The Soldier's Rebel Lover

He had never been anything other than a soldier. He had surrendered his real family long ago, and had no idea what he would do without the one he had adopted in the army. If he did choose to leave, that was. And what would he do with himself, if he did?

Sighing, Finlay leaned on the stone balustrade and gazed out over the formal gardens of Hermoso Romero. The future would have to take care of itself. Fortunately, he had plenty other things to occupy his mind. Such as rethinking his strategy in the light of this evening’s extraordinary turn of events.

Calm and clarity of mind returned. A light breeze had picked up, making the tall cypress trees bend and sway gracefully in the moonlight like flamenco dancers. Finlay shivered in his shirtsleeves and, returning to his chamber, stretched out on top of the bed. It had been a major shock to see Señorita Romero at the dance tonight, but it had been a much, much bigger shock for her. The lass had been scared out of her wits that he’d betray her, and that was all for the good, making it highly unlikely she’d betray him first. Even if she did, he had a plausible cover story to explain his presence here. He just had to stick to it.

He pondered this course of action, staring up at the shadow from his candle dancing on the corniced ceiling, and decided that there was a great deal of merit in it. Gradually, the miracle of having found his partisan right here, in plain view, began to supersede his concerns for his own safety. He only had to bide his time and see how the land lay with her. Not all ex-guerrillas and partisans were liberals. If she espoused her brother’s politics, then she represented everything El Fantasma railed against in his illegal pamphlets.

Finlay frowned at this. She’d seemed a feisty thing during those few hours they’d shared together under the stars. He’d admired her, the way she stood up for herself. Tonight, he’d seen a glimpse of that fire when they were dancing, but for the rest of the evening she’d behaved like a shy, retiring wee mouse with little to say for herself.

‘In other words, Finlay, just exactly like an unmarried high-born Spanish lady. Which is exactly what she is, now that the war is over.’

Though two years ago she had implied she was a farmer’s daughter. Why? Like as not, it had simply been a ruse to hide her identity. One thing, her being a female partisan with a gun he’d encountered in a ditch. Quite another, if that partisan was a lady, the sister of the biggest local landowner. He smiled to himself. That would cause quite a stir were it discovered. Though now he came to think of it, there had been mention of a father. She had seemed right fond of him, too, but he obviously wasn’t around, presumably dead. Poor lass. Whatever her politics, if she had any, it must be tough trying to fit back into this privileged and class-conscious world. He could sympathise with that, and then some.

Watch and wait, that was what he needed to do. Spend a bit of time in her company, find out if he could trust her, and encourage her to trust him. It would be no hardship. She was every bit as bonny as he remembered. Jack had been wrong about that one. Finlay rolled off the bed and undressed quickly before snuffing the candle and clambering between the sheets. He was looking forward to his early-morning encounter with Señorita Romero.

* * *

Isabella was at the assignation point early. She wore one of her favourite gowns—dark blue merino with long sleeves that covered her knuckles, the bodice, cuffs and hem trimmed simply with cream embroidery. She had eschewed a shawl or pelisse, the woollen dress offering sufficient protection from the early-morning chill. The colour and the simple style suited her, she knew. Dressing for a man was not something that sat well with her, but this man held the sword of Damocles over her head, and if it helped to look well, then she would make every effort to do so.

She was nervous, though a long night’s reflection had helped her regain most of her habitual composure. It had also revealed to her some fundamental issues to be addressed. Her reaction had been too extreme. Her fear must have been obvious. She reassured herself once more that the Scotsman’s having said nothing so far made it less likely that he would say anything at all. As she watched his tall figure striding across the grass towards her, Isabella tried very hard to convince herself of this.

‘Buenos días. You’re looking bonny this fine morning, Señorita Romero.’

‘Thank you. I trust you slept well?’

‘Like a baby. Shall we get away from the main house? There’s that many windows looking out on us, I’m sure you’d rather we were not observed.’

‘I’m sure the feeling is mutual, Mr Urquhart.’

He smiled enigmatically, either oblivious to her implied threat, or indifferent. ‘I’m glad you’ve finally mastered my name, but I seem to recall you calling me Finlay before.’