Chapter Five
Consuela placed the letter she had received on the breakfast table and poured herself a cup of chocolate. ‘It is a brief note from Xavier. Unfortunately he will be detained in Pamplona for a further few days. Isabella, he asks that you ensure Mr Urquhart is given a comprehensive tour of all aspects of the work of the estate. To that end, you are to take him to visit Estebe, the head winemaker, and—but here, you may as well read it for yourself.’ Consuela pushed the letter across the table.
Isabella took the letter, raising her brows at the list of tasks her brother had compiled for her. Necessity and greed had forced Xavier into trusting her with an important task. Though not enough to actually write to her himself.
‘Mr Urquhart is tardy this morning,’ Consuela said, eyeing the clock.
Isabella, who had been anxiously thinking the same thing, began to rearrange the bread on her plate. ‘You like our foreign guest, don’t you?’
Consuela bristled slightly. ‘I hope you are not implying that my behaviour has been improper in any way?’
‘Not at all. Only that he is very handsome and extremely charming. All women like him, I think. Even I do.’ Though I am fairly certain he is a fraud and not who he purports to be. The butterflies in her tummy started beating their wings again. She wished that there was another conclusion, but once again decided there was not.
‘Isabella, you know that it would not be appropriate, or wise, to grow to like this man too much? He is charming, but he is a wine merchant. You think I am empty-headed. I know you do, because you never discuss anything of any import with me save my son, and...’
‘Consuela, I...’
‘No, let me speak for once. You think that because I say nothing I don’t see what’s happening under my nose, but I do. The way you look at Mr Urquhart... You have never looked at Gabriel like that.’
‘Gabriel has never looked at me the way Mr Urquhart does.’
Consuela, to her surprise, giggled. ‘Mr Urquhart looks at you as if he would like to have you for his dinner. I think that it would be very nice, to be Mr Urquhart’s dinner, to be devoured by him.’
‘What on earth can you mean by that?’
Her sister-in-law gave her a coy look. ‘You must trust me on that, and you must wait to find out for yourself when you are married. You are going to marry Gabriel, aren’t you?’
‘Everyone seems to expect it, but my feelings for him are tepid at best, since we are being frank.’
Consuela rolled her eyes. ‘I forget you have no mother to guide you. I will tell you, then, what my mother told me. Love blossoms after marriage, not before. It is perfectly natural, when you think about it. Until a woman truly knows her husband, as his wife, she can have no reason to love him any more than she loves any other suitor.’
‘Do you love Xavier?’
Consuela looked surprised. ‘But of course. He is my husband. It happened just as my mother predicted. She is never wrong. It will happen to you, too, when you marry Gabriel.’
Love was not a subject to which Isabella had given much consideration, and it was not one that much interested her, either. Consuela’s persistence, though, made one thing clear that had not occurred to Isabella before. ‘It would suit you for me to be married off and gone from Hermoso Romero, wouldn’t it? I am sorry. I have endeavoured not to interfere in the running of your household since you arrived as Xavier’s bride two years ago. I have been at pains to give you your place, but you must appreciate that I have been de facto mistress of Hermoso Romero for many years.’
‘I do understand that, and I assure you, it is not a big problem for me. I don’t dislike you. I don’t see you as a threat, Isabella, though I know you think I do. Xavier thinks that because you are his sister and I am his wife, that you should also be my sister. But you’re not,’ Consuela said simply. ‘The truth is I would love my real sister to come here to live, but while you are here Xavier will not countenance it. So for that reason, you understand, your presence is—inconvenient.’
‘Oh.’ Isabella felt like a fool. She also felt—rejected. ‘I had no idea.’
‘You have never asked. I am very relieved that you have broached the subject now.’
Mortified, she remembered that Finlay had hinted she do so. What a fool she had been. ‘Yes. I see.’ Isabella smiled weakly. ‘I am sorry.’
‘It is easily remedied. Gabriel Torres is waiting only for a sign from you and he will propose. I am glad we have cleared the air. And now here is Mr Urquhart at last.’ Consuela rose from the table. ‘I have had a letter from my husband. Isabella will explain. You must excuse me. I promised to take my son for a drive in the carriage today.’
The door closed on a swish of silken skirts. ‘My sister-in-law has just informed me that I am to marry Gabriel in order to allow her sister to come and live here in my place,’ Isabella said dully. ‘But you knew that, didn’t you?’
‘I did, yes. I’m sorry.’
‘There is no need. At least now I understand my position.’
‘It’s a damned unfair one. This has been your home much longer that it’s been hers.’
Her own thoughts exactly. Hearing them expressed aloud made Isabella feel marginally better. Finlay had poured himself a cup of coffee, though he had not sat down. He had a tiny nick on his chin, a cut from shaving. There was a rebellious kink of hair standing up like a question mark at his hairline. It was oddly endearing. He was wearing buckskin breeches and top boots. She wondered if his legs had lost their tan. Looking up, she caught his eye. ‘Do you miss wearing your kilt?’ she asked.
‘In London, it caused more bother than it was worth. Ladies either found it indecent or intriguing. A fair few found it to be both. I was never quite sure whether it was indecently intriguing or intriguingly indecent! Do you miss wearing your breeches?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Isabella smiled faintly. ‘In Spain, we pretend that ladies do not have legs, you know.’
Finlay laughed. ‘It is no different for ladies in England.’
‘You seem to know a lot about English ladies and fashion, unless you were inventing it for Consuela’s benefit.’
‘I’ve been to my fair share of balls and formal dinners.’
‘Do you know the steps to this new dance, the waltz? Xavier thinks it is too shocking to be danced in polite society.’
‘I reckon I could teach you. Do you want to be shocked, Isabella?’
She began to rearrange the untouched bread on her plate again. ‘Your turning up here is quite shocking enough. Since you left the army, though, you will have had little time for balls and parties, I would imagine, while building your business. All work and no play, as the saying goes.’
Silence fell. Finlay poured another cup of coffee, but still did not sit down. He was waiting for her to speak. A knot formed in her stomach. ‘I have something...’ Isabella cleared her throat. ‘We need to talk,’ she said.
‘I agree, we do.’
‘Finlay, I do not profess to know why you are here, but it is of a certainty not to purchase wine.’
‘No, I’m not.’ He finished his coffee in one gulp. ‘Take a walk with me, and I’ll tell you the real reason I am here.’
* * *
Isabella had pulled a fringed shawl around her shoulders. Her gown was simple but elegant, the plain white material relieved by a bold pattern of what looked to be strawberries running around the hem and diagonally across the skirt. The high waist suited her tall, slim figure. Her feet were clad not in the delicate slippers favoured by her sister-in-law, but in much more sturdy and practical boots. She kept pace easily at his side as they walked, despite her narrow skirts. There were gold highlights in her hair, sparked to life by the weak winter sunshine. The cold morning air caught in his lungs, their breath visible as they continued on their way.
On balance, Finlay had come to the conclusion overnight that Isabella would not betray him. He had pondered the possibility of inventing another story to fob her off for a few more days, but quickly abandoned that idea. Though he disliked Xavier Romero, Finlay disliked the lies he was obliged to tell the man even more, the false expectations he was raising.
But lying to Isabella... That was a whole different kettle of fish. There had existed, from the very first time they had met, an unmistakable spark between them that he, for one, had never experienced before. It went against the grain with him not to be straight with her, though he was fairly certain she was doing a fair bit of dissembling herself. If she was, as he hoped, merely protecting his quarry, he could not blame her for that. In fact, it was a rather admirable display of loyalty.
He led the way past the chapel, along the cypress tree walk and out onto a path that climbed between the serried ranks of vines to an ancient wooden bench with a panoramic view out over the estate. Isabella did not speak as they snaked their way up the hillside. He sensed her tension as they sat down, saw it in the rigid way she held herself, her hands clasped together under her shawl.
‘Right, then,’ Finlay said. ‘I’ll speak first and save you the trouble of asking. I’m not a wine merchant. In fact, I’m still a soldier, same as I’ve always been.’
Isabella jumped to her feet. ‘So everything you have told me has been a lie?’
‘No! Not all. My family, the croft, all that is true.’
‘But you did not leave the army when Napoleon was sent to Elba? You presumably fought at Waterloo, then?’
‘Aye.’ He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back onto the bench. ‘Who I fought and when are beside the point. Listen to me now, because it’s vitally important. Lives are at stake here, including my own if things go badly. I had no option but to lie to you until I knew whether or not I could trust you. It’s been two years since we met after all, and a lot can change in two years. When I arrived here, I wasn’t even certain that I’d be able to find you.’
‘Find me? You mean you came here looking for me?’
Finlay grinned. ‘I came looking for a wee peasant lassie, and there you were in that fine white lace mantilla and that silk gown, not only a lady, but the sister of the estate owner. I couldn’t believe it. I damn near panicked, I can tell you.’
‘You hid it very well,’ Isabella responded tartly. ‘Unlike me.’
‘Aye, that was one of the things that set me off wondering about you from the first, but then when you explained about your brother, and I could see for myself he was no friend of the liberal cause, I thought that was the cause of your panic. But the real Isabella kept popping through the lady’s demure facade that you have clearly donned since the end of the war. I am hoping I’m not the only one who is not what he appears. In fact, I am staking quite a lot on it.’
‘Why?’ she asked baldly.
‘You told me once that you knew how to get in touch with a partisan known as El Fantasma, in order to convince me that the partisans be allowed to attack a French arms cache. The fact that they succeeded proves to me that your claim was genuine. El Fantasma is clearly known to you.’ He felt her flinch at the name, and though she said nothing, it was enough. ‘Isabella, the man is in deep trouble. I think you know where he might be found. I think you might still be involved in some way with his cause. I need you to take me to him.’
‘Take you to him?’ she repeated blankly.
‘To El Fantasma. His life is at risk.’
‘For El Fantasma there are always risks.’ Isabella waved her hand dismissively. ‘You think he cares about that?’
‘Frankly, he’d be a fool not to care. There’s bravery and then there’s sheer recklessness.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Perhaps he thinks that the cause he fights for is more important than anything else.’
‘More important even than his life?’ Finlay snapped. ‘Isabella, the British government believe that your Spanish government are determined to track him down, and the net is closing around him. I’m here to prevent that happening.’
‘What!’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘You cannot mean—are you saying that you have been sent here to rescue El Fantasma?’
‘That’s the gist of it.’
‘You don’t think that’s incredibly presumptuous? I am very sure he neither wants nor needs to be rescued.’
He shook his head, taken aback by her vehemence. ‘How can you be so certain?’
Isabella bit her lip, eyeing him speculatively, then gave a little shrug, followed by an enigmatic smile. ‘Because,’ she said, ‘I am El Fantasma.’
* * *
It took Finlay a full minute to unscramble his reeling senses before he could muster a response. ‘You are The Ghost? You are El Fantasma? By all that is— I can’t believe it.’
‘No,’ she said, drawing him an arch look, ‘you did not for a moment consider it could be me, did you?’
‘Not for a single second,’ he admitted frankly. She was beaming at him now, her golden eyes shining with a mixture of pride and glee. Finlay burst into laughter. It was ridiculous, outrageous, fantastical, though in a way it made an awful lot of sense. ‘Good Lord, does that brother of yours know?’ he asked.
Isabella tossed her head. ‘Of course not. No one knows, save for my deputy, Estebe.’
‘Estebe! By all that is...’ Finlay cursed under his breath.
‘Estebe himself has four deputies, though they do not know each other, of course, and below that—but you know how partisan groups are structured to protect anonymity and preserve security, I think. Estebe helps me with the printing press we use to publish our propaganda pamphlets. It is...’
‘Hidden in the winery cellars.’ Finlay finished for her as the pieces began to tumble into place.
Isabella’s smile faded. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t, but it’s obvious now that I—’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘Have you any idea how dangerous a game you’re playing?’
‘It is not a game, and I am not stupid. Of course I know it is dangerous, but what does that matter, when we have so much at stake?’
‘Aye, such as the lives of your family. Your brother. For God’s sake, Isabella, that printing press in his cellar— If it was discovered...’
‘It will not be.’ Her voice hardened. ‘You do not understand, Finlay. We are fighting for our future.’
‘I think it’s you who doesn’t understand. What I’m trying to tell you is that if you carry on, you’ll have no future.’
Her eyes blazed. ‘If we stop, if we give up, the future will not be worth having! We sacrificed so much during the war—has it to be for nothing? We must fight on, if not with guns, then with words. Those in power do not want to hear what we have to say, but we will continue to say it until they listen.’
She spoke with such conviction, such passion, that he was momentarily disarmed. He could not doubt her claim to be the infamous partisan, but however inspiring she was, it was her very idealism that worried him, for it made her quite reckless and completely, misguidedly without fear. He’d seen far too many brave men slaughtered. A dose of healthy fear was essential to survival, in his book—not that he’d admit to it himself, mind.
‘I’m not doubting your sincerity, or indeed your cause,’ Finlay said, choosing his words carefully, eager not to estrange her further.
‘I am glad to hear that.’
‘Aye, but this government of yours, the men in Madrid who wield the power here in Spain, to put it bluntly, the louder you shout, the more determined they will be to shut you up.’
Isabella tossed her head again. ‘Do you not see, the very fact that they wish to do so is evidence of El Fantasma’s success? As the voice of protest grows, so, too, does our power to change things. We will force them to listen, Finl
ay. We will force them to act.’ She caught at his jacket sleeve, giving his arm a shake to emphasise her point. ‘Yes, it is dangerous because we say what they do not want to hear, but how much more dangerous would it be to remain silent?’
Silent was what she would be, as the grave, if she was not careful, but she looked so magnificent standing there, a fervent light in her eyes, a flush on her cheeks, a proud smile on her delightful lips, that Finlay found himself quite torn. She was so sure she was right, and he was equally certain she was wrong, but he could not bring himself to destroy her illusions. Not yet.
‘You’re a very brave lass. I still can’t quite believe that you are The Ghost,’ he said. Here he’d been, thinking the hard part of his mission was going to be tracking El Fantasma down, but the really tricky thing was going to be persuading her to come away with him. The irony of it, the sheer unlikelihood of it, made him shake his hand, marvelling at this twist of fate. Isabella was still clutching at his jacket. Finlay took her hand between his, fascinated by the slenderness of it, how delicate it looked in his own rough paw. ‘I’m still struggling to take it in,’ he said ruefully.
She chuckled. ‘We are neither of us what we appear to be, it seems.’
‘That’s for certain.’
‘And now we can stop pretending.’
‘That is very true,’ he said, much struck by this. He smiled, revelling in the simple pleasure of looking at her for the first time without any barricades or withheld secrets between them. ‘You do know,’ he said, ‘that I haven’t been pretending all the time. I did not pretend to enjoy your company. I did not pretend to enjoy your conversation.’
The Soldier's Rebel Lover Page 9
