the woman backed away, Maria wanted to call out to her, to tell her that she needed a doctor, needed to talk to someone in authority. But what would this man—this stranger—do if she caused a problem?
“You’ll be all right,” the man said. “Close your eyes and let the medication work.”
Gradually the aching began to fade. Her mind felt more clear. She sat up, turning her head slowly so she wouldn’t jar the fragile relief.
The man sat in a wingback chair next to the sofa. In spite of his obvious impatience, he was very handsome. There was an aristocratic sculpting to his features. Near his hairline, where his thick, dark hair swept back off a high forehead, she saw the start of a faded scar that extended to the brow above his left eye.
She sensed that she ought to know him, but her memory didn’t seem willing to function. “Cómo se llama?”
“My name? You want to know my name?”
He regarded her with a mixture of astonishment and irritation. Too angry, she thought, to be a caring husband. Why had he brought her here? Who was he?
Her eyes squeezed shut, then she opened them again. She needed to think, to create logic from the crippling confusion that churned inside her brain, making her stupid, foolish, ridiculous. She had to proceed intelligently if she hoped to survive. Of that much, she was certain.
More information. She needed to gather facts.
The small room where they sat was furnished with dark wood antiques, but the wallpaper was light, patterned in gray fleur-de-lis. Sunlight poured through the lace curtains at the windows. They were alone, but she heard the mumblings of other people outside the closed oak door.
“I can’t call off the wedding,” he said. “I promise that the ceremony will be brief. You can get through it, then go upstairs to your room and sleep.”
“What will I be called,” she asked, rephrasing her earlier question, “when we are man and wife?”
“You will be Mrs. Jason Wakefield Walker the Third.”
An impressive name. But she had never heard it before. “And this will be my home. This...island.”
Outside the windows she saw scrub oak and pine. There were only a few wildflowers in splashes of yellow and red. The foliage was not typical of a tropical island where Spanish might be the native tongue, and yet she had spoken only Spanish.
“Please, Maria, try to concentrate.”
“Upon what? Tell me again.”
He sighed and began speaking in a low baritone. In spite of his obvious irritation, the sound of his voice was gentle and soothing.
Though she tried to listen and compile enough data to understand, a darkness rose up behind her eyes and she could feel herself tuning out. Was her delirium an effect of the capsule he’d given her? She stared blankly while he mentioned immigration and their enemies. In a dull voice, he concluded, “It is your assignment, today, to convince our guests that you are delighted to be my wife.”
A swell of organ music resounded from the opposite side of the closed door. “The Wedding March.” Surely she was dreaming.
Her fingers laced in a tight knot on her lap. The worst of the headache had ebbed. “I am feeling much better,” she said.
“I’m glad.” He sounded sympathetic, but his tightly clenched jaw and frowning eyebrows told another story. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
He certainly didn’t behave like a person who was about to be wedded. On the other hand, neither did she.
Maria... She repeated her new name to herself. I am Maria. And Maria had no time for marriage. There was her career to think of. She couldn’t just run off and get married. It would be unprofessional. She’d worked hard to develop her contacts, to become a...
A what? What did she do for a living? In her mind, she envisioned bookshelves, papers on a desk. When she tried to read the pages, to find a clue, the wind blew swiftly through the open window beside the desk and the sheaves of paper drifted and swirled like so many leaves caught in autumn breezes. And the wind came faster. Her mind filled with a white paper storm, and she was cold. Blank. Unable to remember.
“Maria!” he snapped again. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nada,” she murmured. “Nothing.”
She would tell him nothing until she knew if he was a friend or a foe.
There were people who wanted to hurt her, she realized with a shock. There were people who wanted to kill her. An unnatural terror coiled deep within her. Fear was her only certainty, and she must keep her secrets until she regained her ability to think.
He placed a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in her hand. Her wedding bouquet. She held the flowers close to her face, inhaling the fragrance.
He seemed gentler when he said, “These are for you, Maria.”
“Gracias.”
“Come along, now. This will only take a minute.”
He stood, and she noticed that his dark gray suit seemed too large for his tall, lean frame. He picked up a polished ebony cane with a silver head. When he walked to the door, his steps were halting. His left leg was stiff. Her first impulse was to run up beside him and help him, but she sensed that he would be displeased by her offer of assistance.
She opened her mouth to speak. What was his name again? “Jason Walker.”
He turned clumsily. Not comfortable with his cane. “Yes, Maria?”
She was about to be married. But did he love her? Did she love him? That seemed impossible. Even if her conscious mind had been erased, the emotion of love could not vanish. Her soul would remember being in love.
When she looked at this man, her heart trembled. Not with love, but with fear. How could she allow herself to be married to a man she couldn’t remember seeing before? She gestured hopelessly. “We cannot do this.”
“We can’t back out now. Your life depends upon it.”
A chill raced down her spine, and she knew he was telling the truth. Her very survival depended upon going through with this ceremony. She must not flinch. In a low, determined voice, she said, “Sí, Mr. Walker. I will marry you.”
“Thank you.” He nodded. “By the way, you look very pretty in your gown. Maria, you make a beautiful bride.”
Jason hobbled from the small parlor, closed the door behind him and forced himself to smile at the guests in the front room. His sister, Alice, bustled up to him. Her china blue eyes were wide with concern. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine. Maria needs a moment alone.”
“And you, Jason? How are you?”
“Couldn’t be better.” With Alice beside him, he edged across the rear of the room and went into his office. “I’ll be out in just a moment.”
“Should I check on Maria?”
“You’d know better than I would.”
“Oh, Jason!” She gave a short, exasperated sigh. “You never did understand women, did you?”
“Apparently not.”
He closed the door to his study.
Maria Ramos Hernandez was not what he’d expected. He’d been told that she was strong and brave, a ferocious fighter when threatened. But no one had mentioned her beauty. And the woman who waited in the parlor to become his bride was a creature of surpassing loveliness. Her thick, wavy black hair tumbled past her shoulders in a riot of curls. Her eyes shone like green emeralds in her dusky complexion. Jason was sorry that this would be a marriage in name only.
When