"We're goin' after her, then?" Thomas said, lifting an eyebrow.
Dominic snarled. "Oh aye. And when I catch him, he'll wish he'd never set eyes on her, let alone laid hands on her."
19
Paisley opened her eyes, and immediately wished she hadn't. A vivid glare burned against her face, and there was a viciously throbbing pain in her head.
She squeezed her eyes closed again, trying to take stock of her surroundings. Memories filtered back, slowly and relentlessly, and her stomach twisted queasily, trying to turn itself inside out.
She remembered the cold, vice-like grip on her arm as she stepped outside of the Great Hall into one of the smaller corridors. It was Lord Ainsley, of course. Of course he'd followed her. Paisley knew then that leaving Dominic's side was the stupidest thing she'd ever done.
Too late now.
"Scream, and I'll cut you from gullet to pubis," Lord Ainsley said sweetly, the ice-cold tip of a dagger poking through the insufficient material of her dress, burning her skin.
She believed him.
They marched down the corridor together, the blade pressed against her lower back. From there, Paisley knew that it could reach all manner of important organs, or even sever her spine. In her imagination, she was braver than this, shouting out even as Lord Ainsley dug his knife into her flesh.
In reality, she only shivered and walked onwards.
She remembered seeing Emma coming towards her, flashing a welcoming smile. An old man was leaning on Emma's arm, telling her some long and complex story.
Lord Ainsley had leaned forward to whisper in Paisley's ear.
"A friend of yours, eh? Well, if you say a word to her, or even so much as wiggle your eyebrows, I'll slice her stomach open, and leave her to bleed. A nasty, slow death, that sort of thing. It's a quiet hallway there. No help will come, and that frail old man won't put up much of a fight."
Paisley had swallowed reflexively, and kept her eyes trained on the corridor ahead as Emma passed by.
Then they were outside, the cold taking her breath away, and Lord Ainsley had shoved her into a carriage.
The door had barely shut behind them before he was on her, holding a cloth soaked with something pungent and choking across her face. Paisley had tried to scream and struggle, but the edges of her vision were already starting to blur, and her limbs lost their strength almost immediately.
And now she was here.
And where is here, exactly?Paisley thought nervously, cracking open an eye.
The painful glare of light that had hurt her so much to begin with was a lantern, placed too close to her face. She was lying on her side on a pallet bed, without sheets, pillow, or even very much straw in the mattress.
It was dark in here, lit only by the hot glare of the lantern, and she could see only floorboards within her field of vision.
And a pair of boots. They were highly polished Hessians, gleaming in the light of the lantern. The owner of the boots was sitting with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles.
"Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes," came a nasty, familiar voice. Paisley couldn't help the way her whole body stiffened at that sound.
She dragged herself up, propping herself on one elbow, and glared at him.
Lord Ainsley was seated on a chair facing her, the only whole piece of furniture in the grimy little cabin. He was grinning at her.
Like the cat that's got the cream,Paisley thought, in Ava's voice.
There'd always been something feline about Lord Ainsley. That suited him, somehow. Paisley didn't mind cats, but there was always a cruel streak in them. She'd watched too many of the kitchen cats catching mice and rats, torturing the poor things for hours before getting bored and ending the whole business with the flick of a claw.
Shuddering, Paisley pulled herself into a sitting position.
They were in a single-roomed cabin, drafty and poorly built, with the window badly boarded up, revealing cracks of night sky outside. There were two hefty men in black, one crouched over the fire and trying in vain to bring it to life, the other swigging some amber liquid from a glass bottle.
That brought Paisley's attention back to the captor, since there wasn't much else to look at. Lord Ainsley was watching her intently, with the enjoyment of somebody waiting for the climax of a play, or perhaps an opera.
