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

gate, startling Deirdre from her thoughts.  Their little sister lifted up her skirts to pick her way across the pitted field.  Deirdre and Hel paused in their fighting long enough to see that, scurrying deferentially behind her as usual, was Sung Li.  Miriel had collected the ancient handmaiden from the Orient years ago, along with several other sharp-toothed weapons.
    Hel used the distraction to slip out from beneath Deirdre’s guard and past her, smacking Deirdre’s backside with the flat of her blade.  Deirdre turned and lunged forward, but Hel skipped out of range with a whoop of glee.
    “What are you two doing?” Miriel demanded, her hands on her hips.  Behind her, the maid mimicked her posture.
    Accustomed to Miriel’s disapproval, Deirdre and Hel ignored her.  Deirdre charged, swiping at Hel’s knees.  Hel neatly jumped over the blade and returned with a swing that, had she not ducked, would have taken off Deirdre’s head.
    “Cease!” Miriel demanded, stamping her foot ineffectually.
    Deirdre borrowed Hel’s tactics, diving forward to bowl her sister over in a cloud of dust.
    Miriel gave a disgusted growl.  “Why did you bother bathing?  Now you’re both filthy!” she complained.  “‘Twas a waste of good soap.”
    The servant clucked her tongue.
    Hel rolled back, then arched and sprang to her feet again, ready for battle.  Deirdre scrambled up, tossed her braid over her shoulder, and thrust forward, but Hel’s blade caught and careened hers away.
    “Prithee cease, sisters,” Miriel pleaded.
    Deirdre blocked Hel’s next swing and yelled over her shoulder.  “Go back in, Miriel.  You’ll dirty your skirts.”  She shoved Hel back with her shield, then crouched to attack.
    “But Father bid me come fetch you to supper.”
    “Supper?”  Deirdre swung twice, then spared a quick glance at the sun.  It was low in the sky.  Time had flown on swift wings.
    “Aye,” Miriel said.  “It grows late.”
    “Just one more bout,” Hel insisted, tossing the sword to her left hand to deflect Deirdre’s thrust.  “Don’t fret.  We’ll come soon.”
    “But Father says you’re to come now .  The new steward has arrived.  He’s been here for nearly an hour, and you’re not even dressed proper-“
    Pagan was here?  Already?  Miriel’s words startled Deirdre, and that instant of inattention cost her a tiny slash across the cheek from Hel’s blade.  She flinched, sucking a quick breath between her teeth.
    Miriel gasped.
    “Oh, Deirdre!”  Hel lowered her sword at once.  “Sorry.”
    Deirdre shook her head.  It was hardly the first scratch the sisters had dealt one another.  “My fault.”
    “Maybe we should go in,” Hel said, exchanging a conspiratorial nod with Deirdre.  “Don’t wait supper, Miriel.  We’ll clean up and come right away.”
    Miriel perused them doubtfully, likely wondering if they’d ever scrub clean.  “Hurry then,” she bade them.  “Sir Pagan seems most anxious to meet you.”  She scurried off, her maid in tow.
    “Most anxious,” Hel muttered when Miriel had gone.  “No doubt, the rutting bastard.”  She pulled off her gauntlets.  “Shall we go then, before the old goat starts mounting the hounds?”
    But Deirdre was too distracted to appreciate Hel’s sarcasm.  Dread filled her veins.  The hour of reckoning had arrived.
    The man had certainly wasted no time, she thought.  She’d hoped to have a day or two for his wrath to cool.  For when he discovered just who she was...
    But Deirdre refused to yield to maidenly fears.  She was a warrior, after all.  “Aye, the hour is late,” she croaked, sheathing her sword and wiping the blood from her cheek with the back of her gambeson sleeve.  She straightened with a sniff and squared her shoulders.  It was time to confront the devil who would shortly be her husband.

    “‘Tis settled then,” the harried scribe muttered.
    Pagan watched as the man swept the hastily scrawled