Page 27 of Deception and Desire
“I do not enjoy being teased, Mr. MacNaughton.” Though her tone was sharp, a smile tugged at her lips. “But I suppose I deserved that.”
“Och now, teasing is my way. I only do it to those I like, ye ken.” He bent low and whispered, “And I do believe I like ye verra much.”
Fenella didn’t respond, but a surge of happiness rushed through her. Yes, she liked this man, too, but she wouldn’t admit it just yet. Her trust in men was limited to her father these days, but the MacNaughtons seemed a good lot. She’d keep an open mind but would not be fooled twice. Yet, she couldn’t help wondering why she was able to be so bold with him—if she didn’t think about it.
They arrived on another landing and entered a room as busy as the one below with the power looms. This large space also contained long rows of machines. Spinning mules of wood and steel, set up in pairs, with one worker moving back and forth to operate each duo of whirling thread and revolving spools. The noise was almost as loud as the weaving shed.
“Do you ken the process of wool from raw to cloth?” Lachlan asked, leaning close so he didn’t have to yell over the din.
“Only the difference in price and that it comes from sheep!” Her analytical mind was fascinated with the commotion. “Could you give me a quick lesson?”
He nodded. “Ye saw the bags downstairs? They’re sent to the washing room, soaked and dried, then sent here.” She followed him to the far end of the room where a different type of apparatus was being fed fluffy puffs of white.
“Once the wool is clean, it’s sent through these rollers.” He pointed to the puffs fed into the rotating cylinders covered in tiny saw-like teeth. “This straightens the fibers and removes any remaining debris. Sheep are a dirty lot and live close to the ground.”
He stooped to snatch some of the cast-off fluff collecting below the mechanism, picking out a dead leaf and a small twig. They walked past the chambers, spitting out a thin web of spidery filaments. Something that looked like a long rake divided the web and rolled the strands into long, continuous fragile ropes. Lachlan indicated the thicker fibers that were then rolled into larger loose forms. “This final stage before spinning is calledroving. It’s more of a rough yarn, and the mechanical mules spin it into fine thread, ready for weaving downstairs.”
Lachlan wore a satisfied smile as he concluded his explanation. “Are ye properly impressed, Miss Franklin?”
“Indeed, Mr. MacNaughton.” Fenella enjoyed the feel of his hand at the small of her back as he guided her across the room, smiling and nodding at the employees as they went.
Colin was waiting for them at the door, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. “Showing off, eh?”
“Just an introduction to the business of textiles.” Lachlan narrowed his eyes as he looked up at his cousin. “What is it? Ye never look for me unless there’s trouble or whisky involved.”
“He’s had a suspicious nature since he was a bairn,” the giant said to Fenella, mock indignation on his face and humor shining in his blue eyes. “Sometimes I fetch him for both.”
Lachlan snorted. “Then ye need my fists.”
Colin nodded. “Ian needs ye on the dock. Some unwelcomevisitorsdinna want to leave.”
Fenella looked from one MacNaughton to the next. Tension radiated between them.
“Aye, I’m ready,” he grinned. “Will ye take Miss Franklin to the office? I’m sure she’s had enough of my company by now.” He gave her a nod and took the stairs two at a time.
“Well, he’s certainly in a hurry,” she remarked as she followed Colin back to the office. “Is there an emergency?”
“Och, no. Some rabble trying to stir up the workers. Dinna worry yer bonnie head about it.”
Dissention? She watched him barely fit through the next doorway, his dark head ducking beneath the frame. Fenella wondered why Lachlan had been summoned rather than Colin.
“If there is need for, er, brute force, I would think you would be the most logical choice. You’re so…”
“Clever?” he asked, turning to face her. He laughed as she blushed. “I’ll join them directly, but Lachy relishes a good skelping. He’ll want to be there for the start of it.”
“You mean fighting?” Her father had enjoyed sparring at Jackson’s, but it was monitored with rulesandgloves. He’d never beenhurt. “He enjoys it?”
“Aye, nothing like a good fray to clear the head and release some energy. A mon has few enough pleasures in this life.” He opened the door to the office and stepped aside. “Now ye’ll excuse me, I’m needed on the dock.”
Fenella watched the hulking form move down the corridor with surprising speed. Did all men enjoy fisticuffs? Or just the Scots? Or perhaps it was a uniquely MacNaughton pastime. Curiosity tugged at her. She left the office and followed Colin’s path. At the end of the hall, there was a large window that faced the river. The glass was filthy, so she made a fist and wiped away a circle of the dust.
There were about a dozen men dressed in homespun and wool caps, milling about the dock. Ian and Lachlan stood at the front of the crowd, observing a man yelling and waving his hands dramatically. Ian shook his head, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and then waving toward the sky—or to the north? The angry fellow turned, his arms out, saying something to his followers, who lifted their fists and started to yell. What were they arguing about? What was the purpose of confronting the MacNaughtons? She knew the tradesmen at home and in Scotland were unhappy about wages. Perhaps this group thought this was another mill bleeding the poor.
Lachlan rolled up his sleeves, then removed his neckcloth. He bent slightly, and she saw his hand move down to his calf and pat something inside his stocking. The hilt of a dagger flashed in the sunlight. She sucked in a breath, her palms and forehead pressed against the pane. When he left the knife in its place, relief flooded her. But only for a moment.
One of the thugs pushed to the front and spit at Ian. Fenella gasped, her stomach knotting in a tight ball. She couldn’t see Lachlan’s face but sensed the rage. In that second, his fist shot out and caught the man’s jaw, sending him flying into the group of onlookers. Chaos followed. Ian kicked one ruffian in the stomach, knocking over two behind him. Someone had grabbed Lachlan from behind so another could have free rein at his face. She watched in horror as Lachlan slammed his head backward into his captor’s skull. The man crumpled to the ground. With his arms free, Lachlan jammed his knee into the attacker’s stomach, doubling him over. He raised both his fists and smashed them down on the man’s shoulders. He collapsed, and Lachlan grabbed a fistful of his hair and sent him reeling sideways.
Fenella couldn’t take her eyes from the bedlam below. Colin appeared, picked up a protestor in each monstrous paw, clanked their heads together, and tossed them into the river. A giggle escaped as the hooligans still standing took flight. There didn’t seem to be any rules in this bout.
