Free Mary Reed McCall by The Maiden Warrior

did—so that I can settle my debt to her before everything else goes to hell and the king demands my head too.”
    Kevyn gave a choking laugh, and Aidan turned to see what his friend found so humorous. But the laughter wasn’t directed at him; he was looking down the table at Gwynne, who at that moment was leaning back, yawning noisily and swiping a hand over her mouth.
    “Perhaps you’d better start by helping her to behave more like the lady she’s supposed to be,” Kevyn said, coughing back another chuckle.
    At that moment Gwynne noticed Aidan’s stare. Fixing him with a sarcastic look, she made a show of scratching her belly and belching loudly. Diana sat frozen across from her, looking on in horror. With a smile of satisfaction, Gwynne finally pushed herself away from the table and stalked from the chamber, flanked by her two men.
    After a moment of stunned silence, Aidan cradled his head in his hands and groaned. “Sweet Mother Mary, this is going to be more difficult than I thought.”
     
    Gwynne kept going down the hall and out toward the rooms her men had been given near the other servants by the stables. Their quarters weren’t nearly as large or well appointed as her own rooms inside the main keep, but she’d have preferred them nonetheless. Aye, she’d have given her best blade to be able to switch places with her men during what promised to be a grueling three months.
    Owin busied himself with retrieving her sword and Dafydd seemed intent on removing from his tunic a couple of the apples he’d pilfered from the table as Gwynne yanked off her gown and veil and threw them into the corner. A cloud of hay dust rose where they landed.
    “No need to turn away,” she muttered, stalking up and taking her sword-belt from Owin. “I’ve kept on my own clothes beneath those ridiculous skirts.”
    Dafydd seemed relieved, daring a glance at her discarded garments before shifting his gaze back to her. “Won’t you need to wear those again when you’ve finished your training tonight?”
    “Aye, curse de Brice’s eyes. What of it?” she answered as she tightened the belt around her hips.
    Dafydd shrugged. “’Tis just that they’ll likely be wrinkled if you leave them like that until you’re finished. They look costly, and de Brice may not appreciate it.”
    Gwynne paused to consider what he’d said. “I suppose you’re right,” she said finally, walking over to the garments and picking them up, only to ball them more tightly before cramming them back into the corner. Turning to her men, she wiped her hands on her tunic. “That’s better.”
    They didn’t try to suppress their answering grins. She clapped Dafydd on the back before donning a short cape and pulling up the hood—another of de Brice’s requirements for her movement about the estate whenever shewas out of her female clothing. Then, after taking a last look around, she picked up one of the smaller shields they carried with them to use while her own was unavailable to her.
    Heading to the door, she called over her shoulder, “Which one of you will lead the way to the chamber de Brice promised to clear for my training?”
    “I will, Chwedl ,” Owin answered, following her. “’Tis just down the path that goes between the stables and tack chamber. An abandoned room all the way to the castle wall on your left. Dafydd and I looked at it earlier; you should be secluded enough to train without notice.” He reached for an extra unlit torch to hand to her. “Will you need a sparring partner this night?”
    “Nay,” she answered, starting to pull open the scarred wooden door. “I think I’ll work alone. I’ll just imagine de Brice’s head under my blade each time I swing it.”
    The door creaked open the rest of the way, and she stiffened. Aidan stood there, leaning against the wall opposite them, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
    “That’s not a very charitable remark to make about your host,” he said smoothly, pushing