Chapter 12
Paisley rose and dressed quickly the next morning, her mind preoccupied with Dominic and the letter.
Today, the letter took precedence. She longed to scribble off a reply to her brother and sister, to hear how they were doing, to tell them how much she missed them.
But Eliza, always the most practical one of the three of them, had told her not to do that, so Paisley would obey.
Paisley was the oldest of the three, while Eliza and Alex were twins, both twenty years old. Eliza was something of a bluestocking, and Alex was shaping up to be a bit of a dandy. They often joked that Eliza got all the brains out of the two.
Still, it was Alex who'd organized a late-night coach to take her far away from London, when they realized that her marriage to the earl was happening, regardless of anyone else's personal feelings.
Alex had carried out the arrangements, escorting her as far as the Scottish border, while Eliza came up with the plan. It wasn't just a matter of getting away from her parents and the earl. Paisley needed to stay away.
I am safe, Paisley told herself, giving her reflection one last cursory glance. I am safe here.
And then it was time to go.
I am safe. They can't find me. There is no need to worry. No need at all.
"Ye are late." Brodie said brusquely, without looking up.
"I'm sorry." Paisley winced, tying her apron around her waist and snatching up the broom.
"How is yer head?"
"Hm? Oh, better, thank you. Much better. Did Dominic come down last night?"
"He did, aye, eventually. Just in time to deal with..." Brodie paused, frowning and peering over Paisley's shoulder. "That man doesnae look like a local."
Paisley turned to see a tall, rake-thin man staggering towards the open door of the pub.
He seemed to be about thirty, with thinning brown hair, a hooked nose, and gaunt cheekbones.
He was walking with difficulty, staggering and tripping over his own feet, and even paused to lean against the doorframe before coming inside.
"Looks like he's already had a skinful." Brodie observed.
Paisley frowned, watching the man. "No, I don't think he's drunk."
The man was frail and clearly exhausted, arms and legs stick-thin, and had none of the wobbly bravado of a drunk. When he wobbled in the doorway for a minute or two more, wheezing, Paisley set aside her broom and moved towards him.
"Hello, sir," she said lightly, flashing a smile. "Are you all right?"
He smiled gratefully back at her. "I just got to catch me breath, lassie."
"Here, let me help you to a chair."
The man hesitated, as if about to say something foolish, such as "I can get meself to a chair, thank you."
He sagged a little and nodded.
"That would be kind, lass. Thank ye."
Brodie hovered in the background, nervously watching Paisley help the man into the pub and into an armchair by the fire.
"What are ye doin', Paisley?" he hissed.
"This man is obviously not well," she hissed back. "I'm not going to let him collapse in the courtyard."
"I came here to see the laird," the man managed, sinking lower into the chair, he held out his feet – clad in holey old boots, she noticed – towards the fire.
"The laird?" Paisley repeated, wrinkling her nose. "I don't think Thomas is here tonight, sir."
The man blinked at her, frowning. "Nae that one. I'm here to see Laird MacLennan."
"Who?"
He stared at her in a moment in consternation, then his gaze flitted past her and landed on something behind her.
Or someone, in fact.
"That would be me," came a low, familiar voice, one that sent thrills of awareness through Paisley.
She didn't need to look to know who was standing there, but she looked anyway, eyes drawn as if by magnetism.
Dominic stood there, his face impassive, iron-gray eyes fixed on her as if he could never look away. Paisley swallowed hard, aware of the ache swirling in her gut again.
"Oh," she managed, rather underwhelmingly.
"Go and see to the other patrons, Brodie," Dominic said, his voice a low rasp.
A tired chuckle brought her attention back to the stranger. He had his eyes closed, and it was shocking to see how sunken-in his eyes were in his skull.
"Ye dinnae know, eh?" the man said, still chuckling. "Everyone knows Laird MacLennan in these parts."
"That's enough," Dominic grated, eyeing the man.
"Well, I do know him," Paisley said, recovering, and turning her gaze back to the old man. "I just didn't know he was laird anything. What is your name, by the way? I'm Paisley."
"Harold. Me name is Harold."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Harold. I'll fetch you some food and water. You look half starved."
Harold's eyes flew open, and at first, Paisley saw only a primal hunger at the mention of food. Then the expression calmed, replaced by a simmering anxiety.
"It's quite all right, lassie. I've nay coin to pay for it."
"It's on the house." Paisley said primly, shaking out her apron.
She had no idea whether she would be allowed to do this, but the man was clearly starving to death.
If Dominic took exception to this, he could always take the cost of the food out of her wages.
He was right there, so he could speak up if he disagreed.
He didn't speak up, and Paisley decided not to give him time to change his mind. Leaving the man slumped by the fire, she hurried into the kitchen, carefully not looking back at Dominic.
She was sure that he was looking at her, though. She could feel his eyes burning into the space between her shoulder blades as she retreated, like a tickle against her skin.
Stop it, she scolded herself. Now that you're in the kitchen, you'd better cool down, my girl.
It was a small, serviceable space. They did serve food, but drink was mostly the order of the day at The Sinner. The pantry was well stocked, and there were plenty of options available to make a quick, easy-to-eat meal.
Nothing too complex, Paisley thought, ignoring the sweet pastries and pies on the first shelf. If the man was as hungry as she suspected he was, too much food or anything too rich would make him ill.
She selected an apple, polishing it up against her apron, a slice of bread and butter, a large piece of cold chicken, and some jam. There would be more food if he could stomach it later, but for now this would do. She snatched up a glass of milk and a tankard of pale, watered ale.
She scurried out of the kitchen carrying the food on a tray, and very nearly collided with Dominic and Brodie.
"Who's that food for, Paisley?" Brodie demanded, head popping out from behind Dominic's broad shoulder. His tone suggested that he knew exactly who the food was for and did not approve one bit.
Paisley felt color rushing to her cheeks, but kept her head tilted up and her gaze level.
"It's for that man – Harold – in there. He's starving. He needs food and drink."
"I thought I said..." Brodie began.
"Good thinkin', Paisley," Dominic interrupted. "I'm glad ye thought to do this. Ye have done well. But maybe ye should hurry. The old man's getting' dizzy on me."
Brodie bit his lip. Paisley resisted the urge to throw a triumphant smile his way. She moved past them into the main part of the pub, and Harold sat bolt upright at the sight of her and the food.
He fell upon it greedily, but before he could even take the first bite, his eye fell on Dominic.
Harold set aside the tray at once, and leaped up, making a wobbly bow.
"Laird, I..."
"Sit down," Dominic said brusquely. "Go on, sit. Ye can eat and talk, can ye nae?"
Harold wavered, but only for a minute. He sat back down with a thump and began to munch his way through the food.
Dominic took the empty armchair opposite and watched Harold curiously.
"Thank ye for the food, me laird," Harold managed, mouth full.
"Daenae thank me." Dominic said with a wry smile. "Thank her."
He nodded towards Paisley. She blushed, not entirely sure why his praise felt so good.
"I came here to speak to ye in person, me laird," Harold said, once the edge had been taken off his hunger. "I'm from Thornberry Ridge, which, as ye know, is a fair distance from Keep MacLennan."
"Aye, I ken it."
"Well, I wanted to speak to ye face to face. Look at me, me laird. I'm one of the few that could make the trip. Bandits from across the border attack us frequently, and we are starving. Ye need to do something, me laird. Please."
Paisley glanced over at Dominic to gauge his reaction. The frown was back between his brow, his expression thunderous.
"I paid men to guard ye from the bandits," he said.
Harold scoffed. "Mercenaries. They willnae do a thing without bribes. In fact, they can be worse than the bandits. We have warriors in a neighborin' town, but the mercenaries say that they're acting on yer orders, that anyone who defies them defies ye."
Dominic muffled a curse. "Well, that's a lie. I spent that money on those mercenaries to keep ye safe."
Harold shrugged. "They never see ye, me laird. They helped at first, but then they learned that they could do what they liked, and nay one could intervene. We're sufferin', in many ways."
Dominic sprang to his feet, pacing in front of the hearth like a restless lion in its cage. Paisley could hear snatches of conversation as he spoke to himself.
"Ma was right then," he muttered. "Money's not enough"
"I'm sorry to bother ye..." Harold said hesitantly, but Dominic shook his head, cutting him off.
"It's nay trouble, Harold. I'm only sorry that it's gone on for so long, and that ye had to come here in person.
I'll draft up a writ for ye to take back, ordering the mercenaries to do their work or else.
But I willnae be far behind it, with some of the Keep warriors to protect ye and train up some new warriors.
As to the bandits, that's a bigger problem, but for now, let's just focus on keeping ye all safe and fed, eh? "