And that had been the extent of Tavish’s words of wisdom.

Brigid strolled through the grounds with Madoc following her. In the months that Carwyn had left the beast in her care, the dog had wormed its way into her heart, following her around the property when she walked or ran, chasing after the deer with her when she could hunt, and curling at the foot of her bed as she slept. She knew that her room was secure. Knew that even if anyone managed to break in, the dog wouldn’t be able to wake her. Still, for the first time in her life, Brigid had rested easy with another living creature in close proximity. Madoc’s gentle presence had been soothing instead of nerve-wracking. Brigid was grateful for the company and proud of her trust in the gentle beast.

She walked along the edge of the lake, stripping off her sweater to play with the gold fire that had become her companion. Like the dog, its presence had become soothing. Fire was her armor. Her protector. She felt its residence under her skin like a familiar, if volatile, friend. Brigid let the amnis run down the back of her neck, over her shoulders and arms, until it bloomed in her hands. She pushed it away from herself, letting the twin globes of fire hang over the water and reflect in the dark ripples of the lake. Madoc grew excited as she played, yipping and dancing in circles like the overgrown puppy he was.

She focused on the flames as the dog’s excited barks grew. Soon, he was circling a rise in the hill, jumping and dancing in the moonlight.

“Madoc?” What was he on about? He never reacted like this when Tavish was approaching. “What is it, you mad beast?”

The fire drifted away, and Brigid’s heart began to pick up a slow beat as she saw the ground shift under Madoc’s feet. What the—

The ground burst open with a shout as Madoc pounced. Brigid ran over, her arms lit, ready to burn whatever had attacked her dog. She immediately halted when she heard the familiar laugh and the loud voice.

“I heard you barking from twenty feet below, you mad hound! Haven’t you ever heard of the element of surprise? I’ll not be taking you on any missions of stealth, you can be sure of that.”

His dark red hair was flaked with dirt, and his skin was black with mud, but when Carwyn turned to her, there was no mistaking his vivid blue eyes. She broke into a smile just as he rose to his feet. She started toward him, but he only held up a finger.

“One moment,” he said with a grin. Then he stripped off his shirt, tossed it onto grass and dove into the water with glee. Madoc barked along the edge of the lake, waiting for his master to emerge.

He was back.

Her heart was racing now. Did he remember it had been a year? Did he come back for her?

She banished the thought from her mind. Of course he didn’t come back for her. Not like that. He was watching out for her. Like… a priest. Or a friend. Which he was. A priest. A friendly priest.

Then he rose from the lake, the water scattering from his arms as he pushed back his unruly wet hair. Rivulets ran over the dark freckles on his shoulders and down his torso. Thick muscles flexed as the cool moon reflected off the solid planes of his chest. Dark red hair ran in a line down his flat stomach and into dripping wet trousers that covered his hips and muscular legs. Brigid was struck again by his size. Carwyn was enormous. Tall as a small tree and solid as the earth he controlled. He should have been intimidating. But he wasn’t.

He was back.

Damn it.

Priest! Her mind yelled. But Father Jacob didn’t look anything like that. Had Carwyn always had so many muscles? There seemed to be more than the last time she had seen him. Did that happen with vampires? Had he been… working out? He strode toward her with a smile.

“Surprised to see me? Despite this mutt’s warning?”

“Um…” Wasn’t there some rule that priests had to be thin and academic?

“Brigid?”

Or fat and jolly? Safe and approachable?

Carwyn was standing in front of her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m… fine!” she squeaked.

“Are you sure? Sorry I gave you a start.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Father Carwyn ap Bryn was approachable, all right, but not for any reasons the pope would approve of. She could feel the heat rising along her neck. Her heart thumped in her chest and her skin prickled as her eyes landed on a thick cord of muscle at the side of Carwyn’s neck. Her fangs fell down in sudden, passionate awareness as she imagined sinking her teeth into his neck, sucking on the sweet, hot blood that would run—

Oh, she was going to hell.

Just then, her eyes landed on the red outline of a palm on Carwyn’s chest and she froze. Her fangs retracted. Her heart stilled.

A small hand had branded him, searing away the scattered hair that covered his chest, raising an angry red welt. It had healed smooth, but the mark was still there.

“I did that,” she whispered, staring at the scars that marred his skin.

His voice dropped. “Brigid—”

“I did that.” She spread her hand and placed it over the burn. “I burned you. I hurt you.”

“It’s nothing,” he said in a hoarse voice. He pressed his hand over hers and held it there. She could feel the calm thump of his heart and her eyes rose to his. “It’s nothing, Brigid. A wound that has already healed. Please, don’t—”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

Their eyes locked and Brigid knew he was telling the truth, but she still wondered, had every touch hurt him? Her eyes raced over his skin, and a gasp tore from her throat. A red band from her arm. Fingerprints on his neck where she’d clutched him as he carried her. She felt strong fingers grasp her chin as Carwyn forced her to meet his eyes.