The Soldier's Rebel Lover

She was trying to reassure him. Hope did not spring, it burst forth like the first snowdrop of the year. A fragile shoot, but determinedly pushing itself towards the sun. He hadn’t allowed himself to consider how deeply her feelings for him ran; he had been too concerned with damping down his own, but if she cared even a fraction as much as he did...

‘Isabella...’

‘Finlay, don’t worry. I won’t let you down. I am—I am ready.’

She straightened in the saddle, determined to play the soldier she thought he expected, and it was his undoing. ‘Isabella, I love you so much. My own heart, I love you. I can’t let you go without me.’

* * *

She thought she had misheard him. She must have misheard him. She opened her mouth, but no words came. She could only stare stupidly.

‘Isabella.’

Finlay jumped down from his horse and pulled her from the saddle. These past few days, in their wild race across the mountains, his face had been set, his expression steadfastly distant. He had played the commanding officer, she had played the foot soldier, just as they had agreed. Now the light was back in his eyes. They were the colour of the sea below. Her heart, her poor about-to-be-broken heart, began to beat faster. She couldn’t possibly hope. There was no hope. None.

‘Isabella.’ He took her hands in his. The horses were untethered, she noticed, and then immediately lost interest. ‘Isabella.’ He shook his head, grinned, shook his head, frowned. ‘I’ve never said the word before.’

Say it again, she prayed, but said nothing, in case her prayers were misguided.

‘Never. I don’t know if I should... It’s—it’s likely all wrong, only— Ach, what a blithering eejit I am. I love you. I love you with all my heart, and no amount of telling myself all these other things matter more makes a whit of difference. I love you, lass, and I don’t want to have to live without you. I don’t know what that means. I can’t make any promises, I can’t even...’

‘I don’t care!’ Isabella threw her arms around him. ‘I don’t care what or how or if. All I care about is that I love you, and if you love me, too— Do you? Do you truly love me?’

Finlay laughed. ‘Could you ever have doubted it?’

‘Yes! You never once...’

‘I could not. And you...’

‘I could not. Oh, Finlay, how could I tell you that I loved you, how could I ask you to come with me, when it would mean you giving up everything that is important to you?’

‘You are everything. You are the only thing that is, or ever will be, important to me.’

‘But your family. The army. You will be court-martialled.’ Cold reality hit her. She dragged herself free of his embrace. ‘Finlay, I love you so much. Too much. I could not do this to you, put your life in danger, ask you to...’

‘You haven’t asked me,’ Finlay said gently, pulling her back into his arms. ‘I’m offering. I don’t have much, or I won’t, not if—when—I leave with you, but without you, I have nothing. I don’t know what kind of life we’ll make, lass, but I’m asking you for the chance to build it together. Will you give me that chance?’

She wanted to. Her heart cried out yes, but her head...her head needed some convincing yet, it seemed. ‘You said it yourself, Finlay, you’re not a man to run away. You have a duty to go back, even if it is only to resign. You cannot blight your honour with the shame of desertion, and you cannot take the risk of them catching you, for you will be hanged.’

‘I will not lie to you, I would wish it otherwise. I would wish that we could both go to England together, that I could put a clean and honourable end to my career, but I can’t. There are some sacrifices worth making. I love you. My duty is to my heart now, and not my country.’

She swallowed the lump in her throat that his words, his beautiful, heartfelt words caused. ‘But your family?’

Now he did flinch. She sensed true pain there, but still he shook his head. ‘I will be sacrificing no more than you, my love. We will make a new family together. If you’ll have me. It won’t be easy. It won’t be painless. We’ll miss what we’ve lost, but we won’t have lost the most important thing of all.’

‘Each other?’

‘Each other.’

She could resist no longer. The future, which had seemed like a huge, black abyss, now spread golden before her, not perfect, not rosy or easy, but one redolent with promise. ‘I love you, Finlay Urquhart, with all my heart.’

‘And I love you, Isabella Romero, with every fragment of mine.’

Epilogue

Oban, Argyll—six months later

The fishing village of Oban reminded Jack Trestain a little of San Sebastian. Funny how things sometimes came full circle. The same horseshoe bay, the island a short distance offshore, the sheltering haven of the harbour, the cluster of white houses lining the front. Admittedly the gently bobbing fishing boats were shallower, longer, the sky was a paler blue and it was significantly colder, but all the same...