The meeting with the Dons lasted long into the night and when they left, so did the purpose that had been serving as Alejandro's substitute energy. Even ten years ago he would not have felt this weariness, but time was a thief that spared no one, not even soldiers who were cousin to Kings.
He looked over at Felipe, who had accompanied his men into town. The boy was lying on a bench, asleep, which was likely a blessing.
"Don Alejandro?" It was Victoria's voice, low and welcome.
He turned and looked up at her, not surprised to see her hesitant stance, wrapped in a heavy shawl, or the dark lines beneath her eyes.
He stood and offered a hand to her. "Victoria, my dear."
She accepted his embrace and he could feel her small frame shaking against him. But then she backed away and turned her head. He understood. She had always been so fiercely independent, so determined to be her own woman. So like his Elena, she was, though the comparison wasn't immediately obvious.
"Diego has to be all right, he has to be," she said. Her voice was rough, as if it had gone long unused. Perhaps it had. In the entire evening, he had seen only her kitchen help, not Victoria herself.
"The last time I saw him, I was so horrible to him." She still wasn't looking at him. "That can't be the end, I can't leave it like that."
That was something Alejandro understood all too well. "I am sure Diego understands that. He always does."
She shook her head violently. "Do you know, Zorro once suggested that I marry someone like Diego and I laughed. I laughed. I cannot understand that now."
Alejandro tried to take her shoulders again, but she shook him off.
"Victoria, this is useless. We have all had our misunderstandings with Diego. That cannot be helped. But it does no good for us to dwell on it now."
"It's all I have! Diego is gone and Zorro, Zorro is dead. He's dead."
There were tears streaming down her face now and she mouthed the name of her former lover again before collapsing into the nearest chair and giving in entirely to her sobs.
Alejandro watched for a moment, and could not help but hate her a little for grieving more for Zorro than for his son. Even in this, Diego had to come second.
Except wasn't he just as guilty? Had there not been countless times where he'd wished, sometimes to Diego's face, that he had a son who was just a bit more like the masked vigilante?
It was not Victoria's fault, any more than it had been Diego's that he was not more like the man she was crying for. If the rumors of Zorro's death could be believed, Victoria had been there when the alcalde had fired his shot, had seen the man she'd waited seven years to be with shot down. He had only had to deal with Diego's disappearance for less than one day, though it might seem a hundred. She had been here, alone, for over a week.
She was struggling against her tears. She would hate it, he knew, to break down like this in front of him. Diego would know what to do. Felipe even could handle this better. But he thought he understood her. They were not so unalike, the two of them.
She would need this. He remembered his anger after Elena had been taken from him, his helplessness. But he had had Diego to worry about, and the challenges of the ranch and his duty to his tenants to fill his days. She had no such purpose, nor any real memories like he shared with Elena to comfort when the night fell and you were left with nothing but regrets.
He sat beside her on the bench and pulled her against his side. She cried for a long while, but he said nothing. She stopped after a time and just leaned on him, drained.
"You should not be here alone," he said. "He would not want it."
"Yes, I know," she said, no fight left to her voice, "and I have been so useless. My staff has been running the tavern. They must think I have gone crazy."
"I think they might understand you better than that," he said, standing. They had stayed here too long. The night was late, and he was tired, and although it killed him, he must get some rest before the morning if he was to be of any use.
"Victoria," he said, "I would be honored if you would come to stay with us. It would help Felipe, I think, and I would welcome the company, too."
She smiled gently and stood beside him. Some of the dead look in her eyes had been replaced by flinty determination. "We are going to find him, Don Alejandro. You must believe that."
She sounded so sure of herself. He had no reason to believe her, but a part of him did.
Yes, she is right. You have to believe in that.
"Come," he said. "Let us go home."
