Free Pride of Lions by Morgan Llywelyn

was not hard to smile at Emer; she was a pretty woman, with a round sweet face and wide-spaced eyes.
    But now the sweetness was gone from her face, and her eyes were the color of winter.
    "Emer, wife! I have missed you. were you ill?" Sitric enquired solicitously.
    "I am mourning my father."
    "Of course, of course. A brave man he was; it was a shock to hear of his death."
    She laughed mirthlessly. "I'm sure.
    Especially since you had assembled ten thousand men to try to kill him."
    "You exaggerate. We had less than half that many. The Ard Ri's forces were twice the size of ours. That's the only reason they won."
    "That's your version, is it? You forget that I was there, from the walls we could see how large both armies were."
    "You misinterpreted what you saw," he replied blandly. "How could a woman understand a battle?"
    Her lips narrowed to a thin line. "You forget again--I was raised at Kincora. All my life I watched warriors train and listened to their talk. I could probably lead an army as well as you--better, for I'm no coward."
    Sitric drew back his hand to hit her but stopped himself with an effort. He must not make more of an enemy of Emer than she already was. He had plenty of enemies. What he needed now were allies. There would be few enough of those after his recent defeat.
    Forcing himself to stay calm, he said, "You think I wanted to avoid the fighting? Not at all, I ached for it; my fingers itched to hold the axe. But I am King of Dublin and it was my responsibility to stay with my city and look after my people."
    "How convenient for you." Emer studied her fingernails rather than Sitric's face.
    She wondered how she could ever have agreed to marry him. She had only done so to please her father. In those early days of marriage, had she ever enjoyed looking at Sitric? she wondered idly. He was a big blond Viking with Gormlaith's proud profile and broad hands not averse to hitting women. Ugly hands with gnarled knuckles.
    Years of living with Sitric had magnified his faults in Emer's eyes and diminished his virtues. She could tick off the former on her fingertips: he was brutal, he snored, he farted, he lied. He was petty and greedy and scheming, his toes were crooked, and he was getting a bald patch on the crown of his head.
    Gormlaith swept into the hall, distracting Sitric's attention and consigning Emer to the role of fly on the wall. Whenever she appeared she drew the focus of attention to herself and held it there. Gormlaith took up all the air in a room.
    Emer felt invisible when she was around.
    Gormlaith was as tall as her son, great-limbed and great-spirited, and even at sixty she had a straight spine and an arrogant carriage.
    Her famous mane was still red, though a succession of servants spitefully claimed it was dyed, and her heavy-lidded eyes were still green, though not the startling emerald of her youth. In their depths something stirred lazily, like a predator swimming below the surface.
    "How dare you send for me like some servant!" was her greeting to Sitric.
    He was instantly defensive. "I didn't send for you, I requested the pleasure of your company."
    Gormlaith stalked past him to the nearest cushioned bench--the only one in the hall, his--
    and sat down, stretching her long legs before her in a curiously masculine gesture. "As the pig requests the pleasure of the butcher," she retorted. "What do you want, Sitric? You always want something."
    "Why is everything you say to me some sort of accusation?" He busied himself with his drinking horn, but could not resist a covert glance in her direction to assess her mood.
    "Stop looking at me," Gormlaith demanded.
    "He looked at me like that when he thought I wasn't watching." She need not identify whom she meant. There was only one he in Gormlaith's vocabulary.
    Sitric cleared his throat nervously. She was the only person who could reduce him to awkward selfconsciousness. "Mother, I need to talk to you about your, ah, habits."
    "Habits? I have no