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Château Le Blanc, Kingdom of France, December 1356

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Louise had blacked out during her abduction due to exhaustion and fear for her life. She was confused and had lost all orientation. As she gradually regained consciousness, her mind began to fill in the blanks.

There had been a fight back at her parent’s farm. She recollected the anguish on her mother’s face. Doogle! So many men with swords surrounded him. Did he still live? What happened?

She groaned. Her busy mind made her dizzy and slightly nauseous. She remembered hearing the clash of swords. There were so many men.

“Father Mortimer!” she cried out.

The priest had come with even more men. They were like Doogle – burly, tall and strong. One man had stuck out the most. He was tall, athletic and had black hair. He had spoken out for her release and then… Louise could not remember much after that. The last thing she knew was the feel of her captor’s hands on her body and the wind rushing through her hair.

Louise started to move, a little at first, before slightly shifting her weight. She moved her arms – What’s this? The flats of her hands felt a soft and silky surface underneath them. Where am I?

Her mind raced back to the last thing she recalled. She willed her brain to provide her with the answers. She was racing over the frosty countryside on a horse. She was with Jean Philippe – he had taken her against her will. With a jerk, she sat up. Louise looked to the left and right. It was already dark. A few candles and a large fire in the hearth lit the chamber.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light – dark shadows flickered over the walls. Their movement gave the room an eerie feel. It was as if ghosts danced around her, reminding her of her predicament. Was it this fate she saw in the clouds the other day with Doogle when they had kissed?

The day had started out so beautifully. For the first time in her life, Louise had kissed a man. She could remember exactly how passionate heat had coursed through her body – the feel of Doogle’s arms around her. He was so strong, a haven, a castle where she would always be safe.

And then, he had asked her father for her hand in marriage. It was then that the mercenaries had arrived. They took away everything, and she did not know whether the man she loved still lived. Yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew that the Highlander with the black hair had saved Doogle. He would come for her, of that Louise was certain. But when?

Again, she looked around the dark chamber. It surprised her to find that her surroundings were luxuriously appointed. Thick dark green velvet curtains were drawn in front of the windows. Lavish silver candelabras stood on the stone overhang above the fireplace and on the table in the corner of the room.

Louise lay on a large curtained four-poster bed. She gasped when she discovered that her slovenly and coarse tunic had been removed. Instead, she wore a white linen nightdress. A repellent thought crept into her mind – Did Jean Philippe remove my clothing? Did he see me naked?

She slid her legs over the bed until her feet touched the wooden flooring. It took her a few moments to find her balance. She stood up and walked over to the mirror that hung on the wall. She pleated her brow when she saw her reflection – her hair had been combed and tied with red ribbons.

Her hand inadvertently brushed her cheek. There was some kind of ointment. It covered a wound, a cut from a knife. It came back to her. Jean Philippe had cut her there during the standoff between him and Doogle. Louise had felt no pain, not even fear, just hatred for the man who constantly harassed her.

Louise walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge. She lowered her head into her hands. She wanted nothing more than to cry, to beg God for salvation from her captivity. For that is what it was. No matter how much she tried to deny that fact, she was Jean Philippe’s prisoner, and he would come for her soon to claim his prize, the prize she had kept sacred for the man she would one day love.

“Where am I and how will I escape?” she asked herself in French, her voice croaky. It was all so confusing and horrible.

“You are where you belong, Louise. You will never leave this place for as long as you live,” said a voice she recognized.

She slowly turned around. Jean Philippe stood by the doorway belonging to the chamber. How long had he been standing there, watching? He looked more menacing than usual in the weak light. Once more, the shadows danced, but this time they caressed his hateful face. Slivers of orange from the fireplace lit up his skin – one side of his face was obscured by the night, and the other was in full view.

Her captor sported a linen gambeson. The padded garment filled him out, making him look more brawny than usual. Louise recognized it to be of fine quality. Jean Philippe looked like a nobleman with the thick gold chain hanging around his neck.

How could the bastard son of a lord afford such items? The last time she had seen Jean Philippe, he had been in the service of his father in the capacity of a lowly squire. Although his father recognized him as his son, he did not carry the same rights as a legitimate heir. Something had happened. Her jailer behaved as if he was the rightful owner of the building she inhabited.

However, she did not ponder over his status for all that long. His words struck her the most. He had claimed that she would never leave this place. Louise knew that if some miracle did not occur, she would fall victim to the man’s lustful advances. She could see the lecherous need all over his face.

“Have you nothing to say to your betrothed?” he asked, slowing slinking closer, revealing more of his detestable visage.

The floorboards creaked in protest of his weight. He continued to leer at Louise. It was as if he was trying to remove her skimpy clothing with his eyes.

“You are not my betrothed.” Louise hissed, instinctively covering her chest with her arms.

“You are wrong, woman,” he spat.

Jean Philippe had reached the bed where Louise sat. She froze when he sat down next to her. Almost immediately she smelt the reek of wine on his breath. When his hand rubbed over the naked skin on her leg, she had to stifle a scream that almost escaped her mouth.

“You are so beautiful, Louise. Finally, I have you. I have waited so long for this moment.” The sound of his voice was like poison slowly seeping through her bloodstream.

“You will never have me. I would rather die than be your woman.” Louise turned to look him in the eye with the most detonating expression she could muster.

“In time, you will come to appreciate me and all the luxuries I am able to provide you,” he said, confidently.

She creased her brow. What is he talking about?

“What do you have to offer? You are but a squire in the service of your liege lord.” She intuitively knew that this was no longer the case.

He chuckled. “You are mistaken.”

He stroked her cheek where the small wound was. For a heartbeat, it seemed as if he was lost in another world. “It makes me so angry that you forced me to hurt you. If you had told that brute of a man that I am the man you love, none of this would have been necessary…”

Louise felt that he was getting angrier the more he spoke. Jean Philippe was such an unpredictable man. His moods changed like the April weather – one moment he was almost kind, and the very next, he could kill with ruthless abandon.

“Instead, you betrayed me. You lied to me. You lied about your betrothal. I know you would never do that to the man you love. I have seen the passion you harbor for me in your eyes.”

His voice softened again as the final words passed his lips. So subtle, in fact, as if he was her lover. Yet, Louise never failed to notice the evil undercurrent in his tone. It was menacing like the words he now uttered.

“You will have to wait for the pleasures of my embrace for a short while longer. I will not have you soiled in the eyes of God,” he continued.

All manner of thoughts coursed through her brain. What was he talking about? The man was delusional – mad even. He had no connection to the real world. He actually believed that she had feelings for him.

“I have made all of the arrangements. We are to be married before Christmas. And then, you will be mine. Tell me how much you are looking forward to being my wife, chéri?”

“I will never be your wife.” Louise hissed again. She moved away, but Jean Philippe grabbed her chin and twisted her neck so that his mouth was only a finger’s width away.

“You will do as you are told, woman.”

There it was again, the constantly simmering aggression that was never far away, like an active volcano. It was always the same since the dawn of men; narcissists had no value for human life except that of their own. Such men put their needs above all else. Their most sickening attribute is that they could falsify kind emotions to get what they wanted – they had no empathy, just personal desires and simmering hatred.

“NEVER! You will never have me. Doogle will come for me. And when he does, he will kill you for having hurt me.” Louise felt cold rage shoot through her bloodstream. Despite her anger, she saw what she recognized as fear flicker in his eyes, no matter how brief the sign.

“You say that now, Louise. However, in time, you will come to accept me as your man. I will make you very happy indeed.” Jean Philippe pulled her closer and pressed his mouth on hers.

Louise felt bile rise up her throat when his tongue probed and slithered across her lips. When his left hand started to stroke her breast, she bit down on his lip with all of the force she could muster – the metallic taste of blood soon followed. She swore to herself that he would never kiss her again. She would never betray Doogle.

“Argh! You bitch!” Jean Philippe pulled back and stumbled a few paces away from the bed.

When he turned around, Louise saw that blood was streaming down his chin. There was a lot, and it landed on the wooden slats on the floor.

“If you ever come near me again, I will hurt you more than that. And when my Doogle hears of this, he will make your end a painful and slow one,” she said in a slow and menacing tone.

“You will never see that man again. But enough about him. It appears that you are not yet ready for my kindness. I am afraid that harshness will be the order of the day until you see reason.”

Even though it seemed for a moment that Jean Philippe was about to cry, he quickly regained his habitual spiteful composure. Again, Louise felt fear in her veins. She wanted to shout the vilest things at him, but she could not put a voice to the insults that were gushing through her brain.

“Fortunately for you, I have my trusted friend, Gaston. He will put you in your place again. And he will continue to do so until you understand that it is I who is your liege lord now.” He turned his head in the direction of the door. “Gaston! Bring me some wine.”

Moments later, Gaston entered the chamber. In many respects, he was more unappealing than his master. The tall, spindly man looked as if the next gust of wind might blow him over. Yet, what the eye failed to see under the clothing was that the man was all sinew and hard muscle. The minion with the narrow face and serpent-like green eyes was a murderer and bodyguard all in one.

“Voici, Monsieur,” said Gaston, placing a pewter pitcher and a goblet on the wooden table. He bowed obsequiously.

“Merci, Gaston.” Jean Philippe sat down and poured himself some of the ruby red liquid. Continuously eyeing Louise, he sipped the beverage and smacked his lips contently. “Gaston, you will remind the woman of her place in my home. You have her at your full discretion. Just try not to mark her permanently. I want to enjoy her skin on our wedding night.”

Gaston snorted uncouthly. “It would be my pleasure, Monsieur.” Like a venomous snake, he slowly stepped over to where Louise sat.

She moved away until her back touched the headboard on the bed. Her eyes moved to the left and right – there was no escape. She was at this loathsome man’s mercy. In the corner of her eye, she saw that Jean Philippe was enjoying himself. He obviously knew what was going to happen next.

Before she knew what was happening, Gaston ripped her nightdress from her person – she was stark naked in the blink of an eye. The brute strength and speed of the torturer were astounding. Louise lifted her hands to cover her breasts. She pulled her knees up and did her best to conceal her bare sex from the men’s lustful scrutiny.

“Pin her on the bed, Gaston. I would like to take a closer look at my prize,” ordered Jean Philippe.

Louise screamed when Gaston’s callused fingers manhandled her roughly, inviting chuckles of delight on his part. She did all she could to try and squirm out of his vice-like grip. It was impossible. He was too strong. The struggle lasted for what seemed like an eternity with her not gaining anything. When fatigue set in, Louise could do nothing but lie still and wait for the next part of Jean Philippe’s sordid game.

“Not so haughty now, eh,” said Jean Philippe. He stood by the bed holding the goblet in his left hand. He leered down at her. His gaze roved from head to toe. He grunted his appreciation for what he saw. “I always knew that you were beautiful in the flesh.”

“You will never have me!” Louise did her best to sound confident, but she could not contain the stammer of fear in her voice.

“Oh, but I already do.” He made his point by roughly prodding and squeezing her breasts.

When his hands stroked over the lush hair of her pudenda, moving lower without inhibition, Louise screamed again at the top of her voice. Was this to be it? Would Jean Philippe break his earlier pledge and claim his carnal prize before the nuptials were completed. Or worse – would he share her with his trusty companion and then the rest of his men?

Louise closed her eyes and prayed to God for the torture to stop. She tried to picture Doogle in her mind to blot out the invasive examination of her person.

He will save me, I know it.