"The shadow moved along the wall toward the front of the chapel. Heather followed him with her eyes. ’Twas not the devil but a man. Most definitely not Father Hurley. He was taller by at least a foot—and wide by about the same. His black robes billowed around his form, swishing around his ankles with each step, and sending whispers of fear with every move. The silver chain around his neck swung the large crucifix it held like a pendulum. Back and forth.

A man of the cloth? Her hair prickled. He looked like death come to take her. Heather stared at the cross, at the man in robes, hypnotized by his stealthy, calculated movements, her eyes wide and immobilized. She finally blinked when they stung with dryness.

“Are ye new to Dunrobin?” she asked, refusing to believe he might be the reaper and wondering why no one had told her there was a new priest.

He stopped a few feet away, just outside the line of light from the candles.

“Nay.” His voice was deep, dark, and slid over her body shamefully, in a way that made her want to hear him speak again.

Lord, help her impetuous nature.

Heather made a sign of the cross. “I’ve not seen ye before now.” The slight quiver in her tone made her angry.

He didn’t answer. A long pause of silence ensued, making her uncomfortable. Her skin prickled.

“Where is Father Hurley? What are ye doing in here?” The questions tumbled from her tongue.

The man pointed toward the chaplain’s chamber. “He is there. Sleeping.” Again that voice. Why did she like it so much? “And ye? What are ye doing out here? I’m…I’m praying. I want privacy.” She lifted her chin another notch, hoping the odd priest would leave her be, that he hadn’t noticed the slight stutter of her words. When she saw her brother Magnus, she was going to tell him about this odd priest and how uncomfortable he made her. Zounds! She wouldn’t get the chance before she left… The dawn of her new life would begin today. A note then. She would tell Magnus in a note.

“I’m afraid ye won’t be getting any privacy, my lady.” Confidence dripped from his words and slid over her skin in a way that felt wicked.

“Ye are not to talk to me in such a manner.” No matter how hard she tried, she sounded petulant rather than in control.

“And ye need to hold your tongue, ye saucy wench.”

Heather gasped, blanched. Pressed a hand to her chest and took a step back in shock. “What?”

“Ye heard me.” An underlying tone of amusement captured his voice. "