Lord Patrick opened his mouth—then closed it again. That's right. What were they going to do? They had found the little girl, had ensured she was safe. Up until now, that was all they had focused on. But now that was taken care of, what would they do?

What they had been sent to do?

He gritted his teeth. The mere thought of it made him feel as if he'd been kicked in the gut. Granted, that might just be because he had been kicked in the gut not five minutes ago, but still. He couldn't take this sweet little girl to that den of iniquity! Especially if she was going to kick him again if he tried. But if he didn't do it, all their previous work would be in vain.

So, what were they going to do?

Lord Patrick cleared his noble throat. "Well...we hadn't gotten quite that far, actually."

The girl—Issy, was her name?—glanced between Amy, still kneeling on top of her, and the collection of weapons strewn across the ground, before sending him a meaningful stare. "Den why don't ye get to it right about now?"

"Ehem, well..." Lord Patrick cleared his throat. "Why don't you tell us everything that happened to you from your perspective, first?"

Then maybe I will have enough time to actually think of something!

"Hm." The young girl chewed her lower lip thoughtfully—then finally nodded. "All right. I'll tell ye straight. If ye let me go, dat is."

His Lordship sent a look at Amy. The young woman held his gaze for a moment, then looked down at the little girl on the ground.

"Are ye gonna try and punch me again?"

A long pause.

Then...

"No."

"Dat took ye rather long ta decide."

"Sue me! Good things take time." The little girl smirked. "Now 'ow about ye let me go? Or don't ye wanna 'ear what 'appened?"

Amy hesitated for another moment, then let go and rose, her posture tense. Only when Issy didn't jump her, but instead sat up and started dusting herself off, did Amy relax marginally. Lord Patrick, for his part, did not relax. He kept his hands securely in front of his loins and waited, trying not to show that his mind was racing for a solution.

"I was just heading out on my own for the first time when—"

Lord Patrick did his best to seem attentive while he tuned her out and desperately searched for an idea. Any idea, any way to infiltrate the gang while still getting the girl out of this in one piece. He had promised himself, dammit! Promised! He was a man of honour. He kept his promises!

Yet it took only a few minutes of fruitless reflection to come to a very simple, yet stark, conclusion: promises don't make reality.

There was simply no way. If they let her go, if they saw her to a safe place, the gang would immediately know he wasn't the hardened criminal he had pretended to be. Then, their weeks upon weeks of work would all go down the metaphorical drain. The gang would instantly switch headquarters, and dozens, no, probably hundreds of girls all across England would never be freed from captivity. The criminals would ramp up security and thus destroy any future chance of bringing them to justice.

If, on the other hand, they didn't let her go...

He shuddered, not even wanting to finish the thought. In the back of his mind, a voice whispered It's just one girl. One girl, versus dozens, if not hundreds. Is it really such a huge sacrifice to make for the greater good?

There was just one problem with that way of thinking. The greater good, no matter how great it might be, was made out of thousands of tiny building blocks. If you removed just one at the very bottom...

His fists clenched. Like they said, the way to hell is paved with good intentions. He could not go down that road. He could not!

Only...what other choice was there?

The only other choice than the greater good was, unfortunately, the greater evil. Untold suffering. Corruption and crime without end. Out of the corner of his eye, he cast a glance at the little girl still recounting her story. Maybe...maybe he should...

Abruptly shaking his head, he rose.

"Come," he interrupted the girl, who was still regaling Amy with the story of her kidnapping. "We've got to hear this, but there's no reason we have to do it sitting on ice-cold rocks. Let's get back to the carriage, and then we can listen to the rest of your story."

And maybe I can think of something to do that I won't end up regretting for the rest of my life. After all, we're all the way up in Scotland. It isn't as if we don't have plenty of time to come up with a plan.

***

Some way off, in a manor on a certain hillside, a man was standing at a French window, hands folded behind his back, gazing out over the landscape. When a knock came from the door behind him, he didn't even move an inch.

"Enter!"

Carefully, the door creaked open and a man stuck his head into the room. "My Lord..."

"Ah, Bell. Has the package arrived?"

"Um...no, My Lord. A letter has." Lifting a silver tray with a missive upon it, the servant held it out. "Here, Your Lordship."

The man turned, revealing a face with a high forehead under blond, elegantly combed hair. A nobleman's face. The glint in his poison-green eyes, however, was anything but noble. Reaching out, he snatched the letter, tore it open and started reading. A moment later, his hand clenched, crumpling the letter into a ball.

"So...they let her escape, did they? Incompetent fools!"

The servant took a cautious step back. "What now, My Lord? Do you wish to respond to the letter?"

"And waste my time with useless words? I don't think so." Chucking the crumpled paper into a bin beside his desk, the nobleman strode towards the door. "Tell the coachman to ready the carriage! We're heading north!" A ravenous smile spread across his face. "It's been a while since I've been on a good hunt."

***

Striding out into the open, Lord Patrick led the way towards the carriage and pulled open the door. Everstone glanced down from the box at the little girl coming out of the forest behind his employer.

"Should I be expecting the big, bad wolf next, My Lord?"

"Very amusing, Everstone. Very amusing. When we're inside, drive off the main road and find a quiet spot. The three of us have things to discuss."

"As you wish, My Lord."

Turning around, His Lordship held the door open and gestured for the girl to get in. In answer, she leapt back and sent him a glare of renewed suspicion.

He rolled his eyes. "Really, now? It's a coach, not a torture chamber!"

"It could be takin' me to a torture chamber."

"Really? That's just..."

...a good point actually, all things considered. As much as he might wish otherwise, it wasn't as if she had any particular reason to trust him. Considering his recent thoughts, he wasn't sure whether to trust himself, either.

Taking in a deep breath, he gave a curt nod. "Very well. We'll walk, for now."

It didn't take long before they had reached a secluded side road. There, after the horses had been unharnessed, the little girl finally let herself be persuaded to climb into the coach.

"So," Amy began when they had all settled down into the upholstery. "Where were we?"

The girl sent her a level look. "At me violent kidnappin'?"

"Oh...right." Amy cleared her throat. "Do continue."

She did. And this time, Lord Patrick listened. Truly listened. All the while praying that, somewhere in her tale, he would find something that would give him an idea to get out of this darn deadlock.

But no such luck. Her story was not really different from those of the others: snatched off the streets, blindfolded, unable to identify her attackers. She had not seen any of the faces of her captors, couldn't offer any clues that might help in the current situation. Patrick felt like slapping himself. Of course, why would those bastard kidnappers be careless? They were professionals! Why would they give anything away that could—

"...and den dey told me dey were gonna get da 'package' to deir 'client'," the girl finished with a derisive snort. "Da moment I 'eard dat, I decided ta get out of dere."

His Lordship jerked upright, his thoughts abruptly interrupted, and leaned forward to gaze at the girl intently. "You heard them talking about the man you were supposed to be sent to?"

This might provide an opportunity. If there was any information on this so-called client...well, he was the only one who was pressuring the gang into providing the girl. If they could "persuade" him to lose interest...

Amy had apparently realized the exact same thing. Her green eyes flashing, she leaned across the carriage towards the girl. "Did you catch his name?"

"Aye." The girl nodded. "It was Lord Fabian Effi...Effa something."

It was a subtle change, but Lord Patrick noticed it immediately. Amy froze in place, her vibrant green eyes icing over in an instant.

"Evander?" she enquired, her voice as cold as the north pole. "Lord Fabian Evander Compton?"

"Aye, dat's it! How did ye know?"

Amy didn't answer the girl. She didn't even bother to glance at her, or at Lord Patrick for that matter. Leaping out of the carriage, she strode to the front where Everstone was feeding the horses from a bag of fodder. Lord Patrick quickly followed.

"Everstone! Dat's yer name, right?"

"Err...yes, Miss?"

"Get da 'orses back in front of da coach! We're leavin'!"

"Um...yes, Miss! Where to, Miss?"

"Southwest! I'll tell ye exactly where when ye need it."

And with that, she climbed back into the carriage, leaving the coachman and Lord Patrick outside. Patrick cocked his head at the other man curiously. "I thought I was your employer?"

"So did I until just now," Everstone responded and reached for the tackle. "So did I." Then he busied himself with the horses.

His Lordship, meanwhile, turned around and climbed after a certain young lady back into the coach. He had questions that needed answering.

Inside, Amy was sitting stock-still in a corner. Her back was stiff and...oh, dear goodness! Her arms were folded tightly in front of her chest, completely concealing her cleavage! She wasn't even trying to send him a seductive wink or make some remark with dirty double-meaning. Now he really knew something was wrong. Not even the snarky little girl in the corner appeared to want to open her mouth. There was a tense silence in the air.

The coach rocked and started to move forward. The oppressive silence continued, making clear that questions would not be welcome.

Well...

It was good, then, that recently he'd had so much training in being an ill-mannered, inconsiderate bastard, right? And from such an amazing teacher, too.

Shuffling over, he moved towards where she was sitting in her corner. He tried to catch her eyes, but she didn't even seem to notice, staring off into the distance.

"Miss Amy?"

No reaction.

"Amy?"

Not Miss Amy. Not My Lady. Just her name, spoken as softly as he could. Reaching out, he gently touched her hand.

She flinched.

Immediately, Lord Patrick drew his hand back, feeling as if he had been sucker punched. The look on her face at that moment...

"Do ye remember?"

Her voice was hollow. Distant. Coming to him as if through a thick bank of fog.

"Remember what?"

"Do ye remember 'ow I 'ate men? Noblemen in particular?"

His Lordship had a quick and painful flashback to when he was tied to a certain bed. Wincing, he rubbed his wrists, one corner of his mouth curling up. "I think it would be rather hard to forget."

"And did I ever tell ye why?"

"No." Lord Patrick shook his head. "No, you didn't."

Then he just waited. If there was anything he had learned during his time with her (particularly his time on the training mat) it was not to press Miss Amy Weston. Not if he didn't want to get his nose bloodied, that is. So he just waited, giving her time. And raised his arms in a defensive posture, just in case.

"Did ye ever wonder why I'm lookin' after Flo and Jo?"

He started. That was not the direction he had expected the conversation to take. "No."

"And why deir mother ain't around?"

His Lordship felt a cold tingle go down his spine. "N-no."

"Lord. Fabian. Evander. Compton!" Every single word was forced out with the venom of a thousand snake bites. After that...nothing. Not a word. Not even a sound.

Cautiously, he leaned closer. "Amy?"

Another moment of silence, before...

"It's not a new story, really." Her voice was brittle. Like a precious crystal vase, liable to break any moment. "Nothing you 'aven't 'eard before durin' da last few weeks. I was a fresh girl from da country, comin' inta town ta find a job. After all, why not? London's da capital, da most fabulous city in da entire country. Surely, dere would be some nice, rich lady or some such dat would take me in as a maid. Maybe 'er son would fall in love with me, and I would get ta live 'appy ever after."

She gave a mirthless chuckle.

"I was so naïve."

He hesitated for a moment—then put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "No friendly ladies looking for maids, were there?"

"Oh, sure dere were. I met one right after stepping inta town. Such amazin' luck it was! Right next ta me appeared dis pretty middle-aged lady and offered me a cushy job as a companion, makin' 'er tea and dusting her shelves..." Another mirthless chuckle. "Idiot dat I was, I believed 'er."

Patrick swallowed.

"What happened?" he asked.

Although he knew. Oh, how well he knew. He just prayed he was mistaken.

"Let's just say I wasn't as smart as Flo and Jo when dey had deir encounter a few weeks ago. I went with 'er like a faithful little lamb." He saw her face twitch. "A lamb to da slaughter."

"Amy, I—"

"I was led to a small room," she cut him off, not even seeming to notice he had been trying to say something. "When I asked why I was bein' locked up in dere... Well, let's just say da answer wasn't pleasant." She touched her cheek, as if in remembered pain. "And den da man came in."

Lord Patrick felt the urge to wretch. To rage. To take Amy in his arms and never let go. A part of him wanted to ask how old she had been. Another, bigger part of him wanted to beg her to stop.

But the biggest part of him? The one with his heart, at the very center? That part of him wanted to travel back in time and tear apart the man who had dared to lay hands on his fiancée!

Your fiancée? What in God's name are you thinking, Patrick? That woman isn't suitable for...she isn't...

He couldn't say it. He couldn't even think it.

"Who was it?" he demanded in a growl. "What's his name? Who—" Lord Patrick froze. His gaze flicked between Amy and the sleeping girl in the corner, and a horrific possibility dawned on him.

"You don't mean...Lord Compton did—"

"No."

Amy shook her head, and Lord Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. That is, until she turned to look at him. The empty, icy expression that had filled her eyes an instant ago was gone and, in its place, there was fiery, barely controlled rage.

"He did something far worse."

------------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Sorry for the late update. I'm not quite well today. Seems my doctor's visit wasn't for nothing.

Next time, we get to learn all about Amy's dark past...

Yours Truly

Sir Rob