Page 63 of The Silent Songbird

She stopped sweeping and turned to face Westley.

“You have not come to read with me the last two days.”

“Oh.” She stared down at her broom. “I have been busy cleaning. And Reeve Folsham keeps thinking of new things to teach me. He taught me how to throw a grown man over my shoulder and onto the ground on his back.” She put down the short straw broom, propping it against the wall. She smiled into Westley’s bright-blue eyes as she remembered it. “Could you ever imagine me doing that? I never knew it could be so thrilling to exert my own strength. You men must often feel that.”

“Oh yes, I am so strong, I entertain myself with seeing how far I can toss men of various sizes.”

“You are laughing, but it is something new for me. I’ve never been allowed to—” She stopped abruptly as she realized what she had been about to say. As smoothly as she could, she went on. “—learn how to use a weapon or defend myself. Reeve Folsham is the first man I’ve ever met who thought defending oneself from attack was important for a woman to learn.”

“Did he tell you he has taught my sisters?”

“Lord le Wyse allowed him to teach his daughters?”

“My father asked him to teach them so if they ever needed to, they could fight off someone trying to hurt them. My mother was once attacked when she was still a young maiden and got away by fighting back.”

“Oh.” She covered her mouth with her hand at the thought of someone attacking Lady le Wyse. How wonderful that men like Reeve Folsham and Lord le Wyse would provide ways for women to defend themselves.

“One reason I was hoping you would come to read with me is because I have something particular to tell you.”

“Yes?” Already the buoyant feeling was fading.

“Eva, some men rode into Glynval two days ago and asked me if I’d seen a young woman with red hair, seventeen years old, who had run away from Berkhamsted Castle two weeks ago.”

Eva felt the warmth drain from her face. Her vision began to spin.

Westley grabbed her by her arms. “Are you going to faint?”

“No,” she whispered, even though the room was still spinning.

He still held her upper arms and stared into her eyes, his face only inches from hers. “Why is Lord Shiveley, and even King Richard, searching for you? Are you betrothed to the Earl of Shiveley?”

“Please.” Tears pricked her eyelids. “You did not tell them I was here, did you?”

“I pretended I didn’t know who they were speaking of and told them you were not here. But you need to tell me the truth. Shiveley’s men said you were his betrothed. Did you lie to me, Eva? Did you deceive me again?”

Her stomach twisted at the pain in his eyes. “Please, Westley. Please understand. I can’t marry Shiveley. It would kill me. Pleaseforgive me.” It was impossible to look away from his eyes. If only . . . But she would not ask for his love. Only his mercy.

“I want to understand, but you won’t tell me the truth. You haven’t even answered my question.”

“I am not betrothed to him. That is, it is not official or sanctioned by the Church. But King Richard came to Berkhamsted Castle—you were there—and immediately called me into his presence and told me I must marry Lord Shiveley.” Westley was still holding her arms. She grabbed his shirtfront. “I begged the king not to force me to marry that man.” Tears burned their way down her cheeks.

“Eva, who are you?” he asked quietly. His breath brushed her forehead as he leaned even closer.

“Evangeline, the illegitimate daughter of the king’s uncle, Lionel of Antwerp.”

“I suppose I should have guessed,” he said, his voice even softer. “You are the king’s ward, as well as his cousin. It is your duty . . .” His voice trailed off.

“It is my duty to marry whomever the king wishes me to marry. I know it is, but I cannot . . . cannot bear it.” Tears streamed down her cheeks now, but she didn’t even attempt to wipe them away. Something drove her to keep speaking, to make him understand.

“If I were to marry that man, it would mean—” Tears choked off her voice, but she swallowed and pushed on. “It would mean that I am not worthy of being loved, that I am just a pawn, that my feelings do not matter. Don’t you see? My father didn’t even love me enough to marry my mother. I grew up with only servants to take care of me. Some of them treated me well, others did not, but never, never did I feel like any of them actually loved me. I thought if only I could be free, if I could live like a servant, I could find someone—”

The pain, like broken knives inside her, wrenched the breath from her chest, forcing her to stop. She forced in another breath. “IfI could find someone who would love me and marry me, then maybe I am not unworthy after all. Perhaps I am not just a pawn in someone’s game. I want to be a human person with feelings, someone who can inspire love in another.”

“Perhaps the king believes Lord Shiveley loves you.”

She shook her head. “The king . . . He is deceived in Lord Shiveley’s character. Believe me when I say the earl doesn’t love me. You didn’t hear what he said to me, how he . . . he just wants to control me, and to be able to boast that he is married to royalty—one king’s granddaughter and another king’s cousin.”

Did Westley think, as Muriel did, that she should do her duty and obey the king? “I will not go back. You cannot force me. I will not marry that man. I’ll run away again where you’ll never find me.” A sob escaped her throat, and she struggled to control herself and not weep aloud.