Merde, he'd really done it now.

She'd kill him—if there was anything left in the world he could be certain about, that was it. And pretty much the sum whole of it.

His mother was going to kill him... If she could manage to find him in whatever freakshow he'd managed to end up in.

Outrage ignited somewhere deep in Pierre's stomach and exploded up through his chest.

It was her fault! 

All of it. Everything he'd done was because of her. Because she lied and now here he was—but where the hell was he?

The old man grunted up ahead of him. Even though Pierre hadn't known what language the man had been muttering in when he'd first found him, the grunt was easy enough to translate.

Hurry up.

The man kept a clip pace, despite a hunched figure and obvious limp. His long white mane flowed behind him. He reminded Pierre of an old lion he saw once at the zoo with his mother—with his whatever she was to him now.

Liar. 

That's what she was. Maybe even a murderer for all he knew.

A cold shiver ran down his spine as he practically had to skip to keep up with the lumbering man.

A draft pushed through the castle's corridors, but it was comparatively balmy to the blustering winds outside that had sliced through his thin jumper like shards of ice.

He'd barely remembered to grab it before slipping out of the room before that idiot Louis woke up to nag him about tidying whatever minor mess he'd left out. 

God forbid their room looked lived in. Looked like a home.

He'd grabbed his jumper, the admittedly small wad of cash he hide under his mattress, and waited to slip on his chuck tailors until his back was pressed to the bedroom door, safely shut.

He didn't bother to take his mobile. She was the only one who ever called him on it, and he had no desire to hear any more of her guilt-laden nagging about applying to university.

Not when she had been lying to him his entire life. What high horse did she have to sit on or right to boss him around anymore?

She wasn't his mother.

Pierre choked back a sob as the realization racked through him.

She wasn't his anything, not anymore. And if she wasn't his anything... he had no one.

He was utterly, completely alone.

The old man stopped abruptly in front of a door before shouldering it open without so much as a knock.

From that, Pierre assumed the room or corridor that lay beyond it was empty, so he was doubly shocked when he nearly plowed into the man's back and, peering over his hunched shoulder, spied a second man sitting before an enormous stone hearth.

The second man was younger than the first by several decades if not centuries. Pierre imagined anyone else would have been dwarfed next to the giant stonework, but the man's legs stretched out between them made it clear he was quite large in his own right.

The men exchanged a few terse sounding words before the seated man tilted his head to glance at Pierre. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded his chin toward the door.

Pierre took a step back, feeling as though in one glance he had been assessed and summarily dismissed. It was a common enough expression he had seen in the faces of Headmaster Bisset and the rest of the faculty at St. Sebastian's. 

The second shock came when it was the older man who grunted and then departed the room as inelegantly as he'd entered it.

Pierre couldn't help but flinch as the door slammed shut behind him. He could feel the younger man's eyes on him again, but—unable to face them—he forced his own to look about the room.

It was small, though not cramped, and circular in shape. The walls, like the rest of the house, were made up of stacked stones. The hearth, with its intricate design and glowing warmth, was the natural central fixture in the room made all the more evident by the scattering of tall-backed chairs arranged before it.

"Francais?"

Pierre was unable to hide the wave of relief that struck him at the sound of the familiar language.

"Oui," he breathed.

The man gestured to the chair across from him and Pierre moved to oblige as a tide of physical exhaustion began to flood his suddenly heavy limbs.

The man waited until Pierre was seated before speaking again.

"You are far from home."

A knot tightened in Pierre's throat as he suddenly considered just how far from home he might actually be.

He'd left St. Sebastian's and snuck on a train to Paris just as the sun had begun to rise. Four busses, three trains, and one hitchhike later, he had arrived in Wick, Caithness. To the family estate of the late Lord Harris Barbour. To the estate of his family.

Or, rather, what was left of it.

The article had mentioned the suspected arson, but Pierre still hadn't been prepared for the sight of it. Whatever the place had been before, it was a charred ruin now.

The roof had apparently caved in and brought the upper floors down with it. Any glass and wood that had filled the windows and doorways had broken and burned, leaving hollowed out sockets in their place.

Pierre had tripped several times as he had scrambled over the rubble. While the sun was doing its best to free itself of the eastern horizon, its early rays only cast a dim light over the landscape offering more shadows than illumination.

He hadn't expected to remember anything. That would have been stupid. He was only a baby when they'd left—when he'd been taken, he corrected himself.

But a small part of him—a somberly silent part of him as he explored this bizarre skeleton of a home—had hoped to at least sense some feeling of familiarity.

That had only been a few hours ago surely, and yet... here he sat in front of a hearth in a room with walls comprised of the very stones his feet had tripped over, the rocks having jutted out in awkward angles in a mess on the ground.

Pierre's wide eyes swept across the room, not comprehending how what they clearly saw could be even faintly possible—that was until they landed on the man across seating across from him.

He was wearing a dress—no a tunic—with laces across the chest and belt tied loosely around his hips. Pierre blinked. Were those leggings he wore underneath?

He looked up to ask, but the words died on his tongue as he belatedly realized the man was glaring. 

At him. 

It took all of Pierre's restraint not to bleat like a sheep. 

The boys at school were right: he was a coward. 

Pierre inhaled deeply and forced their jeering taunts from his mind as he lifted his chin to stubbornly meet the man's scowl.

Suddenly, something like recognition flashed behind the man's eyes. His bearded jaw twitched as he directed his glower to the hearth's fire.

"What is your name?"

"I..." Pierre managed a shrug as he blinked back the sudden mist in his eyes. Coward, he cursed himself. "I don't know."

The man cocked an eyebrow at that, but seemed to accept his answer. For now. "Mosley says you were a man on a mission. What were you looking for?"

Pierre frowned, meeting the man's gaze once more.

The way he was looking at him... did he know him? For his part, Pierre was certain he had never seen this man before in his life. Save perhaps a Renaissance festival.

Despite the warmth of the hearth, another shiver crawled up Pierre's spine.

Not possible.

"W-who's Mosley?" He heard himself ask.

The corner of the man's lips flinched. He ran his knuckles lazily against his bearded jaw. The movement was so causal, which made his edged tone all the more jarring.

"The man who found you on my land. In my home."

"I-I'm sorry!" Pierre practically yelped. "I didn't mean to trespass. I-I was just looking for... someone."

"And did you find them?"

Pierre willed the tears not to fall as he shook his head.

The man leaned forward with such sudden intensity Pierre knew the answer to his next question would have serious repercussions.

It was impossible that he had somehow managed to trip back into the Renaissance. Time travel was impossible. And just as sure as he knew both of those facts to be true, Pierre also knew that the man in front of him was very, very real.

And increasingly looking very, very pissed off.

"Who were you looking for?"

In panic, the truth slipped from Pierre's lips before he could check them. "My parents."

The man tilted his head in apparent interest. Pierre's hands felt clammy as he squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze.

"And do you know their names?"

Slowly, Pierre shook his head.

According to the articles he'd read, someone had set that fire. And until he knew who, he figured it best not to flash the family name about.

Barbour. It felt bizarre on his tongue.

"And yet you knew to look for them?" The man goaded him. When Pierre said nothing, the man leased a sigh and finally leaned back in his seat.

Pierre relaxed muscles he hadn't realized he'd been clenching.

"Were they lost to you?"

"They were taken from me." Pierre hardly recognized the growl for his own voice.

He clenched his jaw, prepared for the giant across from him to explode into violence at his tone. When Pierre finally braved a glance up, it was understanding—not violence—that he saw reflecting in his eyes.

"Very well." He nodded once, as if reconciling a decision. "I shall send men out to look for your parents. In the meantime... how shall we address you?"

Pierre worried his bottom lip in thought. "Y-You can call me Oliver."

The man blinked several times before nodding. 

"Very well, Oliver. Mosley will bring word of your parents, if there is any."

With a heavy groan, the man pushed his body upright and stretched his shoulders.

Pierre gulped. The man before him was definitely real. And tall—at least 6 foot, though probably several inches more.

"We dine after morning prayers," he was saying. "There is at least an hour yet until the prayer bells toll."

Pierre blinked up to catch another conciliatory nod before the man loosed another sigh. "Come, lad. I shall show you to your rooms and you can have a little rest."

"I—Your—I get a room?"

"Aye," The corner of his lips quirked again, though this time the man did not mask the smirk. "Even unannounced guests receive a room at Baines Castle."

[a/n: Thank you so much for reading! Please remember to VOTE + COMMENT on each chapter!

Gratitude shoutouts of the week go to... @babyrathod & @Leahwrites_ !]