Chapter Fifteen

Loving a Stranger

Part One

Roxton staggered back, clutching his shirt over his chest.  How much more can we take?  "What do you mean you don't know who I am?  Marguerite…it's me: Lord John Roxton," he looked around for some sort of sign.  Finding no answers in the room, his disturbed eyes settled on the woman once more.  "I'm your husband, Marguerite.  Surely you can remember me?"

She peered intensely, wistfully at him.  "I…no…I'm sorry, Lord Roxton.  I can't…I can't remember you."  She glanced around her, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she scanned the bedroom.  "Where am I?  This isn't a hospital."

"No, it's the tree house."  He stood rigid: afraid that if he moved it would shatter the calm.  "We lived here for five years while trapped on this plateau in South America.  Our friends, Veronica and Ned Malone, still live here with their son, James.  Come on, Marguerite, something has to spark your memory."  He was growing desperate, his voice straining and cracking.  "The Challenger Expedition, Marguerite; you funded it."

"You mean I purposely came here," she scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the wooden planks of the wall.  "I may not remember who I am, Lord Roxton, but I know this dingy place isn't suited for me.  It isn't suited for anyone!  And you claim people still live here?"

"John, Marguerite, please…call me John."

"I'll call you what the bloody damn hell I please, mister."  She scowled, swinging her legs off the bed and planting them on the floor.  A wave of immense dizziness swept through her and she swayed, crumbling back onto the mattress.  "What is wrong with me?"

"You've lost a substantial amount of blood."  He cautiously stepped forward, lifting up the blanket and draping it securely over her.  "And your body's suffered quite a few traumatic experiences in the last few days.  Please, darling, try and get some rest.  Maybe you'll feel better after you get some sleep."

"Darling?"

"Yes, I told you: we're married.  We've been married for five years now.  We were wed here on the plateau during our third year trapped here.  Two years later we found our way off.  We've been spending the last three years in London."

She regarded him coolly, not fully trusting his implausible story.  "Do we have any children?"

He gulped, peering down sullenly at the ground, tears glistening in his eyes.  He had feared that she would inquire of children.  His heart caught in his throat: What should I tell her?  He looked up at her to see her staring at him oddly.  You need to tell the truth, dear old boy.  It would hurt more if you wait.

"Well," he shifted his weight.  "We had a little boy named Adam.  He died a little more than half a year ago."

"How?" she breathed.

Roxton glanced away.  "Automobile accident."

Marguerite gazed transfixed on the broad, somber man with haunted eyes and felt her heart constrict.  Somehow she knew that his ludicrous tale was true, her eyes brimming with foreign tears.  She couldn't recall her son's face, but she didn't doubt that he was as handsome as his father.  "John, did-did he suffer?"

"No," he lied fluidly.  It was the same lie that he had told her when she'd first asked that question seven months ago on a snow-covered road.  He had held his son as he died and though the child hadn't been crying, John had seen the pain and fear laced in his innocent brown eyes.  That was one thing he could be grateful for: Adam had passed quickly – not having to feel the torment for long.

Roxton jerked out of his reverie.  "I should get Challenger – he'll know more about what's going on."

"Challenger?  As in the Challenger Expedition you mentioned?"

Roxton gave her charming smile (even if hidden beneath it was sorrow).  "You do have a sharp memory, Marguerite.  Yes, the one and the same Professor George Edward Challenger.  He's a dear friend of ours.  Now I know I told you to rest, but I think George should have a look at you first.  I'll be right back, darling."  He slipped from the room in hunt of the professor, leaving Marguerite to stare after him.

"Well, he's attractive," she murmured to herself.  "I did good there."

Part Two

She had found Challenger to be delightful: so full of energy and respect as he modestly examined her wounds and memory.  He had left her to attend to her bed a few hours ago and after her fitful sleep she lay awake peering around the room, her stomach growling.  "What does one have to do to get some food around here," she mused quietly.

"Knock, knock, Marguerite.  I hop you're decent."  Roxton strolled dynamically into the room carrying a tray.  "Then again, it's not like I would've minded if you weren't," he teased, placing the tray on the dresser beside the bed.  He reached out, placing a warm hand over her forehead.  "Good, you're not feverish.  Challenger worried that you may come down with something considering your…uh…I don't remember all the scientific mumbo-jumbo.  The dear old man is brilliant and that's all I need to know."

He was a charming, adorable, lively man and Marguerite found herself smiling in spite of her desire to remain passive to this rugged stranger.  "So what did you bring me, Lord Roxton?  It better be tasteful."

He gave a mock bow, leaning over and retrieving the bowl off the tray.  "Well, my lady, only the best this plateau has to offer for you."  He scooped the wooden spoon into the bowl and lifted it up to her mouth.  "Now try this fine cuisine, Lady Roxton.  It'll surely perk you right up."

Marguerite hesitated then wrapped her mouth around the utensil.  The soup was delicious: sweet and earthy.  "Mm, this is good, John.  I wouldn't go as far as to call it divine, but it does hit the spot."  He offered more and she gladly took it, not noticing his crooked eyebrows until she looked back up at him.  "What is it?"

"Are you meaning to tell me that you, Marguerite, actually like this soup?"

"Yes, why?"

He barked a laugh, slapping his knee with the hand that held the spoon.  "Oh, I've got you now, darling!  All the years we lived here you wrinkled your cute little nose at this soup.  It was an act all along!"  Still chuckling, he fed her more.  "You are always full of surprises, Marguerite.  It's no wonder I love you so."

They both froze, staring at each other with unease.  Roxton cleared his throat, handing the bowl to her.  "I…uh…" he sighed.  "Oh what the bloody hell, darling, we are married!  This is silly.  Of course I love you so let's condemn this awkward nonsense."  He reached around her, fluffing up the pillows to distract him self.

Marguerite gazed at him hovering over her and sensed a tension that shouldn't be there: as though this is how they would act even if she remembered him.  "Our marriage is a strained one, isn't it," she observed quietly.  "Why is that?  Because of Adam?"

"Because I killed him," he snapped.  "I was driving that night.  I didn't use his car seat like you had told me to.  Since his death, nothing as been the same between us.  Your amnesia has brought us closer than we have ever been these last seven hellish months."

"At least we are healing," she whispered.

"No," he retorted harshly.  "It'll all fall apart again once you regain your memory.  We'll be back where we started."  He got up and stormed out of the room.

End Chapter Fifteen

Wishes:  Lol.  Don't worry, I don't want it to last too long either.  And it cracks me up about your second review (name error/DO like twist error).  ZeusFluff:  And you can keep hoping for the best!  TheChosenOne3:  I could always make things more hellish…/evil chuckle/ Anyway, your review was very…inspiring…and…hilarious!  I always look forward to them.  LoveMR:  I'm glad you approve.  /smiles/ And I'm writing as fast as my schooling, work, and friends will allow!  (God, I'm so busy!)  SierraSunshine: Hey now, everything will be ok.  Take a few deep breaths and…relax.  (All right, maybe not everything will be ok…)  Fab:  What can I say?  I can be a very cruel person!