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 Englishton, 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.
