vision. The awful images fed the worst of her paranoia. She wasn’t sure who she could or should trust anymore.
The priest stared long and hard at her face and then nodded. “Ah, I see.”
Aiden gulped air. “Do you trust Magnus?”
“Of course.”
“Completely, without question? Even if I told you that I saw Magnus kill you in my vision?”
A thoughtful look crossed Matthew’s countenance, an expression far too composed and sober for a man being told his best friend would kill him. “I’d say it was unfortunate your vision has engendered your distrust of him.”
“You don’t doubt him at all?”
Matthew shook his head, a quick and reflexive reaction more telling than a verbal denial. “Magnus and I have history. The telling would take more time than I have left on this earth, but let me put it to you this way. There are two things left in this world I trust. God’s grace and our friendship. Magnus isn’t perfect by a long shot. He’s arrogant, distant, often cold, but always loyal. He makes mistakes. But if you keep faith with him, he’ll come through every time.”
There was no arguing with him. He seemed committed to his belief in Magnus. Aiden only wished she shared her mentor’s faith in the Celt. As awful as it made her feel, she wasn’t even sure she fully trusted Matthew anymore. His lies had undermined her innocence, his deception struck close to her heart.
“Ah, if—” Matthew attempted to push up out of the armchair. A deep, ragged cough issued from his chest, and he collapsed to the seat too weak to move. "Damnation. I hate this. My body has betrayed me. I'm useless."
Aiden caught his shoulder and provided support until he finished struggling. “Father, no,” she scolded. “You should rest. We can discuss this later.”
“Yes, rest sounds right,” he answered in a faint voice. “We will talk later.”
In testament to his weakness, the feisty priest offered no resistance when Aiden helped him to his quarters. She lowered him to the bed and pulled a blanket over him. Pressing a kiss to his sunken cheek, she fled and sought a solitary place to think.
Chapter Fourteen
The next evening, an unexpected summer storm drew Father Matthew out of his study and up onto the roof. The priest stood with his arms spread and face turned to the heavens, mouth open to catch the warm, gentle droplets as they fell from the sky. Silly and child-like, but at his age Matthew didn’t care. Every moment of life was precious, and he wanted to savor it, because he had so little time left.
The tempo of the downpour increased slightly, and the raindrops pelted his face and hands. Matthew sighed, reluctantly thinking about going indoors. He knew if Aiden or Mrs. Leromenos caught him out in the rain without a coat, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Are you trying to catch your death?”
The impatient demand stopped Matthew in his tracks. He turned to face the Celtic warrior. “Don’t nag, Magnus. You sound like a woman.”
Magnus lifted his shoulders in a classic Gaelic shrug. The Celt wasn’t one to advise to fools. The rain pelted down even harder, and the two men stared at one another in stubborn silence, each certain they were right.
“It’s a fine day for young ducks,” Magnus finally observed.
“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Matthew agreed with a wry grin. The priest shivered, because the rain had chilled, and suddenly he felt like a fool. Abruptly, he wanted to return to the sanctuary of his warm office and dry out in front of a fire.
However, thanks to his big mouth, Matthew couldn’t go inside without losing face. Magnus, at least, had on a heavy cloak made of waterproofed leather, as though he’d dressed expecting rain, and indeed, he probably had.
“I’m right about more than that,” Magnus replied cryptically and turned toward the stairs. “I’m going inside. There’s no fool like an old fool,” he threw over his shoulder as a parting shot.
Matthew
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley