Dominic glanced at her strangely. "Give it back? What for? It's for ye, as well as yer wages. Ye get paid before ye leave, by the way."
Paisley closed her hand over the coin, slipping it into her apron pocket. Was that something people did here, then? Give extra money on top of what they already paid? She already found herself calculating how much extra money she could earn. Of course, she couldn't expect this every time, butstill. Withthis job and some regular income, perhaps Paisley could even manage to save up a little.
"Enough of this dawdlin'," Dominic said firmly, pushing two glass goblets full of amber liquid towards her. "This is for the two gentlemen in the corner. Hurry up."
Paisley felt that she was getting into the swing of things now. Dominic was the one pouring the drinks and keeping track of who had ordered what. All she had to do was listen to directions. Easy enough.
She picked up the two goblets and turned to make her way back across the floor. The pub was slowly but steadily filling up. The two men in question, elderly, grandfather-like gentlemen, paid her no attention as she zigzagged between the patrons.
People were getting increasingly drunk, and as the new hireling, she had lost her novelty already. It was harder to make her way through, despite her occasional bleats of 'excuse me, excuse me!'
It reminded her of those endless, wretched balls that she'd attended with her mama and papa, with horribly hot rooms stuffed with people. She was tall enough to see over their heads, thankfully, but that didn't save her from being jostled around and elbowed in the ribs.
This was different, though. This time, she wasn't a delicate, beautiful lady in satins and silks, with bobbing feathers in her hair and expensive lace at her throat. She was just a grubby barmaid, without her family at her back.
Oh, and carrying two overfull goblets of what seemed to be brandy.
Of course, it was natural that something would happen. A drunken man, laughing loudly at something that was probably not funny, stepped backwards without looking and slammed into Paisley.
She stumbled, falling forward onto her hands and knees. Both goblets shattered, of course, soaking her gown with brandy.
The man gave a slurred apology, reaching down with unsteady hands to help her. Some of the patrons gave a loud cheer, laughing at Paisley and urging her to her feet.
Paisley had landed with her palms flat on the floor. Shards of broken glass littered the boards around her, and a sharp pain streaked through her left palm. She lifted her hands gingerly. As expected, her palm was cut and bloody, a piece of glass sticking out of the skin.
The drunken man backpedaled, hissing.
"That looks nasty," he mumbled, wincing.
"Out of me way. Move!" Dominic snapped, elbowing his way through the crowd. "What are ye thinkin', Paisley? That brandy is our best! You cannae just..." he trailed off when he saw her kneeling on the floor, palms bloody. "Ah, damn. Come on, up ye get, let's see to those hands. Brodie! Sweep up this mess."
A round-faced, red-haired young man who Paisley had only seen briefly on her previous visits appeared at Dominic's shoulder, turning pale at the sight of blood.
"Who's this?" he whispered.
"This is Paisley," Dominic replied bluntly, offering no further explanation. He hustled Paisley around the counter and took out a damp cloth. "Thomas, where is Emma? Go find her."
Thomas nodded, glancing down at Paisley's injured hand, and slipped away.
"I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy..." Paisley began, but Dominic shook his head briefly.
"It happens. This place gets crowded. Ye will spill things and break things, nay doubt. It can't be helped. Emma is a healer, and she'll take care of this."
He delicately picked out the largest piece of glass, and loosely wrapped the cloth around Paisley's hand.
She felt as though she couldn't breathe, all of a sudden. The back of her left hand rested against the palm of one of Dominic's hands, and he was dabbing gently at her bloodied fingers with the other hand, surprisingly gently for a large, grim man.
His gaze was focused downwards on her hand, seemingly absorbed in his task. His skin was warm against hers, andshe could feel the subtle friction of callouses underneath her knuckles. A shiver rolled through Paisley, and she swallowed hard, trying to control herself.
A movement caught her eye and distracted her for a moment. The crowd inTheSinnerrippled, like a pond with some creature swimming underneath, and people began to part. There was a low, respectful murmur, and Paisley found herself transfixed, waiting for someone remarkable to appear. This was Thomas' wife, was it not? Lady Emma, lady of a Keep?
Paisley conjured up memories of grand ladies back home – duchesses, baronesses, and princesses, all very regal and impressed with their own importance. They were the sort of people who managed to look down their noses at everyone, regardless of respective height and position.
They'd received a lot of invitations from fine ladies like that, and Paisley always dreaded their visits, and their endless, tedious balls and special occasions.
I've never met a Scottish Lady,she thought, curious despite herself.
Then the last few people shuffled respectfully out of the way, and a short, dark-haired, disheveled young woman with bright green fingers appeared. Paisley blinked.
