That had hardly sounded like the accidental work of some injury, but the priest dipped his head in understanding as if it simply did not occur to him that it could have been a lie. The visitor wore a smile far brighter than Malachi could muster, but he kept a steady, neutral look upon him as he spoke.

“Father Malachi Brennan,” he offered in return, and stared down at Fletcher’s hand before extending both of his own to take it. His handshake was firm, but the added touch seemed to soften it. “A pleasure to meet you as well.”

As soon as their hands fell apart, his own joined together in a casual hold behind his back. His gaze followed the upward turn of Fletcher’s head, sweeping over the décor that, by now, he knew so well. The compliment earned but a nod, hardly intended for him in the first place – St. Hilda’s was beautiful with or without his presence there.

If Fletcher rambled… Malachi did not appear to mind. He would hardly be the first person to lean upon the ear of a priest.

“Well,” he began, eyes straying from the other man’s face for just a moment as he gave the matter some thought. “If you have no record of her baptism and doubt that it was performed, I would be happy to do so.”

If she had already been baptized, then it would not make any difference to do it again. Better safe than sorry.

“I can also explain the process and what will be required of you both, if needed. How old is your Ruari?”