Victoria slept soundly until the next morning after she went back to bed. The sunlight on her face woke her, and she startled. Where was she? This wasn't her bed. Realisation of the previous day's events slowly came to mind, and she lay back down, and pulled the quilt around her for a moment. The de la Vegas had such thick blankets and everything was so comfortable, she would be sorry to get up.

Curiosity got the better of her, as she wondered what had happened after she drifted off. She glanced around the room, noting the open curtains, the dry and unwrinkled clothes from yesterday, and fresh water in the wash basin. She got up and tiptoed to the stand, dipping her finger into the water. Still warm, and a nice thick washcloth sat to the side of the bowl with a small cake of soap.

A enthusiastic but still quite small fire blazed in the small fireplace. She could get herself presentable, and wash away some of the grime of the last couple of days. She picked up the small cake of soap, and turned it over in her hands. It was a rich red colour, and smelled of flowers when she sniffed at it with curiosity. Not just flowers, roses.

She washed arms, legs, hands and face, drying herself quickly by the fire, and dressed as quickly as she could. She had missed dinner the previous night, and breakfast would have come and gone by now. Her stomach growled at her, but she could wait if she needed to.

She sat for a moment to brush her hair, sitting at the small dressing table. Everything was so new, so feminine. Who had they been bought for? There was no musty or aged smell to anything this morning. Elena's clothes were in the closet, she had not mistaken that. But nothing else would have been Elena's. The brush had never been used before, she could swear it. No one else had used the soap before her. It wasn't from Elena's time.

Who was it for? She didn't come that often that it would have been for her use. Overnight visits were few and far between especially as she grew into a woman, it was not done to be unchaperoned in a man's home without a wife as hostess. She had never considered her reputation to be at stake before. Alejandro was like a father to her, and any infatuation in that quarter was laughable.

Diego… She would have said he was like a brother to her, and he was… An infatuation was less laughable and more serious. Could he be more than a brother? She wondered if she had imagined that skip of her heart all those years before, when he first returned home. He had looked so handsome and there had been something in his eyes. She wondered if his heart had skipped as well, because his eyes had met hers with so much heat that she could have melted away. How had she forgotten that moment? She had put it to the back of her mind, tried to forget it, but it still came unbidden to her mind whenever she considered if Diego could be more than a brother. That was the answer, Diego would easily be more than a brother to her. If he was that way inclined. Was she interested in Diego - as more than a friend? Is that why she had kissed him in the cavern, hoping he was Zorro? As if he was Zorro?

Her hands went to her heated cheeks , and she glanced at her reflection. She had gone pink with...what? Was she embarrassed? Was she ashamed? Goodness she needed to think of something else, before she did something else improper. She might have to avoid her friend for a while. Her kitchen would be missing her.

zzzz

Diego was pacing the floor outside the guest room where Alonso was being examined by Dr Hernandez. Alejandro watched his son, noting his impatience, so unlike his normal demeanor.

The door opened and Diego pounced on the doctor.

"That young man is lucky to be alive."

"Was the wound worse than first thought?"

"He is completely exhausted, and half starved. I don't think he's had a decent sleep for at least a week. He needs lots of rest and healthy food."

"And the gunshot wound?"

"I think you bandaged it nice and early, Diego. No sign of any problems in that area. He didn't lose too much blood, which was fortunate. It could have killed him on top of all the other problems."

Diego turned and went into the room, letting Alejandro and the doctor talk together a little more calmly. The man was still sleeping, still pale and still a mystery.

"Diego," Alejandro said, going to his son. "That man looks so much like you that it frightens me."

Diego nodded, accepting the idea without comment. It disturbed him as well, but in other ways. He was constantly being compared to this man - would that led to problems? In Zorro's suit, they would also be identical, which could add to more questions. He glanced out the window, in an attempt to calm his racing thoughts.

"Diego, have you eaten today?" Alejandro's voice sounded like it came from far away. "I would like you to eat something."

Diego thought to himself. Had he eaten yet today? It was hard to think back even a few hours.

"Did Victoria go home?"

"No, I told the servants to let her sleep as long as she needed to. She's probably hungry as well. You may as well play the host and eat with her so she doesn't feel like she is imposing."

"Victoria knows she is welcome here any time, welcome to treat our home as her own."

"Does she? She's not a child anymore, Diego."

"I suppose she is not," Diego said, distractedly. He left the room, wondering if Victoria was awake yet. Did she feel like she was imposing? Conventions aside, she was more welcome than anyone else. Social conventions be damned, if it interfered with their friendship. Zorro was bad enough an obstacle than old biddies and their gossip.