---

Iteuil, Aquitaine, November 1356

---

“Here, let me handle them!”

Doogle stood ankle-deep in the muddy quagmire in the pig’s sty. The newly born piglets wallowed contently in the dirt nearby. Matilda, their mother, watched her drift with piggy-like eyes as she too relaxed in the mud, completely perturbed by the other animals milling about and the burly Scotsman who shifted the beasts into the next pen.

“Merci, Doogle.” Louise wiped her brow with the back of her arm.

Despite it being cold, her cheeks glowed from the exertion of the heavy work of moving the pigs around and organizing the feed. She took a moment to catch her breath, the air exiting her lungs steaming white as it came into contact with the cold air. She could not fail but notice Doogle’s sheer strength as he maneuvered yet more livestock as if he was merely coaxing small puppies around.

He had regained much of his former vigor. However, the wound that had already healed still harassed him when he overdid it.

She watched him move to the barn where he promptly started moving bales of hay. A small smile flickered across her lips when he turned and grinned at her. She felt something flip in her belly. It felt warm. And there it was again. The same feeling she always had whenever she was near him. It felt alien to her even though it was a persistent and recurrent phenomenon.

“We’re nearly done, lassie,” said Doogle, wiping the sweat off of his brow.

“Oui, c’est vrais, Doogle – we only have to finish feeding the animals.”

“Aye. How about we go for another one of those walks when we are done?”

Louise nodded. It was her favorite part of the day. The long strolls she and the Highlander took in the surrounding countryside were like escaping to a different world.

“I would like that very much.”

Doogle nodded back at her. Promptly, he bent over and resumed his work.

She watched him for a while longer. He was attired in his plaid again. Louise had sewn the hole where the sword had punctured the fabric and washed it as best she could. Despite her not being accustomed to a man dressed this way, she had to admit to herself that his clothing made him look regal and powerful – but most of all foreign. He was a being that belonged somewhere else.

Louise sighed. Although he had not mentioned it, she knew that the Highlander would leave in the not too distant future when he was fully recovered. The mere notion of his departure made her sad. They’d had time to learn more about each other during their strolls in the forest while he was still convalescing in Alianor’s hovel. At first, they had only gone small distances, but gradually, as he grew stronger, Louise had shown him more of the land she loved so much.

The Scot had been impressed with the beauty of his surroundings. And yet, he never failed to tell Louise of the splendors of his home. The more she heard him recount of the marvels of the mystical land to the north, the more she wished that one day she would be able to see it – and maybe one day she would.

It had only been a few days since Doogle had left Alianor’s home in the forest. Louise had spoken to her mother and father about the Highlander and how he had fought in the French king’s army at Poitiers. It did not take much convincing, and they were more than willing to let him work on the farm until he would be ready to leave for home.

Louise felt saddened by this prospect – she had grown fond of Doogle and his easy manner. The man, who had the strength of two men, was kindhearted and gentle. In her heart of hearts, she knew that he would make a good husband one day.

Doogle slept in the barn as their house was too small to accommodate a man of his size. During the day, he helped Louise’s father tend to the animals – the two men got on well from the onset. The Scot did his utmost to use the rudimentary French he had learned when he was younger to converse with the Frenchman.

“Doogle, you must rest now,” said Louise’s father as he approached.

“Papa, tu es là,” said Louise, glad to see her father who had been in the forest chopping wood for the hearth.

“You have been working him far too hard, ma fille,” he chided.

“He is a strong man, Papa.”

Her father nodded. “Oui, that he is. But still, he is only a man.” He walked up to Doogle. “Here, have some of this. It will warm your belly.” He handed the Scot a steaming wooden mug.

“Merci, Alexandre. This is much appreciated.” Doogle took the drinking vessel and started to blow into it.

“Mulled wine with some honey,” intoned Alexandre, Louise’s father, lowering himself onto a bale of hay while he nursed his mug.

“And what about me – do I not get anything to drink?” protested Louise.

Her father raised two hands and shrugged. “I have but only two hands.”

She frowned. “So the man gets a drink first, is that it?”

“Mais oui – he is our guest,” said the father.

His daughter chuckled. “You are right, Papa. We wouldn’t want him to return home and claim that the French are not hospitable.” Merely speaking of his inevitable departure reawakened the maudlin feeling from before.

“Here, Louise, have some of mine. Just be careful it is very hot,” said Doogle, patting on the bale of hay next to him for her to sit down.

“Thank you, Doogle. It appears that chivalry is not dead.” She took the steaming beverage gratefully and carefully began to sip the contents. The heat felt pleasant, partially countering the icy cold of the early winter.

“We look after our lasses in the Highlands. And besides, ye worked just as hard as I did today,” said Doogle.

Louise looked up at the sky. The clouds were thick and gray. They clung to the empyrean as if they were there to stay for all eternity. Instinctively, she knew that the pregnant rainclouds would burst. Maybe, she and Doogle would have to postpone their walk to another day.

“Well, hello there, young man. I hope you are convalescing well here at the Duroc farm,” said a deep voice.

“Father Mortimer. It is good to see ye even if ye are a bleeding Sassenach,” said Doogle, grinning at the clergyman. He had met the priest on a few occasions because he was a regular visitor at the Duroc farm.

“Come now, God makes no difference among men,” said Father Mortimer.

“Mm, ye should tell that to the English. They want the entire world to be their own.”

“Yes, my countrymen are a truculent bunch. It is their way and most of all the way of our kings.” Father Mortimer waddled over to Louise and her father and greeted them warmly. Afterward, he lowered his prodigious bulk onto one of the bales.

Doogle nodded. “Ever since I was a boy we have been fighting the Sassenachs. Sometimes, we were successful, but mostly they won. My country is nothing more than a puppet state.”

“Don’t worry, son. When King David returns from exile things will revert back to normal,” said Father Mortimer.

“I admire yer optimism, I do. However, I dinnae think that King Edward will release him any time soon. And besides, we cannae raise the coin for the extortionate ransom he demands for the king’s release,” said Doogle, sighing.

“Is he treated well?” asked Louise, joining in the conversation.

“According to my former commander he is. Laird Douglas said that King David lives in a castle – a gilded cage of sorts.” The Highlander hacked out a laugh.

“So then the king is well?”

“Aye, I suppose he is.”

Alexandre cleared his throat. “Enough talk of things we cannot influence. What happens in the realms of kings is not for us simple folk to contemplate.”

Doogle nodded, but Louise was not satisfied with her father’s remark. “Doogle is the son of a Scottish laird and a warrior. Of course, he would hope to think that he could change the fate of kings.”

“Ma fille, you are always trying to change the world. For the moment, Doogle is a farmer and our guest.”

“Aye, and what a pleasant life this is,” intoned Doogle, his gaze sweeping over the hoary fields beyond the small homestead.

His regard finally came to rest on Louise, and she looked away sheepishly to stare ahead.

Alexandre smiled at the Highlander.

When Doogle noticed him looking at him, he nodded wanly.

“So, Doogle, tell me why there is no woman waiting for you back home?” asked Alexandre.

The clansman shrugged. “I suppose I never found the right one.”

Alexandre nodded. “Oui, in a way, love is such a simple thing. And yet, it is so difficult to find. Some men can spend a lifetime searching for it and never discover its meaning.”

“How did ye meet yer wife, Lisette?” asked Doogle.

“Oh, I was lucky that her father and mine were close friends. Lisette’s and my fate were decided the moment we were born.”

Doogle pleated his brow. “That very much sounds like my brother and his wife, Skye.”

Louise scrutinized the Scott. Doogle had often spoken to her about his brothers and their wives during their long walks. She could see that he missed them both.

“Your brother and...” Alexandre rolled his next word on his tongue for a few moments. “… Skye – that is her name, eh?”

Doogle nodded, smiling. “Aye.”

“They grew up together and always knew that they were meant to be together.”

“Uh-huh – those two are as thick as thieves. There is no greater love – my mother and father are the same.”

Alexandre grunted something incomprehensible as he drained his tankard of mulled wine. Then, he stroked his daughter’s cheek. “C’est bon ça, eh, Louise – there is no greater thing in this life than to love unconditionally and for all eternity. I pray that you will also find such passion, ma fille.”

“She will – God works in mysterious ways. He will guide your daughter to the right man when the time is right,” said Father Mortimer, rejoining the conversation.

Louise looked the clergyman in the eye. “How can you be so certain?”

Father Mortimer got to his feet and smiled down at her. “Because I just know.” He tilted his head and strolled away.

“At first, I was skeptical of that man. But now I think that he is a worthy and good addition to this community,” said Alexandre, eyeing the priest as he waddled back to the village.

Louise was still thinking about what Father Mortimer had said. Conflicting emotions played in her mind – Father Mortimer’s certain words still did not convince her. And again Alianor’s worrying premonition came back to haunt her – what if Jean Philippe was the man she was supposed to marry? She had known him for most of her life.

“Are ye all right, Louise? Ye look as if ye have just seen a ghost,” said Doogle. Concern was etched onto his features.

Louise’s eyes shot up. Doogle was looking directly at her. “Oui, oui, all is fine,” she stammered. A small red flush crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks.

“Allez, let us go to the house. Lisette will have prepared supper for us.” Alexandre got to his feet and gingerly walked over to his home. He was a comical sight – he moved lightly for such a big man.

“Come, Louise. I could eat a horse,” said Doogle, getting up and holding his hand out to her.

“With your voracious appetite I believe that you could eat an entire horse,” said Louise, accepting his proffered hand.

Doogle hooted out laughter. “Aye, us lads in the Highlands have the appetite of a bear. Let’s go before yer father eats everything.”

They both laughed because Alexandre ate almost as much as the clansman.

“Doogle?”

“Aye, lassie.”

“When will you return home?” She hated the question, but it had been plaguing her mind for days.

The Scot shrugged. “I dinnae ken. One day I will have to go home. My mother and father will be worried about me.”

“It must be terrible for them not to know where their son is – whether he still lives.”

Louise could imagine what Doogle’s parents must be feeling. When she was but a girl, she had known of similar uncertainty when her father had not returned home one day from tilling the fields. It had been a stormy night, and the banks of the River Clain had been flooded, as the watercourse had filled to a bursting point.

“What are ye thinking, Louise?”

“Oh, just about a time when Maman and I were worried about Papa. He did not return home from work until the next day…” Louise told Doogle all about that fateful night.

“Aye, not knowing the whereabouts of yer kin is a horrible situation indeed,” he said in a low voice.

“You will see your family again.”

Doogle nodded and awarded her a smile, but Louise saw something almost hidden in his expression. Could it be hesitancy, to return home?

She dared to wonder that if it was, could she be the cause? Had Doogle grown as fond of her as she had of him?