Who knew that a declaration of love was the surest deterrent?

“Oh, Brigid,” he groaned quietly. A thousand years old and he felt clueless as a boy. The woman might be the death of him. He ached for her. Dreamed about her.

“You’re pathetic,” Tavish said.

He sighed. “I know.”

“Why are you down here at the pub?”

“Because you and Max insisted I give her some space.”

Tavish shrugged. “Well, we were wrong. Go get your woman, Father.”

Carwyn frowned. “Why are you suddenly so eager to see me leave?”

“Because you’re sighing into your beer and ruining the match. You’re pathetic. Go convince her she’s not going to hell for kissing you, then live happily ever after or something. But stop sighing into your beer.”

Max slid next to him and set down another pint. “And stop being pathetic.”

“Wonderful children, both of you. Such support and love. And why does Brigid think she’s going to hell for kissing me?”

Tavish rolled his eyes, clearly disgusted. “Very, very dumb bull.”

Max laughed at his brother, then turned to Carwyn and lowered his voice in the quiet corner of the pub where they were sitting. “Carwyn, are you forgetting who she is? You’re not dealing with an immortal of age and perspective. She’s young. And yes, Brigid knows when you were human priests often married and had families. Yes, she knows that you are a thousand-year-old earth vampire who doesn’t often abide by the orthodoxies of your faith. I’d even say she loves you, too. But she’s also an Irish Catholic who has seen you wearing a collar. Of course she has reservations.”

Carwyn sat, blinking in surprise. “You think she loves me, too?”

Tavish snarled. “Pathetic! Go away. Maybe you should take up writing sonnets in your spare time.”

Max shook his head, smiling. “Tavish was right about one thing. This is going to be more entertaining than wrestling.”

An hour before dawn, Carwyn was still mulling over what Max had said as he wandered back to the castle. He cut through the woods where he had kissed Brigid.

Oh, that kiss.

Too much and not enough. Kissing Brigid had been like pressing his lips to bottled fire. Her passion was a revelation. As he passed by the clearing, he caught her scent and approached quietly, resisting the urge to pounce.

She was standing in front of the tree where he’d cornered her. She had her hand pressed against the black outline she’d left in the trunk of the oak and wore a concentrated frown. He stood behind some thick brush and watched her for a minute.

“I know you’re there, Carwyn.”

He smiled and stepped into the clearing. “Of course you do.”

“Besides, the rather powerful feel of your amnis, you’re not very stealthy when you move above ground.”

Carwyn leaned against a tree, careful to keep his distance. He ached for her, but he wanted to talk to her more. “I’ll keep that in mind. How are you?”

She finally looked at him and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Complicated.”

“Good. I hate being bored.”

A sad uncertainty came into her eyes. “Carwyn, I just don’t know what you expect from—”

“Do you really think you’re going to hell because I kissed you? Is it the collar? Is that why you ran away?”

The sadness turned stricken, and her mouth gaped open in shock. Then Brigid turned heel and ran.

His head fell back against the tree and he groaned. “You’ve really got to stop doing that, love.”

Carwyn took off after her, his long strides eating up the distance between them. He tackled her just before she reached the castle; then he picked her up, kicked open the door, and carried her toward the basement living room.

“You bastard, put me down!” She beat on his back as they walked down the stairs, but he didn’t release her. If she really wanted to be let down, all she’d have to do was—

“Bloody hell!” he yelped when she pulled up the back of his shirt and lay two burning hands on the small of his back. He dropped her immediately, but luckily, they were already in the den. “That hurts, Brigid!”

“I told you to put me down, you big brute! Next time, listen to me.”

“Is it so wrong that I want to talk to you and not worry about you running away?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Carwyn just stood, staring at her, blocking the door, and waiting.

Finally, she blurted out, “I had a crush on you when I was sixteen!”

He smothered a smile. “You did?” Well that was… completely adorable. He tried to remember what she had looked like when she was sixteen.

“It was ridiculous. I’d built you up in my mind like some kind of knight who had rescued me from the dragon. And—and you were so handsome, and I just… I had a massive crush on you. But then, you came to visit Ioan once, and you had just come from some meeting in Dublin with the bishop, and you had on your collar and your jacket and you just looked so… so holy.”

Carwyn stood, actually rendered speechless. Which was an accomplishment, he had to admit. Brigid was still rambling.

“And I felt so guilty. So, so guilty. I went and confessed to Father Jacob. I told him… well, not everything, of course, but he knew you were a priest. And that I had lustful thoughts toward you and that—”

“You had lustful thoughts?” That was promising.