So she’d been waiting in the woods for my appearance? Pleasure wafted through me. “I wouldn’t have been able to stay away today. Not even if an entire army tried to stop me.” Apparently, I was doomed to making pathetic remarks to this woman. How had I become besotted so quickly?
“I tried to talk myself out of coming,” she admitted softly, as she twisted several flowers. “But the convincing did not work.”
“I’m heartily glad you failed at it.” More than glad, but I managed to keep the pitiable comment to myself this time.
“You must plait the stems.” She wove the stems in and out. “Like this.”
I watched her, marveling at the slenderness of her fingers, at her grace and her capableness.
“Now you try it.” She picked up three flowers and extended them to me.
“I may need to watch you longer.” I’d watch her all day if I could. But I figured saying so would only make her self-conscious.
She thrust the flowers at me. “The best way to learn is by doing.”
“Very well.” I took the flowers. I’d braided my own hair oft enough in the style of a Scanian nobleman, with a simple single strand off to one side. Since coming to Mercia, I’d done away with the practice, hoping to blend in with the other woodcutters and disguise my true identity. And now as I twisted the stems, I did so with practiced ease.
She leaned in to watch, her shoulder brushing mine and her breath near enough that I caught the sweet scent of mint.
“’Twould appear you are quite good at plaiting and need no practice.”
I held up my simple braid. “Then you deem it worthy of the crown?”
“Indeed. Perhaps you have entered the wrong trade as a woodcutter and should consider flower weaving instead.” She tucked her chin, as though embarrassed by her jest.
I tapped her shoulder with mine, hoping to encourage her to continue with the banter, or at the very least, not to be uncomfortable with it. “With such high praise and incredible wisdom, how can I do otherwise?”
She laughed, and the sound settled around me as warm as the sunshine.
“In fact,” I continued, taking courage from her openness, “once I have made a fortune as a flower weaver, I shall be indebted to you and give you a portion of the wealth.”
“That would be most kind of you. Although, I shall consider your debt paid if you give me another dancing lesson.”
“Just one?”
“Perhaps two?” Her expression held anticipation. Was she as excited to be with me as I was with her?
“I’ll let you be the judge and shall offer my expertise on the dance floor until you deem my debt paid in full.”
“Very well.” She placed the braided flowers in front of me and gathered three more. “Enlighten me, how did a simple woodcutter such as yourself learn to dance so eloquently?”
I was at a loss for how to answer her without an outright lie. I couldn’t tell her I was Prince Kresten, the third-born son of King Christian of Scania. I’d scare her away.
Moreover, I’d accomplished four months of my Testing without revealing my royalty. I could go the final two months, couldn’t I?
“Forgive me,” she started. “I did not mean to pry—”
“No, you have no need to apologize. I was simply thinking of my previous life.” My mind raced with how to go about sharing some of who I was. “I have spent time at the royal court in a foreign country.”
“You did?” Her expression contained no disbelief, only awe.
For a peasant girl such as herself, perhaps the very concept of court life was too much to imagine. Now that I’d been away from the glamour and comforts, I could see more clearly the opulence and privileges I’d taken for granted.
“My father . . .” I fumbled to explain myself. “My father spent some time there, and I accompanied him.” It was the truth, even if not the whole truth.
“Can you tell me what the court was like?” she asked almost breathlessly, as if she’d like nothing better than to visit a royal household for herself.
I breathed out my relief that she didn’t ask why my father had been in the royal court. I didn’t want to deceive her any more than I already had.
For a short while as I braided and as she showed me how to weave the strands together into a circlet, I answered her questions about court life, about the feasting and dancing and parties. I tried not to give too many details lest she comprehend how knowledgeable I truly was. But then, a poor woman like her wouldn’t know any difference, and I certainly had nothing to worry about.
When we completed two matching wreaths of flowers, I raised my crown above her head. “May I?”
She gave a quick nod, then nibbled at her lip. I liked her sweet innocence. It was a refreshing change from other women I’d known.
I lowered the flowers until the crown rested on her head. Wisps of her hair fluttered around her face in the morning breeze. And before I could stop myself, I brushed a strand back and tucked it into the crown, relishing the soft silkiness.
She drew in a wobbly breath but didn’t back away.
“There. Perfect,” I whispered, my breathing unsteady too. My hands twitched with the need to touch her hair again, but I lowered them to my lap. “Your turn.”
She lifted her flower wreath, her hands shaking slightly. As she pressed it into position, she brushed at one of my strands. And when she tucked it into the crown, her bright and curious eyes met mine.
I held myself still, and as she reached for another piece of hair and combed it back, I uttered not one word of protest. Wonder filled her expression, and I guessed she’d never touched a man’s hair before.
I would have allowed her to continue, except her wreath of flowers tipped forward and almost fell off her head. She reacted before I did, situating it back into place.
I offered her my hand. “Now that we are crowned as king and queen, shall we dance?”
Her eyes widened with wariness. “King and queen?”
“Yes. We can pretend, can we not?”
She studied my hand and then placed hers into mine. “I suppose we can.”
I closed my fingers over hers. “Will you not tell me your name? I should like to know it.”
She started to withdraw.
“Please don’t go.” I clung to her. “’Tis of no consequence. Your company is all I need.”
She focused on our clasped hands, hesitation warring across her features.
“To be sure.” I squeezed gently. “Disregard that I even brought it up—”
“Rory.”
“Rory?”
“Yes.”
“’Tis the name for a young child.”
“I shall turn twenty years soon. Would you have me change my name?”
I chuckled. “No, I shall call you whatever you wish.”
She didn’t meet my gaze. Perhaps she was using a nickname and hiding her given name. Though a part of me wanted to know everything about her, I shrugged off the desire. After all, I’d withheld information from her and couldn’t expect more of her than I did of myself.
As we stood and she placed her hand on my shoulder, I was consumed with thoughts of her and her nearness. I had difficulty concentrating on the dance but forced myself to hum and twirl her.