Free Lady Danger (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch, Book 1) by Glynnis Campbell, Sarah McKerrigan Page B

heir.  Not as the steward of Rivenloch.  Not even as a woman.  How would she ever retain control of her castle, of her lands, of her people, if she couldn’t control this one man?
    She hung up her cloak, then crossed to lean against the shutter of the window.  The blustery rain had returned, and she shivered, but not because of the cold.  Resting her brow upon her hands, she gazed out over the misty knolls and rain-studded trees of Rivenloch, frustrated.
    She was Pagan’s captive.  From the moment the priest declared them man and wife, he had subtly enslaved her in one way or another, snagging his fingers in her hair for their kiss, imprisoning her hand as they walked the length of the chapel, encircling her body with fierce ownership as he carried her to the keep.  And tonight, he would claim her in the ultimate act of possession.
    She swallowed thickly.  It wasn’t that she was truly afraid.  She’d stumbled upon enough servants to know that swiving was merely a disgusting display of thrashing and moaning, over in a few moments.  And yet she sensed from the way her heart pounded as Pagan kissed her, the way the blood rose in her cheeks, the way her head swam in confusion, that coupling with him would be somehow dangerous.
    Still, how could she avoid it?  She’d sworn not to harm him, though indeed that had never been her intent.  She supposed she could plead illness or fatigue, but deception came uneasily to her.  Besides, it would only delay the inevitable.  Even if she drugged his wine every night...
    Through the window, a distant flicker of light from the far hills distracted her.  She narrowed her eyes.  What was that?  Another flicker.  She lifted her head and studied the source of the reflection, a gap between two pines on the hilltop.  There it was again, a quick glint where a slim beam of sunlight caught on something.
    Suddenly the flashes increased, and Deirdre’s heart flipped against her ribs.  Knights.  Four, five, six, maybe more, cresting the rise.  Their helms sparkled in the patch of sun.  As she watched with breathless intensity, a pennant fluttered past, no larger than a tiny moth, too small to identify.
    "Ballocks," she cursed under her breath.
    Seven, eight, nine...
    She clenched her fist against the shutter.  They had turned now and were coming straight down the hill.
    God’s blood!  It must be the English.  They'd come for Rivenloch.

CHAPTER 7
     

    There was no time to waste.
    The guards manning the parapets had spotted the knights now, and they began to pass the message of invasion along the wall.
    Her heart pounding like the hooves of a warhorse, Deirdre slammed and bolted the shutter.  She eyed her chest of armor.  Later.  Later she would arm herself.  First she had to prepare the keep for battle.
    She’d never done it before.  She’d never had to.  Rivenloch was remote, far enough from the border that the English were usually little threat, equally far from raiding Highlanders.  She’d never readied her clansmen for war, but because of the recent attacks in the Borders, she’d gone over the scenario a hundred times in her head, and the men-at-arms had been drilled in defensive maneuvers by Helena until they could do them in their sleep.
    Helena!  Christ’s bones!  What if she was still drunk?
    There was no time to rouse her.  The castle walls had to be fortified first.  She’d send someone to fetch Helena when the keep was out of danger.
    Her pulse doubling, she raced out the door, picked up her skirts, and flew down the stairs to the great hall, where the wedding revels had already begun.
    “Clansmen!” she cried, her voice strong despite the urgent thrumming in her veins.  “Give ear!”
    The room gradually silenced.
    “An army is approaching Rivenloch,” she announced.  At their gasps, she raised her hand for quiet.  “There’s no need for panic.  You’ve been trained for this.  You all know what to do.”
    To her satisfaction,