by Beverly Adam
She ruled her life and property as she chose. She had only herself to answer to because of him. She knew she owed her current independence to him. He had proved himself and gained her trust and become her lover. As a result, she had fallen in love with him.
Beau abruptly stopped speaking. He turned towards her, an expression of concern on his face. His blue eyes focused on her.
“What is troubling you, Kathleen?” he asked. “I do not believe you heard a word I just said. If you are tired, we can discuss this at another time. The day’s events have been rather arduous and draining.”
“It’s not that,” she softly admitted. “I’ve come to realize something which is both disturbing and wonderful at the same time.”
“What is that?”
“Those pirates might have killed you.”
He raised his golden eyebrows at her remark. She held a hand up, preventing him from speaking.
“And I cannot bear the thought of you being taken away from me,” she continued, her large, china blues eyes fixed upon him. “Such a possibility is most painful to me. I know that if someone were to attack me, you would selflessly place yourself in harm’s way. You might possibly be killed by doing so.”
“I see,” he replied, an amused grin lifting the corner of his lips, “and this is wonderful? I don’t understand.”
“Yes,” she nodded, “because I know I can trust you with my life, and I have never before been able to do that with anyone. There has been no one with whom I could have any confidence in. I have been completely alone and unprotected.”
“And now you trust me?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He sat a moment in silence, letting her words sink in. The beautiful woman seated before him had paid him a great compliment. She had faith in him. He recalled their first interview. He remembered the astonished look on her face when he announced he was to become her guardian.
She had been doubtful and afraid, fearing he would be like the other men in her life. She had worried that he would take advantage of her. But he had proven her fears to be unwarranted and their relationship had slowly transformed.
The dangerous events of the last month and the discovery of the treasure had brought them closer together. He’d proven himself. She now trusted him enough to speak openly and without any fear.
He felt a surge of happiness. He’d been hoping she would grow to trust him, but this was unexpected. She had complete faith in him and he knew he would never betray it.
Before he could respond, the sound of gunfire outside startled them.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He went to the window and looked out. More shots were heard. In the dark, he could see nothing. Suddenly, several figures rushed by the window. Shouts followed.
“Stay here,” Beau said. “I’ll find out what happened.”
He picked up his brace of arms and with a determined stride, headed towards the door. She went to him as he reached for the handle.
“You don’t suppose the pirates have returned?” she asked, biting down on her lower lip with worry.
“Aye, I do . . . those three did not work this black-market scheme by themselves. It would not surprise me if they came back with a boatload of reinforcements. I think it’s best if you remain here where it’s safe. Secure the doors after me.”
She nodded in agreement and did what he asked, but this decision was a grave error they would both later regret.
Chapter 12
Kathleen and Beau were not the only ones to hear the gunshots. Seated in a pony cart on a road that ran along Dovehill Lake, Lady Agnes heard the shots, as well. She gripped tightly the leather ribbons in her hands as the pony in front of her nervously whinnied.
“Calm yourself, Marigold,” she said as much to the animal as herself. “If something is amiss at Dovehill, we must go there at once and offer our assistance.”
She touched her favorite sturdy parasol as it lay next to her. In the past, onboard her husband’s ship, The Blue Star, she had wielded it with some effect upon the heads of loutish men. She wondered briefly if tonight she would again be forced to do so.
Not frightened by the possibility of putting herself in danger, she turned the pony towards the gothic manse. She noted the scurrying of dark figures along the edge of the lawn leading down to the lake.
“Pirates!” she half exclaimed to herself. Red-coated soldiers ran after them and occasional orders were shouted out.
She halted her cart and hurriedly descended, tying the lead reins to a hitching post.
“You’ll have to stay here, while I investigate,” she said, gently patting the pony while firmly gripping her parasol.
She headed towards the lake where the dark figures had run. Perhaps she would be able to report back to the militia captain where the pirates were headed?
At the edge of the water, a gray-haired man was seated on the shore. His hands were tied behind his back while another, a pirate in a red-knitted cap, stood nearby smoking, observing the action taking place farther up the hill.
“A prisoner,” she whispered to herself, noticing that the gentleman was in a battered merchant captain’s uniform.
There was something vaguely familiar about the shape of the man’s build. The way he tilted his head and the manner in which his shoulders lay back, but it was only when she crept close enough to see his bearded face, and bright gray blue eyes that her heart leapt with recognition.
It was her husband . . . Captain James William Fitzpatrick!
She let out an involuntary gasp, her heart pounding with joy. She could not believe her eyes. It was her beloved husband—James! He who was missing, thought by many to have drowned at sea with his ship and crew off the coast of an unchartered part of Africa. He was the pirates’ prisoner!
She wanted to run to him, to take him into her arms, to kiss him, to tell him she had never stopped searching for him, and never ever let him go, but she halted her first impulsive step towards him upon espying the pirate sentry’s assortment of lethal weapons dangling from his belt. She had to deal with him first.
Dressed from head to toe in widow’s weeds, she had gone unnoticed down to the shore. Blending into the dark hedge, she quietly skirted the open lawn that sloped gradually to the lake. Her long black shawl covered her head, effectively camouflaging her actions.
Carefully, she crept up behind the pirate sentry. She wanted to get as close as possible to him without being detected.
Rising up suddenly out of the concealing hedge, like a small banshee, Agnes raised her parasol. Her shawl, fluttered in the cool night breeze, resembling the dark wings of a small vengeful angel.
“Have mercy on me!” cried the pirate, frightened, believing her to be the spirit of death come to claim his wicked soul.
“Take that, you good for nothing bilge rat!” shouted Agnes, furious at the idea that this low-life scum was preventing her husband from returning to her. How dare they keep the finest man in the world captive!
Using both hands, she struck down with all the force she could muster and hit the pirate soundly on the head with the metal stays of her parasol, knocking him out.
“Agnes!” exclaimed James, seeing that his rescuer was none other than his own beloved wife. He closed his eyes and then reopened them again to be certain that she was not a dream, one he had dreamt of during the many lonely nights he’d experienced during the past three years.
Quickly unbinding the ropes that held him, Agnes crouched down to her husband, unable to resist touching his face and kissing his mouth as she did so, trembling with eager anticipation of holding him in her arms once again.
Once his arms were free, he clasped her to him. His hands trembled as they reached up to pull back the heavy widow’s weeds that obscured her face, and like a bride on her wedding day, he kissed his devoted wife as if it was the very first time.
* * *
The minutes passed slowly as Kathleen was forced to remain in the dining room wondering wh
at was happening around her. The occasional sound of guns being fired caused her to jump.
Nervously, she peered out the window. Silence reigned—she could sense no movement outside. She anxiously hoped Beau was safe and would return to her, but that didn’t occur. Instead, a hand reached up from behind and pulled her backwards.
Frightened, she let out a terrified scream.
“You’d thought I’d gone, didn’t you?” said the rasping woman’s voice behind her.
Kathleen’s arms were viciously pulled.
She winced in pain. Her back had been turned to the bookshelves by the fireplace. She hadn’t noticed when someone gently pushed the bookcase forward, as the sound was muffled by the fire crackling in the grate. A secret door leading to a hidden passageway had sprung open.
“Didn’t think I would return and seek my revenge, neither,” the voice continued.
A sinking feeling of dread filled her being. She recognized the voice and the woman who now forcefully held her.
It was Mrs. O’Grady. She’d returned. And it was obvious she wanted revenge.
“That old fool . . . we all could have been rich. But he didn’t want his precious child bride to know about any of his dirty little secrets.” O’Grady sneered in contempt at Kathleen’s obvious ignorance. “He never told you about his unholy alliance with a bunch of black-market pirates, did he? Or how he’d been harboring us when the redcoats caught wind of our whereabouts?”
Silently, horrified, she shook her head.
Not until her husband’s death did she have any knowledge about what was going on under her very nose. He’d kept her blissfully ignorant. She knew nothing of Bangford’s dealings with the pirates or about the true character of this evil woman who’d constantly shadowed her.
The older woman chortled, “The old codger didn’t want his precious bride to run away. If he could have, he would’ve kept ye under lock and key. He was frightened that you would betray him. So he never told you anything.”
She laughed gloatingly. “Instead, he had me spy on you. He wanted to make certain you had no control. And that’s why he never told you about the passageway, the treasure, or about the black-market goods . . . but now ye know.”
The pirate shrugged, keeping a tight grip on her arms, as if all of this were inevitable.
“So you’ll have to die,” she rasped in satisfaction, as if Kathleen’s death was an event she’d been looking forward to.
“You already tried to kill me once,” Kathleen hissed, remembering the attempt on her life in Dublin, “and you didn’t succeed. You won’t this time, either. I will survive and live to see you hanged.”
That is if I am able to gain more time, she added to herself. And come up with a plan to escape her.
She remembered the vow she’d made to herself in Dublin. She refused to be manipulated like a hopeless pawn by these murderous villains. She would fight for her life.
“Bah.” O’Grady spat. “It was not I who tried to have you shot, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was one of them loathsome cur who his dead lordship called relations. It was them who tried. They wanted you out of the way, so they could inherit the estate and find the treasure for themselves.”
“And what of my uncle?” she asked. She glared at the woman.
She hadn’t forgotten her dead relation. It was true Uncle Lynch had been a greedy man, but he’d never done this woman any harm, so why had he been killed?
“Was that their doing, as well? Did they have him murdered?”
“Aye, they did,” said the ex-housekeeper in a matter-of-fact manner. “That popinjay kept trying to blackmail that high almighty countess and her worthless son into giving him blunt. He bragged that he could get you to do anything he wished. But he failed. And they decided to make certain he never inherited another farthing. They hired one of my mercenaries, Ian, the one who lies dead in yonder churchyard, to kill him. He did a bang up job, didn’t he?”
Kathleen shuddered, remembering the open-eyed stare of the dead man.
In the end, the mercenary pirate had received his just reward. He would no longer be troubling the decent inhabitants of the world. His body was good and buried in the ground. And his soul, no doubt, was shaking hands with the devil, in hell.
“What do you plan to do with me?” she asked, knowing the vengeful woman had not come simply to kill her, or she would have already done so by now. There had to be another motive to her kidnapping. What was it?
“My men and I are after seeking what remains of our cargo. You may have snagged the treasure, but we don’t intend to leave Ireland empty-handed. Even if a whole regiment of redcoats should come chasing after us.” O’Grady snarled. “And to do that, I shall need you. As our hostage, you’ll be our protection against being killed by the militia’s bayonets.”
The female pirate looked her over from head to toe and nodded.
“Aye, they’ll not want to shoot us once they spot you. No one will want to accidentally kill the beautiful widow of Dovehill Hall. That would be a terrible grand shame if they did.”
Another pirate entered the room from the secret passageway to tie her hands. When he reached out to take the brooch clipped to her shawl, O’Grady stopped him.
Her face wrinkled into a dark scowl.
“Don’t touch it, Ned,” she warned. “Unless, you’ve a desire to be cursed. I saw with m’ own eyes that hellion banshee leave it on the altar for her. Don’t go touching it.”
“You killed Bangford.” Kathleen gasped. “But how can that be? The surgeon said he fell from the tower stairs.”
“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.