The horse galloped across the bailey—heading straight for the little girl.
“Get out of the way!” Westley pushed the servant aside as he raced toward the little girl, willing her to move out of the path of the horse.
The girl suddenly seemed to hear the noise of the horse’s hooves and the clattering cart barreling toward her. She froze and stared, her mouth open.
Westley ran and grabbed her around her middle with one arm, then dove to the side. He held her above him as his shoulder and back collided with the ground.
Chapter Two
When Muriel left her room, Evangeline wandered back to the window that faced the bailey.
While she watched Alma talk with the handsome young man, a horse broke away from its handler and careened toward Alma’s little sister.
The child saw the horse coming. Why didn’t she run? She seemed frozen.
Evangeline screamed, “Run!”
The young man leapt toward the girl, grabbed her, and pulled her out of the way just in time.
The horse galloped on and crashed the cart into the stone wall around the well. The cart now in pieces, the horse kept going and finally stopped at the opposite wall of the bailey.
Evangeline clutched her chest as air seeped back into her lungs.
The little girl was crying. The young man set her on her feet, and Alma ran to her and hugged her. Was the stranger hurt? He took quite a hard fall as he protected the child in his arms.
He got to his feet as the other men with him rushed to his side. He must have spoken to Alma and the little girl because they turned toward him. How Evangeline wished she could hear what they were saying! She leaned out of the window but couldn’t catch their words. She imagined he asked the kitchen maid if the child was uninjured and imagined her replying, “Yes, only frightened,” as the child’s crying lessened.
The man’s friends brushed him off and clapped him on the back, their eyes wide as they seemed to be congratulating him on his act of bravery.
He gave them all a smile, and her stomach flipped at his gentle expression.
After a few moments, he approached the little girl and squatted to look her in the eye. They seemed to be having a quiet conversation, then the child stepped close enough to put her arms around his neck. The man put his arms around her.
Evangeline’s heart turned to wax and melted into her stomach.
“If only I were a peasant,” she whispered. “I could fall in love with him, someone kind and brave and strong. Though he was poor, if he loved me, I would give him my heart.”
He walked away with his friends, and she sighed.
What hope did she have to enjoy such a love as portrayed in the traveling minstrels’ ballads? She was a king’s granddaughter, even if her birth was illegitimate. She would never be free to go wherever she wanted, to work and play and live in the sunshine. If she ever wanted to be free to marry for love, she had no choice but to run away from Berkhamsted Castle and never return.
After an afternoon of bathing, dressing, being fussed over, and sitting still until her neck ached while a servant prepared her hair in loose curls, Evangeline could feel her self-control slipping. They dressed her in a patterned Flemish cotehardie of pale-green-and-pink flowers with an elaborately embroidered hem. Then they placed a jeweled circlet on her head over a sheer headrail. But every minute, she was thinking of the bag she had begun to fill with necessities—clothing she had taken from the servants’ quarters, money, and a pair of sturdy shoes, also pilfered from the storage closet where the head house servant kept a surplus.
She was getting dressed up for the king and Lord Shiveley when she did not even know exactly when they might arrive. The only thing that mattered was pleasing the king and his important guests.
She might as well be that poor horse who had broken away from its owner in the castle bailey earlier. Was he so tired of the bit and bridle that dug into his soft, tender mouth that he could take it no longer? Was he in pain in some other part of his body? Did he want to eat? Sleep? Find his mate? No one knew, no one cared, and the horse had had enough of it.
Evangeline knew just how he felt. But if she bolted, just like that horse, would she also be recaptured? Forced into doing her duty to the king after all?
Muriel burst through the door. “The king is here!” Her voice was brisk and breathless. “He is asking for you, Evangeline, just as I knew he would.”
“He wants me to come to the Great Hall for the evening meal?”
“He wants you to come now to the solar.”
“To sing for Lord Shiveley.” Evangeline’s stomach sank to her toes. She sat staring at the door.
“What are you waiting for? Go, Evangeline.”
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course.”
Evangeline stood. “If you are there as my witness, Lord Shiveley cannot do anything vile.” She grabbed Muriel’s arm. “Promise me you will not leave my side.”