Marriage Made In Rebellion. Sophia James

      ‘I was scouting the ocean for the British transports under the direction of General Moore. They were late coming into the harbour and he was worried.’

      ‘A spy, then.’

      ‘I myself prefer the title of intelligence officer.’

      ‘Semantics.’ The older man laughed, though, and the tension lessened.

      When Lucien chanced a look at the girl he saw she watched him with a frown across her brow. Today there was a bruise on her left cheek that was darkening into purple. It had not been there yesterday.

      Undercurrents.

      The older man was not pleased by Lucien’s presence in the house and the Catalan escopeta in his cartouche belt was close. One wrong word could decide Lucien’s fate. He stayed silent whilst he tried to weigh up his options and he listened as the other man spoke.

      ‘Every man and woman in Spain is armed with a flask of poison, a garrotting cord or a knife. Napoleon is not the liberator here and his troops will not triumph. The Treaty of Tilsit was his star as its zenith, but now the power and the glory have begun to fade. C’est le commencement de la fin, Capitán, and the French know it.’

      ‘Something Talleyrand said, I think? Hopefully prophetic.’ Lucien had heard rumours that the crafty French bishop was seeking to negotiate a secure peace behind his emperor’s back so as to perpetuate and solidify the gains made during the French revolution.

      El Vengador stepped forward. ‘You are well informed. But our channels of intelligence are healthy, too, and one must watch what one utters to a stranger, would you not agree, Capitán? Best to hold your secrets close.’

      And your enemies closer? A warning masked beneath the cloth of politics? Simple. Intimidating. Lucien resisted any urge to once again glance at his rescuer in the corner.

      He nodded without candour and was relieved as the other man moved back.

      ‘You will be sent by boat to England. Tomeu will take you. But I would ask something of you before you leave us. Your rank will allow you access to the higher echelons of the English military and we need to know the intentions of the British parliament’s actions against the French here in Spain. Someone will contact you wearing this.’ He brought a ruby brooch out of his pocket to show him, the gem substantial and the gold catching the light. ‘Any information you can gather would be helpful. Sometimes it is the very smallest of facts that can make a difference.’

      And with that he was gone, leaving his daughter behind as the others departed with him.

      ‘He trusts you.’ Her words came quietly. ‘He would not have let this meeting run on for as long as it has if he did not.’

      ‘He knows I know about...?’ One hand gestured towards her.

      ‘That I am a girl? Indeed. Did you not hear his warning?’

      ‘Then why did he leave you here? Now?’

      At that she laughed. ‘You cannot guess, Capitán?’ Her green eyes glittered with the look of one who knew her worth. To the cause. To her father. To the machinations of a guerrilla movement whose very lifeblood depended on good information and loyal carriers.

      ‘Hell. It is you he will send?’

      ‘A woman can move in many circles that a man cannot.’ There was challenge in her words as she lifted her chin and the swollen mark on her cheek was easier to see.

      ‘Who hit you?’

      ‘In a place of war, emotions can run high.’

      For the first time in his company she blushed and he caught her left hand. The softness of her skin wound around his warmth.

      ‘How old are you?’

      ‘Nearly twenty-three.’

      ‘Old enough to know the dangers of subterfuge, then? Old enough to realise that men might not all be...kind?’

      ‘You warn me of the masculine appetite?’

      ‘That is one way of putting it, I suppose.’

      ‘This is Spain, Capitán, and I am hardly a green girl.’

      ‘You are married?’

      She did not answer.

      ‘You were married, but he is dead.’

      Horror marked her face. ‘How could you possibly know that?’

      With care he extended her palm and pointed to her third finger. ‘The skin is paler where you once wore a ring. Just here.’

      * * *

      She felt the lump at the back of her throat hitch up into fear. She felt other things, too, things she had no mandate to as she wrenched away from his touch and went to stand by the window, the blood that throbbed at her temples making her feel slightly sick.

      ‘How are you called? By your friends?’

      ‘Lucien.’

      ‘My mother named me Anna-Maria, but my father never took to it. He changed it when I was five and I became Alejandra, the defender of mankind. He did not have another child, you see.’

      ‘So the boy he had always wanted was lost to him and you would have to do?’

      She was shocked by his insight. ‘You can see such a truth in my father’s face just by looking at him?’

      The pale eyes narrowed as he shook his head. ‘He allows you to dress as a boy and roam the dangerous killing fields of armies. He will have trained you, no doubt, in marksmanship and in the using of a knife, but you are small and thin and this is a perilous time and place for any woman.’

      ‘What if I told you that such patronage works to my advantage, Capitán? What if I said you think like all the others and dismiss the mouse against the lion?’

      His glance went to her cheek.

      ‘I broke his wrist.’ When he smiled the wound on his lip stretched and blood blossomed.

      ‘Why did he hurt you?’

      ‘He felt the English should be left to rot in the arms of the enemy because of the way they betrayed us by departing in such an unseemly haste.’

      ‘A harsh sentiment.’

      ‘My father believes it, too, but then every war comes with a cost that you of all people should know of. The doctor said your back will be marked for good.’

      ‘Are you suggesting that I will survive?’

      ‘You thought you wouldn’t?’

      ‘Without you I am certain of it.’

      ‘There is still time to die, Capitán. The sea trip won’t be comfortable and inflammation and fever are always possibilities with such deep lacerations.’

      ‘Your bedside manner is lacking, señorita. One usually offers more hope when tending a helpless patient.’

      ‘You do not seem vulnerable in any way to me, Capitán Howard.’

      ‘With my back cut to ribbons...?’

      ‘Even with that. And you have been hurt before. Madeira or Dominica were dangerous places, then?’

      ‘Hardly. Our regiment was left to flounder and rot in the Indies because no politician ever thought to abandon the rich islands.’

      ‘For who in power should be brave enough to risk money for justice?’

      He laughed. ‘Who indeed?’

      Alejandra turned away from his smile. He surely must know how beautiful he was, even with his ruined lip and swollen eye. He should have been weeping with the pain from the wounds at his neck and back and yet here he lay, scanning the room and its every occupant for clues and for the answers to questions