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Bordeaux, Aquitaine, December 1356

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It was one day before Christmas Eve. The days had passed by quickly for Louise since the blissful night with Doogle. Ever since, they had taken every opportunity to make love. Not even the cold could stop them when they had camped for the night halfway to Bordeaux from Iteuil. Instead, it had given them more incentive because it kept them warm.

Louise was in the chamber she shared with Doogle at the archbishop’s palace in Bordeaux. She and the other clansmen were the Black Prince’s guests over the festive season.

Brice had wanted to sail home sooner, but the Prince of Wales had convinced him that the storms in the Bay of Biscay and close to the English Channel would be too dangerous to navigate. He recommended they sail closer to spring.

Louise did not mind though. Apart from Poitiers, she had never been in a large city before. The markets and the many people intrigued her. She just loved to roam the narrow streets and haggle with the tradesmen.

Of course, she and her mother always had an escort of at least four burly clansmen to look after them. They took their responsibility so seriously that they never let the two French women out of their sight. There had also almost been an altercation with one of the tradesmen at the market because one of the Highlanders felt that he was fleecing Louise and her mother of their money.

Their loyalty to Brice and his brother was limitless. Ever since Brice had arranged their freedom from the prince’s dungeon, they had offered their services to the clan and made the oath of fealty to the Laird Alastair Macleod – they were now members of the clan Macleod.

Other than that small interlude at the market, the few days she had been in the town had been pleasant. In the evenings, they dined with the prince and the King of France. Louise had never seen such opulence before. Jean Philippe’s château had been impressive, but it did not hold a candle to the prince’s court.

All of the courtiers were dressed in the finest garments made of silks, linens, and velvet. The women were festooned with gold, silver, and jewels. Louise had also never seen so much food in her life – boar, poultry, fish on Fridays, and beef always bedecked the prince’s endlessly long dining table.

Between courses, an army of entertainers kept the dining party amused. Louise just loved it when the troubadours told stories of brave knights in shining armor as they rescued damsels in distress from villainous scoundrels. She had cried on occasion when the tale had a tragic ending. But the sweet sound of music that invariably followed these performances always lightened her spirits.

Her father took in the luxuriousness of his surroundings with his customary aplomb. His favorite part of the day was supper. Louise had never seen him eat so much before. He had to be careful not to show too much enthusiasm for the food lest he incensed his wife – she needed to believe that her cooking was better than anything else.

To Louise’s surprise, her mother was very content to leave France behind her. At first, she had expected her to be depressed. On the contrary, she took her new situation very seriously. Each day, Brice had to spend time teaching her Gaelic and Lisette was an avid learner. Already, she could have limited conversations with both Mungo and Murtagh who did not waste any time in teaching her the racier words and expressions.

Louise stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was in the middle of preparing herself for dinner. A frown pleated her brow. She felt as if her breasts had grown in size since becoming Doogle’s wife in all but in name. She asked herself whether this was normal. However, her instincts told her that something was happening to her body. She could only guess that she was with child. She promised herself that she would ask her mother later that evening.

She put the thought to the back of her mind. She glanced to the left. On the table next to her lay an elaborate gown – it was truly magnificent and worthy of a queen.

The garment consisted of two interwoven ghitas made of brocaded silk long-cloth. One of the corset-like dresses was of a dark color that was nearly black and the other burgundy. The maroon garment was embroidered in gold in a design which included rose arbors among which appeared both wild animals and wild men. The darker of the two garments had a repeating pattern of circles, each enclosing a recumbent lion lying on golden leaves. Small ornaments cut or stamped out of thin gold and silver covered the clothing.

The Black Prince had placed so many beautiful things at her disposal. There was everything from dresses to jewelry. At first, Louise had tried to dissuade the prince from this extravagance, but she had only gotten the response that she should never deny a prince his pleasure.

Doogle was having fun seeing his betrothed looking like royalty. And Murtagh and Mungo constantly teased that she resembled a Sassenach lady. They tried to explain to her what the lady of the clan wore on special occasions. To be honest, Louise was not looking forward to the women’s clothing found in the Highlands. She imagined that nothing could come close to the beauty of the clothes in Bordeaux. To her, clan wear sounded archaic and bland.

She took a moment to brush her wavy dark hair. She loved the way in which it had gained in volume. The changes were not only taking place in her breasts. She felt like a woman reborn.

Alianor came to mind. She would miss the old woman who had always been her friend and the only person who understood the world she lived in. She had convinced Brice and Doogle that she needed to say her farewells the day after the feast. Brice had wanted to leave for Bordeaux immediately – he was eager to see his wife and children again after being parted from them for so much time.

There were no tears, just advice and well-wishing from the witch. She reminded Louise that she was the one who told her that she would one day find love in the most unexpected of places – she had been right. Instead of marrying a simple peasant farmer, she would spend the rest of her life with the son of a Scottish laird. It was unbelievable.

But something else the witch had said worried Louise. She had warned her that an evil presence in her life still lingered. It was a potent force, which Alianor had not been able to see clearly. The bad energy clung to Louise, and if she did not destroy it, her life was in jeopardy.

“What evil still threatens me?” she asked herself in barely a whisper.

This question plagued her every day. It was at that very moment, she heard a shuffling sound behind her.

She turned, but before she could scream, a calloused hand covered her mouth.

“I have news,” said the prince seriously, as he strolled into the room.

Brice looked up from the document he was reading. He sat in the main hall of the palace with Doogle.

“What news?” he asked.

“The Baron of Le Blanc has escaped.”

“What!” shouted Doogle, getting to his feet.

Brice calmed him with his hand. “When did this happen?”

“I just received the missive from the head of my jails,” responded the prince.

“I must go to Louise at once,” said Doogle, feeling a shiver of trepidation curl its way down his spine.

“This palace is too heavily guarded. He would never attempt to come here. His presence would be considered an act of aggression against me. It would mean his immediate execution,” said the prince.

“It was Gaston – he helped him,” said Brice with a deep frown creasing his brow.

“That man is as slippery as an eel. It astounds me how he always manages to wiggle his way out of the noose. I am not waiting here. I need to see if Louise is all right,” said Doogle, storming in the direction of the double doors.

“Do ye want me to come with ye, Brother?” asked Brice.

Doogle waved his hand. “No, I am probably overreacting.”

Brice sighed, but he did not make any attempt to follow his brother.

The first thought that came to Doogle’s mind was what Louise had told him about Alianor’s premonition. At the time, he had laughed it off as silly hocus-pocus, but now, the witch’s forewarning came back to haunt him with a vengeance. He could not help but think that the woman he loved was in peril.

It took him far longer than he wanted to make his way to their chamber. The halls in the palace were deserted. Sconces lining the walls provided light. However, the ambiance spoke of deep foreboding – something was not right.

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.