The Widow and the Rogue (17 page)

If they hadn’t been looking for the next marking, they would have easily missed the cave entrance. It appeared on the bottom edge of the left wall. The opening itself blended into the stone. It was at a sharp cornered angle, which from a stone’s throw away could not be seen with the naked eye.

“How easy it would have been for us to row past it,” she commented upon sighting the marking. “If it was not for the map, we would not have known where to look.”

The mouth of the cave was a narrow slit just large enough for the boat to enter. The roof was of solid rock. It grew proportionally larger the farther they traveled. They could hear the sound of rushing water ahead of them.

“The falls,” he remarked. “I remember seeing it marked next to the treasure chest on the map. Apparently there is an underground river, which interconnects with this cave and flows out to join the main river. At one time it must have been a raging torrent and hollowed out these stone walls.”

He continued to row them farther into the cave’s mouth. Stalactites hung in a white gray icicle-shaped fashion from the roof. They dripped occasional drops of water into the stream. Some stalagmite minerals grew pointedly upwards, resembling sharp teeth, created by the shallows of wet lime stone nearby.

“How interesting . . .” she remarked, looking at groups of stalactites that resembled a long column. “It’s almost Roman in shape, like a miniature temple.”

They reached the point where the waterfall rushed downwards to reach the cave’s stream. A rainbow formed from its mist. There appeared to be no need for lanterns. There were large gaping holes in the ceiling, providing ample daylight.

It was only as they neared the end of the cave that they noticed any discernible traces of the ancient Druids who once used it for their sacred rituals. There was a sandy bank on their right. On the cave wall behind it was a mural of primitive drawings.

Red spirals, pictures of small animals and people were drawn on the stone. It was charred black by soot from pit fires. The hand-drawn pictures curved across the wall. They were predominantly painted in colors of red-berry ink, with outlines in black charcoal.

“They probably did animal sacrifices here to their gods,” he said, nodding his head at what appeared to be a large fire pit.

“It appears that they may have believed that once a person died, his soul transferred itself into another, thus never truly ending, going on for eternity. They may have possibly believed they were morphing into an animal or another person, as a type of reincarnation. It’s a bit difficult to tell by these pictures. I have a scholarly friend in Dublin who is making a study of cave drawings similar to these on the west coast. We studied Greek together in college.”

“That is astonishing . . . you must invite him to visit when we return. I should very much like him to examine the ones here. It would be enlightening to hear his interpretation behind their meaning, if there should be any.”

“I’ll write to him when we return to the hall,” he agreed, admiring the primitive picture of a herd of deer painted in red.

He brought the boat up to the shore and anchored it. Gallantly, he stood in the knee-deep water tying the rope. Putting his hands on her waist, he said, “May I bring you ashore, my lady? I wouldn’t want you to get your feet wet.”

“Thank you. Are you certain I won’t be too heavy for you?” she asked a little anxious.

“Not a bit. You’ll be as light as a feather.” And without any further ado, he lifted her into his arms.

She placed her hands on his strong shoulders, feeling his muscles tighten beneath her finger tips. She felt a secret delight. It was reminiscent of her happy childhood when she was carried to bed. A feeling of security, an emotion she had never thought to experience again, pervaded her being.

Gently, he set her down. A look passed between them. It was the unspoken connection of two people who were drawn to each other, enjoying the other’s company as they shared a moment of happy solitude.

The pebbled sand crunched beneath her feet as she walked towards the fire pit. Kathleen felt a tingle of excitement run down her spine at the knowledge that the treasure was nearby. In a few moments she would be able to touch it. The pictographs on the wall had been an exciting find, but now she would actually hold history in her hands.

Thoughtfully, she touched her brooch. Hopefully, they would find more items like this in the treasure chest.
But undoubtedly no matter what we find, it will be valuable in our eyes because we discovered it together,
she decided.

She looked over at Beau as he stood next to her. She realized she had come to fully trust him. Any other man might have taken the treasure and left her with nothing, but not him. They would find the treasure chest together. She knew he would not betray her.

She had been worried about his integrity, when he had first become her guardian. Was he truly what he appeared to be? Would he betray her? But now she knew the answers . . . he had proven himself.

When he stood up for her and removed the dominating Mrs. O’Grady from her post, she knew then he could be depended upon. But she had held some doubt. However, he had over the past few weeks become her confidante, friend, protector, and finally her lover.

It was with great satisfaction she realized what that meant. She completely trusted him. She no longer had any doubts about his loyalty. It was a revelation that caused her heart to pound happily. She both loved and trusted him. And soon she would tell him.

Beau looked at the map and said, “The treasure is over here.”

He walked over to the fire pit. Crouching, he proceeded to dig around the burnt wood and charred sand with a shovel. A metal handle surfaced from out of the sooty ground.

Eagerly, she helped dig around what now appeared to be a wooden container. The round lid with its metal studs and straps became visible. More digging revealed the four, sharp edges and the slated sides of a large wooden chest.

Its size explained why her late husband had not been able to remove it from the pit. It would have required a very strong man to do so. And as her husband was an invalid, he had not been able to move it. So he had left it hidden in the cave.

Bracing his legs on each side of the pit, Beau lifted. Ashy soot and sand fell away from the box as he slowly hefted the chest up from its burial place. He set it on the edge of the hole. Wiping his brow, he grinned at her.

“We did it.” She breathed.

Her heart pounded with excitement. They had found the treasure. It was real. She examined it. The large metal padlock attached to the side was unusual. The tumbler’s design was circular instead of triangular. Yet it had a familiar look.

“Your brooch,” Beau said, looking at her shawl. “It may be the key to opening it.”

She nodded her head in agreement, recognizing the familiar shape. Carefully, she placed the face of the jewel inside the tumbler. It fit perfectly. But the lock did not budge.

“Try turning it,” he suggested.

She did so, gently moving it to the right. A satisfying
click
was heard. The pin moved. The lock sprung open.

Lifting the heavy lid, they discovered the treasure.

Inside, gems of every size and description filled the chest to the brim. Necklaces made of pearls, amethysts, heavy chains of finely wrought silver and pounded gold embedded with rubies and topazes lay inside. Medieval artifacts of goblets, crosses, amulets, bracelets, rings, and the heads of small statues of Druid gods, stuck out of the top of the impressive pile.

They hugged, smiling with happiness over the find. Filled with excitement, they kissed. Their mutual joy over the discovery ignited a bonding flame between them. They had been successful in their quest.

Beau placed the treasure in the boat. They had already decided to have archeological experts help them identify the treasure’s objects. They wanted to know the origins of the jewels and valuable artifacts and then they would decide how to distribute them.

Believing that she already had enough wealth to take care of her needs, Kathleen resolved not to sell off any of the antiquities. Instead, she would donate them to deserving universities and museums involved in studying medieval and early Irish culture. She did not know it, but an entire wing of a museum would later be named in her honor.

When they were prepared to return to Dovehill Hall, Tim, with some reluctance, parted with a treasure as well . . . a deer bone he had discovered in the ancient fire pit. She refused to let him carry it aboard.

“You will get ash all over yourself and us,” she said to the woeful animal. “But if you are good, I will give you another one when we return.” As if he understood, the pet reluctantly dropped the prize and took his habitual place at the bow.

Smiling at the exchange, Beau lifted the anchor and began to row them back to the river.

Passing the falls, she could not help but think of the banshee and of the brooch she wore . . . the death of her husband had brought her here. It had also brought Beau back into her life—creating a new beginning for her.

Something good had come out of all the sorrow she had endured since her parents’ deaths. Looking at the waterfall’s rainbow, she realized they had found the legendary treasure at the end of it.

Fingering the lover’s knot, she mused,
Perhaps the banshee left the brooch for me to find? Maybe she had wanted me to discover the treasure?
But she knew it was more than that. She glanced over at Beau as he rowed. Her heart lifted at the sight of him. Perhaps the banshee had desired to help her find love, as well?

Once they had departed from the cave, Beau turned their boat towards the narrow river. They passed the solid stone walls peacefully, unaware that their arrival was anticipated. As they entered the river leading back to the lake, her flesh prickled with goose bumps of awareness. She sensed they were no longer alone. Unseen eyes were upon them.

Tim growled. His mouth trembled into a snarl. He too sensed a disquieting presence. The hair on the back of his neck bristled.

“Easy, boy,” Beau said, giving the dog a reassuring pat. He put a restraining hand on the dog’s leash. He looked uneasily about him.

“We are being followed, aren’t we?” she asked in a half whisper.

Silently, he nodded. He opened his coat, inside, strapped to his hips and under his arms, were shooting pistols.

Her eyes widened at the sight of them.

“Ever since the attack in Dublin, they have not left my side. Whoever is out there must have been waiting for us. Undoubtedly they want the treasure.”

She shuddered as two rough looking men appeared out of the thick brush. An older woman stood next to them. She recognized her.

“It’s Mrs. O’Grady!” She breathed, but her relief at the sight of the solemn-faced servant was short-lived. The older woman and the two men aimed long firing pistols at them.

“What shall we do?” she asked, biting down on her lip in worry.

“Hopefully, we’ll be able to out-race them to the lake,” he said. “There, we can summon help from shore. Until then we’ll have to try and remain out of reach.”

He handed her the torn end of Tim’s leash.

“You had best hold onto this while I steer. I’m afraid he’ll jump out of the boat and try to attack them.”

Silently, she took it from him, gripping the frayed end with all her might. She was determined that this time no harm would come to her brave pet.

“Calm, Tim . . . calm . . .” she said soothingly, stroking him.

Warily, she eyed the shore. She caught glimpses of their pursuers as they ran along the footpath. She watched as they pushed through the dense growth.

The water’s clarity changed from murky to clear, the current now ran swiftly as they left the narrow vegetation filled river. Leaves and branches floated past. The brush thinned. Their pursuers would now be able to get a clear aim at them.

Beau directed the small skiff into the wider river. She noticed he tried to keep the craft in the center, away from the shore. She could see the thieves clearly through the thin brush, taking aim . . .

They began firing off their weapons, setting Tim into a frenzy of barking. He pulled on the rope in an effort to lunge out of the boat, his fangs bared. Kathleen held on tight. If the dog jumped out, he would drown.

She noticed the shots were not aimed at hitting them, but rather at the bottom of their craft. The pirates peppered the water with shots. A pair of white ducks squawked in protest, paddling swiftly away.

Her heart pounded wildly with the sudden realization that the villains intended to sink them. If they ended up in the water, the swift current’s undertow would undoubtedly pull them under. They would drown, saving the pirates the trouble of killing them.

Once they were disposed of, the pirates would search for the treasure chest with long grappling hooks. It was a dubious enterprise. The chest might be carried away or spill out onto the muddy bottom and be lost forever, but the heartless criminals appeared to be willing to take the risk.

“Now we’re in for it,” commented Beau grimly as the current began to slow.

They had reached the mouth of the lake. “Do you think you can handle both the rudder and Tim? I am going to try and fire off a couple of shots to hold them back.”

She nodded and dragged the barking dog to the opposite side.

Beau removed one of the revolvers, carefully checking the flintlock before taking aim. None of his powder or shot was to be wasted. He would make certain that each firing counted.

He extended his arm and took aim. He had dueled against several discontented losers, after defeating them in court, fought off robbers who once tried to invade his country house in Tipperary, and helped his friend retrieve his kidnapped bride from cutthroat mercenaries. He handled himself with the steady
sang froid
only a gentleman used to handling weapons in the most dangerous of circumstances could do . . . he fired.

They heard a cry as the pirate standing on the right side of Mrs. O’Grady was hit. After the smoke cleared, they could see the man clutching his thigh where he’d been shot. The pirate swore vehemently.