«Certainly Maeve brought you tea while you worked?» Maeve poured and sat on the couch near his desk, not waiting for an invitation to join him.

«Yes, sorry. I say, my brain has sprung a leak on to the page! Oh, I wish Maeve were here to tell. She’d be so happy for me. I have you to thank.» He smiled and Maeve’s heart lurched in her chest.

«Me?»

«Yes, I believe you may be the muse she warned me about! An exquisite beauty who would bring me to my highest level of creativity.»

«Do you mean a Leannán Sidhe?»

«That’s it exactly! Now, I don’t believe all of Maeve’s tales, but she did warn me to take care should such a beauty appear. As soon as I sat down, the words came pouring from my fingertips. I fancy they’re good words.»

Maeve covered her mouth with her hand. The man thought her a threat?

«I’m no muse, Brian. Just a pretty face. You can’t honestly believe that I could torture you into a terrible lovelorn state?»

«Oh, I believe you could wear down a holy man. Your beauty has inspired me to write a tale of unrequited love.» He sipped at his tea and smiled sincerely.

«For the love of.» You imbecile, she wanted to scream. «Must it be unrequited? Couldn’t it be more. requited? Returned? Consummated?»

His eyes widened and he rattled his cup on its saucer. «Miss Fiona, I. I can barely imagine. well, I can imagine. I could not dream of. could I?»

«I’m not speaking of hopes and dreams, Mr Fitzgerald. They do very little on a cool fall Aran evening to warm the body.»

Maeve bit at her lip, shocked a bit at herself for her open offer. For the first time in aeons, she waited anxiously for a man’s acceptance as her young beautiful self. The crone in her was quite used to rejection.

Brian stood, took off his spectacles, and ran his hand through his hair. Maeve could practically hear the wheels grinding inside his head, could cut the silence with a knife. He held her gaze and sent her blood racing.

He didn’t make a move, or sound, or even, it seemed, did he breathe. Perhaps he was shy, perhaps he was a lover of men, perhaps. he could actually refuse her. Shame and hurt clutched at Maeve’s heart and she turned to flee. With a strong grip on her elbow and a firm arm around her waist, Brian turned her around and held her still. He smelled of fresh air and sweet pipe tobacco. His burning lustful gaze at her bosom belied the gentle smile pulling at his full lips.

«So, Fiona, you have caught me in a terrible lie.»

«Have I now?»

«I do not care about the cost of your allure, my muse.» He leaned in and brushed his lips gently against hers, setting her skin tingling.

«I am not a muse, Brian.»

«Still, you are enchanting. I care only what Maeve will think of me.»

«She would think you quite the horse’s ass to refuse her granddaughter.» Maeve could stand it no longer, and reached her hands around Brian’s neck, pulling him down for a real kiss. It may as well have been her first kiss, for how it turned her bones to jam and her heart racing in her chest.

Brian’s moans of pleasure drummed through her body as he slashed his tongue against hers and pulled at her lips. He brought his hands down her back and cupped her flesh, none too lightly. The shy would-be novelist was on fire, white-hot and growing more scorching by the second. He fisted her hair and pulled to expose her neck to kisses and nibbles that sent Maeve’s knees wobbling. He whispered her name, his breath hot in her ear.

«Fiona, I would have you, but only with Maeve’s permission to court you. I love the woman and will not dishonour her. No matter the cost to my sanity.» He squirmed and adjusted his trousers, then pulled back.

Maeve could barely breathe. He must be teasing. Maeve’s permission. She wanted to scream. You have Maeve’s permission, you idiot!

«Well, isn’t this a bloody fine twist on enchantment!» She ran from the room, scurried to her bedroom, and locked the door behind her. He did not even follow.

Brian stared at the blank page, wondering if he should get up, go to the cliff, and throw himself into Galway Bay. For he certainly didn’t deserve to go on in this state. Fiona hadn’t thrown herself at him, she’d instead shrunk herself down to the size of a pin and poked at every fibre of his body. Relentlessly. Was this the torture Maeve warned him about? The burning he’d never felt in his life. So complete was her hold on him, his blood ran hot each time he heard movement in the house.

She’d avoided him completely, for two days. Breakfast — undercooked — would be waiting upon his awakening. Tea manifested as if by magic when he returned to his study. He’d wandered the halls, only to see her shadow disappear around a corner.

Now his lust turned to obsession. Now he simply wanted to see her, to speak with her, to learn about her. Why could she not sit in his study and knit as her grandmother had? Could they not go for a stroll on the beach? Did she now find him odious?

The Irish were all insane, but those on Inishmore took first prize. Or, perhaps, as the old salt in the pub had warned him, Maeve, Fiona and Kildooney House were enchanted, and he would not leave the island with his own sanity.

Fiona took his breath away when she suddenly swept into his study with a note in hand, which she slapped on his desk with fervour.

«There, Brian Fitzgerald. There is your permission. You may court me should you find me worthy.»

He stared at the envelope and then back at Fiona. She crossed her arms over her lovely breasts and tapped her foot in annoyance. Brian tentatively opened the envelope and read the note: «Mr Fitzgerald, once again I am sorry that I left suddenly. My sister is doing better. I will return shortly. You may court (or do as you like with) young Fiona. Signed, Maeve MacGearailt.»

What a thing! «Do as you like with.» That didn’t sound like Maeve, but here was her note, in the same hand as the one she’d previously left him. His hand practically shook as he placed the note on the desk and stared at Fiona.

«I know what I want, Brian, so do not look at me so. There is no shame in it. You have your permission. I can be your love or your maid. The decision is yours.»

«As I like your kisses more than your cooking.» He held up his hand as she narrowed her eyes to fiery ice-blue daggers. «That was a joke, Fiona. How did Maeve get a note to me in two days from Galway? You have been here the whole time.»

«Have not.» Fiona flushed and pushed her toes at the carpet, eyes downcast.

«Have too.»

«Maeve is now on Inishmore, visiting another sister in town before returning.»

«How many sisters does Maeve have? Oh, never mind I asked.» Brian thought of the large families in Boston and realized he must sound silly to Fiona. She must already think him the oddity — only child, parentless, aspiring novelist. What did such a woman want with such an uninteresting man?

«How rich do you think I am, Fiona?»

She slapped him. She slapped the smile off his face, and then did it again.

He grabbed her hand to stop a third slap.

«You are the devil himself. You insult my cooking. my grandmother’s cooking and my cooking, you insult my kisses by turning away, and now I’m a drùth? As if I care a whit about your money. I can conjure money from the air and call gold from the sea to wash on to the shore. I can make the skies rain silver and milk emeralds from a cow.»

Her cheeks blazed scarlet and her chest rose and fell quickly with her fury. Brian looked into her eyes and saw she spoke the truth. She could do those things, and more. Icy fingers crawled up and down his spine, and electricity coursed into the hand that clutched her wrist.

«Is that why I fell in love with you the moment I saw you? Because you cast a spell on me?»

«Stupid guraiceach. I could have cast any spell.» She dropped her hand to her side and Brian let go of her wrist. Her eyes softened and she wiped her lips. «Did you say something about love?»

Brian nodded, wondering if she’d slap him again. «It makes no sense, but despite how much I seem to anger you, I feel as if I’ve known you for quite a while.»

«For quite a while?»

«And that underneath that beauty and temper is a wise, strong woman.»

«A wise woman?»

«And strong.»

Fiona’s mouth pulled to the side and a frown creased her brow as she considered his words. Brian’s heart raced as he waited for her to say something, anything, to indicate what she thought of him. He’d offered love to an enchantress, to the most beautiful enchantress ever born, if indeed they were born and didn’t spring from the earth full grown. She would think him an idiot. In fact, she was now looking at him as if he were quite the oaf.

«Would it be best if I return to Boston, Fiona? I would understand. I know not how it became so complicated once Maeve left.» Maeve. How could he leave her as well, and without a word of thanks or care? He would find her in Kilronan.

«Because of my very nature, Brian, I am forbidden to tell you why it is so, but I love you too, not as a stranger.»

The world spun beneath Brian’s feet. No, life did not bring such things to him so easily. Was this part of her enchantment? Again, he gazed into her eyes, searching for the truth, and found it. She loved him.

Enchantment be damned, he thought as he rose from the desk and swept Fiona off her feet. She moaned in pleasure as he kissed her and fumbled up the winding stairs to his bedroom. He plopped her on the bed and her surprise turned to mischief as she wiggled a long finger for him to join her.