He would give her space. A chance to breathe freely again.
And in the meanwhile, he would do everything in his power to rebuild the trust he had once shattered.
“I come bearinggifts,” Alis announced the next day, shouldering his way into Chrissi’s bedchamber, a large wooden box in his arms.
Chrissi looked up from her position on the bed, ankle propped once more on an obliging cushion.
“Gifts?” she asked, alarm chasing her spine.
Normally, she adored presents.
But given the current state of matters between herself and Alis, gifts made her leery. She could not bear growing more indebted to him, losing more of herself in his happy smile.
“I ken ye might be a wee bitcrabbit, being forced to rest as ye are,” he grinned. “So I brought ye some cheer.”
Alis placed the box on the counterpane with a grunt. Battered and somewhat dirty, it appeared anything but a gift.
She eyed it warily.
Alis busied himself with opening the wooden lid.
“You chose this box . . . why?” she asked. “Because you find wildflowers too pedestrian?”
He froze, pinning her with a look. “Would ye have liked flowers?”
“They are pretty. And spring has finally arrived.”
As Alis had predicted, the landscape around the castle had come to life over the past week—trees leafing out and gorse blooming. Even thegowk stanehad yellow Scots broom brushing against its side.
“Noted,” Alis nodded before turning back to the box.
Chrissi’s curiosity rose.
Thankfully, he didn’t keep her long in suspense. With a flourish, he lifted out several jute bags.
She instantly recognized the telltale clink of pottery.
Her expression brightened. “You brought me sherds to sort! What type of sherds? Italian? Scottish?”
“And ye claim to prefer flowers,” he snorted. “Ye regardpottery sherdswith the same excitement that a débutante views bonnet ribbons.”
“Nonsense. Sherds are much more interesting.”
Laughing, Alis set about prepping the sherds, placing a large square of canvas atop the counterpane for her to spread out the bits of broken pottery.
Oh! She had forgotten this—the thrumming delight of being the focus of Alis’s care.
Emotion pricked her eyes.
“How goes the excavation today?” She cleared her throat.
“Excellent.” He dumped a bag of mixed sherds on the canvas . . . Scottish pottery, by the look of it. Chrissi immediately recognized bits of Grooved Ware and perhaps a few pieces of Rothesay. Her fingers reached for them.
“You know I need more information than merely ‘excellent,’ correct?” She rubbed a piece of pottery between her fingers, testing its texture.
He laughed. “Today, the workers hope to finish the scaffolding to retain the embankment surrounding the entrance tunnel. Once that is in place, I thought perhaps I could begin a careful exploration of the tunnel. It appears to have some debris and dirt blocking it about three feet in.”
“Ah.” She glanced at her foot, hating that her injury would prevent her from being on-site to witness it all. “Thank you for moving slowly and methodically. Many archaeologists would simply shovel out the dirt in their eagerness to reach the center chamber.”
