A Shade of Tain

The royal bed had long been pre- pared, the sun had sunk behind the mountains, bellies had been filled, wines from across the sea had been drunk, and the voice of sweet night songs drifted peace- fully through Cruachan. Despite it all, Maeve of Connaught tossed and jerked on the pillows, unable to sleep. She was restless again and the music meant nothing to her. Maeve's husband, Ailill, was well aquainted with this mood. After some thought, he decided that perhaps a friendly tease might
give her game enough and perhaps

a friendly tease might give her game enough and perhaps a place to release that energy; Ailill
understood that fighting and battle play alone could soothe his per- plexing wife. With his perfect arm, he pushed slowly past some pillows that lay between them, and he grinned at her.

--It is quite lucky for a woman to find herself a wealthy man to care for and protect her, is it not . . . my wife?