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


Westley placed his hand on his sword hilt, his muscles aching to draw his weapon. But with so many arrows and swords aimed at him, his men, and his father, he could do little.

Shiveley had caught them off guard.

Heat flowed through his limbs as a well-dressed man wearing leather body armor—Lord Shiveley, no doubt—moved forward. He seemed to be searching faces until he saw Father.

“Lord le Wyse. I haven’t seen you since my wedding ceremony. My first wife was your relative, was she not?”

“How kind of you to remember.” Father’s wry tone and steely stare belied his indifferent manner.