Chapter 17
This dance was a slower one. Still faster than what would be considered appropriate back in England, but still.
Paisley's heart was fluttering inside her chest like a trapped bird. She felt more nervous than she had all day, and that was saying something.
"I hope Maither dinnae try to eat ye," Dominic said, his voice low and amused.
Paisley chuckled. "No, she was very kind and welcoming."
"Kind and welcoming? That doesn't sound like me maither at all."
They shared a grin, then the dance sped up again.
Paisley stood close to Dominic, held tight in his arms. She could feel the heat coming off his body, and his muscles tensed and shifted under his skin. Fewer people were dancing now, most of them having headed towards the refreshment tables for wine and jugs of ale.
She liked it better this way. It felt more private, somehow. They danced through the measures, and every step felt correct.
Paisley was fairly sure that her steps were not correct, but that mattered less now than it had earlier.
Dominic's gaze was fixed on her, but it was softer and less intense than usual.
There was a hunger in his eyes, something that sparked that ache in Paisley's gut against. She felt her fingers tighten against his shoulders, silently asking for something that she didn't entirely understand.
"You're very talented at archery," Paisley said, breathless. It seemed as though she should say something and couldn't quite decide what it was that she should say.
Dominic grinned, as if he could see right into her head and read her thoughts.
Well, maybe he could.
He lifted his arm, letting her twirl in a circle underneath.
"She likes ye," he said.
"Your mother? Are you sure? She seemed... skeptical, I thought."
"Aye, well, she was always going to be suspicious of any woman who agreed to marry me."
Paisley chuckled, letting herself be spun back around to thump against Dominic's chest. It seemed the right place for her to be.
She glanced up at him and noticed, for the first time, that he had flecks of gold in his gray eyes.
The gold glittered in the candlelight, making him look otherworldly and fascinating.
The man doesn't need gold flecks in his eyes to fascinate me, she thought dizzily.
Was this what being drunk was like? Paisley hadn't had so much of a sip of anything since she arrived – apparently the custom for English gentlemen to fetch their partners endless cups of punch and lemonade hadn't reached the Highlands – and she was somewhat thirsty.
So, she wasn't drunk, then, not in the least. But something had gone to her head, and Paisley strongly suspected that the something was Dominic.
"We aren't really betrothed, though. Are we?"
She could have bitten off her tongue. The smile dropped from Dominic's face like a stone.
Paisley felt her throat clench. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders and hold him close, to tell him that everything was all right, that she wasn't going anywhere, that she truly cared for him, even if he wasn't as polite as English gentlemen and didn't smile very often.
In fact, she thought that was one of the reasons she did like him. After all, winning one of Dominic's smiles was a thing of pride.
"I'm sorry," Paisley added, when the dance slowed down enough for her to breathe. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"Ye didn't, ye only spoke the truth," he said levelly. "I cannae fault ye for that. It's true, we aren't really betrothed. I made that clear, didn't I? Very clear."
There was something in his voice, some tinge of.
.. was it regret? Paisley licked her lips nervously, sliding her hands up to cup his shoulders again.
She was fairly sure that she should have been doing something else in the dance – the other dancers were skipping around each other, elbows hooked together, while she and Dominic had almost slowed to a stop – but for once, Paisley really didn't care what was happening in the dance around her.
"I've hurt your feelings," she said flatly.
He gave a forced laugh. "Nay, ye have nae. I have nay feelings to hurt, ye see."
Paisley didn't laugh. "That's not true. You don't need to pretend that it is. Do you think that it's unmanly to have your feelings hurt?"
He blinked. "What? Well, doesnae everyone think that?"
"I don't think that."
He stared at her for a moment more, then a slow smile spread over his face. He slipped his hands into Paisley's, lacing their fingers together, and moved them on with the tide of other dancers.
"I think yer opinion is the most important to me out of everyone," Dominic said carefully. "And that's the truth of it. Me faither thought it was unmanly to talk about his feelings, but I've made it me goal not to become like him."
"Your mother says that you're like her."
"Perhaps I am. It's a compliment."
"Oh, yes," Paisley laughed. "She's an excellent woman. Terrifying, but excellent."
"She's certainly taken a likin' to ye, that's for sure."
"You said that before, and I'm not sure I agree. What makes you think your mother has taken a liking to me?"
Dominic threw back his head and laughed. "Because she took yer arm, she had a chair put out for ye, and she talked politely to ye. Most of all, though, the two of ye parted ways without ye bursting into tears. If I had a coin for every man or woman me maither brought to tears, I'd have a fortune."
Paisley had to smile at that, shaking her head.
"Well, that's a fair point. I do hope she won't be disappointed when she finds out that our betrothal isn't real. And she will have to find out sooner or later, won't she?"
There was a lilt of a question at the end of that sentence. Paisley hadn't intended it to come out that way, but there it was. She glanced anxiously up at Dominic, whose expression was thoughtful.
Won't she?
"Perhaps not," Dominic said, his voice low and slow. "Paisley, there's something I must talk to ye about. It's a strange subject, but an important one. The truth is..."
On cue, the music came to a flourishing halt, and whatever Dominic was going to say was drowned out by the enthusiastic cheers and applause of the other dancers and the spectators. Dominic and Paisley were forced to stop dancing, and she tried her best not to feel too annoyed at the interruption.
"What were you going to say?" she asked eagerly, as soon as the noise had died down somewhat.
Dominic opened his mouth, but a voice cut across the chaos, summoning him.
Catriona, of course.
Paisley's heart sank. Still, they could reopen the subject later on. For now, she was keen to make a good impression on Catriona. The woman's good opinion went a long way with Dominic.
I want so badly for him to think well of me, Paisley thought, heart thudding. I want him to like me.
I want our betrothal to be real.
But there was no time to entertain these thoughts.
Offering her his arm, Dominic led the way across the crowded hall towards Catriona, who was once again seated comfortably in her velvet-lined throne.
Various people were clustered around her, including a man who was wearing a blue silk coat in the English style.
Paisley frowned, a memory stirring at the back of her mind. An Englishman, here? Not just any Englishman, either – that sort of coat was expensive and impractical, and so wouldn't be worn by anyone other than a gentleman of leisure.
Catriona was eyeing the stranger with hesitation, and her gaze flicked over his shoulder to land on Paisley and Dominic. Her lined old face creased into an affectionate smile.
She does like me, Paisley thought, irrationally pleased. It was always nice when a serious sort of person with a good knack for people decided that they liked you. It was a real compliment.
"Ah, here is me son, Laird MacLennan, and his betrothed. Paisley, Dominic, let me introduce this gentleman. I was surprised to find another Englishman here – and a member of the English ton, too. Ye might know him, Paisley. How did ye say ye came to be invited here, Lord Ainsley?"
Paisley felt her insides twist, and a cold, dizzying sensation swept down over her, from head to toe. Her fingers clenched on Dominic's arm, and he gave a gasp of surprise and pain.
"Careful, lassie!" he murmured. "Daenae pinch."
She barely heard. She was focused entirely on the glossy silk shoulders of the man ahead of her. He turned, slowly, a twisted smile on his face.
She knew that smile. She knew that face. She knew that coat, too, and certainly that cold, precise voice.
"Malcolm Abbey, Earl of Ainsley, at your service," he said, voice cool and ever so slightly amused. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Cold eyes found Paisley's, pinning her to the spot.
It wasn't at all like Dominic's stare, which was unyielding and intense, with a sort of heat behind it.
Lord Ainsley's stare was ice-cold, like a gust of wind and sleet coming in unexpectedly through a window.
One always got the impression that there was nothing but emptiness behind those eyes.
Emptiness, certainly, and a lingering malice.
If Paisley had read those words in a book, she would have smiled wryly and shook her head. A person had to experience the full horror of Lord Ainsley to understand.
He knew her, of course. She could read it in his face – triumph, anger, and spite.
He'd hunted her down, and now there was nowhere to run.
Paisley's hand seemed to lose its feeling and slipped down from its perch in Dominic's elbow.
He glanced down at her, inquisitively, but Paisley couldn't look up at him.
It was as if her feet had grown roots, plunging deep down into the stone floor of the Great Hall, keeping her firmly in place.
"A pleasure," Lord Ainsley said smoothly, extending a hand towards Paisley. Muscle memory and firmly engrained manners took over, and she automatically reached out to take his hand.
He wasn't wearing gloves, and his skin was cold and clammy against her fingers. He bowed low over her hand, eyes never leaving hers, and brushed a dry kiss across her knuckles.
"My congratulations on your betrothal," he purred. "And may I extend my compliments on your dance. Lady MacLennan and I were watching closely. The Scottish Ceilidh is a fascinating thing, is it not?"
"Do ye dance yerself, Lord Ainsley?" Catriona said, gaze flickering between the three of them. Dominic had gone rigid, and somewhere in the back of Paisley's mind, she was sure that his instincts would be chiming out a warning.
Hers, on the other hand, had left her rooted to the spot.
Catriona's expression was all wariness and confusion, and Paisley knew she was acting strangely, staring at Lord Ainsley as if he'd grown a second head.
Move, she screamed at herself inside her head. You must move. Now. Now!
"Is everything all right?" Lord Ainsley was saying, eyes widening with the pretense of concern. "You look very ill, my lady."
"Do excuse me," Paisley gasped out, finally peeling her feet away from the ground.
She didn't wait on politeness or even to form a plan, she simply turned and fled. Paisley was dimly aware of Dominic calling after her, but his voice already seemed very far away.
The important thing was that she was putting distance between herself and Lord Ainsley. She twisted around fearfully to see if she was being followed but saw only strangers in Highland dress clustering around her, eyeing her curiously.
Paisley drew in a ragged, sobbing breath, and ploughed onward, not caring who she ran into.
I can't let him catch me, she thought wildly. I must escape. I must.