The Soldier's Rebel Lover

‘There is no need. No one is following us up here. You will feel better for a sleep, and we will be warmer if we share.’ She smiled up at him, her face shadowed by the flickers of the tiny fire they had lit. ‘We did it once before, do you remember?’

‘I do.’ His heart gave a painful twist as he sat down beside her. More than two years ago, it had been. Against all odds they had met in the strangest of circumstances, and here they were again about to huddle under a blanket together for warmth. He hadn’t thought himself a man who believed in destiny. He wished fervently that fate had drawn him a kinder hand. Twice, he had crossed paths with the woman who owned his heart, and soon they would be parted forever. He could not resist putting his arm around her and drawing her closer. He loved her. Pointless to deny it any longer. Time to stop pretending it was anything else. He loved her, and he always would.

‘It is a strange coincidence, being here like this for the second time, is it not?’ Isabella asked.

‘I was thinking the very same thing myself.’ Finlay shifted on the hard ground, tucking the blanket around them. Her cheek rested on his shoulder. Her hair tickled his chin. He breathed in the sweet, familiar scent of her, and closed his eyes, trying to etch the feel of her body against his, the softness of her, the shape of her, deep in his mind, achingly conscious that he would have so few chances left just to hold her like this.

‘We talked of America that night,’ Isabella said. ‘I never thought I would travel there. I never imagined it would be my home.’

‘Isabella, if there was any...’

‘Wheesht,’ she said, putting her fingers to his mouth, her accent making the word sound like a caress. ‘I have been thinking of what you said. America is a new world. A country where ideals are not simply dreams. You are right, Finlay. It is a country where I can start again. I don’t know what I will do, but there are so many possibilities. You were right. It is a good place for me to go. Thank you.’

He knew she was trying to make him feel better, but there was a note of real enthusiasm in her voice that was surely not manufactured. She was not simply making the best of things, she was trying her wee heart out to embrace her fate. He loved her so much. Gràdh, mo chrìdh, he said to himself, touching his lips to the silky mass of her hair. ‘You should sleep now,’ he added aloud. ‘We’ve a way to go in the morning.’

‘Buenas noches, Finlay.’

‘Oidhche mhath, Isabella.’

‘Oika va?’

He chuckled softly. ‘Not bad. You’ve an ear for the Gaelic. Goodnight, lass.’

She nestled her head into his shoulder. He kissed her hair again, tightening his arm around the slim curve of her waist. Her breathing slowed. She was asleep almost immediately. ‘Gràdh, mo chrìdh,’ Finlay whispered, wanting to say the words to her just once, though she could not hear. ‘Love of my heart you are, Isabella. Love of my heart.’

Chapter Eleven

Isabella awoke from a deep slumber to find that her head was cushioned on Finlay’s chest. She was lying on her side, with one of her legs wedged between his. His arm anchored her to him; his other hand was splayed across her bottom. She could feel his heart beating, slow and steady, through his shirt. She listened, keeping quite still, to his breathing. Also slow and steady. He was asleep. She did not want to move and risk waking him.

The cloud had cleared while she slept, and the stars were out, huge disks of silver in the inky blue sky, the half-moon glowing milky white. Finlay said the stars in Scotland seemed much farther away. She couldn’t imagine how that could be. He stirred, tightening his hold on her. She felt safe here with him. She wished the night would go on forever. She did not want to think of the morning, which would bring her another day closer to the coast, and to the ship that would take her to her new life. If she was not so completely alone, she might be looking forward to it almost as much as she had tried to persuade Finlay she was. A new world. Perhaps there would be an opportunity for a new El Fantasma. Not a partisan, but perhaps— Her mind skittered to a halt. Something. She would think of something tomorrow, and she would tell Finlay, and she would enthuse and speculate, and the guilt he was so patently feeling about sending her off alone to her fate would hopefully abate a little.