by Chrissy

Preamble

A very long time ago, when we were contributing to the Zorro sequel I wrote the following Alejandro story. I never submitted it because Alejandro is a bit of a rogue in this piece and it didn't fit with the sequel at the time.

But, here it is now - if anyone's interested.

Miranda followed her aunt Rosalie through the crowd, eyes downcast, careful to remain the customary 3 or 4 paces behind, obediently carrying the loaded plate of food to be consumed by her aunt. Around her the guests of the Don Alejandro and Dona Elena laughed and joked and danced. The fiesta was in full swing. As her aunt strutted ahead, Miranda blushed with embarrassment for the comical figure she presented. Tonight, ever chasing youth, her aunt wore an overly frilled dress – in requisite black, of course - that only served to emphasize fleshy shoulders and heavy arms. The expanse of mottled skin was carefully powdered and scented. Her gray-streaked hair was piled alarmingly high whilst childish ringlets bobbed about her ears. Ostrich feathers, dyed black, sprang from the stiff curls and swayed at alarming angles from her head. Poor Dona Carlotta, who had the misfortune to be seated on Aunt Rosalie's left, had been swiped many times by one particularly large feather

As she stumbled behind her aunt, carrying the plate of food before her, Miranda was unaware of the appreciative eyes of several young men who watched her progress. She was a girl of nineteen years. Her parents had died that desperate winter, five years ago, struck down by pneumonia. Alone in the world she had been taken in by her Aunt Rosalie, a widow who had once been married to her mother's brother. Dona Rosalie Martinez was a rich woman, but was quite loath to share her wealth with anyone, let alone a niece. Miranda had quickly been placed in the role of poor relative, acting as companion/servant to her aunt , meekly trailing in her wake like an awkward child . Told so often that she lacked poise and breeding, Miranda believed it to be true. Nonetheless, tonight of all nights she hoped she looked passing. They made their way through the crowd and finally joined the other widows from the district who had gathered together at a corner table so that they might watch the festivities and gossip freely. As she took her seat next to her aunt, she glanced down at the lavender satin and velvet dress she wore and smiled secretly to herself. Her aunt had paid for this dress without knowing it. She might be miserly but she was also extremely imprudent in matters of money. It was a dress cut in the most fashionable style, interwoven across the revealing bodice were velvet ribbons and small delicate satin flowers of a violet hue which exactly matched Miranda's eyes. The dress was cut daringly low displaying milk white skin, fine breasts and a narrow waist. In it she felt wonderfully exotic. Maybe HE would notice her tonight. She had spent the past week in a lather of thrilled expectation, and now finally the time for the fiesta had come.

And she had had the dream again last night. It invariably left her aching with a desire in her virginal loins she could not comprehend. As always, in the dream she lay naked beneath him; his weight heavy upon her, their pulsating bodies entwined, their sweat mingling . Her legs encircled his strong torso, arms embraced each forcefully. Her hands moved to clutch feverishly at his buttocks feeling the muscles contract with every thrust; her body rose and fell in an ever increasing rhythm to match his. The activity always escalated, their tangled bodies moving, writhing, clasping, twinning, their skin glistening with sweat, the air filled with the groans of laboured breath . But invariably, at the last moment, she would awake throbbing with unfulfillment, her fingers destined to travel to that secret place between her legs to satisfy unmet desire.

Once again her eyes anxiously searched the room for him. But he was invariably easy to locate. She watched as he threw back his head and laughed. He laughed often it seemed. Those around him, enchanted as always by his presence, moved closer to hear his words, share his aura, his charisma. He was the catalyst around which all gravitated within any group. As she looked at him now she saw he held a glass of wine in one hand whilst the other encircled the waist of his wife, Elena. Miranda 's eyes focused on him as he placed the wine down to take a cigar that was offered and to light it. As he stopped to do this, the fascinated group of onlookers paused, also waiting, eager for him to begin again his animated discourse. So strong was the spell he cast upon his fellow man.

Miranda had seen him many times during her visits to the local market to purchase supplies for her aunt. Unlike the other Dons who sent servants, he would visit the market himself. He loved to walk with his wife and children amid the vendors, carrying his son or daughter on his shoulder, shouting greetings to merchants and sometimes kicking a ball with carefree children. The first time she saw him she could not believe a man could be so magnificent.

All at once she sucked in her breath. Don Alejandro was striding forcefully across the crowded courtyard toward her table. He would have passed by had not her aunt grasped his sleeve and pulled him back. "Why Don Alejandro, how glorious of you to invite so many to your excellent fiesta” she fluttered. "And it is mighty fine of you to remember we poor widow gentlewomen - there are so many of us these days what with wars and disease so pronounced in these parts."

He stopped and looked down at her aunt with a warm smile. "Are you enjoying yourselves, ladies?" he asked pleasantly.

"Everything is perfect. You must give my compliments to Dona Elena. Let me present my acquaintances," she began to introduce the other matriarchs at the table. Miranda, feeling sick with nerves, a hot flush scalding her cheeks, looked down at his boots…not daring to raise her eyes.

“And who is this?” he questioned, because her aunt had introduced everyone at the table except her.

Dona Rosalie dismissed Miranda with a brush of her hand, reinforcing her lack of importance in the group, " Why this is my niece, Miranda Arletta, Don Alejandro, sadly made an orphan five years ago. I have taken responsibility for the child out the kindness of my foolish heart. I do enjoy a youthful presence in my home. Stand up, girl, and be presented," she instructed with irritation.

Flustered, colour flooding her face, Miranda stood before Alejandro her heart pounding. He took her shaking hand and formally kissed it. As he did so she dared glance into his face and saw that his eyes moved lazily down her body and then returned to meet her look with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

"You are beautiful beyond compare, Miranda Arletta. And such a dress. Ahh! I wish more young ladies would attire themselves in such a manner to so adequately display their... er...charms." All at once she felt naked before him. Why had she chosen such a brazen dress? It was too low cut. He must think her a harlot. But when she looked again into his face she saw that his smile was an open, admiring grin.

"Would you care to dance?", he asked with a bow, offering his arm. She was aware of the gasp from her aunt, and the sudden jabber of the other widows at the table as he led her away to the dance floor.

Dona Rosalie's cruel eyes followed her niece as if seeing her for the first time. When had the child grown to be so pretty? And where did that dress come from? Her thin lips pressed together and her eyes narrowed. This would be the last fiesta Miranda would ever attend. The child would be confined to the house where she belonged. Donna Rosalie fanned herself strenuously, the ostrich feathers writhing madly in the sudden breeze.

The music had slowed to a dreamy waltz as Alejandro and Miranda took the floor and joined the swirl of dancers. She was surprised at how intimately he held her - surely more closely than was customary. Through the skirts of her dress she could feel the hard muscles of his thighs as he moved; savour the pressure of his hand in the small of her back. During the course of the warm evening he had removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt revealing a magnificent chest. Now, so close that the warm musk of him filled her nostrils, she dared not look to his face, instead her eyes rested on the material of his shirt where the gauze-thin cotton caressed his tanned skin, grazing the muscles of his strong arms. With a start, she realized he was talking to her.

"How do you endure it? -- living with Dona Rosalie?" he asked with a smile.

"I have no where else to go.. I have no means of support" she stammered, daring to look into his beautiful eyes.

"But surely her husband was your mother's brother" Alejandro was saying his eyebrows crinkling together in puzzlement.

Although of average height, Alejandro was inches taller than Miranda and as he lowered his head to regard her several black curls fell onto his forehead. His good looks were legendary, but being this close to him she realized there was more to Alejandro than good looks. He had about him a promise of sensual fulfillment, a lush warmth, a luxurious vitality, that few men possessed. She again felt that sensual ache stirring within her.

His close proximity made it difficult to follow the conversation.

"Oh, yes, the house she lives in is my mother's ancestral home," she replied at last.

"It does not belong to her lineage, then?"

"No".

"Then you ARE with finances, my dear girl. The home you live in, the possessions all are as much yours as your aunts."

"It's true I suppose,” she stammered, hardly able to keep her mind on what he was saying. God! Those eyes of his.! How could one look into them without melting? Her knees felt weak, she was certain she would collapse in a heap and embarrass herself completely. But, somehow, she continued the waltz, his strong arms supporting her as they twirled.

"I will speak with your aunt about this," he continued. "You should not be put in the position of poor relative. I cannot tolerate unfairness!" He spat the last words with such gusto it brought a recent memory to her mind. Concentrating on her dance steps she knew she had heard such an expression before somewhere. Yes in the market. The vendors constantly spoke of the escapades of their mythical hero Zorro. Why, he fought against any injustice of the people! Injustice was a word one always heard in conjunction with Zorro.

With a jolt she suddenly knew without a doubt the true identify of the man in her arms. Alejandro was Zorro!! She believed it with a conviction so sudden so strong that it startled her. Of course! He hid behind the disguise of a Don --a successful and clever guise; yet he did not behave like a Don. Why hadn't anyone ever figured it out? And those handsome amber-coloured eyes. They surely belonged behind the black mask of a hero.

"Would you like to go out to the garden? he asked with concern. "You look so warm"

Although the fiesta was held in an open courtyard, the heat from so many bodies and fiery torches, and the lack of a breeze had caused the air to be stuffy and thick. However, it was the close proximity of Alejandro's overwhelming maleness and her sudden unearthing of his real persona that caused Miranda 's flush.

He ushered her from the throng of dancers toward the archway that led to the garden where a few couples wandered arm in arm. The air was filled with the essence of a thousand scents, its sweetness almost unbearable.

They walked for a minute in silence. Miranda, her thoughts racing, sought to find a topic on which to fill the quietness. As they neared a wall in a secluded part of the garden, he stopped and looked down upon her in the moonlight.

"You're so lovely," he muttered softly, more to himself than anything.

Miranda took a deep breath “I know who you are” she said.

'"Really?" he stepped back to regard her with interest.

"You're that man they call Zorro."

He seemed momentarily startled but recovered his composure quickly.

Aand why do you say that?"

"I just know it, that's all."

"And exactly when did you just know it?"

"Well, I guess when you said you would help me find a better favour with my aunt"

"Oh I see...and because I make such an offer, you jump to the conclusion that I am Zorro?"

"...No...no it’s more than that..." she mumbled , feeling stupid - why had she opened her foolish mouth? He spoke sharply over her words.

"Listen to me! In this perilous age, Miranda, you must keep such youthful notions to yourself. They can cause misfortune for a young girl such as yourself. There are dangerous men about. They would tear your heart out in one second."

He took a deep breath and spoke slowly emphasizing every word "Zorro puts himself into the path of harm. Why would I do that ? I have an exquisite wife, children I adore... it does not make sense."

"I'm sorry" she muttered looking up at him. "I guess my aunt is correct when she says I am foolish."

"You're not foolish, just young," he was smiling again, his good humour restored. “Young, with a vigorous imagination. Very vigorous I might add," he smiled down at her.

He looked into almond-shaped violet eyes, surrounded by spikey long lashes. Thick mahogany hair cascaded in a tumble of unruly waves down to her waist, its silky strands captured by an ivory comb belonging to her mother. She was undoubtedly a gorgeous creature.

His hand brushed her cheek and, to her utter astonishment, he lowered his head and gently touched her lips with his own. At first he nuzzled her lower lip with his teeth, gently nipping at the skin. Wild surges of emotion coursed through her. Involuntarily she swayed toward him and felt his arms go around her. With a sigh she opened her mouth and their tongues met. She could taste the wine he had drunk, smell the tobacco from a recent cigar.

Then, as abruptly, he was gone from her, cursing under his breath.

"You must forgive me," he cried, pushing against her roughly.

Miranda dazed and confused floundered before him. Why had he stopped? Had she done something wrong?

He grabbed her hand and with determined strides led the way back toward the throng of people in the courtyard.

"You must never mention to anyone what just occurred,” he stated, his voice a cold whisper. "I fear I am no hero, my dear. I have behaved abominably Would your honourable Zorro act in such a manner with his wife so close at hand? My God! I am not worthy of your romantic theories." He appeared so distraught, so aghast at his action she almost felt pity for him.

All at once they arrived back at the table. "Thank you for the dance, Miranda." He bowed low to Dona Rosalie as she struggled to her feet.

"I have enjoyed an interesting discussion with your niece, madam. However I find her reckoning of figures to be sadly lacking. When she adds 2 and 2 she tends to come up with 5."

Rosalie Martinez stared at him open mouthed. "Schooling costs money..." she began, her confusion apparent.

"And speaking of figures", he went on, "I will visit you next week, senora. I feel we have much to discuss especially about your finances."

"Oh yes Don Alejandro," she faltered, at a complete loss, "I would be honoured to have you as a guest in my home. A gentleman of quality like you..." her words trailed off for Alejandro had turned back to Miranda.

"Again, thank you for the dance." He kissed her hand and was about to stride off, when Miranda's words stopped him and he turned back. "Forgive me, Don Alejandro, but I am convinced the correct answer in this instance surely is 5. But, never fear, secrets are always safe with me. After all, I would be reluctant to have my heart torn out!"

They shared a private moment, then he winked and turned away. She watched as the crowd parted then swallowed him up.

Her aunt began to say her farewells to the table, then she turned to Miranda. "Come, girl, we are leaving. You have embarrassed me enough. Throwing yourself at Don Alejandro in such a manner. Did you believe for one minute that he really wanted to dance with the likes of you? You are incorrigible, I have decided that next week you will be established at the convent at Gallazadro. A dose of religion will make you see the error of your ways. You are too flighty for your own good, my girl!"

Miranda began to follow her aunt, but was halted by the voice of Dona Carmen who suddenly appeared before her. With a penetrating and knowing gleam in her eyes she sneered "Its a crying shame isn't it? Too much man for just one woman, yet he is besotted with his wife," her serpent eyes regarded Miranda coldly.

"Why, Dona Carmen" returned Miranda with a contemptuous flick of her curls "you had better be careful! Your malice is beginning to show, and you usually keep it so well hidden." Dona Carmen staggered as if bodily struck by Miranda's words. Whatever had come over the girl? She was usually so docile.

Miranda followed her aunt, all signs of meekness gone. Like hell she would be neatly deposited at a local convent! Her aunt was about to meet a new and entirely more confident Miranda, thanks to Zorro. As she crossed the room, out of the corner of her eye she noticed Tiger O'Brien. Now there was a man as interesting as Alejandro.

Alejandro hastened to find Elena and at last saw her amid a group of friends. He hurried to her and swept her into his arms. He kissed her passionately, open mouthed their tongues tangling, his body straining against hers, one hand cupping the back of her head forcing her to match his burning kiss. Close bystanders turned away, some with amusement and some with embarrassment. This was a kiss meant for the privacy of the bedroom.

At last they broke apart. Elena regarded her husband with some annoyance as she smoothed back wisps of hair that had come loose.

"Why Alejandro whatever is the matter with you? Are you drunk?"

"Drunk with happiness, Elena,” he all but shouted. "Come let's dance"

He swung her onto the floor into a lively fandango. Elena feigned his joviality, but, deep inside icy fingers of fear clutched at her heart. Something was amiss. She shivered and the merry night was suddenly cold. Alejandro also perceived his own premonitions of doom. The comfortably woven thread of his life was about to unravel...

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