“Listen to me,” the king scoffed, rising to his feet to face her. “I’m weary of hearing the self-pity in my own voice and apologize for burdening you with this.”
Osana smiled, bobbing into a quick curtsy. Something about this man disarmed her. The rueful look on his face told her that he was not usually given to such a bleak mood. “It was no burden,” she said. Their gazes met and held for a long heartbeat. “But I fear I should return to the Great Hall. My husband will be awake by now.”
“Of course,” he replied, a slight smile curving his lips, although she could still see a shadow in those blue eyes. “Good day, Osana … it was a pleasure to share a few moments with you.”
King Aldfrith watched Lady Osana of Hagustaldes walk away through the orchard, between the columns of apple trees.
She was a small woman, yet she walked tall and proud. Her thick brown hair was braided and wrapped around her crown in a severe style that did not detract from her comeliness. Instead, it revealed the pale curve of her neck.
Dolt.
What had made him say all those things?
She had looked at him with those soulful eyes, and he had felt compelled to open his heart. He had told her things he had not even realized he felt—and as she walked away a wave of loss crashed over him.
He had come out into the orchard to find a little peace and play his harp. The music soothed him, softening the sharp edges of the previous night—blunting his memory of Cuthburh’s face as she rejected him.
His conversation with the winsome ealdorman’s wife had brought it all back.
Osana disappeared from view, and Aldfrith sat down heavily upon the bench.
He had never met a woman like her. She was fair to look upon, but her appeal lay far beyond that. There was a quiet purpose to Osana, an ageless wisdom and kindness in those eyes.
A strong desire to seek Osana out and speak with her again reared up within him.
Enough.
Aldfrith silenced his thoughts with an iron will he had spent a lifetime developing.
Such thoughts will only lead you down a dark path.
With that, Aldfrith cast lingering thoughts of Osana aside and began to play his harp once more. However, this time the music did not soothe him.
Chapter Seven
For the Best
“YOUR HUSBAND IS a handsome fellow—you are a fortunate woman.”
Osana glanced up from where she was winding wool onto her distaff. A basket lay at her feet, and she sat with a wooden spindle, teasing out the sticky fiber before winding it onto her distaff. She never went anywhere without her distaff. Ever since she was a girl, it had been like an additional limb.
Eldflaed, the woman who had spoken, grinned across at her. The group of wives sat before one of the fire pits, sewing, spinning, and mending as they discussed the events of the last day. Eldflaed, the wife of one of the king’s thegns, was the loudest of the group. The onion-breathed woman of the day before now had a name.
“I suppose he is comely,” Osana forced a smile. “Only that, after years of marriage a wife ceases to notice such details.”
As she had hoped, this comment caused laughter to echo around the fireside.
“I wish my man was so fine,” another of the wives said with a sigh. She was the ealdorman of Catraeth’s wife. “I swear with each passing year Wulfred grows more and more in the likeness of a boar.”
Laughter erupted once more, and even Osana raised a smile. Wulfred of Catraeth was the hairiest man she had ever seen—with dark hair tufting from his nostrils and ears.
The conversation resumed, and Osana shifted her attention back to her distaff. It grew late in the afternoon, and the air inside the Great Hall was heavy with the odor of simmering pottage. At the fire pit opposite, servants were starting to cook great wheels of bread upon a griddle. After the indulgence of the night before, this supper would be a simple one.
The rumble of men’s voices filtered across the hall, and Osana glanced up to see the king enter the space.
Aldfrith walked in long, confident strides, Bishop Wilfrid at his side. Wilfrid was talking to the king, his voice low, his expression fierce. In contrast, the king’s face was solemn, his eyes stern as he listened to him.
A group of ealdormen—Raedwulf among them—followed Aldrfrith and the bishop, laughing and teasing each other as they entered the tower.
