by Alisa Adams
“Were ye at the Battle of Poitiers?” asked Brice in French.
For the first time, the man looked away from his food. He studied Brice for a moment. He picked his teeth, ridding them of the flesh that had gotten caught between them.
“Oui, I was there.”
“So was I. It was a bloodbath,” lied Brice. He knew what there was to know about the battle from his brother and Mungo’s sons.
“Oui – c’est vrai. The bastard English hid behind the archers like they always do. But they fought like demons from hell when we met them in close combat.” The man-at-arms took another hearty slug from his goblet and released a cavernous burp.
“Ye were in the front line?” asked Brice.
The man shook his head and grunted in disgust, almost spitting the contents in his mouth onto the table. “I never had the chance because I was ordered to retreat by the present baron.”
Brice pleated his brow. “Ye mean Jean Philippe?”
The man looked surprised. “You know him?”
“No, not personally.”
“But you call him by his first name. To most, he is the Baron Le Blanc. The bastard recently inherited the title from his father who died along with his sons during the battle.” The soldier drained his cup. “I should have been there and died with them. I live in shame now.”
Something dawned on Brice. This man did not appreciate his new liege lord. He needed to know more. It was quite possible that he may be the key they were looking for to get into the castle.
“Why did the present baron not join the battle with his father?” he asked.
The soldier regarded Brice closely. “What is it to you?”
Brice shrugged. “I have heard some bad things about him, that is all. I thought that ye might be able to shed some light on the situation.”
“Oui, I can do that if you arrange for another jug of wine. I need something to dull my shame. I live while my comrades and the true baron are dead. And now I have to genuflect to a coward who abducts women at Château Le Blanc.” The last words were almost vomited from his mouth.
Brice raised the pitcher. Mungo and Murtagh immediately picked up on the cue and got up and walked over to the bar. Doogle could not believe his ears. The man just admitted that a captured woman was held in the castle and he did not like it one bit. It took all of his self-control not to break his cover.
The moment more wine was presented to the Frenchman, he refilled his cup and drained it in one, immediately refilling it again and repeating the process. Brice needed to act fast before he was too well past it to continue the conversation.
“That day, the true Baron Le Blanc advanced with the king and his son. Jean Philippe was in the back of the troop with his most trusted cronies. They did their utmost not to move quickly – the cowards,” said the Frenchman at last. It was obvious that he had harbored the shame alone for too long; he needed to put voice to his infamy.
“What happened next?” asked Doogle, speaking for the first time since entering the tavern.
“The moment the first men fled, Jean Philippe retreated with them. I did my best to try and persuade him that it was our duty to protect the baron, but he just said that he would not die that day and that the battle was already lost.”
“What did ye do?” asked Brice.
“I attempted to move forward. It was impossible. Then, Jean Philippe gave me the order to withdraw and his henchman, Gaston, made his point with the tip of his sword. I should have fought back, but it was hopeless. The French army was already routing by then, and there were rumors that the king had been captured.”
“I am sorry for ye. Ye are not to blame. Ye tried to do the honorable thing,” said Brice.
“Hah, trying is not succeeding. As you can see, I am still alive when I should be a rotting corpse.” His ignominy forced him to refill his goblet yet again.
“What is yer name, friend?” Brice placed his hand on the other man’s arm.
“Why would you want to know the name of a coward?”
“Because I have a way for ye to redeem yer honor,” replied Brice. He had played his card. All that was needed was for the man-at-arms to take the bait.
“Antoine.” He held out his hand, looking hopeful. But the air of suspicion still lingered on his face.
“I am Brice.”
Antoine frowned. “That is a peculiar name.”
“Not where I am from.” Brice took a deep breath. “I am from Scotland, and we are looking for someone – a woman to be exact.”
His comment piqued Antoine’s interest. “So, you are the ones he stole her from I presume?”
Brice nodded. “Aye. This man is my brother, Doogle. He is her betrothed.”
Antoine slapped his hand on the table in disgust. “Now, he has gone too far. First, he shirks his duty to save his own skin, and then he takes another man’s woman. Is there no end to his disgrace?”
“There will be if ye help us free Louise,” said Doogle.
“Aye,” concurred Mungo. He had picked up enough of the discussion to understand that the Frenchman was on the hook.
“What do you need me to do?” asked Antoine after a few heartbeats.
“We need to ken whether the lassie is all right,” replied Brice.
“He treats her well. She is dressed like a lady. But he keeps her locked up in her chambers for most of the day. Rumor has it that the baron plans to marry her before Christmas.”
Doogle’s heart almost stopped beating. “Do ye ken when exactly?”
Antoine shook his head. “Non. But I can get a message to her. The woman that looks after her needs is my wife. She will do what I ask.”
“Tell her that I am coming for her soon.” Doogle snarled.
“How many men do you have? Château Le Blanc is well guarded. The coward has hired more men since he became the baron,” said Antoine.
For the first time since they had met him, Antoine was not drinking. It seemed as if the haze of his stupor had lifted at the mere mention of crossing his liege lord.
“There are close to twenty of us,” said Brice.
Antoine hacked out a laugh. “That is not enough. Even if you do manage to get past the sentries and into the château, you will never get out alive. The baron has the woman constantly under watch.”
Brice smiled. “I think I have an idea, but we have to act now. Antoine, from what I hear, you share no love for this baron…”
“Oui, that is so,” spat Antoine.
“Are ye willing to help us free the woman and reunite her with her betrothed?” asked Brice.
Antoine thought for a moment before he dipped his head. “Oui – I would do that. I have lost my self-respect because of that craven scum. But you have to promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That you will kill the baron,” replied Antoine with venom in his voice.
Doogle grinned at him. “I like the sound of that. It appears we share a common goal, mon ami.”
Antoine lifted his cup. “To the death of the Baron,” he whispered.
“I’ll drink to that,” said Doogle.
“So will I,” concurred both Mungo and Murtagh, their understanding of French improving by the minute.
“All we need now is for my plan to work,” said Brice, bringing his goblet to the center of the table.
“Tell me all aboot it, laddie,” said Mungo after they had drunk.
16
16
A Shimmer of Hope
* * *
Château Le Blanc, Kingdom of France, December 1356
* * *
“Vous êtes très jolie, Mademoiselle,” said the lady’s maid appointed to Louise. She referred to her new mistress’ beauty.
“Merci – vous êtes gentille,” answered Louise, thanking her and saying that the lady’s maid was kind.
The two women were in Louise’s chamber at Château Le Blanc, just as she almost always was since her abduction that was already a few weeks ago. Apart
from the occasional turn in the castle’s grounds, she was not allowed out of her room. She lived in a gilded cage, and her jailor was a monster.
She had not seen Jean Philippe since he molested her physically with the help of Gaston – Louise could still feel his hands exploring her naked body as if the man was still probing and pinching. It had been the most degrading experience in her life. And just before she thought that he would lose all restraint and rape her, he suddenly stopped and stormed out of the room.
He had left her alone since that ill-fated night. Louise had heard rumors that he had departed the castle to harass the peasants in the villages nearby. Jean Philippe certainly copied his peers by doing his utmost to steal from the poor. It was a disease that plagued the whole of France since the defeat at Poitiers.
The Dauphin was in no position to uphold law and order, which the lords who had not succumbed at Poitiers had taken into their own hands for personal enrichment. Louise was certain that if the Black Prince wanted to, he could bring the entire Kingdom of France to its knees.
But worse still, unrest among the peasants or the Jacquerie grew on a daily basis. The average person got this name from the aristocracy because of their unsightly and simply padded surplices called jacques. If the harassment by the nobles were to continue, France would explode like a tinderbox into a full-blown revolution.
“Tell me about him, Chantal?” asked Louise.
The lady’s maid stopped combing her hair. “Mademoiselle, I have already told you a hundred times.” She chuckled.
Louise turned around to face the woman in her early thirties. She had an oval face that exuded kindness. Her hair was dark blonde and her eyes brown. She was a matronly woman and taller than Louise. But she was a Godsend for two reasons. For one, she kept Louise company in an otherwise dire situation. She did not know whether she would have survived had it not been for Chantal.
And the second reason was about to be voiced.
“I cannot hear it enough. Please tell me again what he looked like and what he said,” pleaded Louise.
Chantal put the comb on the table and sighed. “As you know, I was not there…”
“Yes, yes, I know. It was your husband who saw him.”
“Oui. But he spoke to your man, and he promises to save you,” said Chantal, starting the tale all over again about how Doogle planned to save Louise. It was all so farfetched and near impossible, but Louise believed that he would succeed nonetheless.
Louise’s heart warmed when she imagined Doogle and his brother along with the two other clansmen in the tavern in the village of Le Blanc. It had been Chantal’s husband they had encountered two weeks ago, who to their good fortune, despised Jean Philippe as much as they did. The man-at-arms had jumped at the chance to help bring him down.
After that, Doogle had gotten messages to Louise on a daily basis – it was what gave her hope – but then they abruptly stopped a few days ago. Chantal had explained that Doogle and his brother had to go away for a few days and that they would be back. Where had they gone? Louise feared that Doogle had abandoned her and returned home to the Highlands.
Yet, Chantal promised her that this was not the case. Her husband, Antoine, said that they would come back, and when they did, they would enable Louise’s escape from Château Le Blanc. However, Louise was none the wiser as to how they would achieve this. Chantal did not know of the plan. In essence, all that was promised to Louise were empty platitudes that did not bear much credence.
“But you do not know where they have gone,” complained Louise.
“Non, but I know that they will return,” insisted Chantal.
The air escaped Louise’s mouth. She was frustrated beyond belief. Her marriage date to Jean Philippe had been confirmed. If Doogle did not come through with his promise, she would be the vile man’s wife. And soon – the nuptials would take place on the morrow.
“There’s no time. Tomorrow I will be his wife,” complained Louise.
Chantal stroked her head. She had become very fond of the young and brave young woman. She almost saw her as the daughter she could never have. Although she and Antoine had tried, God had not blessed them with a child. Her man’s seed would not quicken – her womb was barren.
“You must have faith, Louise. You must place your trust in God, and you must accept whatever is woven into the tapestry of your destiny,” said Chantal.
“But what if it is my destiny to marry Jean Philippe?”
Chantal scrunched her brow. “I do not believe that is your fate.”
“What makes you so certain, Chantal?”
“Because God would never birth such sweet love and take it away again.” Chantal appeared confident in her belief.
Louise sighed. “I hope you are right,” she said in almost a whisper.
She did believe that her love for Doogle was strong and true, but fate was inexorable. It was constantly working, and it seemed that everything was transpiring so quickly and against her wishes.
“I am right. You must believe that Doogle will come for you,” said Chantal.
“But how will they gain access to the château? There are so many men guarding it.”
“Leave that up to your man,” replied Chantal, frowning.
Louise huffed. “I can’t just sit around idly. I have to do something.”
“You need to be patient and have faith. Antoine explained the measure of the men that are going to help you, and he said that they looked like men who would get the job done.”
Louise thought for a moment. The lady’s maid was right. She knew Doogle. She knew that he was a fighter. And from what she had seen from his brother and the other Highlanders in his party, a voice whispered to her that they would fight to the death to help the middle son of the laird get his woman back – no matter what.
“It has to be tomorrow. If that man puts his hands on me again, I think I will die,” said Louise. She felt as if the walls of the large and opulent chamber were collapsing in on her.
“Your man will never let that happen.”
“But do they know that the wedding is tomorrow?”
Chantal nodded. “Antoine told them before they left. Also, the news has spread through the village because the lord has promised food and drink to the inhabitants in honor of the occasion.”
This news surprised Louise. Charity and generosity were not traits associated with Jean Philippe. However, she did not ponder over her captor’s motivation and character for a moment longer. All she could think about was the man she loved and whether he would arrive in time to save her.
“What if Doogle is late?”
“He won’t be late,” insisted Chantal.
Louise got to her feet and began to pace from wall to wall. She felt like a caged animal. She had to do her utmost not to scream.
“I cannot spend another night in this room, this château – I must break out.”
“Non!”
Louise stopped in her tracks at her lady’s maid’s vehement outburst.
“You expect me to sit idly by and pray that everything goes well?”
“That is exactly what you are going to do. If you do anything rash, you will make the rescue all the more difficult. Jean Philippe will triple the guard, and then your man will not be able to gain access to the château.”
Louise knew that Chantal was right. She had to behave as if she accepted her fate. It needed to look like she was ready to marry Jean Philippe. Only then would the Highlanders manage to break into the castle.
“You must stop worrying—” Chantal’s hand flew to her mouth in shock.
“There is no need to worry, my love. Tomorrow we will be together. Nothing can change that. It is your destiny,” said Jean Philippe, entering the chamber.
Louise swallowed deeply. She hated the mere sight of her jailor. “I will never marry you!”
Jean Philippe grimaced. “Have you not learned your lesson? I left you in peace in the hope that you would come to see reason. It appears that you are
still resisting the inevitable.”
“I will resist you for as long as I live.” Louise hissed.
She did not notice Chantal tense at her words. The older woman knew of her master’s wrath when he was crossed. More than once had she been subjected to the lash because of taking food from the kitchen.
“And I will have all the more pleasure watching you squirm beneath me. There’s nothing quite as enjoyable as a bit of fight in a woman to increase a man’s ardor. I look forward to when we are alone tomorrow night.” Jean Philippe sneered.
The mere notion of having this man on top of her almost made Louise sick. Already, his wandering hands had been sickening enough, but sleeping with him... that would be a fate worse than death.
When Louise looked at his face, she could see the lust etched onto his features. He had the expression of a man who knew that he had won. Like a spider, he had been patient. He had waited until he got his woman. It did not matter to him that she despised him. The narcissist only cared about getting the prize – the cost or hurt he caused to someone else was of no import.
“Leave us,” ordered Jean Philippe to Chantal.
The lady’s maid hesitated for a few heartbeats. She willed Louise with her eyes that she not say anything more to anger the upstart lord. When she saw her master’s unwavering glare, she nodded at Louise apologetically and left the room.
In the meantime, Jean Philippe calmly walked over to where Louise sat. He ran his hand through her hair, emitting small moans of pleasure while he did this.
“Your hair is like silk,” he muttered. Desire laced his words.
Louise froze. It was like having a spider crawl over her skin, but she did nothing to stop him. She knew that if she angered Jean Philippe, he might break his vow and violate her body prior to the nuptials. To her mind, he did not care. She was his anyway if Doogle did not arrive in time.
She had to steel her nerves not to pull away in disgust. She tensed when his hands came to a rest on her shoulders. He squeezed her there. More lustful groans escaped his mouth.
