Westley ran forward and struck the guard on the back of the head. He fell facedown on the ground.
Westley stripped the man of his sleeveless surcoat, which bore Shiveley’s colors. He pulled it on over his head. Then he took the man’s dagger from his belt even as the guard began to moan and awaken.
Westley hurried into the palace through the door and hid himself in the shadows. He heard voices in the distance, growing fainter. Hearing nothing from above, he took the steps two at a time, soon reaching the upper floor. But which room belonged to the king? Thankfully, no guards were in sight. If the king was at dinner in the Great Hall, the guards would be with him, or at least near him. Westley went to the door that looked the most like where the king might sleep, opened it, and snuck inside.
Evangeline kept alert for any way she might speak to Richard without Shiveley hearing her, but he was just as alert, speaking only to the king and to Evangeline during the meal. She could think of no way to tell the king that Shiveley was evil that would convince him and still keep the earl from sending someone to the dungeon to kill Muriel and Lord le Wyse.
As the feast was beginning to come to a close, Evangeline’s hands shook. She stared desperately at Richard, but he didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. Finally, Shiveley spoke.
“I would like to take Evangeline and have our wedding blessed by the priest. Will you be the witness to our marriage vows, my king?”
“Of course. I shall go up to my room for a few moments and rejoin you in the chapel.”
Evangeline watched him go. Shiveley already had hold of her arm and was pulling her toward the stairs. “If I remember correctly, the chapel is this way.”
She glanced around. Two guards were watching them as they departed through the doorway. Two more were behind them, meeting her stare. Even if she could get away from Lord Shiveley, she could not get away from so many guards.
Westley, where are you? Was he alive? Had he been able to get out of the moat before he drowned? Her heart twisted painfully. God, I pray he is safe, and I pray You will help me escape.
There was nowhere to run to as they climbed the stone steps to the chapel, surrounded by Shiveley’s men.
Westley crouched against the wall. When no guard came at him, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He was alone in a large bedchamber. He walked over to a trunk against the wall. Did this room and this trunk belong to King Richard? How could he know for sure?
Perhaps he should check the other rooms to see which was the largest and most sumptuously furnished. But that would take time, and he might get caught. The guard whose clothing he had stolen could be awake now and spreading the news that an intruder was in the castle.
A long garment lying across the bed caught his eye. It was purple and had ermine trim. Surely not even the arrogant Lord Shiveley would wear purple and ermine in the presence of the king.
Westley looked around the room again, taking in every wall, corner, and piece of furniture. Where did he want to be when the king of England came through the door? Would a guard precede him? Should Westley hide or immediately make his presence known? He decided to stand in full view and state his business as quickly as possible.
Just then, footsteps sounded in the corridor. Westley faced the door. It swung open and a guard walked in. He saw Westley and froze. “Who are you?” He drew his sword.
Westley lifted his hands. “I come in peace. I need to speak with His Majesty King—”
Two guards rushed at him and grabbed his arms.
“Your Majesty,” he yelled as the men tried to push him down on the floor. “Evangeline is in danger.”
The men managed to shove him to his knees as they ground their fists into the back of his shoulders and pulled his arms behind him.
“Stop. Let him up.” A third man walked into the room. He was thin, with dark-blond hair and a matching beard.
They loosened their hold on Westley, and he stood and jerked his arms out of their grasp.
“Who are you?”
This man must be King Richard, as he held his head high and ordered them around with such a regal tone.
“I am Westley le Wyse from Glynval. Evangeline is afraid for her life if she marries Lord Shiveley. And Lord Shiveley has captured my father, Lord Ranulf le Wyse, and thrown him in the dungeon. He has also been torturing Muriel.”
“How do you know all this?” The king’s face was scrunched in a tight scowl. “Shiveley may have threatened Muriel and yelled at her to try to convince her to tell him where Evangeline was, but he would not strike her.”
“Have you seen her, Your Majesty?”
“No, but why did Evangeline not tell me these things? I have been with her for the last hour.”
“Shiveley threatened to kill my father and Muriel if she spoke a word of it.”
“And you? Where did you come from? How did you get in here?”