Author's note:  This is my Too Much Wine Challenge story as suggested by Diana aka knotheadsrus on the New World Zorro Fanfiction Facebook page in 2014. Each story had to include: 1) someone drinking too much wine, 2) someone getting a new sword, 3) a sword fight, 4) an argument between friends, and 5) someone must kiss a stranger.

CHAPTER ONE

Diego de la Vega and his father, Don Alejandro strolled into the Taverna Victoria one very warm summer evening. The place was filled nearly to the rafters with customers. All of them must be trying to escape the heat, Diego mused.

He walked up to the bar where Victoria was wiping out a glass. "Two lemonades, por favor," he requested, smiling down at her.

"We're out of lemonade," she said briskly.

"Orange juice?" Diego asked, his smile fading somewhat.

"Out of that too," she replied as she picked up another cup and placed it with the others.

"What do you have to drink?" queried Diego, deciding to cut to the chase.

"Water or wine." Victoria pointed to two pitchers on the counter. She tipped her head to bottles on the shelves behind her with a knowing little smile. "Unless you are interested in tequila or whiskey?"

"Two waters then," he declared, ignoring her teasing about his teetotalism. He started to take a glass from the top of her neat stack.

"Looks like your father found his own refreshment."

Diego turned around and saw the elder de la Vega was sitting with some of his friends, one of which was pouring a large amount of wine into a glass in front of Don Alejandro. Facing Victoria once again, Diego poured himself a glass of water before strolling over to the table to join his father.

"Buenas noches, Diego," said Don Sebastian. The other three men sitting there all raised their cups in greeting.

"Salud." Diego wasn't sure if Don Esteban or Don Fernando had spoken as they all lifted their arms higher before taking a drink.

"It certainly looks like you are celebrating tonight," declared Diego. He took a sip of his water.

"Indeed, indeed," Don Esteban said. "Today is my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Twenty-five years of wedded bliss."

"To thirty years!" called out Don Arturo.

The men, including Don Alejandro, emptied their glasses.

"Um, shouldn't you be home, celebrating with your. . .um, wife?" asked Diego naively.

"Have you met my wife, Diego?" inquired Don Esteban. Diego nodded; of course, everyone in the pueblo knew Doña Carmen. "Then you know why I am here."

The tipsy don guffawed loudly at his own wit. More wine was poured as the others all laughed heartily. With a shake of his head, Diego clapped a hand on his father's shoulder then left to go find more congenial and less inebriated company.

Several hours later, Diego sat with Sergeant Mendoza, listening to yet again one of the lancer's far-fetched tales of his military service, he noticed the noise from the table where the elder caballeros were had grown quieter. Glancing over, he saw at least two of the dons had passed out and the rest, his father included, were swaying in their seats.

"Excuse me, Sergeant," he said as he got up and walked over to the group of old men.

"Hey, Diego." The elder de la Vega's speech slurred as he tried to stand up, faltered, then sat back down.

Victoria came upon the scene then, the smile in her eyes warring with the disapproving set of her mouth. Diego had to admit it was sort of funny, the leading caballeros of the pueblo drunker than the worst vaqueros after the spring round-up.

"Why don't we let them sleep it off here tonight?" the innkeeper suggested. "I don't think any of them are capable staying on a horse right now."

"I suspect you are right, Señorita," Diego agreed.

The next hour was spent rousing the intoxicated men, convincing them they were in no shape to go to their respective haciendas, and helping them up to the rooms upstairs. Once they were all tucked in for the night, Diego and Victoria strolled back downstairs.

"Well, I better be heading home," Diego said as Victoria made her way behind the bar. "I'll be back first thing in the morning to see how father is doing."

"Gracias, Diego," she said. "Buenas noches."

"Buenas noches."

Diego smiled wistfully to himself as he walked away from her and toward the door. As he reached out for the handle, the door opened, allowing in a gust of wind along with two exhausted looking women, both covered from head to toe in black garments.

"Hola," a startled Diego said in greeting. "May I help you?"

"Are you the landlord?" inquired the younger of the two.

"No, I am," Victoria announced as she glided forward. "Welcome to the pueblo de Los Angeles. I am Victoria Escalante. Please, come inside."

The women stepped across the tavern's threshold as Diego held the door for them. "I'm sorry but I only have one room left," Victoria apologized once the newcomers came to a halt in the middle of the room. "I usually don't get guests this late."

"Our ship didn't arrive at San Pedro until this evening, then our carriage broke down a few miles from here and we had to wait while the driver repaired it," said the woman who had spoken earlier.

"Well, let's hope your luck has changed for the better," Diego declared with a polite smile.

"Gracias, although I daresay it already has." The woman then pulled back the hood of her dusty traveling cloak, revealing glossy raven curls, deep brown eyes, and flawless porcelain skin. She was the most stunning woman Diego had ever seen and his body reacted as if he were an inexperienced boy. Mentally scolding himself, he listened as the beautiful newcomer continued to speak.

"I am Señora Murillo, and this is my mother, Señora Gomez." The older woman nodded as she was introduced. "One room will be fine."

"Are you hungry?" asked Victoria tersely as she moved behind the counter and lifted a key from its hook. "I have some supper left. I could warm it. . ."

"No, just some tea, if you have it, por favor," replied Señora Murillo, taking the proffered key.

Diego wondered at the scowl marring Victoria's usually lovely features as she ducked into the kitchen.. Surely she wasn't upset about the señoras' late arrival, he mused as he listened to her banging and clanging about as she prepared the requested tea.

Diego turned his attention back to her guests, noting the women were each clutching large overstuffed satchels.

"Here, let me take those up to your room," he offered, reaching out his hand.

"Gracias." The pair relinquished their luggage to him. Señora Murillo beamed at him gratefully as her fingers grazed his, causing him to feel oddly dizzy. Slightly shaking his head as if to clear it, Diego then carried the heavy bags to the top of the staircase to the last unoccupied room.

The mother and daughter had followed and Diego set down one of the satchels to open the door before permitting the women to enter the room before him. He placed their luggage at the foot of the bed.

Stepping back out of the room, Diego said, "If there is anything else you need, please let Victoria know. Buenas noches, señoras."

"Wait, señor," said Señora Murillo, placing her gloved hand on his arm. The contact made his skin tingle under the linen of his shirt sleeve. He wanted to pull away, run away, anything to stop the wholly inappropriate thoughts racing through his mind. Gritting his teeth, he resisted both the impulse to jump backward and the more disturbing impulse to take her into his arms.

"Si?" he managed to inquire in a strangled voice.

"Do you work here?" she asked. With a glance at her mother, she continued, "Are you Señor Escalante?"

"Oh, no," Diego replied with a chuckle. As surreptitiously as he could, he let his arm fall to his side. His inner turmoil lessened, though not by much. She was still staring up at him with her dark chocolate colored eyes, eyes in which he could easily lose himself. "Señorita Escalante and I are not. . . I mean she's not my wife. She's. . . She's just a very good friend of my family." He said the last sentence in a single breath, hoping he did not sound as gauche as he felt.

The señora smiled at him, raising her right eyebrow. Feeling even more foolish at the realization he had not yet introduced himself, he bowed and stated, "Diego de la Vega, at your service."

A strange expression, something akin to triumph, passed over her face so fleetingly Diego thought he must have imagined it.

"Well, gracias, Señor de la Vega," she said, a mask of politeness now firmly in place. "Buenas noches."

"De nada," he replied, not understanding the disappointment he was experiencing, even though he knew he must go. "Buenas noches."

He turned to leave, nearly crashing into Victoria as she stood next to him, holding the laden tea tray. He hadn't even noticed her presence until that moment.

"Oh, sorry," he muttered inanely as he stepped aside and allowed her to enter the bedchamber. She let the tray drop heavily onto the small table by the bed. The pitcher holding the cream nearly toppled and drops of tea spewed forth from the pot.

"Will there be anything else," Victoria said, through clenched teeth Diego noted, as she shot him a dark look. He still had no idea why she was so annoyed. She must just be tired, he speculated.

"No, thank you," Señora Murillo responded.

"Good night then," said Victoria, more than a little ungraciously. She swirled about and headed out of the room. She was halfway down the stairs when she suddenly twirled back around. "Are you coming, Diego? Or do you did change your mind about staying the night?"

Diego snapped out of the fog which seemed to be encircling his head. "No. . . I mean yes. . . I mean. . ." He stopped speaking, took a deep breath, then said, "Yes, I'm coming. No, I'm not staying." He jogged down steps to where Victoria was waiting. "I'll be back first thing in the morning," he said, echoing his earlier statement before the two women had arrived.

"I just bet you will," Victoria muttered in a low bitter tone Diego was sure he was not supposed to have heard, before saying firmly, "Good night, Diego."

She continued her descent and strode into the kitchen without a backward glance. With a small shrug, Diego headed toward the tavern's exit. As he opened the door, he darted his eyes up to the top of the stairs, catching one last view of Señora Murillo before she closed her bedroom door.

His groin tightened uncomfortably. What was wrong with him? He was in love with. . . with. . . Victoria. Yes, he was in love with Victoria. Then why, a little voice in his head whispered, does the señora stir your blood like no other woman you've met before has.

She doesn't, he scolded himself, she couldn't. She might be the most beautiful woman he have ever laid his eyes on, but he learned long ago that beauty was only skin deep. Victoria, she was beautiful both inside and out. She was the woman he loved. Victoria.

He stepped out onto the tavern porch and breathed in the crisp night air. He conjured up an image of his querida as he walked over to his horse; her glossy raven curls, her deep chocolate eyes, her porcelain-like skin.

It was only after he had settled himself in his saddle he realized that somehow, some way, his vision of Victoria had seamlessly, shockingly, had slid into a likeness of Señora Murillo.

Z Z Z

CHAPTER TWO

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