I had seen people pissed before. Mostly in the UK, where alcohol was abundant and pissed meant drunk. Here in America, alcohol would be of no help in that regard. But I had to admit, compared to watching drunkards, looking at people who were pissed from being filled with raging, fuming fury caused by my humble self and my darling husband was far, far more entertaining.

The sight of Señor Maximo Emilio Reyes Espiridion Victor De La Fuente and Señor Francisco Enrico Ronaldo Damian De Ravera climbing out of a dusty stagecoach in scruffy, torn silks, with deep shadows under their eyes certainly counted as entertainment. Marvellous entertainment, in fact.

Though some others might perhaps not agree.

"S-Señores!" Navarro exclaimed, staring at his two employers from under the colourful welcome banner that hung over the once-again-erected podium. Now that we knew De Ravera and De La Fuente were arriving for real, Mr Ambrose and I had naturally accompanied Navarro to welcome the newcomers. For some reason, he did not seem very happy about this. "S-Señores, what happened to you?"

"Not a word, Navarro," De Ravera hissed, raising a finger as he clambered out of the rackety stagecoach with trembling legs. Legs that just so happened to be spattered in something that smelled suspiciously like rat piss. "Not. One. Word."

"How about two instead?" I suggested.

As if he were a snake on the hunt, De Ravera's head whipped around, intent on finding the source of the one who had dared to speak. His gaze landed on me, boring into me—that is, until he noticed the man beside me.

"You!"

"Now, now." Mr Ambrose shook his head disapprovingly. "Is that any way to greet the witness for your prosecution?"

"Oh..." I glanced over at him. "I was wondering what you were doing that one time you went out back in New York."

He shrugged. "A man needs his hobbies."

I raised an eyebrow. "Since when?"

He narrowed his eyes infinitesimally. "Since I got married."

"Tut-tut..." I shook my head disapprovingly. "Only married a few weeks, and already my husband is forsaking me. Freeing slaves, suing corrupt imperialist noblemen...next thing I know, you'll be drinking and gambling all your money away."

To judge by the way the Spaniard's face was twitching, he was getting slightly irritated with the two of us. Well, screw him. We were having an important moment here. Nothing was going to interrupt what might very well turn out to be our first official, public marital spat.

"Excuse me, Mrs Ambrose." Eyes glittering dangerously, Mr Ambrose stepped towards me. "I'll be doing what?"

"You heard me." I nodded wisely. "I've talked with your mother, you know. I know how things go when men get past the honeymoon phase."

"My mother?" Mr Ambrose suddenly stiffened. "When did you talk with my mother?"

"None of your business."

A sense of doom seemed to fall over my husband. "Are you secretly communicating with my sister as well?"

I grinned. "What do you think?"

I was eagerly anticipating his reaction when, apparently, those two bloody Spanish buggers decided to butt in.

"You...if you wish to live, you estop dis right dis instance!" Eyes glimmering like burning coals, De La Fuente stepped forward. "How dare you ignore us?"

In answer, Mr Ambrose ignored him.

You had to admit it, my man had class.

"You...do you have any idea who we are? What kind of estatus we have?"

Mr Ambrose raised an eyebrow about half a millimetre. "No. I'm not particularly familiar with the concept of 'estatus'."

Oh boy. Burn, dago, burn.

Unlike me, the man of high estatus didn't seem to appreciate my hubby's response, however.

"You want to challenge us?" The man's face darkened, pointing to himself and his fellow noble. "You sink you can take us on? Is sat it?"

Promptly, Mr Ambrose ignored him once again. Turning to the paper nailed to a nearby post, he started to study stagecoach arrival times. After all, it was such a fascinating subject, wasn't it?

God, I love him.

Rage practically bled from the two Spaniards. I had to admit it was quite scary—or would have been, if both of them hadn't been about half a head shorter than I was. Let alone compared to a certain stony-faced someone.

"Just you wait, bastardo!" Crossing the distance, De Ravera bored a finger into my husband's chest. "You sink you can sreaten us? You sink you can win? Se two of us own dis town! We don't need your land. We only have to put se word out, and you'll be finished! How do you sink you'll be operating your mine when no one is willing to work sere anymore?"

"I suppose we shall have to see, won't we?"

And with that, he turned around, leaving the two of them standing where they were.

I followed promptly, sidling up from behind him. "I've got to admit, that was, how do the yanks put it...badass."

He cocked his head. "But?"

Ah. So he'd caught it, had he?

"But doesn't he have a point? Those men who work at your mine probably have families. Families who are under the thumb of De La Fuente and De Ravera, because they own the land those people live on. Won't it be all too easy for those two to pressure the miners into staying away from work?"

I glanced up at him sideways. His face was as stony and emotionless as ever. He most certainly didn't smile wickedly.

My eyes narrowed. "What are you up to?"

"Me?" He glanced over at me with all the innocence of an iceberg about to ram into an unsuspecting ship. "What could I possibly be up to?"

***

My fears turned out to be warranted. Within a few days, we got ourselves a lovely, quiet honeymoon retreat. Really quiet. There was not a single worker left at the mine.

"Aren't you afraid they'll tell people all about your secret entrance?" I asked him, frowning. "If those miners are now under the Spaniards' thumb..."

He answered my question with a question. "Have you ever read one of my non-disclosure agreements?"

"No."

"If you had, you wouldn't ask."

I scrutinized him carefully. Even if it was usual for Mr Rikkard Ambrose to show nothing but stony stoicism, I had grown very good at reading his non-expressions. Still, right now, I couldn't detect the slightest hint of worry on his face. Not even the tiniest trace.

"Aren't you even slightly worried?" I demanded. "All of your workers have vanished into thin air! What are you possibly going to do without miners to mine?"

"Interesting you should mention that."

Just when I was about to ask exactly why the heck this was interesting, I heard it. The rumble of carriage wheels coming up the dirt path in the distance. It didn't take long for a coach to come rolling towards the house. It was cast in shadows beneath the branches of the trees, and the interior of the coach was dark.

For multiple reasons.

"Oh no." I turned to Mr Ambrose, gazing at him with a mix of shock, admiration and accusation. "You didn't!"

"I most certainly did."

"You...you...!"

"...inventive, intelligent, loveable man?"

"Those," I told him, my eyes boring into him, "were not the words I would have chosen."

I was about to tell him exactly which were the words I would have chosen—and none of them, by the way, were particularly polite—when the carriage came to a stop in front of us. After a moment, the door burst open, revealing a muscle-bound black figure. In a blink, the massive man leapt down, striking a pose.

"We here! We win!"

I gave Mr Ambrose another look.

He cocked his head. "My solicitors are good at more than non-disclosure agreements, Mrs Ambrose."

Clearly. And he was clearly better at scheming than even I had suspected. Getting slaves to pay you to free them, only to make them work for you afterwards? My dear husband and I were going to have a very long discussion later.

"Out of the way, you big oaf!" Another, smaller, form pushed past the big muscle man. The smaller man had intelligent eyes, a mop of curly hair, and a clearly superior grasp of the English language compared to his ogre of a companion.

"Mr Ambrose." Bowing deeply, the man with the black bush on his head stepped towards my measly miser of a husband. "My name is Itoro. I speak for people here. In name of all of these people...thank you. We be...are very grateful that you make offer for work."

"Don't mention it." Pulling the man back up straight, Mr Ambrose placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's my duty as a concerned citizen. Of course, it is difficult to find a place for this many workers with my operation already up and running—"

Oh my. Yes, the two of us were going to have a long chat tonight. A long, long chat.

"—but as a generous, charitable gentleman, I will do what I can to take you in, even if you will have to settle for half the wages that—"

Lifting my foot, I slammed it down on Mr Ambrose's shiny black shoes.

"—nnnargthree quarters the wages that I usually pay my workers. I hope that will suffice?"

"Of course, Mr Ambrose, of course! Thank you, thank you so much!" The young man bowed again, eagerly. "You only a simple ship captain, and yet you some way manage getting jobs at this place for all of us. I can no even imagine how difficult it must have been for you to do this!"

Behind Mr Ambrose, I grinned. What a perfect time for me to join the conversation.

"That's because he didn't," I announced, stepping forward and shouldering Mr Ambrose aside. "I did. After all, he's just a measly ship captain. I'm the sister of the big boss."

For one instant I had the distinct pleasure of seeing Mr Rikkard Ambrose staring at me open-mouthed—then he remembered his little play back on the boat and clamped his jaw shut, gritting his teeth.

"Oh, darling..." I patted his shoulder. "No need to be upset that you're only pretty arm candy. You can still prove your worth in the bedroom, no?"

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitched. "I...am glad you think so highly of me, my dear wife."

I patted his head. "Isn't he cute?" Beaming, I turned towards my brand-new employees, ignoring the groan from beside me which totally didn't come from my sweet hubby.

With tears in their eyes, the ex-slaves stepped towards me, bowing deeply. "How we ever thank ya?" More figures started climbing out of the coach, bowing and scraping in gratitude to their gracious saviour (and her male add-on). "Thank ya! Three cheers for our benny factor!"

"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

"Honestly, though." His face sobering, Itoro gazed at me earnestly. "How we ever can thank you?"

"Don't worry yourself." Stepping forward, Mr Ambrose gave them a regal, reassuring gaze. "You have been through an ordeal, and you are now free men and women. It will be perfectly sufficient if you put in a few hours of unpaid overti—ng!"

"What my beloved arm candy was going to say," I cut in, pressing my foot harder down onto his foot, "was that since you have gone through such a terrible ordeal, you'll get double pay for a month."

"But tha—aaagh!"

"Something wrong, my dear?" Concerned, I glanced sideways at my dear hubby, whose neck was now twitching spasmodically.

"Don't. Worry. About. It!" Mr Ambrose squeezed out as he tried to tug his toes out from under my heel. Unsuccessfully. Ah, the pleasures of hardcore footsie... "I have some things, ehem...weighing on me, but the important thing now is that all you good people work har—um, I mean find happiness in your new life."

"Thank you." Tears brimming in his eyes, the bushy-haired man stepped forward, grabbed Mr Ambrose's hand, and bowed once more. "Thank you. No one else care. No one else give work. All we... we so grateful."

"No need," I assured the man with a beneficent smile befitting a generous big boss. "He's happy to have you here, trust me."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. Why don't you head to the miners' quarters and make yourself at home? I'm sure you're tired after your long journey."

With a blinding smile, the man bowed to me as well, then ushered off his companions. Jabbering in their various native languages, they headed off towards their new home. Smiling, I waved after them, then, when they were hopefully out of hearing range, I sidled up to Mr Ambrose and, still smiling, murmured, "You manipulative bastard."

"Says my loving wife with her boot on my toes?"

"Just be glad it isn't up your arse."

"Consider me filled with intense gratitude." Slowly, very slowly, he turned towards me. His eyes flashed darkly. "Oh yes. Intense gratitude that you usurped my authority and fortune in public." Taking a step towards me, he suddenly seemed a whole lot taller than before, and not at all amused. "Intense gratitude for the fact you just quadrupled my expenses. Intense gratitude that you made fun of your husband."

"Now, ehem, wait just a minute." Clearing my throat, I took a cautious step back. "You know that none of that was serious, right? That was all in good fun, right?"

"Indeed?" Rikkard Ambrose's eyebrow twitched half a millimetre. "Well, then consider none of this to be serious either, will you?"

"Now, wait just a minu—mmmmph!"

That was the last thing I got out before my wrists were captured in his grasp and I was slammed against the outer wall of the log house. The rough wood of the wall dug hard into my back, or at least that's what I thought, until Mr Rikkard Ambrose stepped forward once again, pressing into my front.

"W-wait just a minute! It was all a j-joke and—"

One elegant finger on my lips swiftly silenced me. "Mrs Ambrose?"

"Y-yes?" Heck! Why oh why was I suddenly stuttering? Why?

"You have known me for several years now, haven't you?"

"Y-yes."

"And we've already been married for a few weeks, correct?"

"Yes."

"During that time, you should have gotten to know me adequately well, should you not?"

"Yes."

Sea-coloured eyes darkening to fathomless depths, he leaned forward until his face was nearly touching mine.

"Then what, pray, would ever give you the idea that I would appreciate humour?"

"Um..." I considered the question for a moment. "Because you wear a really funny top hat?"

To judge by the look in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes, he did not deem this to be a sufficient reason.

"So..." He leaned forward even farther. Now his face was touching mine. With every word, his lips brushed against mine, sending sparks of frost and fire into me. "You find me amusing, do you?"

"N-no?"

He didn't seem to hear or care. Pressing even closer, he held me against the wall so tightly that I couldn't even move an inch. His lips weren't just brushing against mine now, either. They were teasing, tantalizing, torturing me with every touch.

"So, you want to usurp my authority, do you? You want to play the big boss?"

By now, I couldn't squeeze out even a single word if I wanted to. And not because he kept scattering searing kisses over my mouth, face and neck.

"Then let's find out, shall we," he told me, his every word falling on me like a deadly hammer strike.

"Now, wait just a minute—"

That was my first mistake. Talking instead of escaping right then and there. My second...

Well, that was not really wanting to escape in the first place. An instant later, his arms encased me in an iron grip and I found myself lifted into the air, held tightly in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's arms, his eyes burning into my eyes, my soul, my entire body with an intent that made me feel naked.

Which you're probably going to be quite soon, by the looks of things.

His eyes flashed darkly. "Let's find out who the real boss is, shall we?"

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Any bets on who the real boss will turn out to be? ;)

A) Lilly

B) Mr Ambrose

Vote and tell me how you think things will go!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Dago—an insulting way of saying Spaniard. It can also be applied to Portuguese and Italians, and thus refers more generally to southern Europeans.