Patrick couldn't wait. The moment he returned the next morning, he set out to see Maeve. Thoughts of her occupied his mind, still having regrets about the lilies. He got on his horse.

"Straight to her, I see," Jeffrey said, his voice teasing.

Patrick ignored him, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. "I have to go and apologise again," he said simply, "and to make amends in person."

"Good luck, dear cousin." Jeffrey said.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The sun had climbed high, its warmth spilling over the village as Patrick rode into the square, his dark cloak fluttering behind him. Stormwind, his magnificent chestnut horse with a glossy mane, moved like liquid silk beneath him, hooves drumming against the earth. Patrick's eyes were fixed on the small cottage at the edge of the strawberry fields, where he knew Maeve would be tending her chores.

As he dismounted, he strode forward, the horse grazing lazily nearby. Maeve looked up from her laundry, her sleeves rolled to the elbows, cheeks flushed from the sun and work. Her hair was tied back, a few stray curls framing her face, and for a moment, Patrick found himself breathless.

"Good morning, Patrick," Maeve said, attempting a smile. "You have returned early."

"I could not wait," he said softly, reaching into his coat to produce a small velvet box. "I wished to bring you something... as a token of my sincere apology for the lilies."

Maeve hesitated, frowning slightly. "You need not trouble yourself. Truly, it was an accident."

He knelt and opened the box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet, finely engraved with little sun motifs. "Please, accept this. I meant it as a gesture of goodwill, nothing more. But I insist."

Her fingers hovered over it. "Patrick, I cannot-"

He gently lifted her hand and fastened the bracelet around her wrist. "You will. Consider it a reminder that my intentions are true."

Maeve blushed, glancing away, but said nothing. Patrick stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "And now," he said, "I wonder if you might grant me a moment of your company? Would you mind taking a stroll with me?"

Maeve's brows furrowed. "I cannot. I have much work to do before the day is spent. Laundry, strawberries, cleaning-"

Patrick's eyes twinkled. "Then I shall help."

"No! You cannot-" she protested.

Patrick's grin was unwavering. "I can and I shall. You do not seem to understand, I will not take no for an answer."

Reluctantly, Maeve gave in, her cheeks coloring. "Very well, but only if you promise not to laugh at my incompetence."

"I make no such promises," Patrick replied smoothly, already pulling up sleeves and reaching for a bucket.

The morning passed with surprising ease. Patrick's hands were steady and strong as he lifted water buckets, gathered laundry, and helped Maeve hang the sheets and linens. He chatted all the while, teasing and joking in a soft, eloquent manner that made Maeve laugh.

"Careful, Patrick! That sheet is heavier than you think," Maeve warned, holding the line taut.

"Ah, but you see, it is merely a test of my strength," Patrick said, grinning. "And I do not intend to fail before your very eyes."

Maeve giggled, and at one point, she flicked a smear of berry juice from the morning's harvest toward him. He caught a droplet on his cheek and smirked. "I see what you are attempting, madam. A smear of battle paint to humble me, no doubt."

She laughed, but Patrick caught her hand. "Your laughter. It is a song I would hear endlessly."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper crimson. "Patrick" she whispered, looking away.

By midday, the chores were finished. The laundry hung neat and dry, the strawberries were gathered and cleaned, and the cottage was gleaming. After they both ate the meal they prepared together, Maeve leaned against the doorframe, wiping her brow, while Patrick folded his hands behind his back.

"And now," he said, bowing slightly, "I may finally show you what I wished to show this morning."

Maeve's eyes widened. "I... I do not wish to climb the horse."

Patrick's gaze softened. "It would pain me to see you trek the distance on foot. Stormwind is strong and patient, and I shall guide you safely."

Her heart thumped in nervous excitement as he held out his hand. "Please... trust me?"

She nodded hesitantly. Patrick lifted her gently onto Stormwind's back, adjusting the reins so she felt secure. The horse shifted beneath her steadily, while Patrick walked beside them, guiding Stormwind with a practiced hand.

They went upward, the village falling away behind them, until the fields and cottages were a quilt of greens and golds beneath the evening sun. And then they reached the crest of the hill.

Maeve gasped.

Before her stretched a breathtaking panorama of mountains rolling into the horizon, the sun was sinking slowly behind them, streaks of amber, rose, and violet painting the sky. A gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and grass, the sound of distant birdsong filling the quiet.

Maeve turned to Patrick, awestruck. "I... I have never noticed this view before, though I have walked these hills many times."

Patrick smiled, his eyes lingering on her. He let the horse graze on a nearby patch of clover, still holding the reins as he studied her. "Perhaps it was always here," he said softly, "but only now have you paused long enough to see its true beauty."

Maeve's gaze met his, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "It is lovely."

Patrick stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Lovely, yes. But not so lovely as the light in your eyes, the curve of your cheek, the softness of your smile."

Maeve's breath caught. "Oh! Patrick-"

He held up a hand, tenderly. "Do not speak. I merely wished for you to know that you are more beautiful than the sunset, more radiant than the mountains gilded with light. And I cannot let a moment pass without telling you. I also want you to know that you have captured my heart and I cannot hide it. I have loved you from the moment I saw you. I beseech you, grant me the blessing of your love."

Her cheeks warmed, and she looked down, fumbling with the hem of her skirt. Patrick continued, gently.

"I do not expect an answer today, or tomorrow, or perhaps even soon," he said, his voice low and earnest. "Take your time. Consider it, and know that I am willing to wait, however long it takes for your heart to choose freely."

Maeve's hands trembled slightly as she reached up to touch the bracelet he had given her.

"I..."

"You need not speak now," he said, his tone patient, almost reverent. "I merely wished to tell you what you must already suspect. My feelings are yours, should you wish them to be. But I will not press you. I will not force a decision."

For a long moment, they stood together, the wind stirring Maeve's hair and carrying the last warm colors of the sun across the sky. She felt a warmth in her chest she had not known before, and her heart thumped loudly in the silence.

Finally, she whispered, almost to herself, "Thank you for telling me."

Patrick nodded, his gaze softening. "That is all I require for now. And now, if you wish, I shall return you home safely."

Maeve glanced at the horse, uncertainty flickering again. "Are you sure?"

"It is my pleasure," he said simply, offering his hand. "And I will walk beside you every step of the way."

When they returned, she allowed him to guide her carefully off Stormwind's back, the horse's hooves echoing softly on the path. The last slanting rays of sunlight bathing them in gold.

Maeve looked up at him once more, the blush lingering on her cheeks. "I shall think on what you said."

Patrick smiled, a gentle, knowing curve of his lips. "Take all the time you need, Maeve. I shall wait, patiently, and always with hope."

When they reached the cottage, he bowed slightly, a quiet chivalry that made Maeve's heart flutter.

"Until we meet again," he said.

"Until we meet again," she echoed softly, a smile touching her lips.

Patrick mounted Stormwind with ease, guiding the horse down the path, but he turned once, watching her through the fading light. There was a quiet promise in his gaze, a vow made without words. He would not falter nor waver, and he would wait as long as it took for her heart to open to him.

Maeve watched him go. She had never felt such gentle persistence, and a curiosity she could not name stirred within her. And as Stormwind's hooves faded into the distance, Patrick's words lingered, "I am willing to wait, however long it takes."

–

That morning, Patrick stood in his room, carefully folding his traveling cloak and polishing his boots, a heavy ache settling in his chest. The news had come early, he was to sail for business for the next three months. A great opportunity, yes, but it meant leaving Maeve so soon after confessing his feelings. The thought made his fingers tremble as he fastened his belt.

Jeffrey leaned against the doorframe, a teasing smirk on his face.

"You look like the cat that swallowed the canary," Jeffrey said, raising an eyebrow.

"It-" Patrick stopped, running a hand through his hair. "It is not so simple, Jeffrey. Three months... without seeing her. And I barely know how she feels."

Jeffrey chuckled, shaking his head. "I see the mighty Patrick Doyle, conqueror of hearts, has been reduced to a lovesick teenager. You'll survive, cousin. Just remember, absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say."

Patrick gave a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed the turmoil. "Fonder... but my heart aches already."

"Then go," Jeffrey said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go see her, say your goodbyes properly. And for heaven's sake, try not to cry into her hands. She might faint at the sight of you."

Patrick laughed softly despite the weight in his chest. "Very well. I shall endure... for her sake."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Patrick made his way along the winding path that led to Maeve's cottage. Stormwind, his loyal horse, followed patiently, as if sensing the weight of the moment. Patrick's fingers tightened around the reins, from the nervous anticipation that throbbed in his veins.

He reached the small wooden gate and hesitated. The air smelled faintly of fresh hay and the early blossoms that had begun to peek from the garden. Maeve would be there, tending to her morning chores, oblivious to the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and knocked lightly.

Maeve appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a cloth, eyes bright with curiosity. "Patrick?"

Patrick smiled, though it was strained. "Yes. I wished to see you before I depart."

Her brows furrowed slightly, sensing the seriousness in his voice. "Depart? But... today?"

He nodded. "Tomorrow morning. I must travel by sea for business with my father. I shall be away for three months. I could not leave without seeing you first."

Maeve's hands faltered in their task. "Three months? That is a long time."

"It is far too long," Patrick said softly, stepping closer. "And yet, I must go. I cannot refuse the opportunity. But I could not leave without telling you that I am still awaiting your answer."

Her breath caught. "Patrick..."

He reached out, gently taking her hands in his, careful not to startle her. "Maeve, I do not ask for a reply today. Only that you remember the time we have shared, the laughter and the moments we have spent together. I am not gone to forget you. I am gone to hope that when I return, you will have considered me in your heart."

Maeve's cheeks warmed, and she lowered her gaze. "Patrick... I-"

Patrick's voice was tender, almost breaking. "You need not say anything now. Just remember me, and think kindly of our days. I shall count the hours until my return, and I shall hope that you are well, happy, and safe."

She lifted her eyes, meeting his, and for a moment, words failed her. The honesty and the raw vulnerability in his gaze, left her breathless.

"I will remember, Patrick."

A faint smile broke across his lips, though it did not reach his eyes.

"Thank you, Maeve. That is all I ask. It is enough to sustain me across the waves, through the storms, and beneath the sun's cruel glare."

He let go of her hands reluctantly, his own trembling slightly, and took a step back. "I must go now. Stormwind waits, and the tide will not be patient. But know this... you are cherished, Maeve. Always."

Maeve's voice was barely a whisper. "And you, Patrick, shall be safe."

Patrick nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He mounted Stormwind, adjusting the reins, the polished leather glinting in the evening sun. The horse shifted, impatient to move, and Patrick patted its neck. "Hold steady, my friend."

Maeve's hands clutched the gate as he guided Stormwind down the path. He urged Stormwind forward, the hooves striking the earth in a steady rhythm. Maeve watched him go, there was a tightness in her chest, her heart was fluttering. The path seemed longer now, stretching endlessly as he disappeared from sight, carrying with him the promise of return and the unspoken words that hung heavy in the air.

That evening, Patrick returned home, the weight of departure pressing on him. He found Jeffrey in the study, reading quietly by the fire, his brow furrowed with mild curiosity. Patrick closed the door behind him, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Jeffrey," Patrick began, voice low and earnest. "There is something I require of you before I go."

Jeffrey looked up, sensing the gravity in his cousin's tone. "And what might that be?"

Patrick stepped closer, his eyes serious. "While I am gone, you must watch over Maeve. See that she is well and that she fares as she should. She is important to me, Jeffrey. I cannot bear to be away and know that she struggles without someone to help her, even in small matters."

Jeffrey raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. "You want me to babysit her?"

Patrick's jaw clenched, a small, almost imperceptible frown. "Not babysit. Ensure she is safe, that she is well, that she does not face hardship alone. She is dear to me, cousin. I cannot leave knowing she is unattended."

Jeffrey chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You are unusually solemn tonight, Patrick. Very well, I shall keep an eye on her. But I warn you, if she collapses from berries or chores or mischief, you shall not blame me."

Patrick allowed a faint smile, gratitude softening his features. "I trust you. More than I trust anyone else. You have always been good to me. Promise me, Jeffrey, you will help me keep her well until I return."

"I promise," Jeffrey said firmly, meeting his cousin's gaze. "She will be fine. I shall see to it personally."

Patrick's shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension in his chest easing at last. "Thank you, Jeffrey. Your assistance means more than you know. I leave with the hope that when I return, she will still think kindly of me, and perhaps her heart will be ready to give me an answer."

Jeffrey smirked. "And if it's not?"

Patrick's lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained serious. "Then I shall wait. I can wait, however long it takes."

The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Patrick's thoughts drifted to Maeve, her laughter, her gentle teasing, the way she had looked at him that evening. He held onto that image tightly, committing it to memory, knowing that it would sustain him across the long sea voyage.

"Go then," Jeffrey said at last, standing and placing a reassuring hand on Patrick's shoulder. "She will be safe. You can travel knowing that."

Patrick nodded, a soft sigh escaping him. "I shall depart at first light. May the winds be favourable, and may the sea be kind."

Jeffrey watched as Patrick left the study, a quiet resolve in his posture. He knew that his cousin's heart was heavy, but he also knew that Patrick's intentions were pure. As the door closed behind him, Jeffrey whispered to himself, "I shall see to it, cousin. She will be well and perhaps, in time, you shall have your answer."

Outside, the night was calm, the stars twinkling faintly above the village. Patrick paused for a moment, looking up at the sky, the weight of his promise and hope settling over him. He whispered softly, almost to himself, "Three months and I shall return. Hold steady, Maeve. Hold steady, my heart."

–

Patrick's departure left a quietness behind it that neither Jeffrey nor Maeve knew how to name at first. It wasn't loneliness exactly, more like a widening of space. Jeffrey found himself missing teasing Patrick. Maeve found herself waiting for the sound of his steps on the path, the sound of his voice and the way her name rolls off his tongue smoothly.

Jeffrey did as his cousin had asked. He went to see Maeve everyday before attending to his own business. They talked of everything, weather and fields, books Jeffrey had read and places Maeve had never seen. Laughter came easily now. They've now become close friends.

It was on one such afternoon that Jeffrey arrived at the O'Rourke cottage with purpose quickening his stride. He checked the usual part where Maeve would always tend to her chores but she wasn't there. He called out to her but got no response. He lifted his hand to knock, and that was when something hard and merciless struck his back.

"Oof-!"

Pain exploded between his shoulders, sharp enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Jeffrey stumbled forward with a strangled gasp, barely catching himself before he hit the doorframe.

"And who might you be?Sneaking about my home like a thief?" a woman's voice snapped.

Jeffrey turned slowly, wincing, one hand pressed to his back. Before him stood Maeve's mother, gripping a thick wooden stick like she had every intention of using it again.

"Madam-I assure you-" He wheezed, trying to straighten. "I meant no harm."

"No harm?" She raised the stick again. "That's what they all say."

"Mama-NO!"

Maeve's voice rang out like a bell. She appeared from behind the house, a basket of potatoes balanced on her hip, her face draining of colour as she took in the scene.

"That's my friend!" she cried, dropping the basket and rushing forward. "Mama, please! You'll kill him!"

Her mother froze. "Your... friend?"

Maeve was already at Jeffrey's side, gripping his arm. "Are you hurt?" she whispered urgently.

"I've survived worse," Jeffrey said through a tight smile, though his back throbbed like fire. "I think."

Maeve rounded on her mother. "Why would you strike him like that mother?"

Her mother frowned, lowering the stick slightly. "Because strange men don't wander onto respectable property unannounced."

"He's not strange," Maeve insisted. "He's Jeffrey. Jeffrey O'Connell."

The name worked like magic. Her mother's expression softened instantly. "An O'Connell?" She gasped. "Saints preserve us-why didn't you say so?"

Jeffrey bowed slightly despite the pain. "Entirely my fault, madam."

She hurried forward, suddenly flustered. "Did I hit you too hard?"

"Only enough to shorten my life by a decade," he said lightly.

Maeve bit her lip to stop a laugh.

"Oh dear." Her mother winced. "Come inside at once. Let me fetch salve. Maeve, help him."

Jeffrey was ushered in, seated, fussed over until his pride nearly expired. At last, he cleared his throat.

"Mrs O'Rourke," he said politely, "I came with a request."

She straightened. "Go on, please."

"There is a ball in three days' time," he said, glancing at Maeve. "And I wished to ask if Maeve might attend-with me. With your permission, of course."

Maeve's breath caught. Her mother studied them both, her sharp eyes missing nothing. At length, she nodded. "If my daughter wishes it."

Maeve looked at Jeffrey, eyes bright. "I do."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Three days later, Jeffrey came in a carriage to take Maeve with him to the ball. When he got to the cottage, he treaded with caution, just to make sure he doesn't lose his head this time. He was about to knock when the door flew open and there she was. Jeffrey forgot how to breathe.

Maeve wore an emerald green gown with a modest neckline, framed with delicate lace. The skirt flowed full and heavy. Her hair had been arranged carefully, half swept up, the rest tumbling in soft waves down her back, fiery red against the deep green of the dress.

Jeffrey stared unashamedly.

His mouth parted before he could stop it.

"My God," he breathed. "Maeve..."

Before she could speak, he took her hand gently and pressed a soft kiss at the back of her hand. His eyes staring deep into her green ones.

Suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. "Is it... too much?" she asked softly. "I feared it might be too bold."

"Too-" He let out a weak laugh, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to wake himself from a dream. "You look as though the earth itself dressed you for the evening. I fear I may embarrass myself if I continue staring."

Her cheeks warmed instantly. "You are exaggerating."

"I am restraining myself," he corrected smoothly.

She laughed, the sound easing his chest. "You are impossible, Jeffrey."

"And you," he said, stepping closer, voice lowering, "are devastating."

Before she could protest again, he reached into his coat pocket. "There is something I wished to give you."

She looked down at his hand as he opened his palm. Nestled there was an emerald necklace-delicate yet striking, the stone catching the light like a captured piece of forest sun.

"Oh no," Maeve said at once, shaking her head. "Jeffrey, I cannot-"

"It is not excessive," he interrupted gently. "Nor is it an obligation."

She backed away half a step. "It is far too fine. People will talk."

"Let them," he said easily. "They already will."

She folded her arms stubbornly. "I will not be paraded like a jewel."

A smile tugged at his lips. "Then think of it not as adornment, but as appreciation."

She hesitated.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. "Have you any notion what colour your eyes turn when the light touches them just so?"

She swallowed. "Green."

"Emerald," he corrected softly. "The very same shade as this stone. Entirely coincidental, I assure you." His eyes flicked pointedly to her dress.

"Though fate does seem to enjoy flattering you."

Her resolve wavered. "You are manipulating me."

"I prefer the term persuasive."

She sighed. "If I accept this, it is only because you have an unfair way with words."

Jeffrey stepped behind her, fingers warm and careful as he fastened the necklace. "If I possessed a fairer way," he murmured near her ear, "I would use it for you alone."

She shivered.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The carriage ride to the ball was filled with nervous laughter. Maeve pressed her hands together in her lap, peering through the window as the grand estate came into view, lights glowing warmly against the night.

"I do not belong here," she whispered.

Jeffrey turned toward her at once. "You belong wherever you choose to stand."

Inside, the hall buzzed with conversation and music. Maeve was introduced to more noblemen and ladies than she could count, her head spinning with names and titles. An elderly woman with sharp eyes and a knowing smile paused before them, studying Maeve intently.

"Well," she said, turning to Jeffrey, "you've done well for yourself. She is a beauty to behold" She turned to Maeve "You are a vision, my dear."

Maeve flushed. "You are too kind, madam."

"Oh, nonsense. I have eyes yet." She leaned closer conspiratorially. "Do not dally too long, Jeffrey. If you wait, some other man may snatch her away."

Jeffrey laughed nervously. "I assure you-"

"I expect to see little red-haired O'Connells racing about the estate before long," the woman continued cheerfully. "A shame if I were made to wait."

Maeve nearly choked.

Jeffrey cleared his throat, ears burning. "You are incorrigible, Aunt."

"I am truthful," she said with a wink. "I trust the evening will be a delight."

When the music began, Jeffrey turned to Maeve and bowed slightly. "May I have the honour of this dance?"

She returned the courtesy, heart fluttering. "I must warn you-I am not skilled."

"Then I shall guide you," he said gently. "You need only trust me."

She placed her hand in his. The moment he drew her close, the world narrowed to the warmth of his palm at her waist, the steady rhythm of his breath. He caught the scent of her and it nearly undid him.

Her cheeks bloomed pink. "You are standing far too close."

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I forget myself."

The music quickened, and they moved together, her steps were hesitant at first, then smoother. She followed his lead instinctively, their bodies aligning as though they had practiced for years.

"You are doing beautifully," he whispered.

"I am merely copying you," she replied breathlessly.

"And yet," he said, admiration thick in his voice, "you make it your own."

As the music slowed again, they came to a gentle stop, both flushed and breathless. Jeffrey did not release her at once. A loose curl had fallen across her cheek. He reached up slowly, brushing it aside with his fingers.

"Maeve," he said softly, voice almost reverent, "you are more beautiful than any song played tonight, more beautiful than any jewel I could ever place upon you."

Her breath caught.

They leaned toward one another-so close-

_