Redemption of a Fallen Woman by Joanna Fulford

would have been.’
    ‘Do you regret the decision?’
    The question caught her unawares but it took less than a second for Elena to know the answer.
    ‘No, I don’t regret it. How could I?’
    ‘So you are not entirely indifferent to him.’
    ‘I think it would be hard to feel indifferent to him. He is a good man.’ It was an evasion and Elena knew it, but she could not have explained her feelings just then since she hardly knew what they were herself.
    Concha made no reply but smiled quietly.
    They stopped at midday to rest the horses and then broke out provisions for themselves. Elena, relaxing on a sun-warmed rock, thought that bread and cheese and sausage had never tasted so good. Perhaps it was something to do with the open space around her, or the blue vault overhead, or the scent of pine resin from the trees, or just knowing that at last she was free of pursuit, that her uncle no longer had any authority over her. That reposed in the hands of a very different kind of man. She glanced in Harry’s direction. Currently munching on a hunk of bread, he looked relaxed and entirely untroubled. Did he share her anxieties about the future? That last was something yet to be discussed. The advent of their marriage was still too new and too strange to permit such things. Besides, he might have had plans of his own which had been entirely overset. When he had spoken of their needing time to adjust he had hit the nail on the head.
    She finished eating and strolled towards the stream that ran among the rocks a few yards off. The water was cool and delicious, the sound restful. It was pleasant here and she felt more at ease than ever she had in the city. Here the noise and the bustle and the stench seemed a million miles away. She bent to scoop more water and then looked up quickly as a shadow fell across her. Harry stepped into her line of vision.
    ‘The water looks good.’
    ‘It is.’
    ‘Then I shall follow your example.’
    He came to join her, bending down to cup a drink in his hand. For so tall a man he moved with almost feline grace. She watched him covertly, taking in the chiselled profile of his face, the dark hair above the curve of his ear, the breadth of his shoulders beneath the fabric of his coat. His hands were large and strong yet unmistakably those of a gentleman. She knew their touch already, albeit briefly. The recollection created unwonted sensations, like his presence beside her now. To cover her awkwardness she took refuge in conversation.
    ‘How long will it take us to reach Seville, do you think?’
    ‘Without delays, between three and four weeks.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Of course, that is an optimistic reckoning.’
    ‘You think we shall run into problems?’
    ‘I hope not, but it’s best to be prepared.’
    ‘That is what Juan Montera used to say.’
    ‘Juan Montera?’
    ‘The leader of the guerrilla group that I rode with.’
    ‘Ah.’
    Mentally Elena cursed her tongue. She had not meant to allude to that time but it had come out anyway. She eyed him warily.
    ‘Does it displease you that I should speak about such things?’
    ‘No. Tell me if you wish to.’ The tone was kind and quietly encouraging. Suiting action to words he sat down and waited, making no attempt to probe even though she knew there must be many questions in his head concerning her past.
    ‘Montera was a farmer, until the French came and murdered his family, destroyed his crops and burned his village to the ground. They killed all who tried to resist. The survivors fled to the hills. Montera had some education and was intelligent besides. He took control, uniting the fugitives and shaping a fighting force to strike back against the enemy.’
    Harry nodded. ‘Such things happened across the whole country.’
    ‘As the French depredations increased, the numbers of the guerrilla group increased too. There were several women among them. Montera had no prejudice in that respect. If a woman was prepared to fight the French