Setanta did not come awake quickly. He could hear someone calling his name as if from a great distance. He did not want to respond but wanted to stay in bed, head covered with his hides and sleep.

“There are two women by the gates who say they know you, lord,” the gatekeeper repeated from the doorway. Setanta groaned and rolled over.

“What time is it?”

“Mid-morning, lord.”

He was going to complain about being woken so early in the day, but the guard’s words meant he could not. He should have been up and at his duties long before mid-morning. Getting up and dealing with the day-to-day drudgery had become progressively harder since his falling out with Emer.

“Who are they?” he asked, bleary-eyed with sleep and heavy-headed with mead residue. His argument with Emer meant he was spending more time in the settlement hostel than was good for him. Most mornings, he awoke with a tongue that felt like forest moss coated it and a head that felt like a wounded boar was stomping on it.

“I would say they are Jutes. One’s a real beauty. The other, not so much.”

“Names, man?”

“The beauty calls herself Dervla, lord. The other, I think, is a maidservant, so gave no name.”

Setanta looked up sharply despite the pain it caused between his eyebrows. The last time he spoke to Dervla was when he was in Jutland after he had rescued her. He thought he would not see her again and was not sure he welcomed her arrival.

“Take them to the feast hall and tell them I will be with them shortly.”

“Yes, lord.”

Dressing, Setanta wondered what Dervla could want. It would be nice to see her under different circumstances, but he was at war with Emer and did not think a visit from the woman he had rescued and then deflowered would be a welcome interlude. He did not doubt that if Emer were in Lusk, she would hear of a visit from a Scandinavian beauty and scoff at his behavior, but she was not. Emer was in Emain Macha. She had come to the king to petition for a husband. The chance of the two women not meeting was very remote—the possibility of sparks not flying when they met was even more remote.

Setanta knew Emer would never talk to him, but from their brief encounters since her arrival—encounters without words and with looks that would kill—she was still angry. Any dalliance while she was around would lead to a confrontation. And if she had inherited any of her father’s pig-headedness, that would be a confrontation best avoided.

With a sigh, Setanta finished dressing and went to the feast hall. He rested the war hammer against the wall beside the entrance. He felt incomplete without it, but to carry a naked weapon in the presence of the king was a death sentence. Swords remained sheathed and were permitted. The warrior made a mental note to have the tanner create a sheath for it so he could carry it on his back, which would be allowed in the presence of Mac Nessa.

As he entered the feast hall, he hoped he would have time to talk to Dervla before Emer met her. That hope was dashed as soon as his eyes became used to the shadowy interior. He could see the shiny gold locks of the Jute glistening in the torchlight. She had her face towards the door, looking at him as he entered, and was smiling so wide that Setanta thought it must be painful. He could see the back of Emer’s head in front and to the side of where Dervla’s eyes bore him. To Emer’s left, Lugaid was standing and staring at the Jute with amazement. Setanta knew that if his mouth had not been closed, his tongue would have been lolling on his chest.

The warriors in the feast hall were loud and boisterous, trying to get Dervla’s attention. He shook his head and wondered at their antics. When there is mead, it is drunk; when there is a beautiful woman, they ogle her.

As he neared, Dervla said, “Ah, Setanta, you have arrived. I was getting to know a friend of yours, Emer.”

Emer turned, and he could see the same false smile stretching across the contours of her face. He would never understand how women could intuit rivalry when it came to men. Somehow, they knew. The tension between the pair was palpable. The female company nearby had their backs to the women, and although they were listening intently to the exchange, they were pretending to be indifferent. It seemed the warriors’ reaction was causing some jealousy. The women of the court were bristling at the Jute’s beauty and poise. They felt threatened.

“Dervla. What brings you to Emain Macha?” Cú Chulainn asked through tight lips. His nerves were making him angry, which he did not understand. Even though he was not pleased to see Dervla here because her arrival surely dashed any chance he had of winning back Emer’s heart, the Jute was blameless.

“I have been banished from my tribe.”

“Since when?” Cú Chulainn asked, confused by what would cause a people to turn their backs on one so beautiful.

“Since before you rescued me. It was my people who gave me to the wildlings.”

“But why?”

“They were encroaching on our lands. They gave me as a tribute in appeasement. When I returned to the settlement, my people were angry. As soon as you left, they drove me out.”

“I do not understand, Dervla. Why did they drive you out?”

“They thought the wildlings would be angered and would invade again.”

Cú Chulainn frowned and looked at his feet. He did not know what to say or do. Emer used the pause to interrupt, “Please forgive me, Dervla. It was nice to meet you, but I have business with the king.”

Cú Chulainn watched Emer’s back as she made her way through the crowd. Her head was high. He could see her disdain in the cut of her shoulders. He had been hopeful that things would become less strained between them and that he could start to woo her again. Dervla’s arrival could not have been at a less opportune moment. Whatever chance there had been for a reconciliation was gone.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“You love her?” Dervla asked. Setanta just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“You believe she does not return that love?”

“She did,” Cú Chulainn found his voice.

“What happened?”

“I killed her father after my return. She has sworn to hate me until the end of time.”

“But she does not.”

“What do you mean?”

“She does not hate you. I would wager my roundhouse with all my worldly possessions, few as they are, that she still loves you.”

“Believe me, I saw her face the day her father died. She does not love me.”

“And I saw the way she treated you with such disdain. Were there no feelings, there would not be such vehemence.”

“There are feelings. She feels hatred.”

“And do you know the difference between love and hate, Setanta?”

“Yes. Women I love I bed, men I hate I kill.”

“But you put your sword into both.”

“What you are saying does not make sense to me, Dervla.”

“I know. In general, men are clueless when it comes to women, but warriors much more so than most. Understanding the ways of a woman would be such a challenge to your masculinity, I suppose. I will leave you. You have much to think on.”

“Where will you go?”

“Do not worry, Setanta, I will not go far. I believe the king needs ladies to grace his court.”

Setanta nodded. If there was one thing he knew about the king of Ulster, it was that he would not turn a beautiful lady away.

“Come, I will introduce you to the king.”

Setanta saw the king’s immediate interest in the Jute. Mac Nessa had always had an eye for a pretty face and a full chest, so he knew he could leave Dervla knowing she would be looked after.

“I must go,” he said, determined to find a quiet hostel where he could drink mead until he could not stand.

Once out of the feast hall, Setanta picked up his hammer and decided to talk to the tanner before leaving. He was walking towards the tannery when he heard a timid voice call from the wall of the feast hall.

“Setanta.”

He saw Emer standing in the deeper shadows, invisible to the casual passersby.

“What can I do for you, my lady?” he asked, trying to hide his hurt with a bluffness he did not feel.

“My lady, is it?”

“What else should I call you? You have not spoken to me since my return from Jutland.”

“I have not spoken to you since you threw my father from his tower, you mean?”

“Good day to you, lady,” said Setanta, turning on his heel and starting for the tannery.

“Setanta, wait. I must talk with you.”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” he said and did not stop walking.

When Emer fell in step beside him, he frowned but said nothing. He continued to walk towards the stables. His mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Was it Dervla’s arrival that caused Emer’s change? his foremost thought.

“That Jutish woman seems nice.”

“She is nice.”

“How do you know her?”

“I saved her from sacrifice.”

“You introduced her to the king.”

“I did. She wants to join the court.”

“And you decided to help her?”

“She is scared and alone in a strange land. She needs someone to help her. Maybe you can be her friend?”

Emer ignored the question, saying instead, “She is beautiful.”

“Yes, she is. Flaxen hair and sky eyes are common to the women of Jutland.”

“Did you bed her?”

“What? How dare you ask me that?” he blustered, but his reddening cheeks attested to his guilt.

“She was embarrassed by our meeting, and now you are embarrassed by my question. So, I know the answer, Setanta. I do not mind. I suppose it is normal for a lady to show gratitude to her rescuer.”

“You think it was nothing more than an act of gratitude, woman?”

“Ah, woman now, is it?”

“I have had enough of this. Leave me alone, Emer. I have work to be doing.”

“Yes, I heard about your work, drinking yourself into a stupor every day because of your guilt over killing my father.”

Cú Chulainn stopped, took Emer by the shoulders, and turned her to face him. “Your father tried to get me killed. He then refused my entrance into Lusk. I warned him of the consequences, but he did it anyway.”

“Ah, the mighty Hound, he who all must obey.”

“Your father betrayed me. Why can you not accept that, Emer?”

***

Emer looked over at the forest. She began to turn red in her own right as she thought about her discussion with Conall shortly after her father’s death on the morning of his internment. Emer had known for a long time that her father attempted to kill the man she loved. Coming to court was to tell Setanta what she knew to win him back, but when she arrived, something had driven her to cause jealousy to make him suffer, as he had made her suffer.

This morning, though, when the flaxen-haired beauty from Jutland arrived and told her how Setanta had saved her, she realized she might have lost him.

“I do accept it,” she said, just above a whisper.

“What?”

“I have accepted it since Conall told me what my father had said.”

“When?”

“On the morning of his internment.”

“But that is months.” The warrior dropped Emer’s shoulders and began to stride away from her. He had heard enough. She had made him suffer for months, causing him to believe he would never be in the arms of the woman he loved. It was unforgivable.

“Setanta,” Emer grabbed his forearm and pulled him round to face her. “You will not walk away from me again. I forbid it.”

“And who, woman, do you think you are that you can forbid me anything?”

“I am your future wife.”

“You told me that you would hate me until the end of time.”

“I was hurting. I had just lost my father. I was confused.”

“But you are no longer confused?”

“I am no longer confused.”

“You love me again?”

“I never stopped loving you, Setanta.”

“Instead of hating me until the end of time, you will love me until the end of time?”

“I promise I will love you, Setanta, until Lugh of the Tuatha Dé Danann calls you home.”