caught up with him a few times, and he had the same build as Finn and Duncan. I thought it might’ve been one of them—and had I no’ kenned Finn was at the MacIan keep, I might’ve called out, accusing him of playing a trick.” His nostrils flared, his attention still on her lips. “But his hair, when I saw it, was redder than Finn’s and Duncan’s. I got close enough to grab him when he suddenly disappeared through a wall.”
She sucked in a gasp, which drew his attention to her chest for some reason. “The ghost!”
Distractedly, he shook his head. “He was flesh and blood. An outsider though, one who kens the ways of our secret passages.” It seemed as though it took significant effort to drag his gaze back to her eyes. “Do ye ken who it might be? Some MacKinnon, who arrived with ye?”
‘Twas difficult to concentrate on his questions with him standing so close and being so—so—warm. And hard. And big. And—and—muscly.
She well remembered the way his chest had felt under her palms when she’d braced herself against him and slid her aching, dripping core over his cock. She remembered the feel of his skin against hers, the feel of his lips on her breasts.
Surely ‘twas the only reason she felt herself drawn so completely toward him, the reason she was now leaning forward so far, until her chest brushed against his?
“Kat?”
She blinked. “Aye?” Her whisper sounded hoarse to her own ears, her gaze on his lips.
“Do ye—do ye ken who the man I saw might be?”
He was asking her a question. With great effort, she managed to swallow down her desire. “Nay, I cannae think of any…”
When she trailed off, he didn’t seem to notice. His shoulders stretched with each breath, as if he were struggling to control himself. “Kat…” he whispered.
Her gaze on his jaw, she breathed, “Aye, Kiergan?” in return.
He muttered something she couldn’t comprehend at that moment and dropped her hands. She felt a momentary loss, but then his arms were around her, tugging her even closer.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she knew—knew—he was going to kiss her.
He hadn’t kissed her the night she’d climbed atop him, but he was going to now.
He bent his head, inhaling softly through flared nostrils as if trying to catch her scent. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed herself up on her toes, determined to meet him halfway.
Their lips strained for one another, and then—
“Laddie, the courtyard is nae place for wooing!”
Kiergan jerked away so quickly, Katlyn almost fell over. But his arms were still around her, and she did naught more than fall against his chest for a moment, before remembering where they were—finally—and hurrying to straighten.
Once he knew she could stand on her own, he dropped his arms, and they both turned guilty looks on the portly priest hurrying toward them. When his gaze landed on her, the older man stopped short, his thick brows nearly touching his hairline, before he hummed and lifted a hand to stroke his beard.
“Well, this is unexpected,” he chuckled, resuming his stroll toward them. “I’ve seen Kiergan wooing lasses in the courtyard afore of course, but…” He shook his head, still smiling. “Katlyn MacKinnon, I presume?”
Since he wasn’t staring at her eyes with any censure, Kat tried to hold on to what Moira had said about their priest—for surely this was Father Ambrose—as she curtseyed. “Aye, Father,” she said softly, keeping her gaze on his cassock. “ ’Tis pleased I am ye ken me.”
“None of that, lassie,” the old man admonished jovially, “and do yer speaking to my face, if ye dinnae mind.” When she lifted her eyes to his, he nodded happily. “For does the Bible no’ tell us, cut no’ thy tomato on a pewter plate, lest the acids drive ye mad?”
Since he was still looking at her, Katlyn blinked and slowly shrugged. “I—I dinnae ken, Father. I’ve never heard that verse.”
Kiergan was less polite. “Father Ambrose, what the fook’s a tomato?”
But the priest just waved away their objections. “I’m certain I read about that somewhere. Anyhow, I’m more interested in ye.” He settled his hands on his hips and smiled at them both. “Here I was, under the impression yer father sent for the MacKinnons so ye could marry the other lass.”
The pretty one. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to.
Kiergan shrugged, and then, to her surprise, took her hand once more. ‘Twas as if he were