Early sunlight seeped over twigs and formed pools of gold in damp meadow while Elara strapped on the loop of her basket. Batches of dried lavender, soap cut in chamomile-scented blocks, and jars of honey tipped in herbs curled up in between were her initial produce for the village's small spring market. Adrian had encouraged her, and despite being attracted, close-knit tension writhed in her belly, but there was a dizzily whirling one too.
Adrian rested his elbow on the fence, one elbow on creaking rusty wooden gate ajar in the arched road to the village square. He was soft-looking in rolled-up sleeves and linen waistcoat, curls on forehead. He would not have ventured out and exposed his face to anyone looking, would not have been there he was struck by sunlight some years back.
And then he smiled when he saw her.
"Ready?" he panted.
"More or less." She let out a giggling, unstable sort of laugh. "Do you think that people actually will buy something?"
"They'd be fools otherwise," he t
