Dear Impostor

by Nicole Byrd

  Outside, wind gusted, and a branch from an overgrown tree rattled the window. Barrett jumped. Psyche glanced toward the window and her glance swept over the cowering Percy, who had gone quite white.

  “This is all your doing,” she snapped. She moved suddenly to strike his cheek, and everyone else, even Barrett, blinked in surprise. Her blow left a red imprint upon Percy’s white face.

  “C-cousin,” he protested. “I didn’t mean–I never thought–”

  Ignoring his words, Psyche pushed him with all her strength, and Percy jerked backward, hitting the window with a crash. He cried out, and the pane splintered and then fell to the floor in jingling shards. Percy slipped down atop the splinters, his expression dazed.

  Everyone else stood as if frozen by the sound of the crackling glass–everyone but Psyche. Throwing her hands to her cheeks in seeming horror, she dashed to where Percy lay slumped under the broken window. Bending, she yanked him into a sitting position.

  “Dear God! What have I done? Forgive me, Percy.”

  Gabriel watched in confusion as she fussed over the bemused form of her cousin. Soothing and clucking over him, she drew her handkerchief out of her sleeve and whisked it over Percy’s face and hands, which showed several small cuts.

  Barrett smiled.

  “Perhaps you have not made a conquest after all, Sinclair. Perhaps all your skills are getting rusty.” He gestured to Psyche. “You should know better than to trust a woman, Sinclair,” he taunted. “They’re weak. And they always side with the familiar. In this case, her family.”

  Psyche whirled to face Gabriel.

  “None of this would have happened had you not made poor Percy crazed with jealousy. He only thought to protect my honor–the honor you stole from me in yet another of your casual seductions!” Her chest heaved with barely restrained emotion, and her cheeks had gone scarlet.

  Barrett arched a heavy brow. “Oh, very good, Sinclair. I was almost disappointed in you. How unlike you to not sample such a lovely morsel. And after I kill you, it will be my turn.”

  Gabriel strained at his bonds, his hands aching to slam themselves into Barrett’s face. This vermin had no right to breathe the same air that Psyche breathed, let alone speak of her in such a way. Psyche was neither weak or disloyal. He would not believe she could abandon him. Nor had what they shared been sordid or casual.

  Psyche had been crouching beside Percy, but she stood slowly when Barrett stopped speaking. She faced Barrett with grim disgust. “You may have the final pleasure of killing this rogue, but not before I have my satisfaction.”

  Barrett’s remaining man took a step toward her, but Barrett’s raised arm halted him. “No,” he said slowly. “This could be entertaining.”

  Gabriel stared intently into Psyche’s stormy eyes as she moved purposely toward him. Her lush lips were pulled into a firm line; her cheeks had faded to a dull rose. As she stepped closer, he saw the way she was holding the blood-stained handkerchief close to her waist. With the barest flicker of her wrist, she exposed what was cupped in the cloth.

  Pride rippled through him in waves. What had briefly reflected the pale yellow rays which made their way through the dirt-encrusted windows was a thick shard of lethally sharp window glass.

  That’s my smart girl, he thought, containing the grin that wanted to spread across his face. An answering twinkle echoed in her beautiful eyes for just a moment, accompanied by the most alarming amount of trust he had ever seen. It, more than any fist or weapon ever could, almost brought him to his knees. She trusts me to resolve even this, he thought wonderingly. The realization was humbling. He drew a deep breath; he could not disappoint her.

  She stopped just in front of him. “So, you thought you could steal my heart as well as my reputation?” she demanded.

  Gabriel tried to look suitably downcast; he felt the slightest whisper of sound as she sawed at the thick rope that bound him. Her hands were hidden from the others’ sight by her body, and she continued to look him in the eye, her expression revealing only her feigned scorn.

  “Miss Hill, you mistake my motives–” Gabriel tried to play his part, while his whole body was taut with anticipation of his moment of impending freedom.

  Psyche leaned even closer, and while one hand sawed at the rope, the other lifted to pause dramatically just in front of his face. “You, sir, are the cause of all this heartache. How many other maidens’ affections have you trifled with?”

  Despite the deadly peril of their situation, Gabriel had to fight hard to hold back a swell of mad laughter that bubbled inside him. What courage Psyche had–what quick wits. “Not that many . . . maidens,” he answered after a thoughtful pause.

  “You cad!” She swung the flat of her hand against his cheek, producing more sound than actual force. Gabriel blinked, though he had felt little pain. Behind them, Barrett cackled with glee, and his henchman guffawed. Even Percy, who had staggered to his feet at last, permitted himself a prim smirk. Her cousin had stepped back, closer to Barrett, as if to remind the mastermind that Percy was on his side, not a threat. Would Percy allow Psyche to die, if doing so would save his own misbegotten hide? Gabriel would not be surprised. The anger he felt fueled the resolution inside him. He strained against the ropes as Psyche’s rough blade sliced at them, and at last he felt them give.

  Only a thread of the rope was still intact, but he could not reveal that he was virtually free, not yet. Barrett had a gun. Gabriel pressed his wrists together as he met Psyche’s clear blue eyes briefly; a flicker of understanding passed between them. He thought that she understood; they had to play for time.

  “How many other reputations have you besmirched?” As she continued her tirade, Gabriel watched Barrett from the corner of his eye. Barrett seemed to be enjoying Gabriel’s denouncement. He stood several feet away from them; how could Gabriel cross that much space before Barrett could lift his pistol and fire? And with Gabriel dead, Psyche would be helpless. He would have willingly died here and now to save her, but it would be useless if she were left at Barrett’s mercy, with no one but the faithless coward Percy to plead her case.

  If only they could induce Barrett to come closer. Even as he thought that, Gabriel heard Barrett speak again.

  “As entertaining as this is, I fear, Miss Hill, that we must bring this little closet drama to a close.”

  Psyche whirled to face Barrett. “How can you belittle my suffering? Surely, you–as a gentleman–must feel incensed over the wrongs this man has done me?”

  “Really, Miss Hill,” Barrett purred. “A moment ago, you were calling me a murderer. I fear I have some doubts as to your motives–”

  She threw herself at him, and Barrett raised his pistol in alarm. But Psyche paused just in front of him, to wring her hands in a most un-Psyche-like pose. “Please, you must have pity! You do not know what I have suffered at his hands.”

  Gabriel was almost forgotten; he was able to flex his arms and break through the last shredded filament of the rope. He had a sudden premonition of what Psyche meant to do, and it turned his blood to ice–no, no, he wanted to shout. It is too dangerous!

  But Psyche was intent only on the villain who eyed her, his expression skeptical. “I fear that you could not be trusted to hold your tongue, my lady.” He made the last word a mockery, but no one seemed to notice, least of all Psyche. “It’s nothing personal, you understand, just a natural inclination to tidiness and a keen attention to my own well-being.”

  Psyche sobbed and lifted one hand to her face, as if in despair. But the other hand, which still clutched the handkerchief with its sharp fragment of glass, flashed toward Barrett’s throat.

  Gabriel was already in motion, but Barrett swung the pistol toward Psyche, and as Gabriel threw himself at the man, he heard the gun explode and smelled the gunpowder. He had his hands around the villain’s throat, now, and he grabbled with the man, who was stronger than one would have suspected, his small frame full of wiry strength. Psyche, where was Psyche? Was she hu
rt, killed? If she was, Barrett would not leave this room alive, Gabriel vowed. His desperation gave him strength, and in another moment, he had forced the other man to the floor. Gasping for breath, Barrett collapsed into a semi-conscious heap. The just-fired pistol fell to the floor unheeded; as Barrett’s coat fell open, Gabriel saw a matching pistol, the other half of the pair. He grabbed the loaded gun to thrust into his own waistband, then turned quickly to find Psyche.

  She was holding the shard of glass to the remaining ruffian’s throat; the man looked dumb with surprise and fear. Trust Psyche to keep her wits about her!

  Weak with relief, Gabriel took out the pistol and pointed it at the man, so that Psyche could lower her hand, which showed the slightest inclination to tremble. He reached for her and pulled her against him with his other arm.

  “Thank God you are safe,” he whispered into her hair as she hid her face, for an instant, against his chest. “If you had been hurt, or worse, I would have gone mad with grief!”

  “Hush.” She raised her head, lifting her hand to touch his cheek. “We are both here, more or less sound, and–”

  He glanced down and saw the stain of blood on her arm. “Psyche! You are hit!”

  “Just a scratch, I believe you would say,” she told him, calm once more. “But I think we should make a strategic retreat, do you not agree? One or more members of Barrett’s gang still linger about the estate.”

  “Yes.” Gabriel lifted her forearm to inspect it; the bone seemed unbroken and the flesh wound appeared superficial; the trickle of blood was already slowing. He would bind the wound as soon as they left the building. He almost groaned at the thought of Barrett’s plan to burn down the house–his house. Yes, despite everything, he still considered it his property. If he had been alone, he would have gone after the other henchman, but getting Psyche away from danger was more important.

  What had happened to Percy? Gabriel looked about them and found Percy cowering on the floor in the corner, as far away from the gunfire and the ensuing struggle as he could get. His hands covered his face, and he seemed almost insensible with fear.

  “Percy, get out of the house,” Psyche said sternly. “It may be afire. And go back to London and put your affairs into order, because when I return, I shall have you arrested for attempted murder.”

  That made him drop his hands; his face was white. “Cousin, I never meant to harm you!”

  “You think it excuses you that you were only going to assist in the murder of my fiancé?” Psyche demanded, her tone icy. “I doubt that the judge will agree.”

  “But, Cousin, please, I beg you. Think of the disgrace–”

  ”Think of the relief I will feel never to see your wretched countenance again,” Psyche answered, unmoved by his pleas.

  “Actually,” Gabriel said, pulling the wretched man to his feet. “I think you should give him another chance, Psyche.”

  “What?” Psyche turned to stare, her expression perplexed. “You cannot be serious? After what he has done?”

  “You could show magnanimity,” Gabriel went on, “as along as Percy’s father agrees that he will agree to your choice of husband, any husband, and will release your inheritance immediately.”

  Silence. Percy gaped, and Psyche’s expression changed dramatically. “Brilliant,” she whispered. “Yes, I think that is the only way you will escape the gallows, Percy.”

  Gabriel held back his laughter; he was not at all sure they had enough on Percy to put his head into a noose, but Percy himself was convinced; that was obvious.

  “Cousin, I promise, I will speak to my father at once, just allow me to leave–”

  ”You have twenty-four hours,” Psyche said, her tone as icy as it had ever been. “Then I expect my solicitor to receive the signed papers releasing my funds into my control.”

  “We will, Father will, I p-promise.” Percy stammered, new hope apparently animating him.

  “Get the sound horse from your team outside and ride to the next village; you can arrange transport there back to London,” Gabriel told him. “Now, we had all best get out of here before the rest of Barrett’s men reappear. Psyche, take the rope and tie this rat’s hands.”

  She did, and then Gabriel motioned the ruffian to the far corner of the room. “Sit down with your back to us,” he told him.

  “But, Gov,” the man whined. “What about the fire? I’ll roast like a spit capon.”

  “Your problem,” Gabriel said, though he knew there was nothing holding the man inside once they were gone. “Just don’t move as long as I can see you. Now, face the wall!”

  Did he smell smoke? “Come along,” he told Psyche.

  She nodded, but she seemed to waver. She must be dizzy from loss of blood and the shock of her wound. Gabriel reached for her and steadied her, putting his free arm around her. She clung to him, and they moved slowly toward the door. Percy hurried along in front of them, not waiting to see about Psyche, as usual thinking only of himself. He disappeared through the doorway and out of sight.

  They had almost reached the hall, too, when a faint scrape of sound from behind alerted Gabriel. But the warning came a fraction of a second too late.

  “Gabriel! Look out!’ Psyche shrieked.

  But he was hampered by the weight of her, and she could not shift away in time. Barrett had regained his wits, and he launched himself at Gabriel. Gabriel staggered under the man’s assault, then turned to meet his attack head on.

  Psyche tried to grab one of Barrett’s arms, but he thrust her away with such force that she tripped and hit her head against the floor; she lay still, seeming stunned.

  Barrett fought like a man who sees his own death just a step away; hate glittered in his eyes, and he struggled with all his strength for the gun. Gabriel tried to pull it away, but Barrett had hold of the pistol and he would not let go.

  “Jake, get yourself here and aid me!” Barrett shouted to his minion, who still crouched in the corner.

  The man looked over his shoulder, his expression fearful. Seeing the two men grappling at close quarters, he scrabbled to his feet, his hands still tied, and edged closer.

  Gabriel would have two to fight if he did not finish this quickly. He tried to push Barrett back, but the man clung to him, with a single-minded determination to retrieve his pistol.

  They fought blindly, and now Gabriel was sure that he could smell smoke. A shower of rain shook the windowpanes and rattled the frame, and somewhere, he heard a horse whinny. Had Percy run away to leave them to Barrett’s mercy? The little rat was consistent to the last.

  Psyche had not moved. If she were seriously injured–Gabriel struck Barrett in the face, but the man had the strength of a madman; he hardly seemed to notice the blow. He twisted the pistol till the barrel pressed into Gabriel’s stomach. If the man’s finger reached the trigger–Gabriel struggled to turn the gun, but Barrett fought his every movement. For a moment, he thought he had shifted the barrel, but Gabriel wasn’t sure if–

  Then a blast of fire exploded against his body. Gasping with pain, Gabriel felt his legs go weak, and he slumped to the floor.

  He thought he lost consciousness for a moment; then someone was calling his name. He blinked, seeing red streaks against the black. Slowly, his sight returned; he still lay across the wooden boards, his clothes stank of gun powder and blood, and–Psyche! Psyche knelt over him; she was all right.

  “Get out of the house,” he whispered. “Leave me. I think I am shot; get away before Barrett can–”

  ”Barrett is dead,” Psyche told him, her cheeks wet with tears. “He shot himself instead. You are not hurt badly, Gabriel, though I feared for you at first. You caught some of the force of the igniting gunpowder; your shirt is ruined and I think your skin is burnt. But the bullet went into Barrett.”

  Gabriel forced himself up; he saw Barrett’s body sprawled across the floor in a great pool of blood, the man’s features twisted into one last snarl of surprise. “You–are you all right?”

 
; Psyche nodded. “Come, we must get out of the house. I think Percy is long gone.”

  “What about Barrett’s man?” Gabriel looked around, trying to assess any additional danger as he stood on shaky legs, Psyche holding on to his arm.

  “He ran away, his hands still tied,” Psyche said. “It was almost funny. And I have not seen the other ruffian.”

  “So he may still be about; let us go and see if the carriage is still here.” The most important thing was to get out of this building and away from any other members of the gang. Gabriel was still alive–miracle of miracles–and Psyche was not seriously harmed. He gave silent thanks as he limped, with Psyche’s help, toward the hallway.

  The sound of steps in the hall brought them to an abrupt halt. Gabriel wanted to groan. In his current state, how could he defeat another assailant? He had to try.

  “Get behind me,” he told Psyche.

  “No,” she said, her voice calm. “We will face any peril together.”

  So they stood side by side, exhausted but resolute, and when the figure appeared in the doorway, both were silent with shock.

  “Here you are, then,” David said, relief lighting his face. “You look a sight! Are you hurt badly, old man?’

  “No,” Gabriel said when he could speak. “See to Psyche. I thought you were hurt; we left you unconscious on the steps of the Forsyth house. What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, just a knock on the head, got a terrible goose egg, still, but that’s nothing. Circe told me to come,” David explained, glancing apologetically at Psyche. “She had a notion you were in need of my services.”

  “But how did you know where to find us?” Gabriel persisted.

  “I went to your solicitor, wrinkled the directions out of him, then rode hell bent to get here. I’ve already doused a fire and tied up a couple of nasty-looking characters,” he continued. “Thought it best to come in through the back entrance, you see. But where is Barrett?”