Chapter 8

Victoria raised up her head slowly to see the shocked faces of Diego and Andrea staring down at her. Sheer mortification filled her being.

"Victoria!" Diego knelt down beside her in concern.

"Zita!" Andrea yelled, and bolted after the kitten through the barrier of bushes.

"Are you hurt?" Diego's right hand went to her waist and the other reached for her left hand, but Victoria batted it away and glared up at him. Her anger flared to take precedence over her embarrassment.

"No, I'm not all right. Would you be?" She spat out the words as she pushed up off the ground.

"Oh, I've lost a shoe!" Still on her knees, she looked about, trying to see it. "And you! I can't believe you! What were you doing anyway, Diego?"

"I was saving the kitten," he answered reasonably. "It fell down between the slats of the... no, wait a minute!" He paused and his tone became teasing. "Why should I explain anything? What were you doing? There in the bushes, hmm? Spying on me?"

"Spying!" But Victoria noticed nothing of his manner. She was angry. As she reached up to brush the dirt from her shoulder, she immediately cried out, "Owww!"

"What is it?"

"My back! It —" With her other hand, she tried to reach back around to feel the area between her shoulder blades. "Oh, no!" she wailed.

"What? Victoria? Are you hurt?"

"My dress!" Victoria's face crumpled into ready tears. "My dress… and he bought it for me!"

"He?" Diego looked confused as he twirled her around swiftly to get a better look at her back, expecting there to be blood there at the very least. "Victoria, where does it hurt?"

"Oh, Diego, leave me alone!" She stepped away from him and her hands covered her face. "Haven't you done enough?"

"I?" Diego looked confused. "What have I done?"

She rounded on him. "Hiding in the bushes with señoritas, doing goodness knows what! And now my dress is torn!"

"I was not hiding! And we weren't doing any—" Diego broke off and looked at her sternly. "Victoria, it is just a dress. It can —"

"Just a dress! Oh, Diego!" She wanted to scream at him. Didn't he understand anything! "This is…" She looked down and saw even more damage done to the delicate material by the prickly leaves of the bushes, and tears began to well in her eyes. "Zorro gave me this dress," she said softly and a single tear slid down her cheek.

A quick series of emotions flickered across Diego's face, each one warring for dominance in his mind. Without even knowing he'd spoken, he said, "Zorro." His eyes took in the now-ruined dress with vague recognition. Yes, he'd given it to her as Zorro. In fact, he'd given her many things as Zorro that she would never have accepted from him otherwise. For some reason, a wave of despair swept over him.

"Well, since I can't seem to do or say anything right just now, why don't I leave."

"Why don't you! This is all your fault anyway!" She stamped her foot.

"I will!"

"Fine!"

Diego stomped off, tearing his way through the small wall of bushes that had separated them from a small, but growing, gathering of listeners. The people parted when Diego appeared and, at once, seemed to be having their own conversations, but, in truth, they had heard every word of the interchange between the two.

Victoria returned to looking for her shoe. She finally saw it peeking out from underneath a low branch of one of the bushes, but as she bent down to reach for it, another small, white, soft leather shoe appeared right in front of her face.

She looked up to see Andrea, a vision in white satin, cuddling the kitten and staring down at her fiercely. "Well, if it isn't the tavern wench! You certainly messed up my plans tonight! How dare you!"

Victoria kept her eyes locked on the young señorita, grabbed her own shoe by feel, and slowly rose to her feet.

"Well?" the girl said it like a challenge.

"Well what?" Victoria asked, letting the irritation show in her voice. She hopped on one foot as she slipped her other foot back into the shoe, all the while knowing how foolish a picture she must present.

"What are you doing chasing after Diego?"

"Chasing after Diego!" Victoria exclaimed, "Of all the ridiculous notions. Chasing Diego, indeed!" Victoria, wishing she was taller, drew herself up to her full height, and said evenly, "Besides, I owe you no explanation for anything I do."

"You want Zorro all to yourself and now you want Diego as well. I think that's one man too many for one such as you." Andrea said with a menacing smile.

"One such as me?" Victoria couldn't believe her ears. The night had gone from bad to worse and she just wanted it to be over. There was no way she was going to stand here and be insulted by some uppity señorita! She turned to go and made her way back toward the back door of the tavern, keeping out of sight from the crowd.

But Andrea followed after her, taunting her. "Yes. You're not a lady. You're a tavern wench, nothing more! You are not good enough for Diego. Of course, I don't know about Zorro. Maybe he likes his women of a lower class."

The words dwindled away in sound as Victoria walked on, away from Andrea, away from the celebration.

Victoria's room was like a welcomed haven. There were no harsh words for her here, no prying eyes. Grateful for the solitude, she collapsed on her bed and let herself cry uncontrollably for a few minutes. It had been a long time since she had felt so miserable and alone.

Slowly, she choked back her tears and sat up wiping her eyes.

She had to go back out there. As much as she didn't want to, she knew she had to go back out in the plaza and make an appearance. If she knew anything about spiteful women, she knew that it would not take long before Andrea was spreading her vicious venom throughout the pueblo. And if Victoria wanted to retain the respect she had fought so hard to attain, she had better head it off by going back out there and at least looking like she was enjoying the celebration.

Selecting another gown from the wardrobe, she laid it out on the bed and started to change. The dress was rather plain compared to the other one. But it was serviceable. Serviceable. What a word. Then it will suit a serving tavern wench perfectly, she thought bitterly. As she closed the door to her bedroom behind her and began walking down the stairs, the look on her face was sheer determination.

Diego had stomped off through the crowd, oblivious to all those about him. He was tired, very tired. He was physically, mentally and emotionally tired from all the thousands of small tasks and errands he had done as both himself and as Zorro. But mostly — he was tired of women!

He considered himself a good judge of character. It helped him in his fight as Zorro frequently. But women were emerging in almost every area of his life as problems. It seemed that everywhere he turned, there was a woman who either hated him or loved him and intent on creating a dramatic scene of some kind displaying those feelings.

Finding himself in the middle of the dance floor, he looked around and saw couples talking, dancing, and laughing together. His heart ached for just that kind of closeness. Standing in the center of a crowd of reveling people, Diego felt very alone.

Then his eyes became fixed on one particular couple. He watched with interest as Alcalde De Soto, his arm around Señorita Romero, slipped a neat little note into her tiny gloved hand. Diego chuckled bitterly. At least the alcalde was having no problem of a romantic nature this night.

Diego hesitated, and then he turned toward the tavern, making his way slowly through the crowd. The dancers buffeted him this way and that, and he dodged them as best he could, trying not to step on any toes. It took him several minutes, and when he emerged from the crowd, he was a stone's throw away from the alcalde again.

Now, De Soto was standing with Señorita Ramos, another of the hundred señoritas from Spain, and he was pressing a similar small, folded note into her hand.

Diego's eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. "I warned him," he hissed under his breath. Then, with all thoughts of Victoria retreating to a corner of his brain, Diego turned to walk around the outside of the plaza full of people, and headed for the spot where Esperanza was tethered.

Victoria emerged from the tavern, choosing to use the back door so her reentry into the plaza would not be as dramatic. Now she was dressed in a simple white gown, sprigged with small blue flowers. Knowing the dress would pale against the rich, expensive ones of the señoritas from Spain, she was still satisfied. She didn't want any more attention for herself. She wanted this night to end quickly and be able to retreat back up to her bedroom. Tonight was going to be a good night for a long cry.

Staying near the long tables of food, she looked out over the crowd. Several people caught her eye and waved. She answered them all with a sweet smile she didn't feel and sipped absentmindedly at her glass of lemonade. But she was unable to keep her own eyes from scanning the crowd for a certain tall caballero.

The trip back to the hacienda was quick. Zorro retraced his tracks and was back on the outskirts of the pueblo in hardly any time at all. He left Tornado in the brush a little way from the back of the tavern, and then made his way slowly back to the other side of the plaza, keeping to the rear of the buildings and the deep shadowed alleyways.

Masked eyes looked out over the heads of the crowd, searching for De Soto. A fire burned in them, taking its heat from the anger in his heart. The alcalde was about to pay for things of which he was not even guilty. Zorro realized that on some level, but he really didn't care tonight. There were plenty of foul deeds that belonged at De Soto's feet for which the man had never paid.

Zorro smiled as the alcalde came into view. De Soto had paused on the perimeter of the crowd and actually turned away from it, facing down the alley where Zorro waited. The masked man watched as he took out a small bundle of papers from inside his jacket. Licking his lips, the alcalde flipped through the small notes until he found the one he sought. An eager smile spread across his face as he turned once more to face the crowd.

But the step he had intended to take out into the dancing people was prevented. His whole body was jerked back sharply as the black leather whip lashed out and wrapped around his ankle. De Soto lost his footing and fell chest down onto the dirt alley. The sound of the impact went unheard above the din of the celebrating, so no one turned to watch as Zorro reeled the alcalde, like a fish on a hook, back toward where he stood, consumed in shadow.

"Alcalde!" Zorro bowed elegantly toward the fuming man. "Buenas noches."

"Zorro! I'll have your head for this!"

"Yes, yes, I have heard the threats before." Zorro reached down and took the bundle of notes still clutched in the man's hands. As he spread them in a fan with one hand, Zorro said, "Tsk, tsk! 'to Sarita,' 'to Roslyn,' 'to Andrea.' Alcalde, the same poems for them all? Do you know if they catch you at this, it will be far worse punishment at their hands than it is going to be from mine?"

"Those are private!" De Soto stumbled to his feet, brushing himself off as he said, "This is none of your business!"

"Ah, but it is. I did warn you, did I not? You're playing with the affections of these señoritas." Zorro's smile broadened as he noted that, behind the alcalde, several of the señoritas named on the notes had gathered quietly and were watching De Soto with curiosity.

"So what if I am! I don't know which one I want yet. Isn't that the idea of courtship?"

"So which one do you want?" Zorro asked and looked back at the notes. "Sarita? Silvia? Doloris?"

"Ah, Sarita, now she is so sweet," he couldn't help but answer. "But she can't hold a candle to Doloris. Such a beautiful girl!"

The first fan that hit the alcalde from behind was Sarita's. The second one was Roslyn's. After that, it was hard to tell, for the alcalde was facing a barrage of slaps from six different señoritas. The fury of it even took Zorro aback, and he stepped forth from the shadows in concern for the man's safety.

"Ladies!" he said, "please!"

Then all heads turned toward Zorro.

"Zorro!"

"At last!"

"Is it really him?"

The señoritas let go their holds on the alcalde, and he slumped to his knees, his hands still up to protect his face, as they swarmed past him. They converged upon Zorro, surrounding him in seconds, and the bickering began.

"I saw him first!"

"No, you didn't!

"He's mine!"

"Zorro, please, you've got to —"

The voices drowned each other out as Zorro's answers and pleas got lost in the din. He turned quickly around as their hands went everywhere, touching his chest, his back, his scabbard. The whip was torn from his hand by one of them and it unnerved him greatly. Outlaws and lancers he could combat; young señoritas intent on having a piece of him was quite another matter. Hemmed in like a cornered wild animal, he ducked his head down, trying to squeeze through the wall of women.

A hand grazed his head as he propelled himself forward, and in one quick, horrified moment, he realized his mask was gone!

Panic swelled in his veins and he was thankful for the darkness of the alley. Covering his face with both hands, he lunged forward, away from the señoritas, and began to run, knowing they were following too, dashing after their prey.

Thankfully, his legs were longer and he was in much better physical shape than any of them. Before he reached the back of the tavern, he had lost his pursuers. But his heart still beat ferociously, for he knew he was dressed in black silk with no mask to hide him.

He pursed his lips to whistle for Tornado, but stopped himself. The sounds of the women following him, searching for him were closer than the horse to him. They would reach him before Tornado could. So he chose a different escape.

The kitchen was deserted and he said a silent prayer as he quickly made his way through the quiet tavern to the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he gained the level of Victoria's room quickly and let himself in the door.

He could almost taste the relief he felt as he leaned against the closed door. For the second time tonight, this room was a haven.