Battlements lined up on the beach of thriving port city, facing the opposition on the sea. A young woman stood stolid at the head of the army, clutching a great Spanish flag in her right hand. She stared out at the approaching ships with acrimony. Good-for-nothing, idiotic, air-headed, arrogant, smug, foolish, disgusting, irritating, cocky, stupid bastards! I’ll show those weak Englishmen what the Latin spirit is made of!
A strong hand settled on her shoulder. Colombia glanced up to find Boss Spain’s strong features set in an expression of determination. “You should probably move out of the line of fire.”
Colombia scoffed and stepped away from his grip. “Nunca! I need to protect my land and people—I can’t just trust you to do it.” She crossed her arms and looked away from him.
His noble countenance changed into a more intimidating glare of frustration and annoyance when he looked down at her. “Te dije que te fueras.