Arthur pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Brother,” he said to the monk, “a moment?”
Rory shut his eyes as Arthur and the monk conferred in low voices, catching “too much snow” and “shouldn’t risk a driver” and something about the morning.
Then Arthur was suddenly looming over him. “Dozing?”
“Nah.” Rory swallowed. “Too keyed up to sleep.”
“Understandable.” Arthur folded his arms. He was still wearing the fancy suit he’d worn to his other brother’s lunch, spotted wet from the snow but still unreasonably nice in the soft light of the monastery office. “The snow’s coming down harder.”
Rory winced.
“Harry and I talked about looking for a driver, but the roads are a mess. He’s going to arrange for transportation in the morning.”
“Then what’re we gonna do tonight?”
“The monks have spare rooms here in the guesthouse. If we want them,” he added, and Rory knew it was a question.
Rory ran a hand over his face, his heart beating uncomfortably fast as a tight band of fear squeezed his chest. “Church or snow,” he said, voice shaky. “I might pick snow.”
“We’re sharing.” When Rory blinked, Arthur spread his hands innocently. “I couldn’t possibly ask the brothers to make up two rooms. We’re putting them out enough as it is. Besides, you could have hit your head when you came down on that bank and I need to watch you for a concussion. As I told them, I was a soldier and I’m perfectly accustomed to tight quarters.” He lowered his voice. “Not out of my sight. Remember?”
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.”
