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couldn’t slap me out of it. I really believed that I was an agent, that I would discover Deirdre’s story and save her from her fate. I didn’t have to inherit Mother’s passivity.
    “Deirdre’s always moping around!” I yelled over my shoulder. “She needs to snap out of it.” I was so judgmental at that age; I actually thought I knew better than adults, probably because the complexity of their problems eluded me. Deirdre was only a few years older, but I was a baby compared to her. I was thrilled by the mere feel of Conor’s chin sliding across my head. As I bad-mouthed Deirdre, he shook his head as if she were a naughty child. I imagined him spanking her, felt a perplexing flash of arousal. I ducked as we went under a railroad trestle, where a ragged cyclone fence hung from the embankment.
    For a minute I considered not turning Deirdre over to him. Maybe he would take me away to his castle. In truth, I envied Deirdre, with her waist-long blond curls, her cheeks of perpetual blush. Men transcended time and space to capture her. Her curves seemed to mock my planes, and I winced to think of how only last week I’d balled up Kleenex and stuffed my bikini top to see how I might look with breasts. My kinky red hair and head-to-toe freckles would have made me the child star of baloney commercials. I wasn’t ugly, but I had the look people loved because it was so uniquely unthreatening; they pointed and smiled, secretly thanking their stars for their tans and shimmering straight locks.
    We broke from the bridle path and quickly approached the prairie. The horse skidded to a halt before we could cross. My head and chest fell over its neck, my fingers tangled in its mane. The horse reared up as if an invisible brick wall had suddenly risen in the path, though there was nothing but heavy air, then it dropped back down and turned a circle. Conor leapt off its back in a split second, and I followed, kicking my left leg over the side, and shimmying down before he could help me.
    Conor paced in front of the prairie path entrance, shouting and cursing. With both hands, he angrily plunged his sword into the dirt, kicking up dust and clumps of dirt. He pulled out the sword with both hands and plunged it in again and again, as if he were stabbing the life out of someone. His hair flew about wildly and sweat flew from his face.
    “The High King is the only man powerful enough to defeat the druid’s prophecy against Deirdre. Yet this shield has me stuck!”
    I was stunned. He yanked the sword out of the ground and angrily pointed at the prairie, the muddy sword flying back and forth. My attraction to him changed into a burning feeling in my stomach. I’d never witnessed such fierce and sudden male rage. I wrapped my arms around my skinny ribs and cowered, my legs beginning to tremble.
    “Deirdre cried out while still in her mother’s womb. Everyone heard it! Cathbad foretold that she would be the most beautiful woman in Erin and that she would bring death and destruction to many an Ulsterman. Only I, Conchobor MacNessa, son of Nex, the daughter of Eochaid Salbuide of the yellow heel, foster son of Cathbad, King of Ulster, can keep her from destroying herself and Erin.”
    My fear of him made his lineage sound like gibberish. Deirdre was no physical match for Conor, nor was I. Duty bound me to the Heroines, even when they stirred envy and resentment in my childish heart, a heart that nonetheless possessed a sharp sense of justice. I looked down at my chest, weary of my mediocrity, my body’s refusal to transform into curves like Deirdre’s. My thin legs and bony arms made me feel weak. There would be no defeating this man physically. I had to take a different tack. So though my mind screamed Run!, I kept my cool and assumed the demeanor of a lowly servant, bowing my head and delivering with great humility this versatile cliché: “At your will, sire.”
    “Bring her to me!” he roared. He rested his hand on his scabbard