The Silent Songbird (Hagenheim #7)(75)

Westley looked around the room again, taking in every wall, corner, and piece of furniture. Where did he want to be when the king of England came through the door? Would a guard precede him? Should Westley hide or immediately make his presence known? He decided to stand in full view and state his business as quickly as possible.

Just then, footsteps sounded in the corridor. Westley faced the door. It swung open and a guard walked in. He saw Westley and froze. “Who are you?” He drew his sword.

Westley lifted his hands. “I come in peace. I need to speak with His Majesty King—”

Two guards rushed at him and grabbed his arms.

“Your Majesty,” he yelled as the men tried to push him down on the floor. “Evangeline is in danger.”

The men managed to shove him to his knees as they ground their fists into the back of his shoulders and pulled his arms behind him.

“Stop. Let him up.” A third man walked into the room. He was thin, with dark-blond hair and a matching beard.

They loosened their hold on Westley, and he stood and jerked his arms out of their grasp.

“Who are you?”

This man must be King Richard, as he held his head high and ordered them around with such a regal tone.

“I am Westley le Wyse from Glynval. Evangeline is afraid for her life if she marries Lord Shiveley. And Lord Shiveley has captured my father, Lord Ranulf le Wyse, and thrown him in the dungeon. He has also been torturing Muriel.”

“How do you know all this?” The king’s face was scrunched in a tight scowl. “Shiveley may have threatened Muriel and yelled at her to try to convince her to tell him where Evangeline was, but he would not strike her.”

“Have you seen her, Your Majesty?”

“No, but why did Evangeline not tell me these things? I have been with her for the last hour.”

“Shiveley threatened to kill my father and Muriel if she spoke a word of it.”

“And you? Where did you come from? How did you get in here?”

“I escaped Lord Shiveley and his men by diving into the moat and swimming to the underside of the bridge.”

King Richard had been studying Westley’s face while he stroked his beard. “And why do you think Evangeline is in any danger from Shiveley? He is one of my most trusted advisors.”

“My father believes he murdered his first wife. She was my father’s cousin, and her family said she often had bruises on her face and arms. After she died, her mother prepared her body for burial, and she said she looked as if someone had beaten her . . . in the head. Shiveley said she fell down the steps, but her head had more than one injury, and they were all on one side.”

“These are all very grave accusations. Is there anything else you have to say?”

“The castle stable master, Frederick, told us he believes Lord Shiveley has a more sinister intention for marrying your cousin. He believes the earl hopes to someday be king.”

“Does he have any proof of this?”

“I believe it was based on something Lord Shiveley had said to Muriel.”

“Come, then.” The king looked grim as he motioned to his guards. “Let us go down to the dungeon and see whom we might find there.”



Evangeline stood beside Lord Shiveley in the chapel before the priest.

“Where is the king?” Shiveley growled. He turned to two of his guards. “Go find him.” He spoke from behind clenched teeth. “Ask him if he realizes we are waiting for him and how much longer he will be.”

She closed her eyes and tried to block out Lord Shiveley’s face. He would surely kill Muriel, Lord le Wyse, and Frederick—and Westley, too, if he found him. The only thing she could hope for was to buy their safety . . . with her compliance. At least until she was able to free them. Somehow.



Westley accompanied the king and his two guards down one flight of stairs, then headed down the dank stone steps to the dungeon. “Pardon me, my king, but is Evangeline safe?”

“She and Shiveley are waiting for me now in the chapel to say their wedding vows.”

Westley’s heart hitched. “You must not allow him to get her alone, if you will forgive my boldness, Your Majesty. He will do harm to her, I have no doubt.”

“Did she have a red mark on her face before you left her? Or a cut on her lip?”

“You see? He has already struck her.” Heat rose into Westley’s face and sent a surge of energy through his limbs. If only he could get his hands around that man’s neck . . .

The king reached the bottom of the steps and approached two guards there. “Open the doors of the cells where Lord le Wyse and Frederick are being kept.”

“We can open those doors for no man except Lord Shiveley.” The first guard stood staring back at the king, his hand on his sword.

“How dare you? I am King Richard, and this dungeon, as well as every inch of Berkhamsted Castle, belongs to me.”

The man’s countenance fell but still he hesitated. Then he bolted past them and up the stairs.

“What is the meaning of this?” The king glared at the other dungeon guard.

He stared, openmouthed. “Your Majesty, forgive me. Shiveley told us that if we disobeyed him, even if it were the king himself, he would have us beheaded. But if you make me one of your guards, I hereby renounce any ties to Lord Shiveley. I vow to be loyal to you forever, my king.”