We’re here to make sure what is mine is returned.’ He announced without pretense. He turned and stared at Leif. Sir Glen took a ledger from his desk drawer. ‘These are my records, you will find no fault with them. There is nothing of yours here.’ ‘What about him?’ Colin jerked his head towards Leif. ‘Mr. Leif was registered as a member of my order. He’s since been selected to rise from their ranks. I have it all in the ledger, if you will just…’ Sir Colin knocked the book from Sir Glen’s hands as he leaned over the desk. ‘Where’s the proof?’ He asked. Glen stood up and leaned back in and said in a tight controlled voice. ‘I will not have you upend my conclave while you search for your wayward sheep -Sir- Colin. My word is my bond such that of all companions.’ Lord Xavier chuckled. ‘So there is some fight left in the legendary Sir Glen. Back away Sir Colin, but you owe him his proof Sir Glen.’ Leif stepped forward and showed his tattoo. ‘Enough proof for you Sir Colin?’ Sir Colin. He looked at the handcuffs, still clutched in his perspiring palm like a talisman. ‘Do you have a needle and thread?’ he asked, his voice quiet, husky. Beadle raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to admonish him before she saw the earnest, pleading look that had suddenly unfurled across his face, the white flag of defeat. Wordlessly, she crossed the room, sifted through a drawer and returned, placing the items in front of him. As he spoke, he worked the leather, hemming the fraying edges with delicate, careful stiches. ‘I hate her,’ he muttered thickly, afraid of the emotion in his voice, ‘I hate her for walking out, for leaving me with him.’ He turned his eyes to Beadle, who was surprised by the burning passion that smouldered within the luminous orbs. ‘She’s a pitiful, worthless whore and I wish her many years of misery.’ ‘You don’t mean that,’ Beadle whispered, ‘they’re your father’s words.’ He scoffed. ‘My father isn’t half as complimentary.’ He worked the leather around.
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