miles.
As he observed her progress through his binoculars, Jason found himself hoping that this was the woman he had been waiting for, the woman he would wed. Despite her exhaustion, she seemed to be reasonably attractive, and his pride was appeased that he would not be stuck marrying an ugly woman. Even if the mail-order marriage was nothing but a cover story, he would be required to introduce her as his bride.
She entered the marina, passed the boathouse.
Using his cane, he climbed out of the cockpit and stood beside the slip. After waiting so long, he felt like running toward her—as if he could run. But the instructions were clear. She was to come to him.
She stood beside the marker for slip number eighty-six, turned her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were an odd shade of hazel, almost green. Their pale color stood out dramatically against her dusky complexion.
Without saying a word, she held up her left hand and he saw the heavy gold ring inscribed with branches of thorns and a golden rose.
“Maria?”
She looked puzzled but nodded. He held out his hand to help her into the boat. Her touch was cold, trembling. He asked, in Spanish, if she was all right, if she needed anything.
In Spanish, she replied, “Sleep. I must sleep.”
He guided her into the cabin, and she crawled onto the V-berth in the forward hull and thanked him. Before he could question her to find out why she was so late, she was unconscious, curled up on the bed, sound asleep.
In repose, her features were delicate. Thick lashes formed dark crescents on her high cheekbones. Her lips parted as she breathed shallowly.
Her journey had been difficult, he thought. But she was here now, and he would make certain no one harmed her.
While she slept, he motored back to the island. There was a need for haste, and no time for sailing, so he did not hoist the dolphin sail on the Elena‘s mast. They crossed the twenty-two miles of open sea to Passaquoit Island at a smooth, even clip.
* * *
THE HEAVY MIST that blanketed her mind parted, showing light, but her eyelids were closed. Was she dead?
She was falling again, struggling up from liquid darkness. She must be dreaming, but her sensation was utterly real. She struggled against the paralyzing weakness, fought to shake off the cloying miasma that suffocated her. Falling.
She felt an arm at her waist. On her shoulder.
She was not alone.
The hands tightened their grasp.
Her eyelids snapped open. The profusion of light and color startled her. There was sunlight pouring through tall windows. Not darkness. She gulped air, filling her lungs. Her heart throbbed painfully beneath her rib cage. And her head— Oh, God, her head and shoulders ached.
“Maria, cómo está usted?”
She looked into the eyes of a stranger. In Spanish he repeated, “Maria, are you all right?”
“Muerte,” she murmured. Death. The angel of death had been so near she could feel its chilling embrace. “Where am I?”
“On the island.”
An island? She had no recollection of how she’d come to be here. Her mind was blank. Something terrible must have happened, something that had spun her life out of control.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am your husband-to-be. You are my bride.”
Her husband? Surely that could not be possible. The man was lying to her. She had a vague sense of other men, dangerous men who wanted to kill her. Was he one of them?
She sat bolt upright on the sofa where she had been reclining. Her head rang with fierce pain. Thunderbolts crashed inside her skull. She groaned. “My head.”
“Don’t you remember?” he asked.
Her instincts warned her to play along with him, to tell him what he wanted to hear. “Sí, I remember.”
Her fingers coursed down the length of white fabric of the dress she was wearing. Simple lace at the neck, polished cotton, long sleeves and a full skirt. A wedding gown.
Without knowing how or why, she’d dropped into a strange reality. And she was about to be a bride.
“Maria. We need to do this now.”
He spoke Spanish with the fluency of a native, but she detected an American accent in his inflection and tone. His words were slower than a native speaker’s. “We need to get started,” he said. “We need to get this ceremony under way as soon as possible.”
“What ceremony?” She saw impatience in his dark gray eyes.
“The wedding.”
Her head was pounding. She raised her fingertips to her temples and massaged lightly. Her forehead felt like it might explode.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
Dying, she thought. The misery spread to her neck and shoulders. Yet she said to him, “I will survive.”
“I don’t understand why your head hurts. I’ve examined you thoroughly. You have some bruises and a cracked rib. But I don’t see evidence of a head injury. Do you have a history of migraines?”
“No, but I need an aspirin. Please. Por favor.“
He took her hand. From a small vial, he tapped a blue-and-white capsule into her open palm and passed her a glass of water that had been standing on a table beside the sofa.
Though the pounding in her head threatened to consume her, she hesitated. What had he given her? A drug that would destroy the remnants of her brain? Suspiciously she demanded, “What kind of pill is this? What will it do to me?”
“I told you before,” he said. “I gave you some of this pain medication last night. I use it for my leg, but it seems to work on your headaches.”
If she’d taken one of these capsules before, she should have remembered. But her memory was gone, erased.
“Take it,” he ordered sharply. “There isn’t time for you to have a headache.”
She didn’t know this man. But the pain behind her eyes was so intense that she would have to risk the medication. She couldn’t begin to think until this agony subsided. She tossed back the capsule and washed it down.
“Listen carefully, Maria. No one must suspect there is anything wrong. Comprende? Do you understand?”
She lay back on the sofa, concentrated on breathing evenly while she waited for the pain to lessen. Why was he calling her Maria? That wasn’t her name. It was... An involuntary sob shuddered her body. Her name was...
Oh, God, why couldn’t she remember this basic, essential piece of herself? Calm down. Try to think.
She heard someone else enter the room. A woman.
In English the woman asked, “Is she all right?”
“She’ll be okay, Alice. Don’t worry.”
“I don’t think she’s well. Last night and this morning, she had a weird, blank look. Like she was awake, but not conscious. You should call off the wedding.”
“Maria will be fine. She’s tough. Comes from a tough country.”
“Well, it looks to me like something more serious than a case of prenuptial jitters.”
“Leave this to me.” His voice was harsh. “I know what I’m doing.”
The woman hovered above her. “Maria?”
She opened her eyes. Though it wasn’t her name, she would be Maria.
“Maria,