Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

  In that she was not alone, for there were many voices raised against it – and his subsequent disappearance. The conviction that he had been murdered was growing and it had created much dissension, not least amongst those who believed they had as much right to claim his throne as Henry Bolingbroke.

  ‘Your wife is loyal and I am told beautiful,’ King Henry had told him when he entered his claim to throw her off. Himself a sturdy, squat man with more strength than favour in his features, Henry was yet an admirer of beauty. ‘It is up to you to persuade your lady to come out, Sir Philip. When you have done so you may bring her to me and I shall see if I can win her to my cause.’

  ‘As you wish, Sire.’

  Philip had told no one that his wife had borne a son to another man. A year of marriage to him had brought no sign of her quickening but a few months with that damned Welsh singer…He clenched his fists as he realised the man had fooled him. Morgan Gruffudd was no bard but one of Glyn Dwr’s most trusted lieutenants. And he might have hung him months ago!

  Some said it was Morgan Gruffudd who had roused the various regions to revolt and there were other, more sinister rumours. During the summer there had been a series of daring raids in the Brecon and throughout a wide area of the surrounding districts, spreading over most of South Wales. As it was the richest area, from which the highest rents and fines had been elicited, it was the more damaging that much of the money was either going astray or being withheld out of defiance.

  Sometimes robberies took place within hours of each other, which meant that more than one group of bandits was at large. Yet all the raids were meticulously planned and carried out, almost as if the robbers had prior knowledge of the routes the English collectors planned to follow. No matter how they varied them, the robbers were waiting for them and it was making the English population very uneasy.

  It was to search out and destroy these robber bands that Sir Philip had been despatched. His decision to attack Caris first was a personal one and in direct contradiction to the King’s order, but he had thought Rosamund might give in once she knew that he had actually come in person to demand her surrender.

  Damn her! She had always been too independent and it was time she was taught a lesson she would not soon forget.

  Morwenna saw the blood stained cloth that Maire had tried to hide from her and shook her head. The older woman was very ill but she would not admit it, her spirit refusing to give in.

  ‘You should rest more,’ she told her. ‘I can see to things, Maire. There is no need for you to concern yourself about the house.’

  ‘You are young yet and you have the child to care for,’ Maire replied. Wiping her mouth once more as she tasted the blood in her saliva, she faced the younger woman bravely. ‘I am not dead yet, though I do not know if I shall see another winter out.’

  ‘You must not die,’ Morwenna said, fear betraying her. ‘Not yet. If you die…’

  ‘The English will confiscate the estate – is that what you fear, Morwenna?’

  Morwenna lowered her eyes. ‘It is merely that I do not want you to die, Mother. You have been good to me.’

  ‘Better than my son at least,’ Maire replied. ‘I know that things are not right between you, Morwenna. I pray that you will do nothing foolish…’

  ‘I do not know what you mean.’

  Morwenna could not look at her. Surely she could not know of the secret meetings with Rhys? He had come to the house twice when all was dark and Maire was asleep, and once she had slipped out to meet him in the woods.

  ‘You took a risk coming to me,’ she had told him as he drew her into his arms to kiss her hungrily. ‘What if Maire had seen you?’

  ‘It is time you found a way to be rid of that old witch,’ he muttered. ‘I know she always hated me.’

  ‘Maire has been good to me,’ Morwenna replied. ‘Besides, it is only by her right that we hold the manor. If she should die before Morgan…’ She looked into his eyes. ‘Why have you come – is it to tell me that he is dead?’

  Rhys looked at her oddly. ‘I have not seen him in weeks. We do not ride together but in separate bands. When the chance comes I shall take it, I promise you – but as yet it has not.’

  ‘You promise much but you do little,’ her tone was sharp and dismissive. ‘If Morgan were dead I would smother Maire in her bed and we should have everything, but until then I shall let her live.’

  ‘You must be patient,’ Rhys said. ‘I have given my word, but it must be done in such a way that we are not reviled as murderers.’

  ‘You speak in riddles!’

  ‘When the time comes I shall betray him to the English for money.’

  ‘The English…’ Morwenna stared at him. She felt cold all over, an icy shiver trickling down her spine. ‘But you hate them…’

  ‘That is why you must be patient,’ Rhys said. ‘Morgan is looked up to by his men, and they speak of him as being a hero. I must do this thing carefully, Morwenna – use the English to destroy him so that I am not suspected and may take his place in all things.’

  ‘You should not wait too long,’ Morwenna had warned him. ‘For if you do we may lose all that we might gain.’

  ‘I am not a fool,’ Maire said, recalling her thoughts to the present. ‘I do not condemn you for I understand what it is to live with bitterness in your heart, but I warn you. Morgan has been harsh with you, but not as cruel as he might have been. If you should arouse the sleeping beast that dwells in all men you may regret the day you betrayed him.’

  ‘You are ill,’ Morwenna told her. ‘Your mind wanders. I have not betrayed my husband, and I hope you will not tell tales of me if he should come to visit us.’

  ‘I doubt he will come,’ Maire said. ‘He is too busy – and he has no reason save for the child.’

  ‘He will come to see Morganna,’ Morwenna said confidently.

  She smiled to herself as she reached a decision. Morgan would come and if Rhys had not the courage to kill him she would find some way of doing it herself.

  ELEVEN

  The news of a siege at Caris Castle reached Morgan as he was on his way to join Owain at the end of September. There was a rumour that the King was leading an armed force into Wales himself and it had been decided that the robber bands should become one for the time being and swell the ranks of Owain’s men.

  ‘We have harried the English at every turn,’ Morgan told his men. ‘Now we must be prepared to fight against the King’s army.’

  ‘We’re with you – to the death if need be.’

  The meeting with Owain was to take place at the beginning of October but before they reached the appointed place a messenger came from Owain himself.

  ‘I am sent to bring you word that Caris is under siege,’ the man gasped out as he flung himself from his horse in front of Morgan. ‘Owain is on his way to cut off the King’s army if he can, but he says that you should take your men to the relief of Caris.’

  ‘How many men has Sir Philip brought against Caris?’ Morgan asked. ‘When he set out for Chester he had no more than thirty.’

  ‘We do not know for sure but it was thought at least forty or more, though some may have been killed for the siege began three weeks ago and there has been fierce resistance from the castle garrison.’

  Morgan’s heart lurched with fear for his lady. He knew that Thomas Bridger and his men would fight valiantly but some were sure to be killed and they could not hold out forever. He prayed that he and his men would reach them in time.

  ‘We ride for Caris at once,’ he said. ‘For Rosamund de Grenville is a brave lady who holds the castle for Owain. Who is with me?’

  A chorus of voices were raised as they vowed to a man to follow him. Rhys Llewelyn added his voice to those who clamoured for the fight. If they were successful in driving off the English the lady of Caris would welcome them inside and his chance to carry out at least a part of the promise he had made to Morwenna might come at last.

  *

  ‘You m
ust rest,’ Alicia said as she saw Rosamund gather cloths and ointments into her basket. ‘Leave the wounded to others. You have not slept in a week.’

  ‘No more have others,’ Rosamund replied. ‘You should rest yourself, Alicia, for you look tired to death.’

  ‘How much longer can we sustain this level of resistance?’ Alicia asked. ‘They have attacked day after day and ten of our men have been wounded, another three are dead.’

  ‘We shall fight on for help must come soon,’ Rosamund replied. ‘We have food and water and when one man falls another takes his place on the ramparts. We have inflicted heavy losses on them. Surely Philip will tire of this soon and withdraw?’

  Alicia made no answer as she turned away, hiding her anxiety, and Rosamund knew that she was worried for Thomas. The brunt of their defence had fallen on him and he was looking tired and drawn. Some of his best men had been killed and those who took their places were untrained villagers. The archers who rained death and destruction on the enemy below were vulnerable to the enemy’s arrows themselves and it was they who had suffered most in the constant fighting.

  Some of the village woman had joined the men on the ramparts. They had helped to tip boiling pitch on the attacking force but Philip’s men had brought up covered defences to protect them from attack from above and that morning some of the most determined had reached the top of their scaling ladders before they were repulsed.

  For all her brave words to Alicia, Rosamund knew that they could not continue to resist at this level for much longer. Nor was it fair to expect it, though every man within the castle had sworn to die rather than surrender.

  The groans of the wounded wrenched at Rosamund’s heart as she brought fresh supplies to the women tending them. She was responsible for their suffering and her pity was roused as she bent to bathe the forehead of a wounded archer.

  ‘God bless you, my lady,’ he muttered feverishly.

  She held a cup to his lips, lifting him so that he could drink a few sips. He managed to swallow a little and then fell back, his eyes closing. Rosamund felt remorse strike deep into her heart. For herself she would resist bravely to the end but did she have the right to demand so much of others?

  Margaret was tending a young man who had been struck in the arm by an arrow. She glanced up as Rosamund approached, shaking her head.

  ‘The wound is festering, my lady. I do not have Kestrel’s healing powers. Unless that arm is cauterised I fear he will die of the rotting sickness.’

  Rosamund looked sad for the practice of applying a red-hot iron to the wound was a painful one and not always successful.

  ‘I shall speak to Thomas, for if the thing must be it is best done soon.’

  ‘I gave him the strongest measure of the sleeping draught I dare for he was in much pain.’

  ‘And you are tired,’ Rosamund said, looking at her sadly. ‘You have done more than your share, my good Margaret. Go up and rest now. I shall take your place here.’

  ‘It is not fitting that you should be here, my sweeting.’

  ‘If it is fitting that these men should suffer in my name it is fitting that I help to tend them. Go now and…’

  Rosamund broke off as she heard shouting and the sound of hurrying feet and then William Baldry came in, clearly excited.

  ‘Good news, my lady.’

  Rosamund looked at him, suddenly breathless. ‘Tell me – has help come at last?’

  ‘Thomas saw them coming from the ramparts. He ordered our men to the alert and as the Welsh attacked Sir Philip’s men from the rear he had our men fire at them from above. He says they broke and ran when they heard the Welsh battle cry, fleeing in all directions. Sir Philip will have some trouble in gathering them again.’

  ‘Then it is over?’ Rosamund felt an overwhelming surge of relief. ‘Owain’s men came to help us.’

  ‘Not Owain,’ William replied. ‘It was Morgan Gruffudd and perhaps thirty of his men.’

  ‘Morgan is here?’ Rosamund’s heart leapt with joy. ‘He has come himself? I thought him far away.’

  ‘And so I was…’

  Rosamund looked round, startled to hear his voice behind her.

  ‘Morgan!’ she cried and ran to him. ‘Oh, my love. I cannot believe that you are here. I sent to Owain as you bade me but it was you that came.’

  ‘I was on my way to meet Owain when his messenger intercepted us and we came here instead.’ Morgan clasped her to him, gazing down at her lovely face, noticing the signs of strain and tiredness. His lips moved against her hair as he held her and felt her tremble. ‘My poor love. How you have suffered these past weeks. I wish I had known sooner.’

  ‘It does not matter now,’ she said and looked up at him, eyes bright with tears she would not shed. ‘I needed you so and you came to me.’

  ‘My dearest love.’

  He bent his head and kissed her on the lips, an action that brought a ragged cheer from the wounded men who were watching and able to summon enough strength.

  Morgan turned and saluted them with a grin.

  ‘My thanks to all our brave men for protecting the Lady Rosamund,’ he said and then, taking her by the hand he led her from the chapel where the sick had been housed. They walked in silence through various rooms until they reached the far end of the quadrangle where they were finally alone.

  ‘I was so afraid,’ she said as he kissed her again, lingeringly this time with a sweetness that seemed to draw the heart from her body. ‘I thought that I might be forced to surrender to Philip and that I might never see you again.’

  ‘I would have found you somehow,’ Morgan vowed. ‘You know that I love you more than life itself.’

  ‘You would have had to search for me in the afterlife,’ Rosamund said. ‘For rather than return to my husband I would take my own life.’

  Morgan touched his fingers to her lips, hushing her. Then he bent his head to kiss her as she quietened and the desire flamed between them. He felt the tension drain out of her and then she was pressing herself against him, responding to his hungry kisses, melting into his body as he soothed her with tender caresses and sweet words.

  ‘Philip de Grenville has gone,’ Morgan said. ‘Some of my men pursued his. Those that are not killed will run for their lives. Philip will not try to attack Caris again.’

  ‘No, I do not think he will,’ she said and smiled up at him. ‘So you came to me again when I needed you – that is three times now.’

  ‘I hope that I shall always be here when you need me, Rosamund.’ He gazed down into her face, tracing the line of her cheek with his fingertips. ‘But you were troubled when I arrived. I saw men who were badly wounded and in pain. Kestrel is not with you?’

  ‘I have not seen him since you were last here,’ Rosamund said. ‘He is an old man. Perhaps his powers are failing him.’

  ‘Or perhaps he was needed more elsewhere,’ Morgan suggested. ‘Even he cannot be everywhere. We cannot know where he goes or what he does.’

  ‘That is very true,’ she said, a tender smile in her eyes. ‘And now you must come and see your son.’

  ‘I am eager to see him,’ Morgan told her. ‘Does he grow well, Rosamund?’

  ‘He is beautiful,’ she said, ‘and looks more like you every day.’

  ‘To be beautiful he should look like his mother.’

  ‘If we have a daughter she may take after me. Your son should resemble you. I want him to be strong and powerful when is a man, but he must also be generous and honest.’

  ‘You make me a hero, Rosamund. I am but a man with a man’s failings.’

  ‘That is not what I hear of you,’ she said and laughed, holding out her hand to him invitingly. Her lips were soft and moist, setting off the hungry desire in him. ‘Tell me, what brave deeds have you done these past months, my lord?’

  ‘Do you know what they once called me in the Brecon?’ Morgan’s eyes danced with wicked laughter as she shook her head. ‘Morgan the Rogue. I think it is a name well earned for I ma
ke a good thief. The English have a price of one hundred gold nobles on my head now.’

  Her laughter trilled out. ‘You must have caused them much trouble for your price to be so high. Last year it was no more than ten.’

  ‘That must prove my summer has not been wasted I think?’

  ‘Yet such a vast sum of money must be tempting to some,’ Rosamund said and the laughter died from her face. She shivered, an icy chill trickling down her spine. ‘Be careful, my love. I fear that someone may betray you for the money.’

  ‘The work we do is dangerous,’ he replied. ‘There is always the risk of being wounded or killed – but I do not fear that I shall be sold to the English. My men hate them as much or more than I do do. Even Rhys Llewelyn.’

  ‘Is he with you?’ Rosamund was startled. ‘Did you not tell me that he tried to kill you?’

  Rhys begged my pardon and asked to be allowed to ride with us. I thought it best to agree. Better to have your enemy where you can see him than search for him in the dark.’

  ‘But …he might be waiting his chance to do you harm.’

  ‘I am a match for Rhys and he knows it. I would not be fool enough to turn my back on him again.’

  Rosamund wanted to argue. She felt instinctively that Rhys Llewelyn was a danger to the man she loved, but she knew that Morgan would not listen to her fears. He had reached a decision concerning his one time friend and nothing would change him.

  She smiled as they reached her solar and she led him up a back stair to where their son lay sleeping in his cradle. The nurse had been keeping watch over him but she curtsied and went out, leaving them alone with the child.

  Morgan leaned over the cradle. He smiled as he saw that the babe had opened his eyes, which were a dark blue and very like his own. His hair had become darker but still held a hint of red and it clustered in soft curls over his head.

  ‘He is a little like both of us,’ Morgan said. He touched a finger to his son’s forehead, tenderness welling up inside him. ‘And he is beautiful just as you said.’