Glasgow Rogue, page 2
“Ye don’t believe, do ye, dearie?”
“Ah…” Annie swallowed, not sure how to respond. If Mrs. O’Connor was having a delusionary bout of some sort, would it be better to play along or to correct it? She didn’t have experience with flights of fancy due to aging—or, for that matter, flights of fancy, period—but Annie had never been one to lead someone on. She shook her head. “I doona think such creatures exist.”
Mrs. O’Connor was quiet for so long that Annie was afraid she’d insulted her. She was about to apologize when the woman smiled.
“Perhaps ye will one day.”
“Perhaps.” Annie wanted to say she doubted it, but she didn’t want to sound argumentative with the kindly, elderly lady.
“Good.” Mrs. O’Connor’s eyes brightened again. “’Tis all that can be asked.”
That remark left Annie feeling disconcerted, but before she could comment, one of the nuns came to escort Mrs. O’Connor to prayers. She turned in the doorway before she followed the sister out and looked back at Annie.
“Humor an old lady and don’t push that young man too far away, aye?”
“Aye,” Annie replied, more to appease Mrs. O’Connor than anything. She suspected she wouldn’t have any more luck pushing Niall away figuratively than she would if she actually tried the physical act of moving him. However, she might be able to elude him…especially if she left the home early. The other lady she normally visited had her daughter here today, so there was no need to see her, which meant that Annie had nearly an hour free.
The club had scheduled a meeting at the tearoom near the toll booth. She hadn’t promised Niall she would wait for him after all. She had merely acquiesced.
So why wait? Nothing bad was going to happen in broad daylight.
Chapter Two
“Annie—Miss Ferguson—left?” Niall started to curse, then remembered he was standing in the presence of one of the Sisters of Mercy. She was already frowning at his tone of voice. He managed to assume a more agreeable inflection. “Where did she go? When did she leave?”
The sister tucked her hands into the sleeves of her habit and studied him, as though she were deciding whether to answer. It was all Niall could do not to tell her to hurry the reply, but he doubted it would do much good. He tried giving her his most winning smile…the one that diffused even the most suspicious of mamas. The nun simply tightened her lips into a flat line. He sighed inwardly.
“Annie—Miss Ferguson—might be in danger.”
The sister looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
Again, he curbed his impatience, although he had the feeling he was wasting valuable time. Why couldn’t the lass have waited like he asked her to? If ye wish, she’d said. He should have known better than to believe Annie was going to listen to him. Now she was God-knew-where, without the benefit of an escort. “Miss Ferguson is known to be part of a ladies’ club that is not well-liked by certain groups of men.”
“You mean the Liberty and Progress Club?”
Naill didn’t try to hide his surprise. “Ye ken of it?”
The nun nodded primly. “Just because we are cloistered does not mean you should think us ignorant of what takes place outside these walls.”
“I dinnae mean ye were ignorant of such things.” He gave her another smile. “Ye seem to be quite intelligent.”
One eyebrow went up, but she said nothing. Niall wondered if somehow his notorious ability to charm females had been banished once he entered the convent. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t in the convent but in the home associated with it. Perhaps when nuns took their vows, they became immune to any type of commendation. In any event, the sister did not appear to be moved one bit. Rather like Annie. Although comparing Annie to a nun was rather like comparing lemonade to good Scots whisky. He tried a different approach.
“I assume ye are also aware that the ladies’ march with signs protesting the unions nae allowing them to work?”
“Annie has mentioned it.”
“Then ye have probably deduced the men in those unions are very angry about it.”
The sister frowned slightly. “Why should they be angry?”
The nuns were obviously sheltered, after all, although Niall thought it prudent not to point that out. “The men think the women would take away their jobs and their income.” When the sister’s face remained impassive, he added, “There was an incident several weeks ago where Annie came close to being abducted by two such men.”
The nun eyed him speculatively. “She never mentioned an incident.”
Niall sighed again. It would be just like Annie not to talk about it. He’d had the devil of a time prying the information out of her and he’d been at the boardinghouse when Alasdair had brought her and Bridget back, both disheveled. Annie insisted the attack was a one-time occurrence and she was too stubborn to admit otherwise.
“Miss Ferguson is lucky to be alive.”
Alarm flickered in the sister’s eyes. “Someone really tried to harm Annie?”
Normally, Niall would soften his answer to such a question, but time was of the essence and he’d already tried cajoling, to no avail. “Aye. She may nae be so lucky next time.” He gave that a moment to sink in. “The lass is nae safe walking the streets by herself right now, which is why I need to ken where she went.”
The nun shook her head. “I don’t know where she went, but she left about thirty minutes ago.”
“Thank ye!” Niall turned and raced out the door before waiting for a reply, but once on the sidewalk, he slowed his pace. Glasgow was a large city. Looking for Annie would be like searching for a lost sheep in the Great Glen. He’d already spent an additional ten minutes trying to wheedle out information. Where the hell did he start? He was fairly certain there were no protests planned for today or Annie would not have come to the Sisters of Mercy, but he couldn’t remember if the ladies had planned to meet. Not that Annie would tell him. Damnation. Protecting the lass would be a lot easier if she weren’t so determined to thwart him at every step. And he’d been wary all morning that she would try something like this.
Something niggled at the back of his mind and then he remembered. He’d been about to enter the kitchen yesterday when he heard Annie mention something to her mother about meeting several of the club members at that tearoom near Tolbooth this afternoon. She didn’t know he’d heard her, since he’d backed away silently, thinking he’d surprise her by appearing out of nowhere to escort her. He’d halfway harbored the hope she’d think he had an uncanny ability to read her thoughts, which was a rather stupid idea, in retrospect. But at least he had an idea of where she was headed.
As Niall turned in the direction of High Street, the hair at his nape began to prickle. His unease grew as he picked up his pace.
****
As Annie walked along Argyle Street on her way toward the Tolbooth steeple, she paused at the corner of Miller Street near a sand-colored Georgian mansion that had been owned by one of the Tobacco Lords who became prosperous before trade with America had been cut off because of the war. She always had mixed feelings about the “Virginia dons” who owned these homes. The wealth they accumulated allowed them to live like aristocrats—much to the dismay of blue-blooded, titled Englishmen—not that any self-respecting Scot gave a thistle about what the English thought. The trade in tobacco just proved what ordinary, common men could accomplish. The problem was that only men could achieve monetary goals. Their wives were still relegated to pouring tea in parlors.
Annie grimaced as she began to walk. It wasn’t like women weren’t educated. Her friends in the club were not only literate but most were quick with sums as well, yet they weren’t considered employable as accounting clerks or secretaries, let alone working directly in the trades. When would males ever acknowledge that females were just as intelligent and capable as they were?
An absolutely perfect example of such addled thinking was in the form of Niall MacDonald. Honestly! The man thought Annie could no more fend for herself than a bairn still in leading strings. She had managed quite well to get along for twenty-two years. Her mother had come to rely on Annie the past few years, since her father’s death, but even her father had encouraged her independence. Perhaps because he had no sons, but still.
Then Niall MacDonald had arrived on her doorstep, exuding pure masculine bravado, coupled with the ability to sound so sincere she almost believed his sweet-talk. Almost. When Niall wasn’t trying to bully her into obeying him, he tried to soften her up with compliments. Neither strategy was going to work. The sooner he learned that, the better off both of them would be.
At least, she’d managed to elude him this time. It was a start.
A block later, Annie paused again at Virginia Street. New office buildings had gone up in the past three years, once Napoleon had been defeated and the shipping lanes reopened to the Americas. How she would love to work in one of those offices! She hesitated a moment and then turned up the street. It wouldn’t hurt to have a closer look. Her club meeting didn’t start for another half hour anyway.
As she neared the third building, the door opened and three burly, unkempt men stormed out. It was evident from the raised pitches of their voices and their agitated expressions that all three of them were angry.
“’Tis nae a fair price they’re offering,” the first man said, his fists clenched.
“What do ye expect of an oaf of an Englishman?” the second one asked and spit on the ground.
“Aye. The damn fools think they can move into Scottish cities and act like they own us,” the third one replied. “They learned nothin’ from the wars. The French got tired of money being squandered on gold-gilded palaces and the Americans didn’t fancy taking orders from an English king. Neither do we Scots.”
“Right,” the first man affirmed. “’Tis as bad as takin’ orders from a woman.”
All three men smirked at that and then, as they noticed Annie on the sidewalk, their attention shifted. She didn’t like the looks in their eyes, but she resisted the urge to turn and run.
“Well, well,” one of them said. “Perhaps our luck is changin’.”
Another man grinned. “Ye may be right. A woman out alone is usually looking for one thing.”
“And she’s in luck too,” the third man said and guffawed. “There’s three of us to be had.”
Annie found her voice. “I am simply on my way to tea.”
The first man made a show of looking around. “Ain’t no tearoom on this street.”
“I know that.” Annie lifted her chin. “I was simply admiring the buildings.”
“Admirin’ the buildings?” the second one asked and laughed again. “Are ye sure ye ain’t lost? There’s boardinghouses a couple of blocks over, down by the river—”
“With rooms to let by the hour,” the third one finished. “’Tis a bit early for doxys to be wandering about, but we doona mind.” He looked to the other two men. “Do we?”
“Nae,” they said in unison and started walking toward her.
Annie willed her feet to move. Her shoes felt like they were filled with lead. “Ye doona understand—”
“Nothin’ to understand,” one man said. “We’ll just flip a coin to see who is first.”
“The first to die.”
Annie jumped at the sound of Niall’s voice. Before she could turn, he was beside her, one of his knives in each hand. The blades flashed as he flicked the handles, ready to throw.
“Any takers?” he asked.
All three men shook their heads as they backed up. “We dinnae mean nae harm,” one said.
Another added, “We thought she was a doxy.”
“She is nae a doxy.” Niall barked, his voice as sharp as his knives. “I am itching for a wee bit of practice with my blades, so unless ye want to be targets—”
“We’re leavin’,” the third man said and nearly knocked over the other two as they all turned at once and proceeded to run in the other direction.
Niall watched them go and then flicked the knives again with a deft motion that had each in its boot sheath before Annie could do more than blink. Slowly, she looked up at him. His face could have been chiseled out of stone. No doubt she was in for a lecture.
“That was impressive,” she said to avoid the scolding. “I had nae idea ye could handle knives like that.”
Niall shrugged.
“Ye must teach me.”
He raised a brow.
“Really. I…I could defend myself.”
The other brow went up.
Annie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Niall wasn’t standing that close, but she could feel heat steaming off him. Anger? “For someone who is so glib with words, ye certainly are nae saying much,” she said, a shade too brightly. “I was on my way to tea—”
“Ye dinnae wait.” The words came out, hard as stones tumbling down a crag. “Ye dinnae wait for me.”
He was angry. “One of the ladies I normally read to had a visitor, so I thought—”
“Ye dinnae wait.”
Her own temper began to flare. “Ye doona have to sound like a parrot. I heard ye the first time.”
His mouth tightened. “Ye promised to wait for me.”
Annie frowned. “I dinnae promise.”
“Ye agreed with me. Ye said ‘if ye wish.’ ’Tis the same.” His gray eyes penetrated hers. “Or does your word mean nothing?”
Oooh. That was too much. “Ye doona have the right to say such a thing. When I make a vow I keep it!”
One black brow rose again, and Annie willed herself not to fidget beneath Niall’s steady stare. “I just dinnae see any reason to wait for ye. ’Twas nae that long a walk to Tolbooth.”
“It was a long enough walk to place ye in danger, lass.”
She glanced away. “That was a fluke. Bad timing. I’ve walked Argyle Street a hundred times by myself. The chances of something like that happening again—”
“Once is enough.”
“I could have outrun them. I was just about to…”
Niall crossed his arms, making her aware of the powerful muscles in them and how broad his shoulders were. How strong his hands were, too, and how quickly he’d handled his knives. As much as she hated to admit it, his presence had stopped what could have been a bad situation. Probably would have been a bad situation…well, all right. It would have been bad. She cringed inwardly as Niall just stood there, waiting.
“I suppose ye might be right.”
“Might be?”
Annie scowled. She hated admitting she was wrong. “I might not have been able to outrun those men, even though they were overweight.”
“’Tis nae what we are talking about.”
She grimaced. “All right. I owe ye a big ‘thank ye’ for following me. This time.”
“Ye owe me nothing, lass.” Niall shifted his stance and tucked her hand inside his arm to begin walking. “The next time ye promise to wait for me, do it.”
Annie looked up at him. “Only if I promise. I’ll nae have ye ordering me about like a wee bairn.”
Niall shook his head and grunted something unintelligible in Gaelic. Annie decided not to ask. Besides, she needed her strength to keep walking for, suddenly, her knees were shaky.
****
Annie Ferguson was going to drive him completely barmy. Niall was sure of it. He’d probably be sprouting gray hair soon if he stayed in Glasgow much longer. In the four days that had passed since the incident on Virginia Street, the lass had managed to lead him all over the city, attending a meeting of the Progress Club at the tearoom and a visit to the museum that housed, of all things, legal documents related to the Magna Carta, as well as taking him on not one but three outings to look for a proper bonnet, which she hadn’t found. Not that she wore bonnets to begin with. Niall suspected Annie was deliberately trying his patience with escorting her everywhere.
Well, he hadn’t survived growing up with nine rowdy, devious brothers not to know a thing or two about biding his time.
But tonight was different. This wasn’t just another wild goose chase. Somehow, Aileen Douglas, the club’s president, had managed to secure ten minutes of speaking time during the Tuesday night meeting at the Trades Hall. Niall had been wary when Annie told him about it, but she’d insisted that a representative of the chairman had personally approved the request that all of them—Annie, Aileen, Cora, Fenella, Nairna, Kiara, Deirdre, and Inis—were allowed to attend.
Just to be sure there was no question that he was escorting the women and was prepared to defend them, Niall had chosen to wear his full tartan, complete with broadsword and several knife sheaths on his sporran belt. Not to mention leaving the handles of the sgian dubhs in his boots visible.
His apprehension only increased as he followed the ladies up the staircase to the Grand Hall. The first thing he didn’t like was that the stairs appeared to be the only exit. As they stepped inside the crowded room, the din of voices fell to a hush as the men realized they’d just been invaded by eight women. Women who held their heads high and marched, nearly in unison, toward the front of the room without looking right or left. The ensuing rumble of voices grew increasingly louder, and Niall didn’t like the tone of them, either. He fingered his blades as he sat down at the end of the front row of chairs that the ladies had claimed. Skilled as he was, he was no match for the large gathering. For once, he would have liked to have all his brothers with him.
A man—Niall supposed it was the chairman—appeared at the front of the room and gestured for the others to take their seats. An uneasy silence fell, but Niall could still hear harsh whispers. He really wished the women had decided to sit near the back, both because they would be closer to the exit and because they wouldn’t draw so much attention. But then, attention was what they wanted, wasn’t it? Niall resigned himself to shifting his chair slightly so he could have a partial view of the men behind him.
“What are those women doing here, Mr. James?” one man asked before the meeting could start.
