by Alisa Adams
Doogle’s dark thoughts were confirmed the moment he saw that the two sentries he had placed at the door to his quarters were not at their stations. He had given them express orders to never leave their posts.
“What is going on around here?” He hissed into his beard.
At that moment, he wished that he had taken up his brother’s offer to join him. Mungo and Murtagh’s support would have also been welcome. Doogle had no idea what waited for him on the other side of the closed door.
He took a deep breath as he placed his hand on the handle. He counted to three in his mind before pressing down. Instead of adding a small amount of pressure to the handle, he pressed it down vigorously and crashed into the chamber.
Standing by the far side of the room stood Louise. He took a few tentative paces until he stood in the center of the space. Then, he realized that something was wrong. Louise looked petrified. Gaston stood behind her with a knife to her throat.
“I will have yer hide for this.” Doogle snarled, making to charge the Frenchman.
He never noticed the two prostate bodies on the floor belonging to the sentries he had placed at the door. Their throats had been slit in a cowardly act. But what surprised him the most was the look of satisfaction on Gaston’s face. Doogle was used to men at least showing a certain amount of fear and respect for his large size and fearsome countenance when his blood was up.
“ARGH!” he cried out.
Searing pain radiated through his skull. He felt as if a large stone had knocked him on the head. Doogle had no time to think about the cause. Blackness soon overcame him – bright colors seared his vision. One more heartbeat and he just slumped to the floor with a final deep groan.
“Doogle!” Louise squirmed in her captor’s vice-like grip. Like when she was at Château Le Blanc, Gaston gave her no reprieve. The man was strong beyond belief.
“I told you that you would always be mine,” said Jean Philippe.
He glanced down at the Highlander’s body. Apart from the steady lifting of Doogle’s chest, he was as still as a statue.
“I should gut him with this,” said Jean Philippe, indicating to the knife attached to his belt.
“Do not hurt him. I will do as you ask,” said Louise.
She feared for her man. She had witnessed firsthand how Gaston had dragged in the guards’ bodies and dumped them in the room as if he was handling slabs of meat. The way he had wiped his knife clean on their clothing had chilled Louise’s blood – the callousness of the act was demeaning and showed the man’s ruthlessness.
“Now, that is a tune I like to hear,” said Jean Philippe.
His sojourn in the prince’s jail had made him look more unsightly than usual. His face was covered in grime, and he wore the clothing of a peasant. Louise assumed he reeked as well judging by the foul odor emanating from Gaston’s person. But what repulsed her the most was the stump on his hand – his left index finger had been sliced off.
“I see you noticed my little keepsake, courtesy of the prince’s dungeon.” He lifted his hand, wiggling his remaining fingers. “One of the guards chopped it off because I did not pay him the proper respect.”
The expression on his face was filled with hatred. If there ever was any semblance of humanity left in him, it was gone now and replaced by the madness of a man who had nothing left to lose.
“Monsieur, I suggest we get out of here before more of these Scottish dogs come,” said Gaston.
Jean Philippe looked down at Doogle again. He prodded the body with the tip of his boot. “I should at least offer him the same consideration I received in the dungeon. It was all because of him that I lost everything. First, he steals my woman, and then he robs me of my title and my home.”
“We do not have the time, Monsieur. We have the woman. That is what we came here for,” insisted Gaston.
It seemed to take forever until the former baron nodded. “All right. Let’s take their swords and be gone.”
Louise felt the tension escape Gaston’s body. He pushed her forward toward the door roughly. While he was doing this, Jean Philippe picked up the swords belonging to the guards and followed his henchman into the hallway.
There was no one in sight. This surprised Louise because there was usually at least some activity in the palace’s halls. She decided that the prince must have given some of his men leave because it was the day before Christmas Eve. On the morrow, the palace would be teeming with activity.
She did not have much time to ponder. Gaston’s nails dug into her flesh through the fabric of her gown and the frowzy cloak they had given her for the purpose of disguise. Like robbers, they slunk their way through the corridors. They were heading for one of the side entrances close to the kitchen – it was the best way to leave the palace without being noticed.
The kitchen staff was busy preparing the evening meal. Louise heard the sound of silver platters being placed onto tables. The pleasant aroma of food wafted into the hallway. The servants conversed loudly. There was not a chance that they would hear anything transpiring beyond the kitchen door.
“This way, Monsieur,” said Gaston, leading them to a doorway with a rounded top.
He gently pushed it open. The creaking sound of the hinges almost made it seem that the noise would carry all the way through the residence. But to Louise’s chagrin, there was no help. For all she knew, the first anybody would realize of her absence was when Doogle awoke from his unconscious state.
When the icy cold air assaulted her face, Louise knew that she was lost. Her abductors had planned everything perfectly. A horse-drawn cart loaded with barrels stood by the door. It was apparent that Jean Philippe and Gaston had passed themselves off as tradesmen bringing their wares to the palace. It was the perfect ruse.
She tried to murmur something, she wanted to scream, but Gaston’s calloused hand still covered her mouth. Every time she squirmed, she felt the tip of the knife dig into her flesh. It was no use – once more, she was at their mercy. She only wondered where they planned to take her.
When the small group reached the cart, Gaston spun her around and stuffed a smelly ball of cloth into her mouth. Louise almost gagged. After, he tied another equally foul stinking rag around her head to keep everything in place. With incredible efficiency, he tied her arms and legs and bound them together. And as if she weighed no more than a feather, he deposited her into one of the large barrels that reeked of stale wine.
Louise did her best to make things difficult for her kidnapper, but she could hardly move. She looked up and saw the evening sky. It had been a beautiful day with plentiful sunshine, so the stars now started to appear on the darkening empyreal canopy above her.
And then, with a thud, Gaston thumped the lid onto the barrel, and she was surrounded by pitch-blackness. Louise hated being in confined spaces. Immediately, her heart began to hammer in her rib cage. Small beads of sweat gathered on her forehead. The rag in her mouth made breathing difficult. She thought that she would suffocate the very next instant.
With a jolt, the cart bumped into motion. Louise felt the solid wooden wheels without spokes creak over the cobblestones in the courtyard. Her body hit the sides of the barrel as if she was a sack of flower – once again she was at the mercy of the man she despised.
A short while later, the conveyance came to a halt. She heard Gaston converse with whom she assumed was one of the guards at the main gate. She did her best to make a sound, but the former baron’s henchman had done his job well. All Louise managed to achieve was to cut off more blood flow to her hands as the bonds tightened.
When the cart jutted forth once more, Louise despaired. There was to be no salvation. Jean Philippe and Gaston had succeeded, and nobody except an unconscious Doogle knew what had happened. For that, she was at least grateful. Her abductors could just as well have killed him to avoid being associated with the kidnapping. For once, Gaston had done her a favor. Had he not spoken up for a speedy flight, Doogle would most probably be dead now.
> Louise lost track of time. All manner of thoughts coursed through her mind. She thought of the magical days she had spent with Doogle since he rescued her from Jean Philippe’s evil captivity. She was his woman in all things. Halcyon days were what she knew – would it all be over now?
She still harbored one shimmer of hope – Brice. He was calculating and smart. In contrast, Doogle was emotional and headstrong – the latter was one of the things she loved about him most. Brice, however, would be able to make an informed decision. Couple that with the power and intelligence of the Black Prince, it would be very difficult indeed for Gaston and Jean Philippe to get away scot-free.
And again the cart stopped – more voices followed. Louise prayed that they would pass the night in the town. If the Black Prince received word soon enough of her abduction, he would seal the city off until she was found.
She tried her best to remember the time. All she could recollect was that she was preparing for the evening meal before she was attacked. Did that mean that the curfew had already begun? If that were the case, Bordeaux’s gates would be shut until the following morning – there was still hope.
And as soon as optimism had almost quashed her despair and helplessness, it was gone again, just like the spark of a flint when it hits the metal. The cart was moving again and this time at an elevated speed. Louise did her best to try and stay positive, but the voices coming from beyond the wooden barrel told all she needed to know.
They belonged to the last farmers, traders and other folk who wished to gain access to the town before the gates closed. Louise was away and in the countryside. Fat tears slid down her cheeks. There was no more hope.
She would never see Doogle again.
21
21
Desolation
* * *
Bordeaux, Aquitaine, December 1356
* * *
“Ye mean to tell me that the bastard gained access to the palace,” shouted Mungo. He paced up and down in the hall like a charging bull.
“Impossible – this place is as guarded as a virgin’s cunny,” yelled Murtagh. He was equally as incensed as his comrade.
“Will the two of ye cease all that ranting and pacing aboot,” said Brice in an authoritative tone.
Doogle sat on one of the many chairs holding a damp cloth to his head. It was red with blood in places. He did not utter a word. He blamed himself for not having saved Louise. He had not cased the room. Instead, he had stormed in and let emotions get the better of him. He feared for the worst.
“Brice is right. If we are to find Louise again, we must think straight,” said the Prince of Wales. He walked up to Doogle and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I promise you that we will find her. I will not rest until that is achieved.”
Mungo and Murtagh grunted their approval. At the laird’s son’s behest, they had calmed down a little.
“But what can we do?” asked Bruce.
At that moment, a soldier strode into the vast hall. He came to a halt in front of his prince and bowed his head slightly.
“Your Royal Highness, I have received word from the guards at the main gate and the men belonging to the palace.”
“Out with it, man,” snapped the prince.
“They claim that a cart carrying barrels of wine entered the palace grounds in the late afternoon claiming that they had orders to deliver wine. The men thought nothing of it because so much produce passes through there on a daily basis…” said the soldier.
“Stop finding excuses for them. I want to know when the cart passed through the gates again and whether it left the town,” said the prince.
The soldier gulped. He was all too aware of his master’s wrath when he considered that a mistake had been made.
“The wine cart did indeed leave the palace – and the sentries by the city gates assured me that a conveyance of that same description left Bordeaux before the onset of curfew.”
The air hissed out of the prince’s mouth. He took a few steps in thought, his head facing the heavy slabs on the stone floor.
“All right, I want you to prepare a search party,” he ordered.
“Surely, you want us to leave first thing in the morn—”
“I want you to leave now. You will take one hundred men and divide them into three search parties so that you can cover the most ground.”
The military man nodded. “As you wish, my liege.”
“It is very likely that the rogue will try and escape into the Kingdom of Navarre to the south of here. He cannot return to France lest someone recognize him as a disgraced lord. Also, the peasants will gut him if they see the man who stole from them,” said the prince.
Brice smiled wryly. The prince’s clarity and brilliance of mind never ceased to surprise him. He was a true strategist.
“I agree with the prince,” he said, getting to his feet.
The prince regarded his friend. “You surely don’t want to partake in this nighttime expedition? You will have ample time to catch up if you leave on the morrow.”
Brice shook his head. “I owe it to my brother to do everything in my power to help him get his woman back.”
His answer satisfied the prince. “As you wish, my friend. Will you join one of the three search parties?”
“No – the lads and I will form a fourth,” replied Brice.
“I will, of course, put more of my men at your disposal.”
Brice walked up to the most feared military commander in Europe and placed his hand on his shoulder. “The men in my troop will be more than enough for our purposes.”
“It is agreed.”
The prince walked over to the large oak table that ran across almost the entire length of the hall.
Brice followed him.
Mungo and Murtagh along with Mungo’s sons converged with them.
“I suggest you take the route that hugs the coastline here,” said the prince, pointing his finger on the map and running it down the shoreline of Aquitaine toward northern Spain. “My men will head south further inland – in case he chooses that direction of escape.”
Mungo cleared his throat. “Ye are thinking that the bastard might take flight on a boat from one of the fishing villages, Your Royal Highness?”
The prince nodded. “Yes, that is what I would do.”
“What if he has hired more men?” asked Murtagh.
“It is very likely that his man, Gaston, still has the coin to do so. But I do not believe that there will be more than say twenty,” said Brice.
“We can handle that easily,” said Mungo, looking eager to get stuck in.
“Aye. We need to get our revenge for what they did to poor Hamish and Duncan. They gutted them like cravens from the rear,” said Murtagh.
“I am just happy that they did not offer my brother the same treatment,” said Brice.
All of the men turned to face Doogle who still sat on the chair looking as if there was no hope left in the world.
“We will get her back – I ken it.” He snarled. As the words slipped out of his mouth like a deathly curse, he twirled his sword on the floor. The steel and the stone joined to make a deathly whistling sound.
Mungo paced up to the younger man until he stood before him. “I ken that ye are worried for the welfare of yer lassie. But ye must not lose yer wits and yer humanity.”
Doogle slowly looked up. “What will ye have me do, Mungo?”
“Be a man of the Clan Macleod.” He slapped the flat of his hand on Doogle’s cheek. “There was once a time when yer mother was taken from the laird before ye were born…”
Doogle had heard the story many times before, but he still had to hear it again. “What did my da do?”
“He never let despair get the better of him, not even when he was held captive in the stinking and deathly bowels of Chillingham Castle. He got oot and got the job done. Yer mother bears testament to our laird’s courage. And ye…” He prodded Doogle in the chest. “... are the laird’s flesh and blood.”
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br /> “Aye. And my brother, Mungo, and I will not allow ye to behave like the men we are hunting. Ye have the honor of the clan to represent and ye bloody well will do so when we gut that malingering tallywasher in a clean and fair fight,” said Murtagh, joining in the conversation.
Even though Doogle felt despondent with regard to their chances of ever finding Louise again, he felt fresh hope flow through him. His elder clansmen were right. Louise would never look at him in the same way again if he behaved like Jean Philippe and Gaston. As a man worthy of her love, he must tread the honorable path. Only like that would he receive God’s blessing.
He got to his feet and hugged Mungo and Murtagh. “Thank ye, brothers…”
They beamed at him like a pair of feral dogs.
“Thank us by helping us get Louise back safely. She still has a job to do,” said Mungo.
“Aye, the lassie still has to meet yer ma and da and provide ye with many healthy and strong bairns,” said Murtagh, immediately understanding his comrade’s meaning.
“We will leave now,” said Doogle.
The three of them turned to face Brice and the prince.
“It is settled then,” said the prince.
“Aye. Get yer weapons and alert the rest of the men, Mungo. We shall meet at the stables shortly,” ordered Brice.
“Aye, laddie.” Mungo about faced and stormed out of the hall.
His stepsons followed quickly in his wake.
“Now, somebody has to inform Lisette and Alexandre about their daughter’s plight,” said Brice.
“The laddie and I will take care of that,” said Murtagh. He punched Doogle in the shoulder, and they too left.
“I wish I could come with you,” said the prince.
Brice smiled. “There is no need for that. Ye have given us all of the help we could ask for. Ye are a true friend.”
The Black Prince dipped his head. “I suggest you get going. I will hold a banquet in your honor upon your return.”