Love Captive

by Jacqueline Hope

  "Oh, how nonchalant you Americans are," he said teasingly. "So practical, so pragmatic, pretending you have no romance in your souls, that you have matured beyond foolish romanticism. We Spaniards are the romantics, the mystics, the dreamers, si, while you Americans are all work, science and industry, no? In the face of your yawning indifference, I have half a mind not to tell you of my dream after all."

  Stung by his words, by the certainty that what he was about to tell her would hurt as few things had ever hurt her, Anne pulled irritably away, remarking tartly, "Oh, you'll tell me, all right. Obviously you're simply bursting to tell, so don't let me stop you. What was the dream?"

  With an air of happy triumph, Carlos leaned forward and kissed Anne's cheek. "Sweet Anne, pretty Anne, lovely Anne," he murmured, "I dreamed that we arrived home and who should come running out to greet me, with a loving smile, throwing her arms around me, but my sister Dolores! The dream was so clear, so very clear. I could see everything, the wide steps, our home in Palencia, and Dolores flying down to meet me with a loving hug and a kiss."

  Carlos paused, his smiling eyes gazing down into Anne's. "So now I am sure that all is well. Dolores is already home or soon will be. Father is no longer fretting, worrying himself sick with grief. Now you too, Anne, can relax. In another day, two at most, I will be reunited with my sister and you with your brother. We will both be free of this disastrous affair, you to return home, I to return to my work."

  Carlos caught hold of Anne by the shoulders, insistently forcing her to face him again. "Or don't you believe in dreams? Perhaps you think them silly fancies spun by our wishes, with nothing prophetic in them. Is that it, Anne?"

  Carlos no longer smiled as he gazed down at her. Rather, his eyes were now shadowed.

  Again Anne pulled free. "Who knows?" she answered tartly, stepping away. "Certainly I'm no authority on dreams. Now if you don't mind, I'd rather wait inside the car."

  As Anne opened the door to gain her retreat, Carlos walked over to the highway again and began running back and forth along the edge, as though for exercise, to keep himself warm. No sooner was she safely inside the car than stinging tears welled into her eyes. She grabbed a tissue out of her pocket, blew her nose, and composed herself. Obviously last night had meant no more to Carlos than their three golden days in St. Tropez. She kept remembering the interested way he had eyed the voluptuous actresses and models in the restaurant in Paris. Carlos responded to women. From their very first night together, on the boat in Morocco, he had never gone to the least pains to hide this fact. And last night—

  Well, obviously he had seen no reason not to take advantage of the situation, no reason not to enjoy a couple of hours of mild lovemaking, of kisses and caresses—what better way to spend the time, under the circumstances? And I certainly can't claim he forced me or harmed me, Anne told herself sternly, trying to ease the terrible pain in her heart, the stunned feeling of betrayal. It wasn't Carlos who had betrayed her, she had to admit. In not resisting him, not mocking him and pushing him away, she had betrayed herself.

  A sob of pain burst from her, but she quickly stifled the one that threatened to follow, and again blew her nose. Well, it was all over now, live and learn, she told herself. Carlos had awakened this morning feeling buoyantly happy after his dream, the dream he saw as prophetic. Today or tomorrow they would arrive at his home, Dorrie and Michael would be there, and then Carlos's dear friend Anne would be free to leave, to fly away home—and good riddance to her.

  Thanks for being such a good sport, Carlos would say, and have a nice flight home. Sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you. Good-bye. Good luck. And away he would go, back to his work, his showgirls, his life. And possibly once every five years for the rest of his life he would remember this dreary affair, the time his beloved sister ran off with that fortune-hunting rascal and for several miserable days he'd been stuck escorting the sister, who fortunately was young and pretty enough and a very good sport.

  Ah, yes, a remarkably good sport, allowed me to kiss her whenever the mood arose, didn't seem to mind, never drew the line at anything I wanted, though of course I restrained myself—I'm a gentleman, after all, and had no wish to break the heart of a little American girl, one who had no defenses against me, poor thing. But then her brother brought my sister home again, unharmed and unwed, so that ended that. Wretched affair, but thankfully it ended well, and all's well that ends well, n'est-ce pas? Ah, yes.

  Stifling another sob, Anne stuffed the damp tissue she'd used down into her jacket pocket and clung to the anger that welled up, nourishing it with all her might. Darn Carlos anyway, who did he think he was? Arrogant son of a duke who felt himself superior to everyone, in particular to Americans. Well, so what? Let him cling to his stupid little illusion of superiority. In another day or two, if his dream turned out to be prophetic, as quite possibly it would, she'd be free of him, free to fly home and push all thought of him out of her mind and out of her heart. Out of her broken, shattered heart.

  As she looked toward the highway again, Carlos stopped his running long enough to wave to her. Anne waved listlessly back. A little exercise would probably do her good too, she decided, so she got out of the car, slushed through the narrow gully and climbed up to the edge of the road. Instead of jogging along the road, she began running quickly in place, counting each step. By the time she reached fifty her breath was coming fast and she felt overly warm, burdened by all the clothes she wore. She kept going to a hundred, then forced herself to do twenty more. As she stopped, panting, she unbuttoned her jacket and pulled it off. Carlos came striding up to her, smiling.

  "Good for the circulation, yes? Are you as hungry as I am, Anne? I think possibly we might find a cracker or two left over from the other day and maybe even a piece of fruit. Time for breakfast, is it not?"

  "All right, if you say so," Anne answered coolly, not smiling in response to Carlos's smile. She swung away and began slushing her way back to the car, feeling a calm sense of triumph, sure now that she would never again succumb, even for a moment, to Carlos's unnerving charm.

  It was after eleven before the tow truck finally arrived, by which time they had all but given up hope. They had munched their way through a very meager breakfast, a few nuts and half an apple they'd found in a paper sack in the car. Anne was beginning to feel dizzy and weak from hunger while Carlos insisted, with a laugh, that if they didn't get rescued soon he would take off one of his shoes and in imitation of Charlie Chaplin, cook it and eat it. Anne smiled coolly in response to this, refusing to feel amused; she wouldn't allow herself to be drawn into friendly conversation. Let Carlos decide she wasn't that good a sport after all. Look where being a good sport last night had gotten her! Never, ever again.

  When the tow truck finally arrived, they hooked their little car to its rear and Anne and Carlos climbed into the cab to ride with the driver. As they roared noisily along, Carlos and the driver had several brief but lively bursts of conversation, but as they spoke in Spanish Anne had no idea what they were saying. At one point Carlos, who had his arm along the back of the seat, allowed his hand to drop down onto Anne's shoulder, but she immediately pulled away, annoyed, and Carlos did not again try to touch her. By the time they arrived at the repair shop and climbed back down from the cab of the tow truck, Carlos's expression was coolly withdrawn, and he did not again attempt any show of friendliness.

  After they'd dropped off the crippled car, the tow truck drove them a few miles farther to where they could rent another vehicle. They stopped for a delicious hot lunch, and by early afternoon were once again on their way, "no worse for wear," as Carlos put it—though Anne couldn't agree—and only a few hours delayed.

  As on the earlier portion of their trip, Carlos rarely spoke while driving. He kept his eyes steadily on the road ahead and seemed to forget he wasn't alone. He would often snap on the car radio, search for music, and hum softly along with the vocalist. Anne spent most of her time staring absently out at the countrysid
e whirling by. Would Michael and Dolores really be there when they arrived at Carlos's home? Sometimes she felt sure they would be— Michael had promised they would—while other times she felt equally sure that Dorrie would prevail. If Michael and Dorrie didn't show up—

  Anne's eyes popped open as she found herself suddenly wide awake again. Carlos had agreed to give Michael one week. That week was now up. They'd spent one day driving to the Riviera, three days there, and this was their third day on the journey home—seven days in all. If Carlos stuck by his original plan, he would go to the police immediately if his sister had not returned, and she would be free to leave.

  Anne sighed suddenly, wishing that that moment had already arrived, that she was right this minute heading toward an airport to catch a flight home. She had phoned her employer before leaving Paris, explaining that an emergency had arisen and she wanted to extend her vacation for another week. Now that week was up, so if she wanted to hold onto her job she would have to return. If only Michael had won and had dragged Dorrie home!

  Oh, that stubborn, willful Dorrie! Anne thought, biting despairingly at her lip. She felt flooded with the certainty that Dolores was every bit as willful, arrogant, selfish, and self-centered as her brother Carlos and might easily never give in. Oh what a mess, Anne thought for the thousandth time, and with another sigh she rested her head back, trying to push all thought of the future out of her mind so that she could drift into forgetful sleep.

  When Carlos shook her awake, Anne saw at once it was dark outside. With a shiver of apprehension, she wondered if they had arrived at their destination, but Carlos's words dispelled this notion.

  "Anne, I'm feeling dreadfully hungry again, so I've stopped at a restaurant, but I didn't want to leave you alone in the car. Will you join me for dinner?"

  Anne felt a spurt of triumph at the coolly formal way in which Carlos addressed her. At least he now understood that their truce was a thing of the past, that she would not tolerate any more casual caresses. "All right, of course," she answered in an equally formal voice. "But how much farther do we have to go?"

  "To Palencia, you mean? We've still got about two hundred and sixty kilometers to go. I thought possibly I might be able to make it through without stopping, but I've simply gotten too hungry. Let's go inside."

  Although they shared a table for dinner, each might as well have been alone. They both ate steadily, eyes down, and not a single word was exchanged. Anne's sense of triumph grew ever stronger and she told herself she was extremely pleased to have it this way. They were friends no longer, which was the way it should have been all along. Within a few hours they would reach Carlos's home, and if Dolores was there already—oh, please, let her be there already, and Michael, too— Anne told herself she would be delighted to fly home immediately.

  After dinner they returned to the car and again Carlos sped them on their way, driving silently, eyes straight ahead. Anne felt increasingly tense as every mile brought them nearer to the moment of truth, the moment when they'd learn whose will had triumphed, Michael's or Dorrie's.

  Though she felt wide awake, too worried and upset to let go, Anne in time drifted off into sleep once more. Again she was awakened by Carlos.

  "Anne. Anne, wake up, we're here. Wake up, Anne."

  Startled, Anne jerked upright, her eyes popping open. Carlos drew back, an arrogant little smile playing around his lips.

  "Well, this is it. I'll get our bags and we'll go in. As late as it is, I doubt that my father and aunt will still be up, so we'll go in quietly and wait until morning to introduce you to them." Carlos paused, then added, in a low, mocking tone, "If you have enough energy to make it, that is. If not, I can carry you."

  "Of course I can make it," Anne snapped. Throwing open the car door, she climbed out, finding that in spite of her angry words, she did feel a bit wobbly on her feet. Holding on to the car door for a moment, she steadied herself. Carlos moved quickly around to the back of the car, grabbed up their cases, then stepped up behind her.

  "Come along, I'll show you the way," he murmured, and Anne, heart suddenly racing wildly, fell into step beside him.

  He had stopped the car in a driveway. For the first few steps Anne blinked her eyes repeatedly, trying to adjust them to the darkness. Carlos led the way up some wide stone steps, about twenty of them, then they moved onto a wide stone terrace. From their new vantage point Anne could suddenly see the moon, full and bright in the sky, and as she stared in awe she could make out the outlines of a medieval castle, complete with towers and ramparts, splashed in moonlight. Momentarily she was so overpowered she had to stop to catch her breath. She'd never seen anything quite like this before, not even in the walled city of Carcassonne.

  "Oh, Carlos," she exclaimed, "it looks like something out of the Middle Ages!"

  In an amused tone, Carlos answered, "It is something out of the Middle Ages. Although the castle has been renovated and added to since, it was originally built in 1375 by Carlos Philip, the first duke of Palencia, and my family has lived here ever since."

  These words struck almost as much awe in Anne's heart as sight of the moonlit castle had. For the first time she could understand, even sympathize with, the great pride of family Carlos possessed. Imagine knowing not only who all your forebears were, but exactly where they had lived! She and Michael had no knowledge of who their ancestors were beyond their great-grandparents, and she wasn't even sure of all of them. And as for where they had lived—she didn't even know for sure in which house she had lived as an infant. She and Michael had lived in a dozen different rented houses as children; as an adult, she had occupied at least six different nondescript apartments. Moving every year or two, from one rental to another, was the story of her life.

  In contrast, Carlos had lived in the very same house—house indeed! magnificent castle!—since birth, and before him his family had occupied the same castle for—oh, for centuries. For over six centuries. If that were true of me, wouldn't I feel I was somebody too? Anne suddenly asked herself. Of course I would. It made her feel suddenly closer to the man standing beside her, yet at the same time strangely distant from him. More than ever she realized that they were from two different worlds, with an impassable gulf between them. This brought a small lump of sorrow to her throat, but she quickly swallowed it and turned to face Carlos with a smile, the first smile she'd given him all day.

  "Well, lead on, Macduff," she said. "Whither thou goest, I will follow."

  Flashing her a broad, pleased smile, Carlos began striding forward across the moonlit terrace, leading Anne into his home, into the heart of his pride, into history. Over six hundred years ago this castle had been built. Anne, walking quietly at Carlos's side, felt small, woefully insignificant, yet not unhappily so. Rather, for some reason, for no reason at all, she felt rather proud. What a story this would make to entertain her grandchildren with someday!

  Chapter Ten

  They stepped through a heavy, beautifully carved, polished wood door into a magnificent entry hall, a room so large and high-ceilinged it took Anne's breath away. To the right was a wide stone stairway, and Carlos led her toward it, walking as lightly and quietly as possible.

  "My father's now reached an age," he whispered to her, "where he sleeps very poorly. The slightest noise seems to awaken him. I don't know why that should be because he's seventy-two years old and his hearing is failing, though he's too proud to admit it. Tomorrow when you meet him try to stand on the right side, for his right ear's his good one. He's almost completely deaf on the left."

  As they crept quietly up the stairs, Anne whispered back, in surprise, "Your father's seventy-two?" Her own parents, had they still been living, would have been in their mid-fifties. Dorrie had said that Carlos was thirty-one. Anne had imagined their father, the duke, as a man in vigorous middle age.

  Carlos glanced around with a small, amused smile. "Yes. He didn't marry until he was forty, which has always seemed to the men of our line the proper age to settle down. I
doubt very much that I shall many before that age."

  But you enjoy yourself with long-legged models and voluptuous actresses in the meantime, Anne thought with a touch of scorn. She dropped her eyes, making no further comment.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Carlos motioned her toward the first door on their right. "That's my sister's room," he whispered, a hint of urgency in his voice. "Possibly she has returned since the last time we phoned. I want to check."

  As Carlos stepped quietly over to the door, Anne followed on his heels. His hand slid over the doorknob and turned it. He glanced at Anne over his shoulder, frowning. "It's not locked. Dolores always locked it when she retired for the night, but maybe she's gotten less hostile. I'm going to peek in to see."

  After noiselessly pushing the door open, Carlos stepped through it, disappearing into the gloom inside. Anne waited in the hall, shivering slightly with apprehension. Within a minute or two, Carlos returned, stepping back into the hall and closing the door.

  "The room is empty. No sign of her. Obviously they haven't returned."

  As Carlos motioned her to follow him along the wide, high-ceilinged corridor, Anne felt her pulse skip anxiously. She hurried her step to catch up and whispered nervously, "But, Carlos, the week you gave them is already up. Does that mean—will you go to the police tomorrow?"

  Carlos stopped walking and faced Anne directly, his black eyes looking a slight bit startled. "Tomorrow? Well, no, probably not tomorrow."

  "Then—you mean you plan to give them a little more time?"

  Carlos hesitated before answering. A look of rather embarrassed amusement came into his eyes. He shrugged slightly, smiling. "Yes, I'll give them a bit more time. A few days perhaps, or a week. But come along. The guest room I'm putting you in is right down here."