‘Tell me nothing,’ Jack said sharply. ‘I cannot help you, my lord. You know that I dare not.’
‘Then I shall not ask again,’ Morgan said and smiled. ‘I merely thank you for your kindness.’
Jack shot a suspicious look at him as he gave him the bread, meat and water, which was the same fare as all the men shared and much better than he had been given in the cell of his prison.
Morgan’s strength was returning with every hour they rode in the fresh air. Away from the stench of the dungeons he felt able to breathe again. He was close to his beloved mountains, riding, eating the kind of food he was used to, and gradually gaining in strength and hope.
Jack’s resistance was weakening. He sensed it though the man denied him. It was only a question of biding his time.
*
‘Is he not beautiful?’ Alicia asked as she cradled the babe in her arms. ‘He caused me some pain but I have forgotten it now.’
‘He is very beautiful,’ Rosamund said and touched the babe’s forehead with her fingertips. ‘I have been thinking, Alicia – in the spring when you are feeling better, would you like to visit your home?’
‘Could we?’ Alicia’s face lit up with excitement. ‘I should like to show Elizabeth to my mother – and introduce my father to Thomas. It is a long time since I saw them.’
‘Then you must go when you are ready,’ Rosamund said. ‘I have been thinking of it for some time but waited until your babe was born. The winter is on us now and you would find it too cold and difficult to travel for a while, but in the spring it will be much better for both you and the child.’
‘But – will you not come with us?’
‘No, I could not leave Caris,’ Rosamund replied. ‘My husband sent another letter only this morning demanding my return to him. He says that Morgan Gruffudd is his prisoner…’ She caught her breath on a sob and Alicia reached for her hand. ‘He demands my surrender in return for Morgan’s life…’
‘My lady!’ Alicia stared at her in dismay. ‘Surely you will not give way to his demands?’
‘No, for Morgan made me promise him before he left me. He told me that if such an offer was ever made to me I must resist it.’
‘And so you should, my lady,’ Alicia said. ‘If you must stay here then so shall I.’
‘No, I pray you do not give up your pleasure,’ Rosamund said. ‘You and Thomas have my leave to go, though I shall always be happy to see you return.’
‘Then we shall,’ Alicia said and gripped her hand. ‘If you wish us to go for a while we will, but we shall return to you.’
Rosamund smiled, touched the babe’s face once more and left her to rest. Going upstairs to her own solar, she found that Richard was arguing with his nurse about coming to find her.
‘Mumma,’ he said imperiously. ‘Mumma pick up.’
‘Yes, my darling,’ she said and picked him up to kiss him. He was growing into a sturdy lad, advanced for his age and clever, and he would make his father proud of him when he returned. Pray God he did! ‘Mumma is here now. Shall we go to see Thomas and the horses?’
Richard clapped his hands in delight. More than anything he loved to be taken up before Thomas on his horse and taken for a ride around the courtyard. She would have liked to take him into the forest but dare not allow him to go beyond the castle walls.
She would not give in to save Morgan’s life even though it was tearing her apart to refuse, but if it came to her son then she would have no choice. She set the child on his feet, taking him down the stone stairs to the great hall, torn between pride in her son and the pain in her heart.
It was almost two weeks since she had dreamed of Morgan and she feared the worst. She could no longer see his face when she closed her eyes and it frightened her. She must not forget him.
‘Oh, Morgan. Morgan my love,’ she whispered. ‘I love you so. Come back to me – alive or dead, come to me. Let me see your beloved face again…’
*
Morgan could feel the blood returning to his fingers. Jack Errin had tied the rope much more loosely this time, and he knew that with a little work he could manage to free his hands – but not yet. He knew that Jack was trusting him to keep his promise and escape without killing his friends, and he intended to keep his word if he could.
The best time would be in the evening when they stopped to rest and sleep. The men would eat and some of them would drink. He had heard them laughing amongst themselves as they got nearer to the Castle of Conway. They felt that their task was almost over and that soon they would be released from the burden of delivering their prisoner safely.
It had taken several days of gentle persuasion to get Jack to tie the ropes sufficiently loosely for Morgan to work his hands free, but he knew that once they lay down that night he would manage it.
His opportunity was coming. He could feel it, could almost hear Kestrel telling him to be alert, to seize his opportunity when it came.
It came sooner than he had thought. The officer in charge decided to make camp earlier that night. They had but one more day’s journey, and he was close to his home village. He rode off as soon as the men had set up camp and returned two hours later with a sack of ale and one of wine slung over his saddle. Morgan watched as the others gathered round, jesting and laughing about their celebration on their last night of freedom.
One of them brought a cup of wine to him, grinning at him in a way that was not unfriendly.
‘Drink this, Morgan Gruffudd. I know not what awaits you at Conway, but at least you can enjoy your last night before we get there.’
‘I thank you for your kindness, soldier.’
‘You Welsh are fools,’ the man said. ‘You can rebel as often as you like, but we shall beat you in the end. Why not surrender to Prince Henry? He is different from his father and a good man to serve.’
‘I shall think about it,’ Morgan said, giving him the empty wine cup. ‘Give me another cup of this and who knows what I might decide.’
The man grinned and went off to fetch it. He watched as Morgan drank it all and then retied his hands, leaving them even more loosely bound than Jack had been doing these past few days, then he went off to fetch a blanket and flung it over him.
”Tis cold enough to freeze a man’s parts to ice,’ he said, ‘sleep well, Morgan Gruffudd.’
Was it carelessness or something more? Morgan wondered but gave no sign that he had noticed.
‘And you, friend.’
Morgan settled down, grateful for the blanket that hid his hands as he worked at the knots. They fell open almost at once, but he left them loosely about his wrists as he made fists of them, letting the blood flow freely. All the men were drinking deeply and he could hear their laughter everywhere around him.
Was this part of some plan? He wondered, frowning as he saw that Jack Errin was in charge of the horses that night. It was the soldiers’ practice to tether them all to a line to make it more difficult for them to be stolen. Morgan debated whether to try stealing a horse or simply slip away into the darkness. If he took a horse it would mean a greater risk of waking the men, even though they were drinking freely – but perhaps one or two were not.
It might be that some of them were hoping he might make the attempt to escape – or was he reading too much into a situation that seemed to have been made easy for him?
‘Goodnight, Morgan.’ Jack Errin’s voice said softly. ‘Speak kindly of me to Lady Rosamund.’
Morgan smiled to himself in the darkness. He waited until the singing and the laughter had stopped, until nothing could be heard other than snoring, and then he shook the blanket off, sitting up carefully, his breathing shallow as he waited for the shout that would betray him. It did not come even as he got to his feet and began to walk carefully through the camp, stepping over one of the sleeping men.
He reached the horses, saw that the last one had been left loosely tied and hesitated. No, it would be foolish to risk disturbing the men. He was at home in the mountains a
nd he knew where he could find shelter and a horse soon enough.
He glanced round the camp, saw that all the men slept, then he slipped away into the darkness. After he had gone, one man lifted his head and smiled as he saw the discarded blanket. He would wait until the hue and cry died down, and then he would go to Caris Castle…
*
Morwenna threw the contents of the oak hutch to the floor of Maire’s chamber, emptying it so that she could drag it free of the wall. She had searched every chest and coffer in Maire’s chamber without finding the gold so it must be hidden in a cavity somewhere. The hutch had been too heavy to move but now she could just manage it. She was tapping the wall with a heavy wooden mallet that she used in her stillroom when the door opened and Rhys walked in.
He stared at her in silence for a moment, then asked, ‘What are you doing?’
‘I saw a rat,’ she said. ‘I wanted to kill it in case it bites Morganna.’
Rhys’s eyes narrowed, intent on her face. ‘You are lying,’ he said. ‘You emptied the hutch to make it lighter so that you could move it. You would not go to so much trouble for a rat. You would have called the servants to search for it. What are you looking for, Morwenna?’ He smiled oddly. ‘Did Maire hide her gold? She was sly enough to have done it to spite us.’
‘She knew nothing of you.’ Morwenna was angry at having been caught searching. Rhys would never give her a moment’s peace now. ‘I told you, it was a rat.’
‘I do not believe you,’ he said. ‘I knew you were searching for something. I have heard you moving about in here at night. Why didn’t you ask me to help you? Two of us would have had more chance of finding it.’ His lips curled back in a sneer. ‘But you don’t trust me, do you, Morwenna? You planned to take the gold and leave before Morgan comes here.’
‘There is a whisper that he escaped from the English soldiers,’ she said and glared at him. ‘You should go, Rhys. He will kill you first. Why don’t you run now while you have the chance?’
‘You are a cold bitch,’ Rhys said anger flaring. ‘I should teach you a lesson, Morwenna.’ He moved towards her, grabbing her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh. ‘I could kill you…’ He put his right hand about her throat and she felt the pressure cutting off her breath, making her gasp. ‘One squeeze and that would be the end…’
‘Do it,’ she croaked, staggering as he suddenly pushed her away from him violently. ‘No, you haven’t the courage.’
‘Do not test me too far, Morwenna,’ Rhys said. ‘One day I shall not stop – now help me examine this wall. We shall search for Maire’s gold together.’
Morwenna watched sullenly as he tapped the wall. He was more thorough than she had been and tapped harder for he did not care who heard. She was reluctant to go on with the search for she knew that if they found the gold he would take it from her. Rhys would never let her leave him.
Damn him! She was beginning to hate him now. It was his fault that her life had turned sour. If she had never met him she might have been happy as Morgan’s wife.
‘Come on,’ Rhys commanded. ‘Help me, Morwenna. If you don’t you won’t see a groat of the money when I find it.’
*
Rosamund read the brief message from Morgan. He was safe and she was to remain at Caris until he came to her. He promised to come soon but there was something he must do first.
She read his words again, her lovely eyes lit with relief.
I shall be with you soon, my love, Morgan had written. I am well and there is no need for you to be anxious.
She had heard that Morgan had escaped from the English in the forest a short distance from Conway, and for a while they had doubled the guard at Caris in case they were attacked in revenge. So far it had not happened. Word had it that the English were thinly stretched and suffering reverses. For the moment no one had the time or inclination to bother about one defiant woman; she was not important when so much else was at stake.
Smiling, she folded Morgan’s letter and put it away in her coffer. It seemed that Kestrel had spoken truly after all and her fears had been foolish.
‘Come back to me soon, my love,’ she whispered to the empty room. ‘It grows so lonely here without you.’
*
Morgan stood on the mountain gazing down at the house below. The moon had come from behind the clouds, which had partially obscured it, seeming to shed its light benevolently over the old stone manor. He had never liked it for it was gloomy and dark. With Maire gone he would have been content to leave it to his daughter and Morwenna – but she and Rhys had betrayed him to the English.
He scowled in the darkness as the moon hid itself again. Owain was right, there was a soft streak in him. He had left this reckoning too long. While Rhys lived Rosamund and their children were at risk, and his own life was endangered by the other man’s treachery. He had no choice. His one-time friend must die.
His expression was grim as he began the descent. It was not in anger or for revenge that he sought Rhys’ death but so that there would be no more plotting, no more attempts to murder Rosamund.
The doors had been barred against the night as he had expected, but that had never kept Morgan out when he returned under cover of darkness. There was a cellar, forgotten and neglected, home to broken casks and rats. The servants always locked the door leading from the cellar into the house at night, but Morgan had a spare key hidden.
It took but a moment to find for no one came near the disused cellar. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. The air in here did not grow sweeter with time.
Letting himself into the kitchens, Morgan saw a wench lying on a rush mat by the ovens, huddled up to her sweetheart for warmth. It was a bitter night and he did not blame them for seeking what comfort they could. He grinned as he realised they were sleeping soundly, having helped themselves freely to Maire’s home brewed ale.
But Maire was no longer here to keep her servants in check and it seemed that they did not respect their new mistress. The smile left Morgan’s face as he recalled that he had not even had time to bury his mother. Rhys and his wife had not even allowed him that in their haste to betray him.
Rhy’s deserved his fate! Morgan’s expression was grim as he trod softly up the stone steps leading to his wife’s bedchamber. He suspected what he would find and moments later his lip curled in scorn as he gazed down at Morwenna lying with her head against Rhys’ shoulder. She had wasted no time in taking her lover to her bed.
He reached out, dragging the fur covering from them. Beneath it were yet more coverlets of woollen material for it was always bitterly cold in this house in winter. He wrenched these too from the sleeping couple and saw they were both naked. Yet still they did not stir.
His top lip curling back in a sneer, Morgan fetched cold water from the pitcher and emptied the contents over Rhys. Morgan’s sword was drawn and he held it to the man’s throat as he woke, swearing fiercely until he saw Morgan and the breath left him in a little hiss.
A faint light was shining in at the window, but Morwenna was awake now and lighting a taper beside the bed, its smoky flare shedding light over Rhys’ waxy face. She gave a gasp of fear and reached for a cover to hide her nakedness from her husband’s contemptuous gaze.
‘It was Rhys,’ she said and there was a strange excitement in her eyes. ‘He betrayed you to the English. Then he came here and forced himself on me. I told him they would not hold you. I warned him to run but he is a fool.’
‘Do not waste your breath,’ Morgan told her. ‘I have come here to kill him but you mean nothing to me. I care not what you do, Morwenna. Stay here if you wish. For Morganna’s sake I shall spare you but not him.’ He lowered his sword. ‘But I shall not kill you where you lie, Rhys Llewelyn – for our past friendship it shall be a fair fight.’
Rhys rose from the bed. Unlike Morwenna he did not try to cover his nakedness but stood straight and tall, facing Morgan proudly.
‘Take my life then,’ he said defiantly. ‘I deny nothing. I wanted
her. She has been my destiny and my downfall. Yet I do not regret it. All that was yours has been mine. You can kill me but you cannot deny what has been done.’
‘You took nothing from me that I wanted, though it was your intention,’ Morgan said. ‘You tried to murder the woman I love and you betrayed me to the English. Yet I shall give you a chance. Dress and come downstairs and we shall settle this for good.’
He turned away, but then, alerted by Morwenna’s gasp, swung back as Rhys lunged at him, a long thin dagger in hand. Morgan struck out with his sword, thrusting it deeply and cleanly into Rhys’ side before pulling it free. The blood gushed in a tide of crimson as Rhys sank to his knees, froth on his mouth, an odd smile in his eyes.
‘You were right,’ he muttered. ‘I took nothing from you that was worth the taking.’ And then he fell to one side, twitched for a few moments and lay still.
Morgan whirled round as Morwenna moved but she had no weapon and fell to her knees beside Rhys’ body as it finally lay still.
‘He was a coward and a fool,’ she said looking up. ‘Yet he loved me. You never loved me even when you stole my heart and made me love you.’
‘You forfeited any right to love when you lay with him,’ Morgan said. ‘I would be within my rights to kill you where you stand, Morwenna. I shall spare you for your child’s sake. A child needs its mother. Be good to her. If I hear otherwise you will be sorry.’
She rose to her feet, meeting his harsh gaze without flinching. Beneath her bare feet the floor was icy cold and she shivered as the chill went through her but suppressed it as best she could.
‘I do not fear you. My life means nothing to me – but I shall teach my daughter to hate you, Morgan. She shall hate you as much as I do. You would do better to kill me and take her with you now if you care for her.’
‘No, I shall not make it easy for you,’ he said. ‘You will live here with your crimes, Morwenna, and may you remember what you have done in your dreams; it is a more fitting punishment than death. Hate me if you will but have a care what you teach Morganna. I shall visit her sometimes, mayhap take her with me for a time if I can. She will learn to know me and judge for herself and it might be that she learns to hate you instead.’
Morgan the Rogue Page 25