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Róisín straightens, entirely unruffled. “Right, then—I’ll take my leave now,” she says, as if she’s granting Ellen a favour. “She’ll skin me if I don’t.”

I shake my head. “That’d be a true tragedy.”

“Utterly,” she agrees, already smiling again. She steps past me, close enough that I catch the clean green scent of crushed leaf and morning air on her, and she tips her face up as if to examine me once more—unapologetic, amused, entirely at ease in her own boldness.

“Behave yourself till I’m free,” she whispers.

“I can make no such promises.”

Her smile turns sharper. “Good,” she says. “I’d likely be disappointed if you did.”

Then her expression warms, as though she means it now. “I’ll find you later.”

I find I’ve no objection to that arrangement.

“Goodbye, Alex,” she says, and my name leaves her lips softened, drawn out enough to suggest she enjoys the saying of it far more than courtesy requires.

She slips past with a grin that promises trouble, leaving warmth and laughter behind as if they are things she carries and sheds at will. I watch her go without shame, only turning once she disappears into the house and I become aware, with mild astonishment, that I’m smiling like an idiot.

I’ve met spirited women before, but I’ve not yet met one who makes a crown of it quite as naturally as Róisín does.

The space she leaves behind feels warmer, unsettled. I roll my shoulders once, aware—absurdly—of my own body again, of the way attention sharpens the skin, and stirs my cock. If this is what James feels in the presence of Ellen, it’s no wonder the man looked half-undone when he came back from his flower-picking with that peculiar, hunted look about him.

That thought draws my gaze to Ellen.

She has the look of a woman who tolerates nonsense only long enough to end it. There’s nothing soft in her posture, but neither is there any needless hostility. She sits at the table with sleeves rolled and hands busy among birch and twine, unaffected by my presence.

I don’t flirt.

I do smile, because smiling is habit, because I’ve learned it smooths rooms as well as it smooths introductions. The faintest easing touches her face, as if she’s decided I’m not an immediate nuisance.

“You must be Ellen,” I say as I extend my hand, not pressing it forward as a demand, merely offering. “Alex.”

Her gaze drops to my hand, then returns to my face. She doesn’t take it. She doesn’t, however, look away.

“I ken,” she says. “I’ve seen you about.”

Message received.

“Right then, I’ll be out of your way,” I reply, letting my hand fall easily to my side. “James mentioned I wasn’t to linger too long in your presence, lest I be met with his fury.”

Her brow lifts, slow and skeptical. “He mentioned that, did he?”

“Among other things,” I say, wisely declining to elaborate.

A flicker crosses her mouth. One corner lifts, quick and reluctant, like she’s caught herself enjoying something she hadn’t meant to.

“Tell me then, Alex,” she says lightly, setting down the birch switch in her hand. “Are you the sort to heed warnings?”

“I make a habit of listening,” I answer. “Whether I obey is another matter.”

To my mild surprise, she doesn’t retreat.

She leans forward instead, bracing her hands against the edge of the table so that the linen of her bodice draws taut, exposing more of the flesh of her chest, the gesture unhurried and entirely purposeful.

“Tell me true,” she says, studying me. “Do you enjoy provoking him?”

“I beg your pardon?”