The two men on each side, who apparently had resigned themselves to eat the leftovers, grabbed one leg each. Amy let them. Best they be preoccupied.

Grinning, the third man stepped forward, bending down towards her. Amy dispassionately inspected his lascivious leer. On a scale from one to ten, she'd give it no more than a six point eight. His ugly mug, however, got a solid nine. His hands reached out for her wobbly bits, and his smirk was becoming wider and wider.

"Just ye wait, luv," the guard cackled. "I bet ye'll love me sword stabbing into ye!"

"And I bet," she told him, a broad smile suddenly appearing on her face, "ye'll love mine."

That was when she pulled out the knife and rammed it into his gut.

"Aaaaah!" The man let out a guttural groan.

"Oh...! Please!" Amy protested, squirming underneath the man with acting talent worthy of the Globe Theatre. "No! You're too big! Too big!"

The man's two cronies chuckled.

"Oy, we still wanna plough dat twat, too!" one of them shouted. "Take care ye don't ruin 'er for us!"

"Don't worry," Amy told him and, pulling out the knife from the wound, stabbed it at the goon's arm. "Ye won't be left out!"

"Aaaaagh!"

Cursing, the man let go of her leg and leapt back, blood streaming down his arm. The man half-lying on her, who still hadn't quite realized what had happened or how that hole had appeared in his belly, opened and closed his mouth like a choking goldfish. Ramming her knee into his ribs, Amy sent him sailing off the bed.

That left just one.

"Bitch!"

A fist sailed towards Amy's face, and she rolled to the side just in time to avoid the blow. Grabbing the arm, she slammed a foot into the bastard's belly and, with a jerk, sent him flying over her and into the wall beyond.

Wham!

Without looking, Amy leapt off the bed and turned towards the other man, who was still clutching his bleeding arm. Raising her knife, she dashed towards him. Growling, he grabbed for the sword that hung at his side.

Amy smirked.

Big mistake.

This was a confined space. Hardly enough room to swing around a spoon, let alone a sword. In other words: a back alley fight.

Ye're done for, fool! Dis is my turf!

Before the sword was even halfway out of its sheath, Amy's foot lashed out. Hooking it behind the guard's leg, she pulled hard. The moment the man lost his footing, and the hand let go of the sword to wildly wave through the air, Amy leapt forward. Moving into his reach she stabbed forward, catching him in the shoulder.

"Twat! I'll gut ye!"

Ducking, the man threw himself forward with a roar. Grabbing her around the waste, he forced her to the ground. He was a man, after all. He was the strongest! Once he was on top, a woman could do nothing to stop him, right?

Amy smirked.

In a blink, her legs came up. Wrapping around the man's head, she twisted.

"Nnnngh!"

"Damn, ye got a thick neck, ye bastard!"

Clenching her teeth she redoubled her efforts, and the man's face started turning first red, then purple. Amy was just waiting for her favorite colour in the rainbow, when...

Hsss...!

The sound of a blade cutting through the air reached her ears nearly too late to alert her. Releasing her grip, she hurled herself back, separating herself from the guard with a kick. A sword slammed into the ground where she had been a moment ago, burying itself in the wooden floor. Without the slightest hesitation, she stabbed towards the hand holding it, forcing it to let go. Leaping up, she tore the thing out of the floor and hurled it out of the window.

Fingers crossed dey aren't all da way up the rope yet.

Oh well, even if they are, it wouldn't be too bad, would it? Like they say, a decapitation a day keeps the doctor away.

"Bitch!" the man who'd just lost his sword gasped from the ground. "Twat!"

Amy waved. "Hello, Penis."

For some reason, her good manners didn't seem to be well-received. Eyes burning with rage, they rushed towards her. Unfortunately, their reason wasn't so far gone yet as to not know what they were doing. Moving with cohesion, they approached her in a pincer movement.

Amy's eyes flicked from right to left. One was unarmed, and one was bleeding from his arm. But they both were still strong men, and looked very determined. The element of surprise was gone. Superiority in numbers had never been there in the first place. All she had left was...

Friggin' nothing.

Blast!

The men charged.

***

Lord Patrick Day's hands were burning. Fire was everywhere, searing his nerves. And yet he climbed. Climbed faster than he ever had in his life,

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw shadows streaming towards the tower wall below from all directions. The men Karim had brought. They had been quite...efficient on the way in. The way they had dealt with some of the guards...

Well, suffice it to say he was beginning to suspect they were not office clerks.

They moved ruthlessly.

They moved fast.

But right now, for him, it wasn't nearly fast enough!

From up above, he heard the sound of a door slamming open, and felt his heart drop.

Don't you dare! Don't you bloody dare!

For some reason, he didn't care one bit about the vile curses flooding through his mind.

Just you wait, Arrendyle. This time, you have gone too far. You have stuck your head into the lion's maw!

He was almost halfway up the tower now. Only yards above him, he saw the battlements, and—

Bloody hell!

Ducking down, he pressed himself against the wall as, above him, the footsteps of a guard approached. Slowly. Far too slowly. Should he wait? But—

From the tower window far above came the insidious chuckle of men.

To hell with it!

Teeth clenching, he lunged up. One hand grabbed the stone merlon, and he hung between rope and stone, spread like butter on fresh toast. Then...

He let go.

The rope fell away. For an instant, he dangled from the castle battlements by a single hand. Then he dragged in a deep breath—and moved.

In a blink, he launched himself up and, grabbing the guard by the scruff of the neck, gave a quick jerk. Before the man could even find the time to squeal, he sailed over the wall and down into the darkness. Half a second later came a dull crunch.

Did that count as an honourable duel?

Who cares? Good riddance!

Suddenly, Lord Patrick Day got the feeling that he had changed quite a bit. And he was pretty sure he knew who was responsible.

From far, far above came the yelp of a woman.

Again, who cares? Move!

Lunging to the side, he once again grabbed hold of the rope and started climbing, staining the rope with blood. More crashes and yelps came from up above, and every single noise stabbed at him like a dagger in the night. Growling, he sped up, counting the seconds till he'd reach the windowsill.

Twenty...

Fifteen...

Ten...

Five...

Four...

A groan. Man or woman? He couldn't tell, darn it!

Three...

Two...

Another groan, and a thud. Faster!

One...

Yes!

Grabbing hold of the windowsill, he pulled himself up and...

There!

A woman with emerald eyes, and...and...

And two men on top of her, struggling to hold her down.

In that moment, Lord Patrick's world turned black. Not red like blood. Black. Black like the underworld. Leaping into the room, he tore his sword from its sheath and rushed forward.

***

"Oy, oy, ye two really don't know 'ow ta double-team a lady. What are ye 'olding me arms for? Unless ye want a 'and job..."

"Shut yer mouth, ye frigging bitch!" One of the guards howled, gnashing his teeth trying to hold her in place. "Shut yer bloody mouth!"

"Ah, so definitely not a blow job, den." Nodding sagely, Amy aimed a kick at the man's stomach, which unfortunately missed.

"Shut up! Shut up, or I'm gonna rip yer clothes off and give it ta ye until ye scream!"

"Oh dear. Being jumped on by a man I don't wanna 'ave anything ta do with? I'm so scared."

The guard was so taken aback he almost let go. As a thank you, he got a fist in the gut.

"Gnangh! What kind of woman are ye?"

"Da 'ard-fisted kind! Piss off!"

Growling, the man clutched his stomach and leapt onto her arm again. She was firmly and completely held down. And, slowly but surely, panic was starting to rise inside her. Heck, what was this? They wanted to hurt her? So what! Wasn't like it would be the first time. So...how come she suddenly felt like biting and scratching these men above her? How come she never, ever wanted them anywhere close to her?

Snarling, she lunged out to snap at them—and missed. The men's smiles widened. Dammit! It was no use! She couldn't break free! All she could do was lie there and hope the two of them wouldn't notice the rope hanging out of the window.

The window through which, right at that moment, a hand became visible. Reaching up, it grabbed hold of the windowsill.

Amy's struggle ceased abruptly.

"What is it?" One of the guards sneered. "Finally given up? Finally realized it's 'opeless?"

"Oh, aye." A grin spreading across Amy's face, her eyes stared at the two men for a moment—before landing on the dark figure silhouetted against the moonlight that was rising behind them. She caught a glimpse of golden hair. "It's 'opeless all right."

"What are ye smirking for, ye bi—"

With a fleshy sound, a sword was buried in the man's back to the hilt.

"That word," Lord Patrick Day said, his eyes as cold as the steel in his hands, "is exceedingly impolite."

"What the—!" Letting go of Amy's leg, the man jumped back, his eyes bugging out as he stared at Patrick.

As for Amy, never had she been so happy for a man to appear in her room unannounced. And with her experience, that was saying something.

"Who are ye? What da 'ell are ye doing 'ere?"

"This!" His Lordship informed him and, tearing his sword from the dead guard's back, stabbed it towards the last man standing.

With a yelp, the man leapt back. Patrick didn't let that stop him. Raising his blade, he advanced towards the guard. Amy didn't fail to notice the way he shifted, positioning himself between her and the threat.

Someone had stepped in between her and a man who wanted to do her harm.

Someone had come to protect her. After so many years...someone had come to save her.

Her heart thudded.

She really wanted to get up. She really wanted to leap to her feet and dash towards the guard with knife in hand, stabbing at the bastard. But she couldn't. All she could currently do was lie there on the bed and watch.

And watch she did.

Watched as Patrick stood between her and a murderous rapist's minion. Watched as he grabbed the man by the throat, slammed him against the wall and stabbed forward. Only by a hair's breadth did the guard avoid being skewered. For an instant, at least. In a blink, Lord Patrick's knee came up and...

"Aaargh!"

What a good pupil! Amy felt pride swelling in her chest. Pride and...something more.

And to judge by the way he was clutching his crotch, the guard also felt something swelling.

Yet Amy doubted very much this would be of much concern for him, however. The sword neatly stabbing through his chest in the next moment swiftly relieved him of all worries.

Thud!

The sound of the body hitting the floor echoed through the room with finality.

***

Lord Patrick stared down at the corpse on the floor, breathing heavily. With an insidious sound, blood dripped from the tip of his sword.

"Do you...do you think somebody heard?" a soft voice came from behind him.

"I doubt that very much. Castles have thick walls, and this tower is far away from other parts of the stronghold. Besides..." He clenched his fist, ignoring the stabbing pain. "If thuds and cries came from this tower, would any of the guards downstairs really be surprised?"

A pause.

"No, I guess not. I suppose dey...dey..."

Her voice cracked.

That did it.

Before Lord Patrick knew what was happening, his feet were moving. His arms came up, and a moment later, they were more tightly wrapped around a certain lady of the night than they'd ever been around any lady. In his embrace, he could feel her stiffen with surprise. And she wasn't the bloody only one, pardon his language!

What the blazes am I doing?

"A-are you all right?" Trying desperately to find something he could look at or touch without violating his code of honour as a gentleman, which turned out to be pretty bleeding hard, His Lordship cleared his throat. "Did they—?"

"I...I'm fine."

"We're fine, too," An innocent voice announced from the sidelines. When His Lordship glanced sideways, he saw Flo, Aggie and Leona watching the two of them with faeces-devouring grins. "Not as fine as da two of ye together, apparently."

"Ehem, well—" He was desperately trying to find a way out of this situation, when the inventive young lady beside him found one, in the form of an elbow to his ribs.

"Mmmph!"

"'ands off! We got no time for dis! I've got work ta do!"

Rushing over to the door, she knelt and pulled out her trusted kit of lockpicks. It wasn't long before Lord Patrick heard a click, and the door slid open.

"Wait just a minute," he told her and stepped over to the window. Far down below on the wall, he spotted a bulky figure with a turban busy strangling a guard in livery. One punch, one last twist, and another worthless piece of vermin joined his comrades in hell.

Let's hope their master follows them fast.

The bulky figure on the parapet turned and caught Lord Patrick's gaze. Holding up one finger, he silently jabbed it down into the courtyard, then raised another, and pointed it towards the tower His Lordship stood in.

The message, despite the late hour, was as clear as day.

Half spreading through the castle, half sent to help you.

Nodding, Lord Patrick answered with a single gesture, jerking his thumb across his throat.

Kill, don't capture.

The tiger-like smile he received in return was enough of an answer. A similar smile spread across his own face.

Turning away from the window, towards the open door through which a circular staircase led down into the darkness, Lord Patrick drew his sword and gave Amy a nod. "Let's go."