The Widow and the Rogue (20 page)

“It was no accident, if that is what you’re thinking. I pushed him,” said the unrepentant pirate. “He threatened me! I who helped him find the treasure map. He said he’d expose us to the authorities if we didn’t do as he wished. He didn’t want you to know anything. He wanted you to think him to be a proper gentleman, but he was always one of us, a pirate.”

Although Ned didn’t touch it, he continued to eye the brooch. She noted the greedy calculation in his dark eyes. If the enchanted piece of jewelry wasn’t cursed by the dreadful banshee, it would be worth a small fortune. By the way his hand kept hovering, it was evident he wanted to take it.

Someone else noticed his reaction.

“I said t’ keep yer hands off!” Mrs. O’Grady growled, coldly aiming the sharp end of a light sword at his throat.

“Do what I say and step away from her. We’ve work to do. And I need that chit to help us retrieve the cargo. The last thing I want is some wrathful spirit to come curse us to pieces because you up and provoked it.”

“But what about the others?” he asked, referring to the pirates who were distracting the militia. “Why can’t they help us?”

“I don’t trust them,” the female leader said. “The only reason those mercenaries came to help was because I paid them plenty of blunt for their services. Aye, I wouldn’t turn my back on any of them. They’d put a bullet straight through me if they could.”

They forcibly led Kathleen down into the secret passageway. As they entered, a shiver of fear went through her. She knew that the minute they laid their hands on the cargo, her life would come to a sudden end.

The cold and dank tunnel snaked gently downwards into the ground below the hall. The brute lit a torch with a rag he held aloft in one scabbed hand.

They passed along dripping stone walls. It was evident the tunnel had not been built overnight. She sensed that it had been constructed hundreds of years before Dovehill Hall, possibly by the Catholic monks.

The passageway consisted of a maze. In the dark she tried to get her bearings. She wanted to be certain to remember the way out, if she managed to escape. Off-shooting tunnels confused the direction they were traveling in. It would be easy to become lost in the dark.

As they rounded a corner, a skeleton’s head leered down at her from a stone shelf. A black spider dropped down on a clear thread from its exposed teeth onto her shoulder.

She gave a frightened scream, shaking.

It fell harmlessly to the ground.

“Stop wailing,” said Mrs. O’Grady sternly. “You’ll be seeing plenty more of those where we’re going—so ye best get used to it.”

“The catacombs . . .” Kathleen whispered with sudden realization.

They were about to enter the common burial grounds located below the monastery. She had never before been inside them. Her husband had never permitted it. Now she knew why. And she had to face the terrible reality she might soon be joining the dead monks entombed there.

They slowed their pace. Sensing they were nearing the end, she looked for a sharp object with which to cut through the ropes. It would be the only way to escape. She was too far down in the ground for any cries of help to be heard.

On a low-lying shelf she noticed a skeleton. It looked to be a warrior. He wore a round crown. It encircled his fleshless skull, a sign that he’d once been a local chieftain. In his crossed arms lay a small dagger.

She noticed the empty spaces in this crown, which had once held precious gems. Grave robbers, no doubt, had removed them.

But the dagger, which was considered of no particular value, had been left in his hands. His other was empty. It probably had once held a long broad sword, evidence that he had once been a great warrior. A large leather shield lay on his chest. To be buried here, instead of on a battle ground, meant his life ended only when he was defeated by the Grim Reaper, death itself.

They stopped for a few minutes as the pirates consulted a map. She took the opportunity to step backwards. She pried the small weapon from the dead chieftain’s hand, hiding her actions in the shadows.

Slowly—with clumsy skill, she began to slice away at the binding rope.

“Are you certain it’s to the right?” she heard Ned ask.

“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.

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.”