‘Not very successfully.’ Her fingers were long and slender, so small compared to his.

‘On the contrary,’ Isabella said. ‘You have saved my life.’

Gazing at her liquid amber eyes, holding her delicate hand between his, Finlay had the strangest feeling. Heartache? ‘Not yet, I haven’t. We’re not out of the woods yet,’ he said, as much to himself as Isabella.

‘What is more, you are committing treason to protect me,’ she said. ‘Your orders from the great duke were to silence me.’

‘Aye, well, that was one of those orders I’d never find it in my conscience to obey, but it’s not treason, Isabella, not really. As far as the duke is concerned, El Fantasma will be silenced, just not in the way he’s expecting.’

‘But surely lying to the Duke of Wellington is as good as committing treason? Finlay Urquhart, I do believe you are a hero. Foolish, reckless, but a hero nonetheless.’

‘Stop it, or you’ll have me blushing like a wee lassie.’

Isabella’s mouth curved into a smile. She closed the gap between them, reaching up to touch his cheek. ‘You’re no lassie. You’re a man, a beautiful man.’

‘Well, there, you see, you’re wrong. Nobody could describe me as beautiful.’

‘Oh, but you are.’ She ran her fingers through his hair. ‘The first time ever I met you, I thought, there is a man who will attract a second and a third glance.’

Her smile did terrible, wonderful things to him. It stirred his blood, that smile. It made him want to devour her. For she was a feast. A banquet.

Her mouth was only a few inches from his. Her fingers were feathering the skin at the nape of his neck. ‘You can’t call a rough, burly Highlander beautiful,’ Finlay said in a vain attempt to change the subject.

‘I just did,’ Isabella said with a mischievous smile. ‘And I’m not referring to your appearance. You are a beautiful man, Finlay Urquhart, because you have saved my life. You have risked your life—are risking your life for me. I am completely in your debt, as are my family, though they do not know it. You will always have a special place in my heart because of that, regardless of what the future holds.’

‘Then, that is all the reward I need,’ Finlay said, surprising himself by the depth of emotion in his voice. Forcing himself to get to his feet, he stamped out the fire and began to pack up. ‘As to the future, that can keep for later. We’ve a few more miles to put between us and Hermoso Romero first.’



Chapter Ten

They headed west once more, travelling at a fast pace for some hours, which precluded conversation, before slowing to a walk to give the horses a breather in the late afternoon. ‘Tafalla is just ahead,’ Isabella said. ‘Were you ever there?’

Finlay shook his head. ‘No. I think it was used as a garrison late in the campaign, but I was never quartered there.’

‘It was one of the towns in the Navarre most heavily fortified by the French,’ Isabella told him. ‘Our partisan, Mina, he liberated it with the help of some of your British navy guns.’

‘I’ve heard of Mina, though I have never met him.’

‘Nor did I.’ Isabella made a face. ‘He would not have been interested in a mere woman, I don’t think. Now, if he had known I was El Fantasma—but no, I will not talk of that. El Fantasma no longer exists. Now I am merely Isabella Romero—whomever she may turn out to be. A woman of means, you need not worry about that,’ she said, with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Not only do I have all my jewellery, which will fetch a pretty penny, but I have the bulk of this quarter’s allowance. My papa left me well provided for, you know. I must find a way to make alternative arrangements with the bank to have the payments sent on to me.’

‘Isabella.’ Finlay drew his horse to a halt, leaning over to catch her reins at the same time. His expression was stern. ‘You can’t touch that money.’

All morning, as they rode, she had been trying to imagine herself in America, but the more she tried, the more terrified she became. She had promised Finlay she would go, she desperately wanted to fulfil that promise, but as the prospect became more real with every mile they travelled—the sheer terror of being on her own, of a future without shape ate away at her resolve. Her courage deserted her. ‘Finlay,’ she beseeched him now, unable to stop herself, ‘is there no alternative to my going to America? May I not remain in Spain and make a new life for myself where no one knows me? It is a big country.’

His expression became grim. ‘Not big enough. I thought I’d made it clear—those men will not give up. I know this is hard for you, and I’m right sorry to have to be the one to open your eyes, but you can’t carry on living as Isabella Romero.’

‘You mean I must take a new name, a new identity?’

‘Aye.’

‘That is why I cannot claim my allowance?’

‘Not the only reason.’

There was a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Finlay looked like a man trying to swallow poison. ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ she asked.

He ran his fingers through his hair, then straightened his shoulders, giving her a direct look. ‘Isabella Romero has to die. There’s no other way to put an end to this.’

‘Die.’ She clutched at her breast. For a horrible moment she thought he had tricked her and meant it literally. But this was Finlay; he would not harm her, she knew that instinctively. She furrowed her brow. She remembered, vaguely, that conversation on the hillside the day before Estebe died. It seemed so long ago. ‘You mean that the world—Xavier, Consuela, my nephew, even the bank—must believe that I am dead?’

‘It is the only way to guarantee your safety. I thought you understood that. I thought I’d made it clear.’

‘Did you? I don’t know. I can’t remember. No, that is not fair of me, I know you did, only...’ Her voice was rising in panic. She tried breathing deeply, tried to remember. ‘I can’t go to America, Finlay,’ she said. ‘Please, there must be another way. I know that’s what you said, I know it’s what I promised, but I didn’t think— I mean, I have not thought— Surely there must be a safe haven somewhere that does not require me to go halfway across the world.’

Her horse was twitching nervously. Finlay dismounted and pulled her unresisting from the saddle, tethering both sets of reins to the stump of a fallen tree before taking her hands in his. ‘You can’t stay in Spain. You can’t come to England with me. I know a wee bit of the ways of these government men, Isabella, from my friend Jack. Their reach is frightening, and those in power across the Continent, they’re all in each other’s pockets. I doubt very much that there would be anywhere in Europe safe for you.’

‘But America!’

‘The New World, they call it. Think about it,’ he said, with a reassuring smile. ‘A place where you can start again, completely afresh. A place where none of the old rules apply, where the restrictions you’ve been fighting don’t exist. They say a man—or a woman—can do anything, achieve anything there, just by dint of hard work. It’s a land of equal opportunity, a blank canvas. Isn’t that precisely what you’ve been fighting for?’

‘I’ve been fighting to have such a society in my own country.’

‘A country that regards you as a traitor. You could help shape society in America, Isabella, not waste your time trying to dismantle the existing one in Spain.’

‘You make it sound like utopia.’

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.’