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Her stare turns pointed.

I lead her to the blanket, and she sits with grace. I lower myself beside her, knees drawing up, hands clasped together so she won’t see the way my fingers want to shake.

For a time, we sit in a quiet that is almost comfortable. Ellen’s attention keeps moving over the blanket, the basket, the careful little arrangement of it all. I can nearly hear her putting the pieces together.

Then she breaks the silence.

“They’re all in on it?”

“Mhm.”

“Even yer ma?”

“Especially her.”

Her cheeks go pink, as if the prospect of such an arrangement is indecent.

“Traitors,” she mutters, practically fierce with it.

I tilt my head, humour pulling at my mouth. “So that’s what I get, is it? A conspiracy charge.”

“You ought to be used to it by now,” she says, the faintest smile betraying her tone.

I reach for the basket, pretending ease I don’t feel, and loosen the lid. Inside, tucked neatly as offerings, are parcels wrapped in cloth. A wedge of shortbread cut thick and proud, a few spiced rounds set in paper, and a little tin that gives a faint, promising clink.

“The good kind,” I say, lifting the shortbread.

Her expression eases for one unguarded breath.

“…Thank you,” she says, low enough it’s nearly private. “For thinkin’ of me. Ye’re… as infuriatingly thoughtful as you are persistent.”

Trust Ellen to make even gratitude sound like she’s finding fault.

But it strikes deeper than I’m prepared for all the same.

This is all I’ve wanted. Not victory. Not to best her at her own stubbornness. Only this—to have her feel seen. To have her know I’ve been paying attention, that I’ve carried the small truths of her as carefully as I carry any vow.

And, selfishly, to be seen in return.

I swallow it down, keep my face steady, and set the shortbread back after she takes a piece.

“I wanted you here,” I say, simple and true. “I wanted a day that was yers, Ellen. And I’m grateful ye came with me.”

Then, because the softness between us feels like something I ought to guard with a bit of humour, I let my mouth tilt.

“And if I must endure a few infuriated looks to keep you lookin’ at me at all,” I add lightly, “I’ll count it a fair bargain.”

Ellen’s laugh is quiet, but it’s real.

I turn my attention to my boots, because I’ve tested my luck once and found it holds, and I’m greedy enough to try again. I work the laces loose and pull them off, setting them aside near the edge of the blanket. I belong here for as long as she’ll have me.

When I glance up, Ellen is watching me with open curiosity.

I let the smallest smile show.

“Are ye settled?” she asks, brow lifted.

“Aye,” I murmur. “More so now.”