Oh. Rory turned his face into the pillow as his smile grew. Outside the window, the wind whistled almost happily, and he pressed backward, just a little closer into Arthur’s warmth. “I know you got weird taste in fellas. Who thinks someone’s a pain and keeps coming back for more when you coulda left me in the snow?”
Arthur’s arm tightened around Rory again, and when he spoke, Rory felt the ghost of breath. “There was a moment tonight when I thought you were at the bottom of the Hudson.”
Rory’s heart lurched. “I didn’t—”
“I know.” Arthur swallowed. “Just—maybe I can’t put my aura in your magic, but you’re not the only one who’s choosing this. All right?”
His voice was slightly raw and he was still holding Rory tightly, like Rory mattered, like he was something worth keeping close. Like maybe Rory wasn’t the only one who’d lose a piece of himself if he lost Arthur.
Rory found Arthur’s hand with his own, and threaded their fingers together over his own heart. “All right,tesoro,” he said softly. “Anything for you.”
Chapter Ten
Arthur was not too proud to admit a profound sense of relief when Harry arrived in the monastery office just after dawn.
“Jones was gracious enough to bring me over in the boat,” Harry said, as one of the monks led him into the guesthouse’s downstairs hall where Arthur and Rory were waiting, the pair of them sitting at opposite ends of a wooden bench like they hadn’t just spent the night stuck together like two pillows in the same case. “The ice is broken, the river’s flowing, and it was faster to cross over myself than hire a car to drive you forty miles to the bridge and another forty miles home, you complete and utter ass.”
“Good morning to you too,” Arthur said mildly, getting to his feet.
“Don’tgood morningme.” Apparently they’d triggered Harry’sangry parentmode. “Calling to say you’re stranded at the monastery across the Hudson, how the devil—”
Arthur pointedly cleared his throat. “Fairly certain that individual isn’t here,” he said, for Rory’s sake, even if he fully sympathized with Harry’s cursing. In Harry’s shoes, he’d also be equal parts baffled and livid.
Harry gave him a dark look. “What on earth were you thinking, going out on the ice without knowing it was safe? I was up half the night worrying—”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
Arthur and Harry both turned in surprise.
Rory had stood too. He’d paled and was leaning his weight on the wall, but he was looking Harry straight in the eyes. “It wasn’t Ace’s fault,” he said again. “I’m the idiot who went out on the ice. Ace was rescuing me.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You went out on the ice?Alone?”
“Um.” Rory bit his lip.
Oh, Arthur couldn’t bear that guilty look on Rory’s face. “Harry—”
Harry held up a hand. “I’m sure Mr. Brodigan can answer my question.”
Rory grew yet another shade paler, but he held his chin up. “Yeah, I did, so don’t bust Ace’s chops, okay? I’m the idiot, I’m the one you wanna yell at.”
“Don’tyell at him, I told him you were nice,” Arthur said quickly.
But Harry was already leaning in closer to Rory, whose eyes had gone huge behind his glasses. “You are going to tell all my children what you did,” Harry said, in a tone that brooked no arguments, “and how sorry you are. You’re about to become the cautionary tale to scare them from ever doing what you just did. I might tell all the village children about you.”
Rory swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Harry straightened, thankfully looking less apoplectic. “Arthur, help your friend to the boat. Jones is waiting.”
“Told you no one likes me when I try to talk to them.”
Arthur made a face as he helped Rory navigate the lawn. The storm had stopped during the night but left nearly eight inches of snow behind, making it slow going downhill to the edge of the river, even if Rory was thankfully putting more weight on his ankle. Arthur had made a large donation to St. Francis and kept the bandage, with Rory’s ankle now wrapped inside his shoe.
Harry was ahead, nearly to the runabout moored at the small wooden dock built out over the water, which sparkled in the early morning’s sun, the light catching the tiny waves and glittery chunks of ice as they floated past.
“I would prefer he was nice to you. He usually is.”
“S’all right. He was worried about you and I’m the one who put you in danger. He took it better than I would’ve; in his place, I’d have blown me right back across the Hudson.”
