The Storming Read online

  “Why would David hand over such a prize?” he pondered aloud. “And why to me?”

  Colin snickered in amusement. “Come, Pagan, are you so unaccustomed to good fortune that you’d cast it away when it’s dropped into your lap?”

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “Aye, something’s wrong,” Colin said, at last tearing his attention away from the three maids to focus on Pagan. “You’ve lost your wits.”

  “Have I? Or am I right to suspect there may be a serpent in this garden?”

  Colin’s eyes narrowed wickedly. “The only serpent is the one writhing beneath your sword belt, Pagan.”

  Maybe Colin was right. It was difficult to think straight when his braies were strained to bursting. “Tell me again, what exactly did Boniface say?”

  Pagan never rode onto a field of combat blind. It was what had kept him alive through a score of campaigns. Two days earlier he’d sent Boniface, his trusted squire, in the guise of a jongleur, to learn what he could about Rivenloch. It was Boniface who had alerted them to the daughters’ intention to bathe in the pond this morn.

  Colin rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, recounting what the squire had reported. “He said the lord’s wits are addled. He has a weakness for dice, wagers high, and loses often. And, oh, aye,” he seemed to suddenly remember. “He said the old man keeps no steward. He apparently intends to pass the castle on to his eldest daughter.”

  “His daughter?” This was news to Pagan.

  Colin shrugged. “They’re Scots,” he said, as if that would explain it all.

  Pagan furrowed his brow in thought. “With Stephen claiming the English throne, King David needs strong forces to command the Border lands,” he mused, “not wenches.”

  Colin snapped his fingers. “Well, that’s it, then. Who better to command Rivenloch than the illustrious Sir Pagan? ’Tis known far and wide that the Cameliard knights have no peer.” Colin turned, eager to get back to his spying.

  In the pond below, the voluptuous wench playfully shook her head, spattering her giggling sister and jiggling her weighty breasts in a manner that made Pagan instantly iron hard. Beside him, Colin groaned, whether in bliss or pain, he wasn’t sure.

  Suddenly realizing the significance of that groan, Pagan cuffed him on the shoulder.

  “What’s that for?” Colin hissed.

  “That’s for leering at my bride.”

  “Which one’s your bride?”

  They both returned their gazes to the pool.

  Pagan would be forever appalled at the lapse of his warrior instincts at that moment. But by the time he heard the soft footfall behind him, it was too late to do anything about it. Colin never heard it at all. He was too busy feasting his eyes. “Wait. I see only two now. Where’s the blonde?”

  Behind him, a feminine voice said distinctly, “Here.”

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