Outlaw's Angel by Colleen Quinn Page A

the boy glanced up. His face was frozen with guilt, his youth disallowing the experience of masking his feelings.
    “You decided to leave tonight. For town?” Mac’s voice was steady, though he stared at the street instead of Kyle.
    “Yes,” Kyle said slowly. “You would have known about our plans had you been in the tavern tonight. Which leads me to wonder, where were you?”
    “Look at ’im,” the groom chuckled. “He’s trembling like a weed in the wind. What’s he done that he’s so afraid of you?”
    “I haven’t done anything,” Mac snapped. He looked up at Kyle, brushing the wet hair from his face. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I just went out, that’s all.”
    “Just went out.” Kyle looked at the boy’s sodden clothing, at his plastered hair, and at his still-chapped cheeks. The groom laughed again.
    “I hope she was worth it, laddie. I wouldn’t venture out tonight for God nor money.”
    “She was worth it,” the boy answered, still staring at Kyle.
    “Tell Marisa I’ll return tomorrow,” Kyle said softly. “And Mac?”
    “Yes?” The relief in the boy’s eyes was evident. Kyle smiled.
    “Don’t get too involved with the girl. You know we’re returning her shortly.”
    Mac’s mouth dropped as the Scotsman strode from the stable, disappearing into a violent curtain of wind and rain. Sinking down into a pillow of hay, he struggled to stop the racing of his heart.
    Shannon brushed aside a stray lock of flaming red hair, tucking it carelessly behind one ear. The mare gleamed before her like a ripe chestnut, showing the result of the Irish girl’s grooming. Without waiting for Evan, the stableboy, Shannon hoisted the saddle onto the mare and fastened the straps. Swinging up onto the horse, she urged the animal forward, glad to be free of the dark confines of the stable.
    Outside, the dew lay on the grass like a sparkling silver mantle. The countryside beckoned, green and softly seductive. Sweat beaded on the young girl’s forehead and chin. She did not wipe it away, little caring what the rough exercise did to her appearance.
    It was only here, with the wind at her back and her body one with the graceful animal beneath her, that Shannon could find any ease. Longing for home, she could not bring herself to leave England until she heard something of her friend’s fate. Marisa’s parents had insisted she stay, her mother turning to her again and again each day with the same ceaseless questions.
    “Do you think we’ll hear today? Do you think she’ll come back? I hear something outside, a coach….” But her face would quiet into disappointment as the carriage turned out to be a curious neighbor or a routine delivery.
    Her father was worse, hiding his concern beneath his outrage. “Damned thieves! We should have rid the countryside of them long before this! Highlanders! Hanging’s too good for them. You let them get away with one thing, and this is the result. They should have been exterminated after ’45. Culloden taught us nothing.”
    Shannon frowned, leaning forward and making the horse run faster. For Sara’s sake, she tried to remain strong. She encouraged Marisa’s mother, assuring her that her daughter was all right. After all, didn’t the Irish fortune teller predict that Marisa would be a great lady and that she would find much happiness in marriage? Surely no such fate could have been determined if Marisa were never to return. But even Shannon’s optimism was beginning to fail.
    The horse stopped, lathered from exertion. Her heart thumping, Shannon dismounted, her hands holding tightly onto the reins as she walked the animal. Kicking at the broken pieces of coal beneath her feet, she ignored the black stains upon her boots and refused to think of Sara’s horrified expression when she returned.
    She missed Marisa far more than she could express. She could talk to her friend about things that made her mother frown impatiently and that her brothers dismissed as