The panic in Rory’s chest loosened, just enough. “Yeah,” he said, almost smiling. “I remember now.”
Chapter Nine
Their room in the guesthouse looked like a monk’s cell, with most of the space filled by the single bed against the wall. Almost everything in the room was wood: the tiny desk and chair beneath a small, square window that showcased dancing snowflakes; the shelf above the bed that held a large cross and several lit candles. No lamp, but a mattress and a roof, which was a lot more than they’d get outside.
Exhaustion and tension warred inside Rory as Arthur helped him limp over the threshold. “We are grateful,” Arthur said quietly to the two monks who’d escorted them.
The younger monk only nodded, maybe practicing silence, but the older of the monks smiled kindly. “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
“Hebrews, chapter thirteen,” Rory muttered. Arthur glanced at him in surprise and Rory sighed. “That chapter also says honor marriage and that God’ll judge adulterers.” He’d heard all those verses too many times to forget.
He sat on the edge of the bed as Arthur accepted a stack of folded blankets and a white box with a red cross.
“If your friend needs a doctor, we can find one,” the older monk offered.
“Thank you, but I’ll tend to him,” Arthur promised, before Rory could panic. “I can wrap a sprain. I’ll make sure he sees a real doctor in the morning.”
Yeah, sure he would. Rory trusted doctors about as much as he trusted the church.
The monks dipped their heads and left, closing the heavy wooden door behind them and leaving Arthur and Rory alone. Rory’s back felt too straight, his shoulders too stiff, his whole body brittle as a dried twig. Arthur should’ve been in his nice big room in Harry’s mansion, sleeping on silk sheets. And Rory sure as heck didn’t want to be here, in a monastery of all places.
Arthur set the blankets on the end of the bed. “I thought you’d be most comfortable with me playing nurse,” he said quietly, as he reached for Rory and eased both coats off. The guesthouse was near-silent outside their door, but his voice was soft enough it didn’t echo off their room’s wooden floors and brick walls and wouldn’t be overheard. “But if you’d rather a doctor—”
Rory rapidly shook his head. “I want you,” he said, just as quietly.
Arthur’s gaze skimmed over Rory, now down to nothing but his thin shirt, the one Arthur’d once popped buttons off. Rory’d found the buttons on the floor but hadn’t had time to stitch them back on. Now, with his tie loose, the collar was falling open to show olive skin under the white fabric.
Arthur’s gaze seemed stuck on the visible skin, then he shook himself. “Likewise,” he said lightly, the word loaded. He put the clothes on the desk, then sat next to Rory on the bed. “First a house overflowing with children, now a monastery,” he said, as he reached down for Rory’s foot. “I certainly know how to show a fellow a good time.”
That startled Rory into a huffed half laugh, his shoulders relaxing just a touch.
“No, none of that, stop smiling. I’m trying to stay cross with you and it’s making me soft.”
Arthur didn’t sound cross at all as he tipped Rory back onto his elbows. He brought Rory’s foot up to rest in his lap, the candlelight illuminating Arthur’s big, broad body and fond smile. The sight of him took the edge off Rory’s nerves. Hard to imagine anything bad getting past Arthur.
Arthur unwrapped the scarf and tossed it to the desk as he pulled a tan bandage out of the first aid kit. “Christ, you’re lucky all you got was a sprain.”
“Hey,” Rory said. “Watch your mouth.”
Arthur glanced up from his foot, one eyebrow up. “You can’t actually care if I swear in a—”
Rory narrowed his eyes.
“Oh.” Arthur blinked. “You do.”
Rory’s jaw tightened. “I said church was complicated. Not the same as saying I don’t believe.”
It sounded ridiculous as he said it and he tensed, ready to be teased.
But Arthur only shrugged. “Fair enough.” His touch was gentle as he swapped the scarf for a real bandage around Rory’s ankle. “Far be it from me to disparage a man’s faith.”
Rory furrowed his brow. “What, you don’t go to church?” he said, feeling stupid to have to ask. He ought to know something like this about Arthur.
Arthur smiled thinly as he secured the bandage. “Of course I do. Attendance is required for all members of any upstanding politician’s family. Whether anyone in our family actually believes, well. I wouldn’t place bets on it.”
For a moment, Rory wasn’t seeing the tiny monastery guest room but Harry Kenzie’s mansion, the endless rooms and grounds, the heirlooms and the priceless art. The world of a politician’s family, where keeping up appearances mattered. Rory swallowed.
Arthur looked up. “Are you all right? You’ve gone a bit paler and—oh.” Self-recrimination suddenly crossed his face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about your faith.”
Rory blinked, confused. “You don’t gotta be sorry. Believing doesn’t make someone a good person, it’s actions that count.”
But Arthur just shook his head. “I didn’t think about what you and I staying here together was asking of you,” he said, which didn’t explain anything. “But you need the rest, so come on, let’s get you into this bed.”
* * *
Together they managed to strip off most of Rory’s still-damp clothes, which Arthur laid around the room to dry best they could in the cold air. Rory put his glasses up on the little wooden shelf with the candles and cross as Arthur arranged the second pillow under his ankle and the extra blankets on top, even spreading the raccoon coat over Rory.
The wind howled outside as Arthur blew out the candles but one, sending the room into near-darkness. Rory settled himself on the edge of the bed, nose nearly against the wall. He was so anxious his chest hurt, but he took a deep breath. There’s nothing in this room you’re gonna scry and get stuck in, he told himself. And you got Ace.
The thought was enough to settle the worst of his nerves again, and he closed his eyes.
A moment later, there was a scrape of wood against wood.
His eyes popped open. “What’re you doing?” He rolled partway onto his back, enough to glance over his shoulder. There was only fuzzy darkness beyond the candle, maybe a silhouette against the soft white glow at the window. “Did you just sit in the desk chair?”