Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

‘It is my orchid,’ she said. ‘Look, Morgan, there is a whole clump of them this year. Sometimes there are only one or two.’

  He bent and picked two of the delicate dark mauve flowers, kissing one and giving it to her. She kissed the other and he placed it inside his tunic, next to his heart.

  ‘Rosamund’s flower,’ he said and smiled at her, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. As she gazed up at him he knew an urgent desire to make love to her, but knew that their faithful guardians would not be far away. It was too dangerous to ride into the forest alone, for Rosamund had been sent another message by her husband, demanding that she returned to him, and she feared that Philip de Grenville might send men to attack them. ‘I want to make love to you…’

  ‘Shall we go back to the castle?’

  ‘In a while,’ he said and took her hand. ‘I shall exercise patience, my dearest, for I know that you love to walk here.’

  ‘It is such a beautiful day,’ she said. ‘The beginning of September, Morgan. Soon the autumn mists will come and then winter. In winter the forest is dark and I do not like to ride out so far.’

  She did not add that if what she believed was true she would not be able to come this far in a few months time. She had missed her monthly flow and noticed small changes in her body, but she was not yet sure enough to tell her lover that she was carrying his child.

  For an hour they wandered hand in hand, moving from dappled sunlight to shade, watching a tiny red squirrel burying its finds for winter beneath the roots of an ancient oak. Above them a benign sun beat down and the lake sparkled in the sunlight. A Woodlark sang and other songbirds burbled at them from the treetops, the peace of the ancient woodland seeping into them and bringing a curious mixture of content and sadness.

  At last when the sun began to dip into the far side of the lake, Morgan helped her to mount and they set off together through the trees, back towards the castle that was their home. Their retinue formed a little procession behind them, amongst them Thomas Bridger and Alicia, who were noticeably becoming more than friends. It was expected that they would marry one day.

  It was when they were inside the castle that Rosamund’s steward William Baldry came to him with a letter that carried Owain’s seal.

  ‘This came for you while you were out, my lord.’

  Morgan had long ago given up reminding them that he had no title. Kestrel had begun it and everyone had fallen into the habit – perhaps because they thought that as Rosamund’s lover he should have some title. It was accepted that they were lovers, although they did not flaunt their relationship, and Morgan knew that William was silently disapproving. He said nothing, his loyalty to Rosamund unshaken, but Morgan had seen him looking at him oddly sometimes.

  ‘I thank you,’ he said. ‘Was an answer required?’

  ‘The messenger did not stay.’

  Morgan nodded. He knew in his heart what the letter would say, but he would not read it yet. Rosamund was looking at him, but he shook his head.

  ‘Later – when we have supped with our friends.’ He took her hand and held it for a moment. ‘I think we should have a feast this night, my lady. We shall sing and dance and laugh…’

  ‘Yes, I agree,’ she said. ‘William, this is to be a night of celebration. We shall have special wine and food from the stores…’

  ‘As you wish, my lady.’

  Morgan looked at her after the steward had gone.

  ‘I fear your good William still does not trust me.’

  ‘He thinks you will hurt me.’

  ‘You know I would never willingly do that, my love?’

  ‘Yes, I know, but William worries too much.’

  She knew why William worried about the life she had been leading these past months. Owain Glyn Dwr had known where to find Morgan, and her husband also had his spies. Word would have reached him that she had taken the Welshman as her lover. The time might come when Philip would make her pay for her happiness…but she would not think about that, now when time was so short.

  ‘Come with me, my love,’ she said. ‘I shall not send for my ladies yet and we can be together.’

  He smiled at her, feeling the urgency that he had suppressed in the forest, knowing that she felt it too.

  ‘Yes, we can be together,’ he said.

  *

  As always Morgan had tempered passion with tenderness and sweetness. He lay with his head against her breast, their turbulence done for the time being, his gentle, deep breathing telling her that for the moment he slept. She touched his dark head, stroking the wild tangle of his hair, the silkiness of its texture a delight to her fingers.

  She would always remember this loving, Rosamund thought. There had been an urgency about it that both felt, as if they knew that this would be their last night together for a while, though the letter was still unread.

  Rosamund smiled as she touched her lips to his dark head. She would not weep, for she knew that tears were foolish and would only grieve him if he knew. Besides, she had learned to face sorrow as it came, and to cope with grief.

  In March of that year they had received news that Richard was dead, murdered in Pontefract Castle. Rosamund had grieved for her lost friend, though with Morgan to comfort her she had not sunk into melancholy. She did not know what she would do without him in the coming months.

  Kestrel had told her that they were bound together until death for one or the other – or for both. She believed that though they must part they would be together again, and if it should not be then she would cherish the child she carried and remember the time they had shared all her life.

  Morgan looked up at her as she sighed, smiling as he moved away from her and reached out to touch her face with his fingertips.

  ‘Do not be sad, my love,’ he said. ‘We knew this time must come for my vow was made before we met – and it is my destiny. I feel it deep inside and I cannot deny it even if I would.’

  ‘I do not ask you to deny it,’ she said. ‘To ask such a thing of you would be to diminish our love, and that I shall never do. It is the man you are, Morgan Gruffudd, that makes me love you – I would have you no otherwise.’

  ‘We shall be together again,’ he promised. ‘Owain is ready to make his claim as the true prince of this land of ours and I must fight for him – only then can we hope to be free.’

  ‘I love you and loving you must love your cause,’ she said a tender smile on her full red lips. ‘Caris held for Richard while he lived now he is no more it shall be held for Owain Glyn Dwr – Prince of Wales.’

  ‘You are as brave as you are lovely, my dearest,’ Morgan said. ‘But you must not make rash promises. I would not have harm come to you for any reason.’

  ‘Here in Caris I am safe,’ Rosamund declared. ‘We have a score of archers and as many men-at-arms. There are few castles in Wales better able to withstand a siege. You may tell your kinsman that his enemies will receive no welcome here for as long as you are his man.’

  ‘I thank you on Owain’s behalf,’ Morgan replied, a twinkle in his bold eyes. ‘It is good to know that we have one castle to our name.’

  ‘And will soon have more I doubt not,’ she replied. ‘Should you and your men ever need shelter here, Morgan, my gates will be opened to you.’

  ‘I know that, my love,’ he said and looked deep into her eyes. ‘But there is something on your mind. Will you not tell me?’

  ‘Do you know me so well?’ Rosamund laughed as she looked at him. ‘I have not spoken because I am not certain, but I believe I am carrying our child…’

  ‘Our child?’ Morgan’s eyes went over her anxiously. ‘If that be the case I shall pray for you, my love. We have known it might happen, and I rejoice in the news – but it means there may be difficulties for you.’

  ‘It is woman’s nature to bear children, my lord.’

  ‘You know I did not meant that, Rosamund. You are young and strong and God willing will survive and nurse our child. I was thinking of Sir Philip’s reaction when t
he news reaches him…’

  ‘I care not what he thinks,’ Rosamund said. ‘I have not betrayed him for he never cared for me. He demands my return every now and then, for he must appear to want me back, but all he cares for is the wealth I brought him. I believe he is well satisfied to leave me here -–and he must have heard tales before this.’

  ‘I dare say,’ Morgan said. ‘Your people are loyal to you, Rosamund, but others come and go and tales will have reached him – as they did Owain.’

  ‘And your wife…’

  ‘I have no wife,’ Morgan said. ‘I told you that I shall never live with her again. She has gone to Oswestry and may go where she pleases, for I have released her from her vows to me.’

  ‘You should not be too harsh towards her,’ Rosamund said and gently smoothed the lines that creased his forehead with her fingertips. ‘She was very young and led astray by the man who betrayed you.’

  ‘It was his betrayal that wounded me most,’ Morgan said. ‘I have forgiven Morwenna, dismissed her from my mind. She means nothing to me. You are my only love.’

  ‘As you are mine.’ She smiled and leaned up to kiss him. ‘Let us not talk of these things tonight, Morgan. Kiss me again, love me once more before we part – for it may be many months before you can come to me again.’

  With a little groan, he gathered her to him, kissing her hungrily, his lips and tongue exploring the soft, secret places of her body that were so well known to him until they were both trembling with the need raging inside them. Their loving was long and sensual, taking them to heights that few were privileged to reach, and then at last they slept, content in each other’s arms.

  *

  It was on Thursday 16 September 1400 that a gathering of Welshmen from northeast Wales came to the home of Owain Glyn Dwr at Glyndyfrwdy, to bear witness as the true prince of Wales was proclaimed.

  Slipping into the hall unannounced some time after the meeting had begun, Morgan glanced round and saw several faces that he knew for many of the men present were neighbours and friends or relatives of Owain Glyn Dwr. It was an enthusiastic and fiercely loyal gathering, though not as large as Morgan had hoped to see here.

  ‘Others will join us once the uprising begins,’ Owain had told him confidently when they first spoke after Morgan’s arrival. Besides, we shall have the element of surprise on our side.’

  This much was true. Morgan knew that his kinsman was still trying to raise support both in Wales and abroad, his emissaries going out to Ireland, Scotland and France, all enemies of England. To delay the rising longer might be to waste their opportunity. They must take their chance and hope that as news spread others would join their cause.

  After the formal ceremony, which had gained credence from the presence of the Dean of St. Asaph, Morgan was called to a council of war with the most important of the Welsh squires. There was much heated debate and argument about how to proceed, with the various factions giving their opinions forcefully, some for instant action, others for caution, but in the end it was decided that they would begin their campaign here in North Wales.

  ‘At first we can only hope to inflict some damage on our overlords,’ Owain said. ‘But we may make some important gains and as the momentum builds so shall we take back what is rightfully ours.’

  There were murmurs of approval on all sides and a strong feeling of excitement ran through all those present. Listening and watching, Morgan remembered the ambush Henry of Bolingbroke, now King Henry 1V of England, had sprung on Richard. It had been a brilliant manoeuvre, overwhelming and surprising the King’s party. He had heard little in the way of strategy from these eager men and thought that more planning was needed. However, he was younger than most of those present and his quiet words of warning had fallen on deaf ears.

  As he turned to leave at the general exodus, Owain called him back.

  ‘Stay a moment, Morgan,’ he said and then, when they were alone, ‘You have doubts? I see it in your face. Tell me, my friend. I would hear your opinion.’

  ‘We should take time to plan our campaign. They are brave men and eager, but the English have been trained to fight and they have superior numbers.’

  ‘My men have also trained for months.’

  ‘But most of your neighbours have scant knowledge of warfare. They are eager to try their hand but may discover the reality is harsher than they realise.’

  ‘Yet I believe the time is right,’ Owain said frowning. ‘Henry has much to occupy him elsewhere at the moment. We may gain a march on him by striking now. Delay might mean that our chance was lost.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ Morgan agreed, though he knew that a dispute with an old enemy had brought Owain to the point sooner than might have been the case otherwise. But that point had been reached and if let slip the chance might not come again. ‘I merely wished to warn of the difficulties ahead.’

  ‘I believe they are known and understood. These men may not have fought a battle before but they are not fools; they feel the yoke of England and would give their lives in this cause, which is not only mine but that of all Wales. We fight for justice and right is on our side.’

  ‘I would not disagree with that,’ Morgan said. ‘We must pray that God is also on our side.’

  ‘Enough of these matters,’ Owain said. ‘Have you seen Morwenna yet? She is here waiting for your return.’

  ‘I thought she was at Oswestry?’

  ‘She was for some months, but I believe she found it uncomfortable and returned to the manor I gave you. When I heard she was there I invited her to come here for the birth of your child.’ Owain exclaimed as he saw Morgan’s startled look. ‘You did not know? How can this be? Morwenna told me she was with child before you left us.’

  ‘I did not know,’ Morgan said and swore beneath his breath. ‘When is her child expected?’

  ‘You were wed a week before Christmas and on the Lord’s day you were struck down…’ Owain’s gaze narrowed in suspicion. ‘Yet you need to ask? Does this mean…the fight with Llewelyn was over her?’

  ‘It means nothing,’ Morgan said swiftly, realising that shock had made him betray what he had meant to keep secret. ‘I was surprised at the news, that’s all.’

  ‘You are a poor liar and I am a fool,’ Owain said. ‘Forgive me. When I arranged your marriage I believed her a good modest girl.’

  ‘No one else is to know,’ Morgan’s tone was firm. ‘The child may be his or mine. She claimed he raped her on our wedding eve…’ Owain swore and Morgan smiled wryly. ‘I cannot be sure the child is not mine, and since I cannot wed the woman I love…’

  Owain nodded his understanding. ‘Rosamund de Grenville. You stayed with her many months. I have heard that she is beautiful…’

  ‘She is – in every way. She hath a nature to match her beauty, for she is loving and generous. And I know that the child she bears is mine.’

  ‘You have made an enemy in de Grenville. I have heard he is a dangerous man, Morgan. I think it would go hard with your lady if she were ever to fall into his hands.’

  ‘She will never surrender Caris to him.’ Morgan grinned. ‘She was fiercely loyal to King Richard but now she holds the castle for you, Owain. She bid me tell you that we would always find shelter there if we needed it.’

  Owain smiled. ‘I think I understand why you love her, Morgan. I wondered why you went to her but now I see.’

  ‘I went because I was sick to my soul and weak in body. Rosamund healed my spirit and Kestrel gave me back my strength. Without his help I feared I might never have been able to fight again.’

  ‘I have heard of your healer, Morgan. They say there is some mystery about him.’

  ‘That is how Kestrel wants people to think of him. He speaks only in riddles,’ Morgan said with a slight frown. ‘Perhaps he can see into the future as he claims, I do not know – but I owe my life to him twice over.’

  ‘Wise men always speak in riddles for otherwise fools might mock them. No matter whether he be a magician or me
rely a healer, I am glad to see you strong and well again. I shall have need of you in the months to come.’

  ‘Kestrel told me that I was destined for great things. I pray that he was right and that we shall have many triumphs together, Owain.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Owain said. ‘And now you should see Morwenna. It may be best if her child is born here. After that…’

  ‘Morwenna is free to go or stay as she pleases,’ Morgan said. ‘I have no hatred for her, yet I cannot love her – nor feel anything towards her.’

  ‘Yet if the child is yours…’

  ‘Then I would keep the child,’ Morgan replied. ‘But if Morwenna wishes to go I shall not deny her.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear this…’

  ‘I shall not deny or shame her. I am not so heartless.’

  ‘Then she is fortunate. Many men would not have been as forgiving.’

  Behind the curtain, which concealed the outer door into Owain’s private chamber, Morwenna listened to their words, the anger and bitterness festering inside her. She had hoped that Morgan would have forgiven her by now, but his feelings towards her had not changed.

  He would keep the child if it was his but she might go where she pleased. It was easy for him to say – but where could she go? If she left him all the world would know that he had cast her off. It might be that in the future he would find some means to put her from him and take this woman he loved as his wife. Yet they had spoken of a husband…

  If that were so he could not marry his woman. It pleased Morwenna that the woman her husband loved was tied to a man she did not love, and that he might one day wreak his vengeance on her. Morwenna would have liked to witness that – or at least to play some part in it, but she was never likely to have the chance. Yet she would find some way to take her revenge on her husband if she could.

  She wished that she had taken the chance while he lay ill. It would have been an easy matter to hold a cushion over his face as he lay in a fever. Yet she had feared to do anything then that might cause blame to fall on her. Owain had been so angry at Rhys Llewelyn’s betrayal, he would have had her killed if she had been caught trying to harm Morgan.