Roswell Fanatics

Title: The Isle
Rating: YTEEN, with ADULT in some parts
Author: me
Disclaimer: Roswell does not belong to me, I just borrowed a few characters for this fic.
Summary: Period fic, Liz has lost her memory and is stranded on an island with a very handsome, but very annoying, plantation owner.
Author's Note: Banner by Anniepoo98.



~Part One~

The wind was blowing softly, carrying the scent of salt and sea and bringing it to her. Liz Parker stood on the prow of her father’s merchant ship, letting the breeze blow through her long, dark hair. She wished it would take her with it, away from the depressing duty she was faced with.

Nearly a year ago her father had come home to a happy family of his wife and daughter…his news had taken that happiness away. Jeffrey Parker was a good man, but he was slightly dense in matters concerning women. In this case, he could not understand why his wife, Nancy, and his beloved daughter weren’t happy with the fact that he had secured a marriage between Elizabeth and a duke in England. It would keep them all set for life and his Lizzie would be taken good care of.

So now she was here, on her way to England to meet her future husband, wishing the wind would blow her overboard and she would be lost in the sea. As if in answer to her silent prayer her dress started billowing around her and her hair whipped into her face.

“Elizabeth!” She turned toward her father’s voice.

“Yes, Father?”

“Get below, little one,” he ordered softly, “there’s a storm coming.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” She gave him a mock salute and kissed him gently on his cheek. “Be safe, Father.”

“The Whirlwind is steady, Lizzie, she’ll keep all of us safe,” he assured her. Liz smiled, but was unsure. The ship was old, older than herself even, and while it had weathered many a gale…It wouldn’t last much longer. She sighed, as much as she wanted to get away, she did not want to die.

“What is happening, Elizabeth?” She looked at her mother and smiled kindly. Her mother was afraid of the sea, Liz never understood what had possessed her to marry a sailor, but whatever works…

“There is a storm approaching, Mother. Father asked that I come below and stay with you.”

Her mother was a pale and she was clutching her hands together. “Lord help us, the ship is getting too old to handle these storms.”

“We’ll be fine Mother, Papa will make sure we come out of this safe.”

“I know, honey bear, I know…Come here.” She smiled and held her arms out and Liz went to her, allowing her to rock her just as she had done when she was small. “It will be all right. You’ll see, Jeffrey says he’s not a bad man.”

“He’s so much older than me, Mama,” she said softly, realizing her mother was trying to stay away from the topic of the storm. “And England will be so different from New Mexico. How will I know how to act in their society?”

“You must do as I did, accept it and try and make the best of it.” She gave her daughter a wistful smile, “Mayhap you will be as lucky as I was Elizabeth. Mayhap he will be someone you can fall in love with.”

“I hope so,” she whispered fervently. The two women were silent for a time, one remembering and the other praying. THUNK! Liz started and stared at the plank. CRACK! “Oh God! Mother, we must go above.”

“What? What’s going on? What was that noise?”

“Mother, please!” she begged, tugging her mother up. The sound of another board loosening…cracking…The ship was not going to make it. She tried to hurry her mother along, keeping her from seeing the water seeping in through the broken bottom. “Hurry!”

“Elizabeth, I don’t-” Her mother was cut off as they were flung forward. Regaining her footing quickly she turned back to her mother. “Elizabeth,” Nancy’s voice was faint, “I do believe we are in trouble.”

“Mama…just come.”

They clasped hands, her mother’s grip painfully tight and they carefully made there way up the step to the deck, ignoring the rocking and waves. Liz saw her father at the helm, attempting to control the doomed ship.

“Papa!” she shouted, her words lost in the wind. She looked at her mother and nodded toward her father, knowing Nancy would not hear her if she tried to talk. The two shuffled forward and soon Jeffrey spotted them.

Liz narrowed her eyes against the rain that was blinding her. Father was shouting something and gesturing back to the hold. She shook her head, and continued forward, dragging her mother along.

Just then a large swell banged against the side of the ship, knocking them to the railing. Her mother’s hand slipped from hers and she screamed, looking down suddenly into a toiling ocean as the ship tipped upward onto its prow.

~Part Two~

Liz held tightly to the railing of the ship as it tossed and turned, afraid for her life. The storm had come upon them so swiftly, completely unexpected in its intensity. So now her mother, her father, the crew, and herself were clinging to the one thing standing between them and death.

The waters were raging, whitecaps pounded furiously into the side of the ship, rain poured downward, drenching them. They were freezing and losing strength, losing their grips…She wasn’t sure they’d make it out of this alive.

Her cramped hands spasmed as another wave crashed over the ship. She was slipping! Oh, God, she was slipping! She was able to scream once, she was able to take one last look at her family, before she was swept away into the dark, churning waters.

She couldn’t breathe, she was being buffeted by rain and wind from all sides. She had no idea how she had managed to surface, but here she was. She looked around, trying desperately to see, to spot some sign of…The ship had disappeared, and she had no idea of where she was. She picked a direction, one that went with the current, and started swimming. Hoping against hope that she’d find land soon.

After hours, she was tiring. She was surprised she had made it as far as she had. She stopped, treading water, trying to catch her breath, but swallowing water in the process. She coughed, ridding herself of the bitter taste and gulped at the air as she rose higher. There was nothing anywhere. She was going to die out here, alone. Lost at sea…How tragic.

A wave swept over her out of nowhere, dragging her to the side. She didn’t fight the pull. She was tired of fighting. She gave up.

At least, she thought she had, but apparently her will to survive was stronger. She found herself clawing her way back up, choking on the salt water that was flung in her face.

Liz just managed to make out the large looming shape of a rock ahead of her as another wave appeared…

She just managed to think last thoughts about her family…to decide that this was it…

And then she was smashed against the hard, unyielding mass of stone.

~Part Three~

She came awake slowly and started coughing and spitting. Oh yuck, she thought, sand does not taste good. She wiped at her mouth again and, finally assured that there was no more sand, looked around.

Where was she?

The trees grew lush and thick, a vibrant green color…Brightly colored flowers were seen everywhere. She turned her head both ways, staring down the strip of beach. No one was in sight, so she picked herself up and started walking. There had to be civilization somewhere. Right?

Two days later she was exhausted, hungry, weak, and bad-tempered. There was nothing anywhere, except a jungle that frankly, she was scared to go into. She rounded a bend and gasped.

Before her lay a large, cultivated field, extending far back into the jungle. Well-kept squares led up to a huge mansion. It was a farm or a plantation probably. She looked with disgust at the scarcely clad, dark-skinned people working in the fields. Slavery. How barbaric.

“Who are you?”

She spun, coming face to chest with a young man holding the reins of a horse. She tilted her head back so that she was able to meet those oddly amber eyes. “What?”

“I asked you who you were and what are you doing here?” He pursed his lips in annoyance.

“I’m trying to get home.”

“Well, you won’t find it here. This a privately owned island, only a few families live on it, and I know each member of each family and you do not belong to any of them,” he sneered down at her impatiently.

Her mind was racing. How did I get on an island? Why is he such a…such a…

“Now, who are you and where are you from? Maybe it won’t take that long to get you back.”

She looked down at herself. Her heavy petticoats were torn and still damp. She reached her hand to her hair and felt like crying it was such a mess.

“Well?” he demanded again.

She was drawing a blank.

“I…I don’t remember.”

~Part Four~

The girl started to breakdown. He dropped Ebony’s reins and started panicking. “Don’t cry! Don’t cry! Please, please, stop,” he pleaded. What was he supposed to do?

Putting hands on her shoulders he shook her slightly. She gasped and looked up at him. Tears were streaming down pale cheeks, more welling up in her bottomless brown eyes. “Please stop,” he whispered again, “I’m sorry.” She seemed to gulp back another sob and wiped her eyes dry.

He heaved a sigh of relief. It really wasn’t his fault she couldn’t remember her own name, but he had provoked her crying fit by asking. “Come on, we’ll get you to the house, try to straighten out this mess.” She nodded silently and followed him back to Ebony.

He helped her mount, and had started to himself, when he noticed the slaves staring. “Get back to work!” he ordered. They obeyed immediately.

“That was rude.”

“Beg pardon?” He turned to look up at her. Her face bore no signs of the tears he had seen just moments before. Her eyes were glittering angrily, her mouth drawn in a disapproving line, and her nostrils flaring slightly.

“You shouldn’t treat them like that!”

“They’re slaves!”

“Yes! They work for you, for free! They support you, and just…They do everything! You should treat them better!”

“They’re slaves!” he said again.

“I know! We just went over that!” She huffed and turned her face away from him.

He stared at her incredulous, before shaking his head in anger and getting on the horse. She stiffened, as if not wanting to come in contact. This girl was exasperating! One minute she’s crying her eyes out in his arms and the next she’s berating him for nothing.

He spurred his horse into a gallop. She gave a little shriek and grabbed at his arms. Ebony leapt over a hedge as they rode to the front doors and she whimpered in fright.

He gave a little self-satisfied smile, determined to unnerve her as much as she did him.

~Part Five~

He helped her down off his horse and led her into the house. She was pale, which was, and wasn’t, surprising.

It was because she had no memory, had obviously been through a trauma, and had probably been walking around for a while; tired, hungry, and thirsty.

It wasn’t because this was a tropic island, as in warm weather, hot sun, and tanning…

It just didn’t make sense. It was an enigma. She was an enigma.

She stopped mid-way through the entry hall and sort of staggered into a decorative table. Pale, wide-eyed, and shaking, she collapsed onto the floor.

He raced to her side, kneeling beside her on the carpeted hall. Her breathing was erratic, and her pulse fluttered rapidly. Something was definitely wrong, and it had nothing to do with heat exhaustion.

Max slid an arm under her head, and another down by her knees, intending to pick her up and carry her to a spare room, but he paused…

He slowly removed the hand that was cradling her head and stared at the wet, sticky, red liquid substance covering it. Gently, but quickly, he propped her up, staring at the dark, matted hair and bloodstains he had not noticed before.

She was injured.

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. “MARIA!” he bellowed. Almost immediately the light-skinned slave was at his side.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take Ebony and ride to Doctor Whitman’s, bring him here as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” She fled the hall, amazed that her unacknowledged half-brother was allowing her to ride his prized stallion, but even more so at the sight of the girl in his arms.

Maria was a byproduct of two families. Her grandfather was Edward Harding, he had dabbled with one of the slaves on his plantation and her mother had been born, the only difference was lighter skin and light eyes. Edward hadn’t wanted anyone to find out about her, so he had sold Amy to the Evans when she was sixteen.

Two years later, Phillip Evans had returned to the island from war and had taken an interest in girl. Hence Maria. Amy had died in childbirth and Phillip had allowed Maria to stay, taken her into the house as a maidservant to his wife and young daughter. When Phillip and Diane had moved back to England, after they had married Isabel off to some Spanish Lord, and left Max in possession of their portion of the island, he had allowed her to stay on.

So now, here she was, twenty-six years old and housekeeper to her brother. She spurred Ebony faster, fighting back tears. Michael would be coming back from his last trip to England soon; she’d feel happier than.

“Dr. Whitman!” she shouted as she reached the small house on the edge of both the Evans and Harding lands. A man looked out the window at her and his face broke out into a smile.

“Maria, what a pleasant surprise! Have you come to join me for tea?” He opened the door and walked out to meet her. She was riding Max’s horse. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure, Alex. Max told me to fetch you. There was a girl, not from around here, I think she was hurt. Max said to hurry.” He ran back into the house and grabbed his medical kit, and then he jumped onto the horse behind Maria.

“Then hurry,” he commanded, holding on for dear life.

The ride back seemed to take longer than the journey there, but then again, Ebony had been galloping without rest for hours. Maria dropped the doctor off at the front door and hurried to the stable. She dismounted and looked around. The stable boy was sleeping, lucky Max wasn’t the one to catch him. “Sean! Wake up!”

“I’m up! I’m up!” The twelve-year old blinked up at her sleepily.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t Master Maxwell, you dimwit!” She smacked him upside the side. “Unsaddle Ebony, walk him, and wipe him down. Feed him well and give him a lump of sugar as a treat. He may have saved a life.”

“Was the Master hurt?” he asked hopefully. She sent him a withering glare and flounced away.

Servants were bustling around the house when she entered. She grabbed one by the arm, “Where has Master Maxwell taken the doctor?”

“The North wing, Maria. But we’ve been ordered away.” She yelled as Maria ran up the stairs toward the spare bedroom. She slowly opened the door to see her brother pacing as the Doctor knelt by the bed.

Slipping in, she looked at the girl. She was small and wet, and smelt of the sea. Her skin was bronze from the sun and she appeared more of a slave than Maria with all the dark hair. “Max,” she whispered, dropping all pretenses of servant and master now that they were in private.

He gave her a small smile and squeezed her arm softly in gratitude. “Thank you.” She nodded.

“Do you need anything?”

“Alex wants to make rounds today instead of later this week, he said there was no point wasting a visit. If you could just help him with those that need it, I’d appreciate that.”

She nodded again, but then shook her head. “I meant with the girl. Who is she?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t even know,” he looked faintly amused, “She couldn’t remember anything when I found her.”

“Do you think she’s a runaway from the Harding’s?”

He shook his head. “Her speech is different and she doesn’t act like someone used to labor. I can’t figure her out Maria.” His eyes fell on the slight form under the covers of the bed. And she saw something she hadn’t expected; worry.

Max didn’t care about anyone if he could help it, but the fact that he was worried about this nameless girl meant that she had to be someone special. She glanced once more at the dark head and then curtseyed and left.

The door shutting pulled him out of his reverie. “Well?” he asked.

Alex got up and brushed off his trousers. “She’ll be fine, the blood flow was staunching already, but the blood loss just caught up with her. Some rest should help, I’ll come by later to check on her again. When she wakes up, make sure she stays in bed and make sure she gets something to eat, preferably soup.”

“What about her memory?”

“I can’t do anything about that, she’s got retrograde amnesia, the best we could do would be to get her around something familiar, but that seems impossible if she isn’t from around here.”

“Okay,” Max said, “Thank you, Doctor.”

Alex patted him on the back, “I’ll show myself out.”

Max watched him leave and then glanced down at his mystery girl on the bed. He brushed a stray hair away from her forehead and she stirred. He drew his hand back and walked over to the window of the room, staring down at the fields.

She woke up groggily, as if waking from an odd dream.

It had been the strangest thing. She dreamed she had woken up on a beach, wandered aimlessly for days, then met a devastatingly handsome, but incredibly annoying, young man, and that she had lost her memory.

She sat up slowly and realized that this wasn’t her room. She frowned, she didn’t even know what her bedroom looked like, but she knew this wasn’t it. Confusion rose up…

“Are you awake? The doctor just left, he said you’ll be all right, you just need rest and relaxation.” The golden-eyed man looked at her questioningly, and she just looked back.

It wasn’t a dream.

The reality of the situation finally hit her. She had no idea where she was. She had no idea who she was. She was lost and alone in a totally foreign place.

~Part Six~

There are winners and losers in life. She stared out the window at the losers. She had been stuck in this room for the past three days, and she was going insane with boredom. What right did he have to lock her up like this? She snorted briefly, probably the same right he thought he had to keep slaves!

She knew he considered himself a winner, that much was obvious by the way he talked to her during his brief visits to her sick room. Always in that same condescending tone…She wanted to hurl a vase at his head.

But she didn’t. She suffered his idiosyncrasies in silence, knowing she should be grateful that he had helped her. Knowing she wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t.

However, as she looked out over the many dark-skinned natives, working away in the hot sun, she wished everybody could be winners, because those people didn’t deserve to lose.

The clock rang, chiming in a two o’clock in the afternoon. She looked expectantly toward the door to her room, a knock sound authoritatively three times. She grinned, he was so unfailingly punctual. “Come in.” Not like she could stop him, he had the key, not her.

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She was standing at the window, looking out at the fields. Great, he knew what that meant, he’d been getting three days full of it.

He would have to sit patiently through another one of her “lectures” on the evils of slavery. The topic bored him to tears, but her passion for it fascinated him. She’d go on and on, endlessly, every visit, which is why he tried to get done with it quickly. She’d just keep talking…

She unnerved him, and that managed to both intrigue and disturb him, because he never got unnerved. He was always perfectly at ease, self-assured, and assertive, and she was starting to unsettle his balance.

He tried to make allowances though. She was a stranger to the island. She didn’t understand the social hierarchy, didn’t know how the island operated. So he remained silent.

But not today. He did not want to deal with her impossible indignation today, he was tired of it.

“You should be in bed,” he stated harshly. She started and turned to him, those doe eyes wide and wary.

“Dr. Whitman said it was all right to be up and around again. He said I should take walks and reflect, but not to try to hard. He says it won’t pay to get frustrated, though I find it very frustrating to try and follow my doctor’s orders and find my door locked,” she accused, her gaze withering.

Max didn’t say anything, just stared at the floor. She made a noise from the back of her throat and flounced back over to the bed, settling in comfortably, and then watched him intently. He looked down at her, frowning. She stirred up something in him he didn’t want to have to confront.

“Speaking of things that are unfair,” she started, “I think you-”

“Oh, no,” he interrupted, “I’m not going to listen to it again, today I’d like to get some things put straight.” She blinked up at him and something in him marveled at her beauty, but then she had to go and ruin it by opening her pouty pink mouth.

“That was very impolite, Mr. Evans, but then one would assume no less from a man who owned slaves.” She was eyeing a Ming vase on the vanity.

“That is the first order of business,” he said, ignoring the last part of her comment, “We do not know your name, and I am not going to lower myself and walk around calling you, You. So, you must pick a name for yourself.”

“A name?” she considered, “I do not know what to call myself.”

“How about Annoyance,” he suggested. She glared at him. He shrugged and smiled, “Just an idea.”

“I did not ask for your input Mr. Evans, kindly refrain yourself from making a bigger fool of yourself and leave.”

“This is my house, Miss, not yours, and I’m not going anywhere.” He reclined in the lounge chair in the corner of her room and smirked at her. “MARIA!” he yelled suddenly, scaring her half to death.

She was about to reprimand him, but was taken off course when a small, blonde woman whirled into the room. “Yes, sir?” she asked.

She studied the woman covertly. She was of medium height, green eyes, blonde hair, older, her skin a light brown, nearly a cocoa cream color. She wasn’t even a servant, merely another slave, even if she didn’t look it.

“She needs a name,” Max told the woman, Maria. Green eyes regarded her with amusement.

Maria methodically looked her over, from head to foot. “How about…Psyche?”

“Maria!” Max groaned.

“What? You can see her soul in her eyes, it’s poetic.”

“You are not naming her after a Greek goddess, and you’re not going to name her something idiotic like Moonbeam, or Sunshine, or Sassafras.”

Maria rolled her eyes, “Don’t get your breeches in a bunch, Maxie, I’m not going to name her Sassafras! That’s my cat’s name.”

She went from being resentful at being treated like a pet, to astonished by Maria’s casually, dismissive air with her owner. Maybe she was his mistress… For some reason the thought made her heart constrict and she grew disgruntled. “Can we just calm down and pick me out a sensible name? Please?”

“Fine. You want sensible, simple…boring. Fine. We’ll call you Amena.”

“That’s not normal, Maria,” Max pointed out.

“But it’s pretty,” she retorted, smiling at him cheekily.

She sat there, silently pondering. Amena. It wasn’t right, she knew that it wasn’t her real name, but until she figured out what her real name was, she could live with it. “All right,” she said quietly, “My name will be Amena.”

~Part Seven~

The newly dubbed Amena was wandering through the halls of the old house, Max had finally relinquished in the act of keeping her prisoner. So now she was allowed to roam around inside. So far, everything was singularly boring.

What she really wanted to do was go outside and talk with Max’s slaves. She wanted to discuss their lifestyles, their treatments…Whether or not they wanted to be paid, or even if they would continue working if given a choice.

The only slaves Amena had met so far were the serving maids, who had no time to talk what with all the running around they had to do, and Maria, who was Max’s housekeeper.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about Maria. There was something about her that told Amena they could be great friends, but something about her bothered her… She remembered that time a few days ago, when Maria had given her a new name. Her easy-going manner with Max irked Amena. For some reason the thought of Max with a mistress disturbed her, and she didn’t comprehend why.

He was irritating, infuriating, aggravating, exasperating, annoying, maddening, frustrating, galling, vexing, and an overall pain. How any woman could put up with him was beyond her, but somehow Maria managed to do it. Maybe even enough to share a bed with him.

She shuddered, and, prying her thoughts away from such unladylike topics, became aware of voices. Looking around, she spotted a half open door just up ahead of her. She was about to leave, when the voices spoke her name.

Amena didn’t know much about herself, except that she had a very definite sense of right and wrong. Slavery was wrong, and speaking about someone behind their back was also wrong. She frowned and moved closer. Normally, eavesdropping was considered wrong too, but not in this instance.

“Alex said she needed fresh air, Max.” That was Maria, Amena decided, having learned the other woman’s voice, and from her tone, she was not happy.

“I don’t want her outside. She’s enough trouble as it is, imagine what she’d do if she had access to the slaves.” Her frown deepened, Max was such a meanie. She was also upset that he had managed to discover her plan in only a few days. So what she wanted to incite a revolution? What was it to him?

“Max!” Maria sounded incensed, “How can you be so callous? She’s healing. Just think how hard it is for her not to remember a single thing about her past.”

“Maria, I’m not trying to be uncaring, I’m merely fed up with her reprimands. I mean, really, there’s only so many time you can say, ‘Slavery is bad.’ I heard her the first hundred times, I don’t need it.”

“Max, slavery is wrong. But I agree with you. Amena is a little hung up on the issue. And I will concede that you have been subjected to many of her speeches, but the only reason she keeps giving them is because you never seem to listen.”

“What is there to listen to? I should have her see the Hardings, see how they treat their slaves. See if she complains about me anymore!”

“You can’t do that, Max. If those Hardings see her, they’ll put her too work. She looks more like a slave than I do!”

“You’re not a slave, Maria.” And Max’s tone held a weariness in it that suggested they’d had this talk before, “You’re my housekeeper and my friend. My only confidant. You’re not a slave.”

“Maxie, whatever way you look at it, I am not accredited as your half sister. I’m just a servant. Your servant. Besides, what about Michael?”

Amena was frozen outside the door. Sister? An unexpected feeling of relief swept through her. Maria was Max’s sister. How did that work? And who was Michael?

“Speaking of Michael,” Max said, “He should be back today. Why don’t you see how our houseguest is doing and find a way to keep her away from me. I don’t need to deal with her.”

“Yes, sir,” Maria replied, in a meek tone of servitude, “Right away, sir. Your wish is my command, oh high and wise master. I’ll bend over backwards to please you-“

“Enough!” Max roared, but she heard the laughter lurking behind the shout, “Just get out of here you pest.”

“Yes, sir,” Maria said again, and giggling, came through the door. Amena jumped and blushed, ashamed to be caught. “Amena! What are you doing out here?”

“I…um…I…”

“What?” Max asked, hearing Maria’s question. He headed to the door of his study and glared at the tiny woman on the other side. He was outraged to see her, knowing she had been listening to their private conversation. He could tell Maria had noted his expression and led the girl away before Max lost his temper.

He couldn’t believe her! She was a damned nuisance. He couldn’t even find sanctuary in his study anymore. She was everywhere. Everywhere!

“So, Amena, this is the library.” She had followed Maria, paralyzed beneath Max’s forbidding glower, unable to keep her mind from the discussion she had overheard. Not even the sight of so many books could keep her from her curiosity.

“So you’re Max’s sister?” she blurted out.

“Half sister,” the blonde said matter-of-factly.

“How?”

“Same father. I’m the bastard daughter. So, Max is it?”

Amena blushed again, knowing Maria had changed the subject and she allowed the conversion, even if it caused her some embarrassment. Maria had to be feeling horrible about the…other thing.

“Well, he calls me annoyance, and such. I think it’s only fair to be just as rude to him.” That was weak, she scolded herself. Maria was smiling.

“If you-“ She stopped, head cocked to the side, and then ran to the window of the library. “Finally!” she exclaimed.

“What?” Amena followed her over. A man was riding a horse to the front door. “Who is that?”

“That is Michael, Max’s man of affairs, and my fiancée. And he’s finally home from London.”

“Man of affairs?”

“It’s a Haute Monde term. Basically he’s errand boy. Checks investments, does inquiries, etc. Max will probably dispatch him on his next mission, to find out who you are, and he’ll be gone before the week is out.” She sounded sad, and suddenly Amena felt terribly selfish.

“Go to him, Maria. You shouldn’t waste time with me. I’ll be fine here.”

Green eyes registered hesitancy, “Are you sure?”

“I can find my way around, Maria, don’t worry. You spend time with your Michael, I’ll find Max and distract him so you have more time.”

“Amena…”

“Go!”

Maria gave her a smile and a quick hug, “Thanks!” And then she was out the door.

~Part Eight~

A knock sounded on his study door and he slammed a hand down on his desk, frustrated. “Come in,” he growled.

The swish of skirts let him know who his visitor was. “What now, Maria?”

“I’m not Maria.” He closed his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers in response to that clear, soft voice. He opened his eyes finally and stared at her coolly, letting her know she wasn’t welcome here.

She didn’t say anything, just looked back at him serenely. Max studied her. Maria had taken in some of his mother’s old dresses and gave them to her to wear. Today she was wearing a simple blue one, with white petticoats underneath. Her long brown hair hung in a braid down her back, leaving her face in plain view.

She wasn’t a beauty, but there was something about her. Something in the litheness of her tiny body, the way she held herself, her velvety eyes…

Stop!

Just keep those thoughts to yourself, he ordered her brain.

“Can I help you Amena?”

She smiled at him, something she had never done, and it hit him low in the gut. He didn’t wait for a reply, not trusting himself to speak amiably. “It was very rude to eavesdrop on my conversation with my housekeeper.”

She merely smiled some more and glided over to his desk, sitting on the chair placed in front of it, and gave him her full attention. “Your sister is a very nice person,” she finally said, trying to change the subject.

“Yes, she is-“ He narrowed his eyes at her, “And I will not be deterred that easily. Now then…”

Amena tuned him out, concentrating instead on the interior of his study. The furniture was what she would expect of him; solid, dark, plain, yet exquisite in it’s simplicity. He had a large bookcase of his own and she was dying to discover what type of reading he did. Her eyes drifted over him, still lecturing her, and then above.

There was a large painting over the desk where he sat. She studied it intently. An older woman sat on a chair with red velvet brocade. She was small, had brown eyes that reminded Amena of Max’s, and black hair pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck. Her dress was lovely, simple, unadorned except for an emerald pendent at her neck. A little girl was in her arms. She had blue eyes, blond hair, and a sweet smile. Her dress was old-fashioned, frilly with lace…

“Are you even listening to me?”

She snapped her attention back to Max. “No,” she told him.

“I thought as much,” he said grimly, “You were being too quiet.”

“Who’s that in the painting?”

“What? He spun, looking at the portrait of mother and daughter, and smiled. “That’s my father’s mother, Claudia, and her mother, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth..

“She was my great-grandmother. I was named after her husband, Maximilian. I didn’t know her that well, but Grandmamma Claudia told wonderful stories about her to Isabel and I when we were younger.

Elizabeth…

~“Elizabeth! Your father’s home, come help me set the table!” A blue-eyed, red-haired woman picked her up and carried into a modestly furnished kitchen. The door swung open and a blue-eyed man with hair like hers came booming through, laughing.

“How’s my little Lizzie?”

“Papa!”~

“Amena? Are you all right?” She was pale. So pale, and her eyes were unfocused. No, no, no…Alex said she would be fine, that she was perfectly healthy again. “Amena!” he cried desperately. Striding over to her chair and dragging her out of it, and shaking her harshly.

“Stop!” she yelled, pushing against him, her eyes snapping with anger. Thank the Lord. And he frowned at her, trying to smooth over any sign of worry about her.

“Amena, I would kindly thank you to stop doing such things. It’s bad enough with your lectures and your invasions into my private sanctuaries, but I don’t need you to-“

“No.”

“What?”

“My name. It isn’t Amena.”

“We know that, we gave it to you so we wouldn’t- Wait, did you remember…” he trailed off.

She nodded. “My name is Elizabeth. My father used to call me Lizzie, or Liz, I think.”

“Wonderful, what else do you remember?” He leaned forward, pressuring her, and she shrunk back down into her chair.

“He had blue eyes and brown hair and my mother had red hair and blue eyes too. That’s all I can recall.”

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Great, just great, that doesn’t really help.”

“Well I’m sorry!” she burst out, “I can’t think of anymore! I’m just as lost on this front as you are, so don’t act all superior Mr. Evans! I want to know who I am too, and I want to get off this island and away from you as fast as I can!”

“Believe me, Elizabeth, I want exactly the same thing!” he snarled back. They were standing toe to toe, glaring at each other, when the door opened again to admit a laughing couple.

“Oh, Max, Michael’s home-” Maria stopped and stared at the two in front of her. Max was angry, really angry…

“Are we interrupting something?” Michael asked, looking between Max and Amena, completely baffled.

“Oh! Where are my manners? Michael, this is our guest Amena. Amena, this is my fiancée Michael.”

“It’s nice to meet you Michael,” she said warmly, “And my name is actually Liz.”

“Liz,” Maria repeated dumbly, then, “You remembered! That’s fabulous!” She hugged her new friend and grinned happily at Max.

“Yes,” he said dryly, “Unfortunately that’s all she remembers. Michael I need to speak with you.

Maria sighed, “And it starts.” She smiled at Liz as they walked out of the room. “Thanks for distracting him, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Liz said, “Hey, I mean, I remembered something.”

“And you’ll start recalling more, I know it. Just be patient.”

“Yeah…”

~Part Nine~

The rain poured down. He watched from the window in his study. Sighing dejectedly, he turned away and gazed off into space, trying to decide what to do.

Originally he had planned on riding, but the sudden rainfall had prevented it. It would actually be good for the crops, but he needed to get out of the house and away from that damned woman.

He decided on the library as his new refuge, considering she had already invaded his office as well as the rest of the house. Thankfully, he had yet to encounter her today, of course, she was probably off stirring up a rebellion among his slaves.

He had given up trying to reason with her. She just couldn’t be reasoned with. Impossible woman! Frustrated, Max pushed open the library door with enough force to crack a man’s skull.

Imagine his surprise to see the object of his angered thoughts before him.

Max froze, the anger floating away, arrested by the sight of her. A big fire crackled merrily on the hearth, casting a subtle glow onto her body. And she, in turn, absorbed that glow and it shone like starlight through her skin. By God, he thought, she’s an angel…

She was asleep on the couch in front of the fire, her body twisted slightly, feet dangling off the edge, the book in her hand rested lightly on her abdomen. It rose and fell with each breath she took, in the same rhythm as her breasts, confined in her rose corset.

He walked toward her, almost in a trance, and knelt down beside the delicate piece of furniture that held her fragile being. He was more captivated by her in that moment, than he had been of anything in his entire life.

Max gulped, his hands hovering over her body, as if unsure what to do. His eyes never left her face, her were eyes closed, the firelight provided a flicker of light over her flushed cheeks…her rosy lips parted, breathing softly. Her brown hair was loose, and flowing around her.

He gently placed a hand on her chest, toying with the silken curl resting just above her heart. He tenderly brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear. He then allowed his fingers to trail over her smooth cheek, until it brushed her pouting lips.

She gave a little gasp and moved her head with his hand, her body following the movement, and the book fell from her hand.

THUD!

~Liz started and stared at the plank. CRACK! “Oh God! Mother, we must go above.”

“What? What’s going on? What was that noise?”

“Mother, please!” she begged, tugging her mother up. The sound of another board loosening…cracking…The ship was not going to make it. She tried to hurry her mother along, keeping her from seeing the water seeping in through the broken bottom. “Hurry!”

“Elizabeth, I don’t-” Her mother was cut off as they were flung forward. Regaining her footing quickly she turned back to her mother. “Elizabeth,” her mother’s voice was faint, “I do believe we are in trouble.”

“Mama…just come.”

They clasped hands, her mother’s grip painfully tight and they carefully made their way up the step to the deck, ignoring the rocking and waves. Liz saw her father at the helm, attempting to control the doomed ship.

“Papa!” she shouted, her words lost in the wind…~

“Papa!”

She shot up, and suddenly realized she was not on a capsizing ship, wet and frightened. She was warm, and her heart was slowing slightly. She was in someone’s arms and suddenly became aware that that someone was talking to her.

“-Elizabeth? Liz, please, what’s wrong?” She looked into worry-filled amber eyes and the full effect of her nightmare came back to her.

“Max?” she croaked.

“Are you okay?” he asked, “You were screaming, what was it?”

“Nothing,” she told him, “Nothing, just a bad dream.” Lightning and thunder crashed outside the window of the library and she went still, quivering.

“Liz?”

“Hold me…Please Max…” she begged, unable to stop the tears from coming. He didn’t say another word, didn’t make any arrogant, insufferable comments, he just took her in his arms and held her.

And she buried her head in his shirt and cried for her parents.

~Part Ten~

He was riding through his field again, checking on the progress of their crops and the general health of his people. He was heading back to the house when he saw her. Gritting his teeth he rode Ebony over to where she was helping with the harvest.

“Liz?”

She looked up, blocking the sun from her eyes as she gazed at him. “Max.” And then she waited.

That was it, nothing more. She had been abnormally quiet since that day in the library last week. It wasn’t almost as if something essential had gone out of her. And he found himself missing it, missing the willful spirit of her.

He had kept an eye on her since that day, and he noticed the change happened suddenly, it wasn’t just a gradual decline. She picked at her food at dinnertime, she locked herself in her room for hours on end, and she never sought him out for lectures anymore.

An emptiness had started to fill him as he watched he go through the motions of living. He was truly longing for her sharp comments and snapping eyes.

And, even though her being out in this field meant she was starting her campaign against slavery again, he couldn’t help but feel a little thrill that she was showing interest in something again, although he would have preferred something less hazardous to his livelihood.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked politely.

“Helping,” was her short reply as she bent down again. The slave beside her gave Max a helpless glance and moved a bit away from Liz.

“Please come inside,” he said.

“I’m not finished,” she responded stubbornly.

“Liz!” he exclaimed, fed up, “You’re going to have a heat stroke!” Didn’t she care that she was still healing?

“Why, Master Maxwell,” she adopted a sarcastic tone, “Why care about little old me when all these other people are out here day in and day out under that burning sun.”

He growled, “They’re used to it, Elizabeth, you, on the other hand, are not. Now come inside.”

“No.”

He moved Ebony forward a few paces and picked her easily off the ground, sitting her in front off him. “Max!” she cried in outrage, and struggled against his hold. He just tightened his grip as they galloped to the house, unwilling to let her fall and be trampled to death.

He pulled up into the stable and dismounted, then swung her protesting form down after him. “I am quite capable of dismounting, myself, thank you very much!” she huffed, and tossed her head, refusing to look at him.

He didn’t deign to reply. “Sean!”

The boy popped his head out of a pen, “Yes’um Master Maxwell, sir?”

“Please give Ebony a run down, I don’t have time to do it myself.”

“Yes’sir,” the boy said meekly. Max took Liz’s hand refusing to let it go as she twisted it, and led her to the house.

“Let go of me!” she cried, “You have no right to treat me like this!”

“No right!” he echoed, voice roaring through the front hall. Servants froze like rabbits and then fled away from their master, frightened of his wrath. “You have no rights, Elizabeth. This is my home, and you are my guest, and yet you persist in defying me left and right, undermining my authority, and being an overall thorn in my side! So do not try and explain to me my rights!”

“Max, you’re overwrought-”

“No, I am not! You are being completely unreasonable, and have been since the moment you walked into my life!” he exclaimed, “Now, I want to know what happened in the library, and don’t tell me it was just a bad dream. You’ve changed since then, something a dream couldn’t manage on its own. You’re destroying yourself, Liz, and I refuse to watch it happen if it’s in my power to prevent it! Tell me what’s going on or I’m not going to be able to help you find out who you are, or where you’re from, or who your family is!” She was silent. “Please, Liz, just…just trust me.”

She finally raised her eyes to his, the brown wet and shiny. “I don’t have a family, Max. The dream…it was a memory. I think it’s how I lost my memory…There was an accident, the ship was caught in a storm…My parents are dead, Max. I’m all alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he told her, wiping the tears away, “You have me and Maria, and we’re not going to give up, Liz. I promise you that.”