Victoria busied herself in tidying up and closing the tavern for the night. She was pleasantly tired and satisfied with the dealings of the day. She bolted the large front doors, and extinguished the lights in the main room, before going through to her warm kitchen.

She added some small logs to her fire pit, allowing the fire to keep going slowly through the night, to warm her guests. She carefully placed a brick near the embers to warm for her bed, as the icy draughts had been irritating through the week.

Pouring her warm milk into a mug, she remembered the times when she didn't feel so lonely and wished the man she loved wasn't dead or otherwise detained. She sat on the bench by her table, cradling the mug in her hands, and stared at the rising steam that wafted above the milk.

What if Zorro was Diego? How had she come to that conclusion? Was it really the answer? Diego always seemed very uncomfortable about the masked man. Was it jealousy, or was that fear of discovery? He must know she would never betray him, surely he must? Or maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, and Zorro was someone else entirely.

A small sound, like the scrape of fabric against a wall, distracted her thoughts. It had only been a tiny sound, not enough to attract attention if she had been busy. She was sitting in silence, surrounded by the isolation the sleeping pueblo afforded her. She wouldn't have noticed the sound normally, but it sounded loud to her ears. Her pulse quickened.

Was she in danger? Was her tavern about to be robbed? Or was it the presence of something, someone much more missed and longed for?

"Zorro?" She whispered, standing quickly. Her senses were alert, her eyes peering into the gloom at the edge of the lighted room. Please let it be Zorro. He had been gone too long.

She clutched the nearby cloth tightly.

"If it is you, please... Please show yourself," Victoria said, in a loud whisper. Please be here, please, she pleaded silently, afraid to swallow her pride and beg the silence for an answer. Tears had pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away quickly.

"I had thought I would have no friend here, having deserted you completely for so long," came the response. The darkness shifted, and the masked man moved further into the light. He stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge her reaction.

She couldn't help it, she ran to his chest, feeling strong arms respond, holding her close to him. That perfect resting place, she thought, snuggling against his warmth, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. She could feel his heart racing, and glanced up at him, meeting those mysterious coloured eyes that she could not define. They were like the sea, sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes grey. There was a spark of wildness within them, that seems to spark her own wildness.

Zorro's eyes shifted to her lips and then back to her eyes. She held her breath, determined not to break whatever spell had prompted him to resurface, steeling herself for the possibility that this was a feverish dream, and not reality.

His lips were on hers within a moment, gentle at first but quickly building into a passion. He had missed her just as much, she thought with wonder. But if he missed her, where had he been? Why had he stayed away so long?

She opened her eyes and broke the spell. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him slightly back. His eyes opened wider, and he stepped back, taking her hands in his.

"I know you are angry with me, I fully deserve it."

"Why did you not send word that you were alright? Where have you been for so many weeks? People said you were dead, and I was starting to believe them," Victoria said, trying not to raise her voice, mindful of the sleeping pueblo and her guests just upstairs.

Zorro kissed each hand gently and released them. "Will you forgive me?"

"Of course, but I need answers. I am not a hen so easily taken by a fox. I need answers," Victoria said firmly. She was fighting back tears again, and she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Even though her tears were for him.

Zorro sighed and glanced away for a moment. "I have wanted to...needed to tell you..." He began and then stopped. "I am afraid of you. You are not a hen, Victoria. You could destroy me with a word, no, by a frown. I am helpless before you."

"I cannot understand that. You are able to face fifteen lancers in the plaza without breaking a sweat, surely I am nothing to them," Victoria answered, folding her arms. "How could I destroy the mighty Zorro?"

"I have no sword for this fight, Victoria. I have no skills of fine talking or romance, my talent is only for the sabre," Zorro said, softly.

"Nonsense," Victoria said, relaxing a little. "I have heard you recite poetry."

Poetry? Why had that come to mind? What poem had it been? The one she had shared with Diego that night in the windmill. Why had Zorro chosen to recite that particular poem?

Zorro was staring at her, speechless. Powerless, as he had claimed. Obviously, he had no answer for that statement. He must be Diego, she decided, but until he admitted it to her, she could pretend as well.

"Are you playing games with me, Senor?"

"No, Senorita. I would never dare," Zorro said seriously. "I was seriously injured and needed to recover. It was a long recovery."

He slowly presented a long-stemmed rose from the folds of his cloak, somehow uncrushed from his ride. "I thought you would appreciate a present."

She flew to his arms again, threatening to crush the perfect rose, which Zorro placed carefully on the table, while he maintained his balance. His arms went around her comfortingly.

Victoria felt the tears start, and she tried to draw in a deep breath to steady herself. A sob escaped her, and she collapsed against him, sobbing, with tears running down her face.

Zorro held her tightly, and let her cry. He murmured soothing things to her, as he stroked her hair until she managed to control herself.

Red-faced she stepped away from him, and he handed her a black silk handkerchief. He didn't comment on her emotions, and she said nothing for a moment, turning aside to hide her face from him.

"Please forgive me, querida," Zorro said, breaking the awkwardness of the silence between them. "I had no thought to your feelings, what you must have thought when there was no word from me."

"I will always forgive you. You don't need to be afraid of me. I love you," Victoria said, fighting the urge to cry again. "Even if you were completely boring under that mask. Even if you were Diego de la Vega."

He startled and then hid his surprise quickly, but Victoria had seen it.

"Well, Don Diego is pretty boring, senorita," he said with a smile. "Surely I wouldn't be that boring?"

"Anything is possible."

Zorro chuckled and bowed before leaving as silently as he had arrived. She picked up the rose and lifted it to her nose to breathe in the heavy perfume. It reminded her of the fancy soaps that had been in the guest room at the grand hacienda.

All she really knew for sure was that she loved him. Whether he was Diego...or especially if he was Diego?

zzz

Zorro raced away from the tavern with a mixture of light-hearted joy and a feeling of serious threat entering his heart. He had to find the children, what was he doing racing around the district, dressed in the mask, when he could be finding the children?

He wondered if his attitude had been sparked by his uncle's dismissive attitude to him. A feeling of being challenged every time Sebastian looked at him? A feeling that his uncle knew a lot more than he shared?

Zorro shook his head, which was hard to do when at full gallop. He was overreacting. He was oversensitive. As soon as he got back into his normal routine, he would feel more settled. Once the children were found, and these cutthroats dealt with, then everything would calm down.