"You get a picture in your head," he said. "An empty field or lot and what you'd put on it right down to the fancy work."

"That's right, yes. How did you know?"

"It's not so different from building a song." Thinking of it, she frowned at his back. Never once had she considered that they had anything in common in that area. "I suppose you're right. I'll draw it up for you as best I can. Whether the Magee takes a look at it or not, I'm grateful to you for thinking of it."

She helped him clean up, then as it was nearing midnight, said she had to go.

He walked her out, and they'd made it nearly to the front door before he changed his mind. He settled it by simply plucking her up, hauling her over his shoulder and carting her up to bed once again.

As a result it was half-one when she crept into her house. Creeping was about all she had the energy for. Who would have thought the man could near to wear her out?

She switched off the light her mother had left on for her. Even in the dark she knew which boards, which part of the steps, would creak underfoot. She made it upstairs and into her room without a sound.

And since she wasn't a mother, she was comfortably unaware that her own had heard her despite the precautions.

Once she slipped into bed, she let out a long sigh, shut her eyes, and fell instantly asleep.

And in sleep dreamed of a silver palace beneath a green hill. Around it grew flowers and grand trees that stood out like paintings in the gilded light. A ribbon of river ran through them, with little diamonds sparkling on its surface in a flash here and there that shocked the eye.

A bridge arched over it, its stones marble-white. As she crossed it, she heard the click of her own boots, the bubble of the water below, and the quick skip of her own heart that wasn't fear but excitement.

The trees, she saw, were heavy with golden apples, silver pears. For an instant she was tempted to pluck one, to bite into that rich flesh and taste. But even in dreams, she knew that if you visited a fearie raft, you could eat nothing, and drink only water, or you were bound there for a hundred years.

So she only watched the jeweled fruit glint.

And the path leading under them, from the white bridge to the great silver door of the palace, was red as rubies.

As she approached the door, it opened, and out of it spilled the music of pipes and flutes.

She stepped inside, into the music and into perfumed air where torches as tall as men lined the walls with flames that shot as high and true as arrows.

The hall was wide and filled with flowers. There were chairs, with curvy arms and deep cushions, all the color of precious gems. But she saw no one.

Following the music, she climbed the stairs, trailing her hand along a banister that was smooth as silk and glinted like a long, slender sapphire.

Still there was no sound but the music, no movement but her own.

At the top of the stairs there was another long corridor, as wide as the space two grown men would make were they laid head to foot. To her left as she traveled along the corridor was a door of topaz, and to the right, one of emerald. Straight ahead was a third that glowed white as pearls.

And it was from there that the music came.

She opened the white door and stepped inside.

Flowers twined and tangled up the walls. Tables the size of lakes groaned under the weight of platters filled with food. The scents were sensuous.

The floor was a mosaic, a symphony of jewels placed in random patterns.

There were chairs and cushions and plush sofas, but all were empty. All but the throne at the room's head. There, lounging in the grandeur, was a man in a silver doublet.

"You never hesitated," he said. "There's courage in that. Not once did you think of turning around. You just walked straight into what's unknown to you."

He offered her a smile, and with a wave of his hand, the gold apple that appeared in it. "You may have a taste for this."

"I may, but I haven't a century to spare you."

He laughed, and flicking his fingers, vanished the apple. "I wouldn't have let you, as I've more use for you above than here."

Curious, she turned in a circle. "Are you alone, then?"

"Not alone, no. Even faeries like to sleep. The light was to guide you. It's night here, as it is in your world. I wanted to speak with you, and preferred to do so alone."

"Well, then." She lifted her arms, let them fall. "I'm here."

"I've a question for you, Mary Brenna O'Toole."

"I'll try to answer it, Carrick, Prince of Faeries."

His lips twitched again with amused approval, but his eyes were intense and sober as he leaned toward her. "Would you take a pearl from a lover?"

An odd question indeed, she thought. But after all, it was a dream, and she'd had stranger ones. "I would, if it was given freely."

With a sigh, he tapped his hand on the wide arm of his throne. The ring he wore flashed silver and blue.

"Why is it there are always strings attached to answers when dealing with mortals?"

"Why is it faeries are never satisfied with an honest answer?"

Humor brightened his eyes. "You're a bold one, aren't you? It's a fortunate thing I've a fondness for mortals."

"I know you have." She walked closer now. "I've seen your lady. She pines for you. I don't know if that heavies your heart or lightens it, but it's what I know."

Resting his chin on his feet, he brooded. "I know her heart, now that it's too late for me to do much more than wait. Must there be pain in love before there's fulfillment?"

"I haven't the answer."

"You've part of it," he muttered, and straightened again. "You are part of the answer. Tell me now, what's in your heart for Shawn Gallagher." Before she could speak, he lifted a hand in warning. He'd seen the temper flash over her face. "Before you speak, mind this. You're in my world here, and it's the simplest of matters for me to make you speak truth. Only truth. We both prefer you answer of your own will."

"I don't know what's in my heart. You'll have to take that as your truth, for I've nothing more."

"Then it's time you looked, and time you knew, isn't it?" He sighed again, not troubling to hide his disgust. "But you won't till you're ready. Go on to sleep, then."

With a sweep of his arm, he was alone with his thoughts in the jeweled light. And Brenna slept, dreamlessly now, in her bed.

She got no more than four hours' sleep, but went through the day fueled with energy. Most often a late night followed by an early morning left her out of sorts and cross most of the day. But in this case, she was so cheerful that her father commented on her bright mood more than once.

She didn't feel she could tell him what she told herself. It was good, healthy sex that had her whistling through her work. As close as they were, and as much as she loved him, she doubted her father would want to know how she'd spent her evening.

She remembered the dream, remembered it so clearly, so precisely, that she wondered if she was filling in some blanks without meaning to. But it wasn't anything she was going to muddle over for long.

"That's about all for the day, wouldn't you say, Brenna darling?" Mick straightened up, stretched his back, then glanced over to where his daughter was squatted down painting the floor molding. His lips pursed when he noted she was painting the same six inches over and over with lazy swipes of the brush.

"Brenna?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't you think you might have just about enough paint on that space of wood by this time?"

"What? Oh." She dipped the brush again, then made sure to hit the fresh wood. "My mind must've wandered."

"It's time to call it a day."

"Already?"

With a shake of his head, he gathered up brushes, rollers, and pans. "What was it your mother put in your oatmeal this morning to give you such pep? And why didn't I have any?"

"The day went by fast, that's all." She got to her feet, looked around. With some surprise she noted just how much had been done. She'd gone through the day on automatic pilot, she supposed. "We've nearly finished in here."

"By tomorrow, it'll be on to the next. We deserve big portions of that roast your mother promised for tonight."

"You're tired, Dad. I'll clean this up." That, at least, would soften some of the guilt she was going to feel. "And you know, I was thinking I'd go on into the pub and see Darcy. Would you tell Ma I'll be grabbing a sandwich there?"

He looked pained when she took the brushes from him. "You're after deserting me, when you know sure as you're born your mother and Patty will be into the wedding plans and buzzing around me ears."

Brenna shot him a grin. She'd forgotten about that and the more genuine excuse not to go straight home. "Want to come to the pub with me?"

"You know I would, but then your mother'd have my head on her best china platter. At least give me your word that when your time comes 'round you won't ask me if I like the lace or the silk best, then burst into tears when I pick the wrong one."

"A solemn promise." She kissed his cheek to seal it.

"I'm holding you to it, girl." He shrugged his jacket on. "And if things get over sticky at home, you may see me down at Gallagher's after all."

"I'll buy you a pint."

When he was gone, Brenna put more time and effort into the cleaning than she had to. It made her feel a little less guilty, though truth to tell, she would be seeing Darcy when she went to the village. If she saw Shawn as well, how could she help it. He worked there, didn't he?

Despite the rationalization, Brenna made a point of seeking Darcy out the minute she walked into the pub.