DISCLOSURE

By Cecilia
ccadams@optonline.net

RATING: PG for mild language (might even be a G given the things I hear in Prime Time.)
FEEDBACK: Please
DISCLAIMERS: I don't own them, I just like to play "make-believe" with them.

TRIO CHALLENGE: salt, a wooden crate, a pin (in one form or another)

(This takes place after Betrayed. There are spoilers here for anyone who hasn't seen it.)

~~~~~

Tessa flung herself down off Chico's back, her face flushed. "Damn," she muttered under her breath, "I did it again." Why does it have to be so hard? Every time he says anything about his feelings I panic. What am I so afraid of? She stole into the hacienda through the kitchen door.

Marta looked up from the pie crust she was making, taking in the younger woman's distress with a single glance. "Tessa, what is it? What has happened?" She set down the rolling pin and moved toward her charge, concern radiating from her eyes.

"Colonel Montoya had Grisham take the doctor into the desert to shoot him. The Queen rode to the rescue." Slumping into one of the hard wooden chairs, Tessa proceeded to fill Marta in on the details, carefully omitting mention of her inner turmoil about her feelings.

"Will the doctor be safe in town?"

"I think so, as long as he keeps quiet about what he knows. He will, for Vera's sake."

Tessa remembered the strange tone in the doctor's voice as he said that some loves were best left secret. She knew she had to talk to him, and soon. She stood up, feeling better now that she had reached a decision. "I think the Queen will go to town this evening to pay a call on the doctor and make sure everything is well."

Marta watched her speculatively without comment. There is more here than you are saying, Tessa. What is going on in that head of yours?

~~~~~

Later that evening, the Queen of Swords rode back toward Santa Helena under a thumbnail of moon. She was having second, and maybe third, thoughts about her present course of action. What will I say to him? What if I freeze again? No man has ever affected me like this before. She thought about Antonio. She hadn't been afraid of what she felt for him. It had been romantic, like a story. What she felt for the doctor was different somehow. If Antonio was a fairy tale, the doctor is what? Real? She laughed aloud at the thought, but it stayed in the back of her mind.

~~~~~

Robert Helm was bone tired. It had been a long, exhausting day. His aching muscles cried out for a bath, but he lacked the energy to heat the water and fill the tub. He sat at his small worktable writing in his journal:

...and so I will keep silent, for Senora Hidalgo's sake. Montoya and I have reached an "understanding" and I will remain in Santa Helena for the time being, keeping my mouth shut. I am so tired of it all, tired of petty would-be dictators, little tin soldiers and masked vigilantes. She did it to me again, today. I thought we might have a chance to talk, but she took off like the devil himself pursued her. Her actions indicate she returns my feelings, she's flirtatious and almost forward with me sometimes. It's only when I show a return of her interest that she runs. She can't be afraid of me? Damn the woman. I've never met a more frustrating, vexatious, fascinating, enchanting, remarkable female. She haunts my dreams by night and my thoughts by day. I hardly know her, but I feel a deeper connection to her than I ever did to Camilla. I want to know her hopes, her dreams; her likes and dislikes - everything about her. God, I'm a fool. Maybe I should just settle for her name.

At a soft noise behind him, he set down his pen and turned. His breath caught in his throat. My God, she is beautiful. The flickering lantern light only seemed to highlight the mystery and loveliness of the black-clad woman.

"Your majesty," he nodded. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Doctor." Her voice was soft and intimate, as always. "I wanted to make sure you were well, that there were no problems with Colonel Montoya or Captain Grisham."

"Colonel Montoya has apparently decided that as long as I keep quiet, I get to keep breathing." His voice betrayed his bitterness. "Grisham will obey as long as his master maintains a tight grip on the leash."

She watched him closely. He looks worn out and discouraged. She suppressed the urge to push a stray lock of hair back off of his forehead and run her hand down the line of his jaw. My God, he is beautiful. In the dim light, the hazel eyes seemed almost black. With a start, she realized they were taking on an amused expression. Wonderful, Tessa. Why don't you let him catch you staring at him?

He moved close to her, his eyes never leaving hers. "Why don't you tell me why you're really here?" he asked, his voice low.

"I didn't want to leave things the way they were between us."

He laughed shortly, without humor. "What way is that? With me looking at your back receding in the distance, yet again?"

"Yes." There was so much more she wanted, needed to say; but she didn't know how. She felt familiar panic begin to build and she forced it down ruthlessly. I need to say something. If I run now, he will never forgive me. "I'm sorry I left so suddenly. I don't know why I do that. I care for you, doctor. It isn't wise and it terrifies me, but I do." Now that the words were coming, there was no stopping them. "Hidden behind a mask it is easy to be adventurous, the Queen of Swords, afraid of very little. Sometime, when you get too close, I forget to be her - I'm just me, and things become overwhelming."

His expression was bemused. "But you are her, and she is you."

"She is a part of me, but only a part. The part you care for. There is much more of me. You don't really know me. What if I turn out to be someone you dislike, or, perhaps worse, disdain? Are you prepared for that? I'm not sure I am." She started to turn away, only to be stopped by the touch of his hand on her arm.

"There is only one way to find out," he said softly. "Why don't you take off the mask? Let me see who you are. Trust me, my Queen. I have every confidence that the woman behind the mask is every bit as extraordinary as the woman in the mask, whatever role she plays in public. I want to know you. Everything in me tells me that I will care just as deeply for you when I do."

She was tempted. She wanted to reveal herself to him so very badly. To end the deceits and the games. To be herself with him. She realized how much she trusted him and she was no longer afraid. Once she admitted to herself how much she loved him, she knew what she had to do.

"Doctor, I can't take off my mask."

His face fell. "You don't trust me."

"Of course I do. I trust you more than almost anyone I know. This has nothing to do with trust."

"Then what does it have to do with?" She could hear the hurt in his voice.

"I love you, but we can't be together now. Montoya already suspects the way I feel about you. What do I do when he puts a pistol to your head and tells me to surrender? I won't have you endangered by my feelings for you. And I won't show you my face. Would you be able to maintain a public indifference to the person I really am? I won't risk you, or those close to me. If Montoya even suspects who I am, all of the people I love will be in danger. I pray that there will be a time for us later. I have to finish what I started. I can't ask you to understand, but I ask you to accept it." Tears fell unheeded from her dark eyes, over the lace mask on to the face below.

The doctor took her chin gently in one hand and lifted her face to his. "I don't understand why you have to do this, and I can't promise to accept it," he said gently. "I do understand why you can't tell me who you are. I would never want to be a weapon for Montoya to use against you. Some loves are best left secret. I hope there is a time for us. I don't promise, but I do hope." He kissed her gently, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips. She didn't pull away.

The tiny bit of moon was low in the sky as the doctor watched the Queen ride away. She is so earnest, so impossibly young, so very dear. He thought back to her face as he held it in his hand, that lovely face... His mouth dropped open in surprise as the truth hit him.

It would be dawn soon and he had a busy day ahead of him, but he didn't feel like sleeping. He walked to the wooden crate that held his books and pulled out a well-worn copy of Coleridge's works and began to read. Safe journey, Maria Theresa. I will hold your secret and your love in my heart.

END

RATING: PG for violence and implied sex
FEEDBACK: Please
DISCLAIMERS: Not mine, Fireworks owns them.

TRIO CHALLENGE: a brick, a medicine bottle and a piñata

Special thanks to Maril for beta reading this and for all her words of encouragement.

~~~~~

Under cover of the tumultuous activity of the festival, Vera and her lover slipped off to his quarters unnoticed. As he drew the curtains over the window, Captain Marcus Grisham paused, taking in the sight of the town physician across the garrison plaza, watching over some of the poorer children as they swung a big stick in the air trying to puncture a small piñata.

"Who does that hypocrite think he's fooling?" he muttered under his breath.

He hadn't noticed that Vera had slipped up near him and her soft voice startled him as she peeked around his shoulder. "Who are you talking about, Marcus?"

"Him," he gestured with his head. "Dr. High and Mighty, Better than Everyone Else Helm. Look at him, pretending to care about the people out there. He's just out for what he can get like all of them."

"He always seems very nice to me."

He cocked his head to the side as he looked down at her. "Come on, Vera. I never figured you for naïve. He's a fake, like all doctors. Look at the way he patches up my soldiers so sympathetically, while he's holding hands with the Queen of Swords. Montoya was right to throw him in jail. He needs to let me finish him off. God, I hate doctors."

"Why, my capitan?"

He threw the curtains closed and headed toward the bed, grabbing her hand. "A long story for another time, sweetheart. Right now I have more enjoyable things on my mind." He smiled his most engaging smile at her.

~~~~~~~~

Some time later, they lay cuddled next to each other.

"Marcus?" Vera queried, drawing out his name like a dove's call.

He knew what that tone meant. She wanted to talk. "What is it?" he asked with a sigh.

"Tell me why you hate doctors so much."

"I really don't feel like talking about this."

"Please?"

Grisham knew he would get no peace until he told her. He didn't want to bring up old pain, but he recognized her determination to have the story. Vera could be very stubborn and not affectionate at all when determined. "It was a long time ago. I was a kid, about twelve years old. My mother and I lived in New York City…."

~~~~~

His mother was late again. Young Marcus Grisham was starting to worry. It wasn't unusual for his mother to be late, but recently she hadn't been looking well. She always looked tired, working twelve hours a day cleaning and cooking took its toll; but this was more. He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard her key turn in the lock of their tiny apartment.

"Ma, I'm so glad you're home. I was getting worried. It's after nine o'clock!" He ran to his mother and threw his arms around her.

"The doctor came back into town and laundry and ironing needed to be done before I left. I'm sorry you worried." Maureen Grisham smiled at her son. "How is my fine young man, today? How was school?"

"Fine," he answered shortly. "Ma, school is a waste of my time. I need to quit and get a job. The boys say Finnigan will give me one. I'm strong, fast and big for my age. I could earn good money. You wouldn't have to work so hard."

"Marcus!" his mother's voice was sharp. "What did I tell you about hanging around with those hooligans? You stay away from them and you are not quitting school. You're going to make something of yourself, do you under--." She broke off in a fit of coughing.

"Ma, are you ok? I'm sorry. I'll do whatever you say." Marcus helped his mother to a chair. With terror, he noticed that there was blood on the handkerchief she held to her mouth. "Let me get a doctor, Ma."

He started to the door, but she grabbed his arm. "No, my boy. I'm all right. It's better now. We don't need to waste money on the doctor."

Marcus took care of his mother, hardly noticing the reversal of their roles. He coaxed some supper into her, cleaning up afterwards. Just as she always did for him, he heated a brick in the stove, wrapped it in a towel and set it in her bed to take the chill off. Then he bundled her to bed. The night was cold, and once she was sleeping he slipped the blanket from his pallet and wrapped it around her thin form. Putting on his jacket, he lay down and tried to sleep.

Sleep eluded him, though. What was he going to do about his mother? He was afraid that she was much sicker than she let on. What if she died? No. He wouldn't let himself think about that. His mother was all that he had. His father had left for work one day when Marcus was four and never came home. Marcus didn't even remember the man. It had been just his mother and him for eight long years. They hadn't been bad years. Maureen Grisham did everything in her power to make Marcus's life enjoyable. Up until this past year, he had hardly realized just how poor they were. His mother was invincible, nothing got her down. She would be better in the morning. She had to be.

She wasn't though. Marcus watched her. She could barely get herself out of bed. He fixed breakfast for the two of them, but he couldn't get her to eat. He was surprised when she dressed herself for work.

"Ma, you're too sick to work. Let me go to the doctor's house and tell them that you're sick. He's a doctor, he has to understand that people get sick."

Maureen looked at her son sadly. "Marcus, I have to work, or I'll lose my job. There are plenty of others who would jump at the chance to take it. If I'm sick, the doctor will just hire someone who isn't. You and I are not his concern."

"It's not fair," he almost screamed.

Maureen smiled at him fondly. "Oh, my beautiful boy, who ever said that life was fair? We do the best we can in this life and God will give us joy in the next."

"I don't want anything to do with a God who would let all these bad things happen to somebody like you," he thought defiantly. He wisely kept his comment to himself. He kissed his mother good-bye, and she headed off toward the other side of the city and work.

That afternoon when Marcus came home from school he was surprised to find his mother there before him. She was laying on her bed in tears.

"Ma, what's wrong? Are you sicker? Do you need me to get a doctor?"

"Oh, Marcus, my darling lad, I'm so sorry. I tried my best, but I just couldn't hide it. They found out I was sick and they fired me. Listen to me, Marcus. If anything happens to me, go to Father O'Malley, he will make sure you are taken care of." She closed her eyes, her breathing hoarse and labored.

Marcus reached out to stroke her hair, noticing how hot her skin was. "Don't cry, Ma. It will all right. I'll take care of you. You'll get better." Tear streamed unheeded down his face as he stretched his arms around his mother. "I won't let you go, Ma. It's you and me against the world, remember?" She lay unresponsive, asleep or unconscious, he wasn't sure which. He began to pray softly, "God, let her be ok and I'll be good, I promise. Just let her be ok and I'll do anything."

He continued praying almost incoherently until his mother stopped breathing. Gently, he unwrapped his arms from around her and stood up. He went to the dresser and took his mother's prized silver hairbrush and carefully brushed her hair. He thought about putting her into her best dress, but he decided that would be more than he could manage. When he was finished, he tucked the blanket carefully around her chin, kissed her forehead and left the apartment. He stopped to ask Mrs. Malone, their downstairs neighbor, to send for Father O'Malley. Marcus didn't believe there was a point to it, but he knew it was what his mother would have wanted.

His last obligations to his mother finished, Marcus left the apartment building and his childhood behind without a second glance. He was filled with rage that called out for vengeance. Marcus headed uptown to pay a doctor a housecall.

It was dusk when Marcus arrived at the estate of his mother's former employer. He crept around and looked in through the window. Doctor Wallace was throwing a party. Marcus watched the doctor, his pretty wife and well-fed children. His anger grew. He hid in the bushes until the guests left and the house grew dark. Using skills learned from his neighborhood pals, Finnigan's boys, Marcus slipped open the lock on the window of a room that looked like the doctor's office. It was time for some pay back.

He began by taking the doctor's files and tearing them to shreds. Next, he began emptying the contents of the medicine bottles on to the floor. The fumes from some of them were making him a little dizzy and his sleeve caught a glass beaker as he moved away. The beaker fell to the ground with a smash, and Marcus moved quickly to hide behind the desk.

The office door opened and Dr. Wallace peered in, wrapped in a silk dressing gown. He lit the lamp just inside the door and took in the condition of his office. "What the bloody hell is going on here?"

It didn't take him long to see Marcus hiding behind the desk. "You there, come out. What is the meaning of this?" he stormed. "I'll see you in jail, you hooligan."

Marcus stood up, defiant. "Gee, Doc, I just thought I'd let you know that Maureen Grisham is dead."

"Who?" The doctor seemed at a loss. "Oh, you mean the Irish maid. What does that have to do with me?"

Marcus lost any sense of restraint or reason. "What does that have to do with you? She worked for you for eight years for almost nothing. She cleaned and cooked and did your laundry and wore herself to the bone. Then, when she gets sick, do you take care of her at all? No, you fire her and leave her to die. What kind of doctor are you? Would any of this," he gestured at the bottles laying empty on the floor, "have saved her? You killed her. You just let her die after you used her up."

Marcus had been advancing toward the doctor without even realizing it. The doctor took a step back from him.

"You stay away from me, boy. I'm getting the police." The doctor turned and moved toward the door.

Marcus saw red. He grabbed a scalpel from the table and jumped on the doctor's back. "Don't you turn your back on me!" As his hand slid across the doctor's neck, he barely noticed the scalpel bite into it. The doctor dropped to the ground, a horrible gurgling sound coming from his mouth. Marcus had cut his throat.

The boy stepped back, in horror, realizing what he had done. "You deserved it," he whispered. "You killed my mother." He slipped out the window and into the night. Finnigan would take him in.

~~~~~~~~~

Marcus looked at Vera and decided the short version would suffice. "My mother worked for a doctor. She got sick and instead of treating her, he fired her and let her die. The doctors I saw in the war were butchers. I've had enough of doctors to last several lifetimes."

"Poor Marcus," Vera cooed, pulling him closer. "Let me make you feel all better."

END

Disclaimers: Not mine, no matter what I wish, Fireworks owns them.
Rating: G
Feedback: Please and beta, too!
TRIO CHALLENGE: vellum parchment, metal pot, a ceremony and QUOTE 3.

~~~~~

Robert Helm, former Captain in his Majesty's Army, slipped out of the house without a sound. "Well," he thought in satisfaction, "at least a few of the skills I picked up will come in handy." The new moon shed no light to betray him as he made his way silently across the yard and around the barn. He picked up a small leather bag from behind the hay bales where he had cached it earlier.

Running his fingers over it to ensure its contents were intact, he smiled. He made his way to the edge of the woods behind the barn; his thin form nearly invisible in the darkness. He found the faint trail from memory and moved cautiously along it.

"I wonder how many times Charles and I stole down this path, avoiding pirates or spies for the approaching Spanish Armada, or savage Indians?" he mused silently. "Or Mother and Father, for that matter." He nearly tripped as his shin discovered a tree that had fallen across the path. "Damn, that hurt!" The sound of his voice was harsh against the soft sounds of the night. Though he knew his family was sound asleep back at the house, he paused for a moment to make sure no one had heard and was following.

He chuckled soundlessly at his own caution and continued down the path, more carefully now, until the reached an open space beside a slow running stream. This was their special place, his and Charles's. They had never shared it with their sisters. The clearing was where they held all their special ceremonies. Whenever something extraordinary happened to either boy, for good or ill, they'd sneak away at night and hold a ceremony.

Robert lit a candle and looked around. Thankfully, the clearing hadn't changed any. He had been afraid it would look smaller or somehow less special. No, he decided. The clearing was the same. Now it was all up to him. He quickly gathered a small quantity of wood. He smiled when he saw that the small circle of stones, bearing soot covered memories of fires long past, was still intact. He built a small fire in the circle.

"I wonder if I need any words?" he asked himself. Charles had always insisted on words for all of their boyhood ceremonies. Of course, Charles had always come up with the words he thought were appropriate and had written them down beforehand. Robert was never as good with words as his older brother was. How he wished Charles was there now to help him with this. Robert knew Charles would understand what he needed and would have just the right words to make the ceremony work. But Charles couldn't help him anymore. Three years ago, his brother had been thrown from his horse and broken his neck. Robert hadn't even learned of his brother's death until nearly a month later.

Opening the leather bag, he removed a piece of parchment, a small metal pot and some medals. He set the pot on the ground beside the firepit and held the parchment out and looked at it critically. In the flickering light from the fire, he could just barely read the words granting him his commission. "Funny," he thought, "when I purchased it, I had no idea what the true cost would be." He rolled the parchment and set the tip in the fire. He held it gingerly until it had burned nearly to his fingers, then tossed it into the fire.

Next he took the three medals. He didn't pause to look them over; he just tossed them in the fire. Their colored silk ribbons burst into flame and he stared at them until the ribbons were ash and the medals unrecognizable lumps of metal.

He picked up the pot, filled it from the stream and stood holding it beside the fire. "There has to be something I can say," he thought.

In his mind, he heard his brother's voice, full of love and laughter. "Say what's in your heart, Robbie boy. That's all you need to do."

Robert took a deep breath. When he spoke his words were quiet, but clear. "Shakespeare said, 'The evil that men do lives after them while the good is oft interred with their bones.' I have done much in the last six years that was evil. It ends here. I promise to devote my life to helping people, not hurting them. I want to do enough good that it lives after me, becomes my legacy."

He lifted the pot and upended it, spilling its contents into the fire. Smoke and steam rushed up at him. He wondered briefly if the wetness at his eyes was from either of them, but decided it didn't matter. The past was behind him now.

When the fire was completely out, he wiped out the pot with the cloth it had been bundled in and placed it back in the leather bag. He started back toward the house, feeling the weight of six years falling from his tired shoulders.

END

Disclaimers: Not mine, no matter what I wish, Fireworks owns them.
Rating: G
Feedback: Please and beta, too!
TRIO CHALLENGE: cheese, clock, skull and Quote 1.

~~~~~

Camilla didn't quite bound down the stairs, but she pushed the limits of ladylike decorum. She paused in front of the gilded mirror in the foyer to make sure her hair in place. She couldn't believe he was here, after all this time. Her excitement rose as she walked in to the parlor and saw him standing near the fireplace.

"Robert! Why didn't you tell us you were coming? Are you home for long? I've missed you so much!" Camilla threw herself into her fiancé's arms and kissed him. She stepped back quickly, blushing at her forward behavior. "Let me look at you."

She regarded him critically. "He looks worn," she thought. "I wonder if he has been ill. He's too thin and his eyes seem older some how." Out loud she said, "It's so good to see you."

Robert reached out a hand to her face, gently caressing her cheek. "It's good to see you. I've missed you, too, Camilla," he said, smiling. "So much has happened, there are so many things I want to tell you."

Camilla took his hand in her own. "We shall have plenty of time to talk while you're here. Sit for a while." She had dreamed of seeing him again for so long; now that he was here, why was she so nervous? She was afraid she was babbling. She needed to gather her thoughts, maybe splash some cold water on her face. "I should freshen up, I probably look a fright. Would you like something to drink? I know Father will want to see you. He's at his club, but I could send Evans." She started to walk away, but Robert held on to her hand tightly.

"You look wonderful, Camilla. Don't go. I don't want anything to drink. I need to talk to you before I see your father." His tone was serious "I resigned my commission."

Camilla pulled away from him and walked to the window, staring out at the London twilight. She looked at her hand clutching the red velvet drapery; noting with pride that it wasn't trembling at all. Forcing her voice to remain calm she said, "I don't imagine Father will be at all pleased, Robert." That was an understatement. Colonel (retired) William O'Brian would be furious. "Why would you do such a thing? I thought you were doing so well in the Army." She turned to look at him, willing herself not to cry. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed six o'clock; each chime sounded like a death knoll to her ears.

Robert was sitting stiffly on the edge of the sofa. "My 'doing well', as you put it, was not the problem, Camilla." His voice was soft and earnest. "I couldn't take it any more. You have no idea what it's like. I've killed so many men; some were barely more than boys. I don't even remember all of their faces. I've seen horrible atrocities committed by both sides. I've done things I can't bear to think about and been commended for them." A shadow crossed his face. "I had to get out before it destroyed whatever is left of my soul."

His eyes were pleading for her understanding. She wanted to give it to him; to say that she understood and that he had done the right thing, even if she was sure that he hadn't. She walked back and sat next to him on the sofa, taking his hand in hers. "If it was destroying you, then you were right to leave, Robert."

They say for a moment in silence, hands clasped. Camilla held the perfect moment close to her heart, knowing there would be a bitter reckoning when her father discovered what Robert had done. "What will you do now?" she asked him.

"I was thinking of going back and finishing what I started, becoming a physician. Maybe I'll work with my father. I think he will let me apprentice with him while I attend the university. With the classes I've already attended, I think I can be finished in about three years."

"Have you mended your relationship with him, then? Will he forgive you for disregarding his wishes and obtaining your commission?" she asked. "And for following my father's wishes?" she thought.

"I think he will. The hardest part will be swallowing my pride and admitting he was right to begin with. I'll feel better once things are settled between us again, and not only because I miss him. Our quarrel put a strain on the whole family, especially Mother."

"Your family is very close," she said wistfully. She thought of her brother, Edward. She hadn't seen or heard from him since her mother's funeral eight years earlier. Her father did not even allow his name spoken in the house. Edward had gone against their father's wishes and had been cut out of their lives without a second thought. How could she hope he would be more lenient with the man his daughter loved? How could he forgive the man who had replaced his son as his hope to carry on the family's military legacy?

"My family will be your family soon," Robert said. He held her hand tightly. "Camilla, now that I'm not away at war, I think-"

The slamming of the front door announced the arrival of Colonel O'Brian. Camilla and Robert moved apart. They heard Evans informing the colonel that Helm was in the parlor, followed by the sound of O'Brian's heavy boots moving in their direction. Robert stood up to greet him.

Camilla could tell from the flush on her father's face that he had been drinking again, but he seemed in good humor. She prayed that it would hold in light of Robert's news. She knew only too well how quickly William O'Brian's mood could change to sarcastic, vicious or even violent.

"Well, Robert, it's good to see you, my boy. Or should I address you as Captain Helm? Congratulations on your promotion. From what I heard it was well-deserved." He shook Robert's hand vigorously.

"Hello, sir, and thank you. It's good to see you, too."

"I didn't know you were taking leave. How long are you in town for?"

"I'm here for good, sir." Robert paused. "I resigned my commission. I'm going to finish my studies and become a physician."

O'Brian stood speechless for a moment, as if he couldn't believe what he heard. His face turned a bright red. "Are you mad?" he yelled. "You have a successful career in front of you, a career I helped secure. You can't just throw it away. It isn't too late. Let them know you changed your mind. I can talk to someone about reinstating you."

"I can't do that, sir. My mind is made up. I won't go back," Robert said calmly but firmly.

"Don't be stupid, Robert. Anyone can make mistakes, but only an idiot persists in his error." O'Brian's voice turned nasty. "Or did you lose your nerve?"

"Father," Camilla cried, "how can you say such a thing?"

"Silence, girl, or I'll send you from the room."

It was going just as badly as Camilla feared it would. He father was a difficult and opinionated man at the best of times. He considered Robert's military career at least as much his accomplishment as it was Robert's. He had convinced Robert to leave medical training, a career her father scoffed at, about the same time Napoleon had declared a blockade of England. He had gone so far as to advance Robert part of the money required to purchase his commission, although Robert had repaid the money within the year.

Robert's father had objected to the change in career plans. He had tried to explain to his son the toll that war took on a man's soul, but Robert was young and very much in love. Colonel O'Brian was not likely to give his daughter's hand in marriage to a physician. He was determined she would marry a military man, as her father was and his father before him. He had played on Robert's outrage at Napoleon's actions and on Robert's love for his daughter. Now he saw his plans thwarted and his rage was growing.

"So tell me, Mister Helm," O'Brian sneered, "just why did you decide to run out while your country is still at war?" Robert started to answer, but the colonel continued. "Let me guess; you were tired? Didn't get enough sleep on the battlefield? Or maybe you were cold, or hungry? You've had it soft all your life. You don't understand sacrifice or hardship. Or did it get to you: the killing, the blood, the sounds of the guns and the screams of the dying? Or were you just too afraid? You think I don't know what it's like? I've lived it boy! The terror, the rage, the exhilaration; I've felt them. You couldn't handle it, could you? That's the truth of it. You're a coward. A sniveling coward." He was shaking with anger, his eyes bulging out of his skull.

Camilla felt like she could hardly breathe. She fixed her eyes on her father's mustache through his entire tirade. He had a tiny piece of what looked like cheese caught in it. She almost laughed. "My entire future is being destroyed, and all I can see is food in Father's whiskers. I can't look at Robert. If I do, I will shatter. I know what is coming next. I can see it plainly, but there's nothing I can do to stop it." She sat in abject hopelessness as the scene before her played out just as she knew it would.

"Get out!' O'Brian snapped. "Get out of my house before I throw you out. You will have nothing further to do with my daughter. I don't ever want to see your face again. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Robert said quietly. He turned to Camilla. "I'm going to leave now, do you want to come with me? You can stay with my family until we're married."

"How dare you!" O'Brian swung a heavy fist at Robert. Robert ducked the punch easily and grabbing O'Brian's arm, flipped him over and onto the floor. He lay there gasping.

"Camilla?" Robert asked again.

Camilla looked at her father, lying humiliated on the floor. She looked back at Robert. How could she explain? Her father had cut off the engagement. She had never gone against his wishes. She wasn't strong enough. Her father always got his way, in the end. He would find a way to stop them from being happy. Besides that, her father had no one left but her. He needed her.

"Thank you for the offer, Robert, but my place is here." She squared her shoulders and looked up at him, trying hard to force a polite distance to her eyes. "I think you should go now. We won't be seeing each other again. I wish you all the best in the future." She hardened her heart against the hurt in his eyes and after a second he turned and left.

"Here, Father, let me help you up," she said gently.

Her father pushed her away roughly and stormed from the room. She heard him go in to his study and yell for Evans to fetch him a drink.

Camilla moved back to the window. It was dark now, the gas streetlights flickering against the gloom. "Goodbye, my love," she whispered to the darkness.

END

Disclaimers: Not mine, only borrowed, Fireworks owns them. (And I didn't get the sword either, Maril)
Rating: G
Feedback: Please and beta, too!
TRIO CHALLENGE: woman's glove, boulder, sage, Quote 2 and Quote 3

~~~~~

The sun was barely above the horizon when Doctor Helm rode from the pueblo. He was feeling a bit out of sorts with the early time of day. Since leaving the army he had made it a habit to try and sleep past dawn. It was an easy habit to fall into; he was never much of a morning person.

He was startled when he heard the sound of another horse approaching him just outside of town. "Who could possibly be out at this hour?" he wondered. The rider approached and the doctor realized it was Colonel Montoya.

The colonel was wearing a loose white shirt that was open at the neck, black pants and black boots. His hair was unbound and his face was flushed. He looked different. Doctor Helm realized he had never seen the colonel dressed so informally. Montoya was always in his uniform or, at the very least, in a waistcoat and cravat. "He looks so relaxed," Helm thought. "He almost looks human."

Montoya drew his horse up beside the doctor. "Good morning, Doctor. Lovely time of day for a ride, isn't it. I love it when the day is new." He smiled in open enjoyment.

Helm couldn't help smiling back at him. "If you say so, Colonel," he answered. "Usually I prefer to be in bed at this time of day." Silently he thought, "Somehow it makes sense that Montoya is a morning person. And how does he manage to ride dressed like that and not get a speck of dust on him?"

"Ah, Doctor, you miss the most glorious time of the day! The air is crisp and cool, no people are about to demand or complain, and the colors of the sunrise resemble an artist's palette. The day is still ripe with possibilities." Montoya's passion as he spoke surprised the doctor. He had never seen the colonel this animated.

"I think I'll leave the mornings to you, Colonel," Helm answered. "Even my horse seems to dislike them." Equus chose this moment to snort and nod his head as if in agreement. Both men laughed.

"Ah, perhaps you are right about the horse. So, what brings you out so early today, Doctor?" Montoya asked. "Medical emergency?"

"No, I need to gather some sage. I know a good place a few miles out of town. I thought I'd go early and get it before the heat of the day."

"Then I should let you get on with it so your foresight does not go to waste." The familiar mocking tone had returned to Montoya's voice. As Helm watched, the mask that was Montoya's public face slipped back into place. "Good day, Doctor." He rode off without waiting for reply.

The doctor watched him until he was nearly back to the pueblo. "Well," he thought, "that was a new side to our Colonel Montoya. I could almost like him like that." He laughed at the thought. "Come on, Equus," he urged the horse. "The sooner we get started, the sooner we're done."

~~~~~

The doctor was on his knees, busily harvesting the wild black sage. He was thinking about his encounter with Montoya that morning and the visit from his favorite masked vigilante the night before. Both Montoya and the queen were intriguing individuals full of contradictions. He was fairly sure he would never understand either one of them.

The sound of something hitting the ground right in front of him made him jump. He looked up to see the Queen of Swords sitting on a nearby boulder. She had a few pebbles in her hand. As he watched, she tossed another one.

"Good morning, Doctor. That must be interesting work. You didn't even hear me come up."

Helm stood up slowly. He carefully set his expression to show annoyance. He thought, "No need to let her see how glad you are every time she decides to make an appearance. She and Montoya aren't the only ones who can wear a mask." Out loud he said, "I think maybe you should wear a bell so that I can hear you coming."

She smiled at him and stretched out on the boulder. "So you think I'm a cat?" she asked archly.

"It's entirely possible," he agreed. "You slip in and out of everywhere, you must have at least nine lives and," he paused briefly, "you move with a certain feline grace."

"Why thank you, Doctor. I think." She smiled at him and hopped off the boulder.

"As a matter of fact," the doctor continued, "I think you should move over here now."

She moved over close to him. "And why is that?" she asked leaning even closer.

Helm grinned at her. "I need help gathering the sage."

"Oh," she said. Helm struggled to keep from laughing at her deflated expression.

The two of them settled down among the dark green leaves and small blue flowers. They had filled one saddlebag and had started on the second when the queen broke the companionable silence. "Why do you need so much? What is this stuff good for? These shrubs are pretty common."

"Almost everything," he told her. "I can use it as a tea to help the delirium of fevers, as a stomach tonic, for liver or kidney troubles, joint pain, headaches or even a head cold. I can apply an infusion of sage to the skin as to help ulcers and abrasions. The dried leaves can even be smoked in a pipe to help asthma. It's a nice herb for cooking with, too."

She picked another stem and regarded it dubiously. "Seems like a lot to expect from one poor plant." She plucked off a leaf and crushed it. "It has a nice smell though."

Before long the other saddlebag was full. The doctor stood and offered his hand to help the queen rise. He continued to hold on to her hand once she was standing. "We really have to stop meeting this way," he murmured.

"I don't know of any other way we can meet," she answered frankly. "Would you rather we stopped meeting?"

"No," he said roughly, pulling her closer. "I want to walk with you in public, holding your arm for everyone to see. I want to dance with you at Montoya's interminable parties. I want to hold you in my arms throughout the night. I want to see your face." He broke off and resumed in a quieter tone, "But until then I'm thankful just for this."

She took off her glove and reached a hand up to the side of his face. "I want the same things you want," she whispered, "but I have obligations to meet first."

She kissed him softly, briefly. It took all of his willpower to let her stop. She stroked his cheek. "Someday, Robert. I promise you, someday."

Then she was gone. He heard her horse galloping away. He stood stunned where she left him; his hand absently touching his cheek where her hand had been. "Things are looking up," he told Equus and the sage plants. He smiled. "She called me Robert."

~~~~~

On a nearby hilltop a uniformed and meticulously groomed Montoya put down his telescope with a sense of triumph. He had returned to his quarters, bathed and changed and still arrived in plenty of time to spy on the pair. "I knew she would be meeting him here," he said softly. "It is as I suspected; the doctor is the key to catching the Queen of Swords. They will try to be careful and discreet, but their love will be their downfall. The prudence of the best heads is often defeated by the tenderness of the best hearts. They are mine. But not yet. First, I will watch and carefully spin a web to catch them."

He had observed their interaction with fascination - unable to look away for an instant. A part of him had noticed how his heart sped up when the Queen and the doctor kissed. A small but insistent voice warned him to remember that the line between love and obsession is drawn only by circumstance. That same voice urged him to call the soldiers, arrest the queen and Helm and be done with it. He squelched the voice without listening. He would do this in his own way, in his own time. The game was his and he would enjoy every second of it.

END

By Cecilia
ccadams@optonline.net

Disclaimers: Not mine, Fireworks owns them.
Rating: G
Feedback: Please and beta, too!
TRIO CHALLENGE 28: a linen towel, a bear, red ribbon

~~~~~

The broom moved across the floor raising little clouds of dust. Marta sneezed violently. She and Tessa had not visited the small attic since their return to California after a quick glance showed that it was empty. Now they wanted to store some furniture in the attic. Marta insisted they give it a thorough cleaning before they moved anything.

Tessa cast a concerned glance at her friend. "Bless you again, Marta. I guess we should have tackled cleaning this place up earlier. Do you need me to sweep for a bit?"

"No," Marta answered. "A little dust won't hurt me, although I may sneeze a few more times before we're finished. You finish cleaning the windows, we need all the light we can get."

As Marta moved to a new section of floor, she hit the broom against the wall. A small panel near the floor was knocked askew. She moved to replace it and noticed a bundle behind it. "Tessa, come and look at this. There is something behind the wall here."

Tessa hurried over. She saw the open panel. "My secret treasure spot!" she exclaimed. "I'd forgotten all about it. This is where I would put my special treasures to keep them safe." She laughed. "It must have worked because here they are, they were even safe from me."

Tessa pulled the bundle from the wall, ignoring the clouds of dust accompanying it. "I put this here before I left for Spain, not long after my mother died. I don't even remember what's in it."

"Why don't I get us some lemonade and you can open it over by the window," Marta suggested. She thought Tessa might want some privacy as she viewed her "treasures."

"No, stay with me." Tessa grabbed her friend's hand and smiled. "We'll open it together."

They moved over near the window and Tessa began to unroll the small bundle. Inside was a small doll, a bracelet, a ribbon and a folded piece of cloth.

Tessa reached for the doll. "Bella," she cried as she held it close. "This is my Isabella," she told Marta. "I would treat her just like my very own baby."

Marta looked at the bracelet. It was a thin band of gold with a delicate design engraved around the outside. "This is beautiful, Tessa."

"Mama gave it to me. Her mother gave it to her when she was a girl. It was too big to fit me then, so I put it here to keep it safe."

Marta smiled at her. "I think it will fit you now," she said. She reached over and slid the bangle over Tessa's wrist. "There, perfect."

Tessa admired the bracelet on her wrist for a moment, turning it so the sun caught it and made sparkles on the wall. Then she turned her attention back to the bundle. She reached for the ribbon. She ran the satin length through her fingers. When she spoke, her voice was very soft. "This ribbon was for the trim on a blouse Mama was making. She had it sent from Spain. I had never seen such a beautiful brilliant red. When she saw how much I liked it, she decided not to use it all. She set some aside and promised to make me a blouse just like hers. She never got the chance. When she died, I took it from her things and hid it away." She held the ribbon to her face, lost in her memories.

Marta ached at the pain in Tessa's eyes. She knew her young friend still grieved for the loss of her mother. Marta turned her attention to the lone item remaining in the bundle. She carefully unfolded the cloth. It was a white linen towel decorated with unskilled embroidery. A brown creature of indeterminate nature graced the top. Underneath, in red, were the letters of the alphabet, a little wobbly - but clearly recognizable. At the bottom of the alphabet, blue letters an inch high spelled out "MARIA THERESA ALVERADO," then in smaller letters, "age 7."

Marta smiled down at the cloth. "Oh, Tessa," she said softly to herself. "How I wish I could have seen you sitting with your mother and working on this."

"As you can see, I never was much good at it. I didn't have enough patience to do a good job. I wanted to be outside playing. It took almost six months to finish that sampler. There were times I swore I'd never pick up a needle again."

Marta raised an eyebrow at her. "So your reluctance to help with the sewing is because of this childhood vow?"

"Most definitely," Tessa said. She struggled to keep a straight face and failed.

"And what is this animal on top," Marta asked, "a bunny?"

Tessa donned an offended look. "Bunny!" she said. "Evidently, you are no connoisseur of animals. That is obviously a bear. As a matter of fact, that is a portrait of Sancho, my favorite stuffed animal. I named him after Don Quixote's squire."

"Obviously," Marta said. "I don't know how I could have missed that. Of course it may be that I have never seen a bear with ears that size before."

"Ssh!" Tessa hissed fiercely. "He's very sensitive about his ears." They both dissolved into a fit of giggles.

When they had recovered, Marta handed the towel to Tessa. "This is precious, Tessa. You must put it someplace safe. One day you can give it to your daughter."

Tessa handed the towel back to her. "No, Marta, I want you to have it. I would have given this to my mother. I don't say this often enough, but you have been a mother to me and so much more. I'm so lucky that I have you." She pulled the older woman into a brief hug.

"Thank you, Tessa," Marta whispered. She pulled away from Tessa, each of them pretending not to notice the moisture in the other's eyes. "Let's go put our treasures safely away so we can get this job finished while we still have some light."

In the privacy of her room, Marta studied the sampler, smiling at Sancho's oversize ears. She had never seen anything more beautiful.

END

Disclaimers: They belong to Fireworks (even if they never appreciated 'em.)
Rating: G
Feedback: Please and beta, too!

TRIO CHALLENGE 29: Glass windowpane, feather, rawhide cords and Quote

~~~~~

The dark figure moved silently through the shadows, seeming to become one with them when nearby motion caused her to pause. She had the natural grace of a panther or a mountain lion. It amused her to think of herself as a fierce wild creature, the world in place solely for her amusement. She avoided the soldiers making their rounds and headed for the small house. A light shone in welcome and the window was ajar. He was waiting.

She moved to the window and pressed her face to the pane, scanning the room to ensure he was alone. She made a soft sound and he turned, smiling when he saw her there.

"There you are. I was beginning to be afraid you wouldn't come tonight." His voice was soft and warm.

She loved his voice. It always made her feel so welcome, so at home. Never had any man tempted her the way he did. Part of her longed to stay with him, although she knew she couldn't.

He was speaking again. "I picked up some things today, just in case you visited me tonight." He opened the drawer of his night table and pulled out some rawhide cords and a very large feather. She felt her heartbeat speed up as she looked over the treasures he laid on the bed. He looked at her with mischief in his eyes and asked, "Do you want to play?"

She moved quickly to the bed, stretching out her lithe form, trembling in anticipation. She watched as his beautiful hands nimbly tied two cords together and then tied the feather to them. He dangled it in front of her and she knocked it aside with glee. Then he dragged it across the bed and she pounced on it with delight. He laughed in sheer delight from watching her play.

Walking nearby, Marcus Grisham paused as he heard the doctor's unfettered laughter. He noticed the open window and smiled. "Looks like the doc has company. This may be my chance." He drew his pistol and moved toward the window.

"So, my beauty," the doctor said, "is there any chance I can get you to stay? At least for the night? It's dangerous out there. You could get hurt."

Grisham's heart leapt as he overheard the doctor. She was here! He had figured that staying close to Helm was the best way to catch the Queen. He pushed the window open with his pistol saying, "Hold it right there, I have you now."

"And just which of us were you after?" the doctor asked sardonically. He lay on his bed playing with a young black cat, barely out of kitten hood.

Grisham holstered his pistol. "Sorry, Doc, my mistake. I see your taste in female companionship is improving." He touched his hand to his hat in mock salute and moved away into the night.

Helm picked up the cat and held her to his chest, listening to her purr. In a rare moment of stillness, she snuggled against him, content in his arms. He whispered softly to her, "I've heard it said that cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a purpose. I disagree. Cats are for good companionship, reminding us not to take ourselves too seriously, and embarrassing annoying Captains."

Having been still for her allotted time, the cat jumped down from his arms and moved toward the window. The night was getting old and she still had many things to do.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?" he asked. She disappeared into the darkness of the night without looking back. The doctor sighed. "And cats remind us that you can't always have what you want."

THE END