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Bordeaux, Aquitaine, December 1356

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“Ye mean to tell me that the bastard gained access to the palace,” shouted Mungo. He paced up and down in the hall like a charging bull.

“Impossible – this place is as guarded as a virgin’s cunny,” yelled Murtagh. He was equally as incensed as his comrade.

“Will the two of ye cease all that ranting and pacing aboot,” said Brice in an authoritative tone.

Doogle sat on one of the many chairs holding a damp cloth to his head. It was red with blood in places. He did not utter a word. He blamed himself for not having saved Louise. He had not cased the room. Instead, he had stormed in and let emotions get the better of him. He feared for the worst.

“Brice is right. If we are to find Louise again, we must think straight,” said the Prince of Wales. He walked up to Doogle and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I promise you that we will find her. I will not rest until that is achieved.”

Mungo and Murtagh grunted their approval. At the laird’s son’s behest, they had calmed down a little.

“But what can we do?” asked Bruce.

At that moment, a soldier strode into the vast hall. He came to a halt in front of his prince and bowed his head slightly.

“Your Royal Highness, I have received word from the guards at the main gate and the men belonging to the palace.”

“Out with it, man,” snapped the prince.

“They claim that a cart carrying barrels of wine entered the palace grounds in the late afternoon claiming that they had orders to deliver wine. The men thought nothing of it because so much produce passes through there on a daily basis…” said the soldier.

“Stop finding excuses for them. I want to know when the cart passed through the gates again and whether it left the town,” said the prince.

The soldier gulped. He was all too aware of his master’s wrath when he considered that a mistake had been made.

“The wine cart did indeed leave the palace – and the sentries by the city gates assured me that a conveyance of that same description left Bordeaux before the onset of curfew.”

The air hissed out of the prince’s mouth. He took a few steps in thought, his head facing the heavy slabs on the stone floor.

“All right, I want you to prepare a search party,” he ordered.

“Surely, you want us to leave first thing in the morn—”

“I want you to leave now. You will take one hundred men and divide them into three search parties so that you can cover the most ground.”

The military man nodded. “As you wish, my liege.”

“It is very likely that the rogue will try and escape into the Kingdom of Navarre to the south of here. He cannot return to France lest someone recognize him as a disgraced lord. Also, the peasants will gut him if they see the man who stole from them,” said the prince.

Brice smiled wryly. The prince’s clarity and brilliance of mind never ceased to surprise him. He was a true strategist.

“I agree with the prince,” he said, getting to his feet.

The prince regarded his friend. “You surely don’t want to partake in this nighttime expedition? You will have ample time to catch up if you leave on the morrow.”

Brice shook his head. “I owe it to my brother to do everything in my power to help him get his woman back.”

His answer satisfied the prince. “As you wish, my friend. Will you join one of the three search parties?”

“No – the lads and I will form a fourth,” replied Brice.

“I will, of course, put more of my men at your disposal.”

Brice walked up to the most feared military commander in Europe and placed his hand on his shoulder. “The men in my troop will be more than enough for our purposes.”

“It is agreed.”

The prince walked over to the large oak table that ran across almost the entire length of the hall.

Brice followed him.

Mungo and Murtagh along with Mungo’s sons converged with them.

“I suggest you take the route that hugs the coastline here,” said the prince, pointing his finger on the map and running it down the shoreline of Aquitaine toward northern Spain. “My men will head south further inland – in case he chooses that direction of escape.”

Mungo cleared his throat. “Ye are thinking that the bastard might take flight on a boat from one of the fishing villages, Your Royal Highness?”

The prince nodded. “Yes, that is what I would do.”

“What if he has hired more men?” asked Murtagh.

“It is very likely that his man, Gaston, still has the coin to do so. But I do not believe that there will be more than say twenty,” said Brice.

“We can handle that easily,” said Mungo, looking eager to get stuck in.

“Aye. We need to get our revenge for what they did to poor Hamish and Duncan. They gutted them like cravens from the rear,” said Murtagh.

“I am just happy that they did not offer my brother the same treatment,” said Brice.

All of the men turned to face Doogle who still sat on the chair looking as if there was no hope left in the world.

“We will get her back – I ken it.” He snarled. As the words slipped out of his mouth like a deathly curse, he twirled his sword on the floor. The steel and the stone joined to make a deathly whistling sound.

Mungo paced up to the younger man until he stood before him. “I ken that ye are worried for the welfare of yer lassie. But ye must not lose yer wits and yer humanity.”

Doogle slowly looked up. “What will ye have me do, Mungo?”

“Be a man of the Clan Macleod.” He slapped the flat of his hand on Doogle’s cheek. “There was once a time when yer mother was taken from the laird before ye were born…”

Doogle had heard the story many times before, but he still had to hear it again. “What did my da do?”

“He never let despair get the better of him, not even when he was held captive in the stinking and deathly bowels of Chillingham Castle. He got oot and got the job done. Yer mother bears testament to our laird’s courage. And ye…” He prodded Doogle in the chest. “... are the laird’s flesh and blood.”

“Aye. And my brother, Mungo, and I will not allow ye to behave like the men we are hunting. Ye have the honor of the clan to represent and ye bloody well will do so when we gut that malingering tallywasher in a clean and fair fight,” said Murtagh, joining in the conversation.

Even though Doogle felt despondent with regard to their chances of ever finding Louise again, he felt fresh hope flow through him. His elder clansmen were right. Louise would never look at him in the same way again if he behaved like Jean Philippe and Gaston. As a man worthy of her love, he must tread the honorable path. Only like that would he receive God’s blessing.

He got to his feet and hugged Mungo and Murtagh. “Thank ye, brothers…”

They beamed at him like a pair of feral dogs.

“Thank us by helping us get Louise back safely. She still has a job to do,” said Mungo.

“Aye, the lassie still has to meet yer ma and da and provide ye with many healthy and strong bairns,” said Murtagh, immediately understanding his comrade’s meaning.

“We will leave now,” said Doogle.

The three of them turned to face Brice and the prince.

“It is settled then,” said the prince.

“Aye. Get yer weapons and alert the rest of the men, Mungo. We shall meet at the stables shortly,” ordered Brice.

“Aye, laddie.” Mungo about faced and stormed out of the hall.

His stepsons followed quickly in his wake.

“Now, somebody has to inform Lisette and Alexandre about their daughter’s plight,” said Brice.

“The laddie and I will take care of that,” said Murtagh. He punched Doogle in the shoulder, and they too left.

“I wish I could come with you,” said the prince.

Brice smiled. “There is no need for that. Ye have given us all of the help we could ask for. Ye are a true friend.”

The Black Prince dipped his head. “I suggest you get going. I will hold a banquet in your honor upon your return.”

“Thank ye for all of yer help.” Brice did no wait for an answer. He turned and followed in the same way his fellows had left.

The hunt for Louise was about to begin.