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“You appear far too pleased with yourself for this to be coincidence,” I say.

Her expression brightens, not wary in the least.

“I thought it only fair to give him somethin’ worth his temper, since he’s taken it upon himself to decide who’s allowed in my company,” she continues, eyes still on me. “You looked equal to the task.”

I feel my mouth curve despite the danger at my side.

“Happy to serve as your bait,” I say.

“Not bait,” she corrects sweetly. “Merely a convenient opportunity.”

James exhales sharply.

“I was not,” he says, voice controlled, “attemptin’ to determine who’s allowed in yer company.”

Ellen folds her arms slowly, one brow arching with deliberate skepticism.

“Oh?” she says.

“I merely observed,” he continues, jaw tightening though his tone remains even, “that certain men have a habit of testin’ boundaries for sport.”

Her eyes narrow, unimpressed.

“Is that what you call it?” she asks.

“It is,” he replies.

She fixes James with a stare that could bring a man to heel—then rolls her eyes with exaggerated patience.

“Sure,” she says dryly.

James remains exactly where he is, unruffled.

“Ye’re hoverin’ again,” she says coolly. “In places ye’ve no business bein’.”

He smiles a bold, pleased one. “I think I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Her brow lifts. “Do ye now?”

“I do,” he says easily. “I’m gettin’ the work finished early. All of it. So my lady can put her feet up for once and enjoy the day.”

“Your la—” Ellen starts.

“So the ladies can,” he corrects quickly, a beat too late. “All the ladies. Naturally.”

I glance between them, aware that I’ve ceased to matter in this exchange.

Ellen holds his gaze, weighing him as though he were coin and she were deciding whether it rang true. Then she turns back to her work with deliberate calm, picking up the twine as if he is no more than a passing interruption.

“Since the chores are all complete and ye’ve all this time on yer hands, maybe you should go and stretch for all the games you mean to partake in.”

James huffs a quiet breath through his nose.

“Wouldnae want ye pullin’ a muscle,” she adds, airy as a breeze. “Bealtaine would be a poorer spectacle without watchin’ the formidable James Sinclair show himself off for the crowd.”

I laugh outright as James steers me away at last.

Once we’re clear of the doorway, he releases me.