Love Captive

by Jacqueline Hope

  The room Carlos led her to was warm, spacious, magnificently furnished, by far the most beautiful room Anne had ever slept in. The high ceiling was decorated by an endless variety of cherub faces, each in its own framed square. When Carlos saw her staring up, he told her that though there were over two hundred faces in the ceiling, no two were exactly alike. The high walls were hung with colorful woven tapestries that Carlos mentioned were centuries old and priceless. The furniture was made of solid oak, intricately carved and polished to a lovely sheen.

  "This is the French room," Carlos murmured softly with a grin, "which will have to do as we don't have an American room. When the kings of France came here to visit, this is the room in which the queen slept. Tomorrow you'll be able to say that you slept in the bed of French queens."

  With a low chuckle, Carlos set her suitcase on the bed and walked quietly back to the polished wood door. He blew her a kiss good night and pulled the heavy door closed.

  Anne, still glancing around in awe, could hardly believe her surroundings. She felt almost as though she'd been transported back centuries, into the Middle Ages. Had she really lived in the Middle Ages, she thought rather wryly, she would no doubt have been the lowliest surf, bedding down on filthy straw in an unheated, mud hut. But here in Carlos's home she was being treated like visiting royalty, sleeping in the bed of queens. With a tired but excited grin, she opened the suitcase on her bed and prepared to undress.

  In spite of the long hours she had slept while they were traveling, she had barely crawled into bed before she fell fast asleep. Blessed oblivion. A deep sleep in which she was not even bothered by dreams.

  She woke very early the next morning and for a time lay still in bed, eyeing the strange and beautiful room. Was the duke awake yet? Was Carlos? With a smile she rolled out of bed and padded barefoot into the adjoining bath. Here was one room that did not confuse her senses, or make her feel she'd been caught up by a time machine and swept back untold centuries. Though the bathroom was a very luxurious one, with fixtures that seemed to be made of black marble and an oversized sunken tub, nevertheless the room was unmistakably modern. Thank goodness, Anne thought, grinning to herself. She was delighted to see that in addition to the sunken tub the room had a stall shower, and reaching in, she turned the hot water faucet on. Imagine living from the day of your birth in a fantastic home such as this one!

  After she'd showered and dressed, Anne left her room, opening and closing the heavy, carved door as quietly as possible and all but tiptoeing down the hall toward the stairs. She had no idea what time it was or whether anyone else in the household was up. As she reached the downstairs hall, she ran across a valet in black trousers, white shirt, and black vest.

  "Could you tell me whether anyone else is up yet?" she asked him.

  He gave her a startled look. "Perdoneme." Then a friendly smile broke across his wrinkled old face and he motioned for her to follow him. He led her down the wide hall to where a double open door led into a large high-ceilinged dining room. As she thanked the valet and entered the room, Anne saw that a young woman stood over by a sideboard pouring herself a cup of coffee. The woman was quite tall, with shiny black hair pulled severely into a bun at the back of her neck. She had large dark eyes, thin curved brows, and a spot of high color on each cheek which Anne decided was not natural but rouged on. The woman looked startled as Anne walked in, then forced out a cool, condescending smile.

  "Buenos dias," she murmured. "Bienvenido."

  "Thank you," Anne murmured in embarrassment, feeling her cheeks flush warmly. "Buenos dias to you too."

  "Oh, you're an American," the young woman said, in a faintly contemptuous tone. "You arrived here last night with Carlos, did you not? I'm Maria Carlotta Isabel Domingo-Almazan, a very close family friend. Would you like some coffee?"

  "Yes, thank you, I'd love some. I'm Anne McCullough."

  "And how do you take your coffee?"

  "Just black, thank you."

  Maria picked up a cup from the sideboard, poured Anne a cup, and handed it to her, dark eyes narrowed as they insistently surveyed her. "You did arrive here with Carlos last night, did you not?"

  "Oh, yes. Yes, I did," Anne answered quickly, fearful that she'd been rude by not affirming this when Maria first asked.

  "Shall we sit down?" Maria suggested. "I've already ordered breakfast and it should arrive very soon. You've been traveling with Carlos, have you?" Maria tried, it seemed to Anne, to ask this as casually as possible, to mask an intense interest she apparently had.

  Anne felt her cheeks flush even more warmly. As Maria sank down on one of the high-backed chairs at the long, highly polished, gleaming table, Anne rather reluctantly sat down on an adjoining chair. She hadn't expected to be met with a grilling this early in the morning, at least not by some young woman whose relationship to Carlos's family she could not grasp. Carlos had repeatedly mentioned his father and aunt but never a single word that Anne could remember about any Maria Carlotta Whatever-it-was. Had Maria heard about Dorrie's running away or was that being kept a family secret? Maria had said she was a very close family friend-how close did that mean?

  "Well, yes, I have been traveling with him," Anne murmured nervously after taking a bracing sip of the steaming hot, delicious coffee. She started to add that after leaving Paris they'd spent a few days on the Riviera but then thought better of it. Again she sipped at her coffee, saying nothing more.

  "And are you an actress or something?" Maria asked a moment later, in a distinctly annoyed, impatient voice. Her thin, black brows almost drew together over her narrow-bridged, sharp nose as she gazed irritably over her coffee cup at Anne. The poor woman can't figure me out, can't decide who I am, how I fit in, Anne thought with a sudden spurt of amusement, any more than I can figure out who she is. This thought made her feel a great deal more in control and she lifted her eyes to meet Maria's with a small, friendly smile.

  "Well, I don't know exactly what you mean by 'or something,'" she murmured, "but, no, I most certainly am not an actress. Back home in Baltimore, in the States, I work in a bank. I'm a teller. It's a dignified, respectable job but not very exciting, I'm afraid."

  As Anne sipped her coffee again, so did Maria. "Then you're over here on vacation?" Maria demanded next, with open impatience. Though she sat gazing directly across at Anne, Anne still received the impression that this haughty young woman was looking down her sharp nose at her. She began to feel more than a little annoyed. And what possible business is that of yours? she wanted to answer.

  Instead she merely nodded, glancing away, trying to avoid any further conversation.

  Maria gulped down the last of her coffee, rose, and walked irritably over to the sideboard to refill her cup. "And you met Carlos on the Riviera, did you?" she asked next, acting thoroughly exasperated that she was having such a time extracting information from this uncooperative young commoner.

  Anne felt a little smile pull on her mouth as she sipped her coffee again and took her own good time to answer. "Well, no, as a matter of fact I didn't," she murmured at last, offering nothing further.

  Before Maria had a chance to pursue her questioning, steps could be heard in the hall outside and Carlos came striding into the room. As Anne glanced around to welcome him, she felt her heart leap painfully at how impossibly handsome he looked. Whenever she saw him after a lapse of time she was again astonished that any face could be so charmingly attractive, any form so lean and masculine. Carlos was elegantly yet quite casually dressed in black slacks and a light blue silk shirt, open at the neck. The blue of the shirt made his thick black hair seem even blacker. His dark eyes lit with surprise— and pleasure?—as he saw Maria and he walked quickly to her, pressing a kiss on her cheek.

  "Maria," he murmured, followed by a stream of mellifluous Spanish. He had reached for Maria's hand and held it as he spoke. A moment later he turned around and noticed Anne. "Well, Anne, good morning," he said in a buoyant voice, with a quick warm smile. "So you awakene
d before I did. You've met Maria, I presume? What a surprise, and pleasure, to find you here. She's a very dear family friend, as possibly she mentioned."

  "Yes," Anne agreed, nodding.

  "And why wouldn't I have come?" Maria protested in a decidedly petulant tone. "At a time of crisis like this, of course I rushed here to offer what comfort I could. Your poor father—your aunt— Have you the least notion, dear Carlos, how worried they are, how distraught? While you have been sunning yourself on the Riviera, frolicking with your friends"—as she said this, Maria glanced resentfully over at Anne—"I have spent my days holding your poor aunt's hand, trying to get her to dry her tears. And as for your father—oh, how difficult it was to comfort him! He wanted you here, Carlos, he wants his beloved little Dolores back. Can you not at least imagine how it tears at the poor man's heart to fear for the safety, the very life, of his only daughter? He needed you, Carlos, yet where were you? Why did you not speed directly home from Paris?"

  "Because I did not, that's all," Carlos responded in a tone so nonchalant Anne could scarcely believe her ears. He poured himself coffee and walked over to take a chair at the head of the table, a few feet from where Anne sat, and to Anne's even greater surprise he threw her a wink. "I told father over the phone that Dolores was perfectly all right, that there was not the least need to fear for her safety much less her life. The moment I see him this morning, I shall reassure him of this again."

  "And how do you know that?" Maria cried, obviously offended by Carlos's rather casual confidence. "How do you know she's not being threatened, tortured, or raped?"

  In spite of herself, Anne burst out laughing at Maria's melodramatic speech. Carlos grinned broadly and again winked at Anne.

  "Bring your coffee over and join us," Carlos suggested. "Sit down and calm down, please. I spoke to Dolores over the phone, as I told father when I called, and she sounded fine. More than fine. Full of spirit and stubbornness. Anything but frightened and crushed, believe me."

  The spots of color on Maria's cheeks suddenly looked even brighter. "And how do you know she wasn't being forced to say what she said to you? How do you know her kidnapper didn't hold a knife at her throat or a gun at her head? You spoke to her over the phone, indeed! What does that mean?"

  "Please, Maria," Carlos answered patiently. "Do sit down and drink your coffee. In the first place, Dolores wasn't kidnapped in the sense you're claiming. She ran away with this man of her own free will. And as I explained to father, we now have a way to pry her loose and bring her back without our having to chase after them. When I had gotten the situation under control, I decided to enjoy a few days off, the first real vacation I've had in years. Thank you for being here with my father and aunt, but now that I am back you need not concern yourself over them. Everything's going to work out fine."

  "Just the same," Maria insisted, "I intend to honor your aunt's request to stay until this matter is finally settled." An aggrieved expression on her face, she sipped sulkily at her coffee, eyes lowered.

  The sound of steps interrupted the brief silence, and glancing quickly around Anne saw an elderly man and woman enter the room. The man, who had to be Carlos's father, had a thin, stern face with a neatly trimmed, gray-streaked, Vandyke beard. His thick gray hair was combed straight back from his high forehead. He had a narrow, aristocratic nose, fine, firm lips, an extremely erect posture, and seemed wrapped up in an impenetrable, imperious air. As Anne watched him walk in, she felt once again swept back in time, as she had the night before upon entering this castle. Here was a man who surely belonged to the Middle Ages, whose portrait she had glimpsed a hundred times in art museums, the perfect owner of this castle, a man who looked every inch the Spanish nobleman he was.

  The gray-haired woman who walked at his side was also quite tall, extremely erect of posture, with a pale skin remarkably wrinkle-free. At first glance Anne felt sure the woman had been as beautiful in her youth as her niece Dolores was now. Again Anne felt that she now understood Carlos and his family much better. Unlike nondescript people like Michael and herself, these people had a name, a heritage, a tradition to uphold. They were tradition. And she and Michael were ignorant upstarts trying to push their way into a proud, settled way of life where they weren't wanted and didn't belong. If Michael had any pride, he'd return Dolores to her family and drop out of her life. And if I had any pride, Anne thought, with a sudden wave of pain, I'd push Carlos out of my heart once and for all!

  "Father, how well you're looking." Carlos jumped up, smiling, and walked over to greet the elderly man. He pressed a quick kiss on his father's cheek, then turned to the woman. "And Aunt Isabel, you're looking well too, as radiantly beautiful as ever." He kissed her on the brow and momentarily put his arm across her shoulder to give her a hug. "Maria's already here, as you can see, but come meet my friend, Anne, who arrived with me during the night."

  The trio stopped a few feet from where Anne sat, and Anne rose nervously to her feet, doing her best to face these imposing aristocrats without cringing or crumbling.

  "Aunt Isabel, father, this is Anne McCullough. Anne, my father, Philip Frederico Diego Alvarado, duke of Palencia, and his sister, Isabel Dona Teresa Alvarado."

  "How do you do?" Anne's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she wondered how one addressed people such as this. Certainly not by their first names. But—how?

  "To meet you is our very great pleasure indeed," Carlos's father greeted Anne gallantly, offering her a very slight bow. His stern old face broke into a small, pleasant smile. "Possibly you are an acquaintance of Carlos's American friends with whom he has recently spent a few days on the French Riviera, is that so?" One of the duke's brows lifted rather quizzically as he awaited Anne's confirmation.

  "Well, no, I'm not," Anne murmured tensely, her cheeks flushing even more warmly.

  Carlos smiled at her reaction. "No, father, that's a good guess but an incorrect one. Anne was with me on the Riviera, but we didn't meet there. The fact is we met in Morocco, then again in Paris, and have been traveling together ever since. I mentioned her name, father, but possibly you did not catch it. This is Anne McCullough, the sister of the young man with whom Dolores is presently traveling, Michael McCullough."

  "The sister—" The old man echoed this softly as though in shock. Carlos's Aunt Isabel, who had been standing beside her brother smiling pleasantly, stiffened at once, drawing herself up even more rigidly. As though of one accord, the elderly pair backed away from Anne, both of them eyeing her with instant distaste.

  A moment later the duke's eyes drew away and from then on it was as though Anne no longer existed, or at any rate was no longer present in the room. "And why did you bring such a person here?" Duke Philip demanded of his son. "I don't understand this, Carlos. Explain yourself. What is the sister of that thief and scoundrel doing here? And why has not Dolores returned as you have repeatedly assured me that she would? Your only sister is in dire jeopardy, yet first you take off on holiday to enjoy yourself on the Riviera and now you arrive home with this—this person who most assuredly does not belong here. I cannot fathom your behavior in this matter and demand that you explain, right this moment."

  Before Carlos had a chance to reply, the duke's elderly sister addressed her nephew in Spanish, Maria jumped up and joined in the attack, and when Carlos finally got a chance to speak he too spoke in Spanish. Anne stood by the table in acute embarrassment, her dry mouth aching for a sip or two more of coffee, while she felt too uncomfortable to reseat herself or reach for her cup. She was afraid that if she tried to lift her cup she was so nervous she might easily spill the coffee. And that's all I need, Anne thought, lowering her glance as a small, unhappy smile twitched along her lips.

  As the family argument continued to rage in a language she couldn't understand, with no one even glancing her way, Anne decided her best course of action was to leave the room as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. She stepped away from the table and walked quickly toward the exit. Just as she reached the
open double doors into the hall, her nostrils were assailed by the delectable odor of hot food being carried in on trays. Anne suddenly felt so hungry she almost turned back, drawn by the delightful aroma of what would assuredly be deliciously appetizing food. But her embarrassment proved even stronger than her hunger and she exited quickly from the room, walking hurriedly away down the hall. It wasn't until she reached the front entry that she was out of earshot of the heated family argument being carried on in Spanish.

  Because she could think of nowhere else to go, Anne went upstairs to the room in which she had slept. Sighing, she packed everything she had taken from her suitcase the night before, then carefully tidied the room, trying to erase every scrap of evidence that she had ever been there. She was in the bathroom, carefully washing the black marble basin, when she heard a loud rapping on her bedroom door. The next moment the door opened and the elderly valet she'd met downstairs stepped into the room.

  He carried a tray upon which sat various covered dishes. The escaping aroma of the food reminded Anne of just how hungry she was. Smiling in delight, she walked over to the valet, murmuring, "Gracias, gracias," and took the tray from him. After a careful survey of the room, she spread a towel on the magnificent chest at the foot of the bed, sat down on one end and spread out her breakfast feast before her. And a feast it was: orange juice that tasted freshly squeezed, toast, butter, strawberry jam, six slices of crisply fried bacon, scrambled eggs, a sweet roll, a bowl of oatmeal with sugar and cream, and an ample supply of coffee. Anne dove in with relish and surprised herself by eating every bite. Carlos's family not only had a beautiful home in which to live, they obviously had an excellent household staff, and, best of all, a most efficient and marvelous cook. How one's outlook on life could improve with a hearty, delicious meal like that one!

  After downing the last sip of coffee, Anne decided to leave her room and venture downstairs. Possibly Carlos and his family had resolved their differences by now and Carlos would inform her that, as she was most definitely persona non grata here, she was free to leave. Failing that, maybe Michael and Dorrie would show up today. Yes, Anne thought, feeling unreasonably happy and optimistic as she descended the stairs, surely they would arrive today. And once they had—