Mysterious Vows

“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 she looked at him with that beguiling innocence, he wanted to touch her, to kiss her ripe, full lips, to soothe her fears.

She had refused to speak of the journey. Since he’d picked her up in his boat, she had done nothing more than sleep, bathe, and take in barely enough food to satisfy a hummingbird.

No doubt, there had been difficulties along her route. Maria had arrived ten hours late with several fresh bruises. Most disturbing, however, was her apparent memory loss. Her short-term memory was gone. She forgot everything he told her from one minute to the next, and must have asked his name half a dozen times.

Alice had been correct when she’d suggested that Maria see a doctor. Though her injuries weren’t immediately life-threatening and her vital signs were good, he was worried about her. He wasn’t sure of her medical history, wasn’t sure exactly how treatment should be handled.

It was dangerous to make any unplanned moves. At his desk, he picked up the telephone and punched out the number he had tried at least a dozen times since Maria had arrived. He allowed the phone to ring and ring. There was still no answer.

He replaced the receiver on the hook. “Damn.”

It was a hell of a time for his source to be missing.

He limped gingerly through the door and skirted the edge of the small gathering of guests and witnesses, greeting some and accepting congratulations from others. Jason took his place beside the reverend, positioning his weight carefully and trying to ignore the constant ache from his shattered leg. The doctors assured him that someday he would be able to move around freely, and he was doing so well now that he barely needed the cane. But there would always be pain.

Jason nodded to his sister and she opened the door to the parlor adjoining the larger room. Everyone turned to catch their first glimpse of the bride. There were gasps when they recognized, as he had, that Maria made a beautiful bride, clad in white, holding her rose bouquet. Her black hair shone with a magnificent luster.

Reverend Blaylock whispered to him, “Very attractive.”

“Yes,” Jason answered. “I know.”

Maria stood frozen in the doorway, her shoulders straight and her small chin lifted defiantly. The woman who played the piano paused with her fingers lifted above the keys, then she started again to play “The Wedding March.”

Maria’s remarkable green-eyed gaze darted left, then right, before fixing upon Jason. Though she stood perfectly still, he could feel the fluttering of her heart, delicate as a captive butterfly. The pleading in her eyes touched him, and he knew she was too frightened to move.

Though Jason hated to be seen walking with his infirmity, he went down the short aisle toward her. When he stood beside her and offered his arm for support, she held on tightly.

Slowly they walked the twenty paces to the front of the room where Reverend Wally Blaylock waited, prayer book in hand.

“Dearly Beloved,” the reverend said. “We are gathered here today to...”

Jason stood, firm and somber. Soon this charade would be over.

The traditional words rolled past like the credits at the beginning of a motion picture. He listened with disinterest. This wasn’t a real marriage, unlike the first time when he’d been wed to Elena, a woman he’d adored. She had been his dearest love, more wondrous than the sun and moon and stars, until death parted them four years ago. He never thought he would love again.

The reverend asked for objections to this marriage. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Jason held his breath. He halfway expected a crew of terrorists or agents from the immigration services to storm his isolated home. But that was absurd. There would be no objections, no specific reasons why he and Maria could not become man and wife...other than the obvious fact that they hardly knew each other.

As he glanced down at her lustrous black hair, a strange sense of possessiveness came over him. He wanted to ease her fears. Softly he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Sí.”

She tightened her grasp on Jason’s arm, clinging to him for physical support as a tidal wave of nausea crashed over her. Her mind reeled dizzily. Her knees felt weak. She needed to lie down, to sleep, to end this horrid sense of disorientation.

Jason rested his hand atop hers and squeezed. He was staring at her. His storm-gray eyes were expectant, as if he were waiting for an answer. But she did not know the question.