Strip her down to her underwear

You spring into action, though to her eyes you're barely conceivable as a blur.

You cross the distance at the speed of light to stand beside her. She's still looking in the direction where you were sitting, as you continue to move at unimaginable speed, and your perception of time is sped up at the same time, allowing you to savour every moment and take your time, as it were.

You set to work. Even if you weren't sped up hundreds of times, your nimble, practiced fingers would still make short work of the buckles. You remove the pauldrons and the plate from her limbs, and finally her chestplate. Then you remove the belt around her waist and the loincloth, before slipping her gambeson shirt off over her head, leaving her hair a little ruffled. You stretch out a hand to fix it, but pull back. You kinda like it this way.

Beneath the gambeson you get your first look at the prize. Her breasts strain against a strapless, silk lace bra, black. Before you go there though, you move further down first, past her toned abs to the hem of her woolen pants. You push it down to her ankles, which isn't too hard as it's not a very tight piece of clothing. You now get to see she wore underwear of the same type of fabric and style as her bra, black, but also a black garterbelt suspending her stockings. After pushing her foot a little into the air you're able to remove her boot, slip off one leg of her pants, and then put her boot back on, before removing the other leg of her pants and putting her back on solid ground.

All she is wearing now is her bra, panties and garter. You've seen it dozens of times before, but you delight at what's about to transpire. You decide to only strip her down to her unmentionables for now, as it's plenty embarrassing to be caught publicly with only frilly lacey undergarments to protect one's modesty. Maybe you'll strip her entirely naked after this, but there's added fun in taking it one step at a time.

You gather up the pile of clothes and armor, and deposit it all on the table next to the bench you had been sitting on. You take a moment while in superspeed to admire your handiwork. To any other eye, the proud, angry knight would be fully clothed one moment, and in her underwear the next, after a blur moved past her. There she's standing, in the center of the marketsquare, bare except for her scanty negligé, feet firmly planted apart in a stance, one hand still clenched in a fist resting on her hip, the other pointing towards you holding a sword that was no longer there.

You sit down, and slip back into the normal pace of time.

Everything happened relatively quickly. The knight is momentarily befuddled by the sudden blur of motion, before she feels the air against her skin and looks down. She gasps. Her arms fall to her side, fingers wide, as if they are paralyzed by indeciciveness where to go. Her knees know where to go, as she reflexively pushes them together. She looks back up, towards you, her eyes wide with embarrassment, shock, and not yet fully comprehended humiliation, before doing a double-take looking back down. Only then do her arms move, clutching over her torso. Panicky, she readjusts her arms a second later, moving one across both breasts and the other to cover her crotch.

The way her ruffled hair framed her face made her look even more dishevelled, as if a blast of hurricane wind had torn off all overclothes. Essentially, that's what had happened.