She must have good eyesight. Accepting the explanation, he held up her hand. “I’m glad you like the ring. It actually reminds me a little of your bracelet.”

He thought she tensed a little as he brought her arm closer. “It’s very fine work,” he said, examining the intricate pattern of the cuff. “And an unusual style. Reminds me of some of the armbands the Romans were said to wear, but the design looks to be Norse. Where did you get it?”

He released her arm and she yanked it back.

She paused a shade too long before responding. “My father gave it to me.”

She never spoke of her father, and he’d hesitated to ask her about him. John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, had been an abrasive, hard-arsed, ill-tempered bastard, and Alex had assumed they had not been close. But maybe he was wrong. “It must mean a lot to you,” he said.

She shrugged evasively.

“I’ve never seen you without it,” he added.

“But how . . . ?” She snapped her mouth shut.

He smiled. “I noticed it under the sleeve of your gown. I saw the imprint through the fabric.”

She stilled again, but then looked up at him. “You are very observant, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I learned from the best.”

“Who?” she asked.

It was his turn to be evasive. “An old friend.” Ewen “Hunter” Lamont, the best tracker in the Highlands. Returning to the bracelet, he asked, “Why were you hiding it?”

She propped her chin on his chest and said matter-of-factly, “I did not want Alice to see it.”

It didn’t take him long to realize why. When Joan had been declared a bastard and her inheritance taken from her, her cousins had been the ones to benefit. They were the heirs to Buchan and as a result would have been entitled to all his wealth, including jewelry.

He swore, his fingers sweeping a strand of hair from her lashes and lingering on the soft skin of her brow. “It’s criminal what they’ve done to you. Anyone who knew your father can see the resemblance. I swear to you, when this damned war is over, I will do everything in my power to see it returned to you.”

She put her hand flat on his chest as if to stop him. “Nay, Alex, I don’t want you to do anything on my behalf. Truly, it means little to me.”

He frowned. “How can you say that? Your father was one of the wealthiest men in Scotland.”

Something dark and angry flashed across her features. But he wondered if he imagined it when she smiled, scooted up, and pressed her lips against his. “Do you really want to waste time right now talking about my father?”