Her smile curved into a sheepish grin. “I stayed out of trouble.”
He was glad one of them had, at least. Broc smiled back at her, watching her with her hound.
“Lucky dog,” he said low.
She lifted her head. “What did you say?”
He smiled back at her. “I said Harpy’s a verra good dog.”
Elizabet was certain he hadn’t said that.
She tilted him a curious look.
Truth to tell, she was almost relieved he hadn’t spoken to John as yet. The truth was... she wasn’t ready to leave Broc. She averted her gaze, afraid he would read her thoughts. “So,” she asked, trying to determine how much time they had left alone, “did you learn when Piers would be returning?”
“Soon,” he assured her.
There was something about his demeanor when he spoke of John and Piers that disturbed her, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was.
“Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nay, lass, I’m only weary, is all.”
Their gazes held, locked, his blue eyes regarding her with an expression that quickened her breath.
“I did something else while you were gone,” she disclosed, giving him a coy smile. She stood and walked over to the table.
He watched her curiously.
She lifted up the square of neatly folded bright red cloth and held it in her hands. “’Tis a gift for you,” she revealed.
“A gift?” His bewilderment was apparent in his eyes. “For me?”
Elizabet smiled. “Aye.” She walked forward, handing him the garment.
He accepted it, albeit a bit uncertainly, giving her a questioning look. He didn’t even look at it, merely stared at her as though in shock, his arms outstretched with the garment in hand.
She pushed it toward him, afraid he would refuse it. “Try it on.”
He swallowed and Elizabet could see the bob in his throat. “No one has ever given me a gift before,” he said, looking dazed.
Elizabet arched a brow at him. “Try it on,” she demanded again.
He nodded dumbly, giving his attention for the first time to the tunic in his hands. He shook it out, examining it, admiring her handiwork.
Elizabet warmed with pride.
He set it on the table to better inspect it and ran his fingers reverently over the precise stitches. His gaze snapped up suddenly, as though only realizing from whence the material had come.
“Och, lass, ye didna have to ruin your gown for me.”
Elizabet grinned. “I will surely be insulted if you think my gown ruined!” Her mother’s tone crept into her voice. “Now put it on!”
He smiled and said, “You’re a haughty wench!”
She winked. “I come by it honestly.”
A strange smile came into his eyes as he regarded her.
