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      He flushed. ‘Because tears are for women?’

      ‘No. No, I did not mean that at all. Are you afraid, Geraint?’

      ‘A coward, you mean?’

      ‘I meant nothing of the sort! I cannot believe there is a man in uniform who has not been afraid at some point. I merely meant...’

      ‘Forget it.’ Geraint pulled out a handkerchief from one of the capacious pockets of his tunic.

      His expression was closed, unreadable. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, or to imply...’

      ‘I said forget it.’ He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths before opening them again. ‘Let’s not talk about the war, Flora,’ he said in a gentler voice. ‘Let’s pretend it’s not happening, for just one day.’

      Hurt. He was hurt, and he was hiding something. What had he said earlier? It’s complicated. Flora longed to ask him what, exactly, was so complicated, but he was so very determined that she should not know, and she could not bear the thought of him walking away from her. Not today. She shivered. ‘It’s getting cold, but I know a place nearby, a shepherds’ bothy, which has a fire.’