The army officer stared at Megan. "Who are you? What are you doing in there? I'm Captain Rodriguez, and we're looking for - "

"You're just in time, Captain." She grabbed his arm. "My two little sons have typhoid fever, and I have to get them to a doctor. You must come in and help me with them."

"Typhoid fever?"

"Yes." Megan was pulling on his arm. "It is terrible. They are burning up. They are covered with sores and are very sick. Bring your men in and help me carry them out to - "

"Senora! You must be mad. That is highly contagious."

"Never mind that. They need your help. They may be dying." She was pulling on his arm.

"Let go of me."

"You can't leave me. What will I do?"

"Get back inside and stay there until we can notify the police to send an ambulance or a doctor."

"But - "

"That's an order, senora. Get inside."

He called out, "Sergeant, we're moving out of here."

Megan closed the front door and leaned against it, drained.

Jaime was staring at her in stunned amazement. "My God, that was brilliant. Where did you learn to he like that?"

Megan turned to him and sighed. "When I was in the orphanage, we had to learn to defend ourselves. I hope God will forgive me."

"I wish I could have seen the look on that captain's face." Jaime burst into laughter. "Typhoid fever! Jesus Christ!" He saw the look on Megan's face. "I beg your pardon, Sister."

From outside they could hear the sounds of the soldiers packing their tents and moving out.

When the troops had departed, Jaime said, "The police will be here soon. Anyway, we have an appointment in Logrono."

Fifteen minutes after the soldiers had departed, Jaime said, "It should be safe to leave now." He turned to Felix. "See what you can pick up in town. Preferably a sedan."

Felix grinned. "No problem."

Half an hour later they were in a beat-up gray sedan heading east.

To Megan's surprise, she was seated next to Jaime. Felix and Amparo were in the backseat. Jaime glanced at Megan, a grin on his face.

"Typhoid fever," he said, and burst out laughing.

Megan smiled. "He did seem eager to get away, didn't he?"

"Did you say you were in an orphanage, Sister?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In avila."

"You don't look Spanish."

"So I've been told."

"It must have been hell for you in the orphanage."

She was startled by the unexpected concern. "It could have been," she said. "But it wasn't." I wouldn't let it be, she thought.

"Do you have any idea who your parents were?"

Megan recalled her fantasies. "Oh, yes. My father was a brave Englishman who drove an ambulance for the Loyalists in the Spanish Civil War. My mother was killed in the fighting and I was left on the doorstep of a farmhouse." Megan shrugged. "Or my father was a foreign prince who had an affair with a peasant girl and abandoned me to avoid a scandal."

Jaime glanced at her, saying nothing.

"I - " she stopped abruptly. "I don't know who my parents were."

They drove on in silence for a while.

"How long were you behind the walls of the convent?"

"About fifteen years."

Jaime was astonished. "Jesus!" Hastily he added, "I beg your pardon, Sister. But it's like talking to someone from another planet. You have no idea what's happened in the world in the past fifteen years."

"I'm sure that whatever changed is only temporary. It will change again."

"Do you still want to go back to a convent?"

The question took Megan by surprise.

"Of course."

"Why?" Jaime made a sweeping gesture. "I mean - there is so much that you must miss behind the walls. Here we have music and poetry. Spain gave the world Cervantes and Picasso, Lorca, Pizarro, de Soto, Cortes. This is a magical country."

There was a surprising mellowness about this man, a soft fire.

Unexpectedly, Jaime said, "I'm sorry for wanting to desert you earlier, Sister. It was nothing personal. I have had bad experiences with your Church."

"That is difficult to believe."

"Believe it." His voice was bitter.

In his mind's eye he could see the buildings and statues and streets of Guernica exploding in showers of death. He could still hear the screams of the bombs mingling with the screams of the helpless victims being torn apart. The only place of sanctuary was the church.

The priests have locked the church. They won't let us in.

And the deadly hail of bullets that had murdered his mother and father and sisters. No. Not the bullets, Jaime thought. The Church.

"Your Church stood behind Franco and allowed unspeakable things to be done to innocent civilians."

"I'm sure the Church protested," Megan said.

"No. It wasn't until nuns were being raped by his Falangists and priests were being murdered and churches were being burned that finally the pope broke with Franco. But that didn't bring my mother or father or sisters back to life."

The passion in his voice was frightening.

"I'm sorry. But that was long ago. The war is over."

"No. Not for us it isn't. The government will still not permit us to fly the Basque flag or celebrate our national holidays or speak our own language. No, Sister. We're still being oppressed. We'll keep on fighting until we gain our independence. There are half a million Basques in Spain and a hundred fifty thousand more in France. We want our independence - but your God is too busy to help us."

Megan said earnestly, "God cannot take sides, for He is in all of us. We are all a part of Him, and when we try to destroy Him, we destroy ourselves."

To Megan's surprise, Jaime smiled. "We are a lot alike, you and I, Sister."

"We are?"

"We may believe in different things, but we believe with a passion. Most people go through life without caring deeply about anything. You devote your life to God; I devote my life to my cause. We care."

And Megan thought: Do I care enough? And if I do, why am I enjoying being with this man? I should be thinking only of returning to a convent There was a power in Jaime Miro that was like a magnet. Is he like Manolete? Risking his life taking daring chances because he has nothing to lose?

"What will they do to you if the soldiers catch you?" Megan asked.

"Execute me." He said it so matter-of-factly that for a moment Megan thought she had misunderstood.

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Of course I'm afraid. We're all afraid. None of us wants to die, Sister. We'll meet your God soon enough. We don't want to rush it."

"Have you done such terrible things?"

"That depends on your point of view. The difference between a patriot and a rebel depends on who is in power at the moment. The government calls us terrorists. We call ourselves freedom fighters. Jean Jacques Rousseau said that freedom is the power to choose our own chains. I want that freedom." He studied her a moment. "But you don't have to concern yourself with any of these things, do you? Once you're back in the convent, you'll no longer be interested in the world outside."

Was that true? Being out in the world again had turned her life upside down. Had she given up her freedom? There was so much she wanted to know, so much she had to learn. She felt like an artist with a blank canvas about to start sketching a new life. If I go back to a convent, she thought, I will be shut away from life again. And even as she thought it, Megan was appalled by the word if. When I go back, she corrected herself hastily. Of course I'm going back. I have nowhere else to go.

They camped that night in the woods.

Jaime said, "We're about thirty miles from Logrono and we aren't supposed to meet the others for two days. It will be safer for us to stay on the move until then. So tomorrow we will head toward Vitoria. The next day we'll go into Logrono and just a few hours after that, Sister, you'll be at the convent in Mendavia."

Forever. "Will you be all right?" Megan asked.

"Are you worried about my soul, Sister, or my body?"

Megan found herself blushing.

"Nothing will happen to me. I'll cross the border into France for a while."

"I will pray for you," Megan told him.

"Thank you," he said gravely. "I will think of you praying for me and it will make me feel safer. Get some sleep now."

As Megan turned to he down, she saw Amparo staring at her from the far end of the clearing. There was a look of naked hatred on her face.

No one takes my man from me. No one.