The Widow and the Rogue Read online

“What are ye, moonstruck or something? I told you t’ look for the markings. Why the devil are you using that worthless piece of parchment?” Mrs. O’Grady sneered. “Or don’t you remember the last time we were down here? We were lost for over two hours. And that was because you trusted this useless bit of tree shavings.”

  The female pirate snatched the map from his hand and set it on fire. The parchment momentarily brightened the chamber. It flamed as it smoked and fell to the ground. For a moment the dagger cast a shadow on the wall behind her.

  Frightened, Kathleen held her breath, waiting for her secret to be discovered, but her captors were too involved with their own private dispute to notice the weapon in her hands.

  “Why did ye do that?” the shocked pirate asked. “What if we become lost? We have no way of knowing how to get out of here.”

  “Because,” said Mrs. O’Grady, “you’ll now be forced to obey me. Something you haven’t been doing. Now get on with it and follow the markings like I told ye to.”

  The rope suddenly grew slack . . . Kathleen had managed to saw through the cords. She was free. Keeping her hands behind her, she knew she had to patiently choose her moment to try and escape.

  Beau returned to the dining room. The doors were locked, as he expected. But as Kathleen did not let him in, he forced them open.

  Entering the empty room, he noticed with alarm the opened passageway.

  He called urgently to the armed militia to join him. He knew she wouldn’t have gone down into the tunnels without him. She had to have been forced.

  “Lady Langtry has been taken by the pirates,” he said to the captain as way of explanation when he appeared. “We have to go after her.”

  He grabbed the lit candelabra from the dining table to use as a light. He had no idea where the tunnels might lead, what perils might lie ahead, but he was determined to find her at all cost.

  He couldn’t bear contemplating what might be happening to her, if she came to any harm. He felt an icy lump in his throat at the thought. He’d never forgive himself.

  She’d become the center of his world. He could no longer imagine his life without her. He would save her. He had to.

  * * *

  Kathleen and the pirates arrived in front of a shallow cave. A strange rotten-egg smell permeated the air around them. A heavily chained fence bordered the cave. Piled inside were barrels of black-market Portuguese port, French silk, and stacked boxes of antiquities—all illegal booty the pirates had stolen from both the living and the dead.

  Next to it were small barrels of gunpowder. Seeing it, her heart pounded with excited hope. It was in that instant she knew how she was going to make her escape. And she had to time it perfectly or quite possibly lose her own life.

  The pirates sacrilegiously sifted through the belongings of the dead. Carelessly, they tossed about the religious relics. It didn’t matter to them that the priceless artifacts had once belonged to druid kings and holy monks.

  They suddenly heard an eerie scream, echoing down through the tunnels.

  A cool wind blew swiftly past them. Shivering with fear, they turned to see where the gust originated from.

  The glowing figure of the female banshee quickly took shape before their startled eyes.

  “What the devil—” sputtered Ned, as he was about to smash the gems off a cross.

  The spirit opened wide its mouth. A piercing scream of rage emitted from the being. Her glowing hand pointed to the treasure. She screamed again, causing the torches’ flames to quiver.

  While Mrs. O’Grady and the pirate stood frozen by the banshee, Kathleen rushed over to the powder. The banshee was providing her with the distraction she needed. Pushing the ropes off, she removed her hands from behind her back.

  Gently, she placed a powder keg on its side. She pushed it up the tunnel floor to where it began to turn a corner.

  “What do ye think yer doing?” asked Ned, turning around, discovering that their captive had set herself free.

  She grabbed the torch that hung above her head.

  “I’m giving you to the banshee,” she said with calm assurance, certain the spirit would take him to hell.

  Uncorking the barrel, she kicked it towards him. It rolled, leaving a clear trail of dark powder. She tipped the flame. Igniting the explosive, it sparked with a deadly hiss. Dropping the torch, she ran.

  * * *

  Beau cautiously entered an off-shooting tunnel from the secret passageway. He could not see anything ahead, but pitch blackness. The moment his foot touched down, he heard an earth shattering explosion. The ear-bursting sound echoed through the tunnels. Bits of fragmented rocks fell around them.

  For a moment he lost his footing. Frightened, he realized Kathleen might be down where the explosion originated. Holding the candelabra, he began to run as fast as he could, not knowing where the passageway would lead.

  The militia tried to follow, but quickly lost him.

  “Kathleen!” he yelled, panicking at the thought that she might somehow be hurt or trapped in the dark below. What if she was suffocating?

  He had to find her! He berated himself for the one-hundredth time. How could he have been so foolish as to leave her unprotected? How easily he had let her fall into those villains’ hands.

  In his mind he pictured her face, imagining frightened eyes staring at him. His heart twisted painfully. He should never have left her alone. He had to rescue her, even if it meant tearing apart the tunnels stone by stone.

  * * *

  Breathless, not looking where she was going, Kathleen ran straight into a solid form. It was a man. She looked up into her beloved’s face.

  “Beau . . .” She breathed, her heart thudding with relief.

  “Thank heavens,” he said.

  He clasped her to him, tightly holding onto her as if he feared she would suddenly disappear. She hugged him. She had never felt anything as good as his arms around her. “You’re alive,” he said.

  “I managed to escape,” she explained. “I cut the ropes they used to bind me using a small dagger. And then I set off an explosion with gunpowder.”

  “You did that . . .” he said with admiration in his voice, but then added as an afterthought, “but you might have been killed, possibly caught up in the blast and blown to bits!”

  Touching her talisman, she said, “I had no choice. It was that or let myself be led to the slaughter, like a willing pig. And I swore to God I would not do that. I took my chance.” She gave a shaky laugh. “My guardian saints were with me. I lit the gunpowder and introduced those two villains to Beelzebub himself.”

  “Yes.” He nodded proudly, realizing how strong she truly was. “You freed yourself and defeated them . . . the fools . . . they didn’t know they were dealing with the bravest woman in Ireland.”

  “I thought . . .” She swallowed, unable to finish the thought. It was too painful. She’d thought she would never be with him again.

  “You thought what, dear heart?” he asked gently, smoothing her hair back from her face with a shaking hand.

  She shook her head. Tears sprang in her eyes as she buried her face into his shoulder.

  When she was a captive, she’d been afraid. She thought she was going to die. She’d wanted to tell him how grateful she was for all the help and support he’d given her. He had opened her heart again.

  “Come, let’s leave this place,” he said, putting his arms around her shoulders. He noticed she’d begun to shake from the cold. Concerned with her health, he quickly led her back out through the tunnels.

  Halfway up, they encountered the militia, with the local captain of the guard leading them.

  “Thank heavens, you’re alive. We thought we’d lost you, Lady Langtry,” the captain said, visibly relieved at the sight of the young woman walking beside the tall magistrate.

  “My men discovered a tunnel blown asunder. All that remains is a pile of rubble. We feared the worst had happened to you.”

  “No, I am still quite alive
,” she said with a small smile. But curiosity caused her to ask, “Did you come across anyone else?”

  He shook his head.

  “Other than the dead saints who lie beneath,” he said, “we met no one. It would appear that if anyone had been breathing down there, they are no longer. It is what it has been for quite some time, a burial ground for the dead.”

  “And I will make certain it remains so,” she said.

  Shakily, she thought of the people she’d killed. Although they’d been murderous villains, hell bent on destroying her, it troubled her conscience.

  Thinking of the banshee spirit who’d guided her, she resolved never again to disturb the dead. She did not want the ancient tombs to be opened and exposed to the greed of men. She would make certain of that as the mistress of Dovehill Hall.

  Chapter 13

  The mercenary pirates, who’d remained above ground, were caught and put into the militia’s armed custody and carted off to face a sentencing tribunal in Dublin, while the Countess Deuville and her son, Henry, were exiled to one of his majesty’s penal colonies.

  The local guarda and the militia were both given credit for capturing the dangerous villains, generating a rare but important feeling of unified accomplishment between the Irish and the English.

  As for the newly resurrected Captain Fitzpatrick, it was learned that he had had quite an adventure before reaching Ireland again. As reported, The Blue Star had indeed run into a gale as it rounded the cape of South Africa’s horn. The crew took to the longboats as the ship hit sharp reefs off the African coast, rowing in the direction of the nearby shore. That was the last time he saw his crew alive. James had been the last man to jump ship, miraculously making it to shore by the use of his own limbs and the ship’s floating wreckage.

  “What became of my men, I do not know,” he said grimly. “I fear a fierce warrior tribe may have captured and killed them. I was lost in the jungles for two years, at one point succumbing to malaria, living for a time with some Jesuit priests. When at last I reached civilization, I had to earn my passage back home. I would have returned two weeks ago if it hadn’t been for those interfering pirates. They captured the vessel I was on and decided to hold me for ransom when they learned that my wife’s niece was none other than the Earl of Drennan’s wealthy bride. They were about to contact you for the money, but my beloved wife rescued me before they had a chance.”

  “You’re back home now, James,” said Agnes consolingly, holding tightly his arm. “And we will never again be parted.”

  “Aye that’s for sure, love,” he replied fondly. Patting her hand, he silently vowed never again to set foot on a ship. He envisioned a future of spending his twilight years in a small cottage with his beloved wife, near the sea, looking, but never sailing it.

  Kathleen decided to host a celebratory ball to honor the local villagers and the militia. It also allowed her to make amends for her late husband’s questionable involvement with the illegal smuggling.

  She’d spent the past few weeks with the household staff preparing for the festivities. As mistress of the hall, she’d begun to put her personal mark upon the estate. Subtle changes had been made to the grounds surrounding the square building. Vines and flowering bushes had been planted, softening the harsh look of the Gothic exterior.

  Now when she strolled around the hall, she no longer stiffened with discomfort. It was truly becoming her home. A place she felt comfortable and happy in, where she might one day raise a family.

  “What do you want me to do with this, my lady?” asked a liveried footman, carrying one of her late husband’s large marble elephants.

  He held it up for her inspection.

  The white elephant was gilded purple, pink, and gold. She remembered it being placed next to her husband’s bishop’s chair, the memory of which made her inwardly cringe.

  It was gaudy, she quickly decided. She would have had it tossed into the rubbish heap, if it weren’t for the fact that it was gilded in real gold. She wrinkled her nose. What to do with it? Should she try and sell it?

  She said with open dislike, “Place it by the ballroom door. And the first person who comments on how lovely and tasteful it is, hand it to them to carry back home—I have no further use for it.”

  Little by little she’d been emptying the hall of the ornate bric-a-brac her late husband had collected. She had them auctioned off and the money donated to various charitable organizations. Her generous philanthropy was to be remembered by many. It helped erase the black mark her dead husband’s illegal activities had left.

  And it served another purpose. It kept the interfering British government at bay. Under normal circumstances they would have swooped in and confiscated Dovehill Hall, heartlessly casting her out onto the dirt road. They could have easily used Bangford’s black-market activities as an excuse to claim the hall and its adjoining estates for their own. But they didn’t.

  Both Beau and the British militia’s captain spoke out on her behalf. They recounted to the authorities how she had valiantly fought the pirates and by doing so, she had demonstrated her unquestionable loyalty to the crown.

  Convinced of her innocence, those in power left her in peace. They permitted her to continue running Dovehill Hall’s lucrative estates for the next generation to enjoy and for the British government to tax.

  “Look what her ladyship gave me,” she overheard an elderly sheepherder exclaim.

  He tottered over to her with a big smile on his wrinkled face, proudly carrying the gaudy white elephant in his arms. A young man, his grandson, stood at his elbow to steady his grandfather, lest the tottering elder should suddenly lose his precarious balance.

  “Many thanks to you, ma’am, for this fine elephant.” He pulled on his thinned forelock in respect. “I shall treasure this for the remainder of m’ living days,” the sheepherder said. “I always did like exotic animals. And this one will look right grand over m’ hearth.”

  “It is my pleasure, sir, to give it to you. I hope you enjoy it as much as my late husband did,” she replied, thinking about the other exotic objects she wanted to rid herself of.

  There must be at least a half dozen or more items I can give away, she decided, pleased that her plan had worked so well and had made someone else happy. But before she had an opportunity to find more, the orchestra struck up a regal tune—someone important had arrived.

  It was the Earl of Drennan and his lovely new bride, Lady Beatrice, with her father and aunt, Lord Patrick O’ Brien, and Lady Agnes and Captain Fitzpatrick. Their entrance caused quite a stir. They were the highest ranking landowners and nobility in the vicinity. To have them condescend to attend the ball was indeed a tribute to the hostess of Dovehill Hall. It was an official stamp of approval from the ruling aristocratic class. Her late husband’s questionable activities were to be forgiven and forgotten.

  She quickly walked over and gave a low curtsy of welcome. Beau, acting as her guardian and co-host, joined her. “How wonderful of you to come,” she said, warmly embracing Lady Beatrice, the lady she had once helped rescue.

  “The honor is all ours,” replied the dark-haired lady, standing next to her husband, the Earl of Drennan, her aunt and the newly freed Captain Fitzpatrick.

  “We would not dream of missing the celebration of the capture of those pirates who caused you and my uncle so much trouble. I am certain the entire village rejoices that your ladyship did not come to any harm.”

  Kathleen could not help but notice that Lady Beatrice wore an evening gown with a train for the special occasion. Her attire was as much a complement to the importance of the festivity as was her presence.

  The gown was made of fine black silk edged in matching lace. Her ladyship’s jewelry, family heirlooms that had been passed from one generation to the next, sparkled at her throat and dangled fetchingly from her ears. Her long black hair was swept up in the Grecian style and strands of pearls were entwined in her hair.

  There was not a single person in the ro
om who was not a little awed. Lady Langtry’s esteemed guests were the epitome of what Irish aristocracy ought to aspire to be. They were known to be strong of character, hard-working, and forward thinking. There wasn’t a man or woman in the room who didn’t want to be connected to them.

  “Indeed, I was most fortunate to be aided and protected by our local guarda and the British militia. I thank you for your kind wishes for my well-being,” she replied. “But please do us the honor of joining in the dance, in celebration. It would be a great pleasure for our guests if you were to do so.”

  “It would be our delight,” replied the earl on his wife’s behalf, smiling, giving his official seal of approval. He turned towards his friend Beau and greeted him warmly.

  Holding out his gloved hand for his wife to take, they decorously prepared to dance, as the orchestra struck up music for a stately quadrille.

  Couples stood in a square, a pair located at each of the corners. The word for the dance originated from this formation, meaning four or quad. In the early nineteenth century, elements from this dance would develop into the waltz. Both dances had the rhythmic beat of 2/4 time.

  All stood back and watched. It was a memorable event for the entire village. And the reputation of Dovehill Hall was completely repaired. No one wished ill of the brave, young widow who had escaped and helped capture the most dangerous pirates in Ireland.

  “Aye, for sure now,” many said. “’Twas surely no wonder that Lord Bangford died from the banshee’s curse. He was an evil man and deserved it. But now may his pretty, young widow live in peace. May she be blessed with a good man, like her guardian, Master Powers, for a husband. The solicitor has already done well by taking good care of both her ladyship and Dovehill Hall. Aye, the sweet mistress deserves to be treated with respect. She should have a happy life after having faced down those thieving pirates.”

  It was with great pride the tenants and those in service at Dovehill Hall watched their lady dance with the solicitor. Many began speculating if wedding banns might soon be posted. It wouldn’t surprise them if they did. The romantic way the couple gazed at each other proclaimed their tender feelings.