CHAPTER 33
Friday morning, Angharad sat out on the huntsman’s porch, sketching a detail of the holly branches, and waited for George to return from the hound walk. He opened the gate eventually and took a few steps in, looking down at the ground with his head bowed.
Still limping hard when no one’s looking, she thought, and then they pile all this, this dirt on top of him. Isolda’s description of last night’s dinner in the great hall must have been accurate, for all that she hadn’t been there herself.
He looked up, and she smoothed her expression. His face lit up at the sight of her. Having that effect on someone never lost its charm, even now, and she was warmed by his regard.
The day was soft and balmy for late October, not too cold to sit outside with coats on. George joined her on
