The Widow and the Rogue Read online

  “And the art of unbuttoning a gentleman’s trouser, is that to be a part of my training?” she asked, coyly looking down to where a familiar bulge had made its appearance beneath his dark breeches.

  “Indeed . . .” he said, sitting on the love sofa, observing her. “If you so wish it to be.”

  Without hesitation, she began unbuttoning the front flaps of the garment, and reaching inside, cupped his manhood as she had the night before. To her delight, it grew in her hands.

  She eyed his manhood and asked, “May I sit on you?”

  He lifted his blond eyebrows, surprised by the request.

  “You realize that this is in the way . . .” He gestured down to his erect manhood.

  “Exactly,” she said and without any hesitation, she opened the slit of her undergarment and situated herself on top of him. His hands reached around and firmly held her buttocks in place, steadying her.

  “Hmm . . . easier than learning to ride a horse,” she said, placing her arms around his neck, comfortably situating herself on top of his manhood.

  He laughed at her unusual comparison, but was not given the opportunity to comment on her riding abilities as she began kissing him, distracting him away from any thoughts he might have uttered.

  She gently lifted her hips up and down, feeling the pleasurable increase of throbbing below as she slid along his hardened manhood, using the walls of her body’s most secret of places to hold them together. She rode him, the throbbing increasing until she felt a powerful rush of light and energy burst through her body. She tensed, grabbing hold of his strong, muscular shoulders as he held her in place until the overwhelming waves of pleasure ceased.

  Beau’s face constricted. He lifted her from him. He tightened his abdomen, his breath heavy from the effort of not releasing his seed into her. His breathing slowly returned to normal, and gently he moved aside one of the long strands of her golden hair, which had fallen during their lovemaking.

  “I think, Kathleen, you need no more lessons,” he said, looking into her shining, bright, cornflower blue eyes. “You have graduated, and know enough now to plunder a man’s body for your own pleasure.”

  “Indeed,” she replied, smiling, happy that their lovemaking had been of mutual gratification. She felt powerful and it was because of him. He had helped her experience the true pleasure a man and a woman could enjoy if they cared about each other.

  And, her heart silently added, loved each other . . .

  She placed a quick kiss on his mouth, not willing to dwell on the fact that “love” was what she felt when she joined her body with his.

  “Thank-you, dear professor, for your lessons . . . you were an excellent instructor.”

  “The pleasure, my lady, was all mine,” he replied, kissing her back. “Now that you have plundered my body, perhaps you can help me find another type of treasure, as well?”

  “Most willingly,” she said, and thought of the secret treasure linked to the lover’s knot and the pirates. Aye, an exciting adventure awaited them!

  * * *

  The blue of the sky shone off the sparkling water. Beau carefully helped her into the boat. He handed her a wicker basket full of food and a clay jug filled with lemonade.

  He stepped in and once seated, picked up the oars. They had decided to float towards a remote portion of the south shore of the lake, drifting on a side river not far from the treasure’s cave. She leaned back into the large cushions behind her. Lazily, she dipped her fingers in the water.

  She watched him row, a dreamy smile on her lips, remembering their passionate lovemaking.

  He had taken off his morning coat and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. In the sunlight the well-formed muscles of his arms gleamed. Even in this sweaty state, he looked, well, dashing.

  From the lake she could see Dovehill Hall’s Gothic form. It stood outlined against the backdrop of the sky. The towers and square main building dominated the hill’s foreground.

  Suddenly out of the corner of her eye she spotted a dark four-legged creature. It loped down the expansive green lawn. A black plumed tail wagged back and forth as it headed straight towards them.

  “Tim,” she said aloud.

  She sat up on her elbows to get a better view of her pet. A broken rope dangled from the dog’s neck. Evidently, he’d chewed through his leash.

  “It looks as if the stable hands have lost track of him again,” Beau commented, watching as the small black figure jumped into the water. “Shall we bring him aboard? Or do you want me to send him back?”

  “We may as well have him join us,” she said with a small sigh. “He will follow us regardless of what we decide. And I fear he might come to harm treading this deep water.”

  Once the dog reached them, Beau hauled him aboard.

  Tim, realizing he was not going to be sent back, appreciatively licked his face. That done, he shook out his coat, spraying water all over them. Commanded to sit, the pet settled in the bow of the light skiff, taking on the job of watchdog. Noisily, he barked at the water fowl ahead, sending the birds into startled flight.

  They reached a portion of the lake that curved in a serpentine manner. The land next to it was flat before it became overrun with dense shrubbery. Farther down was the side river, which they hoped would lead them to the hidden cave and its treasure. It interconnected with a canal and flowed south towards the town of Waterford.

  “This appears to be the perfect spot for our picnic,” Beau said, cheerfully picking up the punting pole. He pushed the boat towards shore. “What do you say? We still have the remainder of the day for exploring.”

  She nodded her head in agreement, realizing that she had developed a small pang of hunger. Tim eagerly jumped out of the boat as it touched the grassy bank and ran around sniffing the neighboring trees and bushes, barking at scurrying squirrels.

  Beau, holding the boat’s rope, jumped ashore and tied it around the trunk of a tree. She handed him the basket along with the large blanket, which he set aside on the sandy stretch before turning back to help her alight.

  Their midday meal did not resemble the elaborate picnics she had previously hosted at Dovehill Hall. The outdoor meals there had been grandiose affairs involving a whole battalion of servants carrying tents, pillows, tables, china plates, silver, throws, and food served piping hot from the hall’s kitchen.

  Instead, once the tartan blanket was laid out under the shade of a large oak tree, they settled comfortably and enjoyed watching Tim’s antics before tucking into the simple, yet delicious fare, which included cold meat pies, sliced cheese, deviled eggs and crisp, tart apples.

  What a pleasant experience, she mused, sitting in the dappled sunlight seeping through the trees surrounding them. No, she felt more than pleasant, she realized. She felt contentment. A foreign feeling to her and she reveled in it. She remembered the headaches she had previously endured when her husband had hosted picnics. He would become uptight and unpleasant if the slightest detail was amiss. What should have been a pleasant afternoon in the sunshine and fresh air had always turned into a demanding performance. She laid her head back onto her arm with a sigh of contentment.

  She didn’t have to listen anymore to the prattle of some uppity dowager or pretend to be fascinated by some aged jackanapes’s latest tomfoolery. Instead she gazed languidly at the water fowl floating by and the occasional butterfly flit onto a nearby patch of milkweed. Lying here beneath the trees, doing absolutely nothing was pure bliss.

  “Is this too rustic for you?” Beau asked, shooing away a fly that landed onto his meat pie. “Perhaps you would prefer to return to Dovehill Hall? I can continue on my own to the cave. You do not have to accompany me.”

  “No, not at all . . .” she said, a slight edge in her voice, knowing he had not given up trying to convince her to remain at the hall. “It reminds me of what a philosopher once said about the benefits of having a picnic out in the open. Let me see if I can remember the conversation . . . ah yes . . . he calle
d it ‘communing’. I suppose this is what we are doing—communing with nature, by simply enjoying it.” She did not add that it was not nature that at this moment held her attention, but the enticing gentleman seated next to her.

  The manner in which he looked down at her with his sparkling eyes sent her heart hammering with anticipation. Secretly, she wanted to be touched and made love to again by him.

  “Do you believe in curses and enchantments?” she asked fingering her brooch, thinking about her husband’s death and the banshee’s frightening announcement of it.

  “I do—although I acknowledge much of it is pure superstition, brought about by the need to explain away some of the misfortunes of life. However, some of the spells one can cast are based upon common sense.”

  “Common sense spells?” She laughed, thinking of storybook enchantments concerning pixie dust and fortunetelling bones. “How can that be?”

  “Hmm . . . let me see . . .” he murmured, plucking at some of the clover growing near him. “Do you know the Irish spell for falling in love?”

  “No,” she said, barely breathing as he drew closer.

  “Oh, it’s full of enchantment and common sense,” he said. “May I cast the spell upon you, so that you might experience it for yourself?”

  “Please do,” she whispered.

  Silently, she added to herself, I believe I am already falling under your charm.

  “It’s really quite simple. We take some clover like this,” he explained, showing her the handful he had plucked. “And then we hold hands for a few minutes, giving the enchantment time to work. Shall we give it a try?”

  She nodded an agreement, her eyes never leaving his. He took her hand into his own. She felt the damp clover between them.

  Silently, not saying a word, with his free hand, he gently touched her face. His fingers traced the rounded contour of her cheek and the delicate line of her jaw, then down to her chin, delicately cupping it.

  His blue eyes, the color of a clear midnight sky, gazed into hers. Breaching the distance between them, he lowered his face—tenderly touching his lips to hers. With his free hand, he brought her closer to him. Holding her, he kissed her gently, warming her heart.

  They broke apart, but their hands remained clasped.

  “I now understand what you mean.” She breathed, her heart thudding heavily as blood reddened her cheeks. “That was truly enchanting.”

  “Yes, it was,” he said softly in agreement.

  If indeed a love spell had been cast, it was the magical meeting of two hearts seeking out their mate. They had discovered the person who was to become both their beloved friend and lover. The person they could count upon to honor, protect, and care for them for the rest of their lives. And it was wonderful.

  Chapter 9

  Tim, who’d been dashing in and out of the water, reminded them of their original purpose for being there. He came over and dropped the wet stick he carried in his mouth at their feet.

  “This is the last time, boy,” Beau said, as he picked it up, then flung it towards the boat. They watched as the young pup happily chased after it. Tim’s black body quivered with energy. After having taken an afternoon nap, he was ready for the next adventure.

  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.