Trondelaine Castle

by April Lynn Kihlstrom

  Something in Lord Pellen’s tone made the doctor glance at him sharply. “Yes, well, we ought to be going. It’s late.”

  Wendy put an arm around the shoulder of each man and they eased her upright. They managed her easily between them as they walked to the doctor’s car. When she had been eased into the seat, Lord Pellen said, “I’ll drive over to the clinic later. Someone will have to bring her back to the castle.”

  The doctor nodded and got into his car. As they pulled away from the castle, he asked Wendy, “How are you feeling?”

  “All right. Rather shaky. My foot hurts, of course.”

  Dr. Witler nodded. “What I expected. Richard-Lord Pellen, that is-seems to have taken quite a dislike to you.”

  Wendy grimaced. “He thinks I’m either a burglar, a journalist, a con artist, or a gold digger. He thinks I hurt my foot on purpose to stay at the castle.”

  “Did you?” the doctor asked conversationally.

  “Of course not!”

  The doctor laughed. “Well, you mustn’t blame Richard too much for being suspicious. Ever since he became the Earl two years ago, he’s been pursued by such people, using all sorts of tricks. Especially women!”

  Wendy’s mouth opened and shut. There was really nothing she could say to that. They drove for a while in silence, the doctor once risking a quick glance at her face. It seemed innocent, but how could one be sure? Finally, they drew up in front of a large building. Roger honked the horn once.

  “My clinic,” he explained to Wendy. “Reasonably modern for this-this nowhere. X-ray machine, laboratory, hospital beds-all full now-examining rooms, and delivery room. The nearest hospital is some distance away, you see. By the way, I’m Dr. Roger Witler.”

  “I’m Wendy Pratt.”

  They were interrupted by the appearance of a nurse at the car. “Kay, she’s hurt her foot,” the doctor said. “We’ve got to get her into the clinic and then take some X-rays.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  The petite nurse was much stronger than she looked. Once she helped Dr. Witler take Wendy inside the building, she pulled out a long official form. “Name? Date of birth? Official address?…” she began, and Wendy answered her questions.

  By the time the form was completed, the doctor was ready to X-ray her foot. In half an hour, he was looking at the exposed pictures.

  “Nothing broken,” he assured her, “just some pulled tendons. You’ll have to stay off the foot for several weeks. I’ve a pair of crutches I can lend you. I’ll tape your foot first.”

  He sent his nurse for the crutches and, when she returned, started coaching Wendy in the proper use of them. By the time Lord Pellen arrived, she was able to manage reasonably well. Dr. Witler repeated his diagnosis for the Earl, who grimaced and said to Wendy, “Come along, then.”

  He turned and strode out of the room without looking back to see if she was following. Dr. Witler frowned. He walked beside Wendy, encouraging her. When they came to the clinic steps, the doctor lifted her and carried her the rest of the way to Lord Pellen’s waiting car. It was Lord Pellen’s turn to frown.

  “Good night, Dr. Witler,” Wendy said, “and thank you.,,

  “Good night, Miss Pratt,” he replied. “I’ll look in on you in a couple of days. Good night, Richard.”

  He stood watching as Richard’s car pulled away. Lord Pellen did not speak as they drove back to the castle. That suited Wendy perfectly. A male servant was waiting when they arrived.

  “Carry her to her room,” the Earl ordered. To Wendy he said, “You are on the ground floor.”

  Then he strode away leaving Wendy to the care of the servant. “Easy, Miss,” he said as he lifted her.

  The room assigned to Wendy was in the east wing. Her small case from the bus was there, and Wendy saw that her few things had been put away for her. Her wrapper and nightgown lay on the bed, with the slippers nearby. Because it was the simplest thing to do, the servant set her down on the bed.

  “The bath is through there.” He pointed to a door. “Breakfast will come on a tray in the morning at nine. If you have need of anything, the red button beside the bed is connected to the servants’ quarters.”

  “Thank you very much,” she answered with perfect frankness. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

  His face was impassive. “No bother, Miss. Good night.”

  Then he was gone and Wendy was left alone. She pulled herself upright on the crutches and looked in the mirror. Her blouse was dirty, but no more so than her face. Her hair was horribly tangled and she had three broken fingernails.

  She sighed and said aloud, “I think I’d better wash up!”

  After doing so, she felt much better. But, for the first time, she realized she was hungry. She had not eaten since tea and that had been a rather hurried affair. But Wendy was not brave enough to summon a servant and request a meal. Oh, well, she thought, breakfast will probably be hearty. Her stomach protesting, she undressed, turned out the lights, and tried to fall asleep.

  Wendy came awake slowly. At first she didn’t realize where she was. Then, a careless movement of her right foot brought pain and immediate recollection. She was in a guest room at Lord Pellen’s castle, Trondelaine. A glance at her watch reassured her. It was barely eight A.M.She would have plenty of time to wash and dress before one of the servants brought breakfast. But dressing wouldn’t be easy on crutches.

  When that was accomplished, Wendy looked around the room. The walls had been replastered at some point, but nothing could make them look modern. The furniture was old but sturdy, and plentiful. Aside from the bureau, wardrobe, dressing table, and easy chair, there were two bed tables and, of course, the bed.

  One wall held several bookcases and at one end of the room was a small round table with chairs. There were curtains and heavy rugs, but no pictures or tapestries. It was, concluded Wendy wistfully, much more comfortable and much larger than her room in London.

  She noted, with a smile, the candelabrum on the fireplace mantel. It probably meant the power sometimes failed. It was unfortunate that the bookcases were empty, but perhaps Lord Pellen would not mind her using the library. A tap at the door interrupted her reverie.

  “Come in!” she called.

  It was a maid with a large tray. “Morning, Miss. I trust you slept well. Lord Richard will see you in the library at ten.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Miss.”

  That was all and the maid left. She had set the tray on the round table, and Wendy sat down and began examining the various dishes. There was tea and milk and sugar; toast and marmalade; two eggs and some thick British bacon.

  Wendy’s stomach reminded her that it had been some sixteen hours since her last meal, and she ate eagerly.

  When she had finished, she felt much better. She glanced at her watch. She had half an hour before she must face Lord Pellen. Raising herself on her crutches, she checked her image in the mirror. Washed and with combed hair falling in curls, she looked much better than she had the previous night. She was dressed simply in a fresh print blouse and a sea-green skirt. Sensible, flat sandals completed the picture.

  It felt a little silly to be wearing a sandal on the foot that never touched the ground, but she couldn’t very well go barefoot in a castle. It would have to do. She had only expected to be gone two days and this was all she had thought to bring: one change of clothing. Well, no doubt Lord Pellen would send her packing in a day or two, and her lack of wardrobe wouldn’t matter.

  She wore no makeup, disliking it except for formal occasions, although she had brought some. Lord Pellen would probably accuse her of trying to entice him if she put any on her face. A few minutes early, Wendy started for the library. She was still clumsy on the crutches and not sure she could find her way. And she certainly didn’t want to be late.

  As it turned out, the library was easy to find, the last room on her left as she came down the hall toward the main section of the castle. The library door s
tood open and Lord Pellen was waiting for her. As she came in, he indicated a chair for her and he closed the door. Then he sat on the desk, facing her.

  “You will please answer a few questions for me,” he said calmly, picking up a pen and pad of paper. “Name? Address? Place of birth? Occupation? Name of mother? Name of father? Address of parents? Name of-er-fiance?”

  Wendy clutched the arms of the chair and tried to keep her temper as she gave him all the information. He seemed surprised to hear she was a translator at Beckworth and Brothers, the publishing company. Lord Pellen wrote everything down, including her father’s California address and the fact that her mother was dead.

  Then he looked at Wendy. “You know, of course, that I will have all of this checked. Would you care to change any of the answers you’ve just given me?”

  She shook her head and he continued, “You may prepare yourself for a long stay. I do not intend to have you leave before your foot is quite healed. Otherwise, I am sure I would find myself involved in a lawsuit. I suggest you write someone in London-perhaps your fiance-and request him to prepare a valise for you with all the necessary articles. If he gives it to the tour company, they will deliver it on Friday when the next tour comes through. You will find paper and pens in your room in one of the bed tables. One of my servants will mail it for you. You may go now.”

  Slightly dazed, Wendy stood, irritated at the brusque dismissal. With as much dignity as she could manage, she retreated from the library. Lord Pellen held the door for her and she heard it close behind her. In her mind, Wendy hurled all the abuse at him that she felt. What would she do about her job? If the Earl insisted on this nonsense, perhaps her boss could send the material she had been working on. Did Lord Pellen have Spanish and Russian dictionaries? She would have to have Kevin send up hers if she stayed. She had a good job and she wanted to keep it.

  As she opened the door to her room, Wendy stopped in surprise. During her brief absence, someone had made the bed, taken the breakfast tray, and removed her dirty clothes. Lord Pellen’s servants were obviously efficient.

  As Lord Pellen had said, there were writing materials in one of the tables. Wendy seated herself at the round table, not at all sure what she would write to Kevin. Would he be angry! She was glad she wouldn’t have to see his face when he read her letter. Wendy paused to remove her right sandal. She had loosened the toe and heel straps to allow for swelling, but it still was not very comfortable.

  Her irritation at Lord Pellen grew. He really had no right to dictate to her as he had. Soon, Wendy was no longer in doubt as to what to write Kevin. She would ask him to drive out to Trondelaine and get her. Lord Pellen could scarcely keep her here forcibly. Her mouth twisted into a wry smile as she mentally composed the letter. What should she write? That she was being held prisoner in a castle by an evil Lord? Actually, the letter read:

  Dear Kevin,

  I’ve done something very stupid. While visiting the first castle on the tour, I managed to hurt my foot. I am now on crutches, staying at Trondelaine. It is owned by a rather nasty fellow called Lord Pellen. Can you come rescue me? The tour agency can give you directions how to get here.

  Love, Wendy

  She nodded with satisfaction. That ought to fetch Kevin. Now she must write her boss and explain that she might miss a few days of work. Then she would have to face Lord Pellen and tell him she had no intention of obeying his orders. Suddenly, she heard a knock at the door.

  Assuming it was a servant, she called, “Come in.”

  “Good morning again,” Lord Pellen said. Wendy whirled to face him, and he continued, “I hope you will forgive this intrusion. It occurred to me, however, that there was something I neglected to tell you, in case you had changed your mind about whatever it was you came here to do.” His voice was mocking. “Should you attempt to leave here before I give you permission, I will bring a lawsuit against you for trespassing.”

  “But that’s absurd!” Wendy protested. “I don’t think you could win.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps not. But if you really are a working girl, I suspect you would find the expense of fighting my suit rather a burden.”

  She stared at him bitterly, aware he was right. Besides, she was not at all sure she would win. After all, she was basically a foreigner and he was an earl.

  Lord Pellen smiled more broadly. “I have already spoken with your employers. They said to tell you not to worry. You may have as long as you need to recuperate. I may have-er-slightly exaggerated the extent of your injury, but never mind that. If I may be of further service, please tell me.”

  He turned and was gone. Angrily, Wendy hit the table. Damn him! She did not doubt he would carry through his threat. And yet, why not stay? She had always wanted to live in a castle; when else would she have the chance? And Lord Pellen had already obtained her boss’s permission for her to stay as long as necessary.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, Wendy was aware of how badly she needed a few weeks to just think. Smiling slightly, she mused, It would serve the Earl right to have to put up with me! And I could always leave later, if I wanted to. Kevin could come and get me.

  Wendy tore up the letter to Kevin and began another. When that was written, she wrote her boss asking if he could send her the material she had been working on. And, finally, there was a letter to her landlady, Mrs. Aylses, explaining about her foot and asking her to allow Kevin to pick up some things.

  By the time lunch arrived on a tray, she was addressing the last envelope. With a sigh, she turned her attention to the food. Lord Pellen had an excellent cook.

  After lunch, faced with nothing to do, Wendy decided to head for the library. The worst Lord Pellen could do was order her out. She fastened on her right sandal, wincing. Then, firmly, she headed toward the lion’s den. Lord Pellen was not there, however, and Wendy began looking through some of the shelves.

  There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of books of all ages and bindings. Some were under lock and key. Light came from large windows in two of the walls. A third wall held the big fireplace. The fourth had bookshelves and the door.

  Thick carpets covered the floor, and heavy velvet curtains hung at the windows. Looking at Lord Pellen’s desk near the fireplace, Wendy decided it was a comfortable, if somber, room. She was looking through a volume of history when Lord Pellen entered. He stopped short as he saw her.

  “I-I thought you might not mind if I read some of the books from your library,” she stammered.

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “Not at all.” The voice was sarcastic. “Please be at home.”

  Wendy flushed and moved toward the door on her crutches. “I’ll just take this to my room and be out of your way.”

  Lord Pellen blocked her path. “I’m afraid not, my dear. There is a firm rule that no books are to be taken out of the library. There are no exceptions, not even for myself. Please be seated-you will not disturb me,” he added mockingly.

  Wendy moved to a chair. She would not allow herself to be driven from the library by this man. Indeed, she would rather enjoy it if she succeeded in driving him from the room. She opened the volume and began reading. Her concentration was broken only by the irregular sound of Lord Pellen’s pen. And he was the first to leave. When he did, Wendy allowed herself a brief, malicious smile.

  Lord Pellen must have informed the servants as to her whereabouts, for at four o’clock, they brought her tea in the library. The Earl was nowhere in sight and Wendy assumed he was avoiding her. She took great pleasure in that thought. He insisted she stay at the castle, but she could make that stay as unpleasant as possible for him. Feeling rather better, Wendy remained in the library for the rest of the afternoon. Later, as she started for her room, she encountered one of the maids in the hall.

  “Lord Richard said to inform you dinner will be served in the dining hall in an hour, Miss. He expects you in the James Room shortly before that,” the maid said without a trace of emotion.

  “Thank you,” Wendy said a
utomatically.

  She was not, however, as calm as she appeared to be. When she reached her room, she moved anxiously to the mirror. It was hopeless. Aside from brushing her hair, there was little she could do to fix herself up. No doubt, he would be expecting a somewhat smarter dress for dinner, but she had none with her. Impatiently she shook her head. Did it really matter?

  At precisely ten minutes short of the hour, Wendy reached the James Room and caught her breath in dismay. Lord Pellen turned slowly to face her, a glass of something in his hand. As he took in the details of her appearance, his face registered the same surprise as Wendy’s. He was dressed in evening clothes, the jacket a dark velvet.

  His lips pursed in disapproval, he said, “Since you are here, I presume you received my message. However, in this castle, we dress for dinner.”

  Wendy’s temper flared. “Well, I’m very sorry, Lord Pellen! But I didn’t come prepared for an extended visit. I only brought one extra outfit, the one I’m wearing. I only expected to be away two days.”

  Lord Pellen smiled ironically. “Oh, of course! Excuse me. My congratulations on the completeness of your cover. Very well, for a few nights it won’t matter. No doubt you have arranged for a few long dresses to be sent up on Friday?”

  Wendy’s mouth fell open and she stammered, “N-no, I-it never occurred to me I would need them. I just asked Kevin to send me some practical things.”

  Lord Pellen’s mouth set in a hard line. “I see. Or perhaps you expected me to provide you with a suitable wardrobe? What a pity we’re so isolated. That makes it impossible, doesn’t it? No, don’t protest your innocence! Frankly, I don’t care. Never mind. Will you have some sherry?”

  Confused, angry, and still rather dazed, Wendy nodded. She sat on the couch he indicated and waited. As Lord Pellen bent over to give Wendy her glass, he said casually, “It’s quite clever of you not to wear makeup. It almost makes you seem innocent. I suppose that’s the idea.”

  Wendy glared at him in response. He merely smiled and she shivered. She was beginning to feel very much out of her depth.