Page 4 of Glasgow Rogue

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.

“This is not a social gathering,” another one added, to which a number of men concurred with loud murmuring.

Mr. James frowned. “It seems we have some unexpected visitors.”

Unexpected? Niall felt his ear perk up like a buck scenting danger to his doe. He glanced at Annie beside him and kept his voice low. “I thought ye said this had been approved.”

“I thought it was.”

“Ye thought? Ye were nae sure?”

“Well…” Annie shrugged. “The man Aileen talked to said he’d mention it to Mr. James.”

“He’d mention it…” Niall let his voice trail off and raked a hand through his hair.

By the devil’s horns! Did the lass not realize the danger she was in by infiltrating this meeting uninvited?

The weavers had just finished a strike and the tailors and hat-makers were two trades the women had recently targeted.

If their chairman didn’t welcome the women, things could take an ugly downturn quickly.

Didn’t Annie realize that? Or was she just too stubborn to care?

Niall didn’t need anyone to answer that question. “We should excuse ourselves and leave.”

Annie looked at him as though he were a foreigner not speaking English. Then her expression changed and when she spoke, it was in the tone one might use for a rather dimwitted bairn.

“We came here specifically to speak. We cannae—willnae—leave before we accomplish that.”

Niall suppressed a Gaelic curse. Barely. “Well, have Aileen get on with it, so we can go.”

“Oh, Aileen is nae going to speak. I am,” Annie said and rose to move forward before Niall could reach out to stop her.

Hell’s fires. The lass truly was going to drive him barmy. Silence swept the room as Annie approached the chairman. He did not look welcoming. Niall swore under his breath and fingered one of his knives.

“Mr. James,” Annie said, sounding as though she were greeting a guest at her mother’s boardinghouse. She gestured toward the other ladies. “Our—”

“Who are you?” one man shouted.

“I think they’re part of that damn women’s club that marches around town,” another answered.

“The ones who think they can take our jobs?” a third voice asked, followed by loud grumbles.

Niall started to rise as the chairman held up a hand to quiet the crowd. Slowly, Niall sat back down.

“I have no idea of why you are here,” Mr. James said to Annie. “Obviously, there has been a misunderstanding.”

“We were led to believe,” Annie continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted, “that we would be allowed ten minutes to speak.”

The chairman raised both eyebrows. “I can assure you I did not issue an invitation.”

“They need to leave!” another man shouted.

“Get out! We don’t want them here,” a second one yelled. “They want our jobs!”

Annie turned on them, eyes shooting sparks. Niall wasn’t sure her hair wouldn’t catch on fire, it was blazing so red. For a fleeting moment, he pictured her as the ancient warrior queen, Boudicca. Then he was on his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Before he reached her, though, a middle-aged man stood and held up a hand for silence. Mr. James nodded quickly, looking relieved for the distraction. “Mr. Haines. You wished to speak?”

“Aye. I do.” He turned to the rest of the crowd and grinned at them.

“It’s been my experience that if a woman is determined to speak her mind, that is what she is going to do.

” He waited until a few twitters of laughter died down.

“Now, the way I’m looking at it, let the lady have her ten minutes and then they’ll leave and we can get on with our meeting. ”

There was some grumbling, but when Mr. James nodded, the noise died away. Mr. Haines smiled at Annie. “Miss…?”

“Annie Ferguson,” she answered, “and thank ye.”

The older man nodded affably and sat down.

Niall took his seat too, although he’d rather have stayed standing.

Then he groaned as Annie began to speak about why women were marching.

She couldn’t take a more diplomatic approach, considering the odds weren’t exactly in their favor?

He heard low rumbling behind him. Niall raked his hand through his hair again.

The lass was definitely going to drive him to an early old age… if they made it out of here alive.