by Alisa Adams
Jean Philippe spun around. At the same time his sword left the sheath with a rasping sound. The expression on his face betrayed his fear. But Brice instinctively knew that his antagonist was not beaten yet. The coward always found a way to slither out of his predicament given the chance.
Brice took three large paces, his blade slicing down in a diagonal motion. Sparks erupted – they looked like shooting stars on the canopy of the night. He then pirouetted on the spot, adding velocity to his next strike, but Jean Philippe had anticipated this – again his riposte was exemplary.
The men fought it out like demons. Brice recognized the same ferocious dexterity he had witnessed when the baron had fought his brother. Only this time, his opponent was a lot faster and agiler than the unwieldy Doogle. Brice fended off every attempt on the former baron’s part to gain an advantage. He was fast weakening, his terror growing with each passing moment.
“No!” said Mungo when Alick wanted to intervene.
“We must not interfere – this is between Brice and that bastard,” concurred Murtagh.
“Why don’t you help him?” asked Louise.
She did not know of the clan code of honor. When two men fought it out in a battle, no other clan member should interfere. Even men like the vile Jean Philippe were accorded that righteousness.
“The fight is almost won. Brice must end it by defeating him. However, if Jean Philippe wins, he goes free,” said Doogle, answering her question.
“You can’t let that happen after all he has done. When does honor stop? When will that man get what he deserves?” complained Louise.
“Just aboot now,” said Mungo.
Brice forced Jean Philippe back at a continuous pace. His blade slithered forth and retracted with incredible speed. Jean Philippe could barely keep up with the Highlander’s unbelievable skill with the sword. He had already received two slashes to his arm and the side of his trunk. He knew that, had Brice so wanted, he would’ve been lying on the ground by now, dying.
Staggering back, Jean Philippe held up his blade – it trembled – and the weakness in his arms burned. He could not last much longer. He looked to the faces belonging to the Highlanders surrounding him. They were like a hungry pack of wolves watching their alpha toying with his prey.
His blade scrapped against Brice’s as the clansman spun the metal in a circular motion. The force and skill were too much – Jean Philippe’s weapon soared into the air. Brice caught it by the hilt as if he was merely partaking in some leisurely sword practice with a novice.
“Ye are beaten, Monsieur,” he said, bringing the tip of his claymore to Jean Philippe’s neck. “Do ye yield?”
Jean Philippe’s eyes darted to the left and right, seeking out any avenue of escape. He had never expected that the Highlander would let him live. Instead, now, he was faced with the option of captivity. He knew that if he were returned to Bordeaux, the Black Prince would order his execution for breaking into his palace.
He had no choice. He would make a run for it no matter the consequences. The clansman would have to kill him. In a heartbeat, Jean Philippe turned on his heel.
The next thing he saw was blackness.
25
25
The Voyage Home
* * *
The Sea, Spring 1357
* * *
“It is so green,” said Louise, staring ahead at the ever-growing landmass that appeared infinite to the eye.
“Aye, it is beautiful – it is home,” said Doogle.
Louise’s parents were equally as impressed with the savage splendor growing in size before their eyes as the English ship that had transported them from Bordeaux entered the mouth of Loch Torridon.
The ship voyage had been uneventful. And as the prince had said, the spring sea was far tamer as opposed to a harsh and angry winter crossing. Louise now had the time to reflect on everything that had happened to her since meeting Doogle after the Battle of Poitiers.
She had experienced so many things in the shortest period of time that it was sometimes difficult to capture all of the memories at once. She had encountered fear for a man’s life when Doogle was wounded and almost died. She had also discovered love in the most unlikely of places.
And then, she had seemingly lost it all in the blink of an eye when the evil Jean Philippe had ripped her away from the bosom of the man she loved. But by a sheer stroke of luck and ingenuity, she was rescued from his malicious clutches and taken into the family of the fine people who also stood beside her on the ship’s deck, looking at the homeland they had left behind them many months ago.
Louise still felt shivers of trepidation when she thought about Jean Philippe and Gaston. They were gone now – their heads chopped off by the executioner in the town square of Bordeaux. However, before that, the two men had spent a few weeks in the prince’s dungeon so that the Christmas and New Year’s celebrations could take place without any deaths besmirching the events.
The Christmas and the New Year’s celebrations were spectacular. The Black Prince had spared no expense. The entire court had been present and had witnessed spectacles of such magnificence that Louise, and the Highlanders for that matter, had never seen before.
Elaborate dances performed by artists from the Kingdom of Navarre had captured the spectators’ attention. Troubadours from far and wide recited their tales to anticipatory ears. And firework displays had rounded off most evenings, as the Black Prince was eager to show off this relatively new phenomenon in Europe with his court.
Louise would never forget the prince who had done everything in his power to save her. He was back in England now, preparing the peace treaty with his father and the release of the French king when everything was concluded to Edward the Third’s satisfaction. In the not too distant future, England would have its territorial rights to the lands of Aquitaine and the Calais regions confirmed at the cost of the claim to the French crown.
“Lass, ye are shivering,” said Doogle, enveloping her in his muscular arms.
She automatically placed her hands on his and held them tightly. Louise rested her head on his shoulder and looked at the constantly changing horizon.
Gradually, a panorama of mountains, forests, rivers, hills, and lochs formed. Some of it was in her mind, and the rest was there for her to behold with increasing intensity. While she stood there gazing, awestruck, on the silent, majestic scene as it lay motionless in the gray light of the early morning, a golden streak spread along the eastern horizon. Brighter and brighter it grew until the snow peak closest to them caught the same fiery glow, and stood tipped with the flame over the world below.
Then another peak flashed up beside it, and then another, and another until the entire range combing the land like a row of teeth stood a deep rose against the ever-increasing blue sky. Louise leaned against the man she loved, bewildered and amazed, gazing at the magnificent vista. It was as if a deity had thrown the robe of his glory over the land on purpose to see how it became lovelier.
Gradually, everything paled away as the blazing fiery ball rolled over into view and poured a flood of light on the entire spectacle, waking the landscape into sudden life and beauty. It was nearly impossible to describe. There was no parallel in the world – everything changed from ghostly white, even black, to a transparent red, fading gradually away into a delicate rose-color.
It was impossible to seize any one thing at once, which would give specialty to the whole. Louise had never felt such utter powerlessness of words and feebleness of comparisons. Her eyes passed on over the glorious panorama that changed from grand to beautiful and back again until her heart staggered under the emotions that crowded it, asking in vain to be able to flue an utterance. But her eye turned again and again until everything was white and pure, resting so clear against the morning sky.
Her lips murmured, “Doogle, this is the most magical morning of my life. Thank you.”
* * *
“Aye, lassie. It is. But not as beautiful as ye,” he s
aid, moving to her side and looking into her eyes.
Louise did indeed look beautiful. She was a sight he would never want to miss again in his life. Looking at her standing next to him was more important than the majesty taking place before him. The sun’s rays did magical things to her face that glowed under its light. Her small nose cast a shadow on her cheeks as the ever-increasing force of the sun stroked her skin with timid lashes.
Her hair, although unruly, burnished obsidian like the coat of a black cat. Doogle felt the power of that birthing morning in the way she pressed her frame against his. He did not want it to end, but it must – he would soon be in the presence of his father and mother.
“We are almost home,” said Doogle, putting voice to his sentiments.
* * *
Louise barely nodded. She was still captured by the beauty of the Highlands.
The twilight had already retreated in the face of the force coming from the fiery orb in the sky that had started to turn yellow from red. The lie of the land slid away from her as light cast shadows on the hillocks, glens, and mountains. As the sun rose in the sky at a pace that seemed impossible, the landscape acquired visual momentum and velocity, breaking into fragments, rolling and thundering down mountains and crags.
And then a rectangular castle arose out of the mist still covering the loch. It looked like it floated on the water. It was a fairytale structure, and Louise immediately knew that it would be her home.
The closer the ship approached, the more detail of Castle Diabaig and the surrounding town on the mainland became apparent. Banners on the towers and walls bearing the wolf of the Clan Macleod fluttered proudly in the wind. The sunlight added certain potency to the power and message conveyed by the sigil.
The town looked peaceful and serene. It was a place that Louise knew would be safe, protected by the laird and his brave clansmen. She felt a shiver of anticipation when she realized that she was going to be standing in the presence of the man Murtagh and Mungo had never ceased talking about throughout the sea voyage.
They had spoken of his bravery and fearsome glower. But they had also said that he was a kind man, a man who had experienced many things in his life and always made the righteous decision.
For the moment, his wife, Mary, seemed like a more appealing prospect. It was evident in the way they spoke of her that both Mungo and Murtagh loved her very much. They always had been and still were her protectors. It was with great pride that Murtagh described how Mary had shared a horse with him on the trek back to Diabaig after they had abducted her from her father in Northern England many years ago.
So much had transpired since then. Mary was a mother now and the lady of the Clan Macleod. She was the most powerful woman in the clan until her eldest son, Brice, became the laird and his wife, Skye, the lady. Louise looked forward very much to meeting her – Mungo had told him that his eldest daughter was a warrior in her own right.
When the captain of the ship gave the command to prepare the vessel for landing, the sailors jutted into action. They climbed up into the rigging and started to furl the mainsail. Having never sailed on a ship before, it amazed Louise how able the seamen were when conducting their tasks – they were so efficient.
“Look! It’s maîther,” shouted Doogle, pointing ahead.
Louise followed his outstretched arm and low and behold, a solitary figure stood in one of the towers of the castle. She resembled a goddess that peered over her land.
“That is your mother?” she asked.
“Aye, it is.”
Louise stroked his cheek. “I very much look forward to meeting her.”
“She will love ye, lassie,” said Doogle with confidence.
“All right, laddies. Let’s get off this flaming tub.” Mungo grunted, already striding up to the bulwark. He could see his wife, Freya, standing on the dock. Her golden blonde hair that was streaked with slivers of gray shone like a crown in the morning sunlight.
With the agility of a younger man, he jumped off of the ship and landed on the jetty. It took him no more than five large strides to take his wife in his arms.
Louise’s heart warmed for the clansman. He had been separated from his wife for many months, and at last, he was back again. She prayed that never a day would come when Doogle would be parted from her for such an extended period of time.
“Come, Louise, let’s go,” said Doogle, taking her hand and guiding her in the direction of the dock. He helped her step off the ship.
“Now, who might this be?” asked Freya when Louise stood before her.
“This is Louise, and she is to be my wife,” replied Doogle proudly.
“I see. Welcome to Diabaig, Louise. It is a pleasure to have ye here,” said Freya, embracing Louise.
“And this is her mother, Lisette, and her father, Alexandre,” said Doogle, introducing his future parents-in-law.
When the introductions were done, Alick and Bruce dashed across the jetty and hugged their mother, lifting her off of her feet.
Freya laughed with glee and relief that her boys were alive and well.
When the motherly embrace was over, they greeted their wives with equal enthusiasm.
“I can see yer wife is not overly excited that ye are back,” said Mungo, chuckling.
He promptly received a cuff to the head from Murtagh. “Ye ken Caitlin, she is probably already busy in the castle kitchen preparing for a feast the moment she heard that a ship entered the estuary. And that is where I will go now.”
“Save some food for me, ye glutton,” said Mungo happily.
“Is that all ye are thinking aboot – food?” asked Freya, rolling her eyes.
“Aye – that and getting ye someplace quiet,” answered Mungo with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Ye will have to wait a little longer for that. We have to present the laird and lady with their future daughter-in-law and her parents,” said Freya.
Louise swallowed deeply. The moment was at last upon her. She peered up at the tower, but Mary was gone. When she looked back down again, she saw a troop of four burly clansmen approach their position.
“It is the laird’s command that ye come with us to the Great Hall,” said one of the soldiers.
“That is exactly what we had in mind, you overly official numptie,” said Brice.
“Sorry, sir, for being so direct. We came at the behest of yer father,” said the Highlander, looking slightly abashed.
“I ken. Make sure that the captain and his men receive proper accommodation,” said Brice to the clansmen who nodded curtly. He then turned around. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go and see my father.”
He greeted Freya and Alick and Bruce’s wives warmly before leading their escort in the direction of the main gate belonging to the castle.
26
26
A Happy Surprise for the Laird and the Lady
* * *
Castle Diabaig, the Highlands, Spring 1357
* * *
Louise fidgeted all the way from the dock to the large heavy oak doors that heralded the entrance to the main room in the castle. Two Highlanders dressed in fine plaids and armed with axes held vigil.
“Open the doors!” ordered Brice.
Promptly, the two men sprung into action and began to push the massive wood. The hinges on the doorway creaked in protest all the way until it stood fully ajar. The soldiers then moved back into position so that Brice and his party could gain access.
“Remember to bow when ye are in the presence of the laird,” advised Murtagh to Louise. “Failing to do so will result in ye beheading.”
“Haud yer wheesht! Ye are making her nervous,” said Doogle, chuckling. He dipped his head to look her in the eye. “Ye will be fine, my love.”
A loud gasp erupted from the assembled clan members when they entered the Great Hall. There were shouts of welcome and acclaim from the more free-spirited men. And the unmarried women looked on with batting eyelids when they saw the newly acquired clansm
en free from captivity in Bordeaux.
All the way up to the plinth, in the far reaches of the hall, clansmen and women lined the walls. The women were dressed in clothing Louise had never seen before. They wore all manner of plaids in various colors and patterns. The men were no less impressive in their own plaids that covered most of their bodies.
All of the men carried swords in their scabbards held to their waist on heavy leather belts. The gathering of people continued to vent their happiness with ribald acclaim as Louise and the others walked down the entire length of the hall that seemed huge even after having seen the prince’s palace in Bordeaux.
In the center of the wall to her right, there was a large fireplace with an elaborate overmantle with stone carvings depicting what she recognized as the clan’s coat of arms – Louise managed to sneak in a quick peek despite the fast pace they walked.
The chamber, though slightly frugal compared to the archbishop’s palace, was magnificent. It had the most beautiful decorations in the form of mullioned windows with extensive and ornamental frames. Various tapestries hung on the walls. Off and on and in between, banners hung loosely from the ceiling with the clan’s crest. The closer she got to the high table at the end, the more nervous she felt. Above it hung a chandelier that the Scots called a hart-horn. It was made of deer antler.
“We will wait here and wait for my maîther and faîther to emerge. Whatever ye do, don’t say a word unless spoken to. Is that clear?” Doogle looked at Louise seriously.
She nodded. This was more intimidating than meeting the Black Prince for the first time. She noticed that even Brice looked apprehensive as he gazed ahead. Louise looked up at Doogle. He, like his brother, stood as still as a statue.
When she heard one of the men standing by the door behind the table bang his spear on the stone floor, her heart nearly leaped from her chest up into her mouth.