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

answer, at first with a blade and later with indifference.
    She reached out to drag his discarded sword belt closer, then cast it into the briers as well.
    “Come, my lady,” said his companion, tossing his hose and trews to the ground at her feet.  “Forgive my friend.  He is slow of wit and quick of tongue.  You’ve taken our weapons.  You have our braies.  You’ve won the day.  I pray you, let us depart in peace.”
    Despite the fact that she had indeed won the day, bested them both, and wrought vengeance by condemning them to a humiliating afternoon of wandering about the countryside in nothing but their tunics, Deirdre couldn’t get over the sense that somehow she was the pawn in their encounter.
    The Norman still stared at her with those soul-searing eyes, and it didn’t matter that she held him at sword point, that he stood bare-legged before her, that he was marked by the slash of her blade.  There was the look of victory about him, and she knew she’d never faced a more formidable foe.
    Lord, what would happen when he discovered who she was?  What was in store for Rivenloch when this brute came to claim his rightful place in the great hall...
    And in her bed?
    Quickly, before a shiver of foreboding could betray her, she snatched away Pagan’s trews and those of his companion with her free hand, slinging them over her shoulder.  Then she gave the men a curt nod and hastened up the rocky rise to the crest of the hill.
    She was halfway there when Pagan called out.
    “Did you forget something, damsel?”
    Always on guard, she wheeled with her sword at the ready.  Too late.  Something whistled past her ear and lodged with a thunk in the tree beside her.  The dagger from his boot.
    She gasped.  The blade had missed her by mere inches.  But when she locked eyes with Pagan, standing there in scornful defiance, she knew at once he’d meant to miss her.  Which was even more menacing.
    His message was clear.  He could have killed her.  He simply chose not to.
    Her nostrils flaring, she sheathed her sword and strode away with as much calm as she could feign, silently cursing the Norman all the way home.

    “What the bloody hell just happened?” Colin demanded when the lass had disappeared over the rise.
    Pagan still bristled from Colin’s betrayal.  “We’ve lost our braies, no thanks to you.”
    “Our braies?  Pagan, you’ve lost your mind.”  Colin tromped off down the hill toward the patch of thistles where their weapons lay.  “You know, if you wanted to choose a bride by process of elimination, you could have told me.  You needn’t kill the other two.  I’d be glad to take one of them off your hands.”
    Pagan slogged after him.  “I wasn’t going to kill her.”
    “Nay?”  Colin cursed as a thistle pierced his bare foot.
    “Nay.”  Pagan narrowed his eyes.  “I have much worse planned for that one.”
    “Don’t tell me,” Colin said, hopping about on one foot as he yanked the thorn from the other.  “You’re going to marry her.”
    “Now you’ve lost your mind.”  Pagan couldn’t deny that the thought of bedding the wench was devilishly tempting.  Indeed, her beauty had naturally aroused him, despite his determination not to show it.  But there was something else.  Where most wenches made him feel superior—stronger, smarter, cleverer—this one challenged his dominance.  For the first time in his life, he felt on an even footing with a maid, physically and mentally, and the idea of lying side by side with such a woman...
    But in one instant, with the cruel slash of her sword, she’d shown the cold nature of her heart.
    “Nay,” he told Colin bitterly.  “I’m going to put her in chains.  Break her spirit.  Teach her obedience.”
    “Aye, as I said,” Colin said with a shrug, “you’re going to marry her then.”
    “I’m going to marry the runt of the litter,” he declared, though the thought brought him little joy.  “She'll no doubt