The darkness surrounded them like a thick fog, and the moon was a sliver in a sky of tiny stars. The sound of the cart wheels covered the sound of their footsteps so that any number of bandits could have been lurking along the road. Yet Evangeline felt safe in the company of the strange men.
She sighed as she walked along. Her feet hurt from the rocky, uneven road, but she was free from King Richard and Lord Shiveley and their oppressive expectation that she would be wedding that man in several hours.
Muriel scowled. Did she think Evangeline was selfish to leave the castle like this, to put them through this hardship? She should have tried harder to convince Muriel not to come with her. Please, God, don’t let her think I’m selfish.
After an hour or so, Westley said, “We shall stop here for the night.”
Evangeline and Muriel hung back and watched as the men guided the donkey and cart off the road. There was nothing here except grass and a few trees, no inn or structure of any kind, and it suddenly struck Evangeline—they would be sleeping on the ground.
The men went into the woods two or three at a time, no doubt to relieve themselves. Muriel and Evangeline went in the opposite direction to do the same behind some thick bushes.
“I cannot believe we are here, defying the king like this, traveling with these strange peasants,” Muriel muttered. “I’ve never slept on the ground in my life.”
“It is an adventure, Muriel,” Evangeline whispered back. “And you can return to Berkhamsted Castle anytime you wish.”
“And what do you think they will do when they realize you lied to them and you are not mute at all? They’ll be furious. They will cast you out of their midst.”
Evangeline shook her head. They would not be that angry, surely. Perhaps she would tell them she had been miraculously healed. But that lie seemed worse than one that did not include God.
They went back to where the men were spreading blankets on the ground.
Evangeline sat down several feet away on the grass. She pulled off her thin slippers and shook out the dirt and small rocks from her shoes. Muriel did the same while she huffed her displeasure.
Evangeline lay down on the soft, cool grass, hugging her bag to her chest. Muriel stretched out beside her. “I am dirty and tired and I do not have proper shoes for this kind of walking. I have no way of washing even my face, as we have no water.”
“If we ask,” Evangeline dared to whisper back, “the men will probably let us share their water.”
Muriel huffed again. “I’m too tired tonight. I will ask them in the morning. Are you not sorry yet for what you have done?”
“No.”
“Sleeping outside on the ground is not something any lady should be doing. How will either of us get a moment of sleep?”
Evangeline did not answer. Muriel was always prone to complaints. Evangeline would send her back to Berkhamsted as soon as she was settled into a new life. Then Muriel could not complain—and Evangeline would not feel guilty about her not being pleased.
She herself felt quite content on the soft grass, staring up at the peaceful stars. She could imagine God winking down at her. Was God thinking, My beloved child Evangeline has escaped from Berkhamsted Castle? She imagined God as the father she had never known, a perfect Father. He was proud of her for not staying and marrying someone she could never love. It was also possible that God was angry with her for not doing as her king had directed her. But she preferred not to believe that.
She closed her eyes, stretching her arms above her head, then pillowed her cheek on her hands. She was free of Berkhamsted Castle and free of her own identity.
The day that had begun as the worst of her life had ended as the best.
Evangeline awoke to a soft light all around her and blue sky above her. She turned her head and saw flattened grass beside her.
It was not a dream. She truly had run away and escaped from the castle, King Richard, Lord Shiveley, and her own wedding. And she had slept all night on the ground.
A smile broke out on her face as she opened her arms up to the sky, barely stifling the giddy laugh that bubbled up inside her.
Evangeline finally sat up and looked around. The men were packing up to leave, and Muriel stood over her.
“Get up. We must go. Though how you could sleep all night and still be sleeping at dawn . . . The ground was so hard I barely slept at all.”
Evangeline dug through her bag and pulled out her sturdy shoes. As she put them on, she took a deep breath through her nose. Even the air smelled better away from the castle. All around her was fresh and clean and green with life. Birds sang into the stillness like minstrels with no thought for their audience, singing for their own joy.
Westley, the apparent leader of their little group, approached her with that compassionate look on his face. The sun was rising behind him and illuminating his head like the halos surrounding the saints on the chapel windows at the cathedral she’d visited once as a child. His eyes were the same blue as the sky. His chin was slightly square—a chiseled continuation of his masculine jawline. His slightly parted lips gave him a vulnerable expression.