The Widow and the Rogue (16 page)

Quickly, Kathleen repacked the wicker basket and folded the tartan blanket, stowing them into the boat. Whistling to the dog to come, Beau helped her step into the craft. After the young animal had reseated himself, the master untied the rope and gave it a gentle shove. They glided back into the deep waters as they continued their journey down the tranquil south shore of the lake.

Thinking themselves alone, they were unaware of three sets of beady, brown eyes watching their every move. The spies were well-hidden by the thick vegetation along the lake’s bank, having arrived at the flat knoll undetected by using a narrow footpath that ran parallel to shore.

“Ye had best go on ahead, Ian, and see if they intend to continue,” whispered a woman crouched next to a much younger man beside her. “We’ll follow from behind. I want to be certain they leave.”

“What shall I tell the others?”

“If they discover the treasure’s location before us—kill them,” she replied coldly. Her dark eyes gleamed dangerously. “We shall make it look like they drowned from a boating accident. No one will be the wiser.”

The woman felt joyful at the idea of ridding herself of the two young people who she hoped would lead her to the treasure. Raised in Urlingford, she had always known of its existence. She thought by living and working in the hall with old Lord Bangford, she would eventually discover its whereabouts.

She thought he would confide in her the secret location of the treasure after she’d befriended him. But years passed and he married that golden-haired chit. Over time he became more stubborn and secretive until it reached a dangerous point.

Her men, bored with hiding in the woods, imposed on the old lord’s hospitality. They insisted on being wined and dined at the hall, as if they were gentlemen of the realm. They openly drank barrels of illegal rum and ogled his beautiful wife. The last was an outrage the old lord could not tolerate.

They may use his land, he had later raged at her, but not his home. As a result, he’d wanted nothing more to do with her. He threatened to expose her activities to the authorities. The old goat had dared to threaten her, the most dangerous pirate in Ireland. To think she’d helped to enrich his half-empty pockets! She had no choice but to get rid of him.

One night, during one of the old lord’s secret forays, she followed him. When he reached the open stairway by the round monastery tower, she took her opportunity. She crept up from behind and forcefully shoved him backwards.

Arms flailing, he lost his balance and fell into the chapel’s stained glass window, splintering it into a million little pieces, and dying a quick but painful death. She’d wanted to retrieve the Druid’s brooch from the altar, but the screaming banshee interfered.

She shuddered, remembering the ghostly apparition suddenly hovering over the lifeless body of the dead lord. The spirit was there to collect his soul. And like a jealous lover, the banshee had frightened her away from the dead body and the enchanted brooch.

Fearful that the banshee might claim her soul as well, she had fled and returned to her bedchamber. Once there she ignored the urgent poundings on the door that followed.

The head butler, alarmed by the banshee’s screams, cried out to her, “Mrs. O’Grady . . . Mrs. O’Grady . . . are you there? Your assistance is required.”

But she did not respond. She kept the door bolted.

It was not until the next day that she made her appearance. She excused her absence by saying she’d taken a sleeping potion before going to bed. She had therefore heard nothing.

Being the head of staff and perceived as loyal to Lord Langtry, her alibi went unquestioned. It had all been quite easy . . . until the reading of the will.

Her co-conspirators, she noted, were shut out of the fortune—those idle aristocrats had not known how to handle their own flesh and blood. For years they had expected her to manage his lordship and find the treasure—a task she had been capable of doing. But then that interfering solicitor took the household keys away from her before she’d had the opportunity to search the dead lord’s chambers for the treasure map.

Aye, she decided grimly, she would not mind breaking the handsome solicitor’s neck. As for the legacy Lord Bangford left her, what was a modest country house compared to the mountain of treasure she knew was at hand? Nothing but a small token for the years of devoted service and companionship she had given him.

She suspected one of those inbred aristocrats had tried to have that child bride killed. She had heard rumors concerning the attempted assassination of Lady Kathleen in Dublin. The imbeciles had aroused suspicion. The child had ever since been doubly guarded.

However, it did not bring them any nearer to the treasure or to inheriting the hall. From what she learned from her spies, the young widow was in the process of writing a new will. This one would disinherit everyone.

“Damnable nuisances,” she muttered under her breath.

She watched the couple continue to float towards the river. She had seen Lord Bangford disappear into the off-shooting tributary before. But she had not come any closer to discovering the secret hiding place. This time, following from behind, she would. They would lead her to the treasure and to their own doom.

The dense growth along the edge of the lake became almost impenetrable. Tim, sensing the intense excitement of his two human companions, became respectfully quiet. His shaggy body no longer quivered when he spied a bird or frog. He sat like a figurehead at the bow of the small boat, completely still.

“We turn here into the river,” Beau said, consulting the map. He held the oars and rowed, directing the skiff into the narrower river.

For a moment Kathleen thought she saw movement in the brush. Leaves and twigs shook. But she quickly dismissed the notion that it was a person.

Probably some deer, she told herself.

But the quick hammering of her heart forewarned her to be wary. There was something disquieting about being surrounded by the thick greenery. It was almost as if they were entering a dense trap.

Her senses prickled, but she did not take heed. The treasure was hidden somewhere ahead. Soon they would find it.

The river thinned, but the water was deep enough for their skiff to remain afloat. Plant vegetation sticking out of the water made rowing impossible. Beau stood and taking the punting poll into his hands began to feel his way through the dense growth. She watched as the firm muscles on his arms bulged with effort. From time to time he consulted the map for the hand drawn landmarks for them to follow.

“There . . .” he said, pointing to a rock formation on their left. “A symbol! We must be on the right river.”

She turned and looked expectantly up at the underside of a large rock’s overhanging ledge. Carved into the surface was the facsimile of the lover’s knot. She felt a sense of elation. They were correctly headed towards the treasure’s cave.

“How much farther do you suppose?” she asked, tilting her head a little to one side as she read the map.

“We should be coming upon the next to last symbol. It will indicate the route to follow.”

“Do you think it’s located nearby?”

“Difficult to say . . . we should know in a little bit when we find the next marking. And according to the map that should be soon.”

She wondered if perhaps the only way to reach the cave was by boat or if they were to find a footpath and follow it. Some innate sense told her that if they could simply stroll up to the treasure’s cave, it would have been found ages ago. No, she suspected, this was going to require a bit of effort on their part.

“Oh, I do hope there aren’t any insects,” she said aloud.

She shuddered. She detested anything small that had multiple legs, crawled, or worse . . . had wings and flew.

“I cannot promise that there won’t be any,” he replied. “Once when I was a lad, I explored a cave near the park by my family’s home. I had to wade through ankle deep water. When I re-emerged from my expedition, I discovered that I had some unwanted travelers on my legs . . . I was covered in bloodsuckers.”

“Oh, how dreadful,” she said faintly, picturing the small round parasites.

She could not imagine for a moment what she would do if she encountered them. The thought of pulling off the squishy arthropods made her wince with disgust. But she was resolved, despite her abhorrence of creepy crawlies, not to turn tail and return to the hall. No spider or leech was going to stand in her way. She wanted to see the treasure for herself.

She knew her late husband had compensated being bowlegged by strengthening his upper torso. She had born numerous bruises, which were well-hidden under the long sleeved gowns she wore, because of it. She suspected wherever the treasure was he had rowed there by himself. She knew his character; he had trusted no one.

Once the treasure was found, she would be able to leave all the unpleasant connections associated with Bangford and her uncle in the past. The pirates and the memories of her husband’s tyranny would no longer be able to haunt her.

She would at last be free to start a new chapter in her life. Finding the treasure was one more way for her to become independent. Day-by-day, with Beau’s help, she had been building a life controlled by only one person . . . herself.

“There . . .” Beau said pointing to the side of a roughly built hut on a small islet in the middle of the river. On the side of the walls was painted the lover’s knot. An arrow pointing in the direction they were to turn was stenciled beneath the symbol. He turned the boat, following it.

The river split in two. Suddenly, the water churned faster as a strong current pushed them forward. She thought uneasily how simple it would be to drown if the boat should suddenly capsize. The swift undertow would pull them under in the blink of an eye.

She shivered, frightened at the thought.

“Are you cold?” he asked, noticing.

He had reseated himself in the pilot’s seat. The river had cleared of vegetation and he was able to steer with the rudder. “Would you like me to drape the blanket over your shoulders?”

She shook her head.

“It’s not that. I am afraid I’m letting all my childhood fears haunt me today,” she confessed sheepishly. “First the thought of spiders—and now being surrounded by this deep water . . . it reminds me that I am not a good swimmer. Although mind, my governess insisted I learn how to swim. I do not however, have the ability to pass myself off as a mermaid. Are you comfortable in the water?”

“I cannot claim to be a son of Poseidon. But I did attend a school where one of the required rituals was to bathe in the frigid waters of the sea. My headmaster had a rather Spartan attitude towards our health. I consider it to be one of life’s little miracles that I did not contract lung fever during that time. Oddly enough, after I finished my studies, I kept up the habit of occasionally dipping into frigid waters.”

She looked at his tall frame and tried to picture him diving into a local pond. Perhaps he would swim during a moonlit night when no one was around? His waist was small and his long legs covered in tan breech trousers were firm. She recalled seeing him ride in the early morning around Dovehill Hall. She had observed for herself how muscular he was. Her cheeks warmed at the remembrance of seeing him naked during their lovemaking.

He had resembled the handsome Roman statue of the hero Hercules. Beau was solidly built with beautifully defined muscles and a manly broad torso. A handsome face and confident attitude completed his features, like the demigod the Spartans claimed was their first king, he was a born warrior. Aye, if the Spartans had chosen one of their own to carve into a stone, he undoubtedly would have looked like him, she decided. And she was certain the women of the Spartan village would have swooned at the very sight.

The vegetation thickened again, forcing Beau to use the punting pole. Oddly enough a large rock lay flat across two others. She made careful note of it. “It looks like a Druid symbol,” she remarked. She looked down at the map. “According to this, those three stones comprise an altar.”

“The Druids probably used it for offerings, following this river to the cave,” he responded. “They may have used it for important rituals.”

“Fascinating . . .” she murmured. Her eagerness to see this mysterious place was increasing by the minute. It was becoming a veritable Aladdin’s cave of unexpected wonders.

“Do you think there will be any signs which will be able to tell us anything about the Druids? They were such an ancient people, and so little is known about them.”

“If we are fortunate, there may be,” he agreed, cheerfully. “We shall have to wait and see. In due time the cave and all its hidden treasures will be revealed.”

She traced the route they were following with her finger. Another significant marking was indicated on the map.

“There ought to be a large walnut tree appearing soon . . . after which we enter a small stream that will take us straight into the cave.”

“Ah, I see it,” said Beau. “It’s directly ahead.”

“I’ve never seen one so large before.” She breathed, admiring the tree’s wide girth. Five people holding out their arms could have surrounded the trunk. They passed beneath its massive branches that cast a large shadow over them. She looked up at the tree, easily picturing ancient Celts perched above her. “It must be thousands of years old . . . remarkable.”

“There’s the mark again,” he said. He pointed to a smooth rock near the foot of the tree’s roots. On the stone was etched the lover’s knot.

The boat glided into a narrow stream. Tall water grass brushed up against the small craft on both sides. He guided it through the narrow channel and touched the stream’s bottom with the punting pole.

“Is it deep enough for us to continue?” she asked, not looking forward to being forced to turn around.

“For now,” he said, nodding his head. “I think we can continue on as we have, without getting our feet wet.”

A solid wall of rock now hemmed them in on each side. They rowed very close to the stone. If she reached out her hand, she could touch the moss and ferns that grew on the lower outcropping of the ledges.