Westley’s family was wealthy? Eva’s heart sank.
“Here’s your new worker, Reeve Folsham,” Nicola said to the man standing at the edge of the field. “Her name is Eva, and she is mute.”
“Mute?” The man looked almost insulted.
“She understands what you say but she doesn’t speak. Farewell, Eva.” Nicola turned and walked back toward the manor house.
Reeve Folsham stared at her. Finally, he frowned and handed her a tool with a long wooden handle and a curved, almost circular blade on the end. The man’s skin was dark and leathery, like a horse’s saddle. He seemed about Lord Shiveley’s age, but his hair was entirely white and his shoulders were wide and muscular.
“What are you waiting for? You can start cutting over there.”
A swath of standing grain—perhaps wheat—stretched out to her right, and straight ahead several women bent forward as they used the strange instrument to slice through the stalks. As if by magic, the stalks of grain would fall to the ground in perfect flat swaths.
It looked easy, so Evangeline stepped to the edge of the standing grain, bent, and swung her blade across the bottom of the stalks.
A few stalks bent and broke, but most only waved their heads at her.
She huffed out a breath, blowing a strand of hair that had fallen across her eye. The reeve was watching her. She drew back the instrument, clenching her teeth, and swung with all her might.
The handle slipped out of her grasp and went flying in the direction of the reeve.
Evangeline covered her mouth with her hands as Reeve Folsham leapt to the side when the blade sliced through his tunic.
Evangeline stepped toward him, her stomach twisting.
“What kind of evil is this?” he roared at her. “Are you trying to murder me?”
Chapter Six
Evangeline shook her head vehemently. O God, what have I done?
Two men hurried toward them. One of them was Westley.
“What happened?”
“This mute girl tried to kill me.” The reeve lifted his shirt. A long stripe of blood shone across his side.
Evangeline’s knees went weak and her heart pounded sickeningly. Was it a serious injury? A trickle of bright-red blood oozed from one end of the cut.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks as Westley stepped closer, bringing his face to within inches of the wound.
“Oh, Folsham, it’s only a scratch. What are you shouting about? You’ve scared the poor girl nearly to death.”
Westley was looking at her now. Her face tingled and her knees wobbled.
“She slung the scythe at me!” Reeve Folsham waved his arms, still holding up his tunic. “She looked at it as if she’d never seen a scythe in her life, then she slung it at me.”
Evangeline could only shake her head. But even if she could speak, what could she say? How could she explain that she hadn’t meant to do it, that she was indeed completely ignorant of a scythe and how to use it, and it had slipped out of her hands—and flew straight for the reeve’s rather wide body.
“It was just an accident.” Westley smiled, then covered his mouth with his hand as if stifling a laugh.
“She is a menace. Look at me. I’m bleeding. Lord le Wyse, you saw it, did you not?”
Another man standing behind Westley now stepped forward. He was much older than Westley, had darker hair that was beginning to gray, and wore a black leather patch over one eye. He pierced Evangeline with his gaze, then turned to the reeve. “Go on to the house, Folsham. One of the maids can tend to your scratch.”
“Scratch. Hmph. I tell you, she could have killed me.”
It was true. She could have killed him. The breath went out of her and she covered her face. What did I almost do? She breathed in and out as a tear squeezed out of each eye. She kept her eyes covered so no one would see.
Surely everyone in the village would hear of what she had done. Would they force her to leave? Was Westley horrified that he had let her come to his village to work? And was he only making light of the incident in front of the reeve so he would calm down?
When she opened her eyes, Reeve Folsham was stalking toward the castle and Westley and the other man were looking at her.
“Father,” Westley said, “I’m sure she did not mean to sling the scythe at Folsham.”
Was Westley’s father the lord of the village? The older man was wearing finer clothes than the other men she had seen; he had on a fine linen shirt that was so bright white it reflected the light of the sun. He was definitely not a peasant or a servant, or even a tradesman. But along with his eye patch, one of his hands appeared to be afflicted in some way, as he held it against his middle.
Finally, he said, “Did you want to hurt Reeve Folsham?”
Tears welled up in Evangeline’s eyes. She shook her head.
“Father, she can’t speak. She and her friend traveled with us from Berkhamsted Castle.” Westley had the same masculine jawline as the lord and the same thick hair. He took a step toward Evangeline. “Eva, this is my father, Lord le Wyse.”