Page 98 of The Silent Songbird

“He took me to my room and locked me in to get dressed—I don’t think he liked my men’s clothing. But on the way up the stairs, I toldhim God would punish him, and he slapped me. Oh dear.” She suddenly remembered. “Where is Muriel? Is she all right?”

“Yes, she is well. She’s with Frederick.”

“Did you see her?”

“She looks like she’s had a hard two weeks, but I think she will be well.” He caressed her cheek again. “You know, you said you wanted to be held. And to be free to be married to someone you loved.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what I want?”

“Tell me.”

“I want to fall in love with a beautiful young woman, to marry her, and to have beautiful red-haired children.” He stared into her eyes, his body turned toward her on the narrow bench. “I’ve already fallen in love with her. Do you think her guardian will give me permission to marry her?”

“You can ask him.” Would he say no? If he did, she would run away from Berkhamsted Castle again. Perhaps there would be a place for them in France. Or the Holy Roman Empire.

Westley leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

“What is this?”

Evangeline pulled away. The priest was giving them a horrified look. She hadn’t known his eyes could open that wide.

“Are you kissing in the Lord God’s chapel? There is no kissing in the chapel! Unless it is to seal a marriage vow.”

Westley stood and kept hold of her hand. He did not apologize. He only nodded at the priest as they left, and he led her down the steps. “I’ve never been asked to leave the chapel for kissing before,” he said.

“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem very embarrassed about it.”

“Why should I be embarrassed for kissing the woman I plan to marry?”

Evangeline bit her lip. The king had not given them permission yet. And he might not. After all, Westley had no title, and the king did not believe in marrying for love. She was Richard’s political pawn, and Lord Shiveley had revealed to her just how valuable a pawn she was. Would her cousin give her up to Westley?

As they reached the main floor, Lord le Wyse and King Richard were walking into the Great Hall, talking as if they were old friends.

Westley stopped her short and turned to face her in a dark corner near the stairs. “I haven’t thanked you for being willing to give yourself to Shiveley to save me.”

His handsome face was so close to hers, she could almost count his eyelashes, even in the dim torchlight. His gaze was focused on her lips, but he leaned down and touched his lips to her cheek.

“I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

“When you told Shiveley you would willingly marry him if he would save me from the moat. I thought you were still angry with me.”

“I was very angry with you. You also accused me of wanting to marry Shiveley. But I knew you didn’t mean it, and I still loved you.”

His lips brushed her cheek again, but this time an inch closer to her lips.

She should probably ask him what he meant by kissing her, since the king had not given him permission to marry her, or mention that he did not smell very good after his swim in the moat. But if she spoke, he would know by her voice how much his simple kisses affected her.

“I’m sorry I doubted that you could be helpful.” He kissed her other cheek, pulling her even closer.

Why didn’t he kiss her lips? Didn’t he know she wanted him to?

He kissed her chin.

“I already forgave you,” she whispered.

“Will you marry me?” He kissed her forehead. “If your cousin the king will give us permission?” He looked into her eyes and brought his hands up, his palms cradling her face.