Bam!

"Get down!"

Mr Ambrose's shout came just an instant before sparks flew up from the pavement beside us and stone splinters exploded in all directions. An instant later, a huge, Ambrose-shaped rock slammed into me, pushing me to the ground and covering me with his body.

Bam!

"Ng!" Mr Ambrose grunted.

"What is it?" I demanded, my voice rising in panic. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing!" he bit out through clenched teeth. "Grrah...nothing whatsoever!"

Yep, that sounded so convincing.

"Don't lie to me! Where are you injured? How bad—"

"No time!"

Bam!

My head jerked up, and in the light of the flash I saw him. The man high, high up on the huge stone base of the statue, dressed in black, with a rifle clutched in his hand.

"Get back inside!" Mr Ambrose barked, pushing me back towards the entrance of the statue as he dashed straight towards the assassin up on the towering stone edifice. No...not dashing. Limping.

"But—"

"Now! Go!" Not waiting for an answer he broke into a run and, with a roar, leapt into the air, digging his fingers in the gap between two of the giant stone blocks of the pedestal. Immediately, he started to climb. I hesitated for just one more second—then whirled and dashed back towards the door that led into the statue. Stumbling inside, I pressed myself against the wall and listened intently.

Bam! Bam, bam!

All right, maybe listening hadn't been such a good idea after all.

Crap! What are you doing, Lilly?

I was not going to cower here in fear while my husband risked his bloody life for me! Not while I still had a revolver loaded and ready to go! Reaching into the folds of my dress, I stepped towards the door again—then hesitated. My free hand slid down across my front, onto my belly.

It wasn't just me who would be cowering in a corner, would it? And it wouldn't be just me in danger if I decided to go out there.

But if you stay, he might die! And then that bastard of an assassin is going to come after both you and your...your...

I wasn't quite ready to use the word yet. But the thought of any harm coming to "it"...no. Not it. Him. Or her. The mere idea brought my blood to the boiling point!

For a moment, I stood there, hesitating—then I suddenly heard a sound from behind me. A cold tingle went down my spine. Instantly, I threw myself to the side! And not a moment too soon. Feeling the cold draft of something whizzing over my head, I rolled on the ground and leapt back on my feet, facing the new enemy.

Ah. Seems the decision has already been made.

There were three brutish men emerging from the shadows of the statue's cavernous interior, "New York Street Thug" practically printed on their foreheads. Smirking, they hefted their clubs and knives.

"Well, well, boys," the leader chuckled. "Will you look at that? Looks like our new boss was right about it being easy to split 'em up. While he's busy gunning down that rich ass outside, why don't we have some fun with this broad?"

"Yeah." His fellow thugs nodded, smirking. "Let's have some fun."

"Indeed." An even wider smile spread over my own face as I reached deeper into the folds of my dress. "Let's."

"Ha! You see, boys? She's into it! Let's get her!"

I narrowed my eyes, grasping my revolver. These bastards were about to find out why it was a really bad idea to go after an armed and prepared woma—

Crash!

The door behind me slammed open. A moment later, an Ambrose-shaped blur shot past me, a bent rifle clutched in his hands like a prehistoric club.

Thud!

"Aaaargh! No, don't! We surren—nng!"

Thud! Wham! Thud!

Ah, well. Never mind, then.

Watching Mr Rikkard Ambrose..."vent" was quite an interesting experience. One that most definitely was not suitable for underage children. Which, suddenly, was a matter that seemed a whole lot more important to me than it might have been two days or so ago.

"Argargararrrrrr...."

Thud! Wham!

"Please, no! Have merc—"

Thud!

I cocked my head, curiously. Have what? Merchants? Mercenaries? Mr Ambrose probably had plenty of both. But by the looks of things, they wouldn't be of much use to those poor thugs right at the moment.

A doctor would be much more suitable for their current needs.

Thud! Wham!

"Aaagh!"

Or a gravedigger.

Leaning against the wall, I pulled out some snacks previously purchased from a street vendor and settled in for the show. After roughly half an hour of Mr Rikkard Ambrose exercising vigorously, the groans and pleas slowly started to subside. Finally, I heard the thump of three unconscious bodies hitting the ground. I watched intently as Mr Rikkard Ambrose turned around. Or at least the man I was ninety percent sure was Rikkard Ambrose. I couldn't be completely certain, because this man looked nothing like the stony statue I had married.

This man's clothes were dishevelled, his breathing hard, and his eyes wild as a ravenous animal. In two long strides, he was in front of me and had enveloped me in his arms, crushing me to his chest with unrelenting force.

"Are you all right?!"

"Hey!" I squeezed out, prodding his side. "You can stop suffocating me now!"

In answer, all I got was silence. Well, that and an even tighter grip on me, as if I might vanish into thin air any moment now.

"Mnnfff...Mr Ambrose...please..."

I prodded his side again, this time eliciting a groan. Blinking in surprise, I glanced at my hand—only to find it coated in blood.

"Hey! You're bleeding!"

"It's only a scratch."

"In what? Your carotid artery?"

"Very amusing, Mrs Ambrose. But you did not answer my question yet. Are. You. All. Right?"

Glancing up, I met his eyes for the first time since the gunman had attacked. The wild look there had only intensified, like a storm, ready to drown the world in hail and thunder.

Standing up on my tiptoes, I placed a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Yes. Yes, I'm perfectly all right."

He held my eyes for a long moment—then nodded, and finally relaxed.

"Adequate." Yay! My hubby was back! "Now..." Straightening his back, his face iced over, and his gaze swept towards the exit. "Let's deal with the mastermind of tonight's excitement, shall we?"

A menacing glint appeared in his eyes.

Oh yes, he's back. He's back with a vengeance!

"You." Turning, Mr Rikkard Ambrose directed his most icy stare, capable of freezing you to death at sixty paces, straight at the three thugs. "Stay there, or I will make certain you regret it!"

"Err...I think they're still unconscious, Sir."

"Then they will definitely stay where they are, will they not?"

That was certainly one way of looking at it. It would have been interesting to see what would happen if Mr Ambrose ever chose to switch his career to law enforcement officer. It would certainly redefine the term "excessive force".

"Come." Whirling around, he strode out of the statue and across the cobblestones to where a slumped figure lay on the ground. To judge by the way its neck was twisted at an interesting angle, the man had fallen from high above, and his abrupt meeting with the ground hadn't been a friendly one. "Let's have a look at who is brave enough to aim a gun at my wife, shall we?"

I felt a shiver go down my back at his tone—but I stiffened my spine and quickened my pace. "Yes, let's. I'm rather curious about that as well."

Giving a curt nod, Mr Rikkard Ambrose knelt on the cobblestones and reached for the black cloth that covered the man's face. Pulling it aside, he revealed a narrow, harsh face, twisted in anger. A face that bore undeniable Spanish features.

My oh my. I had a sneaking suspicion that the Spanish noblemen's trial wouldn't take six months after all.

***

SHOCKING NEWS

Prison housing 2 Spanish noblemen mysteriously burns to the ground!

I stared at the newspaper headline screaming at me from the front page, and took a sip from my morning cup of tea.

"How very mysterious," I commented, sending Mr Ambrose a look.

"Indeed,"

"I wonder how that happened."

"Indeed."

"Especially since it happened to a prison built from stone. Near the river. A day after heavy rainfall."

"Indeed."

I gave up. There was simply no one on this earth, the Sphinx and the Grim Reaper included, who had a better poker face than Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

Still...

I'd never been one to back down from a challenge, right?

Smiling broadly, I leaned across the table. Over the tops of my steepled fingers, I sent him a smile. "Mr Ambrose?"

He glanced up from the documents he was perusing. "Yes, Mrs Ambrose?"

"I think you've been working too hard. This is our honeymoon. How would you like to join me in a game of poker?"

The unholy light that flickered in my husband's cold eyes should probably have tipped me off about what was going to happen. Instantly, he put his documents aside.

"It would be my pleasure, Mrs Ambrose."

Half an hour and half my monthly wages vanishing later...

"You, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, are a fiend! A menace! A threat to all hard-working women of the world!"

"Why, thank you, Mrs Ambrose."

"That was not supposed to be a compliment!"

"It was not? Well, I will have to content myself with my winnings, then."

And, not sparing me another glance, he started raking in the piles of coins from the centre of the table. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Now that you've won big, you won't mind treating me to something nice, will you?"

"Certainly. As far as I am aware, there are a lot of tanners in town who are quite excellent at treating leather. For a modest fee, they should be able to treat wives as well."

My fingers twitched. That son of a...!

Then, inspiration struck.

"Ooohh...!" I groaned, my face twisting into a pained grimace.

Instantly, Mr Ambrose's head snapped up. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I...I don't know. I feel strange. A little sick. I think...I think I really need..."

"Yes?!"

"...a dinner in an expensive restaurant and an evening out at the theatre."

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitched. "What a curious bout of sickness."

"Yes, very curious indeed, isn't it? And very intense." I batted my eyelashes up at him. "I feel it needs to be cured immediately, or the symptoms might get worse."

"Is that so?" Cocking his head, Mr Ambrose gazed at me for a long moment—then rose to his feet and extended his arm. "Very well. I hear there is a performance of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure running on Broadway. It's a story about a pregnant woman being sent to prison for her wicked deeds. Very interesting subject, isn't it?"

"Ah, yes. Very interesting indeed." I nodded, taking his outstretched arm with a smile. "I hear her crime was fornicating with her man, and he ends up being hanged for it. Sounds like a brilliant play to me!"

That night, for the first time, I truly learned to appreciate the genius that was William Shakespeare. I never knew a visit to the theatre could be this much fun. Afterwards, we strolled through the streets and once more enjoyed the food from various vendors. The only hitch in the evening occurred when an over-eager vendor tried to interest sweet, pregnant little me in a bottle of wine, and Mr Ambrose nearly scalped the vendor.

I made a mental note that maybe, possibly, at some point in the future, I would have a little chat with my hubby about being too overprotective. Maybe once the sight of him chasing the vendor around the street had ceased to be amusing.

Any moment now...

Any moment now...

Nah. It would probably still take a while.

The next few days continued in the same manner, minus the death threats against hapless vendors. We toured the entirety of the city and its surroundings, for the first time making our honeymoon feel truly honeymoonish, the ship loaded with honey and moonshine notwithstanding. Finally, our stay culminated in all the remaining accomplices of De Ravera and De La Fuente being sentenced by the courts. Truly amazing how, without expensive lawyers paid by Spanish noblemen blocking the way, the trial ended a lot faster than anticipated.

Then, finally, came the most romantic part of the entire honeymoon. The thing I had been waiting for all along. The thing I couldn't live without. Can you guess what it is?

Well, the answer is simple. Together, Mr Ambrose and I...

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

My dear Lords, Ladies Gentlemen,

...and a final cliffhanger in this book! I just couldn't resist. ;)

The details about Shakespeare's play Measure for Measure  in the above chapter are actually accurate. Although, to my knowledge, it is not plainly stated that Juliet is sent to prison, it is strongly implied.

I just realized I've been wishing you a Merry Christmas recently, and I realized, is that something people do in English-speaking countries before Christmas actually happens? Here in Germany, we tell each other "Fröhliche Weihnachten" from the beginning of December onward. How do you do things where you are from?

My best wishes, to everyone who does and doesn't celebrate Christmas,

Sir Rob