“That is an insulting thing to say.” She drew her brows together, but the look of outrage never reached her expressive mouth.
“You don’t know how to cut wheat or make bread or spin wool into thread. You haven’t built up the strength in your arms to carry a full bucket of water, and your hands turned to blisters in one day. But you do know how to read Latin, something no servant I know is capable of. Who are you, Eva? Where do you come from?”
Her face had become pale by the end of his list.
“You can either tell me the truth or tell me some outrageous tale like the one about your master and mistress beating you until you were mute. But I will not be likely to believe any more lies.” He would not be easily fooled, as John Underhill had taunted him.
Her jawline hardened as if she was clenching her teeth. “I told you the truth. I told you I ran away because a man wanted to marry me, and I did not wish to marry him.”
Again he remembered the Earl of Shiveley’s men, along with the king’s men, looking for two women, one of whom had red hair.
“Was this man who wanted to marry you Lord Shiveley?”
She looked away. But surely Lord Shiveley would not marry anyone who wasn’t of royal blood, or at least aristocratic. Perhaps it was the captain of Shiveley’s guard or someone of his household staff who wanted to marry Eva.
Suddenly Eva grabbed Westley’s arm and pulled him down. “What is it?” He squatted beside her and followed her line of vision.
John Underhill was walking across the small area between the back of the main house and the garden, heading around the side.
“There he is again—the blond one who struck you and tried to kill you!”
He and Eva squatted behind a bush as John wandered around the gardens.
“Are you sure you are not mistaken?”
She still gripped her bow. “That man is not your friend.”
“But why would John try to kill me?” His stomach was sinking.
“You exchanged angry words with him, then he struck you and pushed you into the river. It is he. I saw him.”
Her gaze bored into his. Could she know how hurtful it was to think of John doing such a thing?
John started walking in their direction and waved, as he must have seen the tops of their heads.
Eva stepped back, retrieved an arrow off the ground, and nocked it to her bowstring. She raised the weapon and aimed it at John.
Chapter Seventeen
Evangeline pointed her bow and arrow at Westley’s friend John, the same man who had tried to kill him.
“Don’t come any closer!” Evangeline had faced a throng of angry men and women, so she could surely take on just one—or two—if Westley still did not believe her. Her heart beat fast, sending the blood racing through her body.
Now she had a weapon, and she knew how to use it. She almost smiled.
The man stopped and held up his hands.
“Eva,” Westley said, a growl in his voice, “what are you doing? Put that bow and arrow down.”
“This man tried to kill you.”
John Underhill scrunched his face at Evangeline. “What are you talking about?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about. You did not see me when you passed by on your way to attack Westley with that block of wood in your hand or you might have tried to kill me too.”
“You’re insane!” John barked out a laugh, but there was no humor at all in his hard, dark eyes. “Westley, tell this lunatic woman that’s ridiculous.”
Westley warily kept his body partially angled toward John, but he did not speak.
“I don’t believe I have met this servant girl.” John stepped toward her with an arrogant smile.
Evangeline did not lower her arrow even an inch but kept it trained on the man’s chest. “I advise you not to come any closer.”
John halted again.
“Westley, do you allow your servants to threaten your friends? I do believe this little firebrand would do me bodily harm.”
“Do you know what she’s talking about? Why does she say you attacked me, John?”
“How would I know that?” John’s voice rose in pitch and volume as he flung his arms out. “She is addled, or drinking some kind of strong ale. I heard you fell in the river and hit your head, but I don’t know what kind of satanic dreams this little servant girl has been having.”
The man was obviously trying to insult her, for as tall as she was, no one had ever called her a “little” anything.
Westley glanced from her to John Underhill.
“Is anything amiss, sir?” One of the stable boys approached them.
“Go fetch Sabina, the miller’s daughter,” Westley said.
“Yes, sir.” The young man turned and ran.
“Do you not trust me, Westley? Can this be?” John’s face was a mixture of amusement and anger. “Who is this little annoyance? This . . . girl?”