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Iteuil, Aquitaine, December 1356

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The stalemate between the French mercenaries and the Highlander prevailed on the Duroc farm – Doogle remained glued to the spot. Louise’s mother was weeping. Alexandre held his wife in his arms to comfort her. The men in Jean Philippe’s troop waited for the Highlander to make up his mind concerning Louise’s fate.

Jean Philippe continued to hold the blade to Louise’s cheek. He leered menacingly at Doogle.

“What is it to be – do you want me to mark this beautiful girl’s face? Is that what you really want?”

Doogle gulped. The situation was untenable and unbearable. To see the woman he loved in such peril burned a hole in his heart. He could sense the French mercenaries waiting to pounce on him the moment he was distracted enough.

“Doogle, you must withdraw. They will kill you and my parents if you do not move back,” said Louise in a surprisingly steady voice.

Her bravery tore at Doogle’s heart. He loved her even more in that moment – if that was even possible.

“I cannot leave ye, lass. That vile man will hurt ye.”

“Don’t worry, my beloved Doogle. God has brought us together and he won’t rip us apart. You must have faith.”

“Enough of this.” Jean Philippe pressed the cold steel of the knife to her cheek, drawing a small globule of blood.

Louise did not utter a sound. She took the punishment with stoic reserve. The cut was but a small one. However, Doogle knew that if the current situation drew out any longer, Jean Philippe would lose his patience. He already knew the kind of man he was – a coward and a wretch. He would have no scruples in first maiming, raping and then killing Louise, her family, and then Doogle himself.

Louise managed to turn her head a fraction. She squinted into the distance and frowned.

“Men, enough of this waiting. Move in for the kill. I want you to gut that man and then execute the mother and father,” ordered Jean Philippe.

He manhandled Louise in the direction of the safe cordon of his soldiers who gradually tightened the circle around the Highlander.

Doogle counted at least ten men converging on him. The remainder of the force withdrew with their leader and Louise toward the horses. He did not have a moment to lose. Jean Philippe had been bluffing. He never had any intention of damaging the woman he so coveted – not yet at least. He would first have his fun with her.

---

“What in the name of God is going on here!” boomed a voice that was used to speaking to large groups of people.

“Father Mortimer,” shrieked Louise. She almost managed to free herself from her captor’s grip.

“This is none of your concern, Father,” responded Jean Philippe, calmly.

But his sense of control fast evaporated when he saw an equally sized force to his own ride alongside the clergyman. He recognized them as the same people as Doogle.

“Oh, but it is his concern and that of the laird’s son.” Mungo growled. He quickly dismounted and fearlessly strode up to the cordon of men surrounding Doogle.

Murtagh, Alick, Bruce and six other Scotsmen advanced with him.

“I see ye got yerself into a wee bit of bother, Doogle.” Despite the precarious situation, the smile on Mungo’s face split it from ear to ear.

“Ye took ye time in getting here, Brother,” Doogle said to Brice.

The relief washed over him. The French raiding party of thugs did not stand a chance now. He had seen Mungo and his sons fight and that is not to mention the indefatigableness of Murtagh when his blood was up.

In the meantime, Brice had gaged the situation perfectly. He instinctively recognized Louise as the woman who looked after his brother. He left his brother in the capable hands of Mungo and Murtagh. Still on horseback, he and the remainder of the men moved in on Jean Philippe and his companions.

“Hand over the woman and we will let ye and yer party leave in peace. However, if I ever see ye in these parts again, I will personally gut ye,” said Brice.

Jean Philippe hastily mounted his horse. One of his men helped Louise up until she sat in front of him. She shuddered at being in such close proximity to the man she despised above all things. She could feel his breath on her neck. His left hand grabbed her waist and invaded her person crudely.

“I will do no such thing. This woman was promised to me and I am here to claim her,” insisted Jean Philippe.

“It appears that she does not agree with that claim. Release her now.” Brice’s hand moved to the hilt of his claymore.

His men followed suit.

“Enough of this footering aboot.” Mungo charged forward and rammed his blade into an unsuspecting Frenchman.

“Aye, talk is cheap. Let’s gut the bastards,” shouted Murtagh, dispatching the man closest to him.

Doogle reacted in an instant. He had seen Mungo’s furtive hand gesture – they had trained this so many times during sparring practice back in the Highlands. He spun on his feet and smashed his head into the mercenary standing closest to him – he was on the ground in moments.

“Ye will pay for frightening and hurting my lassie.” He growled before plunging his sword into his chest.

He felt the blood pumping in his veins. Doogle took a moment to survey the scene around him. But his eyes were for Louise and her evil abductor alone.

“When I get to ye, ye will wish ye were never born.” With a feral cry he launched himself into the fray.

In the meantime, a fierce melee broke out. Mungo faced two of the enemy. Despite his advancing years, he was more than a match for the younger men. His brute strength and battle experience soon overpowered them. Along with him, his stepsons handled their opponents with equal skill. The remainder of the Highlanders quickly encircled the attacking force, drawing them back.

On the other side of the fighting ground, Brice had urged his horse forward. Jean Philippe screamed for his men to charge. The men on horseback were soon engaged in a ferocious fight – the two sides were equally matched. But Jean Philippe had the element of surprise, and as it so often was the case, the coward invariably gets away due to their slippery nature.

“Gaston, ride with me. Men, hold them off for as long as possible,” commanded Jean Philippe.

He pulled on the reins, coaxing his mount around and dug in his heels. The horse reared up on its hind legs before galloping off.

Gaston followed suit.

Brice saw his escape but was incapable to do anything. A wall of steel, horseflesh and men blocked his path. His opponents fought for their lives. They knew that they had no option but to face the Highlanders until either side gained the upper hand.

“We must follow them,” yelled Doogle, darting forward.

He thought that his heart would explode in pain when he saw Louise being carried away by Jean Philippe. He rammed his shoulder into the soldier standing before him. He fell to the ground and lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. Doogle raised his weapon for the kill.

“No, laddie,” said Mungo, placing a calming hand on Doogle’s shoulder.

“But this man was about to take Louise away from me – he has to pay,” said Doogle.

“He was only following his master’s orders. Save yer strength for the real enemy,” replied Mungo, pointing in Jean Philippe’s direction.

Doogle sighed. “Ye are right.”

He withdrew his sword and took a step back from the trembling Frenchman he was about to kill. He was confronted with a situation he had never known before – for the first time in his life he was fighting for the love of a woman. He had never known such rage before.

“I am glad to see ye, laddie,” said Mungo.

“And I ye,” agreed Doogle.

“Save the sentiments for after we have knocked these tallywashers senseless,” bellowed Murtagh, as he strode toward them. “Now, let’s stop footering aboot and help yer brother get rid of the rest of those pesky French, eh?”

Mungo needed no further invitation. He stalked off in the direction of the soldiers fighting with Brice and his men. Without hesitation, he pulled one man off of his horse and knocked him out cold with his sword’s handle.

“We need a few of them alive so that they can tell us where that bastard has gone with yer bonnie lass,” he said when he saw Doogle frown at his second offer of clemency.

“Ye are getting soft in yer old age,” said Doogle with a wry grin.

“No, just more acquainted with the ways of the world, laddie. But ye mustn’t worry. I am here now. And we will get yer lassie back – I promise.”

Mungo punched another Frenchman in the face. The force of the blow could have stunned a bull.

With Doogle and Mungo’s arrival on the scene, what little remained of the enemy quickly surrendered. The Highlanders disarmed them with ruthless efficiency and bound up their hands and legs.

“Where has Brice gotten to?” asked Doogle when he could not find his brother.

“Alick, Bruce – take five men and go with Doogle,” ordered Mungo, pointing ahead.

Beyond, Brice was in the process of cresting the nearest hill in hot pursuit of Jean Philippe and Gaston. The horse the Black Prince had given him moved like the wind. Despite the ride over from the village and the skirmish, it still maintained all of its impressive stamina.

“Go now, laddie. Yer brother will need yer help when he catches up with that tallywasher,” said Mungo. “Murtagh and I will take care of her family and these bampots. We might do a little interrogating while ye are gone.”

The grin on Mungo’s face was menacing. Doogle did not need any further prompting. He quickly mounted a horse.

“Doogle?”

“Aye, Mungo?”

“What’s the lass’ name?” asked Mungo.

Doogle smiled wanly. “Louise.”

“Then go get Louise, and come back to us,” said Murtagh, walking up to stand next to his friend.

“Aye, I will – and thank ye.”

His two fellow clansmen nodded.

“What are ye still doing here? Brice will have had all of the fun before ye get to him,” prompted Murtagh.

And with those words Doogle charged off with Alick, Bruce and the other clansmen hastily following in hot pursuit.

When Mungo turned around, Lisette, Louise’s mother, fell into his arms. She lamented something in French.

“She begs you to save her daughter. She has her whole life ahead of her,” said Father Mortimer, waddling up to Mungo and Murtagh along with Alexandre.

“Brice will get the job done,” said Mungo, solemnly.

“Aye, and Doogle will fight like a demon for his lassie,” added Murtagh.

“She is more than just that. She is his betrothed,” said the priest.

“Is she now? Trust that laddie to land himself a bonnie French girl.” A huge smile creased Mungo’s face.

---

A few leagues away from the farm, Brice was fast catching up on his quarry. The double load on Jean Philippe’s horse had slowed down the animal considerably. Even though he had a head start, Brice’s swift black stallion was closing the gap quickly.

“Gaston, turn around and face him. It will give me enough time to get away,” ordered the coward.

Gaston peered over his shoulder. He could see Brice fast approaching.

“Oui, I will take care of him.” Gaston nodded at his superior before veering off to the right and turning to face off the hot pursuit.

“I will meet you back at the château. Good luck,” shouted Jean Philippe, coaxing his mount to even greater effort.

Brice steeled his nerves when he saw Gaston gallop toward him. He would have to time everything perfectly if he was to have a chance of keeping up with Louise and her captor. He would only get one attempt of unhorsing his antagonist.

“Ya, ya,” he yelled.

The stallion responded with even more speed.

“Easy does it, easy does it.” Brice gritted his teeth as he leveled his sword at the Frenchman. In moments, they would come into contact. He could clearly see the other horse’s nostrils flare red with the effort.

Time almost seemed to stand still. It was that moment when a man gets almost superhuman abilities. Sounds and smells become more potent. The vision was razor sharp – every minute detail of the surrounding land and the man became clear. Brice could almost make out every pore on Gaston’s fast approaching face.

A cacophonous clash of steel on steel heralded the meeting of both men. The impact of the blades vibrated up Brice’s arm all the way to his shoulder. He almost dropped his weapon because of it. In the process, he barely managed to stay atop of his horse – he veered to the side precariously.

It took him a moment to regain control of his horse and turn the beast back in the direction he had come. When he about-faced, Gaston was almost upon him. His opponent’s skill in the saddle was astounding. He had somehow managed to withstand the charge far better than Brice.

Brice peered ahead, bracing himself for the second impact. The stallion reared up and darted forward. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a group of horsemen fast approaching from the direction of the farm – Doogle’s fiery red hair was unmistakable. If he only managed to stall Gaston for a while longer then he would be able to resume the chase.

It was not to be. The moment he looked back at his antagonist, blackness filled his vision. Brice felt the wind in his lungs forced out. He barely noticed his body thudding onto the hard, frosty ground – the pounding of hooves and then silence followed.

Brice’s sight gradually cleared from pitch-blackness to a hazy shimmer of light.

“Where am I?” he asked with a croak.

He heard voices, but he could not discern their origin or who they belonged to. He felt his body shake – rough hands pulled him hither and thither.

When his vision cleared, he saw Doogle peering down at him. “Brother, I knew you were alive.”

“Aye, I am as well as can be. But it appears that I found ye barely breathing. What happened? We were following ye, and the next thing I know, ye were on yer arse.”

Brice lifted his hand to his forehead; it throbbed with staccato abandon. “The girl – what happened to her?” He sat up, stabbing pain in his head almost making him wretch.

“She’s gone, Brother. That bastard got away,” said Doogle, looking as if the weight of the world weighed on his shoulders. “She was to be my wife,” he added, somberly.

“And she still will be. In the fray, I ‘politely’ asked one of the French prisoners where it is that the rogue will have taken her. He said that this Jean Philippe fellow resides in his father’s castle not too far from here. The liege lord and his sons died at the Battle of Poitiers. So, it appears that Jean Philippe, his bastard son, is the only heir to the title.”

Brice could hardly deal with all of the information. He still felt concussed by the harsh fall he had lived through.

“Laddies, get the laird’s son into the house. Lisette has prepared some broth. He will need to get his strength up before we attempt to rescue Louise,” ordered Mungo.

“Louise. That is her name?” asked Brice.

His brother nodded at him. “Aye.”

Brice grabbed Doogle’s arm forcefully. “Don’t worry, I will help ye get her back if it takes the rest of my life. But I dinnae want ye to do anything stupid. We go together. Rescuing her from a castle is an entirely different matter altogether. It will have to be planned to the letter.”

He could see the conflict play on his brother’s face. Doogle’s instincts screamed at him to get on a horse and ride to the château. Louise needed him. There was no knowing what Jean Philippe would do to her now that he had her in his grasp.

However, he also knew that his brother was right. They would need all of the information that they could get if the rescue mission were to be successful. It tore at Doogle’s insides. Fate could be so cruel at times. He had found the woman he loved only to have her taken away. He formed a fist with his right hand and slammed it into the ground.

“I ken yer pain, Doogle. Have faith, and we shall prevail,” said Brice softly.

“That’s enough talking, Brice. Ye need to rest. We will discuss the plan of attack on the morrow,” said Mungo.

He gave the command that the men standing close by help Brice to the hovel. Brice was too weak to protest.

“And ye need some wine, brother,” said Murtagh to Doogle. “Come on, laddie. I want to hear how ye came by the bonnie Louise.”

“I am not in the mood to talk, brother,” said Doogle.

Murtagh shrugged. “Then, we shall drink in silence. Ye will talk to me when ye are good and ready.” He patted the younger man on the shoulder. “No matter how hard things get there is always hope.”

Doogle dipped his head. “But what if he hurts her?” He felt rage surge through his body at the prospect.

“He won’t. I ken craven men like that. He wants to savor the moment. He won’t harm a hair on her head until he has had his way with her,” said Mungo.

The notion was unbearable to Doogle – the thought of another man touching the woman he loved was enough to make him sick.

“What if he is raping her right now?” His hands flew to his face, and a large groan wracked his body. It sounded like an elephant preparing for the charge in retaliation for the death of its herd.

Murtagh and Mungo helped him to his feet.

“Now, ye listen to me, laddie. Such thoughts beget evil,” said Mungo.

“And besides, he won’t have it in him to touch her intimately,” added Murtagh.

“What makes ye so certain?” asked Doogle.

“Because he is a weakling and weaklings need to feel safe. And I promise ye that Jean Philippe does not feel safe right now despite the thick walls of his castle. He will be waiting for us because he knows we are coming for him. And when we do, we will kill him for all the bad things he has done,” said Mungo, venom lacing his voice.

The hard words gave Doogle confidence. “I am grateful that ye are here. I dinnae ken if I would’ve been able to get through this without ye.”

“Ye ken us. The moment we heard that ye did not return home, we jumped at the chance to find ye. And now that we have, we are going to celebrate. And tomorrow we will think about getting yer ladylove back,” said Murtagh.

“Aye!” Mungo slapped Murtagh on the back. “So no more worrying, eh?”

Doogle nodded before allowing himself to be escorted to the hovel where supper would be served.

Father Mortimer had already returned from his church with a cartload of wine. For now, sorrow would have to wait until another day – it was time for old friends and brothers to enjoy their reunion.