At one time he would have praised God at hearing her speak. But now . . .
“I thought you were someone who could be trusted.” He tried to look her in the eye, to see if she was ashamed of her sin, but it was too dark to see her expression. “I am not accustomed to being deceived for no good reason.”
“Perhaps I did have a good reason.”
He snorted. “What reason?”
“I will tell you, but I beg you not to tell anyone else.”
He did not answer for a few moments. “Very well. What reason could you possibly have for pretending to be mute?”
“As I told you, I was trying to get away from someone. It was the only way I could think of to disguise myself.”
“Why?” The word exploded from him. “If you had told me you were in danger, I would have protected you.” He never shouted, and he hadn’t planned to shout at her, but the heat inside him forced its way out. “You did not have to make a fool of me, making me think you had been beaten until you lost your voice. I felt sorry for you.” His insides twisted and he rubbed a hand across his eyes, unable to even look at her.
His mind flashed back to a few years before, when he was going fishing with John Underhill. A young woman had approached them and asked to go fishing with them.
“My family is hungry,” the maiden said, “and needs me to catch some fish, for we have no other food and have not eaten for two days.”
John had laughed and told her, “Go away. Westley is too virtuous for you.”
“Why did you do that?” Westley asked. “Perhaps she really was hungry.”
John laughed again. “You are never suspicious of anyone, and you believe everything anyone tells you.”
Westley had inquired about the maiden later and discovered that she had not been going without food. She had admitted to his sister that she simply wanted to get close to him and John because they were the wealthiest young men in the two villages.
Another time a maiden stumbled and landed in his arms. Or at least Westley thought she had stumbled. John told him he was naive.
“Foolish,” John had said. “To feel compassion for the villeins or servants.” More than once he had said, with that contemptuous tone, “Westley, you’re too trusting. Do you think every last one of your villeins wouldn’t slit your throat to trade places with you? You think they care about you, but they don’t.”
Westley’s face had grown hot as he told his friend, “You are wrong. It is not foolish to feel compassion, and I pity you that you think so cynically.”
But that old humiliation that had made his face grow hot at John’s words now rose up inside him again. Eva had done what those other maidens had tried to do—made him feel sorry for her by lying to him.
Eva hung her head, staring down at her hands.
“I felt sorry for you, Eva, if that is even your name. But you were lying to me. How can I believe anything you say?”
“I understand why you would be angry. But I had to leave suddenly.”
“Why? Why did you make a fool of us?” Of me? He shouldn’t care. Besides, she could be lying again.
“Someone wanted to marry me, and I did not want to marry him. So I ran away. I had nowhere to go, and we were very grateful you let us come along with you and your men.”
Westley remembered the king’s guards, along with Lord Shiveley’s, seeking someone the day after they left Berkhamsted Castle. They had been searching for two women, one who was tall and had red hair. They must have been looking for Eva and Mildred, but why would the king send his men after two servants?
“Who was this person who wanted to marry you?”
“I . . . I would rather not say.”
“Why?”
“It would be safer for me if you did not know.” She seemed very uncomfortable, fidgeting with her hands, staring down at her feet, looking anywhere but at him.
“Could he still be searching for you?”
“He could be.”
“And why should I not turn you over to him?”
She lifted her head, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Even in the dim light, he could see fear in her face. His stomach twisted. He did not want to trust someone who was lying to him, but neither did he want to be cold and cruel.
Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat. Would Westley turn her over to Lord Shiveley? Most men would, without hesitation. Many people believed a woman should have little say in whom she married, and she should feel honored to marry someone like Lord Shiveley. But Evangeline had believed Westley was different.
Perhaps he wasn’t different after all.
Or perhaps he was only hurt that she had lied to him. Either way, his words made her heart crash against her breastbone.
“Why would you not want to marry this man?” His tone had softened a bit.
“I have reason to believe . . . he would not be kind to me.” She remembered his words, “You may not care for me, but you will submit to me,” as well as his promise that she would marry him whether she liked it or not.