Heavily leaning on the arm Señor de la Vega had gallantly proffered to help her walk in spite of her injured leg, Luz saw a man approach them; a man with gray hair and very dignified bearing, dressed elegantly – yet simply – enough for her to acknowledge him as one of these rich landowners of California, no doubt a caballero.

The man was elderly, but not yet too much an old man according to her personal standards, and though he was certainly a little bit taller in the past he was now more or less the same height as she was herself. His silver mane was still relatively luxuriant and a thin moustache adorned his upper lip.

"Ah Señorita, it's a real relief to see you in good health," he said, a broad smile on his lips.

His gaze seemed to almost imperceptibly linger on her right arm wrapped around Señor de la Vega's, and his smile seemed to reach his eyes where something, some small sparkle, twinkled fleetingly.

Señor de la Vega – Don Diego, as the innkeeper had called him, right? – turned to her:

"Señorita, please allow me to introduce my father, Don Alejandro."

The latter took her left hand – the only one that was unused – and lifted it halfway up, at waist level. Luz did her best to hide the wince that this move had caused by tugging, even very lightly, at her injured shoulder. The man then bent over her hand that he gently and respectfully kissed before standing back up straight and introducing himself:

"Alejandro de la Vega, at your service, milady."

Not wanting to be outdone by such courteous greeting and homage, so urbane and impeccable, Luz told herself she couldn't possibly avoid offering him a real and equally impeccable curtsey. Which hardly helped matters with her, given the state her right thigh was currently in. Really all she needed!

Bracing herself and gritting her teeth, she discreetly shifted her full weight to her left leg while she moved her right foot backwards and let go of Don Diego's arm; then, slowly, carefully, she bent her left knee while bowing her shoulders and head as gracefully as she could. At least so, head down, she didn't have to hold back the wince caused by both the muscle stretching in her slightly bent right leg and her left arm moving to punctuate her curtsey as elegantly as possible. She then unbent with as much difficulty as she had previously bent down and, holding back a sigh of relief once this little feat achieved, she again masked her pain behind a facade of perfect civility: it was after all absolutely not the man's fault that her upper leg was lacerated and currently burning-hot as if a poker had been applied there.

"Luz Alacen," she in turn introduced herself. "Greatly honoured, Don Alejandro."

"The honour is mine Señorita," he replied, obviously not wanting to be outdone in rivalling in pleasantries.

According to the look on his face, Don Alejandro had apparently been impressed by her deep curtsey. Well, he could! she thought inwardly, considering what it had cost her in effort, pain and concealment!

Yes, he seemed pretty impressed and delighted, too, without her understanding fully why. Then he glanced again at his son, not adding any word.

Don Diego seemed to hesitate over whether or not offering her his arm again, then he appeared to choose not to do so, but instead he set his left hand very gently in the small of her back – oh, barely, just the tips of his fingers! – and led her to a table situated a few steps forth, whence his father had come.

Don Alejandro stepped aside to let her walk past him, and at the same time his son spoke again:

"And I believe there is a young man here who's eager to thank you, señorita."

Just when the older man moved aside, she could see behind him the young man she had crossed paths with that same morning – no! she corrected herself, two days earlier! – on the Camino Real.

Incidentally, the past two days could be read in the stubble covering his cheeks and chin as well as in those slightly hollow cheeks or in the shadows under his eyes, and even in his rumpled clothes, a clear sign that they have been slept in. He looked tried, tired, and more than a bit unkempt, but even so his smile and eyes were speaking volumes as to how relieved he felt.

She was about to make a careful small step forth when a sharp pain in her right thigh reminded her that although Don Alejandro de la Vega was absolutely not to blame for her current state, the same could not be said of his grandson. But at once, the idea of what the young man had to go through in the aftermath, the thought of the anguish and injustice he had certainly felt during the two long days he spent in jail somewhat eased her resentment, and compassion took precedence over any personal grudge. And if she was already feeling compassion, she knew she wasn't very far from forgiveness anymore.

He, for his part, hadn't perhaps reached the stage of remorse yet, but anyway she could guess from the look on his face that he was overcome with gratitude.

"Even though you have already met, yet very informally so," Don Diego said, "allow me to do the introductions. Señorita, this is my son Felipe. Felipe, please meet señorita Alacen, thanks to whom you were cleared and released."

The young man greeted her with a nod and was now coming toward her, his right hand reaching to gently take hold of hers, clearly intending to lay there the very courteous hand-kissing his father or his grandfather certainly didn't fail to teach him. The mere thought of it made her suddenly turn pale, as this would mean she would owe him in return the same curtsey she had just given Don Alejandro. And this... just no, no way! Right here, right now, impossible. Not straight after the one she'd just favoured his grandfather with at the cost of a very sharp pain in her leg and shoulder and of a wealth of concealment in order to hide said pain.

Twice within one minute, no. Hardly conceivable. Unthinkable. So taking action before he went on with the plan she straightened up with dignity, tightened her grip on the young man's hand and shook it vigorously, as cordially as she could. After all, if it was a thank-you on the one side and forgiveness on the other side, a good and heartfelt handshake would do just as well, if not even better!

The three men appeared somewhat taken aback by this rather manly greeting, but Luz couldn't have cared less. Anything, rather than having to reiterate the prowess of a curtsey. You'd think that they didn't realise! And… was it a remnant of unwitting resentment that had led her to slightly crush the young man's hand? Oh, so little, just barely so...