Chapter 6
"So, anythin' ye care to tell me?" Thomas said conversationally, draining his tankard of ale.
Dominic glared at him. "Naythin' I can think of. And stop drinking like a damn fish, it's barely noon."
"Aye, speakin' of which, are ye going to let yer poor hirelin' eat anytime soon? I take it ye are havin' her stay until midnight. Why did ye make her come in so early?"
Dominic bit his lip. He didn't have a good answer for that. He always sent the barmaids home between eleven and twelve and dealt with the remaining customers himself.
It got rowdy after midnight, and although Astrid had been more than capable of taking care of herself, he hadn't particularly wanted to risk it.
Usually, Astrid had come in at noon. He couldn't say why he'd asked Paisley to arrive so early.
To see if she would do it without complaining, perhaps?
Certainly not because he wanted to see her.
She had found a spare broom in one of the cupboards and had affixed a damp cloth to the end.
She was using her makeshift duster to clean the cobwebs out of the corners of the ceiling, stretching up as far as she could and standing on her tiptoes.
She was entirely focused on her task, worrying her full lower lip between her teeth.
A powerful wave of arousal shot through Dominic, and he forced himself to look away. He hadn't bothered to find a woman to join him in bed. The whole idea seemed vulgar, and he would be hard pressed to find a woman who wasn't a local.
Besides, knowing Dominic's luck, he would still find himself preoccupied with Paisley.
She works for ye now, he reminded himself sternly. Hands off.
Thomas had been happy enough to bounce from bed to bed in his youth, until he'd met Emma and every inclination to bed a woman that wasn't her had vanished more or less forever. But Dominic was not Thomas and had never seen the appeal of taking woman after woman to bed.
It sounded exhausting. They never quite interested Dominic that much anyway. He could admire a pretty face, of course – he wasn't blind. But there never seemed to be the hunger in Dominic's gut, most of the time he didn't want them the way they wanted him.
There were some women who piqued Dominic's interest, but they were few and far between. Oddly enough, it was rarely their faces and forms that interested him so much, but something else. Something more difficult to define.
"Penny for yer thoughts," Thomas said pleasantly, almost as if he knew what Dominic was thinking about.
"I'd nae sell ye me thoughts for all the money in the world," Dominic replied waspishly. "Does Emma know that ye are drinkin' yourself silly here? Should ye nae be at home, runnin' yer Keep?"
"Nay, as a matter of fact," his friend responded testily. "Emma is doin' her healer's rounds. She'll meet me here. I'm sure she'll want to meet yer new fancy woman, too."
"If ye are talking about Paisley, me new hirelin', then ye can piss off."
"Ouch. Harsh words. Another ale, there's a good lad."
Dominic considered throwing a whole tankard of ale at Thomas instead – it would be worth it to see the look on his face – but decided against it. He poured the drink and shoved it towards him.
"She's doin' a fine job," Thomas commented, nodding towards Paisley, who had succeeded in getting down all of the cobwebs. "Nay need to keep starin' at her like that."
Dominic, to his horror, felt color rushing to his face. He tried to force blood back from his cheeks by sheer force of will. He was not a blushing schoolboy. If Thomas thought he was, the teasing would never stop.
"Ye will have to excuse me if I'm a little suspicious," he replied, before he could stop himself. "But after Astrid, I think I'd rather keep a closer eye on this one."
That wiped the smile off Thomas' face, and Dominic immediately began to feel guilty.
Astrid, the previous barmaid, had been a stunningly beautiful young woman who had an obsession with Thomas.
Or rather, with the position he held of a local laird.
She wanted to be a lady, and Thomas – cheerful, charming Thomas who was always keen to flirt – seemed to be a perfect choice.
She didn't realize how deeply in love he'd fallen with Emma, the Keep healer, until it was too late.
Astrid had tricked Emma, Thomas, and all of them, collaborating with a rival pub owner Emma had worked for in the past. Emma had nearly been murdered, Thomas had been seriously injured, and Dominic himself had received a nasty wound.
He shot a guilty glance over at his friend.
"I'm sorry, Thomas. I shouldnae have said that."
Thomas shook his head, biting his lip. "Nay, ye shouldnae," he said, with false brightness, "but it hardly matters. So, what happened to the other lass who was causin' ye trouble? The one ye could not get out of ye head? Was she even real?"
Dominic almost flushed again, for the second time in as many minutes.
Get a hold of yourself, he told himself fiercely. It had certainly been a mistake to open himself up to Thomas. It had happened before he knew who Paisley was, of course.
The strange, veiled lady had lingered in his memory, more so than he felt she should have done. He'd gone to Thomas for advice. Thomas' advice had been terrible, of course. He seemed to think that Dominic should go up to the woman and flirt with her, which was never going to happen.
I daenae know what I expected from him, Dominic thought, sighing to himself. Aloud, he said, "I hired her."
Thomas blinked, taken aback. "What, are ye sayin' that Paisley is yer mysterious, beautiful ghost?"
"I never said she was a ghost. Why would ye be so surprised, though?"
Thomas hesitated, glancing guiltily over at Paisley. "Well, she's a pretty enough lass, but ye made her sound like some sort of goddess. She's nae as pretty as Astrid, sure enough."
"Thomas!"
He lifted his palms in surrender. "I may nae like the woman, but I have to give credit where credit is due."
"Well, do ye think Astrid is more beautiful than Emma?"
Thomas snorted. "Of course not! The two can't even compare!"
"Then that's exactly how..." Dominic floundered, suddenly aware that he wasn't making the point he'd intended to make. He fell silent, and Thomas thankfully did not push the issue. He glanced over at Paisley, who was now cleaning the windowpanes with a surprising fervor.
It seemed ridiculous that Thomas thought she was not as beautiful as Astrid.
Dominic knew that the previous barmaid was certainly a well-featured and full-figured woman, generally considered bonnie, but there was an inner light around Paisley.
Sometimes tantalizing, a sort of magnetic field that made a person have to look at her. Something magical.
Was he really the only one who could see it?
Dominic gave himself a little shake, determinedly pulling two tankards of ale, one for himself and one for Thomas.
He didn't often say it, but he certainly needed a drink.
Paisley privately thought that she was doing extremely well.
The pub was clean and cobweb-free, and she'd even been able to do a little light dusting.
At Thomas' insistence, - who one of the patrons had called "me laird" - she had sat down to a light meal of bread, cheese, and cold chicken, which she consumed eagerly.
At around four o' clock, more people began to filter into the pub. Candles were lit, fresh bottles and barrels of alcohol were produced, and Paisley started to work a little harder.
"Here," Dominic said, pushing a tray of ale tankards towards her. "Give this to them," he nodded towards a table of young men and women, all talking and laughing between themselves.
In a rush of panic, Paisley realized that she was going to spend a great deal of her time interacting with men. It would be different to the card tables, where no small talk or friendliness was required.
Everyone was focused on their own hand of cards and trying to figure out everyone else's. Back home, being in mixed company was a tricky thing. It was vulgar and entirely inappropriate for ladies to push themselves on the notice of gentlemen.
Paisley was used to parties where men and women were discreetly but determinedly segregated. There were rules. Ladies didn't go up to talk to the men. Men could approach the women, but with extreme politeness and discernment. One wrong move could lead to a forced engagement and subsequent wedding.
The table Dominic had pointed out seemed different.
Very different. None of the women were ladies of the night, as far as Paisley could tell.
They were dressed simply and modestly, for comfort and practicality rather than allure.
They rested their elbows confidently on the table, joining in with the chatter.
"Are they all friends?" Paisley heard herself say.
Dominic lifted an eyebrow. "I believe so. Two of them are betrothed, and another two are likely to be betrothed soon. They're just friends, local kids. Why?"
She gave herself a little shake. "Oh, no reason. They just seem so happy in each other's company, that's all. Not like the parties back home, where everyone was having a horrible time but pretending otherwise."
She knew at once that she'd said too much. Dominic gave her a long, slow look, curious and assessing. Flushing, Paisley snatched up the tray and turned to pick her way across the crowded floor.
The tray was heavier than she'd expected, but she was able to keep it steady enough that the ale didn't slop over the side. People laughed at her expression of concentration as she went by, moving out of her way. She shot a few half-smiles at them and received a few cheers in response.
The mixed group applauded when she set the tray down.
"Well done, lassie!" someone cheered.
"Ye smile a lot more than the last one ever did!" laughed another person.
Paisley grinned, and swept down into a deep, elegant curtsy.
Now that was something she could do well.