The Soldier's Rebel Lover

His first thrust was careful. The effort of control was etched on his face. Another thrust, harder this time. She was learning how to hold him and release him. Another thrust, and she felt the tension inside her building. They were finding a common rhythm now. Thrust, cling, release, thrust. Still he watched her. Still she held his gaze, seeing her pleasure reflected on his face, the power of giving that pleasure making her bolder, making her match his thrust with a tilt of her hips, holding him higher, clinging to him tighter, until her climax took her, sending her spiralling higher than she had ever flown, and Finlay cried out, pulling himself free of her to spend himself with an equally hoarse cry that was her name, and something in his native tongue she did not understand.

* * *

Afterwards, she could not sleep. She was afraid to speak. They lay entwined, skin on skin, watching the stars, listening to the whickering of the horses, the gentle burble of a distant stream. Finlay held her as if she was made of glass and he was afraid she might break. She clung to him as if she was afraid she would drown in a sea of emotion. As the waves of pleasure ebbed and the euphoria of their coupling faded, she was left feeling oddly desolate.

She felt the brush of his lips on her hair. His hand tightened possessively around her flank. She moved, burrowing closer. If she could climb inside his skin, she would. If she could live inside his skin, she would. That was when it struck her.

‘Madre de Dios.’

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ Her heart skipped a beat, then began to beat harder, as if she had been running. Madre de Dios. She was in love. Isabella closed her eyes in pain. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so blind? Of course she was in love with this man. Had she not just made love to him with her body and her mind, too? She was in love. Of all the foolish things she had done, surely this was the worst.

Finlay’s lips brushed her hair again. She found his hand, twining her fingers in his. Tears stung behind her lids. She could not let them fall. He would think she regretted what they had just done. Her heart began to slow. She did not regret it. She lifted his hand to hers and kissed his knuckles. She would never regret it, but he must never find out. She had already given him enough to feel guilty about. This— No, he must not know this. He cared deeply for her, she did not doubt that, but there was no question, none at all, of any possible future for them.

Despite this, she allowed herself to dream for a few precious moments. To imagine that they could lie like this every night, wrapped in each other’s loving embrace. That he could make love to her every night, spending himself inside her, in the hope of creating a new human life forged by them both. She allowed herself to dream of a little farm—no, croft—in the Highlands. They would attend the church in the longhouse he had described to her. Their children would play with the children of his three sisters. Everyone from the village would dance at their wedding. She would learn to cook, and to weave, and Finlay would...

Enough of this schoolgirl fantasy! The cold reality was that it was impossible for her to set foot on British soil. Furthermore, if it were known that he was harbouring El Fantasma, Major Finlay Urquhart would be court-martialled and most likely hanged. No, she had to vanish off the face of the earth and resurface in America under an assumed identity, and Finlay had to return to Britain in order to complete his mission and convince Wellington that El Fantasma had been eliminated. Failure to do that would also likely lead to him being hanged, this time for desertion.

Isabella sighed. If only things were different, he could sail with her to the New World. In America, there would be opportunity for any number of adventures. Stupid! If things were different, she would not have to go to America. If things were different, she would not have met Finlay again, and she would not be lying here under the stars, her body still tingling from his lovemaking. Time to stop dreaming and face facts. She was leaving everything behind, including her country and her family, everything she knew and loved. She had kept the pain of this at bay by simply avoiding thinking of it, but she knew, when she was alone, that it would come. She loved Finlay with all her heart. Which did not mean asking him to give up everything, as she had, and come away with her. No, what it meant was to ensure the exact opposite was the case. For his sake. And she’d better make damned sure she remembered that over the next few days.

The stars were beginning to fade. Isabella turned her face into Finlay’s chest. An errant tear escaped. She rubbed her cheek against the hard wall of muscle, hoping he would not notice.

He pulled her closer. ‘Try to sleep for a bit,’ he said softly. ‘We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’