The Soldier's Rebel Lover

Isabella lay sprawled on the blanket, half-covered by his body, the embodiment of temptation, the image of sated delight. Her eyes fluttered open, and Finlay could not resist kissing her one last time. His erection throbbed. It took him every ounce of willpower to move away from her. He could not believe he’d allowed himself to go this far.

He sat up abruptly. ‘Enough,’ he said, aloud this time. Her smile faded. There was hurt in her eyes, and confusion. Steeling himself, Finlay grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on, deliberately putting some distance between them.

Isabella, too, sat up, buttoning her jacket, the glow fading from her cheeks, her expression hardening. ‘For the avoidance of doubt, do not even think of apologising. What happened was entirely at my instigation. I did not realise that you were so reluctant. Or indeed that my own—enthusiasm—was so one-sided.’

Finlay cursed. ‘It’s not that. How can you think that?’ he said, reaching for her instinctively. ‘If you mattered less to me, this would all be a damned sight easier. I’ve never wanted a woman so much. Did I not tell you only a few moments ago, I’ve never met a woman like you?’

‘Then, why— I don’t understand. Why are you sorry for—for what happened, if I am not?’

She was blushing adorably. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her. He didn’t want to let her go. It was this thought that stopped him in his tracks and forced him to do exactly that. ‘Enough,’ Finlay said once more. ‘The time has come to stop faffing about. I want you to sit down, and I want you to listen to me.’

His tone brooked no argument. He spoke as he would to his men, and he told himself that from now on that was how he had to think of her. She was one of his lieutenants, not to be reasoned with or cajoled, but to be informed of his orders, and instructed to discharge them forthwith. Isabella cast him a resentful look, but she sat down on top of the overturned tree and looked at him expectantly. Good. Fine. Finlay put his hands behind his back and stood a few steps away. ‘Right, then. Here’s the bald truth of the matter.’

He told her in plain, unvarnished facts what Jack had told him when he had briefed him. ‘Two years ago,’ he concluded, ‘you were a partisan fighting in a legitimate war for your country. That war is over now. Yes, for El Fantasma and his supporters, the fight goes on, but it’s no longer legal. El Fantasma, his supporters... They’re not soldiers in the eyes of the law, they are traitors. You are the enemy within, Isabella, and if you carry on as you are doing, I doubt very much you’ll live to see your next birthday.’

She was pale, but still defiant. ‘They will never catch me. No one will ever suspect that El Fantasma is a woman.’

‘Estebe knows who you are. His deputies know who he is. Their deputies, in turn, know who they are. For the authorities, it is simply a case of working their way up the chain. That is what they are busily doing right now.’

‘Estebe would never betray me.’

‘Isabella, the things they would do to him would make Estebe betray his own mother.’

‘She is dead. Besides, he would not...’

‘Aye, he would,’ Finlay said firmly, and proceeded to explain, in graphic detail, exactly how they would set about it.

‘You are making it up,’ Isabella said faintly, when he was done. ‘Or at the very least exaggerating. I may violently disagree with the government but we are Spanish, not barbarians. They would not treat one of their own citizens so inhumanely.’

‘You give your government, all governments, come to that, too much credit. They will do what is expedient. The would not hesitate to use torture if necessary. I’m speaking from experience. Not of what I’ve inflicted, but of what I’ve witnessed,’ he said implacably, refusing to allow himself to take pity on her. Taking pity on her could only harm her. ‘What’s more, your being a woman would not protect you. Quite the reverse. It would leave you open to other, even more degrading treatment, if you take my meaning.’

‘No.’ She jumped to her feet, her fists balled. ‘No. What would be the point? If they had El Fantasma, if they really did manage to capture me, which I don’t believe, why would they— What would be the point of torturing me?’

‘For the love of God, woman! You said it yourself—people are listening to what El Fantasma has to say, and what he has to say is treason. It’s not a case of simply shutting you up. They will want to make sure that there’s no one left to fill your shoes. They will want names from you. Associates, contacts, sympathisers. Information. Such as the location of the printing press. Where the funding comes from. They know about your previous collaboration with the British. They’ll want to know everything that went on back then. And when they’ve got all that—and believe me, you’ll tell them everything they want to know, including my highly irregular and diplomatically explosive presence here—then they’ll have done with you.’

‘No! You are trying to frighten me. I won’t listen.’

‘Isabella...’