The intensity of the glare Karim sent at the bandit could have seared holes into bedrock. Mine wasn't far behind, either.

"What," I squeezed out, "do you want?"

"Oh, there are many things I want, Mister," the bandit leader informed me with a smirk, half-hidden behind the bandana that covered his mouth and nose. Suddenly, I felt very glad I had come out here dressed in my male clothes. If I'd been in this situation as a woman... "So very many things. But, for now, why don't ye kiss the ground and call me 'My Lord'?"

So we're dealing with that kind of man, are we?

I ground my teeth, staying as silent as the grave. A simile that, soon, might be too apt for my liking.

"I said," the bandit leader repeated, raising a pistol to aim at me. "Why don't you kiss the ground and call me 'My Lord'?"

My fists clenched.

Calm down, Lilly. You have to stay calm. He's just a piece of scum with delusions of grandeur. The longer you can get him to indulge in his pathetic antics, the more time you have for reinforcements to get here.

That's what I told myself, at least. It didn't make what I was about to do any easier. Taking a deep breath, I forced my aching limbs to obey me and stood. Then, slowly, I started lowering myself into a kneeling posit—

That's about as far as I got when Wire launched himself into my field of view, his massive jaws clamping round the man's wounded leg.

"Ggaaarh!" the bandit bellowed, just before his one remaining leg gave way, and he toppled head-first into the pit.

"That's why," I couldn't resist commenting.

The bandit leader didn't answer. He was too busy howling as he fell—until he landed right in front of a certain turban-wearing behemoth, who seemed to be very eager to greet him.

"Why, hello." It was quite impressive how terrifying a simple greeting could be, when spoken by a big man with an even bigger sabre. I felt a smirk spread over my face. "What do we have here?"

Then, in a flash, his bulky arm wrapped around the man's throat, dragging him into a choke hold. Before any of the other bandits above had time to react, the big Mohammedan was in front me, holding up their leader as a human shield. Several grey-clad figures appeared on either side of him, also aiming their weapons at the bandit leader.

"Back!" Karim bellowed. "Back, the lot of you! Or I'll snap his neck right here, right now!"

The bandits froze.

Then, slowly, one of them raised a hand.

"Err...just 'cause I'm curious, but...why da hell should we care?"

Karim blinked. "What?"

"Oy, dat ain't fair," another bandit pointed out. "We should care!"

The first bandit considered that—then nodded. "Aye. If he's dead, we won't need ta pay him his share of da bounty no more. So, by all means, kill da bastard!"

"I don't think your plan is working," I hissed at the bodyguard out of the corner of my mouth.

"You don't say, Sahiba."

"So? What are we going to do now?"

"Hope for another three dozen dogs?"

I fought down the urge to whack him over the head. Now was not the time to quarrel amongst ourselves. Despite my irritation, a part of my mind was keen enough to have noticed the bandit's earlier words.

Bounty.

Someone had put a bounty on us. There went any chance of this being a band of random brigands.

And any chance of us getting out of this alive, by the looks of it, I thought as the bandits above came closer to the edge of the pit, readying their weapons. I heard several foreboding, metallic clicks, and my heart rate sped up.

They're going to shoot! They're going to shoot! They're going to—

Then, inspiration struck.

"How much?"

The bandits froze, throwing me confused looks. "Huh? What are ye babbling about, Mister?"

"How much?" I repeated. "The bounty. How much is it? I'll double whatever you were promised."

The man let out a cackle, soon followed by his compatriots. "Ha! That's rich! But I don't think ye are, Mister. Leastways nowhere near as rich as the fellow who hired us. What makes ye think ye can top his price?"

I smiled, folding my hands behind my back. "I can't. But Mr Rikkard Ambrose can."

Hands still behind my back, I started making signs at the men who had fallen into the pit with us. Did I ever mention that Mr Rikkard Ambrose had implemented a special sign language in his office so nobody would have to waste their breath on unnecessary words? When he came up with the idea, I had cursed him six ways to Sunday. Now I suddenly didn't think it such a bad idea anymore.

"Ambrose?" The bandit's eyes gleamed with greed. "That Ambrose?"

It said something about how filthy rich Mr Rikkard Ambrose was that even bandits from the bum of nowhere knew his name.

"Yes." I continued to gesture, the bandits unaware as their full attention was focused on my smiling face. "I am to be his brother-in-law. He would pay a pretty penny to get me back."

If you want to be paid in blood, that is.

"Hm, well now..." The man above me, who seemed to have elected himself as temporary bandit leader, scratched his scruffy beard. "This sounds interesting. Tell me more."

Yes! Hook, line and sinker. Now—time to stall.

"Well...I'm sure we can come to a suitable arrangement. You don't need those superfluous people." Dismissively, I gestured to my husband's men. If the bandits were stupid enough to let them go, help would arrive much earlier. "Just keep the two of us as hostages, and then—"

Thus I started my spiel. Blimey, was I suddenly glad Mr Rikkard Ambrose had taught me how to sell pyrite as gold. As I spoke, the bandits fell silent and their eyes glazed over with greed. It was so quiet, the only other sound was the chirping of the birds in the background, and all the brigands' attention was on me. Which was good, because they didn't notice some of the bird chirps weren't exactly natural. More like signals, in fact.

"...must know that Mr Ambrose is the richest man in the entire British Empire. His businesses stretch all over the world, and...."

From far, far away, another bird call answered the signal. I had to fight hard to suppress a smile.

"...wealth exceeds that of anyone I can think of, and certainly that of the blaggard who hired you. I'm sure if you fine gentlemen could escort us to safety..."

When it came, it was so quiet I could hardly hear it. But it was there. The rustling of trees. The cracking of branches. The sound of people approaching.

"...not to mention that Mr Ambrose is a very kind-hearted and generous individual." Crossing my fingers behind my back, I gave bandit leader number two a resplendent smile. "He'd be more than happy to pay a generous ransom for me."

More rustling of trees, this time much closer.

"Generous?" The bandit gave me an avaricious smirk. "How generous exactly?"

"I don't know." My smile didn't waver. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Huh? Ask hi—"

The man froze. Then, very, very slowly, he turned around—only to come face-to chest with a certain businessman in whose shadow he now stood.

"Karim?" a cold voice cut through the air.

"Yes, Sahib?"

"Catch."

A knee lashed out. With a guttural grunt, the bandit was sent flying right into the pit, where he was greeted by Karim, who still had one arm free for another choke hold.

"Well, hello there."

The bandit didn't seem in the mood to return the greeting. As for the others...

A gap had opened up in their lines. A gap which now revealed a towering, black-clad figure looming above the pit. I felt my heart leap.

The figure stretched out his hand.

My feet moved before my mind did. In a blink, I was at the edge of the pit, my hand outstretched. A moment later, it was grabbed and I was pulled up, straight into Mr Ambrose's waiting arms. I opened my mouth to protest—only for his to interrupt me with a searing kiss that knocked the breath out of me. Feeling my knees go weak, any thought of protest fled my head as he bent me over backwards and laid it on me like we were on honeymoon in fairyland.

Then he took his time.

Mr Rikkard Ambrose, Mr Rikkard Time-Is-Money Ambrose, took his time to kiss the life out of me. Around us, the forest fell silent, all eyes on us. The birds. The minions. The badgers.

...and the bandits.

When he finally released me, I glanced around at the slack-jawed crowd who had just watched Mr Rikkard Ambrose tongue-wrestle with his secretary Mr Linton. My heart dropped.

Crap!

"They...they all saw."

Slowly, tenderly, Mr Ambrose reached out and, with his thumb, wiped a bloodstain from my cheek. His eyes were colder than I had ever seen them.

"That, Mrs Ambrose, would only matter if any of them were going to live to see tomorrow."

"Ah." I swallowed. "Oh."

"Indeed." Turning away, Mr Ambrose let his gaze sweep over the assembled bandits—who had been so frozen in shock at the display that they hadn't noticed the grey-clad men who had surrounded them.

"Men," Mr Rikkard Ambrose's icy voice echoed through the forest. "Attack!"

Then he covered my ears. I had just an instant to wonder why when the boom of several dozen rifles going off at once nearly ripped through my eardrums. Panicked shouts and screams swiftly followed.

"Oh, and capture a few for interrogation," my dear husband mentioned as an afterthought. "I think everyone knows who is responsible, but..." His eyes darkened. "I am going to make certain."

Karim, who had just climbed out of the pit with two unconscious bandits over his shoulders, inclined his head. "As you command, Sahib."

Then, in one smooth move, he dropped the two unconscious men and brought up his rifle.

"Freeze!"

I grinned.

Gotta admit, that word sounds a lot more convincing when my hubby's minion says it.

The remaining bandits exchanged glances—then tried to run.

That turned out to be a mistake.

***

It was evident that the Marquess Ambrose was not pleased. Not only had highwaymen set up shop just a few miles from his manor house, but they had dared to attack his guests and interfere with his hunt. Plus, there was also that little detail of them trying to kill and kidnap some people.

As for his son...

Crunch!

"You." Eyes as cold as an arctic storm, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stared down at the bandit he had pinned under his boot. It was one of the few who hadn't had the opportunity to see Mr Rikkard Ambrose snog his secretary and thus one of the few who had been caught. The rest, unfortunately, had "escaped". They were currently in the capable hands of my husband's men. "Talk."

"Grgrgk!"

"I. Said. Talk." Mr Ambrose increased the pressure of his foot ever so slightly. "Who. Paid. You?"

"Grrg...gfg...!"

"Um..." Cautiously, I stepped up to him. "I think it works better if you take your foot off his throat."

"Hm...possibly."

"Besides..." Lowering my voice, I leaned closer. "It's not like we don't already know who was behind it, do we?"

"Mon Dieu, Monsieur Linton. I am so glad you are all right!"

Speak of the devil...

"Vicomte." Giving a curt bow to the swiftly approaching figure, I put on an expression that could generously be called a smile—if you were a half-blind and emotionally stunted weasel, that is. "Words cannot express how happy I am to see you again."

"As am I, Monsieur. As am I. It is good to know you and your, ehem..." He looked askance at Karim. "...companion are safe and sound." A sad sigh escaped him. "Such a pity that you lost all your game. I suppose that decides the victor of the contest, non?"

"Well, as a matter of fact..." Grinning, I snapped my fingers. "Karim?"

"Right here, Sahiba."

"Bring it."

"As you command, Sahiba."

With long strides, Karim approached. Or rather, a man that was probably Karim. You couldn't be quite sure due to the fact that everything above the belt was completely hidden by a ginormous pile of feathers and gore.

"Here." With a squelching sound straight from demented butcher's nightmares, the pile of bloody remnants landed in the wet muck. "Bon appetit, Vicomte."

Everyone's eyes were drawn to the massive mountain of feathery gore. As if on cue, several bullets fell out various holes and rolled across the ground.

"Those look...not exactly in mint condition," someone pointed out.

"Well, we did just survive a bandit attack," I shot back immediately—then gestured at the dead birds with a grin. "But on the bright side, not all of us are still alive! So...let's get on with the competition, shall we?"

The marquess gave a curt nod. "Mr Linton, while dirty and foul-smelling, is correct."

Arsehole!

"Why, thank you, My Lord." I bowed. "You are too kind."

"Yes," the old bugger agreed, then waved at one of his servants. "You there! Get some men together and count the game, Come to me once you are done."

And without further ado, he marched off, back towards his manor.

"Um..." The hapless servant cleared his throat as he eyed the gory mountain of remains. Lowering his voice, he sidled up to me. "Begging your pardon, Sir, but...how are we to determine how many pheasants there are?"

I patted his shoulder. "By putting the puzzle pieces together, of course. Puzzles are fun! And good for your brain, too. Good luck!"

The servant didn't look as if he felt particularly lucky.

And speaking of people who don't seem to be brimming with happiness...

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the Vicomte de Saint-Celeste. The vicomte who was standing next to a pile of pheasants that, while impressive, was ever so slightly smaller than mine.

I smiled in anticipation.

"...thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-five, and...three dozen." The servant looked up and met the waiting crowd's gazes. The gazes of two people in particular. "Um...it is clear. The winner is...Mr Linton."

Crack!

That was the sound of the vicomte cracking his knuckles. With a hiss, he whirled around and stalked off, his servants in his wake. When he passed me, he stopped for just a moment, his gaze meeting mine. "This isn't over."

Then he marched past me and away towards the manor.

"Well," Karim commented. "That went well."

Mr Ambrose nodded. "Indeed."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, you two!" Hands on hips, Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose came stalking over, despite the desperate efforts of her attendants who were trying to drag her back to the manor and away from the bloody scene that didn't look at all ladylike. "Show a little spirit, will you? This is a happy occasion!"

"Incredibly happy!" Beaming, Adaira skipped over to my side, snagged my arm and unleashed her puppy eyes. "You're one step closer to winning my heart and hand, Mr Linton! Aren't you delighted?"

I gave her a deadpan look straight from the pan graveyard. "Deliriously delighted."

"That's my darling Victor! Now, why don't you accompany me back to the manor? There's this lovely volume of romantic poetry I'd like you to read to me."

Oh, heck no!

I opened my eyes to refuse, and—

Puppy dog eyes. Once more, she gave me those bloody puppy dog eyes! Ugh!

How did she know that, ever since Berty's arrival, I had lost all ability to resist those?

"I, uh, don't think I—"

"Pretty please?" She batted her eyelashes. "It will be sooo romantic!"

That's why I don't want to do it, you little devil!

...wasn't exactly something I could say out loud with her mother expectantly watching.

As a last, desperate hope, I threw my husband a pleading glance.

In response, I got a look that said, That's what you get for almost getting yourself killed. Enjoy yourself.

"That sounds like an adequate idea, Adaira," he agreed with a nod. "You two go off and do something romantic. Meanwhile, I shall go and inform Father of the result of the contest. I am sure he will already have thoughts on the second task and, considering what a loving, romantic man Mr Linton is, I'm sure he will be eager to know what challenge he shall face next."

Mr Linton will be eager to discover what challenge he is to face.

Traitor!

I sent a burning gaze his way—which he easily ignored, by virtue of already having turned his back on me. Digging in my heels, I tried to resist—but to no avail. Under the approving, motherly gaze of Lady Samantha, I was dragged away by the demoness who was my soon-to-be fiancée, right into the pits of hell!

Noo! Noooo! Not romantic poetry!

Yet no one heard my silent pleas.

***

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways—"

I cut off, my eyebrows twitching. Of course, the only book of romantic poetry in the Ambrose household would start off with a poem about counting. What was next? An ode to accounting? The ballad of bank balances?

"Why have you stopped, darling?" Adaira enquired from where she was lounging on a sofa. "You were just getting to the good part. Do continue."

My eyebrows twitched again. "Why, certainly, darling."

Reluctantly, I opened my mouth—when, suddenly, I got an idea. A grin spread over my face.

She wants romantic poetry? Let's give her romantic poetry!

I cleared my throat.

"I love thee to the depth and breadth and height,

of burning hell, for you are a blight—"

Adaira, who was just taking a sip of tea, coughed and choked, then threw me a suspicious glance.

"Are you sure that is what's written in the book?"

I gave her my most innocent look. "Why, of course it is. Why do you ask?"

"Hm. Continue."

"Of course, my darling. Now, where was I...ah, yes."

I sent her a romantic look from under my lashes.

"For the ends of being and ideal grace,

I love thee despite thy butt-ugly face.

Oh, how I wish it were the darkest night!

Then, you would not be within my sight."

Adaira's eyes narrowed. "Victor, darling...are you absolutely certain that is the original poem?"

"Definitely. Now, let me continue to confess my love to you, darling."

I cleared my throat.

"I love thee purely, though it's just a phase.

I love thee with the passion of a moose,

So now I can go find a field to graze.

I love thee with a love like Zeus,

Cheating left and right, till my day of death,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; with lots of booze,

I shall love thee like his good wife loved Macbeth."

By the end of it, Adaira was giving me a death-glare that could compete with Medusa. I, for my part, batted my eyelashes at her and sent her a wink. "So romantic, right? Did you enjoy that, darling?"

"So much I can hardly describe it."

"Well, then...let's read another poem, shall we? I can't wait to express my undying love for you!"

"No, don't! I—"

Ignoring her completely, I began.

"Shall I compare thee to a zombie's decay?

Thou art horrific and degenerate—"

Just then, the door opened and Mr Rikkard Ambrose strode in with a cool glint in his eyes.

"What was that I heard about degenerate zombies?"

I welcomed with an impish smile. "Oh nothing much, Mr Ambrose, Sir. We were just talking about you."

"Were you, now?" His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Well, in that case I have good news for you, Mr Linton."

Alarm bells started ringing in my head.

"Good news? What kind of good news?"

He gave me a look. The same kind of look he would give me just before dumping three weeks of work on me, to be completed by the end of the day. Uh-oh...

"My father has come to a decision," he announced, staring straight at me. "The next challenge you shall face is even deadlier than this one. A task that will require all your courage and determination. And it is..."

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

My dear Readers,

I hope you enjoyed the lovely (if slightly modified) love poems in the above chapter ;-) The originals are included below.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

Poetic PS: Now, firstly, this is a (slightly modified) version of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "How I Love Thee". It goes like this: 

---

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

---

Which version do you like better, the original or Lilly's?

The second small poetic fragment is a modified version of Shakespeare's "Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day". Although, in the original, there unfortunately aren't any zombies. Here it is:

---

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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

GLOSSARY:

Pyrite - Pyrite, also known as "fool's gold", is a substance known for its resemblance to the precious metal, although it is in fact composed of iron and sulphur.