The Soldier's Rebel Lover

Isabella listened, sipping at her wine, enjoying the comfort of Finlay’s physical proximity, gradually beginning to relax again. It took two maids to carry the enormous copper bath into the room, which they then placed behind screens in front of the now blazing fire. The room was becoming delightfully warm. Steam rose from behind the screens as bucket after bucket of hot water was poured into the bath. The two men were talking of Spain, the changes since the British army and the French had left. The innkeeper sounded very like Estebe. It was not only his accent but the repressed passion that underscored his words. She wondered if he had ever read any of El Fantasma’s pamphlets. But Señor Gebara was clearly a prosperous man, his business thriving. He had a wife and a child now, he’d told Finlay. Such a man would not risk all he’d built, would he?

He caught her staring, and smiled warmly at her. He had a very nice smile. He was not much older than Finlay. ‘Forgive me, señora, I have allowed my tongue to run away with itself, talking of the old days. So many times, I have wondered what became of the Jock Upstart. Not that I doubted he would survive, because—what is it you always said, Finlay?’

‘A man who is born to be hanged can never be drowned.’

Señor Gebara laughed. ‘That is it, that is it. I am very pleased indeed to see that you are still evading your fate. Those soldiers... If they knew they were chasing the Jock Upstart, they would give up and go back to Madrid. You need have no fear, señora. While you have this man to protect you, you are perfectly safe.’

‘Ach, you don’t know the señora here,’ Finlay said. ‘She’s more than capable of protecting herself.’

‘A fellow soldier.’ The innkeeper nodded. ‘I see now why she has your heart, my friend. I am very glad that you, too, have found a woman to share your life.’ He turned to Isabella. ‘I lost my betrothed in the war,’ he said sadly. ‘I thought I would never love again, but my Maria, she has shown me that the human spirit is a strong thing, the human heart even stronger. I hope you are as happy with this Jock Upstart, señora, as I am with my Maria.’

Isabella did not need Finlay to caution her. She was pleased to be able to maintain the innkeeper’s misapprehension, to speak the truth for once. ‘I can think of no other man capable of making me this happy,’ she said. ‘None.’

* * *

Alesander left with promises to serve them the best dinner the region could provide in an hour. It was good to see his old friend and ally so happy, but Finlay couldn’t help envying the man, too. Alesander had made a new life for himself. Who’d have thought that the wild, bold and fearless guerrilla fighter he’d known would be so content running an inn? Though the way he’d spoken, Finlay would not be surprised to hear that Alesander was still, in his own quiet way, fighting for a better life for his wife and child. Not so very different after all from the man he’d known? Perhaps.

‘I like your friend very much,’ Isabella said. She was standing at the window, her cheek on the pane. ‘Finlay, do you not think that he is in the right of it? The human spirit is a very strong thing. Your friend has made a new life for himself. I would like it so much—so very, very much, if I could believe you could, too.’

He joined her at the window. She clutched his hand tightly. There were tears sparkling on her long lashes. She looked up at him beseechingly. I can think of no other man capable of making me this happy, she had said to Alesander. She had said it to maintain their cover, he knew that, but her words had, to his pathetically desperate heart, seemed to carry an undertone of truth. She did care, though. Best not to think about how much; he was heartsore enough.

‘Finlay?’

She wanted an answer. She needed the reassurance of an answer. He tried, he tried bloody hard, but he could not imagine what kind of new life he’d forge for himself, and he would not lie to her. ‘Isabella,’ he said, kissing the tears from her lids, ‘we’ve only got tonight before we spend a lifetime apart. Let’s not think about anything else. Not tonight.’

Her lips were soft, sweet, shaped perfectly for his. He ached for her in a new way. The desire was just as fierce, but his need to cherish her, to meld himself to her, to be as one with her, was so much stronger. They would make love, but not yet. He wanted to spin out every single moment of time with her, to be everything to her as she was to him, just for tonight, because tonight was all they would have. He had to make it enough for the memory to last forever.