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

and mace.  It was time to see what manner of fighting force Rivenloch boasted.

    As soon as Deirdre made certain her father was comfortable, residing in his chamber with a squire for company, her heart began its rapid patter once again.  Aye, it was one less thing to worry about, but there were a hundred others.  As much as it stuck in her craw to say it, she was almost glad of Pagan’s aid.  At least he had experience in warfare, something not one of her men could claim.  What troubled her most, however, was the fact that Rivenloch’s walls had never been tested.  Of course, Helena made it her duty to maintain the defenses, to look for weaknesses and inspect for damage.  But no firebrand or battering ram or sapper’s spade had ever attempted to broach the walls.  As far as anyone truly knew, the stones might crumble with the tap of a broomstick.
    Deirdre gave her head a shake, dismissing the thought.  There were too many other worries at the moment.
    She snagged a squire in the passageway to help her don her armor.  The sooner she was protected enough to mount the battlements, the sooner she could see what manner of men she was up against and how best to defend the keep.
    While the squire tied the points on her gambeson and helped her into her mail chausses and hauberk, Deirdre opened the shutter the tiniest crack and peered out at the arriving army.  They were still distant figures, but it was clear now there were at least a score of mounted knights and, behind them, several afoot.  There were also a number of heavy-laden carts.  Deirdre imagined they were filled with arms, provender, and materials for building pavilions, should they decide to lay siege.
    As the squire slipped her tunic over her chain mail, the wind picked up the corner of the invaders’ far-off pennant, and she glimpsed the coat-of-arms, some beast of argent upon a sable field.  As Colin had mentioned, something about the design seemed familiar to her, too.
    “Ian, look at that pennant,” she bade the squire.  “Where have you seen it before?”
    He squinted into the distance, chewing upon his lip.  “Was that not upon the tunic of that jongleur, the one who played at supper two nights—“
    ”Bloody hell.”  Realization slowly dawned.  “Bloody hell!“
    She glanced down at her wedding ring.  A pale unicorn upon a black field.  By the Rood, these men were Pagan’s own knights!
    “That son of a...”  She slammed the shutter.
    So he wasn't a mere knight-errant after all.  He commanded his own army.  He must have sent Boniface the jongleur as a spy, then ordered his knights to follow in the event Pagan’s suit was refused.  It was a brilliant strategy.  But that didn’t diminish Deirdre’s anger with him now for his deception.  Why had he not revealed their identity?  Why had he not disclosed that they were friend, not foe?  Did he hope to make a fool of her?
    It would be a snowy day in hell before he’d do that.  She might be inexperienced, but she was well prepared.  And she had more wits than he imagined.  Did he wish to humiliate her, put her in her place?  Then she’d show him that two could play at that game.

    Pagan tried not to look disappointed as he reviewed the ranks of Scots soldiers.  Though they were admirably disciplined and seemed to be brave of heart, they were the most motley bunch of knights he’d ever seen assembled.  They might well be Scotland's finest, but they weren't fit to polish the sabatons of the Knights of Cameliard.  Six of them claimed to be trained as horsemen, and while their armor was intact, it looked to date from the last century.  A dozen more were men-at-arms whose arms were sadly lacking, limited to one or two weapons apiece.  The three archers, already dispatched to patrol the parapets, appeared to be the only adept bowmen at Rivenloch.  And the rest of the odd company—white-bearded old men, skinny-armed lads, and one tiny lass he smacked on the bottom and