3-18-01

TRIO CHALLENGE: Spanish flag, glass of wine, boat (any kind of sailing vessel Anthony :-)

or

QUOTE 1: "She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies
And all that's best of dark and bright meets in her aspect and her eyes
Thus mellow'd to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies." Lord Byron

or

QUOTE 2: "Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair." From 'Ozymandias' by Percy Bysshe Shelly

Authors:

Anthony, brig, Dea, Eliza, JoLayne, Julie, Laura, Lisa, Maril

[email protected]

Response to Quote One of 3-18-01

"She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies
And all that's best of dark and bright meets in her aspect and her eyes
Thus mellow'd to that tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies. " Lord Byron

~~~

The Queen of Swords paced around her horse, who was patiently chewing on only one of the hundreds of desert flowers which had bloomed when evening had fallen but an hour ago.

Looking overhead, her view of the Big Dipper, Orion, Taurus, and all the others, an unimpeded view. The glimmering of stars and the odd colour of the Milky Way nicely counterbalanced the sunless landscape around the Queen's feet. Starlight and that from desert fireflies danced in her eyes.

She exhaled, calmer than when she'd come out here. There were few places left where she could be herself, and it was wearing her down, perhaps too fast to handle properly. And not even kissing Doctor Helm had the soothing effect that walking under skylight did.

Quote Challenge #2

RATING: G
DISCLAIMERS: The usual: these aren't my characters--if they were they wouldn't be working for Fireworks! Yadda yadda.

~~~~~

Marta put a last bit of silver-green moss in her basket and covered it with a cloth, then glanced out at white-capped ocean waves, tempted to linger and enjoy the day. The breeze off the water was cool and moist, laden with the smell of salt; it felt good on her skin, though she knew from long experience it was wreaking havoc with her curls.

"Ah well," she said half-aloud, "perhaps just a few minutes . . . "

She set the basket on a convenient rock hidden away in shade and then kicked off confining shoes, wriggling her toes in the damp sand before setting off for a walk. A cautious look both ways told her she was alone, at least at this end of the beach. Since her meeting with Montoya here a few weeks ago she was taking no chances!

The morning already promised to be warm. Sea gulls fought over scraps of fish and weeds, their cries a pleasant melancholy against a bright blue sky. Marta shaded her eyes, smiling as chill water rushed over her feet, enjoying the contrasting sensation of light and heat on her shoulders and face, cold and wet swirling about her ankles.

"Nice day for a walk."

She jumped and turned to find the source of the voice, staggering a bit when the tide rushed back out again, trying to take her with it.

"Doctor Helm?" Diosa, he had startled her! Where was he hiding? She moved toward a cluster of boulders and skirted them, eyes widening at what was revealed.

He sat perched on a small flat rock in the middle of a truly magnificent sand castle, hazel eyes sparkling at her obvious astonishment.

"What do you think?" he asked, and gestured at his handiwork. The wind had whipped his dark hair into a tangle of half-curls, and he looked years younger, carefree and ready to be entertained. "Twenty rooms with running water in every one of them! Even Buckingham Palace can't boast that."

Marta looked down at the meticulous construction, the careful planning and precise measurements, and shook her head.

"I think you've gone mad," she said with certainty. The Doctor laughed, white teeth gleaming.

"Practical Marta. Sometimes it's good to go a bit mad." He stood, and not a moment too soon; water came rushing in, taking over half the castle with it on the way back out to the ocean as Helm walked toward her. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"You're the doctor, Doctor," she said in reply, one brow arched in a silent comment on his sanity. He grinned, then faced the last remnants of piled-up sand and lifted his arms in a flamboyant arc.
"'Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'" he intoned, his voice deep and solemn. Marta giggled as another wave carried off more construction.

"It would seem you're homeless," she observed, turning back toward her basket. The Doctor picked up his boots--he was barefoot as well, another surprise--and fell into step beside her.

"Yes," he agreed. "Care to take pity on a man with no home?"

"You have a room in back of your office," she scolded, hiding a smile. "There's no need for pity from me."

"So it wouldn't do me any good to ask for a glass of your lemonade and a seat under the arbor at Senorita Alvarado's hacienda?" He managed to sound both humble and hard done by in one sentence. Marta bit her lip, trying with difficulty not to laugh at his dissembling.

"That depends," she said, and pushed a curl from her cheek. "Would you build me a house just like the one you made here this morning?"

"Of course."

"Twenty rooms?"

"With running water in every one of them."

She turned to him then, smiling.

"It's a deal," she said.

He bowed his head, curls gleaming and oh-so-temptingly close, and took her hand in his.

"Deal," he agreed, the word soft on her skin.

--brig

Dedicated to Smokey; thanks for 17 1/2 purrfectly wonderful years.

CHALLENGE: Spanish flag, glass of wine, boat

~~~~~

Robert Helm pushed open the back door to his office and was met by the sight of a full moon hanging low over the distant mountains. It somehow fit the pensive mood he had been unable to shake that night. Walking out into the darkness he slowly brought the glass of wine he held to his lips and let in flow down his throat. At first he'd wanted something stronger, but then realized that a single wine glass more than matched the way he felt.

Leaning against the white stucco wall, he inhaled the sweet scents of the night. A fire was burning nearby, probably in one of the outdoor kilns. Hay from the stables. The breeze coming from the valley. And what was that particular smell? Ah, yes. Night-blooming jasmine.

I must be the only one awake in the pueblo, he mused, relaxed by the complete silence that blanketed him.

He soon learned this was not the case as a shadow to his left caught his eye. It seemed to slip into the yard unnoticed until it was right before him.

"Good evening doctor," the Queen said as she stepped into his line of sight.

"Your highness," he replied, saluting her with his wine glass.

He tried to keep calm, even though the sight of her sent fire through his veins. He hadn't seen her since that day on the shore when she'd helped Camilla and her servants escape from Wentworth. As far as the doctor was concerned, the proverbial ball was now in her court. He had told her how he felt. Well, maybe not in so many words, but she had to know how he felt about her. Shouldn't she?

"It's a nice night to be outside under the stars," she said, leaning beside him against the wall. "But not for drinking alone."

"Some things are unavoidable," he quipped, bringing the glass to his lips again.

She turned to watch him consume the red liquid and it was a lovely sight. Long, strong fingers held the glass captive as he guided it to his waiting mouth. Lips caressed the rim of the glass invitingly. The slow rise and fall of the Adam's apple moving along that graceful neck. After the final swallow, the tip of a pink tongue stole out along his lips briefly to ensure he'd gotten the very last drop.

Madre de Dios! He makes the simple act of taking a drink incredibly sensual. Does he know how incredibly sexy he looks doing that?

"Can I interest you in a glass?" he asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"No thank you doctor," she replied tightly as she pushed herself off the wall to put some space between them. Then she added more playfully, "I never drink and ride."

Chuckling silently, Helm nodded and bowed his head.

"I needed to talk to you," she said, causing his head to come up again, their gazes meeting.

"About what?" he asked, moving toward a small, wooden table he had set up outside.

"About what you said to me that day on the shore," she answered softly.

Helm nodded again, and set the now empty wine glass on the table top. "About which part exactly did you have questions?"

Tessa seemed to be choosing her words carefully, and then a decision was made. "You stayed here in Santa Helena because of me."

It was not a question, rather a statement she needed his confirmation on.

"You, and of course my thriving medical practice in this great metropolis," he replied, motioning to the sleepy pueblo that surrounded them. Then he took a few steps closer to her and added in a quiet voice, "but it was mainly you."

Tessa couldn't keep the smile from her face and at first she cursed the traitorous muscles of her face. Then seeing how his eyes lit up in reaction to her grin, she didn't mind so much anymore. She also didn't move away when he closed the space between them.

Before she realized what he was doing, his warm hands were cradling her face between them. She figured it was only fair. She had pretty much dictated their first kiss. Then he bent his head toward her and gently brushed her lips with his own. Again, different than the brief, fiery kiss the time before. He pulled back and she saw that his eyes were dark and heavy lidded. Was he asking her permission to continue? If he needed prompting, she'd give it to him. Placing her black-gloved hands on his chest she raised up to meet his lips with hers.

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, Helm gentled the kiss from a soft, feathery touch to a caress and then to a friction-filled mating of tongues and teeth. Tessa felt like she was flying. She'd never been kissed by any man like this before and it was all she could do to stay on her feet. However, it wasn't the threat of falling that drove her to wind her willowy arms about his neck as they continued to explore each other's mouths.

After what seemed like an eternity of bliss, Tessa felt Helm's hand along the side of her face. It was slowly pulling the back lace mask down. It would be so easy to just let it happen. Let him know the truth. So easy!

"Doctor Helm!" she managed to get enough breath into spent lungs to say as she wrenched her mouth from his.

"Please," he spoke low against her ear. "Please, let me see who hides beneath the mask. I want to see--"

"I can't!" she cried as she freed herself from his grasp and backed away from him.

"Why not?" Helm replied exasperated. Running a hand through his now-mussed hair, he collected himself and repeated more calmly. "Why not?"

"When I was a little girl," she started hesitantly as she wandered the small enclosure that was the back yard, "my father had a tiny ship inside a glass bottle. It was the most handsome ship I'd ever seen. Four tall masts supported these blindingly white sails. The Spanish flag waved proudly from the top of the crow's nest. The detail was incredible. And amazingly, it was all inside this little glass bottle. One day, my curiosity just got the best of me, I suppose. I asked my father how the ship got inside the bottle. After he told me, after I knew the truth, that ship wasn't half as interesting to me anymore. It held no fascination for me at all."

Helm stood there looking at her, not a little bit of shock on his face.

"Is it me you love?" Tessa pressed, this time meeting his gaze straight on. "Or is it the *idea* of me that you love?"

Before Helm could sputter out any sort of reply, there was a loud thumping on the front door of his office.

"Dr. Helm! Open up."

It was unmistakably Captain Grisham's voice that bellowed from the other side.

Spinning around to face her, Helm pleaded with his eyes but knew that she wouldn't--couldn't stay. Sighing he turned and headed for the door. Pulling it open he nearly spat, "Such a pleasure to see you captain!"

"Good evening to you too, doc," Grisham replied with a grin.

"What do you want?"

"One of my men says he saw the Queen of Swords ride into town not long ago," Grisham explained, pushing past the doctor and into his office. "You'll forgive me if this is the first place I thought of looking for her."

"You can't just waltz in here--"

"Oh but I can, Dr. Helm," Grisham informed him. "This is official military business. I don't need you permission to do my job."

With that the captain noticed the open back door and smiled. Helm groaned as Grisham made his way toward the back yard. Stepping into the night, he surveyed the darkness with a critical eye. Seeing no one there, he placed his hands on his hips and laughed to himself. 'How typical,' he thought. He turned to face the doctor who just arched a brow and shrugged.

Glancing back to the single wine glass on the table, Grisham inquired, "Drinking alone doc? What a tragedy."

Leaving the flippant remark hanging between them, the captain made his way past Helm and around the side of the house.

Peering once more at the moon, its beams reflecting off the empty wine glass, he replied, "You've no idea."

END

RATING: PG13 or higher -- depending on your imagination.<g>

~~~~~

Tessa looked down over the ocean, but it didn't give her the feeling of peace it usually did. She usually came here to mourn her father or ask for absolution for the Queen. Today the thoughts that haunted her were not sombre ones and the rhythm of the gently rolling sea was agitating, instead of soothing her.

She heard a snort from Chico as he grazed on the picket she had staked. He didn't seem alarmed though, so she didn't move from her seat on the soft grass -- not until a shadow fell over her. Panicked, she turned as best she could to look up at the figure behind her. All she could see was a black shape against the blinding sun.

"I am sorry to startle you, Senorita. May I join you?"

At the sound of that request her fear abated, but her pulse increased. She suddenly didn't trust her voice so she nodded her assent. Her anxiety returned as Colonel Montoya took a seat on the ground beside her, between her and the edge of the cliff. He was facing her, but she didn't dare meet his eyes, for she knew he would be able to tell what she had been thinking.

She had been remembering the evening spent at the Hidalgos' anniversary party two weeks ago. He had been attentive, charming, and very proper. He had treated her like a well born lady expected to be treated. The problem was she was not like most well born ladies. As they danced, she had been very aware of him. She had seen the power and grace in the way that he handled a sword, but at that time she had been at the deadly end of the weapon. Now she saw that the power and grace could be channelled in a way that was less deadly but, for her, far more dangerous.

Now he was sitting beside her in his shirt sleeves. She rarely saw him so casually attired, but the day was warm and he likely had left his coat on his saddle. He had also positioned himself so that she could not avoid looking at him. Whether she looked straight ahead along the coast or out at the sea, he was in her line of vision. To watch the horses would be rude.

"You look distressed, Maria Teresa. What can I do to help?"

Go away! part of her cried, but Tessa answered according to Maria Teresa's character. "Nothing, Colonel. I came out here to try to gain some peace of mind. However, before you arrived, I had come to the realization that I was not going to find it today. Maybe I should have gone to church."

Montoya looked out to the ocean and said under his breath, "Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair." He turned back to her. "In places like this, it is easy to see the hand of God. But even surrounded by such beauty, serenity can be an elusive state."

He sat up straighter and took her hand, as if in comfort. She smiled as he raised it to his lips, but was surprised when he opened it to kiss her palm. His lips lingered on her skin and she found herself caressing the edge of his beard with her finger tips. He raised his eyes to meet hers and moved his mouth to the base of her thumb. This kiss was accompanied by a light scrape of his teeth and her fingernails scratched gently along the faint stubble at his jaw. He continued to the pulse point at her wrist and all of her voluntary actions ceased. She was having enough trouble remembering to breath. Light kisses were trailed along the underside of her arm to the hollow at her elbow. His eyes never left hers.

He released her arm and leaned toward her. He placed his near hand on the ground on the far side of her for support. She felt a little trapped, yet he was not holding her. He did not touch her in any way until his lips softly brushed the skin at her near shoulder. He looked up at her, searching for a reaction. She didn't give him one, for she didn't know how to react. He kissed her shoulder again and then whispered in her ear, "I find freckles on dark haired women very appealing."

Her heart began to race, both from the compliment and the knowledge of where his kisses would lead. She had never been concerned about keeping her skin pale and flawless. There was a sprinkling of sun kisses where ever the it could reach - her cheeks, her shoulders, along the edge of her bodice. And so Montoya's kisses followed those of the sun.

Even Antonio had never been so bold. He had been the first to win her heart and stir her blood. She had loved him enough to offer him all. Yet, she could not imagine that impulsive boy taking the time to turn her bones to water and her skin to flame with just the lightest of touches.

Montoya placed a lingering kiss over her breastbone and then raised his head to again look in her eyes. He leaned across her, not quite touching but she could feel the heat from his body. His cheek brushed against hers, as he said softly into her far ear, "This ends, Tessa, with one word from you." When no answer was forthcoming he began again, starting from her other shoulder. It made the whole process even more arousing, having conformation that she was actually in control of the situation. She was - wasn't she?

"Colonel... Luis!" The last was said with an edge of panic in her voice and she place her hands on his shoulders to push him away. He did not resist but he also did not move away from her touch. It was only when she dropped her hands that he returned to his original position, with his hands on the ground behind him to support his back and his legs stretched out in front. It was during this shift of position that Tessa noticed that Montoya had also been affected by the activity. She covered her face, not believing that she had taken note of such a thing.

While she was wallowing in her embarrassment, the colonel said, "Maria Teresa, marry me."

This brought her head up in open mouthed shock. It had not been an order, but it certainly had not been a plea. But then if he had come to her on bended knee and confessed his undying love, she would have had difficulty not laughing at him. This seemed... right. Dios mio! I am not actually considering the idea!

The colonel seemed to sense her confusion and quickly prevented any response. "Do not answer me now. I will come to your hacienda in a few days and broach the subject again." He rose and collected his horse that he had picketed with Chico. She continued to watch him in amazement until he rode out of sight.

END

By Eliza
[email protected]

~~~~~

Vera watched the little boat in the fountain. One of the children had crafted it from a piece of paper and it seemed a very determined little thing. It had managed to avoid the splashing of the spouts and the scrubbing of the laundresses. She followed it on its adventure, as it wove its way through the waves and the bubbles. Suddenly, a hand scooped it up. Vera looked up, startled at the intrusion into her miniature marine world, to find Tessa holding the little boat in her palm.

"It looked like it needed rescuing," Tessa said with a little shrug, and then placed soggy craft on the top of one of the spouts

Vera smiled at the gesture. Both women studied the little boat.

"It doesn't have it's colours," Tessa noted.

They turned to look at the large Spanish flag hanging from Montoya's office, then back to the boat and then at each other. Tessa shook her head and Vera said, "No, I don't think so either. Shall we go eat?"

Tessa nodded in response. Vera gave the valiant craft a little pat. Then the two women headed toward the cantina.

Once settled, with their usual bottle of wine and a full glass in front of each of them, the thoughtful mood from the fountain began to dissipate. Particularly as Vera noticed that Tessa was having difficulty keeping her eyes from Montoya's office.

"He's there," Vera said casually, before taking a sip of wine.

"Who?" Tessa seemed to be brought back to the present with a start.

Vera smiled indulgently. "Montoya. He is in his office. That is what you were wondering, yes?"

The faint blush the painted Tessa's cheeks gave enough of an answer. Vera could not resist pressing for a little gossip. "Has he kissed you yet?"

"Vera!" Tessa's blush became darker and she snapped open her fan.

The movements of the fan were rapid but controlled, so Vera continued the teasing. "Has anyone kissed you, yet?"

"Ve-ra!" Tessa glanced around to see if anyone could overhear. "I am not going to talk about this," she said in a loud whisper.

Vera could hear the smile in Tessa's voice and see the amusement in her eyes. She was likely putting on the indignant attitude for appearance sake. Vera decided to play the role of proper society lady as well. "I only ask because I am concerned," she said, with an expression of wide eyed innocence.

This statement took the amusement from Tessa's expression. She likely had been warned about the colonel before and was not looking forward to another lecture. Vera quickly changed the tone of her comments. "All men are dogs." That brought Tessa's fan back up and the laughter back to her eyes. "And even the most cultured and respectable will take advantage of a young, innocent, defenseless woman, such as yourself." Vera was sure that Tessa was chuckling behind her fan. "It is my duty as a married woman, and in the absence of your dear mother, to make sure that you know how to keep these dogs at heel."

Tessa gave in to her mirth and Vera couldn't help but join her. It was good to see the girl laugh. Tessa had become a close friend. She had stood by Vera through a number of difficult situations and knew more about her than anyone, even Gaspar. Vera hoped to return the favour by lightening the burden that the last year had placed on Tessa. Even if it was only with a little frivolous distraction.

As the giggles abated, Vera turned a mock glare on Tessa. "I see you do not take this seriously." She shook her finger at Tessa while trying to keep a straight face. "You will need my advice soon enough when allowing him to run off the lead produces some unseemly behavior."

"I can find no fault in the colonel's behavior toward me." Tessa blushed again. "He has treated me as a lady should be treated."

Vera leaned forward with a sly grin. "He kisses that well, does he?"

"Vera!!"

END

by Jo

TRIO CHALLENGE: Spanish flag, glass of wine, boat

~~~~~

Captain Marcus Grisham raced his white stallion out of Santa Helena with a small garrison of men. They were supposed to be finding the Queen of Swords, as she had just 'killed the Colonel as he laid in bed', but Grisham didn't know how long to keep up the charade. A spur of the moment mistake would probably take all day to fix, if not longer, if he didn't swing from the gallows for insubordination, attacking a commanding officer, murder, but most of all for being stupid. Since he first enlisted in the corp he had high hopes. He wanted to rise in the ranks, be loyal, but at the same time look for any opportunity for promotion. While serving under Montoya in that back water piece of landscape far, Grisham had seen how he could succeed.

In that seemingly insignificant berg, Grisham knew he could take over and run it in a far more organized manner than Montoya had. Montoya was cultured, smart, ruthless when he needed to be, everything that Grisham had looked up to, had wanted to be. For just a moment, Grisham regretted killing the Colonel. He had envisioned taking over the county, had tastes of everything that power would allow him. It was all his now. His men were indeed loyal, for they were training their telescopes off in the distance for the black vigilantress that Grisham knew wasn't there. Whether they were loyal to him personally, or wanted revenge for Montoya's death, Grisham couldn't determine.

While still in town, Grisham had cut his men into four regiments to search the four winds. He slowed his horse and looked back toward the pueblo in the distance, back at what he had done. One of the regiments had started to return to town instead of heading into the mountains toward the east. With his men surrounding him, Grisham ordered two to head toward Monterey, to tell the Governor what had happened and that he was in charge and would be expecting his inspection.

It was a long ride to Monterey and expectedly, Grisham saw the two men, with the fastest horses under them that he had chosen, hesitate. He told them, "Go to the Alvarado hacienda and get supplies for the ride. Tell them you are serving the Spanish flag. They'll provide you with all that you'll need."

'Sir," one of them trepidatiously said. "My wife. She is to deliver soon."

Grisham had just given a direct order to a subordinate and the man put his wife before the Spanish crown? He adjusted his bearing on his steed and wondered what Montoya would have done in such a situation. He was about to be angry, ready to have him locked up for not hopping to attention when an order had been given. But he didn't want to be that sort of leader. Montoya hadn't been. Grisham nodded to him. "Perdón, you are needed at home." Grisham looked at the others. "Any volunteers to take his place?"

To his delight, two men rose their hands. Grisham chose which one and with a salute, the chosen two rode toward the Alvarado hacienda, following orders.

~~~~~

Tired and worried, Marta sat and put her head down on her folded arms at the table. She hadn't wanted Tessa to go to town so soon for fear that she would run into Montoya and--amnesiac or not--seeing her could trigger the memory of seeing her in her Queen outfit right there in the Alvarado living room. She had spent most of the morning packing trunks of essentials in case they had to get on a boat for Spain, or somewhere, anywhere safe, if Tessa was found out. It was all too much for Marta's nerves so she poured herself a glass of wine. As she sat back to savor the liquid and hoping it would make her relax enough to get a little sleep, she saw two soldiers ride up to the veranda.

Panicking, Marta dropped the glass of wine and it shattered on the tile floor. Neither Tessa nor Montoya were with them; she couldn't figure out why they were there. With her heart in her throat thinking that they had come to arrest her for aiding the Queen and that Tessa was already hanged, Marta rushed to the door of the cellar thinking she could hide.

The soldiers knocked on the door. That surprised Marta. They didn't beat on the door, they didn't kick the door in, they politely knocked. She thought it could be a ruse, but she bucked up the courage to open the door. They each had their hats in their hands and told her about their mission.

"Montoya is dead?!" Marta leaned back against the cool wall as she tried to comprehend what they had told her, and how she imagined that it all had happened. "Was it from the knock on the head?" Her first instinct was to be sorry that she had pounded the Colonel with the Alvarado bible, that she had killed him. Her second was that since Montoya had been ready to kill Tessa, The Queen, it was self-defense. The soldiers had entered the casa and had seen the broken glass on the floor by the time Marta's mind had returned to the present. She told them that she hadn't gotten to cleaning it up, that it was spilled the evening before. The soldiers told her what they would require and patiently waited as she gathered it.

~~~~~

Helm had been able to stop Montoya's bleeding and stitch up the stab wound, but Montoya hadn't regained consciousness. With Tessa's help, they had found bedclothes for the Colonel to wear. After Tessa had left the room, Helm changed him and tucked him in. As he stood straight and stretched the kinks out of his back, he heard Tessa on the balcony. "Dr. Helm? Are you finished yet?"

"Yes, senorita," he said as he opened the door to see Tessa and a guard on the balcony. He noted that she was ignoring the guard. Of course, he thought. The guard is nothing to her.

Tessa immediately walked in the room and looked at the sleeping Colonel. "Is there any more we can do for him?"

"Not at the present."

"There must be something," she declared as she hovered at his bedside.

Helm nodded to the guard outside the door then shut it. He looked at the young woman who had come to his aid, served as a very capable nurse, hadn't gotten sick from not only the sight of blood, but by having it all over her heads. Spots of red still dotted her dress. As she took Montoya's hand and then put it gently back on the bed, Helm decided that he had underestimated the will of Senorita Alvarado. She was more effective and compassionate than he had ever imagined.

He stood beside her as he softly asked, "Are you close to the Colonel?"

She shook her head and stepped back from the bed. "No. It's just... this is all so confusing," she said with a little laugh.

"Yes," Helm agreed. "It is that." After all the conversations, in dangerous situations or in the peaceful din of his office, with the Queen, he had never dreamed she could be so callous as to attack the Colonel when he was down. He asked, "Did you see hide or hair of the Queen this afternoon?"

"No, doctor," Tessa said.

Helm mused aloud, "She usually makes her presence known. How could she have gotten into Montoya's house and attack him? How could she have known that he was impaired, that it was the perfect time to strike?"

"The Queen is many things, but she is not a murderer," Tessa said.

Helm was surprised to hear such a thing from a dona. All the other dons and their wives thought of the Queen as a rabble rouser, a detriment. "Have you had meetings with the Queen?"

Tessa turned her head away from him in such a way that made him want to see her face more clearly. As he would move more in front of her, she would turn away once again. She finally faced him to say, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. She was helpful to one of my workers. I don't resent her like others of my rank. She is not a murderer. She did not do this."

Helm said, "I think--." But was cut off by the return of Grisham into the town square. They both went out to the balcony to see people gathered around him as he dismounted his horse.

~~~~~

Luis felt a searing pain in his side and slowly opened his eyes. As he focused on the ceiling, he grabbed his side, which made the pain worse. A low groan escaped him. He turned his head, which felt like it was in a vise. Footsteps were heard as they rushed from the door to his bedside. He opened his eyes to see a young woman and a man. As he focused on the young woman's long brown hair, Luis heard the man say, "Colonel, just lay back. Don't get up." Luis wasn't even aware that he had been trying to and that was what was making side burn. The man pushed him back on the bed but Luis was looking straight at the woman who was visible just above the man's shoulder.

Luis touched his forehead and felt a lump, the touching of which sent searing waves of pain across his head. He shut his eyes and tried to make sense of everything that had happened to him. The memories that he had were jumbled, fast, didn't make much sense. The young woman's face, a mustached man sneering at him as he bent over to mock him, sitting in a darkened living room as he slowly smoked a cigar waiting... for something, a curly haired woman who Luis knew hated him, snipping roses in his courtyard, the hilt of a sword smashing him on the head, commanding his men. Luis jerked his head back and fell back into a deep sleep as more remembrances flashed in his mind.

~~~~~

Grisham marched into Montoya's bedroom and was somewhat surprised that he didn't see the Colonel's face covered with a sheet. "He's?"

Helm stuck his hands in his pockets and told the captain, "He's very sick, but yes, he is alive."

"Well," Grisham said, trying to sound pleased. "This is good news."

Tessa walked from behind Helm to ask, "Did you capture the Queen, Capitan?"

"No," he said. "Once again, she has alluded us." Grisham pointed to Montoya. "Is he going to be all right?"

"We hope so," Helm said.

Grisham didn't like how he was being inspected by Tessa and Helm. "Why aren't there any guards in here? He should be protected 24 hours a day. Guards!"

The hall door opened, along with the balcony door, and Grisham told the guards, "Guard this room with your lives. Give the doctor anything he needs to tend to the Colonel. Word has been sent to the Governor about what has happened here. We should be expecting his arrival within a week."

The guards retook their positions at each open door as Helm and Tessa looked at each other. Grisham slightly bowed to Tessa, "Senorita? Would you be needing an escort back to your estate?"

"No, Capitan. I will stay here to help Dr. Helm tend to the Colonel."

"That won't be necessary," Helm said. "I've done as much as I can for the moment. Thank you for your help, Tessa. Oh," he paused. "May I call you Tessa?" After an affirmative nod of her head, he told her, "I was able to work quickly because you were here."

"Yes," Grisham agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "The Colonel is alive thanks to you, both of you. Good work." He walked closer to the bed to look upon the face of the man who had been in his way.

"There's no need for you to stay, Tessa," Helm said. "You've had a busy day, why don't you go home and rest?"

"I am not a fragile doll, doctor," Tessa said. "I can--."

"I wouldn't dream of thinking that you were," Helm said.

Grisham finally looked at the two of them and saw that Helm was holding Tessa's hand. That worried him. Maria Theresa Alvarado was who Grisham wanted to eventually have, as soon as he would be able to bend her to his will. He would marry her and acquire all her wealth, be a Don. At least that was the plan before he so impulsively stabbed the Colonel. She was almost flush as Helm held her hand.

"Tessa," Helm continued, "Let me escort you to your carriage. If the Colonel needs a nurse, I'll know who to ask."

"All right," Tessa said, smiling. "But first, the household staff should be alerted to those soiled sheets and the Colonel's uniform."

Grisham smiled. She was thinking of any way to stay there, to stay in the doctor's presence. And was pretty obvious. "I'll alert them Senorita," Grisham said. "Thank you once again for tending to the Colonel."

After Helm escorted Tessa out of the room, Grisham closed each door. He went to the window to see if Helm would actually put her in her carriage and he could squire her another day. When the doctor and Tessa reached her carriage, they talked. They seemed relaxed with each other. Grisham knew that he would have to work fast to get the senorita to once again look in his direction, not look elsewhere, to the doctor for instance.

Grisham paced in deep thought, making plans. Then he stopped. He had done the exact same thing that morning and had done an extremely foolish thing. He looked toward the bed. He didn't see the comatose Colonel, as he had while there were others in the room. What he saw was a slight smile on the Colonel's face that slowly grew. The Colonel opened his eyes, squinted with what must have been massive pain, and stared up at him. "So, Grisham. How do you plan on escaping with your life?"

~Jo

#9 Challenge Quote:

She walks in beauty like the night,
of cloudless climes and starry skies
And all that's best of dark and bright
meets in her aspect and her eyes
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
which heaven to gaudy day denies.

~~~~~

Gaspar returned home well after dark from a meeting with the other Dons. The meeting wasn't one to determine how best to deal with Montoya, or how to make their workers work harder, or how to consolidate their wealth and make it grow, or which properties in the county were ripe for the picking, or to get news from their homeland. No, the meeting was a poker game. Gaspar halted the horses and then stepped down from the carriage with the help of a stable worker. "Will you be needed the carriage further?"

"No," Gaspar said as he walked toward the house. "Have a pleasant evening." He enjoyed the extra weight to the bag of reales that he had taken to the poker game. He jiggled it in his hand to hear the coins clank. He had been pleased that Doctor Helm had been called away on a medical emergency as he was an excellent poker player. You couldn't tell what was going on behind those eyes if you had Helm's head in a vise and a concentrated light flashing in his face. Gaspar hadn't won a pot since Don Sanchos started inviting the doctor to their gatherings, thinking it would be easy to get whatever coins the Brit had. So far, Gaspar had lost 1200 reales and a prized horse from his stables to the doctor.

Lamps were lit throughout the house, but Gaspar couldn't find his wife. The maid, Angela, was just entering the side door with the empty dish tub as he entered the kitchen. "Will you be needing anything this evening, senor? A snack?"

"No thank you." Gaspar said. "In fact, here." He reached into the bag and pulled out two coins to give her. She held them in her hand with a confused look. "I was quite lucky this evening. Buy something nice for your children."

"Muchos gracias, Senor!"

"Good night." Gaspar asked her as she was opening the door to return to her family, "Where is Vera?"

"She is in the garden, senor. It is such a beautiful night."

"Yes, it is." Gaspar walked with Angela out of the house. They walked through the yard, then Angela curtsied then walked to the line of houses where his workers resided. Gaspar walked to the flower garden. He heard soft singing as he neared it. He lessened his steps and tip toed down the cobblestones between tall trees that sheltered the garden. When he turned the corner to see Vera among the flowers in full bloom, he quietly sat on the stone bench and just watched her.

Byron's poem fluttered into his head as he watched his wife slowly sway as she stepped down the path amidst her flowers. She walks in beauty like the night, Gaspar said to himself. As the words of the poem went through his head, he listened to her soft singing of a lullaby. Children. That was the only thing that they did not have that would make their lives perfect.

Gaspar remembered the first time he had sat on a bench and just watched Vera. It was in a square in Barcelona when she was just a child herself. Her long blond hair was wild, not wanting to stay trapped in the barrette that he was sure that her mother had clipped. She was playing a game with boys who were at least a foot taller than herself. Her dress hiked up to her knees as she kicked the ball, expertly keeping it away from the lad who was 'it'. She was agile, had powerful kicks and was laughing all the while. She was so full of life, so knowing of the effect she had on the boys. Gaspar, a student ready to graduate from the university, had determined that he was at ten years older than she, but had begun taking that same bench to eat his lunch every noon time. He knew that Vera and her friends would be playing.

He had been watching them for months before a stray ball flew in his direction. He dropped the apple to deftly catch it. He was going to throw it back into the fray, but saw Vera run in his direction to collect it. Gaspar set it on his lap and smiled as she at first ran, then walked to him. When she stood before him, she curtsied. "Apologies, senor," were her first words to him. She had spoken in a grown up, respectful manner. Soon her precocity shown through. Her face lit up in a smile and she gushed, "But you caught that ball! I thought it would hit you in the head!"

To finally be face to face with the untamed spirit, Gaspar was speechless. He had wondered if he would ever meet her, and how it would happen. He could have just walked up to her and introduced himself, but that didn't seem right. He knew she wasn't from a prominent family as he was, he was older, he didn't want to scare her. He wondered if she knew that he thought of her all the time.

"Senor?" Vera was motioning to the ball that laid on his lap. "May I have the ball?"

"Yes, senorita," Gaspar replied, but did not move. He only looked at her smile, her wrinkled and soiled dress, her willowy arms. He then saw that the boys and girls were standing with their hands on their hips waiting for the game to resume. Since she wasn't going to take the ball on her own, he picked it up and held it out to her. "My name is Gaspar Hidalgo. What is your name?"

"Vera," she said as she let the ball fall into her waiting hands. "It is nice to meet you, senor. I have watched you watch us for quite a while now."

"I have my lunch here every day."

"I know." She bowed her head and turned. Over her shoulder she smiled and said, "Why do you think I have been insisting that we play here, at the same time, every day?"

~Jo

DISCLAIMERS: Don't own Montoya, Helm or Byron. But I'll take credit for the horse.
Quote/Trio challenge - 3/18/01

~~~~~

Though wit may flash from fluent lips,
and mirth distract the breast,
Through midnight hours that yield no
more their former hope of rest;
'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the
ruin'd turret wreathe,
All green and wildly fresh without,
but worn and gray beneath.
-George Gordon, Lord Byron
"Youth and Age"

The night was quiet. A soft breeze had driven away the last of the sun's heat, and the stars invited cool reflection as Robert Helm paced through the pueblo. All the good people of the town seemed to have found sleep's sweet peace. Even a few of the not-so-good, Robert thought to himself, noting the Colonel's darkened windows.

Surely he couldn't be the only one not yet ready to surrender to his dreams. He walked a little further, and when he rounded a corner, a light beckoned from the stables. He stepped in warily and discovered Colonel Montoya sitting against the far wall, a book in his hand, a lantern and a glass of wine on an overturned crate at his side.

"Good evening, Doctor. What has you creeping about so late?"

"Trouble sleeping. What's your excuse?"

"The mare, she has been restless today, and she is very near foaling. I thought someone should stay with her."

"Don't you have grooms or something for that?"

The Colonel made a dismissive gesture. "Bah. Leon is in charge of the stables, and the fool could not tell a stallion from a mule."

"I see," Helm answered, though he did not understand at all.

The Colonel sighed one of the sighs reserved for ignorant Englishmen and changed the subject. "I've acquired some new books recently. This is one of your English poets, Lord Byron."

"Byron, eh?" Helm stepped closer, curious. English books were hard to come by in this part of the world.

"You have read him, no?"

"Some. When I was in Europe."

"In Europe, yes." Montoya chuckled. "The English finally get a poet who can wrest some beauty from their feeble language, and then they can't tolerate him."

Helm decided not to argue the point. "Well, at least you've discovered an Englishman you can admire."
"I admire his ability. Consider this:"

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

"Very beautiful, no?"

"Quite," Helm murmured distantly. The beauty of the passage read with the Colonel's soft voice and Spanish accent had taken his mind far away to a different beauty, one who perhaps also paced the night.

"But, like all poets, this Lord Byron is a fool."

"Excuse me?" Helm returned his mind to the present, wondering if he'd missed something. "Why do you say that."

"Because he writes of women and speaks of their 'purity,' their 'goodness.' Hear the last line here:
'A heart whose love is innocent.' There is no woman on earth with an innocent heart."

"I'm beginning to understand why you spend so much time in the stables," Helm said dryly.

In response, Montoya gave an enigmatic smile and rose to look in on the mare. "Horses have all the beauty of women and all the power of men, but unlike us, they are honest creatures."

Montoya paused to sip his wine, and Robert relaxed against the wall, curious about this mood of the Colonel's.

"Many, many years ago, when I was little more than a boy, I sat up late in the stables watching over my favorite mare on a night not unlike this. She was a fine animal with bloodlines every bit as impressive as Estrella here."

On hearing her name, the horse looked up and moved closer. Montoya gave her some soothing words and soft strokes before returning to his story. "The result of that night's vigil was a most perfect filly. I helped train her, and when she was old enough, when she was ready, I gave her to the girl I loved more than anything else in the world."

"Quite a gift," Robert said softly, hoping to encourage the Colonel to continue.

"It took some sacrifices to arrange. I gave up my own opportunity for a new mount, among other things. But it was worth it. She loved that horse. She told me she loved it almost as much as she loved me."

"So what happened?" Robert asked the question fearing he already know the answer.

"We were very happy. Our families were close, and we saw each other constantly. I worked hard so that when I was old enough, I would be worthy to ask for her hand. And she..." Montoya paused and shook his head.

A sad smile of memory touched his face. "She worked hard to keep her father tied tight around her finger so that when she was old enough to marry, he would mind her wishes in the matter.

"They were happy years. We danced at every fiesta, went on riding parties, wrote long letters whenever we had to be apart and went off to the stables together whenever we had the chance. It was in the stables that I asked her to marry me. My regiment was marching north the next day to fight for the glory of my country's flag. I wanted her word, and she gave it to me, swore she'd wait for me, declared she'd take the veil rather than marry any other man alive. She was so beautiful that night, like a dancing flame trapped in human flesh. What a waste of beauty."

"Where is she now?"

Montoya refilled his wine glass and took a long sip before answering. "She is in Madrid married to a rich and powerful man. I read of her now and then. Her 'dazzling' parties are often mentioned in the newspapers the supply ships bring."

"I'm sorry, Luis." Robert spoke gently.

"Sorry? Whatever for? A young man's broken heart? That is inevitable, is it not?"

The Colonel gave an inquiring look, but Robert wasn't up to revealing his own secrets of the heart. "Every man must learn the treachery of a woman's heart sooner or later. Learning it sooner proved valuable to my career. Did you know that I was commended for bravery on the battlefield? It is a very simple thing to be brave when you don't care if you live or die."

Doctor Helm frowned. This was something he understood too well. "I think I'd rather speak of
poetry than war, if you don't mind."

Another enigmatic smile. "Here my friend. Why don't you take the book, and perhaps it will help you sleep. I will return to a more sensible Spanish writer."

Montoya turned again to the horse, and Robert had the distinct feeling he'd just been dismissed. He murmured his thanks and returned through the dark streets to his bed. Perhaps poetry would help him sleep. If nothing else, it might served to remind him that this, too, shall pass away.

'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley
Ozymandias of Egypt

"Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair." The main ringleader of the group yelled to them from the fountain top. "Well not exactly." He jumped down to the ground. "Our show is for the very young to the very old. To the very beautiful," He kissed Tessa hand. "To the very.." The jokester laughed when Montoya gave him a dirty look. The show went on for several hours. Grisham got outshoot by a clown. Vera was chosen to be the victim of knife throwing. Tessa and everyone were enjoying the show. Except she did not notice the doctor. Marta leaned over next to her.

"Something wrong?" Tessa shuck her head no. Marta knew better though. She had known her since a child and cared for her as if her own. Tessa looked around the crowd again. In one of the back corners of the crowds there he stood. "Now ladies and gentlemen we would like to present to you are muse. A lady from far lands and small unknown islands. Her Voice has made men crash into shores a many of nights. Our Lady muse, Linthia." A hooded figure stepped forward. Tender fingers moved up and removed the hood. Her head bowed. The audience was silent. She looked up finally. Her eyelids were painted gold. The rest were silver streaks that painted their way across them. The crowd looked at her guessing her age, guessing what she's gonna sing. Guessing what was behind the make-up. The girl's eyes looked over the crowd. They stopped when the fell upon Dr. Helm. She gave him a smile.

"Hello." The crowd said hello back. Tessa noticed her accent of French. "Now I wish you to close your eyes and relax." Everyone mostly closed her eyes.

Tessa watched over the crowd. Helm keep his eyes opened and watched her. The Muse began to sing.

"She walks in beauty like the night
of cloudless climes and starry skies
And all that's best of dark and bright
meets in her aspect and her eyes
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
which heaven to gaudy day denies."

The music seemed to fade as Tessa watched the Doctor. He seemed to be uneasy. Tessa looked back to the singer. Her voice was a sweet soprano. She had finally shut her eyes, held the note then ended. Everyone began to clap around her and stand up. Tessa stood up not to applaud her put to see the doctor. As she looked where he was standing he was no longer there. The Queen's counterpart looked at the singer. She looked directly into her eyes and tilted her head. The Muse looked back around to the crowd. Tessa watched in wonder at the motions of the girl. The ringleader came out and twirled her around. As soon as she was set back down her eyes looked for the Doctor. Tessa had a bad feeling about this.

TBC

By Lisa
[email protected]

Written for the weekly challenge of 3-18-01-TheQueenofSwordsFanfic list on yahoogroups and Cobbler.

~~~~~

One more variation on the Byron quote. . . . .

~~~~~

The pale silver brightness of the new moon in the cloudless sky allowed almost as many shadows as daylight. Its glow transformed the otherwise unremarkable corner of the pueblo into the perfect setting for delicate romantic intrigues and the sharing of the most intimately secret desires.

Or for intrigues of a more gaudily heroic nature.

Hidden within the doorway's darkness, Colonel Montoya smiled to himself as he caught sight of the long-expected black-clad woman slipping from shadow to shadow. He waited until she had passed, then stepped out behind her.

"'She walks in beauty like the night,'" he began to recite softly in English, "'Of cloudless climes and starry skies.'" He spoke barely loud enough for her to hear. "'And all that's best of dark and bright / Meets in her aspect and her eyes.'" Was this, he wondered, how Helm saw her? The poem certainly fit her. She had stopped still, and he could see her hand move to the sword hilt. Unless she knew the language--and he was fairly sure she did not--she could only guess at what he might be saying. He kept his tone low and gently seductive. It was a pity that she could not know how well the poet had caught the melancholy paradox of perfect moonlit beauty, though that was hardly the point of this exercise. "'Thus mellowed to that tender light,'" he concluded, "'which heaven to gaudy day denies.'" He raised and cocked his pistol as she turned. "Good evening, your Majesty."

"Colonel."

"Do you read the English poets, Senorita?" She shook her head. "Pity. Some Englishmen can be quite passionate, do you not think?" She was clever, composed enough not to react to such obvious bait, but it would not hurt to remind her that he knew her weakness for the doctor. "Byron, in particular, is quite notorious: 'mad, bad, and dangerous to know.' But one might say much the same thing of you."

"Or you."

He inclined his head slightly. "Or me." Her hand had left her sword for the moment, so he lowered the pistol in return. "But can you be so sure I am really the villain you think me, Senorita? I am merely a servant of the Crown, enforcing the law in this lawless land."

"The law?" She tossed her hair back scornfully.

"Ah, you must not confuse the law with justice, my dear. What is it, for example, that brings you here this evening? You intend to release the thief, no?"

"Pedro is no thief--"

"He was caught in the act, Senorita." Montoya held up his free hand when he saw her about to object. "It is true that he stole only because his wife and children were starving. Four children, I believe, all very young, and his wife within a month of giving him another. And it is also true," he added, "that his so-called victim, Don Felipe, is a cruel and vicious man who exploits and degrades his workers. But the law--and the dons--demand Pedro's punishment. To allow him to go free would be to encourage banditry, revolution even. As for justice--"

He had her attention now, he knew. The mask hid most of her expression, but it wasn't difficult to imagine her frown as she tried to work out where his words were leading--and why he hadn't either summoned his soldiers or decided to fight her himself. "Justice," he went on, "is not so simple a matter. Let us say, for the sake of argument, that you succeed in rescuing Pedro this evening. What then? Will he leave the territory without his family? What will happen to them if he does? Or will he stay to protect them? How long before he is found and executed? Where is your justice, Queen, eh?"

"So you're saying I should let you hang him?"

"Did I say I would hang him?" Montoya took a step forward. She stiffened, but did not back up. "It is possible that in the morning I might commute his sentence--to a flogging, say. Enough to satisfy the dons and yet not so much that he will not survive. Possible that a sympathetic hand might be found to wield the whip. Possible that our good doctor might see to his care and recovery, and that charitable strangers might ensure the well-being of his family in the meantime."

"Why? Why would you do this?" She was troubled now, uncertain. She could not know whether she should trust him or not. He had been careful, after all, to promise nothing.

He shrugged. "Perhaps I, too, merely wish to see justice done." She would not believe him, which was wise of her. Nor would she be the worthy opponent he thought her if she yielded so easily. "But no. We both know I am too much the pragmatist for such idealism: I leave that to others." He smiled and took another step forward; her hand returned to her blade. "Even I, however, can be convinced of the expediency of mercy. And there are methods of persuasion, Senorita, more effective than a sword." With infinite care he removed her gloved hand from the hilt of the sword and raised it to his lips. The leather was as cool and emotionless as the dead flesh it was, but he was close enough to feel the heat of the body so close to his--close enough for her to feel his own fire.

Whatever else she might be, the quality and cut of her clothes, the faint perfume that clung to her all proclaimed the Queen a lady, and ladies learned early to interpret such actions. This was a language, a poetry of sorts, that she thought she could understand. The eyes behind the lace widened in surprise at his unexpected flirtation.

Montoya released her hand, stepped back and bowed formally. She hesitated only a moment before making her retreat. Her movements showed as much stealthy grace as ever, but she was unnerved enough to turn her back on him. He raised the pistol and aimed as she paused for a moment, the moonlight limning the darkness of her form. "All that's best of dark and bright," he repeated to himself, and fired.

The ball shattered a roof tile just above her head and alerted the garrison. She would get away, but she would know that he had, once more, refused to take her life. Montoya smiled into the night. There were, indeed, many ways to defeat an enemy. "Until next time, Maria Theresa."

END

DISCLAIMERS: Fireworks owns 'em, let's hope for another season at least.

RATING: G

~~~~~

Tessa just stood in the doorway and watched as the doctor paced back and forth, muttering something under his breath in a language she assumed was English. The rustle of her silk skirt alerted him to a visitor and he turned with an exclamation of surprise. His face closed for a second in annoyance, and Tessa's spirits plummeted. She gripped her basket more tightly and drew herself up, fixing on her lips what she hoped was a friendly, non-committal smile.

"Oh, Señorita Alvarado. I didn't hear you knock," he said acerbically.

"That's because your door was already open, and I just walked in," she replied as evenly as possible, though her temper was beginning to rise. "Did I interrupt your prayers, Doctor?"

"What? Oh, you mean the line I was saying to myself. It's part of a poem I learned as a boy. It was practically beaten into my head so naturally I forgot it as soon as I could. Now, it's driving me mad to remember the rest of it. I only have the first line."

"What is it? Maybe I could help," she said as she ventured further into the office, setting her basket on the table.

Helm laughed. "It's an English poem so you're hardly likely to know it."

"Tell me the first line anyway."

He repeated the line in English, and Tessa gave him an impatient glare. "En Español, por favor. No habla Inglés."

"It probably doesn't' translate well. But here is the first line, ""She walks in beauty like the night," he said in Spanish, "and that's all I can remember of the damned poem."

Tessa brightened and replied, in Spanish,
"of cloudless climes and starry skies
And all that's best of dark and bright
meets in her aspect and her eyes
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
which heaven to gaudy day denies."

Helm's mouth gaped open, then he shook his head, laughing, "I am truly astonished that you would know that poem, and in Spanish too."

Tessa felt her face warming at his spontaneous praise and decided it was time to leave. "Here are the salves that Marta prepared for you. I should be going now. Marta is waiting at the wagon."

"Wait, please. Could you teach the whole poem again? It's very important." Helm reached a restraining hand on her arm, then removed it quickly when he realized what he had done. "Excuse me, señorita. I would consider it a great favour if you could spare me just a few more minutes of your time to teach me the poem." His earnest face leaned near her, a pleading look in his green eyes.

"Of course, doctor. Why do you wish to learn this poem?" Tessa saw him withdraw slightly and look away evasively.

"I just need to remember it, that's all."

For the next half hour, Tessa coached the doctor with the expressive love poem until she was sure he had it perfectly. After his profuse exclamations of gratitude which made her flustered and not a little angry, she took her leave and joined Marta at the wagon.

Marta had been sitting on the bench, fanning herself, and looked very warm and a little put out at the long wait. "It doesn't usually take so long to deliver a few jars of ointment, " she said tersely. "I could have done it myself if I had known you would be in there forever. What took you so long?" Seeing the aggrieved look on Tessa's face, she asked, " Is there something I should know?"

"I was teaching him a poem," Tessa said disconsolately.

"A poem? What poem?"

Tessa repeated the verses to Marta whereupon the older woman fell back against the wagon seat and laughed heartily. Tessa regarded her with an annoyed pout. "I don't see anything funny about it!" she said sharply. "I teach him a love poem so he can say it to another woman? That isn't funny. It's ridiculous!"

Marta sobered for a second, wiping her eyes. "Especially when that other woman is you." Marta chuckled involuntarily, unable to contain herself in spite of the dark looks she was getting from Tessa. "Well, you'll soon hear that poem again, and then you'll know if it was time well spent teaching it to him." Marta gave her a sly wink and a playful nudge.

--Maril

TRIO - Spanish flag, boat & glass of wine

DISCLAIMERS: Fireworks owns them.
RATING: G

~~~~~

"I sense your presence immediately as I watch your shadow cross the floor toward me. As I look up at you, those bewitching dark eyes mock my efforts at pretended indifference. My heart begins to race as if with tachycardia, and the floor boards beneath my feet rock as if I'm on a boat on the water. The vision of you, standing outlined against the harsh sunlight in the doorway, races through my veins like wine. In the sudden stillness, all I can hear is the rushing of the wind across the dusty plaza and the snapping of the Spanish flag atop Montoya's residence.

In your eyes, I see a playful curiosity. Why am I reciting a line of poetry, over and over? I'll use that curiosity to lure you inside, like dangling a string in front of a cat. Will your inquisitiveness lead you further, or like a cat, will you remain aloof to all my efforts?

I jibe at your lack of manners in not knocking on my door, and I watch with amusement as you bristle like a cat whose fur is rubbed the wrong way. You want to know about the line of poetry I've been repeating and I tell you in English. Another rub of the fur, but at least, I have your attention. And then to my surprise, you actually knew the poem by Byron, and in Spanish. I watch the rose colour your cheeks at my unfeigned praise. As you turn to leave, I touch your arm and that touch ignites a fire within me. And in you, though you pretend as I do. As I'm pretending that I don't remember the poem in order to detain you longer. It's all I can think of, and for a very short while, it's enough. I've dangled the string and the cat reaches for it, a feint with her deadly claws sheathed.

You find me a rather dense pupil, it takes so long to learn the lines. And I can see in your eyes, that I've wounded you. You know the poem is intended for another woman, the dark side of the woman now seated at my table, patiently teaching me the verses. Whose pain is the greater, I wonder -- yours, because you think you are not loved -- or mine, because I cannot admit it until you trust me with your dark secret.

Finally, I must let you go. Your friend is waiting in the hot sun, and I've kept you as long as I could. I watch from my window as you cross the square toward your Gypsy companion. I see you speak to her and see her laugh, but I know there is also compassion in that laugh. She would never hurt you, or let harm come to you if she could prevent it. Like a mother cat, so fiercely protective of you is she."

Helm lifted the glass chimney from his lamp, and moved the page he had just written into the flame. As his words began to burn and char, he sensed the presence of another. Behind the mask, she watched curiously as the last of the paper was burned and gone. The cat had taken the string into her unsheathed claws and was drawing it and its holder inexorably toward her.

-Maril