“We are near five-and-ten,” Caitlin muttered.
“Practically grown-ups,” Caylin added.
“Nae. ’Tis the end of the discussion,” Ian said.
“Aye. ’Tis the end of the talk,” Niall stated. “I have already decided the best course to take.”
“Which is?” Jillian asked.
“I will marry Annie before we leave,” Niall answered. “Do ye have a priest that can be summoned?”
Annie stared at Niall, speechless.
Ian nodded. “Aye. I can have him here tomorrow.”
“Wait.” Annie finally found her voice. “What kind of a daft idea is that?”
“’Tis an excellent idea,” Ian said. “As your husband, Niall can legally protect ye.”
“How…” Annie started to sputter as she completed her own thought. “Be-because I…I will be his property! Is that it?”
Niall frowned. “I dinnae mean it like that.”
Annie turned on him. “But ’tis true. A woman is considered chattel, according to English law. Ye would own me.”
“I cannae change the law—”
“If I might interrupt?” Jillian asked and looked at Annie. “’Tis nae so bad to be married—”
“’Tisnae so bad?” Ian glowered at her. “’Tis nae sobad?”
Jillian smiled at him, unfazed, and leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. “When you are bad, you always make it up to me, do you not?”
Two spots of color highlighted Ian’s face, which would have been comical given that he usually looked more ready to do battle with a whole army, but Annie still couldn’t get her thinking straight. Jillian turned back to her.
“I cannot speak for how Niall feels—and this is certainly not the place for that—but he is a good man who will treat you well and take care of you always. I am sure about that.”
“Aye, I’ve proved myself on that point several times,” Niall said and looked at Annie. “Have I nae?”
Annie nodded reluctantly and looked down at her hands. Niall had gotten her out of several dangerous situations, even if she didn’t count the last one. But he had done so out of a sense of honor. That was not a reason to get married. If—and it was a hugeif—she ever got married, it would be because the man loved her. She nearly gasped as the full impact of that thought struck her. She’d never considered herself a romantic—she’d only read parts ofPride and Prejudiceand thought some of the sentiments rather silly—but yes, if she were going to allow herself to be owned according to English law, then by all that was holy, she’d have to be convinced the man actually loved her.
Annie glanced up at Niall and then past him to focus on an oil painting of Ben Nevis, majestic and towering, yet tranquil as well. Hardly what she was feeling. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to Niall and, if the ride home had been an indication, he was attracted to her too—at least that he wanted her body. But Broderick had wanted that as well. Coupling did not constitute love.
“I am truly grateful for all the times ye have been by my side when trouble called,” Annie said. “Ye dinnae have to do that.”
“I told ye weeks ago that I would be responsible for ye. That has nae changed.” Niall shrugged. “We may argue, lass. ’Tis in our blood. But I will never harm ye. Ye have my word on that.”
“I believe ye,” Annie said as she stood, “but my answer is nae. I will nae marry ye.”
****
Niall leaned on the rail of the ship as it approached its berth in Oban’s harbor and shook his head. He’d been shaking it so much the past two days, it was a wonder his brain wasn’t addled. Annie Ferguson had to be the most perverse, stubborn female he had ever met. Not only did she refuse a very practical proposal that would have kept her safe, she wouldn’t even explainwhyshe was so adamantly mulish. Every time he’d tried to bring it up on the journey south, she’d simply smiled and thanked him for his offer and then added that she didn’t wish to discuss it.
Well, he wanted to discuss it and, by God, he would before they reached Glasgow. He understood—he really did—that Annie didn’t want to be dependent on a man. Margaret had much the same temperament, and from what Niall had observed about Bridget, she had an independent streak as well. Still, she had married Alasdair. And Niall didn’t expect Annie to give up her Progress Club activities. He’d even told her so at least twice since they boarded the ship. He didn’t expect her to sit inside a house all day working on needlepoint or watercolors.
Hell, he really didn’t know what he expected. Or why he couldn’t just let go of the idea. It wasn’t as though he had been actively seeking a wife. Marriage was something he figured he’d put off for another five or even ten years. And he’d envisioned—more or less—that the lass would be biddable. Certainly a word that would never apply to Annie Ferguson. Marriage to her would be a constant uphill battle of challenges.
But maybe that was what he wanted and he just hadn’t recognized it before. He couldn’t recall a single animated orthought-provoking conversation he’d had with any female he’d bedded. Dialogue before coupling was intended to reach that goal. Talk afterwards consisted mostly of satisfied murmurings and not-so-subtle invitations from his bedmates for repeat performances, which he rarely did since he didn’t want any female to get too attached. All those romps had been pleasant and he’d taken care not to leave any girl with a by-blow, but that’s all the experiences had been. Enjoyable, if somewhat blurred, interludes. He suspected a first time with Annie would be seared into his brain like a brand from a hot iron.
