Morgan the Rogue (6 page)

             
Her cheeks flushed at that and he knew he had scored a hit, for she raised her head looking at him proudly.  'I do not think it is for you to question me, sir.  Believe only that I thought myself safe from attack here.  Nothing more concerns you.  Come, I wish to return to the castle.'

             
She spurred her horse forward at speed, leaving Morgan to mount and catch up to her, which he did with ease.  She glanced at him but gave no sign of acknowledgement, riding in silence as they continued towards the castle, which was already visible.

             
As they came nearer, Morgan saw that it was typical of the moated keeps that had been built all along the borders with Wales by the Normans some two hundred years earlier, but over the centuries changes had been made and in this last fifty years or so a larger building had been added to bring some comfort to what was now more of a moated manor house than a castle, though the towers remained to guard against attack from across the borders.

             
'Welcome to the Castle of Bundesley,' Rosamund said as he dismounted and came to assist her down before a servant could reach her.  His hands lingered momentarily on her waist, bringing a flush to her cheeks.  'This is one of three my husband keeps for the King, sir.'

             
'And your husband's name?'

             
'Sir Philip de Grenville,' she replied, lowering her eyes swiftly as if she found his intent gaze disturbing.  'My husband is from home at the moment; he has been inspecting a castle over the border.  I am expecting him today or perhaps tomorrow – and my ride was merely for pleasure.'

             
Now why had she told him that?  Morgan wondered that she had bothered, for he had told her that he was merely an insignificant bard and she had seemed to believe him.

             
'Perhaps you were impatient for your husband's return?'

             
'Yes, perhaps…'  For a moment he caught a flicker of unhappiness in her eyes and he knew that she had not ridden to meet her husband – but perhaps a lover?  Yes, it might well have been a secret tryst at that hour!  'My husband would want me to offer you board and more for the service you have rendered me,' she continued.  'Will you break your journey here for a day or so, Morgan Gruffudd?'

             
'I thank you, my lady,' Morgan said.  It had been his intention to ride on, but fortune had perhaps put a valuable contact in his way.  Philip de Grenville was clearly a man valued by the King, and as such might be of use to him in his search for information concerning the mood of the country.  Would the English people rise for Richard or support the usurper?  'It is kind of you to offer.  If you are sure Sir Philip would not object?'

             
A touch of bitterness was in her voice as she answered, 'My husband is not a jealous man, sir.  He values me as a possession and as such will be grateful that I am safely returned to him.  Had I been snatched I would no doubt have been held to ransom as you suggested.  Therefore I am sure that he will be pleased to welcome you to his board, and may offer you service with him.  We are to travel to Chester on his return.  It may be that he would take you with us to while away the tedious hours of our journey.'

             
Morgan could not believe his luck.  He had hoped to find service with an Englishman of some standing in Shrewsbury and perhaps progress in his company to Chester, which was King Richard's most favoured city in the region.  If he could attach himself to Sir Philip de Grenville's household it would save time and bring him closer to his quarry more swiftly than he had imagined possible.

             
'I am honoured to accept, lady.'

             
'My steward will give you food and lodging,' she said, indicating an older man with a wave of her hand.  Without more ado, she swept on ahead of him into the castle.

             
Morgan stared after her, his brow creased in a frown.  Several men had clustered about the women, taking away their horses and listening to their excited chatter.  The glances and general interest in him told Morgan that his exploits were being described enthusiastically, and after a moment the steward came up to him, offering his hand.

             
'I have been told of your service to my lady,' he said.  'In the name of Sir Philip I bid you welcome here and thank you for what you have done this day.'

             
'I should have been a scurvy knave had I stood aside while those rogues attacked her,' Morgan replied.  'I did only what any man would have in my place.'

             
'Any true man,' the steward agreed, eyes narrowed as they swept over Morgan.  'They tell me you are Welsh – a singer of songs?  You will forgive me if I say that you do not look like such a man?'

             
'I have been cast out by my family,' Morgan said harshly, his face creasing in a scowl of bitterness.  'What else must I do to earn my living?  I can sing a little and by this means hope to enter the service of a generous man.'

             
'Lady Rosamund is generous,' the steward replied.  'I have known and served her all my life.  'Her husband is not so generous – but she usually gets her way in most things.  It is by her favour that Sir Philip holds these castles of the king, for she is an heiress of some note.  Those rogues did not guess how lucky their chance meeting with my lady might have been had you not happened by.'

             
'She is favoured by the King?'

             
Morgan's question was not to be answered for the clattering of horses' hooves across the drawbridge announced the arrival of a large party of men.  From the look in the steward's face as he left Morgan and hurried to meet them, he guessed that the lord had returned home.

             
It was a simple task to pick out Sir Philip, for he was dressed richly in gold and blue, his armour burnished to a bright silver and clanking heavily as his retainers helped him to dismount.  As he removed his helmet, Morgan saw that his hair was silvered through what had once been black, his face lined with the years.  He must be at least twice his wife's age!  Tall and lean, with a hooked nose and stern features, his grey eyes surveyed the scene around him, seemingly searching for fault until they came to rest on Morgan and then he frowned, barking something at his steward.  He listened to what the man told him, frowned once more and then came towards Morgan, his eyes assessing him.

             
'I believe I am indebted to you, sir.  Will you stay and give me a chance to repay the service you have rendered me this day?'

             
'Gladly, Sir Philip.  I am looking for service, be it of a few hours or a few months – and will thank you for my board and lodging.'

             
'You will stay with us as we journey to Chester,' Sir Philip said decisively.  'My wife dislikes travelling and grows weary.  Mayhap your songs will lighten her mood.'  He nodded briskly.  'You shall entertain us at supper.  My servants will look after you.'

             
Morgan watched as he strode away to be disrobed of his heavy armour.  It was clear that Sir Philip was aware of the danger, brought closer by the general unrest of the time, even if his wife was not.

             
'Will you not come with me, sir?'

             
A gentle hand was tugging at his sleeve, and he turned to look down into the face of one of the women he had saved from the rogues attacking her and her mistress earlier.

             
'My name is Morgan,' he said and smiled at her.  She was comely enough, though not as beautiful as her mistress.  'I trust no harm came to you earlier, mistress?'

             
'I am well enough,' she replied.  'My name is Alicia and I am a distant cousin of Lady Rosamund.  She asked me to see that you were given all that you might need.'

             
Morgan gave into the pressure of her hand, allowing her to lead him into a part of the house that was clearly a small hall attached to the kitchens, and used by the servants of the household.  The smell of slowly roasting meat over the spit permeated the air of the small antechamber, making Morgan's belly rumble in anticipation.

             
'How long have you been with your mistress, Alicia?'

             
'Since I was a child, sir.  I was her playmate then and now I serve her as companion and friend.  My lady does not trust many, but in me she knows she has a true friend.'

             
'True friends are hard to come by,' Morgan said, thinking briefly of the one he had left behind at Glyndyfrwdy.

             
'That is true, sir,' Alicia replied and smiled.  'My lady said that if her lord refused you board here I was to give you money.  If you would prefer…'

             
'No.  I thank your lady, but it is service I look for not coin.'

             
Alicia nodded, looking at him curiously.  'Are you truly Welsh, sir?  I had thought they were all wild barbarians.'

             
Morgan grinned at her.  'Am I not a barbarian then?'

             
'I do not think so, sir,' she replied a smile on her lips.  'This is the first time I have accompanied my lady to this part of England.  Until she married we lived in Winchester with her father.  My lady did not take me with her when she was first wed, though she sent for me when she learned that we were to come here.'

             
'I thought your lady was familiar with Wales and its inhabitants?'

             
'She has been to Wales before as a child,' Alicia replied.  'It was her father who brought her then I believe.  My lady's mother was Welsh, though she does not like to speak of it for it does not please Sir Philip to have the connection.  My lady holds lands in Wales that came to her from her mother – though I suppose they belong to her husband now.  That is the custom, is it not?'

             
'That is the custom,' Morgan agreed, warming to the talkative girl.

  'It is perhaps unfair but such is the way of things.'

             
'Yes, it is the way of things,' Alicia agreed and sighed.  'A woman must trust the man she marries, for he may do as he will with her afterwards – unless she has friends.  At least Lady Rosamund has a friend in the King.

'I am glad to hear that,' Morgan said.  'I believe Richard is expected back from Ireland soon?'

'As to that, I would not know, sir.'  Alicia frowned as if realising that perhaps she had said too much.   'Sit here by the fire, sir, and I shall bring you food and drink.  Tonight we shall feast in the hall but I dare say you would like to break your fast now?'

             
'Yes, that would be kind,' Morgan said, watching as she walked away.  He had learned much from the girl in a few seconds, and he believed she would be an invaluable source of information in the future.

THREE

Rosamund glanced at her reflection in her handmirror of burnished silver and dark glass, seeing herself only as a blurred image.  She knew that she was considered beautiful, for she had been told so many times in those happy days when she had been favoured at King Richard's court.  She sighed and laid down her mirror, feeling the mantle of sadness descend on her once more.  That time of excitement and pleasure when she had ridden often at the King's side seemed so long ago now, though it was no more than a year since she had been wed to Sir Philip de Grenville.

             
How often she had wished that her father, Sir Harald Clare of Winchester had chosen otherwise in the matter of her marriage, but she knew that he had been ailing and had sought to protect her.  Sir Philip had seemed a man of culture and learning, as indeed he was, and Rosamund's father had believed him kind.  Rosamund herself had been deceived by his gentle manner towards her then, making no protest when told of her father's decision.  That deception had lasted no longer than her wedding night, when her husband had taken her with a cold detachment that made her weep bitter tears into her bed cushions long after he had left her.  She knew then that he had married her only for the fortune she was to inherit on her father's death, which had followed her wedding all too soon.  Since then Philip had visited her no more than half a dozen times, and that in the hope of getting his heir on her.  He seemed to take no pleasure in the act, leaving her without a word as soon as he was done.

             
Rosamund's nurse had told her that she should be grateful his treatment of her was no worse.  'If he lusted after you he might come to you night after night, giving you no peace,' Margaret told her when she found her weeping after his last visit.  'Some men enjoy inflicting pain on their wives.  At least Sir Philip has not beaten you.'

             
Rosamund had not answered her.  She thought that perhaps the behaviour Margaret had described might be easier to bear than her husband's coldness.