Rosamund had held her peace while Morgan was recovering, but now that he was beginning to feel more like himself she would speak of what was in her heart.
Morganna hoped that her father would not be angry. Rosamund was thinking only of his future, for if he refused the King’s offer of clemency now there might never be another chance. He would be an outlaw, condemned to a life of wandering until at the end he was killed or taken prisoner.
*
‘I ask only that you think carefully before you refuse His Majesty’s offer,’ Rosamund said as she saw Morgan’s expression of rejection. ‘It is not for my own sake that I ask, though you know that I have hoped for this. Morganna is devoted to you. I believe we owe her something, Morgan. Her life has not been what it ought to have been, and that is as much my fault as yours. I have promised to take her with me and do what I can for her – but I do not think she could be happy knowing you were condemned to…’
Morgan held up his hand to silence her. ‘I know what you would say, Rosamund. And though you say you do not ask for yourself, I know this means much to you. I have listened to your words. In return I ask that you give me a little time to decide. It is not an easy thing you ask and I must think on it.’
‘I know it is not easy,’ Rosamund said in her softy, husky voice. ‘You gave your word to Owain and you will not break it lightly. But for the love we bear you, I beg you will not leave it too long.’
‘I have another week to decide before I must give my decision. Do not worry, my love. Whatever I decide this king will not blame you or Morganna. I do not think he will seek a petty revenge from you or my daughter.’
‘No, but…’ She saw the look in his eyes and was silent. He had seen his dream die and it was a bitter thing for a man of his pride to surrender his sword. ‘I cannot quarrel with you again, Morgan. Without you my life was an empty thing. Whatever you choose I shall always love you.’
‘Then let us speak of other things,’ he said and now he was smiling, his expression softened by love. ‘Tell me of Ellen’s betrothal and of your stay in London…’
*
Morgan felt the warmth of the sun on his face as he began to climb the mountain. It was early yet but the signs of spring were appearing everywhere in the bursting buds and thrusting shoots. He had slipped away unnoticed early that morning for he knew the women would have tried to prevent his leaving the house, fearing that he was not yet recovered sufficiently from his fever, and he needed to be alone with his thoughts.
There was no real reason why he should not now sue for pardon from the King. It was only his stubbornness and his pride that had kept him from returning a fair answer to His Majesty – and something inside him that hated the idea of returning to the English yoke. Henry V was a man he could like, yet he would be his own man, free in thought and will to serve where he pleased. Owain’s last words had directed him to surrender for their dream had gone, and yet still he had held out.
He walked steadily, seeking secure footholds as he climbed the rocky face of the mountain, higher, ever higher, until he reached the place that he felt closest to the heavens. Here he could breathe again after the weeks of confinement and sickness, his lungs filling with the clear pure air, renewing his spirit.
‘Am I fool that I cling to a dream?’ he asked of the sky, his arms outstretched as if in supplication, his strong voice echoing through the mountains. ‘Does pride mean so much to me? Must I sacrifice love and happiness for an ideal? The dream is lost. I dreamed that Wales might be free, that I might be free…’
The wind was sighing across the mountains and the song was in the wind and the rushing water of the falls as they tumbled over rocks worn smooth with the ages of their passing. The music filled Morgan’s ears and in the music was the voice: Kestrel’s voice.
‘Freedom is within you, Morgan Gruffudd. A man may be free in many ways and from the death of one dream may come another even greater.’
‘Kestrel…’ Morgan span round but he could not see his old friend even though his need was great. ‘How can the dream be greater?’
‘From your daughter,’ the voice seemed to answer. ‘Her blood will mingle with the blood of kings…’
‘The blood of kings?’ Morgan put his hands to his ears to shut out the voice for it was surely madness. ‘But that would mean…she carries Owain’s blood through her mother and mine…’
‘Owain lives…’ came the answer unbidden. ‘The dream lives on and Wales shall be free, though there shall not be a Welsh prince in Wales.’
The music was loud and so fierce that Morgan thought his head would burst from it. As always Kestrel spoke in riddles. His words seemed to promise so much, yet his words were only that – a vague promise.
‘Remember, Morgan Gruffudd, no man’s mind is chained. All men are free to dream and the brave live through their dreams to dream once more. Farewell, my friend, for you will not need me again.’
‘Kestrel…’ Morgan cried. ‘Stay! I beg you, do not leave me.’
The music was dying with the wind and then it was gone. Morgan felt a sense of loss and somehow he knew that Kestrel had spoken to him for the last time.
‘Farewell, my good healer,’ he said. ‘I shall never forget and I pray that we may meet again, if not in this life then the next.’
*
It was as Morgan walked back to the house that he saw the small party of horsemen arrive. They were wearing the King’s colours and his heart quickened. Should he take his chance and escape now? Yet to do so might bring harm on those he loved. Better to let them arrest him than that Rosamund or Morganna should suffer. He entered the house to see Morganna there to confront the men and her brave stance touched his heart, making him smile.
‘I tell you he is not here.’
‘And I must ask again, lady. Where is Morgan Gruffudd?’
‘You seek me, good sirs?’
Their leader spun round, his eyes intent on Morgan’s face. ‘You are Morgan Gruffudd?’
‘I am he. In whose name do you come?’
‘In the King’s, sir.’
‘Am I to be arrested?’
‘Father!’ Morganna darted towards him, her face pale and tense. ‘There was to be another three days granted before you had to give your answer.’
‘Hush, Daughter. Do not fear for me.’
‘We have been sent to escort you, sir.’
‘Where are we going? May I at least know that?’
‘I am not at liberty to say. My orders are to take you to a certain place – and alone.’
Rosamund had just entered the hall behind them. ‘But this is outrageous,’ she cried. ‘He has but now risen from his sick bed. We must be allowed to go with him lest he falls ill.’
‘Forgive me, lady,’ the soldier said, discomforted by her distress. ‘We must obey our orders.’
‘Morgan…’ Rosamund rushed to him, her face drawn and pale, eyes wide with fear for him. ‘Go quickly! Escape now, while you can. I was wrong…’
‘Hush, my dear love,’ he said and clasped her in his arms, kissing her hungrily. ‘You know that you were always the wife of my heart and I would wed you if I could. Forgive me if I ever caused you pain. I must go with these gentlemen. To resist would bring harm to you and my daughter and you might be arrested in my stead. Take care of Morganna, my love, and be happy yourself.’
‘Morgan…’ Tears caught at her throat. ‘You are not well…’
‘I am well enough, fear not. Go to Caris and wait there until you hear what has happened.’ He glanced at Morganna. ‘Be happy, my child. I loved you well, though I have not been a good father to you. I beg you will forgive me for my neglect.’
‘There is nothing to forgive, Father. May God bless and keep you safe.’
‘Then I am content. I am ready, good sirs. I go with you of my own free will. We need wait no longer.’
The two women moved instinctively closer together as Morgan was escorted from the house, to where the horses were waiting. Grooms
had been dispatched to fetch his own horse and he was allowed to mount and ride with them, his hands unbound.
‘He will escape,’ Morganna said as Rosamund’s arm drew her into a gentle embrace, giving her courage. ‘He was worried for us, but when they are away from here he will give them the slip.’
‘No, I do not think he means to run away,’ Rosamund said and her lovely eyes were wet with tears. ‘He is a man of honour and he has gone with them of his own will – but I do not understand why His Majesty has done this. He swore to me that he would show clemency and there were three more days before Morgan must lay down his sword.’
‘What can we do?’ Morganna asked. Desperation was in her face for she could not bear to see her father leave as a prisoner of his old enemy. ‘Will they hang him as an example to the others?’
‘I pray he will be given a fair trial,’ Rosamund replied. ‘We must travel to London, Morganna. I shall go to the King and beg for his life, on my knees if need be.’
‘No,’ Morganna said, her expression thoughtful. ‘You should not beg, Rosamund. My father would be angry and humiliated if you did that. I think we should go to Caris as he bid us. We must wait there to hear his fate. Whatever it may be we must face it as bravely as he would expect.’
Rosamund wanted to protest, her heart aching as she thought of Morgan broken and bent on the rack or condemned to the headsman’s axe, but as she looked at the girl’s pale face she knew that Morganna was right. Morgan would not want her to beg for his life. He would rather go proudly to his death.
‘Perhaps you were right,’ she said more in the hope of comforting her than any real belief. ‘Perhaps he does mean to escape and come to Caris. We shall go there and wait as he bid us…’
*
‘This is where the orchids grow later in the year,’ Rosamund said as they walked together by the lake. Its waters were grey, a breeze rippling the surface; at its edge graceful willows dipped their heads, their grey green fronds stroking the banks. ‘I have not been here for so long.’
‘Is it too painful for you?’ Morganna asked. ‘You must think of Richard here.’
‘Richard is never far from my thoughts, but they are mostly happy ones now. As they are when I think of your father. Those years were the happiest and the saddest of my life – just as Kestrel told me.’
‘We have heard no word of my father in all these weeks.’ Morganna’s voice throbbed with the emotion she kept inside.
They had heard that early in March more than six hundred Welsh nobles and rebel lords had taken an oath of loyalty to the King and been pardoned. In various regions other similar courts had been held and men restored to their estates, but these men had not included Owain Glyn Dwr’s closest friend and trusted lieutenant. It was likely that an example was to be made of Morgan Gruffudd.
‘If the King has him executed I shall go no more to Court,’ Rosamund said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘It is too cruel. I believed he would surrender in the end.’
‘They came too soon. It was not honourable,’ Morganna said angrily. ‘Father was not allowed to decide…’
It was the end of May now and they had almost given up hope of hearing that Morgan had escaped, their hopes dying as the days and weeks passed with no word of him.
Rosamund shivered as a cloud passed across the sun, blotting out its fragile warmth. ‘We should go back to the castle. I must write some letters, discover if there is any news…’ She broke off as she heard voices and then Jack Errin came running towards them and she clutched at Morganna’s arm in sudden fright. ‘Something has happened…What news, Master Errin?’
‘William has sent word, my lady. There is a great company arrived at Caris. The King and his gentlemen await you there.’
Rosamund looked at Morganna, seeing her own fear reflected in the girl’s eyes. She reached out and took her hand, clasping it for a moment.
‘Be brave, my love. We shall have news now – for good or ill.’
‘Yes…’ Tears hovered on Morganna’s dark lashes but she blinked them away. Her father would not want her to humble herself or shed tears for him before the King. ‘At last we shall have news.’
The ride to Caris was tense, the thudding of the horses’ hooves as they cut into the soft earth echoing the thundering of their hearts. Neither Rosamund or Morganna dare think of what awaited them. If the news was bad…but it could be no worse than this terrible waiting, for the fear came in the night, bringing dreams to tear and taunt them.
The castle was reached. The horses clattered over the wooden drawbridge into the cobbled courtyard. Above them the sky had turned leaden as if a storm threatened, and Morganna shivered in the sudden chill as her eyes turned towards the forbidding stone walls of the fortress. What news awaited them within?
Servants hurried to help them dismount. Everywhere was in a bustle, a hive of activity as the castle was prepared for its unexpected visitors.
‘Give me your hand, Morganna,’ Rosamund said. ‘We shall go in together. Whatever the news you have me beside you.’
Morganna took the hand she offered but said nothing. She had the strangest feeling. It was something to do with the peculiar looks she had noticed amongst the servants…as if they were excited but trying not to show it. Yet they did not seem afraid or distressed. What was happening? She sensed something hidden yet dare not put a name to it lest she was wrong, but her heart was pounding, beating wildly against her ribs as she walked into the echoing hall and saw a crowd of men gathered at the far end. Smokey torches flared in their sconces and a huge fire was burning in the hearth, sending out a shower of sparks as the great log flamed.
‘Lady Rosamund,’ a man said, coming forward, hands outstretched in welcome. He was resplendent in blue and silver, regal and commanding – yet his smile as he greeted Rosamund was warm. ‘Forgive us for descending on you with no warning.’
”Tis no matter,’ Rosamund said and curtsied, her head bent respectfully. ‘You are welcome to Caris, Your Majesty. But I beg you to tell me without delay – what news of Morgan Gruffudd?’
‘Morgan Gruffudd…’ The King seemed to deliberate, a sly mocking curve to his mouth. ‘I am not sure I know that name…’
Morganna was searching the faces of the other men. She might be dreaming…but no, there he was, dressed as finely as any other of that company. He had seen her and was coming forward to greet them. Her heart beat wildly and she looked at Rosamund, saw her turn pale as she caught sight of him too.
‘You must not tease my lady, Sire,’ Morgan said and smiled as he moved to catch Rosamund as she swayed, supporting her until the faintness passed. ‘She has been in some distress these past weeks.’
‘Morgan…’ Rosamund gave a sob of relief. ‘You are alive…here…I do not understand.’
‘Hush, my love,’ he said and placed a finger to her lips. ‘You told me the King would treat fairly with me and so he has. I was not asked to surrender, merely to promise friendship. That I promised right willingly, and was offered service, for which I am grateful.’
‘But there was no word. We thought…’
‘For that you must blame me, Lady Rosamund,’ the King told her. ‘We wanted to surprise you – and your lord took some time to decide.’
‘No more than a few days, Sire – which we spent in debate if you recall.’
‘And since then we have been caught up with matters of State. I trust Lady Rosamund will forgive us the small deceit?’
She could do no more than curtsey and kiss the hand he offered. ‘I thank you for your generosity, Sire.’
He nodded, looking mighty pleased with himself. ‘We have settled things between us and the past is forgot. Let us think now of happier times. I hope to see you and Sir Morgan at my court soon – and Sir Morgan’s daughter. Where is she? May I meet her?’ He glanced about him. ‘Come hither, lady. I would see your face.’
‘Sir Morgan?’ Rosamund looked at him as Morganna was brought forward to make her curtsey to the King. ‘Mo
rgan…’
‘His Majesty was pleased to honour me. He said a worthy opponent was worth a few honours. My estates in Wales are all restored to me – but I fear new duties will keep us often in London once we are wed. I hope you will not mind that, Rosamund?’
His eyes dwelt on her face. ‘You know that I shall not. To be your wife and live with you in peace…’
He smiled, touching her cheek lightly with his fingertips before his eyes moved to Morganna. She was smiling up at the King as he raised her and he was reminded of Kestrel’s words.
‘Her blood shall mingle with that of Kings…’
For a moment he knew fear for her, a premonition of pain and hurt in the future. She would never be wife to this king and no good could come of the only alliance that might be offered in marriage’s stead. He regretted that he had brought Morganna to the notice of royalty, but then he relaxed, laughing inwardly. Kestrel’s riddles were never that simple. He was letting his imagination run away with him.
‘What worries you, my lord?’ Rosamund asked, recalling his thoughts. ‘There is something on your mind.’
‘It was nothing, a mere foolishness,’ he said and smiled down at her. ‘How soon can we be married, my love?’
‘As soon as it may be arranged. You know it is all I want of life.’
‘We must be grateful that His Majesty has been gracious.’
‘Indeed…’ A little smile hovered on his mouth. ‘It was in my mind to surrender the day the King’s men came for me. If they had not brought me to him I should have gone to the court with the others to lay down my sword.’
‘Did you tell him that?’
Rosamund looked at him curiously, seeing the hint of wicked glee in his eyes and the pride that had been so sadly missing in the days before he was brought to the King. This was the man she had first met, bold and daring and filled with an inner joy that seemed to shine out of him.
‘Only after we had settled our differences, which we did after some lengthy discussion on all manner of subjects. This king has a vision, Rosamund, and thus is a man I can serve.’
Morgan the Rogue Page 33