7. Maeve

Iopened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

No way. No way could he be here.

This is insane.

But it was him all right, looking just as gorgeous as ever in dark jeans, a sleeveless grey hoodie, and his black curly hair all messed up in this totally adorable way. The same tattoos curled up both his arms – in the gray-hued daylight I could see pictures amongst the knotwork – intricate black and grey images of gods and demons battling with short swords and round shields. Around his wrists were lines of what might have been text written in a strange code of long and short sticks. It looked familiar, but my jet-lagged brain couldn’t think where I’d seen it before.

Mr. British laughed easily, running a hand through his thick hair. “Don’t worry, I get that you’re shocked. I’m a bit miffed at the situation, myself. Especially after what happened the first time we met. But trust me, there’s nothing nefarious going on. It’s just a weird coincidence. Please, come in. Welcome to Briarwood House.”

I didn’t budge, but I did manage to push out some words. “You… you don’t seem surprised to see me?”

Mr. British smiled. “Emily – she’s our lawyer – showed me a picture of you, and I realized you must be either the girl from the fair or her long-lost twin sister. I was going to tell you in my last email, but I was worried you might not come if you thought I was stalking you or something. My name’s Corbin, by the way. Corbin Harris.”

“You’re the one who wrote me that note.”

“That’s right. I’m one of your tenants. Please, let me take your rucksack. Did you pay the driver?”

“Oh, yeah.” I gave the driver a wave as he handed over my bag. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, luv.” The driver tipped his hat. Taxi drivers in England were much more polite than back home. I hoped he could afford to buy himself something nice with his hundred-and-eighty-four pounds.

I followed Corbin through the enormous doors, which led under a deep arch into a large internal courtyard. My sneakers slipped against uneven cobbles as we twisted our way through an assortment of outdoor tables and signs directing tourists to a gift shop. I stared up at the sheer stone walls surrounding us on all four sides. A covered walkway around the second story gave access to the upper rooms, and I could just make out the tops of two towers in the far corners.

Whoa. I own this.

My mother used to live here.

Mr. British is my tenant.

It was too crazy to be real.

Across the courtyard, Corbin opened a smaller wooden door with intricate swirling hinges on the wall of the inner Norman keep, and led me into a small antechamber screened with wooden walls where I removed my shoes and lined them up alongside several pairs of scuffed boots and sneakers.

Corbin picked up my backpack and I followed him into an enormous square entrance hall. A stone staircase swooped up from just in front of the door, flanked by a stunning carved balustrade. My socks scuffed across more uneven flagstones. Every single spare surface of wall was covered with gilded portraits, animal heads, or swords and shields.

Corbin pointed up at the ceiling. I expected to see an ornate chandelier, but instead there was a large hole, revealing a glimpse at the painted ceiling of the walkway above.

“See that?” Corbin grinned. “That’s an original feature of the Norman keep. If the enemy managed to breach this inner door, the defenders could pour boiling water or pitch down on them.”

I shuddered. That was kind of grisly. “Don’t tell me this whole castle is riddled with Norman booby traps.”

“Not too many. We don’t exactly get marauding Vikings attacking these days,” he said. “Unless you count Arthur.”

“Who?”

Corbin grinned. “Another of your tenants. You’ll understand when you meet him in a second. The castle has been a defensive structure much longer than it’s been a residence, so I like that these features help us to remember its history—” his face broke into this sheepish smile that made my heart skip a beat. “Sorry if I’m boring you. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’m fascinated by the history of Briarwood House. I help with the tours, which is how we keep the place running without selling ourselves on the streets.”

“And you’re also a medical miracle worker.” I held out my arm so Corbin could see how smooth the skin was. “My sister said you knew just what to do, and I don’t have any burns or scars.”

His smile could melt the ice caps. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m good at looking after people.”

That didn’t seem like a good enough answer, but I decided to leave it for now.

“Your parents knew my mother,” I said.

Corbin nodded. “You must have so many questions, and I promise to answer them all for you. But you’ve got to get inside the door first. Come on, the others are chuffed to meet you.”

Chuffed? What is this, a Mary Poppins movie? Do people really talk like this?

He led me through an arched doorway at the side of the entrance hall, down a short passage of more screens lit with glowing wrought-iron sconces. We emerged into an enormous room. Ceiling beams crisscrossed above my head, hiding a roof gable that was so high I couldn’t even see the apex. The walls were covered with a lime wash that had faded in places, revealing patches of bare stone beneath. Tapestries depicting battles and naked dancing sprites hung from every corner, and more swords hung from the walls and beams, and were even slotted through the wrought-iron chandeliers.

A fireplace that was taller than I was stood at one end, with overstuffed couches and beanbag chairs arranged around it. Above the fireplace was an impressive TV screen, with several gaming consoles and controllers strewn across the mat in a tangle of cords.

My eyes were so busy drinking in the splendor of the room that I didn’t even notice the three figures lounging on the couches and talking in low voices until Corbin yelled out, “Look who’s here!”

Three faces whipped around, and my eyes darted between them, not sure where to look first.

There was so much to take in.

First of all, like Corbin, they were all fucking gorgeous. I’m talking male model, bodybuilding champions, romance novel cover levels of hotness, and that was with their clothes on.

One hot tenant in my castle was good luck, but four of them? My stomach fluttered. It was like some crazy hedonistic fairy tale.

What the hell have I got myself into?

For another thing, they were all grinning at me with beautiful, genuine smiles. They didn’t look as though they thought I was some naive girl from the sticks who they could corrupt, or some horrible landlord who would make their lives hell. Instead, my first impression was of friendliness and… perhaps something more.

Or maybe that was just my own sad, lonely hope fluttering in my chest.

Empathy and kindness lurked in their eyes, and I got the sense that they knew what had happened to me back in the States. The press had been all over it, so anyone who searched my name would’ve been able to stream mobile phone footage of the accident.

Somehow, just occupying the same space as them made my breath come a little easier. A weight I didn’t even realize I’d been holding slipped from my shoulders, and the tiniest amount of pressure was released from my chest.

I took a step toward them, and for the first time since the fair and all the tragedy that followed, a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

I felt… something.

Maybe this whole living in a castle with four hot strangers thing would be exactly what I needed.

“Hi,” I gave one of those awkward half-shrug, half-wave things when you meet new people and don’t know if you should shake their hand or if that makes them think you’re an accountant. “I’m Maeve.”

“Howiye, Maeve. Flynn O”Hagan, at your service,” the first guy said with a thick Irish accent as he grabbed my hand, swept into a deep bow, and placed his full lips right against my knuckles. Thick red curls fell over his eyes as he looked up at me. “Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Maeve Moore.”

Where his lips pressed against my skin, fire whizzed straight down my arm and flared right in my core. I’d never had a guy greet me quite like that before, especially one who looked like Flynn. Sunlight streaming through the high gothic windows caught his vibrant red hair, making it glow like a golden halo around his head. But unlike an angel, the glint in his blue eyes was pure devil.

And there was something else about those mischievous eyes, those cheekbones like razors. They felt familiar to me, as though I’d seen them somewhere before. On a movie poster perhaps. Flynn was hot enough to be an actor. But somehow I didn’t think that was it.

My mouth moved, but I couldn’t think of any words. What do you say to a hot Irishman kissing your hand?

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” I finally managed to choke out. Flynn stood up, but he didn’t drop my hand. Instead, he yanked me around the end of the sofa and pulled me down beside him.

“Come pull up a pew and tell us all about yourself. Your accent is outrageous. You sound like someone from the telly.”

“What’s a telly?” I asked, and Flynn burst out laughing – a deep belly laugh that coursed through his whole body, causing his leg to vibrate and my whole nervous system to go into overdrive.

“A television,” Corbin explained. “Flynn, the girl’s been in the country less than four hours. You can’t expect her to have re-learned her entire vocabulary in that time.”

“I can and will.” Flynn slid his foot across the table and knocked off a stack of books. “Arthur, where’s the booze? We’re celebrating Miss Maeve’s arrival. This calls for a round.”

“All right, all right, hold your horses,” snapped the largest of the four guys, who I’d deduced must be Arthur. He wiped a long strand of dirty-blond hair out of his eye, and gave me a wink. His eyes were blue, too – a cold, ice blue to Flynn’s deep ocean shade. I was too busy admiring him to respond.

Arthur’s blond mane spilled over his shoulders, flowing down his back nearly to his butt. It too shone in the sunlight, rippling like a shampoo commercial as he moved. I longed to run my hands through it. Andrew from Astronomy Club had the same dull buzzed haircut as all the guys in Arizona. The same haircut you got when you joined the armed services, which was not a coincidence in my town.

But back to Arthur, because no way should I even be thinking about Andrew when I was looking at all my Geralt of Rivia fantasies come to life. Wow. He had this strong, staunch face that said he took no shit from anyone, but his eyes shone with this beautiful kindness that made me want to fall into them and get lost forever. The strength in his features was accentuated by a dark beard, not trimmed like a hipster, but wild and free. An ornate earring dangled from his left earlobe, and I caught the edge of tattoos peeking over his collar and wrists. I saw what Corbin meant by his marauding Viking comment, although to me Arthur looked more like Geralt, or a blond Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.

I always had a thing for Aragorn.

Right now, Arthur was standing behind a large oak bar in the corner of the room, fiddling with some epic glass bottles. He held one up nodded at me. “Mead?”

“What’s mead?”

“It’s wine made with honey,” Arthur explained. “It’s an ancient drink that used to be shared among warriors while they drank in their halls.”

Fuck, he really is Aragorn.

“Arthur brews it himself,” Corbin said, indicating that he’d also like a glass.

“You brew your own alcohol? Does it strip paint off houses?” The football team quarterback brewed moonshine in his dad’s barn, and it was shared around at high school parties. I’d never imbibed paint stripper, but I imagined they shared a similar taste.

“It’s really sweet. I think you’ll like it.” Flynn said. “Not for me, though. I’ll have a dram of that famed Tullamore Dew whiskey, cheers very much.”

“I’ll make some tea.” The fourth guy – dark-skinned like Corbin and beautiful, if that was possible, with dreadlocks spilling down his back – got up and scurried from the room.

“Rowan’s a mite shy.” Flynn settled in the couch, accepting a glass filled with amber liquid from Arthur. “We keep telling him that girls don’t bite, but he always makes a holy show of himself.”

“Don’t be cruel.” Corbin helped Arthur with the goblets. “You know Rowan can’t help the way he is.”

“Who’s being cruel? Rowan made eccles cakes this morning. He’s a good friend, unlike the rest of you gobshites.”

“This is so cool.” I took the goblet Arthur offered me and sniffed the pale liquid. It smelled rich and syrupy. “I’m fascinated by fermentation. I used to make kombucha, but no one in my family would drink it. I tried to make ginger beer once, but it exploded all over the cupboard. I always wanted to try alcohol, but my parents didn’t want any alcohol in the house.”

“I’ll teach you if you like.” Arthur raised his own earthenware goblet and clinked it against mine. “Corbin said you were into science, and home brewing is basically delicious chemistry. We have our own hives on the property, so there is lots of honey.”

I turned to Corbin. “How do you know I’m into science?”

Corbin looked uncomfortable. “I… well, I saw the chemistry kit on your desk and the space posters in your room, when I?—”

“Right.” I gulped. When he helped carry me home after I nearly died in the same accident that killed my parents, and somehow managed to treat all my wounds and burns so they healed perfectly in just a few days.

An awkward silence descended on the room. Corbin and Arthur exchanged a glance. I wanted to sink into the floor.

Way to bring the conversation to a grinding halt, Maeve.

“I have tea.” The fourth guy was back. He mumbled his words into the floor as he sat down opposite me, balancing a delicate tray filled with a painted china teapot and tea cups.

“This is Rowan.” Corbin nudged the fourth guy with his elbow. “Rowna, meet Maeve.”

“Hi,” I said, watching him lift the pot and fill one of the cups, which he set on the table in front of him.

Rowan leaned forward, dreadlocks flopping over his face. He had a wide, toothy smile that peeked out from behind the curtain of his hair and set my stomach aflutter. His hand slid against mine, and when he spoke his soft voice was smooth as silk.

“Hey, Maeve, welcome to Briarwood. It’s brilliant to have you here at last.”

That at last was weird. After all, no one could predict that my parents would be killed and my scholarship rescinded and my childhood home taken away.

My parents are dead. I’m an orphan for the second time in my life.

The force of that realization hit me again, and I jerked away. Here I was, smiling and flirting with these guys in the home of the woman who’d birthed me but who I never met, and all the while on the other side of the earth, the Crawfords lay under six feet of dirt.

And I still couldn’t cry.

The horrible, consuming numbness clung to my body, and I struggled to breathe against the tightness in my chest. I dug my fingers into my palm, but even that pain felt remote – something that was happening to some other girl in some other place.

Rowan shifted, his gaze falling back to the floor. “I said something wrong. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, tearing my eyes away from him and staring at my palm. My nails had drawn a drop of blood. “No, it’s… my parents only died two weeks ago, and I’ve left them five thousand miles behind me. It’s still pretty raw.”

“Then it’s lucky for you that you’re here with us fine lads.” Flynn flopped down beside me, his arm slipping around my shoulder and pulling me against him. “We’re here to do all the cheering up you need.”

“Wait a sec…” I scanned Flynn’s face, and suddenly, it came to me. He was a little older, more filled out, more rough-around-the-edges, but it was him. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You went to my…”

“High school.” Flynn ran a hand through his wild red hair as he held out his hand. “A few weeks of senior year. You caught me, Inspector Morse.”

“Inspector who?”

Corbin laughed. “It’s a detective show on the telly. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“You were an exchange student,” I went on, trying to remember the loud, obnoxious boy who’d disrupted my classes and who made my heart beat uncomfortably fast every time I passed him in the halls. “But you had a different name?—”

“Same name my mam gave me, but most of the kids called me Irish, or Red.”

“I can’t imagine why.” I reached up and ruffled his red mop. “I remember you being an absolute terror. I was relieved when you went home.”

I had been, in a way. It was much easier to focus on my grades and MIT application without the hot exchange student distracting me. And it’s not as if I ever spoke to him. I was far too nervous around pretty, popular boys.

Except, as it appears, when they’re my tenants.

“Aw shucks,” Flynn grinned wide. “Mission accomplished.”

“This is such a crazy coincidence.” I took another sip of my mead and tried not to focus on just how close Flynn’s leg was to mine. “I’ve met two of your before – in Coopersville, of all places. It’s not exactly a happening metropolis.”

Flynn and Corbin exchanged a look. Flynn started to say something, but Corbin talked over top of him. “It’s not as strange as you’d think. Both of us have friends in Arizona, so we visit a lot. Flynn wanted to do a year overseas, and it seemed a logical place to go, but it turns out that he doesn’t really have the attention space for school. But that’s a story for another day. You must be knackered from the flight. Do you want to take a kip?”

I shook my head. Weirdly, as soon as I’d stepped into the house, the weariness of the journey lifted from my shoulders. “Research shows that the best way to combat jet lag is to sync with your destination’s schedule as quickly as possible. I’ll stay up as late as I can. What time is it now, anyway?”

Corbin checked his phone. “It’s just on half twelve.”

“I don’t know what that means.” I didn’t know what half the things they said meant. Knackered. Kip. Eccles cakes. It was like they were all speaking another language.

“Twelve-thirty.”

Arthur gulped down the rest of his mead and slammed the earthenware goblet down on the table. “In that case, we’ll give you the tour of your new home. As you would have seen when you came up the drive, the castle is pretty big. We only live in this one wing, around the original Norman keep. Most of the east wing – that’s the late medieval and Tudor wing – is reserved for the English Heritage tours, and some of the third floor rooms are empty.”

It sounded completely overwhelming. “Lead the way.”

The guys all stood, downing their glasses. I raised mine to my lips and gulped back the rest of the sweet mead. Warmth spread through my stomach as the alcohol entered my system, and another tiny bit of pressure fell away from my chest.

I followed the four guys out of the hall, admiring their asses as they jostled each other to be first through the next door. If nothing else, they were a great distraction – exactly what I needed to feel at least somewhat normal.

A shiver of anticipation shuddered through me. I couldn’t wait to see the rest of the house.