Page 67 of The Silent Songbird

“That sounds like a normal, healthy child’s will to me.” Westley was smiling now. He finally let go of her hands.

“For my place in life Muriel would say I have an unnatural will. I do not acquiesce to the king’s requests as a king’s ward ought to do.”

“And I am very grateful that you do not.”

Her heart took a tumble at his words. Did he mean that he was grateful she had not obediently married Lord Shiveley because he . . . wished to marry her?Oh please, God, let him mean that.

“If you had not run away, I would have drowned.”

The breath rushed out of her. Of course he had not meant he wanted to marry her. “Oh. Yes. I thought you were dead for a moment.” She averted her eyes while she recovered from her foolish disappointment.

He must keep his head.

Westley forced himself to remember that he had only knownher for two short weeks. He let go of her hands so he would not be as tempted to kiss her soft skin.

She was telling him about when he almost drowned.

“Did I open my eyes at all?”

“No, you looked very much dead. Your skin was pale, blood was trickling from your head, and you did not seem as if you were breathing. I was glad when I turned you onto your side and you vomited. Sabina screamed and ran.”

“How very romantic. The minstrels will no doubt be singing of this story for years to come.”

She actually laughed, a lovely sound. She covered her mouth.

“It is very well. You may laugh. If I had died, though, you would be sorry for laughing.”

“But you did not die.”

How could he not sacrifice everything for a woman who saved his life? Had quite possibly saved his life twice, since she warned him about John Underhill?

“You have been a blessing from God to me. And I have not treated you nearly so well.”

“I think you have treated me well. You bandaged my hands. You told Lord Shiveley’s men that I was not here. You allowed me to travel with you and your men. You brought me apples and cream.”

“Speaking of your hands, stay here.” He got up and went into the house, grabbed the jar of his mother’s healing salve and some bandages, and hurried back outside. He sat in front of her.

She trustingly gave him her hand. She had such an innocence about her. She had lived in a sheltered world all her life, which had given her the childlike wonder he had seen when she had gasped over every butterfly and flower on the road to Glynval. She had chased pigs and fallen in the mud like she had no care for her appearance.She had pulled him from the river and had not run away screaming when he threw up, half drowned and bleeding.

He needed to talk about something to distract himself from how soft her hand felt.

“You are still planning to sing for us at the Harvest Festival, are you not?”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“King Richard is unlikely to attend the Glynval Harvest Festival.” He gave the words a wry tone. “And I will look out for you.”

She gazed up at him. “Perhaps I do not sing as well as you think.”

“You can practice on me and my family tonight.”

She frowned. “You are very persistent.”

“Yes, I am.” He smeared the salve over her open blisters. “Besides, I know you sing beautifully. I’ve heard you sing twice now.”

“Ah yes, you did. What is in this salve? It smells like honey and herbs.”

“That is what it is, mostly. Honey and comfrey. My mother has used it on many people. She even gives it to people to eat if they have stomach problems.” Better to talk of disgusting things so he could keep his thoughts in line.