Outlaw's Angel (16 page)

“The room is stuffy. Shannon, why not open the window?”

Lord Cambridge did not pause as Shannon crossed the room behind him and unlocked the glass panes. Opening the window, she waited a moment, then crossed again in back of his Lordship, this time glancing into his hand. Although part of the cards were covered, she could clearly discern two face cards and no aces. Returning to the table, she pretended to fix her hair, using two fingers.

Devon played his part admirably. He scarcely looked up, frowning at his cards instead, attracting Lord Cambridge more to his actions than Shannon’s. Requesting another card, he ignored his Lordship’s chuckle, sighing in regret.

“Let us sweeten the bet,” Lord Cambridge said, tossing the remainder of his coins onto the pile

Devon’s confident grin vanished. “You can’t be that sure.”

“Can’t I, lad?” Cambridge grinned. “It could be merely a ruse to throw you off. You can’t know, can you? Would you prefer to quit?”

“No,” Devon said, ignoring Shannon’s frightened look.

“As you wish.” Lord Cambridge placed his hand on the table, his lace cuff partially hiding a card. “I believe I win.”

Aghast, Devon stared at the cards. There was no mistake. His eyes flew to Shannon’s. The Irish girl leaned forward, her face whitening as she surveyed the cards. It couldn’t be. There were only two face cards in his hand a moment ago, and now two queens and an ace stared back at her.

“I believe I’ll claim my reward.” Lord Cambridge slid his arm through Shannon’s, grinning as he did so.

“Devon!” Shannon hissed. “Do something!”

“You can’t go yet,” Devon said lamely. “One more hand, double the bet.”

“I’m sorry,” Cambridge said regretfully, his hand tightening on Shannon. “I have an early day tomorrow. And I want some time to enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

“You bastard.” Devon leaped to his feet, Cambridge raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Do not think of doing something foolish, my friend. My servant waits outside, just in case of such an event. You do recall One Shot Harry? I thought as much.”

“Devon!” Shannon shouted as Lord Cambridge carried her, squirming and kicking, from the room. Devon watched the door slam in his face, before cursing and tossing the brandy glass well across the room.

At dawn, Kyle found himself at the Falcon Tavern when the messenger arrived. The party had conveniently rejoined there, long after the more proper gathering in the hall had withered with the greying of the eastern sky. After seeing Marisa safely to her room, Kyle was filled with thoughts of her, her body clothed in a damp filmy shift like a cloud of milkweed. Normally a solitary man, he was unwilling this morning to be alone. Conversation would prevent further thoughts of Marisa, as would a vast quantity of ale.

Douglass saw that he had both. Signalling to Mac, he had Kyle’s cup refilled continually. He understood how difficult it was for Kyle to handle his emotions where the lovely Marisa was concerned. It was a damnable situation. Kyle’s notions of chivalry would never permit him to marry, not when he was living under a sentence and committed to his country. And yet, Douglass was beginning to wonder if it was worth the price. Privately, he feared it was not.

“Drink up, man! Are ye abstaining?”

Kyle smiled calmly, watching Douglass fill his cup to the brim. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.” Seated on a long bench at a bawdy tavern, surveying all that went on around him through slightly intoxicated eyes, Kyle made an impressive figure. His long body was stretched out on a bench like a Roman aristocrat enjoying a night of debauchery.

Douglass grinned, then the smile vanished. “Is that your man from London?”

Kyle lifted his head languidly, watching as the hawk-faced man approached.

“Rainsford,” Kyle said. The man nodded, then took Douglass’s cup. After drinking noisily from it, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and grinned.

“One and the same.”

Kyle smiled. Rainsford was an unassuming man, the type that would blend into a crowd yet be welcomed for a night of ale swilling by his warm-humored ways. He shuffled through life like an old but uncanny bloodhound, ferreting out secrets in such a clumsy manner that no one realized he’d betrayed anything until it was too late.

“How did you find London?” Douglass asked, peering into the bottom of his cup with a frown.

“Hot,” Rainsford responded quickly.

Kyle laughed, the sound mingling pleasantly with Douglass’s loud chuckle. But the levity left his voice as quickly as it came. “Did you learn anything?”

“Aye.” Rainsford smoothed his mustache and leaned closer to Kyle with an air of importance. “You’ve aroused quite an interest in London. The town is abuzz with legends of the Avenging Angel. Fair maidens cry out in their sleep, whether from fear or desire my sources can’t discern.” Then, abruptly, “The duke is willing to talk. He wants the young lady returned immediately.”

“Ah.” Kyle smiled confidently, taking a delicate sip from his cup and focusing carefully on the messenger. “Did he agree to our terms?”

“He refuses to negotiate until the girl is safely home. Apparently, the duke has little love or trust for Highlanders.”

“Pity,” Kyle said coldly. “He will have to learn to trust if he wants Marisa back.”

“I wonder about that.”

Kyle looked at Rainsford sharply, but the man would not meet his eyes. He was hiding something. Kyle studied him covertly, aware of the slight twitch in his eyelids and the nervous way he glanced around the room.

“Why? Did something else happen? I want all of the information.”

Rainsford shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, since ye asked…The young lord has come after Marisa. He is somewhere in the lowland region at this point. I’ve traced him as far as an old woman’s hut. Seems he spent the night there.”

“Devon?” Kyle’s silvery glance lost some of its pleasant intoxication.

“Devon. He means to get his fiancée back on his own,”

“’Tis strange that milord would soil his linen in such a journey,” Kyle said thoughtfully.

“Apparently he is attached to the girl. Although the marriage was arranged through Alastair Travers and the duke—who, by the way, have some odd relationship for a merchant and nobility—the young lord seems devoted to the chit. Why else would he travel halfway across the country just to safeguard her return? It is certainly not like the Devon I’ve heard tell of.”

“Nor I,” Douglass said. “What do you make of it, Angel?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Kyle replied, his eyes glittering strangely. Devon. Travelling halfway across the country, for Marisa. That the woman was worth it, Kyle couldn’t deny. But strangely, he hadn’t thought that Devon, the dandified fop who’d betrayed him in London, could have feelings for Marisa. And she for him? Without knowing it, Kyle’s lips tightened, his jaw working imperceptibly into a painful tension. Could she have fooled him all this time, used him as her lover, a safeguard until her fiancée caught up with them? With another woman, he would not have thought twice, but Marisa was as intelligent as she was beautiful. It would have occurred to him in her situation, and he would have done exactly the same thing. Could he blame her for wanting to survive, in the easiest possible way?

“Kyle?”

Kyle glanced up, amazed to see that Rainsford had gone, vanishing like a spectre into the smoke-filled room. Douglass stared at him, obviously worried. “Kyle, ye don’t think that—”

“—that Marisa is perhaps devoted to Lord Sutcliffe?” Kyle shrugged, his smile terrible. “Why not? He is her affianced. He is also of her class. Their families are close; he can offer her everything.”

“But I don’t think…”

“A man like Devon does not drop everything and chase after a woman if she means nothing to him,” Kyle said, his voice containing as much warmth as a cirrus cloud. “It only stands to reason that the man believes his feelings are reciprocated. Strange that I had not taken this into account before now.”

“Kyle, ye won’t do anything rash?”

The Angel smiled, but it was without a trace of amusement. “Do not fear, Douglass. Our little Danaid will not suffer because of what Rainsford said. It is I who have been the fool.”

Chapter Sixteen

Lord Cambridge’s smile could more accurately be described as a leer as he faced Shannon across the table.

“Enough of your shyness, my Irish rose,” he grinned. “Come, sit on my lap and give me a big kiss. I won you, after all.”

“Milord,” Shannon choked on the formality, but she sought to appeal to the man’s sense of decency, “you had to know I wasn’t party to that ridiculous wager. Devon thought he would win. Neither of us intended for me to—”

“—share my bed this night?” Lord Cambridge slowly unbuttoned the lace cuffs of his shirt while Shannon gulped. “But that you will, my dear. A bet is a bet.”

“But that hand was impossible!”

“How would you know that, Miss Shannon, unless you were cheating? My hand won; now it’s only fair that you pay up. We are quite alone, my dear.” He gestured to her dress. “Do not be shy. My mouth waters to think of what that frock hides.”

Thinking quickly, Shannon clutched her stomach, forcing a pained expression without too much difficulty.

“Is something wrong?” his Lordship asked impatiently, already fingering the buttons of his trousers.

“Why, yes,” Shannon replied. “You see, I need to…that is…”

Lord Cambridge smiled. “I see. I am not totally without sympathy for your situation, in spite of what you may think. I will allow you a few minutes in which to prepare yourself. There is wine on the table and a chamber pot beneath the bed.” He bowed graciously. “I shall return shortly. Pray make use of the time.”

“Thank you, milord,” Shannon said. She stood meekly to one side until Lord Cambridge firmly shut the door and his footsteps died in the hall. Without wasting a precious moment, Shannon tried the portal, disappointed to find it was locked. The window and the servant’s door yielded the same result. Frustrated, Shannon searched the room, looking for a tool, something she could use to force the door.

The room was sumptuously furnished, with a huge poster bed, a dresser, a small table and two chairs, and a desk. Rifling carelessly through the man’s belongings, Shannon found nothing. At last the desk caught her eye. She opened the tiny drawer and grasped the letter opener she found there.

God hears some of my prayers, she thought, taking the thin blade and jimmying it between the door and the frame. At first the rusty lock refused to yield. Then, gradually, she heard a grating noise and was rewarded by a loosening of the handle. Unfortunately, at the same time, footsteps resumed outside. Holding her breath for what seemed to be forever, Shannon sighed with relief as she recognized the voice on the other side.

“Shannon? It’s me, Devon. Can you open the door?”

“If I could do that, I’d be out of here!” Shannon snapped. “I have a letter opener jammed in the lock. If you push…”

Before she could finish, Devon thrust himself against the door, forcing the lock to give. He burst into the room, unprepared for the reception that greeted him.

“You swine!” Shannon doubled her fist and hit him square in his mid region. Devon caught her in his arms, preventing another attack while he gasped for breath. “What were you planning to do, leave me here after you got me into this mess?” Shannon hissed, writhing in his arms, trying to land a kick or a thrust of an elbow.

“I came, didn’t I? It wasn’t my fault. What could I say, that he cheated better than we did?” Devon demanded indignantly, though it was hard to maintain any sense of propriety when holding a squirming young woman trying to extract her pound of flesh. Worse, he had the nagging sense that she had a right to be furious, though he’d be damned if he’d ever tell her that. “Will you stop it?”

“Get your hands off me!” Shannon snapped.

“Not until you promise no more attacks!” At her nod, Devon complied, though he backed quickly away, eyeing her warily.

“You took your time coming to the rescue,” Shannon sniffed. “The old lecher planned on enjoying the fruits of his winnings, and I don’t mean the money.”

“Speaking of winnings…” Devon’s eyes searched the room, while Shannon’s mouth dropped in disbelief.

“Are ye mad? Let’s get out of here before he gets back.”

“Not before I get my money.” Throwing clothes from the dresser by the armful, Devon rummaged through the back of the drawer until he found a leather pouch. “Ah.” Inside was a thick wad of good English money.

“Will you put that damned thing away and come along?”

Just then they heard Lord Cambridge’s whistle in the hall. Shannon froze, meeting Devon’s alert gaze like silent coconspirators.

“Now what?” she whispered.

Devon stood indecisively for a moment, like a small boy caught with his fingers in the oat cake batter. The window! Rushing to it, he forced the lock and grabbed Shannon’s hand.

“There’s no time to argue! Get out!”

Gasping, Shannon found herself perched precariously on a narrow ledge, her not particularly tiny slippers threatening to take her over the edge. Devon joined her, then managed somehow to close the window behind him.

They were not a moment too soon. Shannon held her breath, wincing at the curses and threats that came from within the room, followed by the door slamming.

Devon took her hand. “Ready?”

“For what? How do we get out of here?” Shannon looked down to the ground, fighting the dizziness that swept over her. It must have been ten feet.

“We jump,” Devon said.

Shannon glanced down incredulously. The dirt floor was swathed in darkness. They could be leaping to safety or…

“We could get hurt!” Shannon protested. Normally fearless, there was one thing that made her blood turn to ice. Heights. She never could stand to look out a window higher than the second floor, nor would she go near a ladder. And now Devon wanted her to jump. “I can’t.”

“Would you prefer it back inside with his Lordship? I thought not,” Devon said impatiently. “We have no other choice.”

“You don’t understand….” Shannon was past all pride now. “I hate heights! Even standing here is making me queasy!”

“For God’s sake.” Devon’s mouth parted and he stared at her through the darkness, barely able to make out her trembling form. “Shannon, if we try to go back through the room, we’ll get caught. That means jail, in some Scottish prison, where the guard will be ‘mair than glad’ to watch us rot. Grab my legs and I’ll try and lower you down. Now!”

Shannon closed her eyes and obeyed, holding onto him, trying not to think of the void behind her. Devon’s body felt warm and strong, the stiffness of his linen shirt a surprisingly sensual contrast to the muscles of his arms and legs. Shannon tried not to think of that as she lowered her body down the human ladder that Devon provided. She couldn’t even wonder at his kindness. Instead, she fought the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her.

Then she was falling, a light and buoyant body through a sea of rushing air. Land greeted her far too soon. The hard earth smacked her rump and stung her palms.

“Ouch!” Shannon said, wiping her hands on her skirt, watching in disbelief as Devon vaulted effortlessly to the ground with surprising grace. He seemed to tumble when he hit the earth, rolling into Shannon and tangling up in her skirts.

“How did you learn that?” Shannon asked, impressed.

Devon looked at her, the small effort causing him to groan. “From school. My room was on the second floor.”

“Are you all right?” Shannon whispered as Devon rose painfully.

“No. Chivalry has its price.” Wincing, he tested his back, finding no serious injuries. “Let’s get out of here. We haven’t a moment to lose.”

He spoke the truth, for already lanterns brightened the darkness like huge fireflies and masculine voices rent the air. Tiptoeing into the stables, Devon snatched up the reins of the first horse he could reach. Fortunately, it was saddled. He hoisted Shannon up first, then swung up behind her and urged the animal through the door. They raced past the landlord, Lord Cambridge, and the stableboy, into the protective cover of nightfall ahead.

They didn’t slow down until they had travelled far from the gaming hall, leaving the Lowlands behind in a dusty cloud. Shannon dozed, giving in to the tension that threatened to make her drop. When she woke it was dawn. A rosy thread of light whispered from the east. The mountains blushed, the rivers were slender pink ribbons curling through the hillsides, and the heather was pink cotton tufts. Yawning, Shannon nearly dropped from the saddle, saved by Devon’s quick response.

“Good morning.” His arm tightened around her waist, holding her upright. Something about his tone made her wary. Shannon tried to look back at him, but it was impossible in the small confines of the saddle. There was a warmth in his voice that was totally unlike Devon, a pleasurable feeling in the way he held her that made Shannon feel oddly guilty.

“What are you doing?” she questioned, fighting the impulse to relax in his arms and enjoy the sensation.

“Keeping you from falling. You look lovely when you sleep, did you know that? Like a little girl, trusting and precious.”

“What?” Shannon glared at him, though Devon couldn’t see her expression.

Devon smiled and decided to change the subject. “We’ll be there soon. See those hills?”

Shannon looked up in awe at the magnificent mountains in the distance.

“They’re the Highlands, or I’m not the Lord of Sutcliffe. I think we’re within a day’s journey of the MacLeods’ land. From there, it will be a simple matter to locate the castle and Marisa.”

“I’ll be so glad when this is all over.” Settling back into the saddle, she missed Devon’s nettled expression.

Marisa awoke to a languid morning. A breeze idly ruffled the curtain, barely lifting the lace from the oak sill. The sun spangled the stone floor with dancing prisms, tiny rainbows of light that changed like a kaleidoscope with each sway of the tree branches outside. Snuggling beneath the quilt, Marisa reveled in the sense of fulfillment that swelled through her. Her body tingled deliciously, and the slight ache between her thighs reminded her of the more intimate aspects of her relationship with Kyle.

The Angel. Marisa smiled, sure in her feelings for him. She had never felt so complete, and try as she might, she could summon little guilt or remorse about the previous night.

She slipped out of bed and dressed quickly in a soft rose gown that accentuated her brunette beauty and made her cheeks the color of a bright carnation.

Downstairs, the hall told its own story of the revelry of the night before. Subduing a smile, Marisa passed the snoring Roarke, his handsome form adorning most of the floor, while Brannock slumbered from the side bench. Douglass groaned, sipping an ale, lifting bloodshot eyes to Marisa.

“Good morning,” Marisa said gaily.

“Quietly,” Douglass said, wincing at the sound of her voice. “The joys of the night are well bought with the pain of the morning. My head feels like a thousand British soldiers are marching across it.”

Marisa smiled and continued on her way.

Outside, the land around her never seemed more gorgeous. The heather flamed on the hillside, a purple-red blaze of color, while the leaves assumed a poignant shade of olive. The mountain streams lowered, changing from rushing mercurial waterways to delicate, lacy trickles among the rocks. The winds held a tinge of chill and the northern sky was the color of soft pewter. Even the very grass beneath her feet seemed more lovely somehow, more vibrant and alive.

The well was a short distance away. Dipping the bucket into the crystal water, Marisa heard a familiar voice swear from the stables. The sound was followed by the whinny of the spirited stallion, Damien.

“Quiet there, boy. One more shoe to clean and you’re done.”

Marisa placed the bucket aside and slipped into the stable, her eyes slowly becoming adjusted to the change in light. Kyle was stripped to the waist, Damien’s foot between his knees. He forced a metal tool between the iron shoe and the hoof, cleaning out stones and other refuse.

“Good morning,” Marisa said shyly. Suddenly she felt very awkward, facing Kyle today after their passion of the night before.

“Yes, it is a good morning,” Kyle replied without warmth.

“I thought we might go for a walk today?”

Kyle dropped the hoof and stood up, wiping his hands on a cloth. His body was covered with a light sheen of sweat. It glazed his muscles and darkened the gold hair that covered his chest, ending in a trail down past his waist.

“I’m afraid not,” he said tersely. “I’ve planned to look over the grounds today. Some of the tenants are not utilizing their lands to the fullest. I learned a few things about farming in the colonies, where I have some property.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed and puzzled by his strange reserve toward her. She tried again. “Kyle, did you ever think of going back there? You could live there in relative safety….” At the look in his eyes, she faltered.

“That’s impossible,” he said, his eyes hard. “Desert the Scottish cause? Have you learned nothing about me or my people? It is out of the question.” Donning his shirt, he strode away, pausing as he reached the stable door. “I’m sorry for last night, Marisa. It was a mistake. I seem to make a lot of mistakes where you’re concerned. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Marisa rushed after him and grasped his arm. “Oh, no, I won’t,” she said wrathfully. “For I’ve nothing to forgive concerning last night. And I won’t let you get away with such an idiotic speech as you’ve just made me!”

Kyle could not resist a rueful smile. She was so beautiful, even when she was angry. Her eyes sparkled with green fire, like the emeralds he’d risked his life for. Her face was flushed with passion, and inevitably, he thought of when he’d made her face bloom, in a completely different way.

“And pray, my lady, how do you intend to stop me?” Kyle asked, his hand dropping to her shoulder and playing with a stray raven-colored curl. Sunlight filtered in through the barn door, transforming Marisa into a gilded angel framed in filmy light. Behind her, the hay glistened like bales of spun gold.

Reaching up on her toes, Marisa pressed her lips to his. Kyle’s eyes glittered not three inches from hers, like plates of polished silver, while his hair caught the sun with fantastic lights, fiery gems that danced between her fingers.