Outlaw's Angel

by Colleen Quinn

  “What is it, Mac?” Kyle asked.

  “It’s them, Angel.” Mac spat out his words as if he hated them. “Lord Sutcliffe and a lady. They’re in the hall now with Duncan, awaiting ye.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Devon glanced up when Kyle entered. Seated on a velvet sofa before a fire, the remains of a meal at his side and a tankard of ale in his hand, he could not repress a shudder at the look on Kyle’s face. The Angel. He’d seen that look in his dreams. He rose, wishing he still had the pistol Childers had taken along with his cloak.

  “Where is Marisa?” Devon demanded.

  “You’ll see Marisa soon enough,” Kyle responded, a terrible smile curving his lips. “I thought it better that she not be present just yet. We do have some things to discuss.”

  “Ah, yes, the ransom,” Devon said. “A certain emerald necklace. Quite a sum for one lady’s honor, don’t you agree?”

  Kyle stared at him, his eyes penetrating. “You are not worthy of lacing her slippers,” he finally said softly. “Why have you come?”

  “And you aren’t exactly a paragon of virtue,” Devon drawled. “I’ve come to take Marisa home.”

  Kyle studied Devon closely, noticing that the man returned his perusal with a curiosity that was vaguely unsettling. “What makes you think she wants to go?”

  Devon forced a laugh. Not liking the look in Kyle’s eyes, he hastily produced a rolled parchment that was obviously travel-worn and stained. “A letter from my father, the duke. It promises to deliver the jewels, all of them, upon Marisa’s safe return to London.”

  Kyle scanned the missive. The document was intact, and the writing legible. He placed aside the note, his expression inscrutable.

  “Why should I trust you?” Kyle asked. “I, who was nearly executed by your people, who fights your king every day of my life.”

  “For Marisa’s sake,” Devon replied, with a flash of intuition.

  They locked eyes with a strange sense of knowing each other. He is thinking of Marisa, Kyle realized, unable to explain the pain that tore at him, that settled in his belly like a burning ache. He saw Devon, a young lord free of complications, his polished dark looks representative of his life. He was educated, respectable, titled. He could give Marisa the life she deserved. Whereas for him, Marisa was merely the means to the jewels, was she not?

  “I will think on it,” Kyle replied.

  “Fine.” Devon sank back into his chair in relief. So far, so good. “You will let me know soon?”

  “I will,” Kyle said, a small smile playing about his lips. “You are brave, milord. But also foolhardy. Have you considered that I could kill you now and London would not be the wiser? What have you based your own trust upon other than your own misguided courage?”

  “Your word,” Devon said simply.

  Against his will, Kyle felt a grudging respect for Devon. He turned and strode abruptly from the room, unable to tolerate the man’s presence another moment.

  The Earl of Argyll was seated at his desk, poring over a huge, crudely lettered map. Measuring distances, he made notations in the margins, mentally calculating travelling time. The MacLeod land was advantageous both geographically and politically. Located on a seaport, it also had advantages for shipping and transportation.

  Perfect, the earl thought, sitting back and sipping quietly at a cup of good tea. At the knock on the door, he scarcely lifted his head. It was the man he’d met at the tavern.

  “I’ve news for ye,” the man grinned, his ruddy face breaking into a huge smile that was warm and reassuring. The earl nodded. There was little about this man that should assure anyone, but his manner made bedfellows of Tories, it was said.

  The earl tossed a gold coin at the man, pleased to see him scramble it up. “If it is worth it, more will be forthcoming.”

  “Oh, it is worth it, all right,” the man said with a chuckle. “In fact, what price would ye put on the information that his Lordship has arrived?”

  “His Lordship? Do you mean Laird MacLeod? I am well aware that Kyle is back in residence. The Avenging Angel has been drumming up support for the past few weeks. Sadly, I think he will be disappointed when the time comes.”

  “It may come sooner than anyone thinks,” the man continued.

  The earl studied him closely, seeing more than he revealed in the man’s intensity, the way his eyes widened greedily at the thought of more monetary rewards. It was genuine, whatever the news.

  “Pray continue. You interest me.”

  “His Lordship, the Lord of Sutcliffe, has arrived.”

  “The lord of…Devon?” Amazed, the earl spilled a small quantity of tea into his saucer. “Devon has come here? Whatever for?”

  “For his fiancée, they say.” Settling back into his chair, the man grinned, pleased at the effect of his news. “Marisa Travers. Apparently, the duke is ready to bargain once the girl is returned home.”

  “I see.” The earl no longer smiled. Devon! This could only mean that the duke had agreed to part with the jewels in return for his future daughter-in-law. No other payment would satisfy Kyle; of that the earl was sure. Frowning, he stirred the teacup thoughtfully, measuring the impact this would have for him personally. Kyle would have the gems, would petition the prince for help….Even without the prince, the jewels would be very useful to Kyle in rallying the clans.

  The Campbells risk losing everything, the earl mused. He had not forgotten the tidy sums of money the crown had paid for their clan’s compliance. The MacLeods, offered the same terms, had turned the king down flat. Now the MacLeods would be heroes in the eyes of their people. But as the king’s representatives, and the Black Watch, how could they risk an attack? Unless…

  “Kyle must be stopped,” the earl said, more to himself than his companion. If Kyle were destroyed, the rebellion would die with him. Suddenly remembering his companion’s presence, the earl tossed two more coins onto the table. “I’ll ring the cook for tea. You’ve earned some refreshment, as well as your reward. Well done, Rainsford.”

  His companion made himself comfortable before the fire.

  “Marisa! Is it really you?” Shannon hugged her dear friend, unable to believe that this healthy, radiant woman was indeed Marisa.

  “It’s me,” Marisa said, fighting the flood of tears that threatened to spill forth. She had never felt so glad to see anyone in her life; Shannon represented all that was fun in her youth, the times she’d risked her overprotective upbringing to take a gamble. Hearing a loud sniffle, Marisa fumbled in the pocket of her gown, handing Shannon a linen and lace handkerchief.

  Shannon eyed the piece suspiciously. “You blow your nose in this? It looks too pretty.”

  “That’s what it’s for,” Marisa assured her. “Do you like your room? Is there anything you need?”

  “Surely you jest. I’ve ne’er seen the like. ’Tis really a Scottish castle, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Marisa joined Shannon by the fire, accepting a cup of tea from the tray placed conveniently nearby. “Though not as grand as Devon’s place in London, it is the MacLeods’ home. It is good to see you, Shannon.”

  Shannon grinned, sticking out her tongue at Marisa’s formality, then stretched toward the fire. The batiste gown a maid had brought was a wonderful luxury for Shannon after the trip, as was the bath she had taken. Her hair dried from the fire’s warmth, looking much like the flame behind it. She carefully studied Marisa as she sipped the good tea.

  “You look well,” Shannon said, observing the good muslin gown Marisa wore and the soft sheen of her hair. “In fact, you don’t look at all as I pictured. They must treat captives very well here.”

  “The MacLeods have all been very kind,” Marisa said cautiously. “So tell me, how did you come? Was my family very upset? Did you tell them of the letter?”

  “Aye, I did that,” Shannon replied. “It relieved them to know you were safe, especially your mother. I did not tell them all you said—”

  “—about K
yle.” Marisa placed her cup aside, unable to stand the unspoken question between them.

  “Kyle…” Shannon gazed at Marisa directly. “Devon’s come with me. Did they tell you?”

  “Yes.” For a long moment, Marisa stared into the fire, saying nothing.

  Shannon noticed the way her eyes had softened when she said Kyle’s name. The Angel. Marisa had thought herself in danger of falling in love with the man….“Well, what do you mean, yes?” Shannon said impatiently. “Marisa, what’s between you and Kyle? I mean, has he?…”

  Marisa glanced up, her face flushed. “Nothing has happened that I regret,” she said carefully.

  “Well, that tells me a lot,” Shannon said, exasperated. “Mari, what are you hiding? Did the man beat you? Did he jail you? I hear there’s a dungeon below. Or are you saying he…forced himself on you?”

  “No!” Marisa said quickly. “No, Shannon, nothing like that. He treated me very well, under the circumstances. No, it’s…”

  “What?” The Irish girl glanced up, amazed to see Marisa’s eyes grow misty, though she seemed intently interested in the shadows thrown against the floor by the fire.

  “Shannon, what would you say if I told you I loved him? That he means everything to me and the thought of losing him is unbearable?”

  There was a long silence. The fire crackled, then snapped as a log fell into the grate. The wind blew outside, ruffling across the heather fields and ending in a soulful cry in the treetops above.

  “Do you really want to know?” At Marisa’s nod, she continued. “I’d say, the saints be praised! You’ll be marrying a man you love. I cannot say I blame you, either. Who can resist him?” Shannon’s eyes grew dreamy as she hugged a thick feather pillow. “The Angel.”

  “But, Shannon, you know I can’t marry him,” Marisa said quietly. “He’s devoted to a cause; it means everything to him.”

  “Bah!” Shannon threw up a hand. “A cause can’t last forever. Eventually, he’ll want and need someone….”

  “A wife?” Marisa smiled sadly. “He is wanted by the law. Someday, they’ll find him and kill him.”

  “What if he flees the country? He could go to the colonies! He’d be safe there.”

  “I’ve already thought of that.” Marisa sipped quickly on a cup of hot tea, more because of the lump in her throat than thirst. “He refuses to consider leaving, not now, with the state Scotland’s in. And now—”

  “—Devon’s come.” Shannon swore beneath her breath. “Of all the accursed ironies! I travel all the way across the country, only to find out the last thing you need is rescuing. If that doesn’t beat all.” Shannon leaned forward, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “So you’ve really fallen in love with the rogue, eh?”

  Marisa lifted her head, her lips curving gently. Shannon, thank God for Shannon. Already the pain was lessening. Shannon, as practical as starched cotton and about as comfortable. Burying her emotions, Marisa couldn’t resist a tease. “I didn’t say that. If you recall, I said what if?”

  “Don’t try and gammon me, my girl!” Shannon declared. “I know you too well!”

  A door slammed downstairs and Marisa’s lovely face lost some of its brightness as the reality of the situation became apparent. “Shannon, is Devon really angry? Do you think he’ll try to kill Kyle?”

  “Devon?” Shannon laughed. “Hardly. He’s worried, but not insane. No one with an ounce of brains would challenge your Angel, and if there’s one thing I can say for Devon, it’s that he has an amazing sense of self-preservation.” Shannon thought back to that card game. Yes, Devon knew how to take care of himself, all right. “I suppose you want to see him.”

  “Shannon, come with me,” Marisa pleaded. The prospect of facing Devon, after all this time and the intimacy she had shared with Kyle, was an intimidating one.

  “Oh, no you don’t. This is between you and Devon. In case you haven’t noticed, I am in an awkward position here.”

  “No, you’re not. You came with Devon. Please, Shannon, I don’t think I could face him alone.”

  “But it’s only Devon! You’ve known him since we were children….”Groaning, Shannon got to her feet, tossing the shawl aside. “All right. Let me get dressed. I’ll go this once, just until things ease up. But then you’re on your own.”

  “Fine,” Marisa promised, relieved.

  True to her word, Shannon followed her downstairs, into the room where Devon waited. As Marisa entered, he looked up, a slow smile crossing his face as he got to his feet. Shannon stepped aside as Devon took Marisa’s hand and placed a kiss upon it.

  “Marisa. It is wonderful to see you, my lady. Are you well? He hasn’t harmed you?” Devon searched her carefully for signs of abuse.

  “No, I’m fine,” Marisa assured him. “They’ve treated me well; there is no need for concern. It was kind of you to come, Devon.”

  “Kind?” Devon gave Marisa a closer perusal, then glanced at Shannon. The Irish girl turned to the window, refusing to get involved. “It was hardly a question of kindness,” Devon said slowly. “I have assured Kyle MacLeod that the jewels are forthcoming, once you are safely returned to London as my bride.”

  “And did Kyle agree?” Marisa asked stiffly, averting her eyes.

  “He will,” Devon said confidently. “I have never known a Scotsman to renege on his word. They would sooner slice their own throats. No, I am sure you have little to fear. Kyle MacLeod will give you up, Marisa. I am certain.”

  * * *

  The earl shivered as a north wind passed through the mud and wattle hut, forecasting winter. The scene outside was majestic, the Five Sisters of Kintail reflected in the loch below like a mirror image, but the earl cared nothing for that. Instead, he waited patiently, biding his time until the door finally opened.

  A man entered, his beard streaked with red and silver, his massive form little subdued with the passing of time. Colin MacKenzie. The earl nodded in greeting, recalling everything he knew about the clan. Long a hated rival of the MacLeods, the MacKenzies were the reason Kyle’s family had lost much of their lands. Hatred has a way of flourishing with age, the earl thought. Like an acorn, it took root as a tiny seed, then sprouted years later into a massive oak.

  “A braw day,” Colin said cautiously, wondering at this meeting. The Campbells were devious, he didn’t need to be warned of that. And the earl most of all.

  “A good day to fight a MacLeod,” the earl agreed.

  Colin MacKenzie stared back in surprise, then took a seat on the bench beside the earl. “And why is today a good day to be fighting them? Though I grant ye, any day would suit.”

  The earl smiled. “The Angel is back. Kyle is drumming up support among the other clans. He has become a hero to them.”

  “Aye.” Colin’s brow grew thoughtful; the earl could almost hear his mind thunder. “Kyle should have stayed in the colonies. He does no good here.”

  “The MacKenzies stand to lose much should the clans rally,” the earl said quietly. “You know the MacLeods have never forgiven your family for taking their lands. Should Kyle succeed, the MacKenzies’ claims would be meaningless.”

  Colin nodded in agreement. “Aye, but who is to say that will happen? My own people admire the Angel. It would be difficult to rally them against the man, without proof.”

  “Do you recall the prophecy?” the earl questioned, observing the murderous flash of blue eyes and the flaring nostrils of the man beside him. “When the Brahman seer predicted the decline of the house of Seaforth? Already much of that prediction has come to pass.”

  “’Tis lies!” Colin protested. “Tales and witchcraft! No one believes that to be true.” But his face flushed furiously, a flood of red color that left a telltale stain on his ruddy cheeks.

  “A prediction is just that,” the earl said shrewdly. “The seer did not know that one day you would rule the clan. Nor did he know that you are a fighter, not some weak merchant content to let Kyle whittle away at your lands and steal your own m
en. No, you are a leader of action, and prophecies can change.”

  “Aye,” Colin said, calming a bit. “But I am not certain my people would rise. We need an incident….”

  The earl smiled, a master of creating incidents. “You did know that the Lord of Sutcliffe is in residence at the MacLeods?”

  “Devon?” Colin said, aghast. “What is he doing here?”

  “Kyle has ransomed his fiancée for the jewels. The same jewels his father was accused of stealing when he disappeared at Culloden. Apparently, the duke has promised him those gems, in exchange for the girl. The jewels, from the ancient families of Scotia…”

  “Holy Christ!” Colin spat. “He’d have the support of every clan in the country!”

  “Aye.” The earl smiled, content. His job was done. It would be an easy matter to move in, after a bloody clan battle, and claim the lands. Kyle would be dead, his own clan expanded, and the MacKenzies would do the work.

  “Here’s to fate.” The earl extended a flask of Scotland’s best whiskey. “And to controlling destiny.”

  With a grin, Colin MacKenzie reached for the flask and drank.

  “Oh, for the love of God, do you really mean to paint this glen?” Shannon grumbled when Marisa, the next morning, insisted on climbing the mountain to sketch. Kyle had been gone for three days, investigating some odd doings from a neighboring clan, and Marisa missed him more than she could express. He had returned that morning, his stallion snorting with a frosty breath in the morning air. Kyle gave Marisa a distant and unnerving glance, one that held a bit of regret?…Frowning, Marisa buried herself in her art, unable to bear the suspicion of what it all meant. Carrying a parcel of crude charcoals and parchment, she clambered about the hillside, pausing only when a particular vista caught her eye.