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

Rivenloch had engraved her mark upon his soul.

    Deirdre gazed out her window at the dreary gray clouds of dawn, slung low in the sky with their heavy burden of summer rain.  It was fitting weather, she thought, for such a miserable event.  Even the heavens would mourn this day.
    She shivered despite the heavy brown cloak she wore over her plain, sky-colored kirtle.  It was hardly the bright raiment of a bride, but this was no joyful event.  Besides, she didn't intend to remove her cloak at all.
    She watched as the castle folk gathered in the courtyard below, some of them scattering petals upon the steps of Rivenloch's small stone chapel.  It was nearly time.  She took a deep breath of moist air and murmured a prayer that her sisters would forgive her.
    She’d only done what had to be done, she reminded herself.  It was better to live with the guilt of having deceived them than to forever regret her lack of intervention.  It was for the best.  In another hour, the ceremony would be over, and she’d have a lifetime to make amends for her perfidy.
    She only prayed she could pull off this deception.  Deirdre stood a half a foot taller than Miriel, and her shoulders were far broader.  She'd need to stoop to make herself appear small.  Hopefully the bulky cloak would help mask her size.
    She doubted her father would know the difference.  By the Saints, half the time he called Deirdre by his wife’s name and thought Miriel was a maidservant.  It would be a miracle if he even remembered there was to be a wedding today.
    Indeed, it was a blessing the marriage had been called for in such haste and at so early an hour.  The chaos of wedding preparations would excuse a lot of things—the lateness of Miriel's sisters, the bride's lack of a proper wedding gown, Pagan's failure to notice he was marrying the wrong sister.  But Deirdre meant to add one final note of credibility to her deceit—Sung Li.  She cracked her knuckles.  It would be easy enough to secure the tiny old woman's cooperation.
    But she'd have to hurry.  No doubt the maidservant would shortly be flapping around the keep like an indignant mother hen, demanding to know what had become of her chick.
    When Deirdre snatched open the door to Miriel's chamber, she expected to find Sung Li circling the room in a panic.  But the old woman stood calmly beside the bed, hands clasped, staring stoically ahead, as if she'd been waiting for Deirdre.  "What have you done with Miriel?"
    Wary of the old woman's strangely quiet mood, Deirdre told her, "She's safe."  She closed the door, then advanced purposefully on the puny maid till she towered over her in menace.  "And she'll stay safe as long as you do exactly as I say."
    Undaunted, Sung Li crossed her arms and clucked her tongue.  "If we stand here talking, you will be late for the wedding."
    Deirdre bristled at the maid's impertinence.  "Listen, you pompous, wrinkle-faced dwarf.  I'm going to marry the Norman, and you're coming with me.  You're going to make everyone believe I am Miriel.  And if you breathe a word otherwise to anyone, I swear I'll rip your arms off and beat you with them."
    The tiny maidservant turned her head slowly then and looked her up and down, and Deirdre would have sworn there was amusement in her eyes.  “You could not.”
    Deirdre’s brows shot up.  Was the woman mad?  By the Saints, she had no time for this.  The last thing she needed was a half-witted maidservant getting in the way of...
    “You hurry now,” Sung Li urged.  “The real Miriel...would not be late.”
    Deirdre peered down at the wizened old crone with dawning comprehension.  Of course.  The clever woman meant to help her.  Sung Li didn’t want Miriel to suffer this unwanted marriage any more than Deirdre did.
    The maid threw back her shoulders and thrust out her pointy chin.  “And she goes nowhere without me.”
    A look of collusion passed between them, and Deirdre gave her a nod of approval.