Timeless

Chapter Ten

It was a hard morning of work for everyone. Austin seemed to give up at every turn, but Shaw would hear none of it, and Darrach would hear even less. The lad quickly learned to stay in line and do as he was told, although with plenty of grumbling and muttered complaints that did not serve to endear him to the other boys as they were forced to work harder every time he did.

As they had broken for lunch today, Shaw had clearly heard Austin muttering under his breath in broken languages, so tired that he began to mix English words with French and another similar, yet more lyrical language. Shaw could tell none of what he was saying was very nice, despite understanding very little of his words, but he'd decided to let it slide this time, walking past the exhausted lad without a word.

His being hard on the lad was necessary, Shaw thought as he entered the Great Hall; a lesson in humility. But in truth Shaw had used the lad to expend his worry for Ri, his anger that she had left without a word and at her cold distance from him now, and, mayhap, though he was loathe to admit it, his hurt that she hadn't confided her fears in him and trusted him to protect her.

Then again, he thought, after what he'd learned from Fiona, about everything that had happened to her, why should she trust him? What reason had he given her to trust him? She had saved his life, and in attempting to return the favor, he'd locked her up in his keep and forbade her to leave. To him, this seemed perfectly natural, but to her . . . Oh gods, what had he done?

Shaw could have thumped his head on the trestle table as he sat heavily in his chair. Of course, he wouldn't, not with most of his clan around him, clamoring for food. He was a fool, an arse-breath'd, beef-witted, goatish pillock. Gods help him, he was clueless, no wonder she wanted nothing to do with him! He had to make this right, even if it killed him to do so.

Shaw caught the arm of the maid pouring him ale, giving her a request for the cook to make two plates and a tankard to be sent to his study. The maid was confused, but nodded in understanding. Shaw waited until she returned to the kitchen to scoop up his tankard and storm, as quietly as one can, out of the great hall and off to the stables.

"Okay, so no violent deaths, no suicides, no murders, no death threats," Ri muttered as she shifted through records. So far, there was nothing in the past twenty-five years that could come close to involving Shaw or anyone who might have a score to settle with him. Ri supposed the number one suspect would have been his step-father, who had married his mother a few years after Shaw's father had been killed in battle, leaving him in charge at the ripe age of seventeen.

The newly married couple had moved to the edge of the Logan lands, living in one of their smallest castles with a pittance of a staff. Apparently, this was so Lady Logan's new husband could beat his wife into submission. According to the records in front of her, several months after her wedding day, the poor Lady had stumbled into the castle, broken, torn, and bleeding, only to die in her sons' arms after revealing her husbands' wickedness. Shaw and Iain had not been kind, locking the man in the dungeons for weeks on end with minimal water, little to no food, and daily public beatings until the creep couldn't even be bothered to roll off his cot to take a piss. Then, the man had been dragged out into the village and beheaded as a warning. Unnecessary violence towards a woman would not be tolerated.

Normally, Ri would suspect the man's family as possible traitors, but he had been a nomad, a sell-sword passing through who had caught the eye of the Lady and decided to stay to court her. No family, according to record. Not even a name. Only his arrival, the Lady's marriage, his crime, and his punishment had been left. Everything else about him, his name, where he'd come from, and any identifying details had all been scratched out, effectively erasing him from history.