Chapter 4
"Wait!" she heard him yell, as the cool, green darkness of the forest swallowed her up. "Wait, ye wee fool!"
Paisley kept going. She had no other choice, really. Was he following her? Paisley thought she'd heard the crash of somebody plowing through the undergrowth behind her, but it was hard to hear over the pounding of blood in her own ears, and her own hoarse breathing.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was warning her that this was a bad, bad idea. You could get lost in these woods, people had said. Easily. How far had she gone in?
She'd run in a straight line, so surely all she had to do was turn and retrace her steps. Easy. She would be fine, just fine. People said that it was MacLennan land, whatever that meant, and they said it somberly and seriously.
"Dark and dangerous, like him," somebody had said, and she hadn't bothered to ask for any clarification.
It was a mistake, of course. Thorny branches snatched at her skirts, and she heard the shrill sound of fabric tearing. That would be hours hunched over the material by the light of a single candle, fingertips stinging as she tried to darn up the tear.
Paisley had always had people to mend her torn clothes. It was so easy. If she needed a repair done to a garment, a maid would arrive and fix it, with stitches so neat Paisley could never find them again.
Now, she found herself forced to make her own repairs, laboring for far too long over things as simple as sewing back on a button. Ava laughed at her, and Paisley was too proud to ask for help.
A low-hanging branch with vicious thorns swept towards her, and Paisley ducked automatically, narrowly avoiding being blinded. She forced herself to run on, skirts hitched up as far as she could.
It was too dark to see her own feet, or even very far ahead of her, and she could feel her toes catching on raised tree roots and knots of weeds. She could break an ankle out here and nobody would ever know.
Would anyone tell my brother and sister that I was dead? she thought. What about Mama and Papa?
She could imagine it now, almost hear her mother's muffled sobs echoing around the silent halls, her father sitting beside his wife, face ashen with grief.
Maybe it would be better if I were dead. Then they could shrug off the shame of having me as a daughter, Paisley thought bitterly.
Abruptly, the earth fell out from underneath her. She shrieked, arms windmilling to keep herself balanced, but it was no good. She'd gone past the point of no return and toppled forward into the dark abyss below.
Well, almost.
An iron grip closed around her wrist, hauling her round and back to solid ground. Paisley's own momentum carried her along, and she would have sprawled out on the ground if she hadn't hit a firm, solid body with a thud.
"Ouch," she gasped, trying to steady herself.
Time seemed to slow down for a moment, and Paisley held her breath.
It was, of course, the grim-faced barkeep, who'd followed her out here. She would admit to feeling a twinge of relief that it wasn't the bald man who was so convinced that she was a cheat, or any of his vile friends.
Still, the man had no business following her out here. Chasing her. If Paisley had been at home, her papa would have had him whipped for his insolence.
Probably, anyway. It was hard to imagine the austere barkeep allowing anyone to whip him, under any circumstances. Those five men had fled before him like scolded dogs, tails tucked between their legs. Obviously, the man's reputation was not exaggerated.
He was looking down at her with a strange expression that she couldn't quite read, partly because of the darkness, and partly because he just had one of those hard-to-read faces.
Paisley was conscious that she was pressed right up against him, his hand loosely coiled around her wrist, her other hand flat against his chest. She could feel tight, corded muscles rising and falling under her palm with every breath he took, and it was easy to wonder what those well-formed muscles might look like without the layers of cloth and linen covering them.
A flush rose to her cheeks that had nothing to do with her recent mad dash.
You are a lady, Paisley told herself fiercely. You don't have such thoughts about gentlemen.
She cleared her throat, pointedly stepping back. She could see now that the abyss she'd nearly fallen into was in fact a small cliff, dropping away into a pit about twenty feet deep. She might have survived the drop, but it was unlikely she would have escaped without at least a broken bone.
"Ye ought to be careful in these parts," the man said, still staring at her with those odd, pale eyes. "Never leave the path. The woods are treacherous. Lots of sudden drops, like this." He indicated the cliff that Paisley had nearly tumbled off. She blushed, feeling silly.
"Yes, well, I was being chased. I told you to leave me alone," she responded acidly. "Not that I'm ungrateful," she added. "That's the second time you've saved my life tonight, I think."
"Don't exaggerate," he responded tartly.
He doesn't like me, Paisley thought, not entirely sure why that idea made her feel so cold and disappointed.
"Right. Well. If you could point me back to the path..."
He gave a low chuckle. "Lost already, are ye?"
"I am not lost."
"Fine. Which way would ye go to get back to the path?"
She pointed, and he laughed again, shaking his head.
"Nay, that'll send ye deeper into the forest. Here, it's this way."
He turned and shouldered his way through the undergrowth, leaving Paisley with no choice but to follow him.
"But that was the way I came!" she insisted.
He shook his head again, not bothering to look back at her. "It wasnae. I understand ye might think so, but forests tend to be deceiving. Ye cannae trust yer senses."
Paisley bit her lip, not liking to imagine herself plunging deeper and deeper into the woods, thinking that she was walking back to safety.
She imagined herself feeling more and more desperate, eagerly looking out for the path, a cold feeling of dread settling in her stomach when it became obvious that she would not find it again.
Apparently, she hadn't gotten far. After a minute or two of determined trudging, she found herself stepping back onto the path, and breathed a sigh of relief.
The barkeep turned to face her; arms folded.
"See?" he said, with just a hint of smugness. "I mean ye nae harm, lassie."
She nodded, not meeting his eye. A lock of hair hung in front of her eyes, hopelessly tangled. There was no point trying to untangle it now. She could brush out her hair when she got home.
Not home, she reminded herself. You can't go home, remember?
"Me name is Dominic," the man said abruptly. "Tell me yer name. I think ye owe it to me."
Paisley opened her mouth, tempted to argue the point, but decided against it. He had done her a series of services that night, and she owed him at least a name.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dominic," she said primly, just like Mama taught her. "My name is Paisley."
He gave a short nod. "Paisley... what?"
"Just Paisley."
He eyed her for a long minute, then gave a grunt, letting it drop. Paisley let out a sigh of relief. She needed to keep her surname secret if she didn't want to be followed, but the barkeep – Dominic – showed no inclination to insist on knowing it.
"Right. Well, just Paisley, let me tell ye that ye are barred from me pub."
There was a moment of silence.
"Are you serious?" Paisley managed after a while. "Did you follow me all the way here, demanding my name, just to tell me I'm banned from going back to your pub?"
He shrugged. "Aye, that's the long and short of it. Have a safe trip home, Paisley. Ye and yer ridiculous hat had better nae show yerselves at The Sinner again."
"It is a bonnet, you fool!"
He shot one of those steely, paralyzing looks at her, and Paisley regretted her sharp words. Nobody liked being called a fool, and after all, her bonnet was somewhat ridiculous.
It was a present from her brother, and he'd simply bought the most fashionable style of bonnet he could find, in a truly shocking shade of yellow silk. She'd added black silk over the top now that she was on the run, but it still looked hideous.
"Listen," Paisley said, trying to keep the hint of desperation out of her voice, "I truly didn't cheat. I didn't, I promise."
He eyed her for a long moment. "Well, I daenae believe that ye did."
"Then why am I barred?" she exploded. "Did you bar those other men, too?"
"Nay, I dinnae."
"That's not fair!" she cried. "I haven't done anything wrong!"
He frowned, and Paisley bit her lip. She needed to have more control over herself. Mama always said that.
"I daenae trust ye," Dominic said, slowly and pointedly.
"Those idiots that accused ye of cheatin', I know them.
I daenae like them – I daenae think many people dae – but they're a known quantity.
Predictable. Ye, on the other hand, are something else.
Ye are a risk, and I'm not much of a risk-taker. So, ye're banned."
He didn't turn to go this time. He stayed where he was on the path, half-turned away, looking at her curiously, expecting something else.
Paisley drew in a deep breath, anxiety bubbling up inside her. This would be the third pub she was barred from. Well, technically only the second, but she had such a terrifying near miss at the first that she'd decided never to go back. Her choice of pubs to visit was growing thin.
"I... I need to go back," she stammered. "I earn my money by playing cards."
Dominic turned towards her and narrowed his eyes. "Ye just said ye didn't cheat."
"I don't!" she replied, peeved. "I just win."
"Ye cannae win all the time, though."
"It's not easy, I grant you," Paisley admitted, tilted up her chin. "But it's not as if I can do anything else."
"Aye, I can tell that by yer hands."
"My hands?" she echoed, frowning and glancing down at them. They were just hands, glittering and white in the moonlight.