The Making of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland #1) - Elisa Braden Page 0,41

“But you require gowns, Miss Tulloch.” He allowed himself a lingering sweep of her lush form before continuing. “Desperately.”

“I’m a fair hand with a needle. All I need is—”

“A dressmaker. We’ll start here in Glenscannadoo. If the local woman won’t suffice, you’ll accompany me to Inverness.”

Looking slightly ill, Annie shoved away from the cart. “Fine,” she spat. “Let’s have done with it.”

He nodded toward the shop two doors down from Cleghorn’s. “I’ll meet you there. I’ve a few errands to attend first.”

She glowered suspiciously but retrieved Mrs. MacBean and tugged the old woman toward the shop.

He hurried through his errands, eager to see Annie’s reaction. Would she allow herself to be measured? She’d have to remove her plaid. Would she refuse to cooperate and scurry home? She’d have to admit he’d won the argument.

Either way, anticipation quickened his stride as he retrieved his post—another stack of letters from his family—before making a few purchases to ease the journey to Inverness.

He was almost certain Annie would cry off before leaving Glenscannadoo. Almost. But it was best to be prepared. The woman was far from predictable.

Upon entering the dressmaker’s shop, he paused. The shop was narrow and dark, so it took a moment to find her. And when he did, his heart kicked so hard, it bruised his stomach.

She was surrounded by women—four of them, to be precise. He recognized one as the dressmaker, Flora MacDonnell, a blonde with a sharp nose and dull mind. Another was Flora’s sister. The third might be the saddler’s wife. The fourth was an ash-haired, moon-faced MacDonnell named Grisel.

The four women were laughing.

And Annie was not. Rather, her expression had tightened to stone.

Little wonder. The women appeared to be pointing and plucking and laughing—at her.

“Do ye suppose she’ll even ken what to do with skirts?” sneered Grisel. “Might as well expect yer sow to play the fiddle.”

“She’s more lad than lass, true enough.” Flora’s pitying glance was its own form of ridicule. She spoke slowly and loudly, as though Annie were simpleminded. Or mad. “Ye really must have a corset first. I cannae fit ye properly with ye bein’ so …” The woman fluttered her fingers at Annie’s bosom. “Indecent.”

The second woman snorted her agreement. The third woman giggled. Grisel added, “Best ye wear gloves if ye’re forced to be near her, Flora. Mad Annie’s been known to bite.”

As they all laughed, a storm gathered in his chest.

“Miss Tulloch.”

Annie’s eyes flew to his.

They gutted him. She looked hunted. Tormented.

He didn’t know why she hadn’t already lashed the women with her sharp, defiant tongue. He didn’t know why she was pale and holding herself protectively. All he knew was that he must remove her from this place. Now.

He beckoned her with a wave of his hand. “We are leaving,” he said, using every ounce of authority he’d learned from his father.

She gave a jerky nod and started toward him. Grisel grasped her arm and whispered something to her as she passed. Annie flinched and yanked her arm free.

John’s fury was ordinarily the slow-burning sort. But not now. Fire flooded his veins until his vision tinged red. He charged forward and clasped Annie’s hand in his. She seemed startled but didn’t pull away. In fact, she hesitated only a moment before squeezing his hand in return.

“Come along,” he said, directing his most superior tone to the women who’d insulted her. “No sense purchasing gowns from a dressmaker who will very shortly be out of business.”

Flora MacDonnell blinked, her mouth agape and her face red. The others slunk backwards. Perhaps they understood their error. Perhaps not. But they soon would. He would make certain of it.

“M-Mr. Huxley,” Flora stuttered. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“I think a proprietress who’d like to keep her shop should treat her customers with better courtesy.” He lowered his voice. “I’d wager the MacPhersons agree.”

“Oh, no. I—I mean, aye.” Flora darted glances at the other women, but they all looked away. “I was only tryin’ to be … helpful.”

Annie’s fingers squeezed his again. “We should go,” she murmured.

He tucked her behind him then gave the women one last, hard look. This was not the first time they’d tormented Annie, that much was clear. Every one of them would need to be dealt with. He must speak with Angus. How had the MacPhersons allowed