Re: 9:45ish
Cath had his faith. He didn't expect Mae to understand or even participate (beyond the Catholic wedding ceremony he'd insisted on), but he was going to do things like cross himself at the mention of the dead. She should be well used to it by now, considering.
He was just as willing to let it go as Mary and Mae were. And he'd rather prefer they start a new topic before Mae decided to go commit bloody murder.
Saints, too late. Bloody crazy girl.
Cathair downed the rest of his beer, slamming him own mug into the counter with a frustrated growl. It was very flattering she was so rabidly possessive of him and truth be told, if a bloke came onto her he'd be just as furious. Granted, the matter would already be solved, since Mae would break the bastard's jaw, but the ridiculous possessiveness was mutual. She was his and he was hers and that was the end of it.
"'Cuse us, luv," he apologized to Mary as he rose as well. It was partially an apology for what he was about to do to keep his wife from getting herself thrown in the brig.
He grabbed Mae around the waist and pulled her in close. One hand moved down to cup her bum with a squeeze and the other traveled up her back to cup the base of her skull. He kissed her fiercely and deeply, tongue ravaging her mouth hungrily.
He finally broke the kiss, panting and more than a little worked up. She had that affect on him in full spate without the dirty snog. "I've a better idea," he murmured into her ear. "How about we dance and make the bitch pea green with envy at what she'll never bloody have?"