Chapter 12 #2
Paisley glanced from face to face, taking in the scene. She felt oddly removed, like she was observing a picture in a book. Harold was relieved, the tension melting away from the sharp lines of his body. Brodie still hovered nearby, watching Dominic with barely disguised admiration and awe.
Dominic himself seemed barely aware of this scrutiny. His expression was shuttered, entirely focused in on himself and his thoughts, working through problems in his mind and finding solutions.
As if his gaze were drawn by magnetism, he looked up abruptly and met her eye. Paisley flinched, tempted to look away – a good English lady would never be caught looking so boldly at a man – but she held his gaze.
It was too late to worry about being too bold now, in any case.
Dominic's gaze seemed to burn holes in her, sending rolls of pinpricks down her spine. The moment seemed to last forever, and she wasn't entirely sure how Harold and Brodie did not realize what was going on, how they didn't feel the atmosphere, heavy and tense like an oncoming thunderstorm.
Dominic looked away, and the moment was gone.
He was talking now, telling Harold what to do, where to go, which horse from the stables he should use to go back, and so on.
Brodie skipped away to deal with a customer, and Paisley found herself at something of a loose end. She was just looking about for her broom to resume sweeping, when Dominic's long fingers closed around her elbow.
"Let's have a word, ye and I," he said, his voice low.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Harold was finishing up his meal by the fireside, already reassured and happy.
"If you like," Paisley answered, trying to sound light and casual. She could only hope that her heart wasn't beating too loudly.
Dominic led her out into the courtyard, and leaned against the wall, arms folded.
"Why didn't you tell me that you were a laird?" Paisley spoke first. She could hear anger in her own voice, anger that she really had no right to feel. Dominic's eyebrows lifted at her tone.
"I dinnae think it was yer business," he said pointedly. "It's nae as if ye tell me anything about yer life."
She flushed. He had a point, but it was different. She couldn't explain how it was different, of course, without telling him the truth.
"That's not the same. I work for you. I ought to know these things. My life doesn't impact you at all."
They were standing too close together, and Paisley couldn't remember deciding to move so close to him. There was only a hand's breadth or so of space between their bodies, and she could almost feel the heat radiating from him.
"You're making me look a fool," Paisley continued, more sharply than a hireling ought to be towards the person who paid their wages. "A laird is someone important. Back in England, a titled lord would never let anyone think..."
Suddenly, Dominic's nose was only inches from hers, his gray eyes slitted like a cat's and staring unblinking into hers.
"But ye are nae in England, are ye?" he shot back. "Ye are in the Highlands, lassie. It's different here, I can tell ye that. The rules daenae quite exist here."
Heat spiked in her stomach, and Paisley swallowed reflexively. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and she couldn't have looked away from his unblinking stare if her life had depended on it.
Abruptly, Dominic moved back, and air rushed into Paisley's lungs. She couldn't tell whether she was disappointed or relieved to have some distance between them. Either way, her quick wits had deserted her, and for once, Paisley had absolutely nothing to say.
"Ye did a good job of putting Harold at ease," he remarked, after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
Some of her anger faded away at the compliment. "All I did was fetch him some food and drink."
He shrugged. "That's what he needed. A friendly face and some practical help. It seems that practical help is what he needed from me, and I dinnae give it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that he needs a laird who gets involved, not one that stands back and lets other dae the work." Dominic shook his head with a sigh. "It's of nay matter. Daenae worry about it."
"If you need to talk about it..."
"I daenae. Listen, I brought ye out here to talk about something else. There's a Ceilidh at Keep MacLennan in a few days' time. Wear something nice, eh? Let me know if ye need a suitable gown." he added the last part almost as an afterthought.
Paisley blinked, a little befuddled. "Wait. Are you inviting me to the Ceilidh? Is this an invitation?"
Dominic rolled his eyes, not quite meeting her gaze. "Aye, that's the long and short of it. We'd be going together, mind. I'll explain more later."
"I... I don't know what to say."
"How about aye, Dominic, I'd like to come? Of course, if ye daenae want to, daenae feel obliged..."
"Oh, I do want to come," she said quickly. "I really do. I just... well, this is a surprise. I didn't take you as the sort of person to... to invite other people to things."
Dominic eyed her for a long time, letting the stupidity of Paisley's question hang in the air.
"Dae ye need a gown?" he said shortly.
She shook her head. "I have one that will do."
"Very well, then." Dominic turned to go, and Paisley suddenly did not want him to leave. She wanted the moment to stretch on, just the two of them in the courtyard, Dominic leaning against the stone wall of his pub and eyeing her with that slate-gray, impenetrable gaze.
It was dizzying and thrilling, more or less how Paisley had always imagined it would feel to be drunk."
"Wait!"
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. The irrepressible eyebrow raised.
"Does this mean you aren't avoiding me anymore?" Paisley said, and immediately regretted it.
Even though she hadn't said it, they were both thinking of the incident which could have led to them ignoring each other.
Namely, Dominic hugging Paisley close, kissing her, and then shoving her outside of his room and telling her never to come in again.
That was a great deal for a young lady to come to terms with, to say nothing of the fact it all happened within the space of five minutes.
Dominic's face betrayed nothing. Not a twitch, not a flicker. Paisley's face, on the other hand, was turning a rich and admirable shade of tomato-red.
She cleared her throat, trying her best to appear cool and composed.
It was almost certainly not working.
"Nay," Dominic said eventually. "I am nae ignoring ye, lass. This may shock ye, but me entire day does nae revolve around ye and yer presence, aye?"
"Of course." Paisley muttered, feeling silly. "I didn't mean to imply..."
"Oh, come off it, lass. Enough with the pleasantries and politeness.
I was nae meself earlier – I imagine we're both thinking of the same incident, aye?
– and I was half-asleep. I saw ye reaching to me, and I thought.
.. Oh, I daenae know what I thought. I acted before I thought anything at all, I suppose.
To be fair, ye should nae have walked into me office without knocking, to say naything of tryin' to poke me face, or whatever it was ye were doin'.
Still, I should nae have acted that way, and I apologize for puttin' ye in such an uncomfortable position. It'll nae happen again."
"Oh." Paisley said lamely. This was not what she'd wanted to hear at all. "Good. Well, not good exactly, but... um, that is fine."
"Good."
"Right."
"Aye. If that's all, then..."
"Wait!" Paisley said again, twisting her fingers together. She was starting to feel silly, and the ache was circling in her gut again. She wished it would just go away.
No, that wasn't right. She didn't wish that. She wished that the ache would resolve itself, but she had no idea how that might happen, to say nothing of the fact it all seemed very unladylike.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
Paisley drew in a breath, steeling herself.
"What is a Ceilidh?"
There was a long silence, then Dominic rolled his eyes, turning on his heel and stamping away across the courtyard.
"Like I said, wear something nice!" he called back.
Paisley pursed her lips. Well, she supposed she'd find out what a Ceilidh was when she got there.