Lady Danger (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch, Book 1) Read Online Free

fiercely, but she willed her bones not to tremble.  The slightest quiver in her gaze could prove deadly.  She’d come this far, and now, knowing who she faced, she dared not back down, lest the Norman presume she was the kind of woman he could intimidate.
    Still, she wished she’d dealt with his defiance more diplomatically.  Responding with such a blow was unworthy of her.  It was the kind of violence more suited to quick-tempered Helena.  It shamed Deirdre to admit she’d been startled from reason.  But hearing the name Pagan attached to the man she’d thought only a harmless, mischievous knave had come as a shock.  And enduring the steadfast scrutiny of those smoldering eyes—so fearless, so insolent, so bold—had utterly unnerved her.  In alarm, she’d lashed out at him.
    She’d expected to dispense with the spies quickly and easily.  On first approach, she’d correctly guessed that the grinning black-haired varlet was benign, and so she’d trained her sword upon the other, more dangerous-looking man.  But she’d underestimated the full extent of his cunning.  And though she’d rather die than admit it to anyone, when she’d finally glimpsed Pagan’s face, she’d been more than a little shaken by the fact that he was the most handsome man she’d ever beheld.  Indeed, she’d expected the coming Norman steward to be far more...stewardly.  And far less young, far less magnificent.
    Even now, it was difficult to look upon him, standing before her but a sword’s length away, without noting the gray-green allure of his eyes, the rich tousle of his tawny curls, the strong angle of his jaw, the curving mouth that seemed to beckon...intriguing her...enticing her...inviting her to...
    She jerked her gaze back to his eyes.  Lord, what was she thinking?  It didn’t matter that he was handsome.  This was her foe.  This was the Norman bastard who’d come to claim her castle and her lands.  A hot shiver coursed uninvited through her body as she remembered what else he’d come to claim.
    She forced her brows into a frigid scowl.  Had he discerned her distraction?  The wavering of her resolve?  Indeed, a subtle light altered his gaze.  It might well be amusement.  Or satisfaction.  Neither boded well.
    She steeled herself as he pulled off his boots, unbuckled his belt, and began tugging at the points of his hose, all with deliberate leisure.  Bloody hell, her palms were sweating.  The haft of the sword was slippery in her hand.  If she wasn’t careful, it would slide out of her grasp.
    “Make haste,” she muttered.
    His eyelids dipped with suggestive insolence as he removed his hose.  “Patience, my lady,” he murmured.
    She longed to strike him again, but fought the urge.  He mustn’t learn how he provoked her or she’d hold no sway over him.  Ever.
    Still, against her will, her gaze kept flitting to where his fingers now deftly loosened the laces of his trews.  His knuckles were battle-scarred, but his hands moved with a sure grace and dexterity that made her knees go strangely weak.
    Then, without ceremony and before she could brace herself, he hauled his trews down.
    She gulped.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen scores of naked men before.  Spending half her days in the armory, it was inevitable.  But even the glance she gave his briefly exposed nether parts rattled her, for though he seemed generously endowed, he was also flaccid, proving he wasn’t moved by her beauty, as other men invariably were.  Which meant she had one less weapon in her arsenal.
    Bloody hell.
    His eyes sparkled dangerously, like sunlight on a raging sea.  “Now what?” he asked softly, holding his braies aloft.  “Do you wish to see if they fit you ?”
    If he thought to insult her, he failed.  From the time Deirdre had wielded her first sword and worn her first chain mail, she’d suffered ridicule from men and women alike.  She was hardened by years of insults, which she’d learned to