Lord Shiveley quietly ordered his prisoners to dismount. They did so, and he whispered to Evangeline, so near her face that she couldn’t help but smell his breath, “If you tell King Richard anything, I shall immediately kill Lord le Wyse and your beloved Muriel before the king can intervene. Then I will tell him you are delusional and will force you to marry me anyway. So I suggest you cooperate.”
He kept hold of her arm as they entered the castle and skirted around the rooms used by guests. They started up the stairs only used by the servants. Shiveley stopped her. “Remember, not a word, not a sound from you, or Muriel and Lord le Wyse will die.” He untied the gag from her mouth.
“God will punish you for this.”
He slapped her cheek. Hard. The sharp sound resounded through the narrow stone stairway. The stinging in her cheek brought tears to her eyes as she covered her burning face with her hand.
“That is only a small taste of what you will get if you do not obey me.”
She refused to look at him, and he started up the stairs, pulling her after him. No one had ever slapped her before. She burned with the humiliation of being struck in the face.
“If you will be a good girl, I shall bring Muriel to you. But if you try to escape or talk to King Richard, I shall have my men snap her neck like a twig.”
Her stomach boiled. She could possibly break free from his grasp by punching him in the throat or kneeing him in the groin, but three of Shiveley’s men followed closely behind them. She could never get away from so many.
God, save Westley from the moat and from Shiveley’s men. She could not bear the thought that he had drowned. Perhaps he had been able to get out of the moat under cover of darkness. After all, he was not unconscious this time when he fell into the water. Please don’t let him die. And rain down Your fire and brimstone on the head of Shiveley and all his evil men. Repay him evil for evil.
When she reached her room, Shiveley left her inside, closed the door, and locked it. She tried to open it, just in case, but she was well and truly locked in.
She went and found her handheld looking glass. Her left cheek showed the bright-red outline of four fingers, and her lip was swollen and bleeding from a cut at the corner. “God, please keep Westley and Lord le Wyse safe from these evil men.”
She wiped away her tears and dabbed at the spot of blood on her lip.
The door opened again and Muriel stumbled in. Her skin was pale, she seemed thinner, and her lip was swollen. Her dress was also dirty. And Muriel’s dress was never dirty.
Afraid her embrace would not be welcome, Evangeline approached her slowly. “Muriel, are you well?”
“I’m so sorry they found you, Evangeline. I prayed Westley and Lord le Wyse would keep you safe in Glynval. I tried not to tell them, I tried to be strong . . .” Her eyes were large and strangely vacant.
“It is all right. It is my fault they found me so quickly, actually.” If she had stayed in Glynval like Westley had asked her to . . . they still would have found her eventually.
Evangeline noted a bruise on Muriel’s cheekbone. “I’m only sorry they hurt you. Because of me.”
“Truly, it could have been much worse.” Tears welled in her eyes and her bottom lip trembled.
“Oh, Muriel, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.” Her horror reduced her voice to a hoarse whisper. “I would never wish any pain on you, please believe me. I should have come back to Berkhamsted with you.” An ache stabbed her heart as if it truly were breaking in two.
“No, Evangeline.” Muriel shook her head. “You always think everything is your fault, but it’s not. This was Lord Shiveley’s doing, not yours. Besides, I knew this might happen, but I risked it because I . . . wanted to be with Frederick.”
“Frederick came to tell us you were in the dungeon and he was afraid of what Shiveley would do to you. He is the reason we came, to save you and to save the king. He thinks Shiveley eventually hopes to usurp the throne.”
“Yes, poor Frederick. And now he is in the dungeon. I just saw them taking him there, along with Lord le Wyse.”
Someone pounded on the door, making them both jump.
“Hurry up in there! Get dressed, or I’ll come in there and dress you myself.”
“That’s Shackelford.” Muriel dashed over to Evangeline’s trunk to pull out her best dress. Her hands were shaking as she held it up.
“Muriel, I’m so sorry for what they did to you.”
“Never mind that. Let us make haste.”
“But I learned some things while I was in Glynval, how to defend myself. Perhaps I could help us both escape.”
“Shiveley has too many men. They would only capture us again. He is determined to have you, Evangeline.” A haunted look shone out of Muriel’s eyes, something completely unfamiliar. “We cannot escape.”
She did not want to be the cause of further punishment for Muriel, so she hurried to get out of her men’s clothing. “Do not worry. We’ll get out somehow.”
Muriel nodded but did not look at her. They both worked to get Evangeline’s clothing off her and the dress on. As soon as it was in place and laced up, Shackelford pounded on the door again.
“She’s ready,” Muriel called.
The door opened, and Shackelford stepped forward and took hold of Evangeline’s arm, then addressed Muriel. “You go down ahead of us.”
Muriel went out the door and they started down the stairs.
As Evangeline entered the Great Hall, Lord Shiveley looked up at her and smiled. “Here she is, my king. I told you my men would find her.”
Richard’s face was like a mask as he stared at her. “Evangeline, you made us very sad when you ran away.”
She stared back at him. Richard, please realize that this man is not your friend. He is evil! She wanted to scream it out. But if she did, good people would get hurt, or even killed. Muriel. Frederick. And Lord le Wyse. It felt like a bad dream, seeing the king but not being able to ask for his help.
“Come, my dear.” Lord Shiveley motioned to her. “Sit by me.”
She moved cautiously forward and sat opposite Lord Shiveley and at King Richard’s left hand.
“Evangeline,” the king said, “are you sorry now that you ran away? The world is a harsh place, after all.”
He wanted her to thank Lord Shiveley for bringing her back. Well, she could play along, to keep her friends safe.
“The world is a harsh place, King Richard. A place where women are used as pawns.”
The king’s face grew hard, so she changed her tone. “But being a peasant and trying to keep body and soul together is not an easy life.”
“Lord Shiveley tells me you were on your way back to Berkhamsted Castle when he and his men found you this morning.”
“That is true.”
“Lord Shiveley also tells me you have agreed to say your marriage vows before the priest this very evening.”
“Oh? I don’t remember agreeing to that.” Evangeline’s heart beat hard against her ribs.
Shiveley gave her a dark look.
“It is late.” Evangeline tried to smile. “And the priest will not have time to prepare . . . for the ceremony.”
The king’s jaw hardened again. “It’s time to put away your childishness, Evangeline. We wish the marriage to take place tonight.”
“If neither of you are too tired, I suppose I cannot object—after we have all eaten, of course.” Evangeline wanted to scream. Instead, she clenched her fists under the table.
A servant hurried to bring her a trencher, and they all were served a large square of meat jelly. Evangeline did her best to eat a few bites of the heavily spiced jelly before a large pheasant was placed on the table in front of them. Lord Shiveley placed a portion on her trencher. She merely stared at it.
She would have to get away tonight, even though she had no weapon and no plan, and Shiveley’s guards were everywhere. And she dare not think about Westley except to believe that God had rescued him from the moat.
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br /> Chapter Twenty-Eight
Westley made his way slowly and carefully to the palace building, pausing in the shadows to look around. It was quite dark now. He did see one guard—one of Shiveley’s men—at the door where he had seen the earl, Evangeline, Father, and Frederick enter.
When he was nearly to the door, he took the rock he had picked up by the bank of the moat and threw it so it hit the side of the stone wall. The guard turned his whole body to face the sound. He put his hand on his sword hilt and took a few steps in that direction.
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?”
“I escaped Lord Shiveley and his men by diving into the moat and swimming to the underside of the bridge.”
King Richard had been studying Westley’s face while he stroked his beard. “And why do you think Evangeline is in any danger from Shiveley? He is one of my most trusted advisors.”
“My father believes he murdered his first wife. She was my father’s cousin, and her family said she often had bruises on her face and arms. After she died, her mother prepared her body for burial, and she said she looked as if someone had beaten her . . . in the head. Shiveley said she fell down the steps, but her head had more than one injury, and they were all on one side.”
“These are all very grave accusations. Is there anything else you have to say?”
“The castle stable master, Frederick, told us he believes Lord Shiveley has a more sinister intention for marrying your cousin. He believes the earl hopes to someday be king.”
“Does he have any proof of this?”
“I believe it was based on something Lord Shiveley had said to Muriel.”
“Come, then.” The king looked grim as he motioned to his guards. “Let us go down to the dungeon and see whom we might find there.”
Evangeline stood beside Lord Shiveley in the chapel before the priest.
“Where is the king?” Shiveley growled. He turned to two of his guards. “Go find him.” He spoke from behind clenched teeth. “Ask him if he realizes we are waiting for him and how much longer he will be.”
She closed her eyes and tried to block out Lord Shiveley’s face. He would surely kill Muriel, Lord le Wyse, and Frederick—and Westley, too, if he found him. The only thing she could hope for was to buy their safety . . . with her compliance. At least until she was able to free them. Somehow.
Westley accompanied the king and his two guards down one flight of stairs, then headed down the dank stone steps to the dungeon. “Pardon me, my king, but is Evangeline safe?”
“She and Shiveley are waiting for me now in the chapel to say their wedding vows.”
Westley’s heart hitched. “You must not allow him to get her alone, if you will forgive my boldness, Your Majesty. He will do harm to her, I have no doubt.”
“Did she have a red mark on her face before you left her? Or a cut on her lip?”
“You see? He has already struck her.” Heat rose into Westley’s face and sent a surge of energy through his limbs. If only he could get his hands around that man’s neck . . .
The king reached the bottom of the steps and approached two guards there. “Open the doors of th
e cells where Lord le Wyse and Frederick are being kept.”
“We can open those doors for no man except Lord Shiveley.” The first guard stood staring back at the king, his hand on his sword.
“How dare you? I am King Richard, and this dungeon, as well as every inch of Berkhamsted Castle, belongs to me.”
The man’s countenance fell but still he hesitated. Then he bolted past them and up the stairs.
“What is the meaning of this?” The king glared at the other dungeon guard.
He stared, openmouthed. “Your Majesty, forgive me. Shiveley told us that if we disobeyed him, even if it were the king himself, he would have us beheaded. But if you make me one of your guards, I hereby renounce any ties to Lord Shiveley. I vow to be loyal to you forever, my king.”
“Do you dare propose to bargain with your king?” He motioned to one of his guards standing just behind him. “Give me your sword.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” The man quickly took the keys and unlocked the doors.
“Open these doors, every last one of them, for I know of no prisoners of mine down here. Treachery is afoot here.”
Out came Westley’s father, Frederick, and Muriel, who fell into Frederick’s arms.
“Muriel?” the king asked in a shocked whisper. “What has Shiveley done to you?”
She lifted her head from Frederick’s shoulder and faced the king. “Lord Shiveley is mad. He planned to force Evangeline to marry him by threatening to kill me if she did not comply. I believe he thought if he was married to the granddaughter of a king, the people would be more likely to accept him as their king. It was his ultimate goal . . . to be king in your place.”
“And I suppose he has sent away my guards?”
Frederick spoke up. “Most of them, Your Majesty, on the pretense of searching for Evangeline, and the others he imprisoned in the dungeon.”