Note: All rights to New World Zorro belong to the rightful owners. I make no money writing these stories, and I am grateful for the freedom to write about the characters I enjoy. I write for my own enjoyment.

The Letter

"Gushing Stream! No!"

He woke in a sweat, screaming her name. Ignacio De Soto took several deep breaths before his heart felt like it would settle back into its usual rhythm. She needed him and he wasn't there.

Glancing around his room, he soon realised he had woken from a nightmare. She wasn't there, he remembered. She was gone. Nothing was going to bring her back to him.

He rose and went to the wash basin, and splashed cold water onto his face to wake himself up completely. He went to the jail to check the prisoners, as he usually did if he woke in the middle of the night, and watched the dirty men sleeping. They would hang in the morning. These lot were cold blooded murderers, hand delivered to the pueblo jail the previous day, by none other than their town hero, Zorro. He smiled. He liked the way they were teaming up these days. Common adventures seemed to build commardrie. The reward money would be going in the poor box, as was the new arrangement.

He went to his desk and unfolded the soft white letter and reread it thoughtfully. It had given him his latest nightmare, he was quite sure. There was something not right going on with his friend.

Arriving the previous morning, it had been a delight to touch the paper, and know that she had recently touched it. He had smelled it, hoping for just a trace of her familiar scent to have lingered. He imagined the scent of English lavender water – the perfume she favoured above all others.

Dearest Ignacio

I have received your latest letter and I am aware that feelings cannot always be denied. I believe that the intensity will lessen in time.

I am glad that the garrison seems to be improving in leaps and bounds. Tell Don Diego I will need his recipe for cactus tea, as a friend of mine is rather unwell. She is expecting a child, and not everything is as it should be. I hope there is something that can be done.

As always I long to hear more about the pueblo and the people that live there. I hope you are getting your strength back, and that your duties will become less burdensome in time.

Gretel.

Short and strangely worded, it mentioned things that did not sit right with him. In the cold light of a single candle, he scrutinised it carefully. She had not received his latest letters, he realised. She was referring to his original letter, written in the heat of despairing heartbreak. He had more control over his emotions now. He was back at his desk. He was back defending the people he was beginning to care for.

He had changed into his uniform to visit the jail, and wearing the red and blue jacket made him edgy. He fidgeted with his lapels for a while, and tried to get them to sit just right. He didn't know why it was important. He glanced at the clock on the mantel and realised it was a few hours before dawn.

He stood on the landing of his office, glancing out at the empty streets. A lone soldier patrolled the main street, walking backwards and forwards, hopefully keeping his eyes open for trouble. Ignacio wondered if Zorro was active tonight in and around the pueblo.

There wasn't much demand for him these days. Victoria was safely in residence at the hacienda, with twin boys to watch over, and although she often spoke of returning to her duties as the tavern keeper, practically speaking it was impossible at this time. Her duties as a mother prevented much activity outside the hacienda. Don Diego also was less active, as it took both of them working hard to keep the children safe. Diego had mentioned the necessity of new staff specifically to watch over the pair.

He wondered if his new friend would have time to scrutinise the letter with him. He would have to keep the situation serious and leave out the emotions that they both realised were never going to lessen. Any talk of pursuing the woman met with Diego's firm disapproval. He respected the man's opinion above all others, knowing most of his secrets these days. The pardon had put paid to any retribution, even if he had been so inclined.

If Gushing Stream was in trouble, would Diego know any more information than he did? Did he have her real address? Could they investigate together, and calm Ignacio's fears?

Something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones.

Gushing Stream, the lovely Indian woman, with the perfect English accent was so very stubborn. He still could not believe how he had been refused so easily. She had given him herself, in a few hours of intense passion, but she was determined to refuse his proposal of marriage. She felt him too good for her. She thought she would ruin him just because she was an Indian, and from servant stock. She was wrong.

She had changed his views on Indians – enough to imagine her being the perfect woman for him. Her English upbringing had changed her into something far removed from the traditional Indian, but everyone always saw the colour of her skin, and classed her as inferior. She was intelligent and strong, educated in the manner of an upper middle class European woman, but she was inferior – just because of the colour of her skin.

She belonged nowhere and to no one. No white person completely accepted the lady into their society, and no Indian would accept her anywhere near them. They probably considered her a traitor to her race, or some such foolishness. She had been stolen as a young child, and had no choice in who she became. She was resigned to it and had no hope of becoming anything more.

She was a princess in his eyes. With her deep brown eyes, her soft reddish brown skin, and her long flowing hair, she was beautiful. Her beauty was extraordinary on the outside, and her inner beauty shone as she helped anyone around her that needed it. Her heart was full of compassion and mercy, but stubbornness and anger dwelt there too.

She had been too scarred and too damaged to imagine being anyone's wife, let alone a man she had quickly made into her hero. He was a diamond in the rough to her, and it always would amaze him that she trusted him so completely to become someone great. After all his years of trouble making, he had friends who had begun to trust him to do what was right. How had he been so lucky? How could his luck have changed so dramatically?

Ignacio stared into space. How on earth was he to reach her? He had no real address to contact her. She may be living in Monterey, but then again she may not be. With the delay with the letters, she may have even returned to Spain.

The thought sent an empty feeling through him. He went to the garrison stables and mounted his horse. He would take the issue up with Diego. He would state his concerns to the man plainly and unemotionally. Diego would hardly take him seriously if emotions came into it. If not he would take it to Padre Benitez. The church man had become his surrogate father these days, and he respected him as such.

He would ride to the river and back, just to stretch his horse and to remember the times that they had spent together. He usually did that when he couldn't sleep. His horse knew the way well enough, and the grass was green and the water fresh. His horse would relax and so would he.

Then he would deal with the letter properly. Even if it meant travelling to Spain.