Rebecca (50 page)

Swearing vehemently, Curtis pulled her roughly to her feet. He faced his enemy who paced like a caged cat along the edge of the crevice while Clarisse watched in horror. Loudly, he ordered the plank pushed back into place. Holding his gun to Rebecca's head, he ordered Nicholas away from it.

When he shoved Rebecca toward the makeshift bridge, he said, “My lord, I tire of your lady.”

She glanced at him, frightened by his sudden change of heart. That he was going to let her return to Nicholas seemed improbable. Hearing her husband calling for her to hurry, she knew he feared Langston would relent and rape her immediately. Dampening her lips, she stared at the narrow board. Only desperation had forced her across it before. She was unsure if—

“Rebecca, now!” shouted Nicholas as she heard a click directly behind her ear. The cold point of a pistol barrel pricked her skin.

Taking a deep breath, she fearfully stepped on the plank to cross to the prison she had escaped so recently. She concentrated on each step as she slid her feet toward the other side. She did not want to freeze in the center as she had the other time she crossed. Hearing a cruel chuckle, she looked over her shoulder to see Curtis place his foot on the board and put a bounce into it.

“No!” she screamed as it moved wildly beneath her. Her hands rose as she tried to balance herself on the gyrating board. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nicholas rush forward, but he was ordered back as the gun in Langston's hand aimed directly at her. In terror, she cried, “Help me!”

Laughter filled the cave as the board was set in motion once more. It rocked her from her feet. She shrieked as she slipped. Her hands grasped the plank to keep her from falling to the bottom of the cleft surface.

Nicholas moved without thinking of the threat of the loaded weapons. Shouting a quick order to Clarisse to stand on the board on their side, he inched across it on his hands and knees to where Rebecca hung by her fingertips. He did not pause to see that his enemy had put two of his men on the other end of the board to keep it from slipping.

“Let go of the edge, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I have your wrists. You won't fall.”

Her eyes were squeezed closed. “I can't let go.” As her voice rose hysterically, she gasped, “I'm trying, but my fingers won't let go.”

“I have you, sweetheart. I won't let you fall. Trust me, Rebecca.”

Slowly, her eyes opened. Staring at the love in his, she forced her fingers to release their convulsive grip. She moaned as she slipped downward, but Nicholas did not lose her. With care, slowly, gritting his teeth, he drew her back to the board. She swallowed her gasp of pain as her body rubbed painfully on the edge as he brought her up to sit beside him. He leaned her face on his bare chest as he bent his head over hers while he tried to regain his steady breathing. As she clutched him, unable to believe she was alive, she heard him whisper in her ear.

“Do you still have the gun I gave you? Don't nod. Just squeeze my arm if you have it.” He hid his smile in her disheveled hair as her fingers contracted lightly on his forearm. “Good. I have my knife, as well. Faint, Rebecca.”

“What?” she whispered into his sweaty skin.

“Faint, my love. When I put you on the floor, take out your gun and shoot whoever is closest. I can kill at least one more of them.”

She did not reply. Their enemies numbered five. Nicholas must hope to terrify the others into flight. Following his orders, she fell limp against him. It was nearly impossible to stay motionless as he rose. Her fear of the long fall to the bottom of the chasm urged her to grasp him, but she forced her arms and legs to drop around him.

“The other way, Wythe!” came the order in Langston's voice.

“She has fainted. Let me put her down before I drop her. Perhaps that might not be such a bad idea. It would save Rebecca from your fantasized lusts.”

“All right, bring her here. One false move, and you are both dead, as well as Clarisse.”

With a step toward him, Nicholas said in a grim tone, “I understand completely.”

Her eyes opened slightly as he lowered her to the ground. When his body shielded her momentarily from the sight of the others, she reached into her skirt for the hidden weapon. Curtis had not guessed it was fear of this gun being discovered that had caused her to scream when his animal dared to stroke her.

“Can someone get some water for her forehead?” called Nicholas in a falsely distressed voice. “She's got quite a bruise.”

Foolishly, Langston ordered one of his men to get a bucketful from the ocean water pulsating higher into the cave. “Let me look at her, Wythe!”

Nicholas kept his body between the man and Rebecca until the very last moment. Curtis bent over her and pushed aside her hair to search for a wound. The only one had been bandaged already.

“Don't touch me ever again!” she hissed. With a smile more vengeful than his, she pressed the long barrel of her pistol to the tip of his nose. “If you don't want what little brains you have separated from your skull, I suggest you order all your men to the other side of the chasm. First, tell them to give Nicholas their weapons. Don't forget the one on his way out. Call him back.”

“You will pay for this,” he snarled as he reached for the weapon. He froze when her thumb settled on the hammer.

“Will I? I think I have already. It's your turn!” she taunted. “Do as I said!”

Not daring to move, he shouted to his men. Stupefied by the sudden change, they obeyed. Clarisse did not hesitate as she crossed the chasm after jeering at her one-time captors.

“Now you, Curtis!” Rebecca ordered.

Slowly he rose. She scrambled to her feet while Nicholas aimed one of his commandeered weapons straight at their enemy. Her husband looked down at her smiling face and winked. When she handed him her gun, he took it and placed the other on the ground near his feet. The others he had tossed into the pit, not wanting to chance them being used against him again.

He smiled as he pointed the familiar weapon at Langston. “Rebecca asked you to go over to your little cage, as you are so fond of calling it.”

“Yes, do go, Curtis,” seconded Clarisse. As he stepped onto the board, he paused as she continued, “I plan to come to see you hang. Perhaps Rebecca will help me host a fete for when you are done swinging.”

Rebecca gasped, shocked, “Clarisse!”

“Why not?” she demanded. “He tried to kill us all so he could marry poor Eliza only to gain control of Foxbridge Cloister.”

“No! That can't be true!”

They turned to see the ghostly-pale face of Eliza Wythe. In that moment of surprise, Curtis jumped forward in a flying leap. He tackled Nicholas, sending him crashing to the rock. The gun went skidding across the floor to drop into the crevice. The second pistol vanished beneath the struggling men.

Rebecca kicked the board into the chasm before the others could cross. She turned to see how she could help her husband. She screamed as she saw the bared blade in Curtis's hand. It was the same one that had cut her.

She ran to Eliza, pulling Clarisse with her as Nicholas kicked his way out from under the other man. The three women watched as the men grappled too close to the edge of the precipice. As the men circled each other, weighing the weaknesses and strengths of the other, she noticed Nicholas had his shorter knife in his hand.

So intensely she was watching the fight, she did not see Eliza rush forward to grasp the lone gun. The young woman scooped it up and balanced it easily in her hand.

“Stop!” she cried. “Stop, both of you, or I will shoot!”

Instantly the two men stared at her from several arm-lengths apart. Nobody spoke as they stared at the tear-covered face of the betrayed woman. No one could guess what Eliza was thinking. They wondered whether she would shoot her brother or her lover.

“Is what they are saying true, Curtis? Were you the highwayman who hurt Rebecca? Were you going to kill Nicholas and Clarisse as well? I followed them here tonight, because I wanted to help capture Sims' murderer. Was that you, Curtis?” When he hesitated, she pulled back on the hammer. “Tell me the truth.”

He grinned charmingly at her. “Eliza, you know I love you. I wanted only the best for you.”

“No,” she said softly, as tears flowed along her cheeks, “you don't love me, Curtis. You never did! You only used me. You hurt my family and friends. I loved you. I trusted you.” She drew the hammer back farther.

Rebecca whispered, “No, Eliza, don't do this!” Eliza would be haunted all her life if she killed Curtis.

Her words were lost in the explosion. The men on the other side of the chasm fell to the floor in fear. Their leader clutched his chest, where a deep-red stain was expanding in the center of his coat. For a second, he wobbled on the edge of the cliff. Then, with a scream that would echo through all their nightmares, he fell backward.

As she sobbed, the weapon fell from Eliza's fingers to the stone floor. Rebecca rushed to enfold her in her arms. Into her wet hair, she murmured over and over that it was all right, that they were all safe, that there was nothing else she could have done.

Nicholas peered once over the edge of the wide crack in the floor. Turning, he picked up the gun Eliza had used and threw it into the crevice. He wrapped his arms around his wife and sister. Feeling other eyes on him, he asked, “How are you doing, Clarisse?”

Wryly, she smiled. Knowing there was no hope of love between them, perhaps it was time to be the friends they had been too many years ago. “I have done much better and much worse. Let's go home.”

Triumphant laughter filled his eyes as he swung his sobbing sister into his arms. Over his shoulder, he called, “Gentlemen, enjoy your last night as free men. I will arrange for the sheriff to pick you up at low tide in the morning.” Lastly, he turned to Rebecca. “Shall we go home, sweetheart?”

“To our home?” she teased, reminding him of the time when she had refused to accept that she was his wife. It was not easy to joke, but she wanted to banish the wicked darkness Curtis Langston had brought into their lives.

“Most definitely to our home, my darling Rebecca!”

Epilogue

Rebecca walked into her husband's study. With a tired smile, she sank down onto a padded settee. She watched as he finished the letter he was writing. Melting wax, he affixed the seal of Foxbridge Cloister at the bottom.

When he was done, Nicholas asked, “How is Eliza?”

“She's better. The shock is beginning to wear off a little. Once it does, she should be able to mourn much more naturally. It isn't easy to kill the man you love.” She shuddered. The thought of facing the man who sat at the desk and having to choose between his life and her family's was too horrible to consider.

He rose and sat next to her. Taking her hands, he brought them to his lips. “I will never betray you, my love. You know you needn't worry about that.”

“I don't, Nicholas.” She grinned impishly as she said, “Now that Clarisse has announced her plans to marry Richard Carter, I don't have to worry about you inviting her to take my place again.”

“You will never let me forget that, will you?” He laughed, his dark eyes sparkling. “It might have worked, if I hadn't had such a resourceful wife who managed her own escape.”

He drew her close as he placed his lips over hers. His arms tightened around her. He would never be able to forget how near he had come more than once to losing this lovely, loving lady. The endless horror of those two days when he had known she was in the hands of a sadist would remain in the corners of his heart until the time he closed his eyes in eternal sleep.

“I love you, Nicholas,” she whispered.

“And I love you.” He leaned her back against the seat cushion so he could feel all of her beneath him.

She reached up to push an errant strand of hair back toward his queue. “We should do something for Eliza. A change of scenery or some sort of excitement that would take her mind off what has happened. She needs a chance to start over again without the cruelly curious glances of people who know she shot her fiance.”

They all needed a different type of excitement than had been going on since before the masquerade ball, when more had been revealed beneath the masks than the identities of the revelers. The Wythes needed a chance to laugh again as once had been normal. Even if things went back to the way they had been before the tragedy, Rebecca would have preferred it. Lady Margaret seemed to accept her, but it was not worth what it had cost to gain that acceptance.

The coroner's inquest and the probe by the sheriff had been brief. The evidence was self-explanatory. With the story of the highwayman spread throughout the shire and the witnesses to the kidnapping of Clarisse Beckwith, there was very little need for further investigation. Langston's cohorts had been duly tried and duly hanged with the efficiency of a vengeful public.

A few changes had been made to the truth so as not to cause more injury to the innocent. Both Lady Margaret Wythe and Lord Foxbridge had testified under oath that Clarisse Beckwith had been informed of Nicholas' plan to delude the highwayman. Without that slight perjury, Clarisse might not have been able to accept Richard's proposal. Instead of being shamed, she had basked in the reflected glory.

In the two months since the abduction, Eliza had remained secluded. The local gentry had left already for the winter season in London, but the Wythes stayed at Foxbridge Cloister. To take Eliza to the familiar spots where she had been courted by her heartless lover would have been too pitiless. Rebecca kept the nosy and inconsiderate away from her heartbroken sister-in-law, but the time had come to help Eliza put her life back together again.

Rebecca had made sure that the letter from the solicitors was destroyed before anyone but Nicholas could read it. Doyle had learned that Curtis Langston was the most current alias for a one-time actor who had been the lover of more lonely women than he could determine. In his role as Eliza's suitor, he had aspired to his greatest part of all: becoming the owner of Foxbridge Cloister. In a way, that news did not surprise her. Curtis had watched the others and reacted as if reading a script. He had been so many different persons to each one he met that he would have had to be a consummate actor to assume all those identities.