Highlander's Stolen Love: A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  “If this is how it is going to be, then so be it,” he muttered.

  He preferred his women to fight back. However, he was not going to forgo the pleasure of mounting her because she was unconscious.

  Pressing his lips together, he guided himself forward. When he touched her flesh, Gaston shuddered – one more push, and he was there.

  Before he could move another inch, two hands pulled him back. With brute strength, the Frenchman was lifted into the air and slammed against a tree, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

  “Now, ye are going to pay for that, laddie,” said Mungo.

  He was the first of the group to arrive on the scene. Not even Murtagh had been able to keep up with him. From the moment he had heard the piercing scream, Mungo had run like the wind. It was as if he was a far younger man again.

  “Go to the lassie and see if she is all right,” snapped Mungo when Murtagh reached his side. “And ye – find Doogle and Brice. Tell them that we have Louise,” he bellowed to one of the other clansmen arriving at the scene.

  For the first time in his life, Gaston almost wetted himself. The Highlander looked like a beast from the underworld. A deep scar crossed his face from his forehead to his chin. But that was not what scared him the most – the lethal intent reflected in his green eyes was almost enough to kill a man.

  “I should skewer ye here and now,” said Mungo.

  Gaston started to plead for his life in French. His body was limp in the powerful clansman’s hands. He had no fight left in him. Gaston was dexterous with the blade, but he preferred to fight from the shadows like his master.

  “Now, I do not understand a bleeding word ye are saying to me.” Mungo moved his face closer until his nose almost touched Gaston’s. “But I will tell ye something – ye are not going to like what Doogle has in store for ye when he gets here aboots.”

  With one fell swoop of his powerful arm, he whacked Gaston in the face. He slumped to the ground like a sack of grain. Mungo made quick work of securing his arms and legs, and then he dumped his body close to a tree. When he was finished, he walked up to Murtagh and Louise.

  “How is the lassie?” he asked, concern etched onto his features.

  “She’s oot cold.” Murtagh stroked her hair softly and cooed sweet nothings to her. He had already rearranged her jacque so that it covered her lower body again, maintaining her modesty.

  “Ye are a softie sometimes, brother,” said Mungo, almost managing a smile.

  “Haud yer wheesht. The lassie needs all the help she can get.”

  “Aye – on that note, I will get a fire started. Louise looks as if she might freeze to death. She’s almost blue.”

  “What about the soldiers in the camp nearby? They will see the fire,” asked one of the two men who had stayed behind.

  Mungo grimaced. “Now, a big laddie like ye should not be afraid of a few Frenchies who do not ken one end of a sword from the other. Now, help me gather some firewood. We need to warm the lass up lest she succumbs to the cold even more than she has.”

  It did not take long for a large fire to burn. Murtagh gently placed Louise in front of it and sat down with her while he held her head in place on his lap. He continued to whisper to her.

  When she stirred, he called to Mungo. “I think the lassie is coming round.”

  With four big strides, Mungo was there. He bent over. A large smile almost split his face in two when Louise groaned, and her eyelids fluttered open.

  “Where am I – what happened?” she asked in French.

  “Ye best speak something we understand, lassie,” replied Mungo.

  It took her a moment to get her bearings. When Mungo’s and Murtagh’s shaggy heads came into view, she started crying. Her body trembled in Murtagh’s arms. Mungo lowered himself to his haunches and wiped the tears away with his thick thumb.

  “Ye’re safe now, Louise,” said Murtagh.

  “Aye, we are here now,” said Mungo.

  Louise sat up with a jerk. “Doogle… Jean Philippe – he knocked him on the head!”

  “Doogle is fine. It would take a lot more than a little thump to the head for a laddie as thick-skulled as him to even get a bruise,” said Mungo, smiling.

  “He is well?” asked Louise, wanting to be entirely sure.

  “Aye, he is. He’ll be here shortly. He’s searching for ye with Brice in another neck of the woods,” said Murtagh.

  Visible relief washed over Louise’s face. She started laughing, inducing the burly clansmen to join in. She wrapped her arms around both Mungo and Murtagh. Men like them had hearts made of gold and not an evil bone in their bodies.

  “I feel honored to call you my friends and my family,” said Louise.

  “Here, here, lassie. Now, tell us what happened?” said Mungo, pulling away gently.

  * * *

  Louise told them everything since the moment Jean Philippe had surprised her in her chamber back at the palace. The Highlanders growled their anger when she explained how she had been locked away in a barrel for the larger part of the night. When she described her humiliation at the hands of Jean Philippe and later Gaston, Mungo had to restrain Murtagh from burying his sword in the captured Frenchman.

  “But the idea with the leaves was good. That’s how we saw ye, lassie,” said Mungo.

  “Aye – ye are a clever one,” concurred Murtagh.

  “So, we need to ken how many men they have?” asked Mungo.

  “I would guess over thirty;” replied Louise.

  However, she could not remain seated for a moment longer. She jumped up, inviting chides from both Mungo and Murtagh that she not over exert herself. She could see the figures of two men with more following in their wake, moving by the trees in the distance.

  “DOOGLE!”

  Without another word, she dashed off in the direction of the approaching men. She ran faster than when she was running away from Gaston. Seeing the man she loved again gave her almost superhuman strength. Like a fairy, she glided over the undergrowth.

  “LOUISE!”

  Doogle also started to run faster when he saw her running toward him. Only a few more paces separated them.

  For a moment, Murtagh thought that they would collide with one another.

  “Louise, I was so worried aboot ye,” said Doogle, lifting her up with ease.

  Louise just kissed him. She held his sweet face in her hands and pressed her lips against his. It was not a kiss birthed out of passion but love and the happiness two people share when they have been parted and reunited again.

  “Brice,” she said when Doogle’s brother approached at a more sedate pace. She freed herself from his arms and hugged her future brother-in-law. “Merci, for coming after me.”

  “Ye are family now, Louise. We look after our own.” Brice smiled fondly at Louise. But the loving respite was brief. Brice was once more the son of the laird of the clan. “We need to get Louise back to Bordeaux at once. She is still not safe here.”

  “I am not letting her oot of my sight again, Brother,” said Doogle, laying a protective arm over his bride.

  “Then ye will return to Bordeaux with her. The laddies and I will deal with Jean Philippe and his cronies.”

  “Non, Brice, you cannot attack now. There are too few of you,” said Louise.

  “One Highlander is worth any five men he has in his posse.”

  “Aye – spoken like yer father’s son,” said Mungo. “But maintaining a degree of measure is always a good idea, Brice. We need to get that man back to the prince where he will face justice. We will need Doogle’s help.”

  “For once I have to agree with this numptie,” concurred Murtagh.

  Brice scratched his chin while he thought some more. “All right. But Louise should be back in the toon.”

  “If ye ask me, laddie, that great big palace and all of those guards could not keep her safe. She is better off with us and where we can keep an eye on her,” said Mungo.

  “We will protect her with o
ur lives,” said Murtagh, inviting grunts of agreement from Mungo.

  “I will need ye in the thick of things, brothers. The two of ye are more than any man Jean Philippe can throw at us.” Brice turned to face his brother. “I ken that I dinnae have to ask, but I am of the opinion that ye should stay by Louise’s side at all times.”

  Doogle nodded. “Aye, Brother. I will stay with her. She is safer with me than with anyone else.”

  “Good, that is settled then. We attack at nightfall. No prisoners except for those rogues, Jean Philippe and Gaston,” said Brice, looking up at the sky that had already darkened.

  The time of attack was already upon them.

  “Well, that’s half the battle then,” said Mungo, grinning.

  “What do ye mean?” asked Brice.

  “Let’s just say that I caught the tallywasher with his breeches down and gave him a right good thrashing,” said Mungo.

  Doogle tensed.

  Louise looked up and shook her head. “Don’t worry, mon amour. Mungo saved me in the nick of time.”

  Relief washed over Doogle’s face. He thanked God for this salvation. “Brother, I can never thank ye enough.”

  Mungo nodded. “Someone had to do it if ye two skiving wallopers decided to go prancing round the woods like a pair of galoots.”

  Doogle hooted out laughter.

  “I am truly a fortunate man to have you three men in my life. And now God had seen it fitting for me to have a woman as well. I cannae wait to finish off what we came here to do and return home to Ma and Pa and tell them the good news. And Louise deserves a wedding that befits the son of a laird,” he said.

  “Well, I think we can get all of this wrapped up and be back at the prince’s table in time for the Christmas feast,” said Mungo.

  Brice chuckled. “Ye ken that for a professed Sassenach hater, ye certainly have developed a liking for the Black Prince.”

  “What else can a man do? He is an honorable man who always keeps his word. I would even like to take him to Diabaig and drain a keg of ale with him and throw him into the loch.”

  Everybody laughed.

  “He certainly kens how to live in style. And to boot, he’s no malingering, self-entitled princely type. I saw it in his eyes – the blighter would’ve wanted nothing more than to be here right now and save Louise,” said Murtagh.

  “The prince helped?” asked Louise.

  “Aye, scours of his men are patrolling the land looking for ye,” answered Brice.

  Louise felt humbled. She had always been wary of the Black Prince because of his calculated and measured manner. But now, she realized that he was a good man at heart. He truly treasured his friendship with Brice, and he had proven it by offering his hospitality and all of the resources at his disposal.

  24

  24

  The Reckoning

  * * *

  Aquitaine, December 1356

  * * *

  “Laddie, not so fast. There may be sentries here aboots,” said Mungo to Bruce.

  “Sorry, Da. I am just eager to get revenge for what they did to Louise.”

  “Ye will, laddie. But there is no need for ye to alert the entire camp while ye are doing so.” Mungo grinned into his beard. His stepson’s enthusiasm was a tonic to his fatherly pride.

  A force of about twenty Highlanders moved past the trees and other foliage that surrounded Jean Philippe’s campsite. They could already see the fires burning. The enemy was completely unaware that they were being watched. They ate and drank contently.

  Doogle was in the rear with Louise. Gaston was still out cold, but they had gagged him just in case he came to – presently, his limp body hung over Doogle’s shoulder. It was as if he didn’t weigh a thing.

  “I still think that your brother should’ve waited for more men from the prince,” said Louise.

  “No! That would’ve given them too much time to escape. It has to be now,” said Doogle.

  “But they will stay the night here.”

  “Aye, that’s what it looks like. But if they leave at daybreak on the morrow, we would have trouble keeping up with them. And also they would be prepared for us.”

  “Could the two of ye discuss the merits of our strategy when this is all over,” chided Brice.

  Doogle did not respond. He shook his head at Louise who wanted to protest. She pressed her lips together. Brice was the undisputed leader of the group. In essence, he was his father’s mouthpiece when he wasn’t around.

  “All right, laddies. Mungo, I want ye to go with yer sons to the other side of the camp. Take three men with ye,” ordered Brice in a tempered tone.

  “Aye.” Mungo nodded at his sons and indicated to the three clansmen closest to him that they follow.

  The small group moved without a sound. They were like wraiths as the night swallowed them whole.

  “Murtagh, ye go round the other flank. Take five men with ye,” said Brice.

  “What are ye going to do?” asked Murtagh.

  “I will lead the frontal assault with the rest of the men,” responded Brice.

  “So, all the glory for ye.” Murtagh chuckled.

  Murtagh picked the warriors for his party and disappeared into the night in the same manner his comrade had.

  Brice waited until he was certain that both Mungo and Murtagh had reached their staging positions. It was deathly silent apart from the low murmur of men’s voices and the crackling of fires beyond the concealment of the tree line. The enemy would not know what hit them until it was too late – that was the plan at least.

  “We go now,” commanded Brice.

  In a low crouch, he jogged toward the camp. The remainder of the clansmen followed him. They had removed any items on their person that may make a sound. They resembled ghostly shadows moving past the trees. Only the crunch of their feet on the hoary ground could be heard as they advanced.

  Doogle and Louise came last. He did not want his bride to be in the thick of things. He felt Louise tighten her grip on his hand. It warmed his heart that she sought such comfort in his presence. He knew that it was time to rid her of the curse of which Alianor had warned them. After tonight, it would be over no matter the outcome.

  Brice was the first to change his pace from a steady jog into a run, and ultimately breaking out into a sprint. He was the fastest man in the clan. Also, his speed and ability with the sword were unsurpassed by any man except maybe his father.

  His brother, Callum, was not a fighter – he was the scholar and the brainy one in the clan. Doogle was like Mungo and Murtagh – sheer brute force, deadly, barbaric and brutal when their blood was up.

  In the vanguard, Brice was upon the first French mercenary in moments. The men facing the blackness beyond the camp had no time to utter a sound – one moment they faced darkness, and the very next, a Highlander armed with a claymore was upon them.

  Brice dispatched the first man with a lightning-fast hack to the neck, almost severing the head from the body. In moments, Brice spun on his feet and stabbed into the next man. His blade slid out of the gurgling soldier’s chest without much suction. The remaining two mercenaries received the same efficient treatment – their bodies slumping forward onto the burning fire. Brice had already taken care of four men in a shorter time than it takes a person to blink an eye.

  A feral shout erupted from the other side of the campsite. It was Mungo who ran along with his sons and the other Highlanders in a wedge formation. With Mungo at the tip, they plowed into the unsuspecting mercenaries by another fire. The fight was won before it had even started.

  By now, the enemy started to organize themselves. Murtagh encountered more resistance thanks to Mungo’s savage announcement. He muttered under his beard that he would give his comrade a right thrashing for being so brash. Mungo was never one to attack silently. He had acted the same at the Battle of Stanhope Park when the Scots attacked the English during the night. He’d yelled all the way until he was in the thick of things – it was how he had
gotten his scar.

  “Jean Philippe is an arrogant bastard for not posting any sentries,” said Brice, breathing heavily. The hubris astounded him. Not even Gaston’s absence had alerted the arrogant former baron that something was amiss.

  “Aye, had he done so, we would have had a little more trouble,” said Mungo.

  The elderly clansman had joined up with Brice. Any man that had stood in his way lay on the ground. His stepsons were still busy fighting their opponents. All in all, only one Highlander had lost his life in Mungo’s party due to a lucky shot with an arrow. The man who had claimed the target had disappeared into the night after that.

  “Where’s the baron?” asked Mungo.

  Brice swept his gaze over the camp. Murtagh and his men were still fighting tough resistance to the left. The men in his party faced opposition from a steadfast group of mercenaries to the front that held their own with savage aplomb. From what he could see, the fight was nearly over – they had succeeded in using the element of surprise to their advantage. All that remained was finding the main target of their mission – Jean Philippe.

  “There!” shouted Doogle, pointing.

  He had dumped Gaston’s body by his feet. Louise still held his hand in a tight grip. He felt her shudder when she too laid eyes on her former tormentor.

  Brice darted forward and crashed through the cordon of men before him. He ran like the wind in pursuit of Jean Philippe who attempted to make a break for the horses that were tied on the other side of the campsite. It would be a close call. The former baron had a head start.

  Jean Philippe was still fumbling with the reigns of a horse when Brice reached him. His sword was sheathed in the scabbard. He continued pulling on the reigns. The man was petrified.

  “Turn around and face me like a man,” said Brice. He could’ve just knocked his enemy on the head from behind, but that would’ve been too easy.