Page 16 of Glasgow Rogue

Did he have to look so formidable? He must not have shaved since yesterday, because stubble shadowed his face, which just made him look darker and more contentious. And she had dreamed that he had gently kissed her? Annie felt her face warm. “The men dinnae want to hear us.”

“Well, at least we agree on that.” He lowered his brow. “’Tis good ye are embarrassed about going there.”

Annie blinked. He thought she was embarrassed about attending the meeting?

What she was embarrassed about was the dream…

especially the end of it when he was about to kiss her.

Dear God! Worse, she had wanted him to. In the dream, that is.

Dear God. How could she have even dreamed of such a thing?

Niall’s mouth—she gave it a fleeting glance—was so set it could have been sculpted of marble.

Definitely not kissable. She needed to forget that blasted dream, yet it had seemed so real… Her face heated even more.

Niall frowned. “Ye are verra flushed, lass. Are ye sure ye are nae running a fever?”

Drat her fair skin. She certainly couldn’t tell him the real reason her face was on fire.

He’d probably be horrified that she had even thought about what his lips would feel like on hers.

Or worse, he’d laugh. Like Broderick. She felt her face flame and put her hands to her cheeks, hoping to hide the color.

She had to leave. Annie pushed back her chair and stood. “I think perhaps I do need to return to my room.”

Niall stood too. “Do ye want me to walk with ye? Ye doona look well.”

“I…I will be fine.” Annie forced herself to walk, and not run, to the door. “I just need a bit more rest. I’ll be better in the morning.”

Niall looked unsettled. “Until morning, then.”

She nodded and turned into the hall. At least, she could be grateful that she had escaped the lecture she was sure Niall had planned. But her relief was short-lived, since Niall called after her.

“In the morning, we will discuss why ye slipped away from me.”

****

Niall sat back down after Annie left. He didn’t think he’d ever met such a stubborn female, and that was saying something, considering his own sister was willful and tenacious, not to mention his sister-by-marriage being equally headstrong and obstinate.

Niall had actually laughed at Alasdair when Bridget flaunted his orders.

Requests really, not orders. It wasn’t so funny now. Annie was worse…she was intractable.

What had possessed those women to think they could march into the Trades Hall and talk to union workers about taking their jobs?

Did they think the men would just sit there and listen to them politely as though they were asking for donations for the almshouse?

Niall sighed. That was more than likely exactly what they thought.

And that was where women were different from men.

Women trusted. Women were civil. Niall couldn’t remember a single meeting of opposing Highland clans—even to discuss truces and alliances—where everyone wasn’t well-armed and only a step or two away from brawling.

Didn’t those ladies of the Progress Club recall their last encounter at the Trades Hall?

Niall grimaced. He remembered Annie had thought that evening had gone quite well.

They’d been lucky to leave without violence breaking out.

The undercurrent had been angry, but the ladies didn’t think the boos and jeers were anything to worry over.

Another difference between men and women.

Besides that, women were vulnerable. They might deny it—Annie most certainly would—but that didn’t change the fact.

Men were bigger and stronger and, when threatened, reacted physically.

Those union workers had come prepared to hurl rotten fruit and vegetables.

Annie had gotten hurt. She could have been killed.

Annie could have been killed. Niall shuddered.

The sight of her lying on the ground with blood flowing from the head wound had been an image he’d tried to push away all day.

Now it returned in stark reality. He remembered how fragile she had seemed when he carried her down the steps.

How warm and soft she had felt in his arms and how her face had nestled perfectly against his shoulder, the light lavender scent of her hair making her seem all the more delicate—a description she would no doubt denounce with some colorful words.

The kiss he’d brushed across her cheek had made him want to taste the fullness of her lips…

“There ye are!” Aidan came through the doorway, followed by Owen. “We were looking for ye out in the public room.”

“I didnae feel up to handling a load of questions,” Niall replied. “Did ye find any answers?”

“Aye.” Both men sat down and Aidan looked to Owen. “Do ye want to go first?”

“We could not find the man who actually threw the cabbage,” Owen said, “but that is not surprising since there were a number of cabbages on the floor.”

“Nae to mention the union workers are a tight-knit group who will nae speak against their own,” Niall said.

“Aye,” Aidan replied, “but Mr. James is willing to admonish the men who were involved.”

“Hindsight is always sharp, nae?” Niall asked.

“Hindsight and perhaps what occurred being mentioned in the papers,” Owen said. “I am sure there was probably a reporter or two there.”

“’Twould be good if the rest of Glasgow kens what happened.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps nae,” Aidan said.

Niall frowned at him. “Nae? The union workers acted like brutes.”

“I am nae arguing that point,” Aidan replied, “but tempers are already running high due to low wages and the English government trying to control the unions. If the rest of Glasgow starts condemning them for what transpired, they might blame—and hate—the women in the Progress Club even more.”

“Then Annie needs to cease working at the warehouse,” Niall said.

Aidan raised a brow. “Somehow, I doona see her agreeing to do that.”

“Of course she will nae agree to it.” Niall set his jaw. “I will persuade her.”

The other brow went up. “Have ye learned nothing from Alasdair? He was nae successful in curbing Bridget.”

“That was different,” Niall answered.

“Be that as it may,” Owen said, “but the warehouse is probably fairly safe.”

Niall folded his arms across his chest. “How so?”

“First of all, the barley farmers who use the warehouse are not involved with the unions,” Owen replied. “Neither are our kelp shipments.”

“But what of the weavers? Half the warehouse is full of woolens.”

Owen nodded. “But the weavers were not there last night. Haines assured me they had walked out before the melee started.”

“Why did they leave?”

“They were nae happy with the women speaking,” Aidan said.

“Which just proves my point, nae?” Niall asked. “If the weavers are angry, they might vent that on Annie while she is at work.”

“Haines assured us that he will deal directly with the weavers, and Kingsley vowed to keep order at the warehouse.”

Niall didn’t particularly like Kingsley, but the man had the size to impose order among the workers.

Perhaps Annie would be safe for a few days until Niall could figure a way to convince her to seek other employment.

Meanwhile, he would double his efforts of escorting her everywhere, armed to the teeth.

She wasn’t going to slip away from him so easily again.

“There is just one more thing,” Owen said.

Niall turned to him. “What?”

“I also spoke to Inis today.” Owen had an odd expression on his face, one that Niall couldn’t read. The hair at Niall’s nape began to rise. “And?”

“The women are organizing a protest march.”

“They are doing what?”

“A protest march,” Owen repeated. “They intend to use what happened to Annie as a way to shame the men for their actions.”

Niall was suddenly very glad he was sitting down. Hellfire and damnation. Annie Ferguson was going to be the death of him yet.