The older woman darted forward, red-faced. "I am so sorry, me lady, Dora doesn't know..."
"That is a marvelous idea!" Paisley gasped. "Oh, it looks so practical!"
Dora beamed wider. "The healers like Lady Emma do this. I think it looks very fine."
"It certainly does. I shall have to look into such a thing for myself."
Paisley smiled, thinking of the horror that would ensue if she wore such a contraption back home. Revealing heranklesandcalves, even though they were encased in several layers of fabric and a pair of high boots? Oh, her reputation would never recover. People would faint. They'd talk about it forever.
But how much easier it would be to walk, to run, to climb things.
"What was your name, please?" Paisley asked the older woman. She seemed to be in her late twenties, with jet-black hair, shockingly pale eyes, and a prematurely lined face.
The woman smiled nervously. "Me name is Moira, me lady."
"It's a pleasure to meet you both, Moira and Dora. I hope to meet you again soon."
Then Dominic was drawing her away into the crowd, leaving Moira and Dora behind.
"Who were those two?" she asked, twisting to look behind her.
Dominic glanced back and suppressed a smile. "Me sisters."
"Yoursisters?"
"Aye. Ye wouldnae think it, not by Dora's behavior."
"I thought they were both very charming."
"Oh, and ye daenae findmecharming, do ye?"
Paisley gave a short laugh. "That's hardly fair. You don'ttryto be charming, not like those girls."
He gave a low chuckle. "Oh, ye daenae know them well enough. Witches, both of them. Now, the music is starting up. Do ye fancy a dance?"
Paisley's heart thudded in her chest. It had been fun and amusing when she'd twirled around the pub with Rabbie, arm in arm and chest to chest, but the idea of doing that with Dominic was another matter entirely.
She cleared her throat.
"Yes, but I don't know the steps very well."
He chuckled throatily. "Oh, I shouldnae worry. That doesnae matter too much. Shall we?"
He led her out to the middle of the floor, where the crowd were pulling back to make space, and a few couples were taking their places.
Dominic held out his arms, and Paisley tried to copy the position that Rabbie had showed her. Dominic's smile widened, vulpine and alluring, and that ache twisted in Paisley's gut again.
"Yer first Ceilidh," he remarked, almost to himself. "It'll be an experience, lass. I can tell ye that."
With a jaunty blast of sound, the music began, and chaos broke out.
Paisley was a good dancer, back home. A person practiced and practiced the steps until they were smooth and effortless, always elegant, always graceful. A poor partner – somebody who missed the steps, trod on your toes, or went the wrong way in the promenade – was an embarrassment. It was very important to dance well, keeping to the measure of the music, stately and dignified as always.
The Ceilidh, it seemed, did not subscribe to the same rules.
The steps were frantic and haphazard, getting faster and faster in time to the music, which followed no measure that Paisley had ever heard before. It was the fastest dance Paisley had ever taken part in, and certainly the wildest.
One couple went the wrong way and bumped into her, nearly knocking her off balance, but nobody seemed shocked or angry, people just laughed. People whooped and hollered, clapping their hands, yelling encouragement to each other.
