‘A— What did you say?’
‘I said I’m very hungry. This is all I have, I’m afraid,’ he said, passing her a handful of dry biscuits. ‘It tastes better washed down with this, though,’ he added, holding out a small silver flask. ‘Whisky, from my father’s own still. Try it.’
She sipped, then coughed as the fiery spirit caught the back of her throat. ‘Thank you,’ she said, returning the flask and wrinkling her nose, ‘I think I will stick to water.’
‘It is an acquired taste, right enough,’ Finlay said, putting the cap back on after taking, she noticed, only a very small sip himself. ‘Tell me a bit more about yourself. For example, how does it happen that such a bonny lass is not married?’
‘How does it happen that such a—bonny?—man is not married?’
Finlay laughed. ‘No, no, you don’t describe a man as bonny, unless you wish to impugn him. I’m not married because I’m a soldier, and being a soldier’s wife is no life worth having. Since I am a career soldier, my single status is assured. Now I have explained myself. What about you?’
Isabella shrugged. ‘While my country is at war and under occupation, I cannot think of anything else.’
‘Aye, I can understand that. It’s hard to imagine what peace will look like after all this time.’ Finlay pulled a blanket from his saddle and offered it to her. ‘Here, it’s getting mighty cold.’
‘I do not need...’
‘For the love of— Come here, will you, and we’ll share it, then.’ Taking her by surprise, he pulled her towards him, throwing the blanket around them. He grabbed her arm as she tried to struggle free, and slid his own across her shoulders. ‘I’d do the same for one of my own men if I had to,’ he said.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s a sacrifice I’d be prepared to make—I hope. Luckily I’ve never had to put myself to the test.’
She felt the rumble of his laugher, and the warm puff of his breath on her hair. She had not noticed how cold it had become until he put the blanket around her. It would be churlish to push him away now, and a little silly, for then she would have to walk in the morning with stiff, cold limbs. She did not relax, but she no longer struggled, and allowed herself to lean back against the tree trunk. ‘Tell me more about Scotland,’ she said. ‘Is it very different from Spain?’
‘Very. For a start, there’s the rain. The sky and the sea are more often grey than blue. Mind, all that rain makes for a green landscape. I think that’s what I miss the most, the lush greenery that carpets the valleys and hills.’
‘We have a lot of rain here in the north, in the winter.’
‘Aye, but in Scotland, on the west coast, it rains most days in the summer, too. Are you sleepy? Should I stop babbling?’
Isabella smothered a yawn. ‘No, if you mean should you stop talking. Tell me what other countries you have visited as a soldier.’
‘Many campaigns. Egypt. Portuga
l. France. Ireland. America.’
‘You are so lucky, I have never been out of Spain.’
‘I’m not sure that you see the best of a country when you go there to fight.’
‘No, but—tell me please. Describe what America is like. Is it the wild, untamed wilderness that I have heard tell of?’
‘Once you leave the east coast, yes. And vast. A man could lose himself there.’
‘Or find himself?’
* * *
Finlay was still musing on that thought when Isabella wriggled around under the blanket to look up at him. He tensed, willing his body not to respond to the supple curves of her. Her hair tickled his chin. He was inordinately grateful for the thick layers of clothing between them, and tried discreetly to shift his thigh away from hers. Concentrating his mind on answering her questions, he found she drew him out, that his desire, while it remained a constant background tingle, was subdued by his interest in her, by hers in him.
Eventually, as the moon sank and true darkness fell, they grew silent. He thought she slept, though he could not be sure. He thought he remained awake, though he could not be certain of that, either. They moved neither closer nor farther apart, and that, Finlay told himself, was as it should be.
* * *
In the morning he was glad of it. She stirred before sunrise, and he lay with his eyes closed, affording her some privacy. Only when she stood over him did he pretend to wake, getting to his feet, trying not to notice the way the water she had splashed on her face had dampened her hair, making a long tress of it cling to her cheek.
‘You will find your way back to your own lines?’ she asked.