She had seen little of her betrothed since the ceremony, for he had been visiting many parts of Wales on some business for Owain. But though he had sent her a kind letter, which her father’s scribe had deciphered for her, saying that he was looking forward to their wedding, he had not come to her father’s house. His neglect had hurt and angered Morwenna, and it was not out of remorse that she had changed her mind but fear. Supposing someone saw Rhys come to her chamber? Supposing Morgan discovered that she had betrayed him with his friend and killed her?
The sound of her door opening stealthily made her start up, her throat tight with panic. If she cried out the servants sleeping in the tiny room above hers would come to her. She could claim that Rhys had come uninvited to her room…
‘Are you awake, dear heart?’ Rhys whispered. ‘Do not fear, it is only I come to claim my bride.’
‘Be quiet,’ Morwenna said, stifling her laughter at his words. It was true that she would be his bride, not Morgan Gruffudd’s, and that would serve him right for ignoring her. Her fear began to evaporate as she remembered why she wished to punish Morgan Gruffudd. ‘Are you sure that no one saw you?’
‘Quite sure,’ Rhys reassured her. ‘They have all drunk far too much in celebration of your wedding, Morwenna. I let them think I was drinking too, but I poured my wine away – for I wanted to come sober to your bed. I have thought of this moment every moment of my waking day, and dreamed of it each night since you left. You are more precious to me than the air I breathe, my love.’
‘Rhys…’ Morwenna breathed. ‘I am frightened.’
‘There is no need to be frightened,’ he assured her, and throwing back the rugs that covered her, he slid between the sheets and reached out for her. ‘We have no need of this…’ He pulled at the night-robe she wore, and Morwenna lifted her arms so that he could take it up over her head and discard it on the floor. ‘We must place this beneath you,’ he said and held her as she lifted her hips for him to slip the cloth under her. ‘I shall take it with me and then none will know what has happened here this night.’
Morwenna lay gazing up at him. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt as if she were short of breath. It was she who had planned this revenge on Morgan but it seemed that Rhys was gloating over what they did and for some reason she found that unpleasant. Yet when he gathered her to him and began to kiss her body she made no protest, her response to his loving ready and eager. This was what she had hoped for in her husband, a tender, passionate lover who would teach her all the secrets of womanhood.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he told her. ‘The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I love you and shall love you all my life.’
His words thrilled her and when he thrust into her she was ready, warm and wet for him so that he slid deep inside her. His thrusting manhood tore her maidenhead so that she almost screamed with the pain, but he covered her mouth with his own, silencing her cries and then she felt the rushing heat inside her and her back arched to meet him as he thrust into her again and again. She moaned beneath him, though when her cries grew too loud he stifled them with his hand and whispered in her ear that she must be quiet.
‘All will be lost if we are heard,’ he said. ‘We must take care, Morwenna. We have too much to lose…’
Morwenna clung to him as the spasm of pleasure swept through her and she felt him empty his sperm inside her. Tears stained her cheeks as he rolled away from her, though she did not know why she wept.
Rhys wiped her cheeks with his fingertips, kissing her eyelids as she lay with them closed. ‘It is over and it will not hurt so much the next time,’ he told her softly. ‘You are mine now, Morwenna. Your husband may enjoy you for a while but you belong to me and always shall.’
She did not reply nor did she look at him. She felt him take the blood stained cloth from beneath her and heard his grunt of pleasure as he saw it carried the evidence of her lost virginity, and then she heard him walk to the door, open it and close it behind him. Only then did she open her eyes.
What had she done? Morwenna felt the sting of shame sweep over her as she got out of bed and examined the sheets. There was nothing to betray her; Rhys had seen to that and she was grateful, though she suspected that he had been thinking of what they both might lose if her shame were discovered.
She walked to where a jug of water and a bowl stood on a small trestle table. Pouring a little water into the bowl, she used it to wash herself, wincing at the sting of her bruised flesh, then she carried the bowl into the closet where her privy was housed and poured it down the hole in the wooden slats. It fell to the cavity far below, where the effluent of the castle’s nightsoil was carried out into the moat. Sometimes, in the summer when it was very hot the moat stank, but every now and then it was drained and cleaned to take away the accumulated filth.
Returning to her bed, Morwenna hesitated, then knelt on the hard floor, her head bent as she prayed to be forgiven for her sin. Climbing into the bed, she could still smell the musky scent of Rhys’ body and hoped that it would be gone by the time the serving women came to strip the bed of its covers.
She closed her eyes, but all she could see was the handsome face of a young man as he stood naked on the riverbank, laughing at her. Morgan would hate her for what she had done – any man would be furious at being cheated of what was rightfully his. She had wanted to punish him, and yet she was conscious of a terrible sense of loss.
She had lost nothing! Morgan did not love her. He had not even bothered to come to her during the weeks before their wedding. She had been willing to love him, but he did not want her love. It was his fault that she had betrayed him with his friend.
She would not think about it again nor what Rhys might do in the future. It was not her fault. Morgan had brought it all on himself…
*
Morgan looked at the pale face of his bride as she joined him in front of the priest who was to marry them. She looked terrified and it was no wonder. He blamed himself for not taking the time to get to know her a little better after their betrothal, to reassure her that he was in no hurry to claim his rights as a husband.
He had spent the intervening weeks getting to know parts of Wales that he had never visited, following the mountain trails and talking to the people, studying the castles that they would need to take and hold if their revolt against the English was to succeed. Once again, his disguise as a singer had stood him in good stead, and he had been inside several of the fortresses he visited, staying as a welcome guest as he took note of their defences.
In September Henry Bolingbroke had made his claim for the English throne, by the 13, October 1399 he had been crowned, though as far as was known the rightful King still lived. Richard’s whereabouts were not certain, for he had been taken from place to place. Morgan had heard a whisper that he might be in Pontefract but it was not sure.
Morgan had made his report to Owain on his return. His kinsman had been pleased with all the detail and small maps he had made, though most of what he had learned was committed to memory.
‘You have done well, Morgan. These things may serve us in the future. And now you must forget our plans for the moment and think of your own,’ Owain had told him with a smile. ‘Your house is ready for you, and you shall spend a week alone there before you come back to join me here for Christmas. After that…it will not be long now, I promise you.’
Morgan frowned as he thought of the week ahead. A groom should anticipate his wedding with eagerness yet for some reason he had no joy in what he did, and it was his own fault. Morwenna was young, beautiful and modest as befitted a bride. If he could not love her as he ought it was because his heart had been given to another.
He was a damned fool! Morgan cursed himself inwardly as he took his vows, knowing that he must try to conquer his feelings for Rosamund De Grenville. She was not for him, even Kestrel had said that their ways must part. It would do no good to pine for a woman he could not have. He must make up his mind to make the best of this mar
riage. Surely it could not be hard to love such an innocent child as this?
He thought that perhaps her youth was the trouble. Beside Rosamund she seemed a child rather than a woman – but he must not think of Rosamund on this day!
He forced his last memory of her, of the scent of her body as she wept in his arms, from his mind, concentrating on the ceremony. It seemed to drag on interminably, but at last it was over and the feasting had begun. He and Morwenna had been given the places of honour at the high table, sitting to the right-hand of Owain. Morwenna next to Owain and he beside her as once before. Morgan had found the girl attractive enough then. He tried to recapture the feeling he had had that night, but found it impossible. His heart was irrevocably given to another woman. He would be kind and generous to his wife, he decided, and always treat her well – but he would never love her.
The feasting was well under way now, the room filled with laughter as their guests watched the tumblers going through their antics. A travelling minstrel played for them, and then the dancing began.
Morgan stood up and offered his hand to his bride, noticing that it trembled a little as she allowed him to lead her into the middle of the floor.
‘There is no need to be frightened of me,’ he whispered. ‘I shall be kind to you. You shall not find me a demanding husband, Morwenna. Nor need you fear that I shall force you to yield up my rights before you are accustomed to me. There is time enough for that in the future. We shall both want children but there is no hurry.’
The look she gave him made Morgan frown. She seemed startled, rather than relieved that he had made it clear he would not take the privilege of a husband as yet.
‘You are considerate, my husband,’ she said as they began the stately dance that was decreed for them. ‘But I would always wish to do my duty.’
‘Certainly you owe me a duty,’ he said and for a moment the old humour was in his eyes. ‘But I would rather it was a pleasure – for both of us. We shall wait until the time is right.’
He smiled at her, thinking her blushes those of a trembling virgin, and knew that he had been right to stay his hand in this matter. A marriage was binding for life and he saw no reason to destroy her life as his mother’s had been by a careless brute of a husband. Morgan was not his father, and he was determined that his young wife should be content – even if he could not give her the love that should rightfully be hers.
Yet perhaps if they were both patient in time they might reach an understanding. There were many forms of love and he believed that he might eventually come to find a different kind of love with Morwenna. It would not be the raging passion he felt for Rosamund…her image was in his mind again but he banished it ruthlessly. He must not think of her on this day.
*
The bridal chamber was in a separate part of the house. It had been prepared earlier in the day by giggling serving women, decked with garlands of greenery and the bed strewn with rose petals.
Morwenna was led there by the ladies of the household, who helped her to disrobe. They stayed with her for a while, teasing her gently about the handsome man who was so soon to become her husband in truth and giggling at her blushes. Then, as they heard the raucous shouting and male laughter from outside, they were quiet as the door opened and Morgan entered, accompanied by several of his friends. Owain was with them and Morwenna’s father. They had come for the ceremony of the bedding, and as many as could manage it crowded inside the chamber, waiting expectantly. They were to be disappointed for though Morwenna was in bed as custom decreed, Morgan shook his head and began to shoo them from the room.
‘I believe my bride would prefer privacy on her wedding night,’ he told them. ‘Away with you and drink to the health of my first child.’
Laughter greeted this, though Morwenna saw Rhys Llewelyn glance at her, a secret smile in his eyes.
‘Shame on you, Morgan,’ one man, more intoxicated than the rest, cried out. ‘We must see you bedded.’
‘Nay, we have seen Morgan to his chamber and the bride is young,’ Owain decreed. ‘He will do his duty and in the morning you shall all see the evidence of it.’ He ushered them from the room as they protested and threw ribald jests over their shoulder at Morgan.
He shut the door and barred it after them, turning to Morwenna with a smile. Her serving women had slipped away through a door at the side of the room, which was covered by a curtain. Morgan thrust the curtain aside, opened it to shoo away the giggling wenches, then locked it after him.
‘I think we may be alone now, Morwenna,’ he said. ‘You must forgive them for their ribaldry. It is the custom, though hard for a young and innocent girl to bear.’
‘I-I did not mind it,’ Morwenna replied. She was terrified and she dare not look at him. He had said that he was in no hurry to claim his rights – but what did that mean? If not tonight, then when? If he did not come to her bed for a long time and she was already carrying the child of another man…
‘I told you not to be frightened of me,’ Morgan said and came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, taking her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. ‘I shall not force you to yield to me tonight, Morwenna. Perhaps in a few days – or a few weeks, when you are accustomed to seeing me in your chamber.’
‘But…’ Morwenna’s hand trembled in his. ‘What of the proof that we must show my father in the morning?’
‘Ah…’ Morgan laughed and produced a small vial. ‘This is pigs’ blood. Sprinkle it liberally on your sheets and in the morning everyone will smile and believe the deed is done.’
Morwenna swallowed hard. It was so strange that he should have suggested using the very artifice that she had prepared to deceive him. He was no fool, this man she had married – and she realised now that he was both kind and generous.
‘You are thoughtful, my husband.’
‘I do not believe that a young girl should be used by the man she marries as if she were nothing but a possession,’ Morgan said. ‘You are a woman with feelings and dreams of your own, sweet Morwenna, and I would not hurt you. For this reason I shall tell you the truth. I am not in love with you, but I admire and honour you. In time I believe that we may come to care deeply for one another. It is perhaps unfair that you should have been given to me in marriage, for I know well that you had no choice in the matter. I could have refused, but it was Owain’s wish – and you are beautiful and good. There is no other I would take to wife…’
No other that he could marry, his mind echoed. ‘Therefore, I would deal fairly with you. One day, when we are both in the mind for it, we shall become husband and wife in every way.’
He bent his head and kissed her briefly on the lips. It was a kiss of such sweetness that Morwenna’s breath left her and she stared up at him, wishing that he would take her now – that she had come to him virgin pure as she ought.
‘Do you not want me?’
‘You stir my blood,’ Morgan said. ‘I could lie with you now and it would pleasure me, Morwenna – but I think it best we wait. Perhaps when we are in our own home…’
‘I do not please you.’ Her eyes filled with tears and he smiled and shook his head.
‘You please me as much as any woman could,’ he said and knew that he lied. ‘Sleep well, Morwenna. I shall be here when you wake.’
He removed some of the cushions and took them to a mat beside the fireplace, lying down with nothing to cover him, his back towards her.
Morwenna stared at him, torn between anger and a strange pleasure at his tenderness towards her. He had not left her as he might, staying with her so that all would think she had kept him in her bed the whole night. It was done for her pride’s sake, she knew and that touched her, as did his kindness. If she had been a frightened virgin she might have loved him for his forbearance – but now she was frightened for an entirely different reason.
If Morgan continued to exercise self-restraint towards her, she could have no hope of convincing him that any child she might bear was his. She must pr
ay that he would relent and take her to his bed soon, for otherwise she might find that his kindness had turned to anger.
*
They were to return to Sycharth the next day and Morgan still had not claimed his rights as her husband, despite all the smiles and inviting looks she had sent his way. Morwenna was afraid that once he was back with Owain his time would be taken up by duties and her chance would be lost. It might be that her monthly flow would come and she would have no need to worry, yet she would have felt safer if she was indeed his wife. The fear that he would know she had lain with another was ever present in her mind, and she could not rest until their first coupling was over.
Morgan had been a pleasant companion for these past few days, walking with her about the estate Owain had provided for them, discussing the management of their household and asking her how she liked to spend her time. She had shown him her tapestry and the embroidery she was presently working on, and in her turn she asked him what kinds of foods would please him at their table.
As yet he had not sung for her but on their last evening she asked him if he would sing the haunting ballard he had sung for her once before. She had noticed that he had eaten and drunk sparingly that evening, and when he offered her his hand after his song was done her heart leaped wildly. She knew instinctively that the moment had come when he looked down into her eyes.
‘Tell your women to help you prepare and then I shall come to your chamber, Morwenna.’ His smile sent shivers down her spine. ‘You are not afraid?’
‘You are my husband, Morgan. You have been patient. I could ask no more.’ She felt her cheeks grow warm but then she raised her head and smiled at him. ‘I shall await your coming with pleasure.’
Her pulses were racing as she left him and went to her own chamber. They had slept in separate but adjoining rooms for the house Owain had given them was a large modern manor with many of the comforts that older houses lacked. Although the walls were made of solid stone, they had thick tapestries to bring colour and warmth and were less draughty than the house at Oswestry that was her marriage portion from her father.
Morgan the Rogue Page 11