It wasn't long after they stepped out of the old infirmary that a problem occurred to Lord Patrick Day. It had not occurred to him inside, because he had burned with righteous fury, and his eyes had been focused on the throats of those beasts who dared to call themselves men. Now, however...

The night wind whistled, pulling at tiny bits and pieces of see-through silk. Certain round, female body parts jiggled. Or at least he thought they did. He was not entirely sure, due to the fact he was currently trying to emulate an owl's admirable ability to twist its neck one-hundred and eighty degrees, in a desperate effort to look at anything but ladies suffering from acute clothing-deprivation.

"Ye know..." An infuriatingly amused voice came from beside him, whispering into his ear like a snake with a paradisiacal home and a penchant for apples. "Usually, men would try ta stare at half-naked ladies, not try and break deir necks in order not to."

"Then maybe you have been spending time around the wrong men," Lord Patrick growled.

The barb he expected in answer did not come. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, until...

"Maybe I 'ave."

Then, a small, delicate hand slipped into his.

His heart leapt!

What was the infernal thing doing, jumping all over the place? If he had learned to stand at attention in the twelfth regiment, his cardiac organ had better be able to as well! And yet, here it was, pounding like a heavy hammer, just because of a slight touch. Just because he was standing inches away from her, feeling her warmth.

Which is probably more than the ladies present are feeling, Patrick! Get your head out of your noble derriere!

Even without looking at them, he already heard the ladies' teeth chattering like Gatling guns. How had he not thought about this before? If you break more than fifty women out of a debauchee's dungeon, the likelihood that you will need at least a few pieces of women's clothing should be rather high! Why had he not packed any clothes?

For a very simple reason. He never packed anything. He was a peer of the realm, for God's sake! He did not pack things himself! He sent other people packing. Literally and figuratively.

And now, he was regretting it for the very first time. It didn't even have to be clothes, per se! If he could just get his hands on some cloth to protect his eyes from the worst parts...

Lord Patrick's eyes, drifting around on a desperate search, came to an abrupt halt. His eyes, aflame with passionate need, settled upon the desire of his heart.

"Do not even think about it!" Karim growled, clutching his turban protectively. "Do. Not. Dare."

"Now, now, Mr Karim. The needs of the majority outweigh those of the indivi—"

Karim's hand landed on his sabre with a growl, telling everyone exactly what would happen to the unfortunate majority if they dared to so much as touch his turban. It would have looked really intimidating, too, if not for the small fact that the bodyguard was also doing his best owl-imitation, trying to look at anything but scantily clad ladies. He seemed to be even more ambitious than Lord Patrick himself, aiming for an amazing two hundred degrees.

"Oy, no need ta twist yer 'eads of, ye two!" Amy's voice sounded beside him. "First, 'cause it's unnecessary. Second, 'cause den I won't get ta 'ave fun doing it myself."

Lord Patrick turned to stare down at the young woman—dressed, God be praised—striding at his side. Stare with a mix of surprise and incomprehension. Back in the ballroom, when he had been doing nothing but his duty, questioning the women in the room—fully dressed women, incidentally—she had glared at him as if he were the devil incarnate. Now, here he was, standing in the midst of a crowd of nearly naked women, and she was smiling at him?

Women!

Luckily, the three ladies on his list of prospective wives didn't behave so contradictorily. Why, last time he had met them, during...during...

He suddenly realized he couldn't remember when he'd seen them last. That might have warranted further thought, if not for the urgent, unclad problem around him.

"What are we going to do?" he hissed, staring holes into his expensive leather shoes. "We can't bring them out of this place like this! They're going to freeze to death!"

"Don't ye worry." Winking, Amy gestured towards Leona, Flo and Aggie, who came rushing over, each carrying a suitcase almost as large as them.

"What are those?" Patrick demanded, praying they were what he hoped they were.

"Me luggage. His Grace da Duke was quite accommodating in getting 'is staff ta bring in all da belongings of dis poor little widow." She batted her eyelashes up at him. "'e seemed ta be very interested in getting me inside fast, for some reason."

Lord Patrick's fist clenched. "Did he, now?"

"Aye. So very 'elpful of 'im." Smirking, Amy bent down and flicked open the first suitcase. Soon, she began pulling out clothes. Not dresses. Not any kind of women's clothes. Practical, yet elegant trousers and shirts of fine quality, all in dark colours. While inappropriate for ladies, certainly, they were useful for the current situation, and of intriguingly high quality. Why, some of those shirts even looked just like the ones he had in his wardro—

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

"Amy?"

"Aye?"

"Are those my shirts?"

"I don't know what ye could possibly mean, Yer Lordship." She batted her eyelashes up at him innocently. "Didn't ye 'ear me say dose is my luggage?"

"So you did. And where, pray, did you get 'your luggage'?"

"Ah, well...I asked yer 'ousekeeper for some men's clothes before comin' 'ere. Amazingly 'elpful woman she is. Came ta me with three boxes full of clothes right away. Don't know where she got dem from, but I'm ever so grateful for da generous gift."

"I'm sure." Picking up a jacket with the noble crest of the House of Day, he thrust it at the nearest scantily-clad woman, praying any ancestors looking down from above were too focused on fascinating cloud patterns to notice this particular scene. "Here you go."

"Th-thank ye."

Quickly, the clothes' distribution began, mostly thanks to a very enthusiastic Titus, who was incredibly helpful, doing his very best to distribute things to as many half-naked women as possible. Wasn't he an amazing best friend? When he got home, Lord Patrick would have to show him exactly how amazing. Preferably with his two fists. He just would have to get to a place where he could take his hands off his eyes and look around without getting an eyeful of naked unmentionables!

Finally, someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he cautiously lowered his hands. To his relief, all the women were ready, and the night around them was still silent. This might seem strange, but nobody in the main castle seemed to have noticed anything of what had been going on in the former infirmary. But then again...was it really? The noises usually coming from this place, if they got through the thick walls at all, would probably be a lot more gruesome than anything made by Karim and his minions.

They were still unnoticed. And their goal was right in front of them.

"Let's go." The woman...Fae, gestured towards the castle. Lord Patrick tried to ignore the fact that she was wearing an ermine-lined velvet robe of the nobility customary for peers attending sessions in the House of Lords, and instead focused his attention on the main keep of the castle ahead.

"Aye." He felt a soft hand tightening its grip on his and, glancing sideways, saw Amy look up at him, a smile flashing across her face. Without being able to help himself, Lord Patrick felt his heart make another leap. "Let's go kick some arse, aye?"

***

Why da 'ell am I doin' dis? Why da 'ell am I still 'olding on to 'is 'and?

Slowly, Amy raised her head, gazing up at the towering, black shadow of the castle that rose into the sky in front of them.

Maybe that was why.

"Y-ye want us ta go in dere?" one of the women stammered. "B-but..."

"Nah." Amy shook her head. "We just need one of ye ta lead us. Fae will be enough."

The women's shoulders sagged in relief.

"How do you propose we get inside?" Patrick enquired, glancing over his shoulder at Flo and the other two little girls. "I doubt we can use the same method twice."

"We won't need to." A wicked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, Amy turned towards the girls. "I need a volunteer. Anyone up for it?"

"Gladly." Taking a tighter hold of her doll, Aggie stepped forward. "I'll do it."

"Spiffin'!" Taking the little girl by the hand, Amy stepped towards the main keep.

"Wait!" Seeming to realize what she was up to, with the help of a pre-teen girl no less, Patrick leapt forward and reached out—but too late. With a little wave over her shoulder, she dashed off into the darkness, Aggie at her side. Behind her, she heard a distinctly unlordly curse.

After the two of them passed between some buildings scattered in the courtyard, the keep's gate came into view, and Amy put on her Oh-I'm-a-harmless-helpless-little-widow face. By the smirk on the guard's face, it was spot on.

"Oy, what ye're doing out 'ere so late at night, lady?"

Amy promptly pretended to tremble. "D-da steward came ta tell me ta bring me little girl to da keep. Said 'is Grace da Duke might wanna see her later, when 'e returns." She displayed an expression puzzled enough for a puzzle master trying to find the spot for the nine thousand nine hundred ninety-ninth piece. "Although I don't really see why. I mean...what could 'e possibly want from little Aggie?"

The teeth of the guard gleamed in the dark like a greedy devil's fangs. "Don't ye worry yer pretty little head about dat, lady. Just follow me. I'll show ye da way."

"A-aye, thank you. Thank ye so much."

"Ye're welcome," the guard murmured, suggestively. "Ye can thank me properly late—agh!"

The guard stumbled, and, full of incredulity, stared down at the happily smiling doll that was somehow sticking out of his left side.

"'ello dere," Aggie told him with the smile of an innocent little girl. Or a homicidal circus clown, depending on the angle and lighting. "Do ye like me pretty doll?"

"Arghl!" said the guard, and collapsed.

Her happy smile widening, Aggie reclaimed her favorite toy and hugged it.

"Ye know...I was just plannin' on trickin' 'im ta let us in," Amy pointed out.

"Aren't ye 'appy ye've got me ta think of better plans?"

"Err...very."

"Thanks! Stabby, come 'ere, ye darlin'! Ye've gotten tomato sauce all over yerself."

"Aggie?"

"Aye?"

"Remind me ta never meet ye in a dark alley."

"Ye spend all yer time in dark alleys."

"Good point. Dammit."

Taking a deep breath Amy nudged the corpse of the guard aside and pushed open the keep door.

In front of her lay the broad, elegant hallway she had last seen filled with sumptuously dressed ball guests. Now, it was dark and empty, the suits of armor lining the walls casting ominous shadows across the blood red carpet. From above, portraits of esteemed ancestors gazed down at the intruders disapprovingly.

Amy didn't give a fig.

Sticking two fingers between her lips, she gave a short, sharp wolf whistle. The kind of sound any self-respecting lecherous bastard might make. Inconspicuous, but effective. Moments later, the familiar silent, shadowy figures of Karim's minions appeared out of the darkness, the bodyguard and Patrick in the lead.

"All clear?" Patrick asked, his face wooden.

"All clear."

"Good." Taking a large stride forward, Lord Patrick Day grabbed hold of her and pulled her close. Amy was too shocked to react. "Don't ever do something like that again. Understood?"

Amy stood frozen, warm arms wrapped around her, pressing her against his chest. His warm, hard, manifestly male body.

He was hugging her! Hugging her! That time in the tower had been bad enough—but she could just write that off as a fluke. But now he was doing it again. Holding her. Shielding her. Once is a coincidence. Twice is suspicious. Three times...

Three times would feel pretty nice, actually.

Dat ain't da bloody point! Concentrate! Say something!

Yet before she could get out any coherent protests, he had already let go and pushed her behind him, drawing his sword.

"This time, I go first. You and the girls stay behind me. Mr Karim?"

Karim's grip tightened on his sabre, still dripping blood. "Ready and waiting."

"Forward!"

And he strode into the hallway, taking the lead. Karim took the left flank, two of his men the right. Amy, meanwhile, took out a pen and started drawing moustaches on the portraits of Arrendyle's venerable ancestors in passing. Satisfying revenge on villains came in many forms.

"Where to?" Patrick demanded.

"Down da 'allway, up da central stairs and through dat big doorway," Fae answered promptly. "Dat way eventually leads ta 'is Grace's private quarters. Dere's a door in 'is bedroom dat leads to...da place ye're lookin' for." Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw the other woman's fist clench. "Da Duke likes ta keep 'is girls close in case 'e gets bored at night."

Patrick didn't even glance at her. All he did was say one sentence in return. "He won't ever get his hands on you again."

Then his steps sped up, and he started heading up the stairs, taking three steps at a time. Led by Fae, it didn't take long for them all to reach the double doors presumably leading to the Duke's private quarters. Either that, or they'd reached the rooms of the other self-absorbed megalomaniac in this castle who thought huge double doors were necessary as an entrance to his private quarters.

"Everyone, quiet now." Amy froze at the sound of Patrick's order. They had reached the top of the stairs by now. Breath held, she watched as Patrick stepped forward, preparing to open the double doors. "Even if the Duke himself is not here, it is still quite likely that there will be guards in his private quarters."

"Den 'ow about we draw and quarter dem? Seems fittin'." Amy suggested, hopefully.

"While it is encouraging to see you for once trying to adhere to noble and ancient traditions," Patrick stated, "this particular one would be difficult to implement without a team of horses."

"Pity," Amy muttered, as the doors opened and they all stepped into the first room.

It was the most disgustingly opulent place Amy had ever seen in her life. Plush velvet couches in purple and gold, ostentatious tapestries that assaulted the eyes with motifs that made even her shudder, statues with gigantic, thick, elongated—

Crack!

"Oops." Lifting an eyebrow, Aggie glanced down at the broken-off piece of stone in her hand, shaped a little like an oversized pipe. "Clumsy me."

"Looks much better like dat anyway," Amy whispered, feeling a swell of pride for the girl. "Plus, now ye've got a knife and a club."

"Aye." Hefting the...item, Aggie stepped up beside her.

"Can I have one, too?" Flo's voice suddenly enquired from beside her.

Amy jumped, and instinctively covered the little girl's mouth with a hand. Hell! Why was she here? More importantly, how had the little girl snuck in here after them in the first place? She was sure she had asked one of the women to keep an eye on her!

No matter! They couldn't afford any distractions now. She focused as, up ahead, Patrick pushed open the next door and peeked inside.

"Two men standing guard," he whispered. "I take the right. Mister Karim, I shall leave the left to you."

"Noted."

"Three...two...one..."

Amy tensed.

"Zero!"

Now!

With a kick from Patrick, the door flew open. The two men on the other side of the room were taken aback, to say the least. Especially when Patrick dashed into the room and slammed his fist into the right man's face. The guard's head snapped back, slamming against the wall with a crack, and knocking him out in one go. The other guard yelped, whirling to face His Lordship and reaching for his rifle—only to jerk and freeze when Karim's throwing knife hit him in the back. A moment later, a marble penis slammed into the back of his head, giving him the last stroke.

Karim's men swarmed into the room, grabbing the men and pressing them to the ground, making sure that, even in their last moments, they couldn't make a sound to alert the castle. Soon, both gory bodies were gone and hidden in a nearby wardrobe. The whole thing went so swiftly and efficiently it made Amy wonder how often exactly they had done this before.

Then again...the more often, the better, right?

"This is it. Be vigilant." Reaching out, Patrick pushed open the door to the Duke's bedroom. It was just as gaudy as the one they had come from, the king-sized bed in gold and purple almost making Amy want to vomit. An urge that wasn't exactly alleviated by the strange smell in the room. The only good thing about this room was the fact that there were no guards inside. Most likely, His Grace the Duke didn't want even his most trusted guards to know exactly what went on in there.

Yet in the place of the guards, there was something else.

A small, inconspicuous door beside the bed, with a heavy lock on it.

"Ladies first." Half-turning towards Amy, Patrick gestured at the padlock, lifting one corner of his mouth. "After you, My Lady?"

My Lady.

Amy felt her heart leap. He...he was probably being facetious. She didn't even want to be a bloody lady!

And yet...

And yet...

Quickly, she brushed past him and knelt before the door, so he couldn't see the red tint on her cheeks. Damn, it was too hot in here!

Fishing her lockpicks out of her pockets, Amy started to twist and fiddle. It didn't take long before she heard a satisfying click.

"It's done!"

For a moment, silence hung over them. None of them moved—and Amy knew exactly why. None of them wanted to waste time. But none of them wanted to see what was beyond that door, either. Amy glanced up at Patrick, seeing the different feelings fighting for control over his face. Her heart going out to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, as the other moved towards the door knob.

"It's all right. It's my time to take point. Ladies first, remember?"

"No." The struggle on Lord Patrick Day's first was abruptly replaced by determination. "In this case, it is men first."

And, without hesitation, he pushed her aside and opened the door.

Amy had never felt so grateful for someone's lack of manners.

***

By the time he stepped out of the room again, Lord Patrick Day wanted to kill Ronald Harrington, the Duke of Arrendyle. Oh, he'd wanted to kill the man before, the same way you might idly wish death upon anyone you despised. But now he really wanted to kill him. Wrap his fingers around the man's neck and tighten his grip until he had squeezed the life out of him.