Page 3 of Glasgow Rogue

“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.”