were playingâ
âYou arenât swearing,â Ellen said after sheâd worked for some minutes in silence. âI have to hope Iâm not hurting you.â
âYouâre not.â Valâs tired brain took a moment to find even simple words. âItâs helping, or I think it is. Sometimes I go to bed believing Iâve had a good day with it; then I wake up the next day, and my hand is more sore than ever.â
âYou should keep a journal,â Ellen suggested, slathering more salve on his hand. âThatâs how I finally realized Iâm prone to certain cyclical fluctuations in mood.â
He understood her allusion and considered were she not a widowâand were it not darkâshe would not have ventured even that much.
âWhat did you say was in that salve?â
âComfrey,â Ellen said, sounding relieved at the shift in topic. âLikely mint, as well, rosemary, and maybe some lavender, arnica if memory serves, a few other herbs, some for scent, some for comfort.â
âI like the scent,â Val said, wondering how long sheâd hold his hand. It was childish of him, but he suspected the contact was soothing him as much as the specific ingredients.
âIs it helping?â Ellen asked, her fingers slowing again.
âIt helps. I think the heat of your touch is as therapeutic as your salve.â
âIt might well be.â Ellen sandwiched his larger hand between her smaller ones. âI do not hold myself out as any kind of herbalist. Thereâs too much guesswork and room for error involved.â
âBut you made this salve.â
âFor my own use.â Ellen kept his hand between hers. âI will sell scents, soaps, and sachets but not any product that could be mistaken for a medicine, tincture, or tisane.â
âSuppose itâs wise to know oneâs limits.â Ellen was just holding Valâs hand in hers, and he was glad for the darkness, as his gratitude for the simple contact was probably plain on his face. âEllenâ¦â
She waited, holding his hand, and Val had to corral the words about to spill impulsively over his lips.
âYou will accompany us to Candlewick tomorrow?â he asked instead.
âI will. Iâve made the acquaintance of the present Mrs. Belmont, and Mr. Belmont assured me she would welcome some female company.â
âAnd you, Ellen? Are you lonely for female company?â
âI am.â Val suspected it was an admission for her. âMy mother was my closest friend, but she died shortly after my marriage. There is an ease in the companionship of oneâs own gender, donât you think?â
âUp to a point. One can be direct among oneâs familiars, in any case, but youâve brought me ease tonight, Ellen FitzEngle, and you are decidedly not the same gender as I.â
âWe need not state the obvious.â Her voice was just a trifle frosty even as she kept her hands around Valâs.
âDo we need to talk about my kissing you a year ago? Iâve behaved myself for two weeks, Ellen, and hope by action I have reassured you where words would not.â
Silence or the summer evening equivalent of it, with crickets chirping, the occasional squeal of a passing bat, and the breeze riffling through the woods nearby.
âEllen?â
Val withdrew his hand, which Ellen had been holding for some minutes, and slid his arm around her waist, urging her closer. âA woman gone silent unnerves a man. Talk to me, sweetheart. I would not offend you, but neither will I fare well continuing the pretense we are strangers.â
He felt the tension in her, the stiffness against his side, and regretted it. In the past two weeks, heâd all but convinced himself he was recalling a dream of her not a real kiss, and then heâd catch her smiling at Day and Phil or joking with Darius, and the clench in his vitals would assure him that