She frowned. ‘Why would you do that? I am not a child, to be told stories. I do not want to hear family secrets or—or confidences. I was not prying. I simply wanted to understand you more. You have seen my home, you know so much about me, yet you tell me almost nothing about yourself.’

He had offended her. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not used to talking about myself.’

Isabella propped her hand on her chin and studied him across the table. ‘The Jock Upstart,’ she said. ‘Was that one of the stories you tell in your officers’ mess?’

‘They would not be interested in the truth,’ Finlay said awkwardly, though he wasn’t sure, now he came to think about it, that he ever told anyone the truth, save Jack.

‘I am interested,’ Isabella said. ‘What is it like, to have three sisters? Consuela is very fond of hers. She is always writing letters to them. Do your sisters write to you?’

‘Aye, once every few months, with news of all my nephews and nieces. I’ve twelve of them,’ Finlay said with a grin.

Isabella’s eyes widened. ‘Twelve!’

‘And counting. Mhairi was expecting another the last I heard.’

‘I wonder sometimes what it would have been like, to have a sister.’

‘Someone to confide in?’ Finlay laid his hands over hers. ‘Your mother died when you were a bairn, didn’t she? It must have been hard, growing up without any female company.’

‘You said that to me that first night we met. I did not think—but now, I don’t know. Do you miss them, your family?’

He opened his mouth to assure her that he did, of course he did, then closed it again, frowning. ‘Honestly?’ He quirked his brow, and Isabella nodded. ‘I’ve been away for so long, that in a way they are strangers to me. They are my blood, I love them, but I’m no more part of their lives than they are mine. Aside from kinship, we have little in common.’

‘Though it must be a comfort to know that there are people who care for you, who would be there if you needed them.’

‘Aye,’ Finlay agreed with surprise, ‘that is true. The letters they write, they don’t make me want to go home, but it is a comfort indeed, seeing a picture drawn by my nephew, or reading one of my niece’s stories. Or reading about the fishing, and the peats and the tattie howking, whatever is the latest gossip my mother thinks fit for my ears,’ he said, smiling nostalgically. ‘It is good to hear that life can go on in that way, that people can be happy, when you are sitting in a foreign field in the aftermath of battle.’

‘What will you do now, Finlay? Now that Europe is at peace, and there are no more battles to fight?’

A damned good question. One of the many lessons this mission had taught him was that he was no peacetime soldier. ‘There are always other wars,’ he said, thinking, with little enthusiasm, of the rumours he’d heard about India. ‘When Wellington hears of my success in silencing El Fantasma, perhaps there will be other such missions, too.’

‘You think he will believe you? You have not told me what it is, exactly, that you will tell him.’

‘That’s Jack’s territory.’ The light had faded a wee bit from her big golden eyes. She was tired. And he’d been prattling on about his family, and his damned career, when all the while the poor lass had no family now, and much less of a clue than he about her future. ‘Let’s get you back to the inn,’ Finlay said, pressing her hand. ‘I’ll just go through and pay the shot.’

They were standing at the bar when he opened the connecting door. Two men, dressed in the uniform of the Spanish army, drinking a glass of wine. Not officers, but guards, Finlay reckoned. Their boots were dusty. He heard only one word. ‘English.’ But it was enough.

Retreating quietly back into the commodore, Finlay returned to the table. ‘We have to leave. Quietly. Don’t panic,’ he whispered into Isabella’s ear, putting her shawl around her shoulders and throwing some coins onto the table. Fortunately the room had emptied, the few diners left talking intimately over their wine and cheese. Even more fortunately, Isabella asked no questions, doing exactly as he asked, getting to her feet, following the pressure of his hand on her back, to the door that led to the kitchens.

‘Soldiers,’ he said, as the door closed behind them. ‘Spanish army. Two, looking for us. I don’t know if there are any more. I’m sorry, but it looks as though you won’t be able to enjoy the luxury of a feather bed tonight after all.’

* * *

She had not quite believed they were after her. Despite what Finlay had said, despite the urgency with which they travelled, despite the unequivocal evidence of their existence that fateful day at Estebe’s house, Isabella had been unable to wholly credit the tenacity of the Spanish government in tracking down El Fantasma, unable to believe that the pamphlets she had written, printed in the cellars of Hermoso Romero, could result in this merciless vendetta. As she scurried along at Finlay’s side through the back streets of Tafalla, her heart in her mouth, she no longer doubted. Finlay’s concerns were very real. America seemed, of a sudden, a very attractive prospect, if only because it was so very far away. She did not want to be caught. She desperately, desperately did not want them to catch Finlay.

‘Should we separate?’ she panted. ‘Finlay, I don’t want them to...’

‘Isabella, I’m not going anywhere without you.’

‘But they are looking for two of us.’

‘An Englishman and a Spanish woman, that’s what they said. If anything, it’s me who’s putting you in danger.’

Isabella’s hands tightened on his arm. ‘You won’t leave me,’ she said, before she could stop herself.

He smiled down at her. Even as they fled for their lives, that smile did things to her insides. ‘I won’t leave you.’ His smile faded. ‘Not until you’re safe on that boat. And the sooner we get you there the better. We’ll start to head for the north coast tonight.’

‘You said that is where they would concentrate the search for us. But now here they are in Tafalla in the west.’

‘They’ve clearly enough men spare to cover all the options. Ours is not the only army kicking its heels in peacetime. King Ferdinand’s men haven’t enough to do, either, by the looks of it.’

She was going to be sick. Fear, such as she had never felt during the war, made her break out in a cold sweat. She stumbled, and would have fallen if Finlay had not had her anchored firmly to his side. ‘Courage, lass,’ he said.

Isabella managed a weak smile, swallowed the nausea and picked up the pace again. ‘I won’t let you down.’

‘You couldn’t.’

His faith, whether misplaced or not, kept her going through the next fraught hours as they hurriedly reclaimed baggage and horses from the inn. They were heading home, east, Finlay told the landlady, a family crisis. He did not pretend that the false trail was likely to do anything other than give their pursuers a choice of three alternative directions. ‘And if there’s only the two soldiers, we might just get lucky, though we can’t count on it,’ he’d said.

* * *

They rode through the darkness, across the flat land that spread out to Logrono, for the route directly north was too mountainous. Towards dawn, as the horses were flagging and the terrain was becoming more difficult, they quit the main road and stopped to rest in the shelter of a valley where the mountains rose steeply around them. Shaking, exhausted and oddly exhilarated, Isabella sat huddled in a blanket coaxing a tiny fire into life while Finlay tended to the sweating horses.

‘We are likely safe enough here for a few hours,’ he said, sitting down beside her. ‘You should try to sleep.’

‘I don’t think I could.’

He put his arm around her. ‘Try.’

She did because he wanted her to, without any expectation of success.

* * *

When she opened her eyes it was daylight, and the smell of coffee brewing on the trivet greeted her. Finlay, astonishingly clean-shaven, his hair damp, handed her a tin mug. ‘I have some good news,’ he said.

‘Let me guess, there has been an uprising in Pamplona and all the soldiers in the area have been recalled to suppress it.’

‘Now, that would be remarkably good news,’ he said, sitting down beside her and stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘Mine isn’t quite in that category. How are you feeling?’

‘You let me sleep for the whole night.’

‘What little was left of it.’

Noticing that there was only one cup of coffee, Isabella handed Finlay the mug. ‘We can share,’ she said, when he looked as if he would refuse.

‘Thank you.’

He took a sip and handed it back. She took a sip, putting her mouth where his had been. He was watching her. She took another sip. His hand lingered on hers when she handed the mug back. His eyes lingered on her mouth. Her breath caught. Finlay sipped, placing his lips exactly where hers had been. Her heart bumped. She leaned towards him. He leaned towards her. He handed her the mug. His lips brushed hers. He tasted of coffee. She felt the sharp intake of his breath. He kissed her, slowly, his tongue licking along the inside of her lower lip. Then he handed her the mug. ‘You finish it.’

At least he did not walk away, or head off to tend to the horses. Isabella finished the coffee. ‘You haven’t told me the good news.’

‘I recognise this place. I’ve been here before, during the campaign. There’s a mountain pass we can follow, well away from the main routes, that will take us towards Vitoria, and from there we can head to San Sebastian.’

‘Vitoria. It was a very bloody battle for the English—British, I think.’

Finlay grimaced. ‘I confess, it’s not a place I’ve any yearning to see again.’

‘You have seen such terrible things. That day, when you opened my eyes to reality, when you told me what they would do to me if they caught me...’