“Señorita, by your gentle blood I ask you to give me your ear! I have but pretended friendship with these pirates, that the soldiers may take them later, and hang them all.”
“What monstrous falsehood is this?” she asked.
“I beg your attention, señorita! Some of them may be coming soon. I have pretended to be in league with them. They raided Reina de Los Angeles while I and my soldiers were gone. I have followed swiftly to rescue you. They think that I am a friend. But now, assured of your safety, I can act speedily. Let them continue thinking, for the time being, that I accept you as a prize. I shall ride away to San Diego de Alcála, which is but a few miles, fetch the troopers from there, rescue you, release the caballeros now held as prisoners, and wipe out this pirate brood!”
“But why—” she began.
“It was the only way, señorita. The soldiers are few, and the pirates have been able to strike the coast where there were no troopers handy. It is a trap that we have arranged for them. Perhaps it may not seem a gentle thing to do—but one cannot be gentle with pirates.”
“I wish that I could believe you,” she said.
“Believe me, señorita! I love you so much—”
“I am betrothed,” she said simply.
“But I have grave news for you. I have been told that Don Diego Vega is no more, that these beasts forced him, as Señor Zorro, to walk the plank.”
“I was there,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I saw it. Nevertheless, I am betrothed to him, señor, now and forever, in life and in death!”