“Yes?”
“Would you ever consider marrying me, a man without a title, if it meant defying the king?”
“Yes. I would consider it.”
Did he say what she thought he said? It was not exactly a proposal of marriage, but very nearly. Her insides seemed to go numb at the thought of being so close to her greatest wish coming true. They stared into each other’s eyes.
“Westley! Eva!” A group of people, including his brothers and sisters and several townspeople and servants, approached them on the road.
“Where have you been?”
“We heard someone tried to kill you.”
“Was it John Underhill?”
“Are you injured? What happened? What did he do?”
Westley said in her ear, “We will talk more of this later.”
She squeezed his hand.
He smiled at the people surrounding them.
“Leave the poor young man alone,” someone said. “Cannot you see he wants to spend time with the pretty maiden?”
Westley raised his voice to be heard over the crowd. “I am very well, thank you. The people who attacked me are being dealt with by my father. Now, please go back to enjoying the festival.”
Someone else shouted, “The man is obviously not injured. Stand back and let him through.”
Westley managed to work his way out of the crowd, and he and Evangeline made their way toward the festival. Soon they were entering the area where the vendors were selling their wares, and jongleurs and minstrels were performing.
Westley bought some buns and some freshly roasted meat, and Evangeline walked beside him to the rear of the newly built stage. He pushed back the curtain that was strung over some rope between two trees, and they sat in between the two curtains, one at the back of the stage and the other at the front. They were alone.
“I thought I was dreaming when I saw you shoot that man with your arrow.” He swallowed a gulp of ale from a flask he was sharing with Eva.
“Did you see Reeve Folsham knock that man out with a block of wood?”
“He’s as big as a bear. The man’s lucky the reeve did not break his neck.”
“And the look on John’s face?”
“When you held your arrow pointed at him—for the second time?”
They both laughed softly. Westley’s hand brushed hers as she reached for the ale flask. She took a drink, letting her shoulder press against his as they sat side by side at the edge of the stage. She put down the flask, and Westley was staring at her.
“Will you miss Berkhamsted Castle? If you stay here with us?”
She shook her head.
“We cannot let anyone know who you really are. You can never see the king again. You will have to hide for the rest of your life.”
“I do not mind.”
He deliberately brushed her little finger with his.
“I like Glynval Castle better.”
He leaned his head until it was touching hers. “Why?”
“I like the people who live there.”
“All the people?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any one in particular you like better?” He took one of her tiny braids that was lying on her shoulder and rolled it between his fingers.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Lady le Wyse.”
He dropped her braid and leaned away.
She laughed at his insulted expression. She reached out and took his hand. Then she looped her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. She sighed, her heart dancing inside her chest.
They sat together, holding hands and not saying anything. Evangeline did not want the moment to end, the feeling that Westley enjoyed being with her, that he liked her, that he was even thinking of marrying her.
He finally pulled away enough to gaze into her eyes. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?”
“To sing?”
Westley brushed her hair back from her eyes, then let his fingers trail down her cheek—and she was no longer thinking about singing. Her breathing shallowed. They were alone. No one was watching as his blue eyes focused on her lips.
He bent lower, his eyes nearly closing.
She lifted her hand and touched his face. Her stomach did a flip. He touched his lips to hers, and she pressed in closer, bringing her lips flush against his.
His hand on her cheek, he kissed her firmly and boldly, stealing every thought from her mind except how it felt to kiss Westley le Wyse.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Evangeline’s eyes fluttered open to see Westley’s handsome face only inches from hers.
“You are the most beautiful archer in England. Thank you for saving my life. Again.”
Pure, delicious joy welled up inside her as he pulled her into a tight embrace.
Westley thought she was beautiful! Westley kissed her. The only thing keeping her from floating up to the clouds was her arms around him.
“Where is Eva of Glynval?” a woman asked just before someone pulled the curtain aside.
“Yes?”