Morgan the Rogue (32 page)

             
'Perhaps – when I can,' Morgan replied.  'But come, Rosamund is expecting us to join her in the chapel.  The wedding cannot begin until the guest of honour is present.'

*

Rosamund lay with her head against Morgan's shoulder as he caressed her soft flesh and kissed the arch of her white throat.  She sighed, feeling content after the heat of their passion was for the moment slaked.

             
'Are you sad?' Morgan asked, gazing down into her lovely face.  'What are you thinking, Rosamund?  Do you feel hurt because Alicia is married to Thomas and we cannot marry?'

             
'It is my greatest wish that we might marry,' Rosamund replied.  'But I am never sad when you are with me, my love.  No, I do not sigh because I an unhappy, but because I am content.'

             
'I would marry you this minute if I could.'

             
'I know that,' she said and kissed his shoulder, tasting the salty flavour of his sweat.  'There is no good to be had from wishing for the moon, Morgan.  What must be must be.  If it is meant that we shall marry it will happen.'

             
'And if does not?'

             
'Then I shall count myself blessed for having had your love.'

             
'You are as wise and generous as you are beautiful.  Owain told me that he understood why I could never love another woman after he had seen and spoken with you.'

             
'You do not love your wife,' Rosamund said, looking at him gravely.  'But you must try to love your daughter.  You must visit her when you can, Morgan.'

             
'Did Owain put that thought into your mind?'

             
'It has been there for a long time,' Rosamund replied.  'The child is growing, Morgan.  She ought to know her father – and she ought to have a father's love.  You should visit her and take her a present when you can.'

             
'I have given you no gifts.'

             
'I have your love and whatever time you can spare from your work.  What else should I need?'

             
'One day I shall give you things, Rosamund.'

             
'Until then I am content.  But do not let Morganna grow up to hate you.  Give her something that will make her smile when she looks at it and think of you.'

             
'What do you suggest?'

             
'An ornament – a small gold cross that she may wear on a chain or a ribbon about her neck.'  Rosamund slipped from the bed and went over to her counter, which was an oak cupboard on legs and had been used by her father's steward for counting and storing money.  She took a heavy silver casket from inside and opened it, then she seemed to look for something before giving a murmur of satisfaction.  She removed the trinket and brought it back to the bed, pressing it into Morgan's hand.  'My father gave me this when I was a tiny child, no more than three or four at most.  Give it to your daughter, Morgan.'

             
He looked at the cross, which was delicately engraved and hung from a fine chain of gold links.

             
'This is beautiful, Rosamund.  It must mean a great deal to you.  How can I take it from you?'

             
'My father gave me many gifts, Morgan.  I can spare this one small thing – and you might find it difficult to purchase a gift for your daughter.  If you approached a goldsmith he might betray you to the English.'

             
'There are some I might trust – but I shall take the cross because you offer it, Rosamund.  One day I should like to give you precious jewels.'

             
'When you have won back what rightfully belongs to you, you may give me what you please,' she said and then laughed as she kissed him.  'For now I am content with what you I have of you.'  She reached up to touch his face.  'I want another child, Morgan.  I would have a daughter this time if it pleases you.'

             
Morgan chuckled deep in his throat as he gathered her to him.  'Then I must see what I can to do to oblige you, my lady…'

*

Morwenna frowned as she left her mother-in-law's bedchamber.  Maire had been ill again in the night and was keeping to her bed for the moment, though she would drag herself downstairs before the day was over.

             
'You should rest.  There is no need for you to get up,' Morwenna had told her over and over again, but her answer was always the same.

             
'I shall die in bed, Morwenna.  Until then I shall come down when I can.'

             
Morwenna did not push the argument further.  She had learned to respect Maire and it grieved her to see the other woman so ill.  Indeed, she dreaded the day when Maire finally died and not only because the English might confiscate the manor.  If that happened she could return to Oswestry, though she preferred to live here.  The land here was rich and fertile and they lived well.  She knew that Maire had gold locked in a counter in her chamber, for she had given her money to buy material for new clothes for herself and the child from the cloth merchants who came to the market once a month.  When Maire was dead she would take that gold for herself but for the moment she was content with what she was given.

             
Hearing a child's laughter, Morwenna turned to see that Gwenny had brought her daughter to visit her.  She smiled as she saw the little girl for Morganna was a lovely child.  She hardly ever cried or screamed and was no trouble.

             
'She wanted to see her mother before I put her to bed for her afternoon sleep…'

             
'Come to Mother,' Morwenna invited, holding out her arms to the child as she walked unsteadily towards her.  She sat down suddenly on her bottom, her face creasing as if it had hurt but then she picked herself up and set her mouth determinedly.

             
How like her father she was!  Morwenna had seen that look in her husband's eyes.  If she had doubted that the girl was her husband's daughter she did not now.

             
It was months since Morgan had been to visit them.  At Christmas she had wondered if he might make the effort to visit his daughter but he had not come.  No doubt he was with his woman!

             
The bitterness was strong in her.  Rhys had promised to kill Rosamund de Grenville but she had heard nothing from him.  She believed he was too much of a coward to carry out his promises.  Were she a man both Rosamund and Morgan would have been dead long ago – or she killed in the attempt.

             
'Mumma…'  Morganna patted her hands against her mother's face and Morwenna realised that the child had sensed her anger.  'I am not angry with you,' she said. 'It is him I hate…'

             
Even as she spoke she heard voices outside the door and then it opened and he came in.  She stared at him in disbelief.

             
'I thought you must be dead.'

             
'Or did you merely hope for it?' Morgan asked.  'You should know that Rhys Llewelyn is an outcast again.  He tried to kill Rosamund de Grenville – but killed her serving woman instead.  His life is forfeit and if he comes here you should have nothing to do with him, Morwenna.'

             
'I have not seen him since…' she faltered as his angry, accusing eyes stabbed at her.

             
'I do not care when you last saw Rhys.  Go with him if you wish but leave Morganna here with her nurse or you will be sorry when I find you.'

             
'I do not wish to go away with Rhys.'

             
It was true enough.  Rhys had failed her once again.  He was a fool and a coward and she despised him.

             
'Why have you come?' she asked.

             
'To see Morganna.'  He was smiling at the child as she clung to her mother, clearly disturbed by the tension she sensed between this stranger and her mother.  'You are lovely, my daughter.  Will you come to your father?'  He squatted down and held out his arms to her.  'Come and kiss me, my pretty one.'

             
Morganna stared at him for a moment.  She had no conscious memory of him, but something in her responded to the scent of him and the caressing tone of his voice.  She held out arms to him.  Morgan took her up, holding her high above him and tossing her in the air, catching her with ease.

             
She shrieked with laughter, clearly enchanted with this new person in her life.

             
'Do you remember me?' Morgan asked as he held her lower and looked into her face.  'I nursed you as a babe but it is many months since I have seen you.'

             
'She is eighteen months old,' Morwenna said, the hatred twisting inside her as she contrasted his manner with the child and her.  There were smiles and kisses for Morganna but not even a kind word for her!

             
'And I have given her nothing,' Morgan said and took something from his pocket.  Lodging her against his hip he fastened the chain Rosamund had given him around the child's neck.  The clasp was secure and would not easily yield unless you knew its secret.  'That is for you, my daughter, to remind you of your father.'  Turning to Gwenny he passed the child to her.  'Guard her well, Gwenny.  I shall come again when I can.  For now I would speak to my wife alone.'

             
'She is a sweet child and no trouble,' the nurse told him.  'I love her well.'

             
Morgan nodded, his expression hardening as the nurse went out.

             
'I have nothing for you but this…'  Morgan gave his wife five gold coins.  'You may use it as you wish.  I hope that you have all you need here with my mother?'

             
Morwenna wanted to throw the gold nobles into his face, but resisted the impulse.  She might need money if the English came to turn her out of the house.  She frowned as Morgan turned away.

             
'You are leaving at once?'

             
'I shall visit my mother and then eat food her servants are preparing for me.  After that I shall go.  It is not wise to stay here for long and I have work I must do for Owain.'

             
'You are going to her!'  Morwenna cried, the jealousy in her face.

             
'Where I go is my business, Morwenna.  But I shall not be with Rosamund again for months.'

             
Morwenna made no answer.  She was eaten up with her jealousy and bitterness.  He had come to see the child and his mother.  She meant nothing to him.  And now she would not even have the satisfaction of knowing that he had lost the woman he loved, for Rhys had failed again.

             
She watched as her husband went out, hating him.  Anger and self-pity welled up inside her.  Surely one day she would find a way to be revenged on him!

*

The Battle of Bryn Glas was a turning point for Owain Glyn Dwr's cause.  The devastation wreaked on the enemy was terrible indeed and the savagery inflicted by the Welsh on the hated English went far beyond the rules of warfare.

             
Morgan was sickened by some of the mutilation he witnessed as he moved amongst the dead and wounded afterwards.  It had been a glorious battle but this cruelty was inglorious.

             
'Was it necessary?' he asked Owain later.  'God knows I hate the English as much as any man here – but some of what has been done here makes me ashamed.'

             
'You have a soft streak in your nature, Morgan.  I have noticed it before.  This will make the enemy fear us.  They will not now dismiss us as cowards and weaklings.'

             
The battle had taken place in June 1402 and as that year wore on it became clear that Owain's words had the ring of truth.  Now at last the rest of Wales was beginning to respect this man who had come to deliver them from the yoke of English dominance that had lain too long upon their land.  More and more men were swelling their ranks and the momentum seemed unstoppable.

             
In every region there were uprisings against the English, and the burgess cowered in their towns, terrified of what might happen if they tried to resist.  The people refused to pay the fines and taxes levied against them.  Now there was a belief that Owain was the true Prince of Wales, and that Merlin's prophecy was coming to fulfilment at last.

             
Owain was being taken seriously in France and Scotland.  There were negotiations for foreign troops to come and aid them in their struggle against the English oppressors.