Morgan the Rogue (50 page)

             
'I thought I should never see you again.  They told me you had gone to Court.'

             
'Yes, that is true,' she replied.  'His Majesty has restored all my lands to me.  He has been both gracious and generous, Morgan.  I have so much to thank him for.  He has even helped me in the matter of our daughter's future.  Ellen is to be betrothed to a man worthy of her, and Anne is to be admitted to Court as a waiting woman to a noble lady until she is a little older, when we shall arrange a marriage for her.  It is all I had hoped for and more.'

             
'That is good news,' Morgan said.  'I am glad for you.'  His eyelids flickered and closed.  'I am weary, Rosamund.  I would sleep – but I pray you, do not leave me yet.'

             
'No, my love.  I shall sit here quietly while you rest.  Do not worry.  I shall not leave you.'

             
She glanced up as Morganna entered the room, putting a finger to her lips.

             
'He sleeps,' Morganna whispered.  'The fever has gone…' Tears caught at her throat.  'God be praised for his mercy.  I was so afraid that I would lose him.'

             
'Morgan must thank God for His mercy,' Rosamund said softly, her look tender and warm.  'But I think he owes much to you, my dear.  You have nursed him so devotedly.  I can see how tired you are.  Will you not go and rest for a little now?'

             
'Yes, I can rest now,' Morganna replied.  'He will be well again now that he has you.  You should take him back to Caris with you when he is well, Lady Rosamund.  This house has too many bitter memories.'

             
'For you as much as Morgan,' Rosamund said.  The girl had suffered too much and amends must be made her. 'We shall all leave here when he is well.  For it is my sincere hope that you will come to live with us?'

             
'If you can forgive me?'

             
'For what?'  Rosamund frowned as she realised what the girl must mean.  'Oh, my dear - you were not to blame for what happened.  My son was spoiled and headstrong.  Richard went his own way.  It was always so from the time that he could walk.  His nurse was forever running after him, rescuing him from trouble. We must forget the sadness and remember only the happiness he gave us.'

             
'You are kind, my lady…I have blamed myself for I could surely have done something…'

             
'There was nothing anyone could do.  I have learned to accept it,' Rosamund said.  'Now I think only of his beauty and the love he brought us all.'

             
Morganna nodded and left the room quickly before the tears could spill.  After so many years of believing herself unloved and unwanted, Rosamund's kindness was almost more than she could bear.

NINETEEN

'You should not have left your bed so soon,' Rosamund chided as Morgan came down to the small chamber where she and Morganna were sitting at their needlework.  A fire crackled and spat in the hearth for the house was never warm, its long shadows sending chills into every corner. 'It is scarce more than a week since the fever broke and you have not yet regained your strength.'

             
'I was feeling restless,' he said and smiled as she raised her delicate eyebrows.  'No, Rosamund, do not scold me. I am not used to lying abed for so long.  But I shall do nothing foolish so you may stop looking at me as if I might break.'

             
'I told you he would not stay in bed much longer,' Morganna said and shook her head at Rosamund.  'But I must speak with Gwenny so I shall leave you to talk.'

             
She withdrew, knowing that they must have much to discuss.  Rosamund had made it clear that she would welcome her as a part of her family, healing old wounds and insisting that she must go with them when they left Gruffudd.

             
'You have spent too much time here alone.  Besides, I should like to get to know you better, and to help arrange your marriage.  I think we might do better for you if we were to go to Court.'

             
'Go to Court?'  Morganna was astounded.  'But how could I go to Court?  I know so little of the world.  I should not know how to behave – and I have no clothes fit to be seen.'

             
'That is a matter for me,' Rosamund told her with a smile.  'You are beautiful, Morganna, and dressed as befits your beauty you will be much admired at Court.  If you will allow me I shall teach you all that it is necessary for you to know before you are presented, and we shall choose your clothes together.'

             
Her warmth and gentle manner had soon won Morganna's friendship, for she had been starved of normal affection from her mother, learning to endure rather than to expect kindness.  Now she was excited at the prospect of the new future, which seemed to be opening out before her.

             
'But what of Father?' she asked, a little frown creasing her brow.  'He told the King's messenger that he would think about surrendering to the court, but I am not sure he will agree.  He is so stubborn – and loyal to Owain.'

             
'Morgan must think of his family now,' Rosamund said.  'He has given too many years to Owain's cause.  I pray that he will see he has a duty to us and to himself.'

             
Rosamund had held her peace while Morgan was recovering, but now that he was beginning to feel more like himself she would speak of what was in her heart.

             
Morganna hoped that her father would not be angry.  Rosamund was thinking only of his future, for if he refused the King's offer of clemency now there might never be another chance.  He would be an outlaw, condemned to a life of wandering until at the end he was killed or taken prisoner.

*

'I ask only that you think carefully before you refuse His Majesty's offer,' Rosamund said as she saw Morgan's expression of rejection.  'It is not for my own sake that I ask, though you know that I have hoped for this.  Morganna is devoted to you.  I believe we owe her something, Morgan.  Her life has not been what it ought to have been, and that is as much my fault as yours. I have promised to take her with me and do what I can for her – but I do not think she could be happy knowing you were condemned to…'

             
Morgan held up his hand to silence her.  'I know what you would say, Rosamund.  And though you say you do not ask for yourself, I know this means much to you.  I have listened to your words.  In return I ask that you give me a little time to decide.  It is not an easy thing you ask and I must think on it.'

             
'I know it is not easy,' Rosamund said in her softy, husky voice.  'You gave your word to Owain and you will not break it lightly.  But for the love we bear you, I beg you will not leave it too long.'

             
'I have another week to decide before I must give my decision.  Do not worry, my love.  Whatever I decide this king will not blame you or Morganna.  I do not think he will seek a petty revenge from you or my daughter.'

             
'No, but…'  She saw the look in his eyes and was silent.  He had seen his dream die and it was a bitter thing for a man of his pride to surrender his sword.  'I cannot quarrel with you again, Morgan.  Without you my life was an empty thing. Whatever you choose I shall always love you.'

             
'Then let us speak of other things,' he said and now he was smiling, his expression softened by love.  'Tell me of Ellen's betrothal and of your stay in London…'

*

Morgan felt the warmth of the sun on his face as he began to climb the mountain.  It was early yet but the signs of spring were appearing everywhere in the bursting buds and thrusting shoots.  He had slipped away unnoticed early that morning for he knew the women would have tried to prevent his leaving the house, fearing that he was not yet recovered sufficiently from his fever, and he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

             
There was no real reason why he should not now sue for pardon from the King.  It was only his stubbornness and his pride that had kept him from returning a fair answer to His Majesty – and something inside him that hated the idea of returning to the English yoke.  Henry V was a man he could like, yet he would be his own man, free in thought and will to serve where he pleased.  Owain's last words had directed him to surrender for their dream had gone, and yet still he had held out.

             
He walked steadily, seeking secure footholds as he climbed the rocky face of the mountain, higher, ever higher, until he reached the place that he felt closest to the heavens.  Here he could breathe again after the weeks of confinement and sickness, his lungs filling with the clear pure air, renewing his spirit.

             
'Am I fool that I cling to a dream?' he asked of the sky, his arms outstretched as if in supplication, his strong voice echoing through the mountains.  'Does pride mean so much to me?  Must I sacrifice love and happiness for an ideal?  The dream is lost.  I dreamed that Wales might be free, that I might be free…'

             
The wind was sighing across the mountains and the song was in the wind and the rushing water of the falls as they tumbled over rocks worn smooth with the ages of their passing.  The music filled Morgan's ears and in the music was the voice: Kestrel's voice.

             
'Freedom is within you, Morgan Gruffudd.  A man may be free in many ways and from the death of one dream may come another even greater.'

             
'Kestrel…'  Morgan span round but he could not see his old friend even though his need was great.  'How can the dream be greater?'
             

             
'From your daughter,' the voice seemed to answer.  'Her blood will mingle with the blood of kings…'

             
'The blood of kings?'  Morgan put his hands to his ears to shut out the voice for it was surely madness.  'But that would mean…she carries Owain's blood through her mother and mine…'

             
'Owain lives…' came the answer unbidden.  'The dream lives on and Wales shall be free, though there shall not be a Welsh prince in Wales.'

             
The music was loud and so fierce that Morgan thought his head would burst from it.  As always Kestrel spoke in riddles.  His words seemed to promise so much, yet his words were only that – a vague promise.

             
'Remember, Morgan Gruffudd, no man's mind is chained.  All men are free to dream and the brave live through their dreams to dream once more.  Farewell, my friend, for you will not need me again.'

             
'Kestrel…' Morgan cried.  'Stay!  I beg you, do not leave me.'

             
The music was dying with the wind and then it was gone.  Morgan felt a sense of loss and somehow he knew that Kestrel had spoken to him for the last time.

             
'Farewell, my good healer,' he said.  'I shall never forget and I pray that we may meet again, if not in this life then the next.'

*

It was as Morgan walked back to the house that he saw the small party of horsemen arrive.  They were wearing the King's colours and his heart quickened.  Should he take his chance and escape now?  Yet to do so might bring harm on those he loved.  Better to let them arrest him than that Rosamund or Morganna should suffer.  He entered the house to see Morganna there to confront the men and her brave stance touched his heart, making him smile.

             
'I tell you he is not here.'

             
'And I must ask again, lady.  Where is Morgan Gruffudd?'

             
'You seek me, good sirs?'

             
Their leader spun round, his eyes intent on Morgan's face.  'You are Morgan Gruffudd?'

             
'I am he.  In whose name do you come?'

             
'In the King's, sir.'

             
'Am I to be arrested?'

             
'Father!'  Morganna darted towards him, her face pale and tense.  'There was to be another three days granted before you had to give your answer.'

             
'Hush, Daughter.  Do not fear for me.'

             
'We have been sent to escort you, sir.'

             
'Where are we going?  May I at least know that?'

             
'I am not at liberty to say.  My orders are to take you to a certain place – and alone.'

             
Rosamund had just entered the hall behind them.  'But this is outrageous,' she cried.  'He has but now risen from his sick bed.  We must be allowed to go with him lest he falls ill.'