by Alisa Adams
The next moment, she could feel his hot breath on her neck. Jean Philippe inhaled her scent before planting a small kiss on her skin.
“You taste as sweet as a peach, my love,” he said, sounding as if he was in pain.
Louise remained silent. She let her tormentor continue what he was doing. When his fingertips brushed over her left breast, she had balled her hands into fists. All it would take was for her to spin around and punch him in the face. She thought of Doogle. She tried to imagine him riding hard. She prayed that he would make it in time to stop the wedding.
“Now, that is better. It appears that I have tamed the wild filly.” He chuckled. “Not too much I hope because I like to have something beneath me that squirms.”
Louise maintained her silence. She knew that anything she said would anger the man.
“Not very talkative this evening.” Jean Philippe turned away from her and walked to the door. Before he left, he said, “I will have some food sent to your chamber. Make sure you get some rest – you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”
With those words, he departed the room.
Louise let out a huge sigh. For the moment, she was safe. But that would all come to an end the next day. If a miracle did not happen, she would be his wife. Doogle would be lost to her forever.
17
17
A Royal Intervention
* * *
Château Le Blanc, Kingdom of France, December 1356
* * *
“Monsieur le Baron, there are men here to see you,” said Gaston, entering Jean Philippe’s chamber. He looked worried.
His master turned away from the mirror and stared his minion in the eye. He was in the middle of his ablutions prior to his marriage to Louise that would soon take place in the castle chapel.
“Wedding guests for sure,” he said confidently as he turned to look at his reflection in the mirror again. “Make certain that they are given refreshments.”
“I am not so sure about that, Monsieur. These men do not look like wedding guests,” insisted Gaston.
Jean Philippe turned around again. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Antoine escorted them past the gates. There are close to a hundred heavily armed soldiers in the party and more men are camped in front of the château’s walls.” Gaston pointed to the window. “Here, Monsieur – take a look for yourself.”
“Antoine! What is that fool doing with them?”
Gaston shrugged. “He claims that he brought them here so that they could pay their respects to the bride and groom.”
“So, I was right the first time – they are wedding guests.” Jean Philippe looked pleased for a moment until he frowned. “Who do they think they are that they can just come to my home without an invitation? I would only accord the King of France that honor.”
“The man in charge looks like royalty.” Gaston moved closer to his master as if what he was about to say would bring on the wrath of God. “If I am not mistaken, it is the Black Prince, Monsieur.”
“Impossible! He is in Bordeaux.”
Jean Philippe did not believe his words. He rushed to the window and flung it open. He peered down into the courtyard. As his trusted underling had claimed, it was full of armed men. He studied the situation more closely. Above the soldiers, black banners depicting three white ostrich feathers fluttered in the breeze.
“Mon Dieu, you are right, Gaston. That is the Black Prince’s sigil. I remember it from the Battle of Poitiers.”
Jean Philippe continued to stare at the newcomers. He almost spat onto the windowsill when he saw a group of brawny men dressed in plaids. Finally, his gaze came to a halt on a man with fiery red hair. He could not believe his eyes – it was the man he last saw at the Duroc farm.
“How?” He was too confused. He knew of the enmity between Scotland and England. So how did they come to be in the presence of the most feared knight in the world?
“I suggest you finish getting dressed, Monsieur. You must tell these people to leave,” insisted Gaston.
Jean Philippe nodded. “Oui, I will tell that English prince that he has no business on French soil.”
Intuitively, he knew that his boast was in vain. There were no French armies to speak of – the Kingdom of France was on its knees and its king a captive of the Black Prince.
He let Gaston fasten his gambeson and place the golden chain to his person. For good measure, he took his sword belt and secured it around his waist. He took one final look in the mirror before dashing to the door and the spiraling stone staircase that would take him to the main entrance hall in the keep. The entire way down, he fumed about Antoine. How could he let the English and Scotsmen into the castle?
When he vacated the donjon, the sunlight almost blinded him. The brightness of the day stood in such contrast to the gloominess inside of the keep. It took a moment for his vision to adjust – there he was, the Prince of Wales and son of the King of England; it was Edward of Woodstock resplendent on the back of his horse.
For a moment, Jean Philippe was captured in sheer awe by the tall blond man’s presence. He was regal beyond belief. He sported a set of black armor that conveyed a message of deep foreboding. It matched the color of his black stallion. It was like looking a god from the underworld in the eye.
“You are the baron?” asked the prince haughtily.
The response stuck to Jean Philippe’s throat.
“Oui, this is the Baron Le Blanc,” announced Gaston for his master with equal authority. He always had a cool head in tense situations. His master would never have climbed so high without him.
“Bonjour, Monsieur. I am the Prince of Wales, and these men are my dearest friends...” The prince indicated with his hand that was covered in a chainmail gauntlet to the Highlanders in his party. “It has come to my attention that a great injustice will transpire here today.”
Jean Philippe felt his heart almost jump up his throat. Perspiration started to trickle down his back. As a coward, he was but an insect in the presence of a brave warrior such as the prince.
“There is no injustice,” he said without any conviction to his words.
“I have been told otherwise,” declared the prince.
The prince dismounted from his horse and walked up to the baron until coming to a stop one pace away from him. On cue, a group of seven Highlanders followed his example, and like the emperor of Rome’s onetime personal Germanic bodyguard, they walked with him.
“You are to be married to the woman called Louise Duroc?” queried the prince.
Jean Philippe dipped his head. But before he could answer, Gaston beat him to it.
“What is it to you? If you are here to pay your respects to my liege lord, please do so and be gone.”
A sardonic smile skirted across the prince’s lips. “It appears your servant considers himself above his station.”
“To me, it appears that the Prince of Wales considers himself the King of France,” retorted Gaston with the same confidence lacing his words as the prince had displayed.
“On the contrary. I have the word of the King of France. As you know, he is my honored guest,” said the prince. He turned briefly and gave a signal to one of his men who was still mounted on his charger.
“You captured the king. He is no willing guest of yours,” snapped Gaston.
Next to him, Jean Philippe was looking about his person anxiously. He craved escape from this tense situation. The pressure was so thick that one could almost cut it in the air with a blade.
“On the contrary. May I present my guest, King Jean of France,” announced the prince when another man appeared by his side.
Jean Philippe’s eyes nearly dropped out of the sockets. How did the Highlanders manage to convince the Black Prince and the King of France to come all this way for a woman, a peasant woman of no import to the happenings of royalty?
King Jean from the House of Valois was a thin but strongly built man with a kind face. Throughout France, he was kn
own as ‘Jean the Good’ because of his generosity to the poor and his gallantry and bravery. At the Battle of Poitiers, he had fought like a lion, brandishing a huge battle-axe about his head. Eventually, he was captured and ended up dining with the Black Prince in his red silk tent the very same evening.
He and the Englishman made a good pair. Later generations and historians would one day claim that these two men were the last knights of chivalry.
“We are very fortunate that the King of France could be with us today because of his imminent departure to England until the peace negotiations with his son are concluded,” said the Prince of Wales, smiling at the other monarch.
“Oui, I could not pass up the injustice that is about to take place in my kingdom.” King Jean indicated with his hand to the English royal. “The Prince of Wales is an honorable man. The moment he heard that you were forcing one of my subjects to marry you against their will, he asked for my assistance in putting a stop to it.”
Jean Philippe was trapped. He could’ve refused the English prince and ordered his men to fight, but confronting the King of France was an entirely different matter. He was oathbound to do his bidding. Not doing so was the highest form of treason, resulting in the perpetrator’s execution. He also knew that his men would not lift a finger against the King of France. Only Gaston would follow him to the gates of hell.
“Your Majesty, I promise you that the woman is here out of her own free will. We are in love,” said Jean Philippe, bowing to his sovereign lord.
The Highlanders started murmuring when Doogle translated what had been said.
Mungo and Murtagh took a few steps in Jean Philippe’s direction, their hands on the hilts of their swords.
“Laddies, ye will compose yerselves. Leave this up to the prince and the king. Ye will get yer chance of seeing that tallywasher on his bahookie soon enough,” said Brice in a calm but authoritative tone.
The two Highlanders stopped in their tracks and resumed their places behind the laird’s eldest son.
“And you vow that this is the case – that your bride to be has in no way been coerced into this union?” asked the king when everybody had calmed down.
Jean Philippe nodded. “Oui – she is the woman I have always loved.”
The Prince of Wales leaned to one side and whispered something into his fellow monarch’s ear. The two royals nodded before once more redirecting their full attention to the lord of Château Le Blanc.
“I would like to speak with this woman and hear what she has to say about this matter,” commanded the king.
The color drained from Jean Philippe’s face.
Next to him, Gaston shook his head.
However, Jean Philippe had no choice. He had been given a direct order from the King of France. He had to do his bidding or face death in the eye.
“Bring Louise,” he snapped to Gaston who reluctantly turned and walked away, and vanished into the keep.
“Louise, many soldiers are here. I do not recognize the banners,” said Chantal, peering out of the window.
The two women had heard Jean Philippe cursing a moment before as he descended from his quarters. The things he had said about Chantal’s husband, Antoine, had made Louise’s blood turn cold.
Louise stood next to Chantal. She too did not recognize the sigil. But she hardly looked at it. Her attention was for the burly Highlander who stood close to an imposing figure dressed in black armor – it was her beloved Doogle.
“Chantal, I told you that he would come for me. He has brought an army,” said Louise excitedly.
Seeing him again made her heart melt in her chest. It hammered at twice its usual pace. It was as if she had just completed a fast dash across the fields surrounding Iteuil.
Doogle was so handsome. She could barely make out the expression on his face due to her being so high up in the keep. But from what she could see, he looked serious. The hatred he harbored for Jean Philippe was palpable.
“How did they get into the château?” asked Chantal.
“I don’t know,” responded Louise.
“There can’t have been a struggle. We would have heard the commotion.”
The two women could only assume that it was Antoine who had helped Doogle and the others gain easy access to the castle. They feared for his life should Jean Philippe get away scot-free.
They continued to watch the goings-on in the main courtyard. The man dressed in the black armor was doing most of the talking. Then an impressively dressed man joined him. They spoke directly with Jean Philippe.
“Where is Gaston going?” asked Louise when she saw her captor’s henchman leave his master’s side and disappear inside the donjon.
“He must be coming here, Louise. That man probably demanded to see you.” Chantal looked at Louise. “You are saved – Antoine did it.”
Louise swallowed deeply. Before she could answer, the door to the chamber crashed open. It was Gaston.
“You are to come with me,” he ordered, pointing at Louise.
“Where?”
“How dare you question my order.” Gaston marched up to Louise and harshly grabbed her arm, forcing her to the door.
His grip was painful. All Louise could do was follow him.
They walked in silence down the staircase to the main hall. She could sense the nervous tension in the air. The guards lining the walls seemed worried about what would happen next.
* * *
The Highlanders immediately started murmuring when she came out of the keep. Murtagh and Mungo were the loudest of the bunch.
Louise smiled when she saw Doogle’s cherished face. She mouthed the words, “I am all right, my love.”
His relief was apparent. It took all of Doogle’s restraint not to run forward and take Louise in his arms. His brother had told him that he must do nothing. The Black Prince would use the King of France as his pawn to get her back. The two men had discussed the plan of action during the ride over from Bordeaux.
Brice, Doogle, Murtagh, and Mungo had left for Bordeaux a little over a week after meeting Antoine in the tavern. Brice knew that they didn’t stand a chance of breaking into the castle alone. It was too heavily guarded. His initial idea was to convince his friend, the Black Prince, to loan him an army but the royal had suggested a better idea.
Hearing him out, Brice immediately knew why he was one of the foremost tacticians of the age. He left nothing to chance. And most of all, he would not put his men’s lives in danger when there was a better way. The Prince of Wales had also said that besieging Château Le Blanc would have taken weeks if not months. A hundred men could hold the place against a far larger force for ages before they succumbed to starvation or an all-out breach of the walls.
Looking at Louise standing with Gaston and Jean Philippe, Brice knew that the next part of the Black Prince’s plan was about to unfold.
“You are Louise?” inquired the Black Prince, breaking the silence that had transcended over the courtyard.
She nodded meekly.
“Have you been treated well?” asked the prince kindly.
Louise nodded again, and the prince looked relieved that she was all right.
“Now, I am going to ask you something very important, Mademoiselle, and I want you to speak the truth. Can you do that?” asked the prince.
Louise nodded a third time.
“Good. Is it your will to marry that man today?” The prince pointed at Jean Philippe.
The prince’s voice was so powerful that it carried across the entire courtyard. Next to Louise, Jean Philippe visibly tensed. Behind her, Gaston stepped closer. She looked at Doogle who just nodded at her to answer the prince’s question. There was not a shred of doubt in his eyes. He knew that she loved him with all her heart.
The prince repeated the question. “Are you marrying Baron Le Blanc out of your own free will?”
He was starting to look doubtful. If Louise did not answer quickly, the man in charge of the rescue operation would leave her to her fa
te and be gone.
In the meantime, Mungo squinted at Jean Philippe and Louise.
“Something’s aboot,” he said to Murtagh.
“What do ye mean?” asked Murtagh.
“Look at that conniving walloper standing behind Louise – he is coercing her.”
“Crivens, the bastard,” concurred Murtagh. He too recognized the fear and hesitation on Louise’s face. Like Mungo, during his long and eventful life, he had seen every dirty trick in the book. “What do ye suggest we do aboot it?”
Mungo arched an eyebrow. “We give the blighter a damn good thrashing, that’s what.”
A huge smile materialized on Murtagh’s face. “Aye, that sounds like a plan, laddie.”
“Good. I suggest we get cracking before the prince changes his mind and lets this farce of a marriage go through,” said Mungo, already beginning to move in the direction of Jean Philippe and Gaston.
“What do the two of ye think ye are doing?” asked Brice when he saw the two clansmen walking past him.
“The laddie is as blind as a bat,” said Murtagh.
“Aye, can’t even see that the lass is terrified. It’s all right that Doogle can’t see a bloody thing – he is love struck. But ye – the laird’s son,” said Mungo, winking at Brice. He already looked forward to what he was about to do.
The prince looked confused when Mungo and Murtagh increased their pace and brushed past him. He was about to say something when a loud crash echoed over the courtyard.
Mungo had reached Louise, and with a speed belying his advancing years, he punched Gaston in the face. The Frenchman had not seen the two Highlanders coming because Louise obstructed his view. His lord’s warning had come too late. With a jerk, he collapsed to the floor with a meaty thump. Gaston was out cold. The knife he had held clattered to the ground. Everyone, including the king and prince, saw it.
“Now, that was very nicely done indeed, brother,” said Murtagh, pushing Jean Philippe to the side.
