‘Do you think so?’ Morganna looked at her doubtfully. ‘Even if it would I do not believe he would come. He has so much to do – and it might be dangerous for him.’
These were difficult times, the English hunting for the rebels everywhere. It had been hard for the people too, this revolt of Owain Glyn Dwr, for harvests had been lost, towns destroyed and the people were always the ones who suffered most. And yet there were many who would always bless the name of the man they considered their rightful prince.
‘Your father will come if you ask it,’ Gwenny said. ‘Morgan Gruffudd was always a man to do his duty – even if he has forgot his duty to you these past years.’
‘But even if I sent a message it might not reach him’ Morganna said looking thoughtful. ‘No one knows where he or Owain is to be found.’
‘Some know,’ Gwenny told her. ‘It is not spoken of for the English would give much to capture them and end this war that drags on so uselessly between us.’
Morganna nodded. She knew that Owain, her father and other of his devoted followers were hiding somewhere in the mountains. The English were weary of this war, as were the Welsh, but while Owain was free there was always a chance that the tide would turn his way once more. He was a legend to the people, and his name brought hope even at this darkest time.
‘If France or Scotland would but come to Owain’s aid…I heard someone say that it might happen yet.’
‘I know naught of that,’ Gwenny said and frowned. ‘Your father would do better to make terms. He could return to his manors then and take you to live with him.’
‘I could not leave my mother.’
‘You mean you will not. There are others to care for her. You are too young to spend all your time nursing a sick woman.’
‘I could not leave her knowing that she might die,’ Morganna said, a determined jut to her chin. ‘But I shall send to my father and tell him that I believe she may be dying and it would be a kindness in him to visit her one last time.’
She would send her message to Caris for if anyone knew where to find Morgan Gruffudd it would surely be Lady Rosamund.
*
‘This came for you some months ago, my lord.’ William Baldry handed Morgan a small sealed packet. ‘We did not know where to reach you or I would have sent it on.’
Morgan sensed the disapproval in the steward’s manner. His stern features were expressionless, hiding his thoughts, but Morgan knew that he was angry. William had never truly liked or approved of him and he sensed that the feeling of hostility had not lessened with the years. William thought that he had hurt and neglected Lady Rosamund and perhaps he had, though not intentionally.
He opened the packet as he walked up the stone steps to Rosamund’s solar, frowning over the message it contained. Morganna had sent word that her mother was very sick.
I think she is dying, the girl had written. Gwenny says it is the same sickness as my grandmother died of and indeed it seems that she suffers in the same manner. I know there has been an old quarrel between you. Would it not be a kindness in you to forgive her now that she is dying? If it is possible I would ask that you visit her one last time. Your loving and obedient daughter, Morganna.
He was aware of guilt as he folded the letter and tucked it safely inside his surcote, knowing that he had neglected the girl since Richard’s death. At first his grief had been too sharp and she would have been too vivid a reminder of his loss, for of all his daughters she was the most like Richard in spirit and temperament. However, the tearing pain had softened with time, leaving a dull ache and an emptiness that could never be filled.
A part of the emptiness was because of the estrangement with Rosamund. She had rejected all attempts on his part to comfort and reach her, and that had hurt him. In the end he had simply stayed away from Caris, believing that her love had turned to hate. It was now the year of 1413 and the bitter winter was on the wane. He had returned because he was too weary to go on for the moment and needed to rest to recoup his strength and his spirits for the spring.
‘My lord…’ Bethan was leaving Rosamund’s chamber as he reached it. She was a comely young woman now and Rosamund’s closest companion since Alicia had left her to live in England. ‘Shall I tell my lady you are here?’
‘Do not trouble yourself. I shall go in and surprise her.’
Rosamund was gazing out of the window, her face half turned from him, the proud line of her head reminding him of the young woman he had first met. She was as beautiful now as she had been then, but there was an air of sadness that never left her, a lessening of the bright spirit that caused him to feel an ache of loss in his breast. Their time of happiness had been so brief.
‘Rosamund…’
She turned as if startled from a dream, then smiled.
‘I was thinking of you,’ she said and the softy, husky tones of her voice set his heart racing. Her power to move him to hot, straining desire was as strong as ever and he felt the urgent burning in his loins. ‘Somehow I thought you might come.’
‘The winter has been hard,’ Morgan said. ‘Sometimes we are close to despair. We hear nothing but ill news these days.’
‘I have heard that many are surrendering – have surrendered.’
Suddenly her face was intense, passionate, her eyes seeking his in an emotional plea. ‘Why do you not sue for peace, Morgan? You will never win this fight and can expect nothing but years of useless wandering. In the end they will find you and you will hang.’
His expression did not change, though he felt both the justice of her appeal and sorrow that she should need to make it. ‘I have always risked death, known that it may await me in the next moment. I see no reason to change now. The people love Owain. He is spoken of and sung of as a great hero. While he lives there is always hope for the future.’
‘Do not be a dreaming fool,’ Rosamund said and in her urgency her tone was sharper than she meant. ‘Why waste the rest of your life? Philip is dead. If you were to make terms with the English we could go anywhere, live in peace and care for our daughters. They will soon be of an age to marry. Do you want them to waste their lives too?’
‘Have you wasted your life, Rosamund?’ Morgan’s expression was harder than she had ever seen it, his eyes as cold as a mountain pool. ‘You knew from the start that I had pledged my life to Owain. I shall never betray him.’
‘You will not desert him but you care little for your daughters or me. Why should we suffer for your foolishness?’
‘You speak truly. I have no right to ask you to stay here for my sake, Rosamund. You must leave if you choose, go where it pleases you. Now that Philip is dead you could marry again – to a man of your own rank. A more fitting arrangement than that I have offered you these many years.’
Rosamund went white. She felt as if he had slapped her in the face. How could he say such things to her? After all the love that had been between them – but it seemed that love was gone. It had died with Richard.
‘Yes, I could marry if I chose,’ she said. ‘But that is my affair I think.’
‘Rosamund…’ He took a hesitant step towards her and halted as he saw her haughty pride; head high, face white, manner regal, she was untouchable. The barrier was there and he could not find the way to breach it. ‘You know I did not mean to hurt you. If I were free…’
‘But you are not,’ she replied. ‘You would never be free even if there was no Morwenna. Your duty is to Owain. Return to him, Morgan. Leave me to grieve alone.’
‘Rosamund…’ He stared at her in silence, feeling helpless as he realised he did not know this woman. The woman he loved had retreated into a world of her own where he may not enter. Once he would have taken her in his arms, kissing away the hurt and the pain but she was too far away from him. ‘Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you, nor that your life should be as lonely and bitter as it seems. I wanted to give you everything, but I have brought you naught but sorrow.’
‘No, that is not true,’ she said, some
of his hurt reaching through her shield. ‘We were happy until Richard died…’ She gave a little choke of despair. ‘I thought that if we could live together in peace we might find that content again.’
‘I am not sure that once something is lost it is possible to find it again. Besides, my loyalty to Owain lies between us.’
‘Then I see no hope for the future.’
Morgan cursed inwardly as he saw the hurt mirrored in her lovely eyes. Why could he not give her the one thing she asked? She had asked so little of him over the years. What was it in him that refused to admit defeat? Was it merely pride or a stupid stubbornness that would lead him to his death?
‘I think it best that I leave,’ he said after the silence had deepened and stretched between them, becoming painful. ‘One day I shall return if it is possible. If you are here and things have changed…’
‘How can they change if you refuse to surrender?’
‘Then I shall pray that you will find happiness, Rosamund. I have loved you with all my heart and I beg you to forgive me for the harm I have brought you.’
Rosamund had turned away to stare out of the window. She felt as if her heart was breaking as she struggled to find the words – words that might heal the breach between them. It was difficult to begin for she knew that she had let things drift too long.
‘Morgan, I…’
She turned and saw that she was addressing an empty room. For a moment she was stunned, devastated, and then she realised that there was no point in trying to stop him leaving. It was too late. The harm had been done and she could see no way to heal it for Morgan would not surrender no matter how she begged him. His duty and his loyalty was given to Owain, and while Owain remained a fugitive Morgan would stay with him.
What of her life and that of her daughters? Rosamund fought the misery building inside her. For the moment the hurt was too deep to think at all, but one day soon she would have to decide.
Morganna was gathering berries and wild herbs by the stream when she saw the horse and rider. From the way he rode hunched over his horse the man looked utterly weary, almost defeated, and it was not until he came close that she began to suspect it might be her father. It was now almost a year since she had sent her message to him and she had almost given up hope of his coming. Her heart gladdened as she suddenly knew that she was right.
He reigned in as she walked to meet him, rush basket filled with pungent herbs over her arm, and she saw how weary he was as he sat his horse looking down at her, the lines of exhaustion cut deeply into his face. Yet he was still young, still handsome and strong, and she sensed it was the pain of grief that had brought him to this state. She read it in his face and her heart went out to him despite the years of neglect.
‘You are Morganna? It is a long time since I saw you, child.’
‘Too long, Father. I was a child when you last saw me but I think I am not that now.’
His eyes went over. She had grown, was taller than he would have imagined and there was a maturity about her that he had not expected. She was a striking girl, her colouring much like his own.
‘No, you are a young woman, Morganna. Forgive me. I had remembered you as a child.’
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she told him at once, her face lighting up with a smile of rare sweetness. Now he saw that she was beautiful. ‘You have been at war and must have many duties to take your time.’
‘I have neglected my duty to you, Morganna – but I came as soon as I received your letter. Does your mother want to see me? The last time I saw her we parted badly.’
Morganna’s face clouded with sorrow, tears making her eyes sparkle though she blinked them away, lifting her head to gaze at him steadily.
‘She is close to death. Gwenny says she does not fight the sickness as Maire did. She lies on her bed all day and will neither eat nor drink. I think that she longs for death.’
‘And you care for her,’ Morgan said, studying her face thoughtfully. There was tenderness in her, a womanly humility and grace that her mother had lost long ago. ‘I know she has not always been kind to you. Yet you love her despite everything?’
‘She is my mother.’ Morganna wiped the tears his soft words provoked with the back of her hand. ‘But you are tired, Father. Come in and rest. I shall have the servants prepare food for you.’
‘Yes, I am tired,’ he agreed. ‘I think I shall rest and eat before I visit Morwenna.’
*
Morwenna heard the door open but did not raise her head to see who had entered. She was not interested. Morganna would only nag at her, trying to force her to eat or drink something. It was all too much trouble. Why would they not simply leave her in peace? Her life had no meaning. Even the need to hate had left her now. All she wanted was to be left alone to die.
‘I have come to ask your forgiveness, Morwenna. There has been anger and bitterness between us, but I would have an end to it.’
Morwenna opened her eyes as she heard his voice. It had been so long that she’d believed she would never see him again.
‘Have you come to gloat over me?’ she asked hoarsely. Her skin had turned yellow in these past weeks, her eyes dull from the sickness that possessed her every thought, and her once glorious hair had become thin and lifeless. ‘Stare at me if you will. I am ugly and old before my time – that is your doing, Morgan Gruffudd. You brought me here to nurse that old witch Maire and she laid her curse on me before she died.’
‘You are ill, Morwenna,’ Morgan said, touched by sudden pity for her. ‘Maire would not curse you, she was fond of you. She blamed me for the rift between us not you.’
‘In your place I would have told her the truth.’ Her mouth twisted with spite and then she began to cough. The fit lasted for several minutes and blood trickled from the side of her mouth. When at last the fit had ended she lay back against the pillows, exhausted. ‘Why don’t you laugh? You will be free of me soon, free of the wife you never wanted.’
‘I am not a vindictive man. And I am sorry to see you like this, Morwenna. May we not put the past behind us?’
Morwenna closed her eyes as the bitterness welled in her. It was easy for him to prate of forgiveness; he was not sick and like to die at any moment. He would live and be happy with his woman. He might marry again once she was dead. He had never wanted her, taking her only as a part of the bargain he had made with Owain.
‘Go away,’ she said, a sudden burst of anger giving her strength to lift her head from the pillows, her eyes blazing at him. ‘I hate you, Morgan Gruffudd. I shall curse you with my dying breath.’
‘Such hatred still?’ he said. ‘I have never hated you, Morwenna, though the things you did angered and hurt me – but I have forgiven you. Hate me if you will, but go to your final rest knowing that I have only pity for you.’
Morwenna lay back against the pillows, her strength gone, eyes closed, a single tear slipping from the corner of her eye. He had only pity for her. She did not want his pity! She had wanted his love but he had given it to another woman, and all her life had been wasted in this empty place his neglect had brought her to. She would be glad to die…
*
Morgan and his daughter stood together as the priest said prayers over the departed woman, and then Morganna threw a posy of wild flowers into the open gave. Morgan put an arm about her shoulders, leading her away as the servants began to fill it in with the damp, sticky soil, the smell of it in his nostrils as bitter as the moment.
‘She is at peace now,’ he said to the girl who was silently crying. ‘Forgive me, Morganna. I think the past years have been hard for you. Your mother was not an easy person to care for I know. I always meant to take you away for longer periods but somehow I have neglected to do what I had promised myself I would…’
‘I do not blame you for that,’ Morganna replied. ‘I know that you and Lady Rosamund were angry with me for letting Richard swim in the lake that day…’
‘You thought that?’ He looked deeply into her f
ace and was saddened by what he saw reflected there. ‘What selfish fools we were, thinking only of our own grief! You loved him too.’
‘I beat him in a race,’ Morganna said, eyes laden with spilling tears. ‘If I had let him win he would not have gone into the lake.’
‘Richard always went his own way,’ Morgan told her and reached out to stroke her cheek and brush away the tears with his fingertips. ‘You could not have stopped him if he had made up his mind to swim, Morganna. He was stubborn and reckless, and we always knew that his headstrong ways might lead him to trouble. You were not to blame. I have never blamed you and I know that Rosamund would not either. She has been devastated with grief or I am sure that she would have asked for you to stay with her again.’
‘I thought that I was being punished…’
‘No! God forgive me that I caused you such pain,’ Morgan said. He looked down into her lovely face and saw that she was a woman, and a woman who had known pain and suffering. She had been forced to grow up too fast. ‘Will you forgive me, Morganna? I swear that I will make up for what I have neglected one day. I do not know what Lady Rosamund plans for the moment but I shall ask her if she will allow you to live with her and her daughters for the time being – and perhaps one day I may be able to see more of you…’
‘Will Lady Rosamund want me in her house, Father? She must always be reminded of what happened when she sees me.’
‘I believe that she would want to help you,’ Morgan said. ‘I may not be able to visit her just yet, for when I leave you I must return to Owain. I ask that for the moment you remain here with Gwenny. I shall send for you when I can.’
‘Yes, Father. Where else would I go?’
‘Your mother had two brothers. They were too young to take part in the rebellion when it began and they have never done so. It might be that they would take you in.’ Morgan nodded, his eyes serious as they rested on her lovely face. ‘Something must be done about your future, Morganna. I shall speak to Lady Rosamund as soon as I can, but if arrangements cannot be made – or if I should be killed – then you should approach your uncle at Bala for help.’
Morgan the Rogue Page 29