Outlaw's Angel Read Online Free Page A

tonight?”
    “Aye,” the bar wench said, pouting at his interest. “He’s in the back room, losing his shirt again. Do ye want me to fetch him?”
    “No, I think I’ll surprise him. Thanks.” He gave her a slow smile and started for the rear gaming room. The wench watched him walk across the floor with that peculiar grace, his muscles flexing casually in his legs. She sighed audibly, returning to her work with reluctance.
    The Scotsman paused inside the door. His Lordship was obviously the worse for drink; his lace jabot was askew, his coat dangled from the back of his chair, and his wig was at an odd angle on his head. He tossed down his cards at the call with a grunt, watching his pile of coins diminish even further. Before he could beg another hand, he looked up and paled at the sight of the man in the doorway.
    The Scotsman placed a finger to his lips and gestured upstairs. Without acknowledging the motion, Lord Woodruff calmly excused himself, scooping up his meager winnings, and casually strode up the narrow staircase of the inn. He turned into the first bedroom, well acquainted with these rooms where one could conduct business or amorous activity with a degree of privacy.
    “I didn’t think we had anything to discuss, laird,” Lord Woodruff said, his brow beaded with perspiration.
    “Calm yourself, milord.” The Scotsman smiled, a charming and innocent grin. “I merely want to ask you a few questions.”
    “Well, this is damned inconvenient,” the nobleman huffed, his whiskeyed breath spraying the room. “I don’t like to have my…er…accounts bandied about.”
    “That’s why I thought you might be more comfortable here. This is less public than the gaming hall below.”
    “Well then, done. What is it you want?” With the air of one who is used to being obeyed, Lord Woodruff sank back into his seat, watching the man before him.
    “I want to ask you about this.” The laird’s hand unfolded. The light of a single taper ignited the emerald in his hand; it twinkled in the room, as if containing a life of its own.
    Lord Woodruff shuddered to look at the piece, waving his hand. “Put it away! That’s the one I gave you in return for my losses. There is no damage. You’ve been well paid.”
    “ ’Tis not that I doubt.” Somehow the room became tense; there was an atmosphere of danger, emanating from the composed Scotsman. His eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, hiding the intensity of those strange, glittering pools. “I want to know where you got the gem.”
    “It is not stolen, I assure you!” his Lordship protested, indignant. “I obtained it from a friend!”
    “I did not accuse you of stealing. I merely wish to be sure. Call it a personal interest. Last week you claimed it was a gift from Lord Sutcliffe, in return for debts to you. Is that correct?”
    “Yes!” Lord Woodruff’s pale face flushed. The sweat streaked the powder that sprinkled from his wig onto his forehead. “The emerald was from Devon. He owed me a great deal from whist. Rather than be dishonored, he paid me with the jewel. It is worth quite a bit, Devon assured me. You aren’t questioning that?”
    “No, I am not.” The Scotsman smiled dryly. “It is worth everything to me. I want to make certain of the origin of the jewel before I attempt to sell it. A gem cannot be easily cut and converted to gold, as a chain, for example.”
    “Yes, you are right.” Relieved, his Lordship stood up. “We are beginning another game, Murdoch. Perhaps you’d care to join us?” Hope flickered in his eyes. This damned Scotsman couldn’t win like that forever. Perhaps he could even win the emerald back. His mistress had taken a fancy to it the night he showed it to her.
    The Scotsman declined impatiently. He waved a hand to the door, studying the jewel in his hand, his Lordship already forgotten.
    Lord Woodruff slammed the door, returning downstairs with a huff. Bloody Highlanders! Jacobites, every one of them. The king