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

He gave her a punishing shake.  “‘Tis treason!  Christ’s bones!  You’d hang for that.  You should hang for that.”
    Her struggling diminished as the possibility of her execution slowly sank into her besotted brain.
    Pagan knew, of course, that Colin’s growl was much worse than his bite.  Executing the sister of the bride, the daughter of the old lord, was a certain way to insure a Scots uprising.
    Still, it would be folly to let the woman believe she could commit such a monstrous crime and walk away unscathed.  It was better to put the fear of God into her.
    Colin must have read his thoughts.  He let out a weighted sigh and bluffed.  “I’ll see to it,” he told Pagan sternly.
    Helena squealed in protest and bucked against Colin’s confining arms, but he had a firm grip on her now and didn’t look likely to relinquish her any time soon.
    Pagan nodded.  “But not tonight.  Best keep her confined until the marriage is accomplished.  Afterwards, you may deal with her as you see fit.”
    “‘Twill be my pleasure,” he sneered.  “What about the other one?”  He knew Colin meant Deirdre.  It stood to reason if one sister had plans to murder him, so might the other.  “Can you handle her?”  Colin looked as if he could barely handle his captive as she heaved hard against his hold.
    “She’s nothing like her sister,” Pagan said, narrowing scornful eyes upon Helena.  “If Deirdre comes to kill me, ‘twill not be as I sleep.  She’ll look me in the eye to do it.”
    Like a cornered boar, Helena threatened Pagan with a glare of pure rage.  With Colin’s arms about her, however, she was helpless to charge.
    Colin turned his attention to his struggling quarry.  “Now, little Hel-fire, what shall I do with you?”
    She stiffened.
    “Steal you away, maybe,” he considered, “where no one can hear you scream.  Break you of your wild ways at the crack of a whip.  Keep you on a short leash to make sure you suffer from no more lapses in judgment.”
    She twisted in his arms, and he chuckled grimly.  “Ah, lass, if you knew what all that squirming was doing to my nether parts...”
    That stopped her.
    Meanwhile, Pagan’s thoughts raced ahead.  “Lock her in one of the cellars below the keep.”  Despite Colin’s sinister threats, Pagan trusted his man to handle the shrewish maid with wisdom and patience.  Colin would be watchful in her presence, and she’d be safe in his care.  “If anyone asks her whereabouts at the wedding, we’ll tell them she’s...suffering from the aftereffects of too much wine.”
    But there was one detail troubling Pagan, one thing he needed to clarify before Colin whisked the damsel away.  Helena had meant to slay him, aye, but Pagan had seen enough of the Rivenloch loyalty now to recognize her motive.  She was trying to protect Miriel.
    “Heed me well,” he told her softly.  “You needn’t fear for your sister.  I’m a man of honor, a knight sworn to protect your sex.  I’ve never hurt a woman in my life.  I give you my oath no harm will come to Miriel, nor will I force myself upon her in any way.”
    Whether she believed him or not, he couldn’t tell.  But at least he’d given her his word of honor.
    He dismissed her with a nod, then Colin swept up his reluctant prize, coverlet and all, and stole from the chamber to the hall and down the stairs.
    Pagan stared into the glowing hearth, where the coals were already drifting back to ashen slumber.  But he knew he’d sleep no more this night.
    In the morn he’d be married.  Absolutely, completely, irrevocably married.  And though it was to the maid of his choosing, a lovely treasure with gentle curves and soft dark hair and wide blue eyes, it was not Miriel’s face he imagined when he thought of his marriage bed.
    He tossed his sword onto the pallet, and the movement pulled at the bandage over his chest.  Aye, he thought, like the scar that would forever mar his body, Deirdre of