He finally got the man’s attention, and Dominic thrust a foaming pint at a man and hurried over to Thomas.
“Are ye here to help?” Dominic asked, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s fair heaving in here tonight.”
Thomas frowned. “It’s like this most nights. Of course, ye wouldn’t know that because ye are never here.”
Dominic rolled his eyes. “I’m a busy man, Thomas. I wish Veronica and Colby would get over their wedded bliss soon and start taking over again. I don’t care for working in a pub.”
“Not even a pub as profitable as this one? Och, lad, where is yer head? I’ll have a pint of ale, by the way.”
Dominic pressed his lips together in a thin line. He was older than Thomas by a few years, and premature threads of silver were already finding their way through his tight black curls. He had grey eyes, startlingly light in his tanned face.
How the man managed to get tanned in the freezing highlands of Scotland, Thomas did not know. He himself was content with milk-pale skin that burned at even the suggestion of a sunny day.
Dominic pushed a pint of ale his way, glowering at the crowd of men waiting at the counter, waving coins and money purses and shouting out their orders.
“I’ll just sort out these whiners,” he said curtly, rounding on the customers with an aggressive, “What do yewant?”
Thomas sipped his ale and smiled. It was a testament to the Sinner’s popularity that even Dominic’s rudeness couldn’t drive customers away. At one time, not so very long ago, the Sinner had been a den of thieves and drunkards, with cutthroats and cutpurses hovering in every corner. Shady men slunk around, a coterie of dead-eyed, sallow women in low-cut bodies and unbound hair limping after them, watching in resignation as money changed hands right in front of them.
The place was completely different now.
Well, it was still a den of thieves and drunkards, really.
But Colby, Thomas, Dominic—and later Veronica—had stopped the trade of human flesh dead in its tracks. There were some women plying their trade here tonight, but they worked for themselves and chose whom they wanted.
Well, at least they had a choice in the matter, Thomas thought. He’d never had to pay someone to lie with him and didn’t intend to start now.
On cue, a woman pressed up against him, under the pretense of leaning against the bar.
“Do excuse me, Me Laird,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “I cannot seem to get the barkeep’s attention.”
Thomas didn’t bother to point out that she wasn’t eventryingto catch the barkeep’s attention. Instead, he glanced at the woman herself, taking her in.
She was staggeringly beautiful, with the sort of face one might see in a classic painting. A true work of art. She was around twenty or twenty-two years old, with glossy black hair falling down her back in loose curls, the hair at the temples pulled back in twists. She wore a linen shirt and a tight bodice, all designed to accentuate the curves of her bosom, and a plain brown skirt and white apron.
She tilted her head, her smile widening at his inspection.
“I’ve seen ye before, have I not?” Thomas asked.
She laughed, throwing back her head. “Aye, Me Laird, ye have. I work here. I’ve served ye ale countless times before. I’ve always rememberedye.”
He laughed, too, shaking his head. “Forgive me, lassie. There are so many people in this place, and I cannot fix more than one face in my head at a time.”
She chuckled. “Do I seem offended, Me Laird?”
He had to admit that she did not.
At last, Dominic glanced their way. His gaze landed on the pretty woman, and he frowned, scooting over towards them.
“Astrid, what are ye doing?” he snapped. “Ye are meant to be serving people. Can ye not see I am run off my feet?”
“Ah, Dom, give the poor lass a break,” Thomas interjected. “She’s fair fainting away. Isn’t that so… Astrid, wasn’t it?”
Astrid grinned. “Aye, Me Laird.”
Dominic rolled his eyes. “Lord, give me strength,” he muttered, then stomped away.
Astrid watched him go, wincing. “I probably shouldn’t get on his bad side.”
