The Summer Wind by JuliaBC
Chapter One
A/N: I just want to say, this is a very heavy AU, even though it's also heavily based on the episodes.
The way I portray Margarita...I see this in her. I believe all that I say in regards to her choices in life. But you might not agree with that 'translation' of the character.
Don Diego de la Vega
Diego had three thoughts that alerted him to the fact that something terrifying was happening.
One was that Estevan was spending quite a lot of time showing off a bag of jewels he'd brought with him.
Two was that he'd danced more than two dances with Margarita Cortazar, and if he didn't watch out, she would be the talk of the little pueblo in the next few days, for reasons that might be detrimental to her reputation.
Three was that he'd pawned Margarita off on Diego.
Three was that Margarita looked beautiful, as always. Three was that Margarita's dress was fluttering between his legs in a way that made him feel dizzy. Three was that she was laughing at something his father told them in passing and he didn't remember ever being affected by her laugh thusly before tonight. It was like liquid fire was being poured into his veins at the sound. There was a rushing noise in his ears as he looked down at her, sipping a glass of punch with her lips pursed.
He'd never seen her like this before.
Correction. He had seen her like this before; Margarita was always one to enjoy a fiesta, and enjoy it very heartily.
But he had never actually seen Margarita as he saw her now.
As a woman, not a childhood friend.
He remembered Estevan's parting words as he shoved Margarita into Diego's arms. Beautiful young ladies and handsome young men belong to each other.
Was that all it had taken?
Some well chosen words; not even a suggestion, to make Diego think of possibilities with Margarita.
Real possibilities.
After all, Margarita had never been one to dismiss the fake Diego. She had taken his changes when he returned to Los Angeles in stride, but perhaps that was simply because she had changed herself.
Though she still loved life, since her mother had passed, there was a quietness to her that surprised all of those around her. She had once been predicted to be the first to marry (he had even received a letter from his father saying that a handsome stranger had come to Los Angeles and was about to sweep Margarita away from them all, taking her back to Spain with him, but Margarita had quietly declined his proposal…as she had declined every other proposal that had come her way in the years after her mother's death.)
Diego was, maybe, not surprised at this. He had trained himself to see people better since he became Zorro, and now when he looked at Margarita, he saw fear.
She lived for the party. She loved the party. But only because the party ended. Only because she could go home to her mother's hacienda, because her comforting father waited for her at the night's end, and not a mustached husband.
So it was simple to see why she was choosing to remain alone. Why the many men who'd dared to ask for her hand were given a sweet, but final, refusal.
"I asked her to marry me, and she looks at me and says, what for?"
The words of an old friend came to Diego and he looked at Margarita ever closer as they spun among the dancers. They hadn't been spoken about Margarita, but Diego was thinking that they might apply…
Margarita already had fun, adventure and love in her life. What could marriage give her besides children? And she was one to visit the missions and play with the Indian children, so that was taken care of quite easily.
Diego tightened his grip on Margarita's hand; she didn't have small hands as did Rosarita and Moneta, other girls from his childhood. Margarita's hands did not match Diego's in largeness, but it made quite an impression on him to look down at them, and realize that his did not entirely dwarf hers as was usually the case.
The dance floor grew more crowded and Diego, with the gentlest push on her waist, guided her smoothly toward him, away from the jostling men behind her.
"It's quite a party, considering that it is so last minute," Margarita commented.
"My uncle made sure every person he met along the way was invited," Diego said. "Such as his fellow travelers, and even the coach driver. The more, the merrier was his philosophy, I believe."
"It's a lovely philosophy," Margarita agreed, her eyes twinkling up at Diego.
"Si," Diego said, finding words failed him.
Then silence again fell over the couple. Margarita glanced shyly up at him a few times, as if testing her courage.
"What is it, Margarita?" He asked. "Do not hesitate to speak."
She flushed as he continued to spin her around, the bouncing movements of the dance carrying them across the floor. "Your uncle…do you know why never married?"
Diego found that he couldn't answer. Obvious things sprung to his mind.
He never had the inclination.
He never had the guts.
He never found the right woman. He just pretended to.
"Well…why do you ask?" He stumbled, wondering why her question troubled him so. Did he really mind her interest in his uncle? After all, it could only be good thing for Margarita to show interest in something new, something solid.
But Estevan! He was such a scoundrel, a true thief of women's hearts.
Diego tried to convince himself that that was why her interest bothered him, but he hadn't quite made it to that point when his father saved him, as usual. He broke into the dance, bowing to Margarita.
"A thousand pardons!" Don Alejandro announced, and Diego automatically kissed Margarita's hand; this was the protocol for breaking dances.
His father's eyes widened; he also saw Margarita hesitate, as though wondering why his father was breaking into their dance. Si, he asked many women to dance, but not usually in the middle of his son's dance! After all, Alejandro was like all of the other fathers in the pueblo, he wanted grandchildren.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," Alejandro stuttered, his eyes also widening at how this must appear. Diego found himself stifling a laugh at the picture they must make. "I must speak with you, Diego. It is urgent. You will excuse us?"
Everything was explained.
Margarita relaxed visibly. Perhaps she thought Don Alejandro would try to convince her that now was the time to announce her engagement to Diego. After all, he had tried to pull almost the same trick two years ago with Magdalena…
"Of course, Don Alejandro," Margarita replied. Diego saw her eyes drift into the crowd as he kissed her hand. "Gracias, Margarita," he managed to say before his father dragged him off.
He saw that she was claimed by another partner before he'd even exited the dance floor.
For some reason, this troubled him.
Margarita Cortazar
Diego walked away with his father and Luis Ramirez walked over. "Can we finish our dance now?" He asked, a smile on his face.
"Of course," she said. "I did not know so many of my dances would be interrupted this evening!"
"You might have prepared for it, had that been the case," Luis teased.
"I don't think any woman could prepare for it," Margarita countered. "After all, I don't think any person at all, male or female, could prepare for the whirlwind that is Don Estevan de la Cruz!"
Luis grinned, ducking a branch as they danced. "But it's a very pleasant whirlwind, I can tell that you think so, so do not deny it, Margarita!"
"I will not deny," she answered. "And my father likes him too."
Luis's eyes sparked at her. "Is this interest from Margarita Cortazar, the woman who has broken hearts all over the world?"
"How can that be, when I have never even left California, or even Los Angeles in the past three years?" Margarita scolded, her cheeks coloring.
"Ah, but there was the man from Spain, and the French one," Luis said. "Or was he Russian?"
Margarita rolled her eyes. "He wasn't Russian or French," she said, ducking her head. "He just had a strong accent. He was as Spanish as you or I am."
"Well, I suppose you'd know," Luis said slyly as the song ended, and he planted a kiss on her hand. "Speaking of, isn't it time for me to propose again?"
"You have asked me to marry you five times in two years," Margarita said. "I'm afraid that my answer hasn't changed."
"Well, could you at least spare me another dance?" Luis asked.
"I don't think so," Margarita said. "My apologies, but I want to go over to where my father is."
"Of course," Luis said, and guided her across the room; another dance had already started.
Margarita saw the glint of light all the way from across the room. Jewels; it had to be jewels. A diamond, gleaming in the moon and fire that lit the night sky.
She inhaled, almost seeing her mother, preparing for a dance, decked out in diamonds and rubies.
She was ten again, trying on the jewelry and being scolded. "No, that is for when you marry, Margarita!"
"But I do not want to marry," Margarita said under her breath. "I want to stay at home with father."
"What's that?" Luis asked as they neared her father, and Don Estevan, who stood talking to him holding the most brilliant jewel she'd ever seen.
She wanted the diamond.
"Nothing," she swore, as they reached her father. "Gracias, Luis."
"What's this?" Don Estevan exclaimed. "You have found a replacement for me?"
"No, of course not," Margarita said, laughing at his mock offended air. "But someone has to dance with me when you are busy."
"That was what Diego was for," Don Estevan returned, the diamond still flat in his palm.
Margarita reached to touch it, aware of the faux pas she was making, as it was in his hand, and neither were gloved, and they were not dancing as to make it acceptable.
Luis whistled, long and low. "That is a beautiful jewel," he said admiringly.
"Si, but it's no matter for you to worry over," Don Estevan said, effectively dismissing Luis, who amiably bowed and walked away.
"Is it a diamond?" Margarita breathed, turning it over in Don Estevan's palm. She felt his eyes on her hair and didn't care that he was staring at her.
"Well, I wouldn't call it that," Don Estevan said bashfully.
Margarita withdrew her hand from the diamond reluctantly, feeling her father's gaze on her hand now.
"You like the diamond, Margarita?" He asked. "It was also the one I most admired."
"It's like ice, and fire, all in one," Margarita murmured.
"I wish to repeat my offer," Don Marcos announced, and Margarita startled. "For the whole jewel pouch."
Don Estevan tucked the jewel away, an almost smug look on his face. "Please, Don Marcos, I do not wish to sound adamant, but that is not the reason I showed you the jewels! I'm not sure I can bring myself to part with them. Any of them!"
"But you will be returning to Spain! You can buy others! At least sell me the one diamond I admired, for my daughter," her father urged, and Margarita found that she was just as eager as he was for Don Estevan to accept the offer. Her father loved to buy her pretty things; this was one of the ones she'd truly wanted as well.
"It is the most beautiful stone I have ever seen," Margarita confessed, her eyes falling to where he'd placed the pouch in his vest.
"Ah, then perhaps you can understand my reluctance to part with it," Don Estevan answered, eyes twinkling.
Margarita felt keen disappointment.
"Suppose I offered one thousand, five hundred pesos," her father said baldly, his arm going around Margarita's waist as if to show Don Estevan how much his daughter meant to him; how close they were, what a disappointment it would be to her.
"Would that help you to change your mind?" Her father finished, his eyes on Don Estevan's face.
Now Don Estevan hesitated, showing rare patience in choosing his words. "Fifteen hundred pesos? Well, I—"
Don Estevan de la Cruz
"It's alright, I'm not going to beat you," he told the deaf-mute, frustrated that his careful deal might have just been ruined by the man's clumsiness. After the whole evening of baiting Don Marcos! Fifteen hundred pesos for an imitation!
He felt a hand sneak inside his vest and wasn't surprised.
Margarita leaned forward, her words almost panicked. "He cannot hear you," she told him.
Estevan considered the words and wondered how to call him back there then, settling for an impatient gesture to show the forgotten wine bottle.
What a clumsy trick! Any one could have pulled that one off, on anyone but Estevan de la Cruz, who'd perfected such things.
His hand slid inside Bernardo's jacket (was he called Bernardo or was he thinking of Emanuela's servant in Madrid?) and took the pouch back.
Ah, only a master could pickpocket the thief!
Bernardo slipped away again and Don Marcos's arm left his daughter's waist as he stepped closer to Don Estevan, and he knew that the man was about to raise his offer. Well, now his conscience pricked him. They were not worth quite that much. Maybe he'd accept five hundred pesos. That wouldn't hurt his conscience.
"Really, Don Marcos, I'll have to be honest with you," "I do not think the diamond is worth fifteen hundred pesos, I mean, in the regular market in Spain," he finished, his only thought, I think I should be lucky to receive a hundred pesos, in Spain.
Unfortunately, his feint didn't work. "I am not discussing what it is worth on the regular market, I am discussing what it is worth to me, here, in California."
Well! His conscience was quite comfortable with those kind of words! If you were to place personal worth on things, why, anything could be worth fifteen hundred pesos!
He almost gave in.
Margarita's smile beckoned him to make the deal. After all, who could it hurt?
"I'll bring it to your hacienda tomorrow," he decided upon, after many words warred in his brain. "You can look it over then, see if it is still worth that much in the light of day."
The evening's events eased his conscience entirely. As Estevan sat in the sala, long after Diego and Alejandro had made their good nights and slipped up the bed, he considered the whole matter.
He'd heard the talk at the party. This Zorro…he was supposed to be a Robin Hood type of figure. He didn't rob people! Indeed, from what he heard from the slightly frantic guests, any time that Zorro had stolen, only days later had the real Zorro appeared to set the record straight.
Zorro was not a thief.
Was Estevan to expect another visit from the bandito, then? The real one, if this one had indeed been fake?
He blew the candle out in the sala and slipped onto the patio, looking up at the night sky. He realized that he now had no reason to go to Margarita's hacienda, and he was disappointed. She was a lovely girl. He might as well get…acquainted with her if he was, indeed, going to spend quite some time in Los Angeles.
Margarita Cortazar
"The jewels…are they irretrievable, do you think?" Margarita asked her father on the drive home. After Estevan had been robbed, she had been unable to see the dashing caballero again. With Zorro's appearance, the party had become frantic, and when Zorro had left, the party had quieted to the point of death. People had made their adioses with an almost somber air, as if regretting the end of the evening.
"Considering things, I would have to say yes," her father replied. "I do not think anyone but God could retrieve something The Fox stole."
"It's quite a new thing," Margarita chanced to say. "Why should Zorro suddenly turn to petty theft?"
Her father sighed. "You saw those jewels, Margarita. They were incomparable to others like them. Obviously, he must have been a guest at the party, he saw them too and decided that he would have them when Estevan wouldn't sell!"
"I suppose," Margarita sighed. "I regret losing the diamond."
"So do I," Don Marcos said, patting her hand. "Sweet Margarita. You would have looked just like your mother in diamonds. I…" He glanced sideways at her. "It's a pity that you will only get to wear her diamonds when you become betrothed."
Margarita heard the hint in his voice. She knew how her father felt, but she shifted in her seat to avoid speaking about it further. Was she that transparent? Could he tell that she only wanted the diamond so that she could wear the jewels without marrying? "Si. But I would not care to break tradition."
Don Marcos sighed. "Of course not. But you would not have to, if…It wasn't for lack of offers, Margarita."
"It was from lack of interest," she replied. "I cannot marry a man that doesn't engage my whole soul, my entire being, like the way you captured mother's."
"I hesitate to put it that strongly," her father said. "Phelicia loved me, for certain, as I loved her."
"It was more than that," Margarita murmured. "I saw it in her eyes, the way Mama always spoke about you."
"You're going to give your father very pleasant dreams," Don Marcos responded.
She fell silent; his tone of voice suggested that was desired right now but her father would never say it outright. He didn't like to talk about his late wife unless he was the one to bring her up. It hurt too much otherwise. Margarita could understand that, but she couldn't understand how one day her father would hold her close and the next try to push her out of the nest.
They reached the hacienda and he helped her down from the carriage, as Santiago jumped forward to take care of the horses and carriage.
"Gracias," her father said to Vincento, who nodded as he jumped onto the carriage to drive it away.
Her father took her arm, tucking it to his side as he led her through the gate. "Margarita, Estevan is a charming man," he began. "I do not think it would harm anything, and surely no one would talk, if you were to accept should he…come by tomorrow asking if you wanted to go for a ride."
Margarita stopped dead in her tracks, and her father halted also. "What do you mean?" She asked.
"He asked me, before you came over, if he could come by in the next few days," Don Marcos explained. "I said, of course. He wondered if you were the type to ride, and I said yes. You do not mind, surely? I thought you enjoyed his company. You danced more than two dances with him in the beginning of the evening."
"Of course I don't mind," she denied, starting to walk again. "I was just surprised…father, Don Estevan told me the most marvelous story. That's why I gave him the second dance. I wanted to hear the end."
"Don't apologize, my dear," her father said. "He is quite a charming man. I'm glad you enjoyed his company."
They went their separate ways once they reached the top of the stairs. When Margarita entered her room, Diana waited there.
"Did you have a nice time?" The mother of three asked, darting forward to help her out of her dress.
The fastenings on the back came first. Margarita stood still as Diana's fingers moved up her back rapidly.
"It was quite lovely," Margarita answered slowly, trying to sort out her thoughts.
"It was on such short notice, you only got the invitation today!" Diana commented. "And it still impressed?"
"Definitely," Margarita said. "I think that was Don Estevan's doing. He was the guest of honor and he must have talked to everyone there, telling them fantastic tales of impossible exploits."
"He sounds like my cousin," Diana said happily. "He works on a ship that goes from Mexico City and back to here, and every time he visits he tells my children tales of monstrous marinas and sirenas."
"Does he do battle with them, or romance them?" Margarita asked, as the dress fell away from her body and she stepped out of it.
Diana whisked the dress to the closet as Margarita stepped over to her mirror, to look at herself.
"He will do battle with the legends until my children are old enough to appreciate a finely spun romance, and then he will marry one or two of them and have about twelve children, all endowed with magical powers," Diana explained and Margarita burst out laughing. "What about Don Estevan?"
"He would fall in love with several but at the end of the day, he would break away from their dark arts of amor," Margarita answered, as Diana hurried back to undo her corset. Fingers flew nimbly up the fastenings and Margarita took her deepest breath since she'd put the corset on earlier in the day, before the party. Those corsets were the worst to wear, by far.
"Ah, the ever roaming caballero," Diana said wistfully. "My husband used to be like that."
"And then what?" Margarita said. "He married you?"
Diana sighed. "Si," she said dreamily. "And then it was like he'd become a man overnight, instead of a dreaming caballero. Fair warning, Margarita, if I may offer it to you."
"What is it?" Margarita asked, her last party clothes finally off. She picked up her brush and sat down at her vanity, as Diana pulled pins from her hair.
"Some men will be able to do it," Diana said matter-of-factly. "Put away their childhood and their longing for adventure and fleeting romances. But some men won't." She met Margarita's eyes in the mirror as she took the brush from her and started to work its way through Margarita's thick hair. "You should figure out what type of man this Estevan is before you go any farther," she warned.
"It was not like that," Margarita protested.
Diana laughed. "You haven't acted like this since you were thirteen and Don Diego told you that you looked beautiful with your hair finally up and your skirts finally down."
"What are you implying?" Margarita wondered, faux irritation in her voice. "That I had a childhood romance with Don Diego or that I'm going to have one with his uncle?" She stood up, shaking her head. "His uncle!"
Diana shook her head. "Of course, neither of the two, Margarita," she corrected herself. "I was just teasing."
Margarita nodded as she climbed into bed, suddenly very tired. "Diana?" She asked as the woman started from the bedroom.
"Si, Margarita?" Diana asked, pausing in the doorway.
"Do I really not react when men flirt with me?" She asked. "Has it really been since I was thirteen since I showed true interest?"
Diana hesitated. "Si. Because it was when you were fourteen that your mother…passed."
Margarita could sense Diana crossing herself, and muttering the words that went with mentioning a dead person.
"Never mind," she whispered and Diana still paused in the doorway.
"Buenos noches," she told her charge.
"Mm," Margarita said and the door closed.
She lay awake that night, thinking things over, wondering the truth of Diana's tales. She didn't doubt that her maid would see things that Margarita could not, but it still hurt to be told that she was cold and uninterested.
Diego de la Vega
Many things occupied Diego's mind that night, not the least of which was the look on Margarita's face when she accepted his uncle's offer of a third dance.
What had she seen in him that was different from all of the men who'd passed through Los Angeles over the years and, almost inevitably, asked for her hand?
Margarita wasn't cold, and she wasn't some sort of ice queen. But she had walls that were higher than the ones used to box Rapunzel into her tower. She had guards, not ones who carried swords and threatened people, but who were so tightly packed and numerous that one almost gave up before he even started.
She didn't want love. She wanted fun and laughter. She wanted to forget her own pain.
Diego couldn't blame her for that. Love was tricky business and it always took from you. It rarely ever gave.
He looked out his bedroom window as Bernardo came in from the secret passage, speaking rapidly.
"What do I want to do with the jewels?" Diego asked, paying strict attention. "You know, I hadn't decided yet. They're most likely imitations, so I don't really want to give them away or someday someone might get in trouble for possessing them and trying to pass off fake jewels."
He frowned as he looked at the rainbow of gems in Bernardo's hand, and walked forward to pick up the diamond necklace.
"This one…this is the one everyone talked about," Diego said softly. "This is the one that everyone wanted to buy off of my uncle." He shook his head, holding it up to the light of the candle. "It is beautiful," he said. "It shines like the stars in the sky. Yet it is fake."
He shook his head again and handed it back to Bernardo. "I think I'll wait until my uncle has departed to decide," he answered. "Take them and hide them with Zorro's things."
He turned back to the window; to the warmth and coldness of the moon. La luna was definitely a study in contradictions, like so many things in Diego's life right now. She shed light upon the earth, beautiful, sparkling light. Light was supposed to be warm, and comforting. But la luna's light was cold. Cold as ice. Cold as a woman who only wanted love without fear.
There was no such thing.