Osana did not want to return inside—not yet.
Instead, she cut left and walked into an orchard. Apple and pear trees, their branches laden with ripe fruit, covered this private space. There was a well at the end nearest the tower, but the orchard itself appeared deserted.
Osana wandered amongst the trees. The scent of apple tempted her, and she plucked a fruit from a low-hanging branch, biting into it as she walked.
Finally—alone.
A wave of melancholy hit her then, and she blinked back tears. Even the sweet, crisp flavor of the apple could not keep her sadness at bay. Life at times seemed such hard work. Her coupling with Raedwulf last night had darkened her mood. She wished she had remained in Hagustaldes and let him come to the handfasting alone. Then she would have at least have had a few days’ peace from him.
The sound of music intruded then—the lilting, gentle strum of a harp. It was a sad, soft song that matched her mood.
Osana followed the music to the back of the orchard, and there, seated upon a low bench in profile, sat King Aldfrith. He played a small wooden harp, his long fingers dancing across the strings. However, his gaze appeared distant.
Frozen to the spot for an instant, Osana listened to the song. It was haunting in its beauty, and she could have stayed to listen all morning.
Yet she knew she was intruding. Like her, the king had sought out solitude; he would not welcome company.
Slowly releasing the breath she had been holding, Osana took a step back—hoping to edge away unseen—but a twig snapped underneath her foot, and she froze. The king looked up, the music halting as his fingers stilled.
His gaze swiveled to her.
Chapter Six
A Meeting in the Orchard
“I’M SORRY, MILORD.” Osana took another hasty step backward. “I was taking a walk. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
His dark blue gaze remained upon her for a long moment before his mouth quirked. “You aren’t intruding.”
Osana gave a hurried curtsey and backed off farther. “I bid you good morning, sire.”
She turned to flee, still clutching the half-eaten apple. His voice, faintly tinged with amusement, stilled her. “It’s Osana, isn’t it?”
She turned back, her face warming under his scrutiny. “Aye … Raedwulf of Hagustaldes is my husband.”
He nodded. “I noticed you at the feast last night.”
He said those words without the slightest flirtation, yet Osana’s cheeks grew hotter still at that. What was wrong with her? She never blushed. He had caught her watching him at the feast. She had been observing him, thinking his attention was elsewhere, when his gaze had snapped up, ensnaring hers. She felt mortified now, as she had at the time.
One did not stare at the king—he would think her common and far too bold.
But when she forced herself to meet his eye, she saw that the king did not appear offended or disdainful.
Instead, he was watching her with cool interest. A moment later his gaze dropped to the apple she still clutched. “I didn’t think they were ripe enough yet. Was it a good apple?”
Now he’ll think me a thief.
Osana swallowed, mortified. “Yes sire … I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have taken one.”
He shrugged, giving her a slow smile that made Osana draw a sharp breath. He was disconcertingly handsome when he smiled, although his face was so solemn when he did not.
“I don’t mind,” he assured her. “I’m new here too. I don’t feel like I ‘own’ any of this. I certainly don’t care if you help yourself to an apple.”
Osana watched him, suddenly feeling foolish. She stood there, wanting to flee, but now that the king had engaged her in conversation, she could not.
“You play the harp well, sire,” she murmured finally. “I’ve never heard that song before.”
His smile turned melancholy, and he glanced down at the instrument upon his lap. He was dressed simply this morning, in a long woolen tunic, leather vest, and doeskin breeches. It was very different attire to last evening’s. He wore no crown this morning, nor arm rings or gilded amber brooch.
