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That’s a detail I tuck away with the care of a man pocketing something precious.

“Oh?” I ask, gentler now. “For their color, or⁠—?”

“For what they mean,” she says, fastening another spray of green into her basket. “They remind me of home. Of when my ma—” She cuts herself off. “They just remind me of… happiness.”

The last word leaves her more quietly than the others, as though even speaking it aloud requires care.

A strange tenderness takes hold of me, as though she’s offered me more than an answer. A glimpse. A truth. And I find myself wanting to meet it with one of my own.

“Aye,” I murmur, and then I add, “and of keepin’ houses safe.”

Ellen’s composure wavers in the smallest way: a faint flare of surprise, then something steadier underneath, as if we’ve just named the same unspoken thing from opposite sides.

I clear my throat. “My gran had me growin’ up believin’ in the faerie folk… and in using primrose to charm against ill will. Wee purple blooms left where it matters. I still believe there’s good in them.”

A low laugh catches in my chest, and I can’t quite swallow it down. I shake my head once and look away. “I cannae believe I’ve said that out loud. I sound half-mad.”

“Dinnae tell a soul I’ve admitted it,” I add, aiming for levity. “I’ve a reputation. Cannae have folk around here thinkin’ the Laird of the land raised a daft sentimental fool.”

Ellen swallows, lashes fluttering once as she gathers herself back into practicality. “It shan’t reach anyone’s ears,” she says, far too composed. “Not from me.”

Relief—and something more foolish—moves through me.

“Grand,” I say, and nod toward her basket. “Now, let me say I was useful this Bealtaine when Da asks, and allow me to help you.”

Her eyes soften around the edges. “You needn’t impress your father through me. He sees what he wishes to see.”

“Perhaps,” I shrug. “But maybe I’d like you to see I’m no’ entirely useless either.”

That brings her up short. Her gaze settles on me in a different way. Not as the laird’s son she’s known for years, fixed and familiar, nor as the heir of the house her father has made cause to resent, but as a man kneeling beside her in the damp grass, hands stained green, hair mussed from the early start.

She studies me as if she’s taking in the measure of me.

“Some of us haven’t the luxury of treatin’ the world like a game,” she says at last.

I could laugh it off. Offer a shrug and some easy, glib line, and be done with it. That would be safer.

Instead I say, “I ken that. I think… life’s easier to bear when someone’s willin’ to be foolish near you. Is it not?”

“Ye’re impossible,” she murmurs.

“Aye, so I’ve heard.” I agree. “But I’m also determined.”

Then, as if by silent accord, we both reach for the same primrose. Our fingers brush—light, brief—and we both pretend not to notice the jolt it sends through us.

We fall into quiet work after that, wordless and oddly in step, gathering blossom after blossom. She steadies the basket while I arrange them; I pass stems to her with no need to be asked. In a few minutes, they line the bottom with soft purple faces.

A shout carries up from the yard—the crack of a man’s voice, the lowing of stirred cattle. The estate is properly awake now.

The day will barrel on: wood will be stacked, beasts tended, fires lit and danced around. Folk will drink, and laugh, and matchmake. I know that at some point Robert or Alex will clap me on the shoulder and tell me to stop smiling at MacGregor’s daughter as if she’d tumble into my arms because I was staring at her like she’d hung the moon.

I rise, brushing damp from my knees, and offer her my hand without thinking.

She hesitates half a heartbeat, then takes it, but rises too quickly and lurches forward, straight into my chest. My hands close around her elbows. For a moment, she’s warm and solid against me, her breath feathering my collarbone.

“They’ll be lookin’ for you,” she says, though her voice has gone a touch quieter, and a lot less certain.

A loose tendril of hair curls soft against her cheek. Before I can think better of it, my hand lifts slowly and I ease the strand back behind her ear with the lightest touch.