“Oh, God,” he breathed out. “I love you.”

The crowd on the screen erupted in applause, but the laughter died on her face, overtaken by sheer panic. Brigid’s mouth dropped open, her eyes widened, her breath caught and held a second before she bolted from the silent room. The front door slammed a moment later.

Carwyn turned to see the shocked faces that were ignoring the final round on the screen.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Max nodded.

Tavish said, “That was far more amusing than professional wrestling.”

Cathy only shook her head. “Bit rusty on the wooing skills, aren’t we, Father?”

Max finally rose to his feet. “You idiot!” he hissed. “Go after her before she’s halfway to Glasgow.”

His heart was pounding when he sped from the room.

Smooth, Carwyn. ‘A bit rusty’ was an understatement.

He slipped off his shoes when he reached the door and stretched out with his senses. He felt a trail of her energy speeding away from the house and toward the dark trees where the deer often took shelter. He grinned and followed her.

“Brigid!”

He tracked her past the tree line. Along a narrow stream. She was fast; he’d give her that. But then, perhaps the shock of his confession had terrified her even more than a raging predator. For a moment, he slowed. Had he truly frightened her? Then he remembered the soft, trusting look in her eye the night before. The hunger. The glorious, long-awaited joy he’d only ever imagined lighting her face. He had to see it again. He loved her.

It was so glaringly obvious, he laughed. His possessive behavior around the little shit Murphy. The overwhelming desire for her, when so few women in a thousand years had even tempted him. The ache in his chest when he thought of her strength and determination.

He loved her.

Carwyn found her pacing in a clearing, as if readying for battle. Her head was down, her shoulders stiff, and her hands clenched.

“Brigid?”

She looked at him like a frightened animal caught in a trap.

“Brigid, I’m sorry. That wasn’t the way—”

“Is that what you meant?” she shouted. “Something ridiculous? Something to make me laugh?”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “No!”

“Because that ridiculous joke—”

“Was not a joke!” he roared.

She stopped pacing and glared at him. “Of course it was. You can’t love me.”

He stepped toward her. “Says who?”

Brigid held up a trembling finger. “The pope, for one. And… the church. And I’m fairly sure Father Jacob would have something to say… along with the pope.” Her hand fell, but the glare had turned back to panic as he approached her cautiously.

Carwyn tried to smother his smile. “So, I’m not allowed to love you… because it would anger the pope?”

The panic was growing as he drew closer. “Yes! You’re a priest.”

He lowered his voice to a soothing murmur. “I cheat at poker. And Mario Kart.”

“Still a priest.”

He came closer, but she backed away. Slowly. Carefully. “I watch professional wrestling and use bad language.”

She whispered, “Still a priest.”

“Let’s not even mention the Hawaiian shirts during mass,” he whispered.

Brigid swallowed and took a ragged breath. “Carw—”

“I want you,” he said roughly as her back met a tree. He pressed closer. “More than I have ever wanted any woman in a thousand years.”

Her chest heaved, and she lifted tortured eyes to his. “I can’t!”

Carwyn smiled and shook his head. “Silly Brigid. It’s not anything you can or can’t do. It’s me. I love you. You can argue with me, but it doesn’t change anything.”

He could hear her heart pounding. Smell the rush of her panicked blood.

She whispered, “It changes everything.”

“No.” He braced his arms on the tree behind her and gave into the desire that had eaten at him for months. He leaned down, letting his lips brush over her forehead. Soft. Stroke her temple. Hot. Relaxing her inch by inch with his touch. “I love you. That’s all.”

“You can’t love me, Carwyn. You can’t. This is… some infatuation.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Infatuation. Yes.” Testing lips nipped at her cheek. The taste of her lingered on his lips, and he licked them. He felt her temperature rise and her amnis tentatively reach toward his. He held back a shudder. “Desire.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and her hips shifted slightly toward his.

He put his hand on her cheek. “But it’s more than that. And you know it.”

Another nip at her chin when she sighed. Her hands came up to rest lightly on his shoulders, and he could feel the pulse of her amnis through his clothes.

“Love, Brigid.” He trailed one finger from her collar up her neck, tilting her chin up until their eyes met. She was trembling beneath his touch. “I love you.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because you’re… you.”

“Ridiculous man,” she murmured a moment before her hands grasped his neck and brought his mouth down to meet hers.

Glorious.

Their mouths met in a bruising, hungry kiss that reached down and filled the aching hollow in the center of his chest. His heart pounded as he drew her closer, fumbling like a schoolboy for a moment before instinct took over. The few dalliances that had tempted him had been nothing like this. Brigid consumed him.