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

heart, too, was not in the toast.  Why he was malcontent, he didn’t know.  After all, didn’t he have what he wanted?  The Lord of Rivenloch had welcomed him gladly, and as Pagan had guessed, the youngest lass was not only lovely, but submissive and sweet.  Aye, she’d make a satisfactory wife, suitably faithful, charmingly naive, a woman to happily bear him babes and not question him about any mistresses he chose to keep.
    And yet he’d been hesitant to claim her.  The fact that Pagan had come to practically usurp Lord Gellir’s holding seemed enough of a slap in the old man’s face.  But to appropriate one of his daughters as well...
    In the end, Pagan had decided to do the noble thing, to let their father choose which of the maids he wished to relinquish in marriage.
    Then, to his astonishment, before the lord could make that decision, before the other two dawdling sisters had even bothered to make an appearance at supper, the youngest had quietly, meekly, offered herself.
    Pagan was no fool.  He could tell instantly by the tremor in her voice and the welling in her eyes that she’d tendered herself not out of desire for him, but as some sort of honorable sacrifice.  It was tragic, and yet there was nothing to do but accept her offer.  To do otherwise would not only give insult, but belittle her grand gesture.
    Her father naturally approved the union.  For the lord, the youngest daughter was obviously the most dispensable.  It was the same in Norman households.  The firstborn son was trained to rule, the second to fight, but the third could only hope for a place in the church or a profitable marriage.  Certainly, marriage to Pagan would be profitable to her.
    Still, Pagan was less than happy, gazing at the somber lass who was afraid to meet his eyes, the dull-witted lord with a foam of ale above his lip, and the company of Scots about him that eyed him with a combination of awe and mistrust.
    Only Colin seemed at ease among the castle folk.  But then he always seemed at ease.  The beguiling varlet could strike up a conversation as readily with a titled lady as a milkmaid and have either dining from his fingers by the end of the evening.
    Pagan seldom wanted for a woman’s affections either.  But his appeal had always been his strength and prowess and well-favored looks, never his charm.
    This time, however, these reliable attributes failed to diminish the terror filling the eyes of...what was her name?  He scowled.  Bloody hell, if he wanted to diminish the damsel’s terror, he’d better remember her name.
    “Here now,” Colin chided, elbowing him in the ribs.  “Don’t frown, Pagan.  You’ll frighten Miriel.”
    Miriel.  That was it.  Ever since he'd matched wits with the tall blonde this morn, his mind had been as muddled as a lovesick cow's.
    “Indeed,” Colin continued, “he’s a gentle soul, my lady.  For all his dark looks, he is renowned for his love of the harp and his sweet way with small creatures and babes.”
    Pagan’s scowl deepened.  What nonsense was Colin spouting now?  The only use he had for small creatures was to eat them, and as for the harp...
    “Pah!  You’re late!” Lord Gellir barked abruptly.
    Pagan looked up from his roast coney.  God’s eyes, it was about time.  Walking with measured leisure across the rushes toward the high table, their faces proud and lovely, were Miriel’s sisters.  If they were this late to supper when he was lord, he decided, he’d let them go hungry.
    Pagan thought he’d etched the blonde’s face upon his mind, but he saw that his memory did her an injustice.  She wasn’t only beautiful.  She was breathtaking.  Stately and elegant now in a kirtle of sky-blue silk, she glided across the flagstones with the sure grace of a cat.  Her sister followed, dressed in pale saffron, looking warily about, as if, given the right provocation, she might suddenly leap atop one of the tables.
    Even Colin’s chatter dwindled off