The Soldier's Rebel Lover

Finlay’s smile faltered. His grip on her tightened. ‘I’m sure it’s not, but there exists the opportunity to make it so. If anyone can contribute to that it’s you.’

‘You’re just saying that to reassure me.’

His eyes darkened. His smile disappeared all together. For a moment, she thought he looked quite desolate, but then he shook his head. ‘I’m saying it because I believe it to be true. You’re apprehensive, and no wonder. It will be a—a challenge. You’ll be lonely. Things will be strange and unfamiliar. But you’ll be alive, Isabella. I look at you, and I know you can do anything you set your mind to. Take this chance, lass, I’m begging you to take this chance, because it’s the only one you have.’

He meant it. He was telling her the plain, unvarnished truth, just as he had told her the plain, unvarnished truth about the horrors she’d be subjected to if she was captured. If she did not leave Spain, she would die. If she went to England, she would die. If she travelled to France or to Italy, or to Prussia, or even Russia, they would find her eventually, and she would die. She did not want to die. Faced with the very real prospect, she was filled with defiance and determination, and a very strong will to live, indeed. ‘I don’t want to die,’ she said.

He pulled her into his arms and held her so tight she could hardly breathe. ‘You won’t. I won’t let them get to you. I’ll keep you safe, I promise you.’

Her face was muffled against his coat. She could feel his heart beating against her cheek. She knew he would lay down his life for her if he had to. She had already witnessed one life sacrificed for her. She could not risk another. And especially not this one. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said wretchedly. ‘I’m so sorry, Finlay. I will do as you say.’

‘Don’t cry. Oh, God, Isabella, don’t cry.’

‘I’m not crying.’

‘You’ve every right to.’ Finlay mopped her tears with his handkerchief. ‘You’re being so brave.’

‘I’m not. I’m being—what is it? Feart. I am feart.’

‘If you were not, I’d worry about your sanity. If it was me, I’d be feart. If I could find a way to escort you myself...’

‘Don’t be daft,’ she said softly. ‘You have to arrange El Fantasma’s tragic death, and then you have to go back to England and tell the great duke what has happened, and then you have to go back to the army and once again become Major Finlay Urquhart, the Jock Upstart, and forget all about me.’

‘I’ll never forget you, Isabella. I will never, ever be able to forget you.’

‘I can see how it might be difficult to forget a woman who put your life in mortal danger,’ she said lightly, in an effort to lighten the mood.

‘It’s not that I will remember. I have much more pleasant memories of our time together than that to keep me warm at night.’

Isabella felt herself blush slightly. His visage was no longer grim. His sea-blue eyes were no longer pained. She would have to be very careful not to make him fret for her. She did not want to be a source of worry. She had caused him enough worry. She would do her very best to be the bold, bright, brave partisan he thought her. She would not only comply with the future he had arranged for her, she would embrace it. ‘So I’m to sail for America,’ Isabella said. ‘Should we not then be heading north, for the coast?’

‘In good time. They will be searching for us there. It’s the obvious place to look.’

‘Which is why we’re heading west. For how much longer?’

‘It’s been nigh on a week and there’s been no sign of any pursuers. Another day and I think we will be safe enough.’ Finlay looked up at the sky, which had turned from blue to grey, with clouds like lumps of charcoal. ‘In fact, I see no reason why we should not sleep in a decent bed tonight, partake of a decent dinner.’

‘You think that’s wise?’

‘I reckon you deserve it.’ Finlay touched her cheek. ‘Not a word of complaint have I heard from you about living and sleeping rough for the past week. You’ve been a trooper.’

Isabella beamed. ‘That is the best compliment you could pay me, but I do not need a feather bed and a proper dinner if you think it is too risky.’

‘You shall have both. And a bath, too, in water that’s a wee bit warmer than melted ice. It’s the least I can do.’ He leaned into her. She thought he was going to kiss her, but his lips brushed her forehead, and then he let her go, turning toward the horses. ‘To Tafalla it is, then.’

* * *

The town was set on a wide cultivated plain, reached by traversing another ancient trail over the Valdorba Mountains. The warren of narrow medieval streets clustered with houses built from mellow honey-coloured stone rose steeply up towards a citadel. The more modern part of the town was built on the flatter land around the Cidacos River, and it was here that they had found lodgings at a small inn, hiring a private salon and two bedchambers. Finlay had made all the arrangements, under the name of Mr and Mrs Upstart, in his halting Spanish. ‘Just my little joke,’ he had told her with a grin.