Highlander's Stolen Love: A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  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 maki
ng 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.

  14

  14

  * * *

  Captivity

  * * *

  Château Le Blanc, Kingdom of France, December 1356

  * * *

  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.