Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

  Morwenna dismissed her maids once she was undressed, then she placed the vial of blood she had secreted amongst her things beneath her bed cushions. Somehow she would sprinkle it on the sheets once Morgan had claimed her as his own. Perhaps he would sleep afterwards…

  She turned guiltily as he entered as she was smoothing the cushions into place, smiling at him nervously.

  ‘You are welcome, my husband.

  ‘I thought you would be in bed?’

  ‘I was merely finishing my devotions.’

  Morgan nodded but made no reply. He came to her as she pulled back the covers, gazing down into her eyes for a few moments before taking her into his arms. Her heart jerked as his mouth sought hers, tentatively at first and then with sudden passion.

  Something within her seemed to leap in answer to his passion and she pressed herself against him, eager for what was to come between them. Morgan made a little moaning sound in his throat and bent to sweep her off her feet and into his arms. Laying her on the bed, he hastily divested himself of his tunic, then helped her to throw off her nightgown. He bent to kiss her breasts, teasing them with his tongue, flicking at the rosy nipples and then sucking at them, grazing them with his teeth until she whimpered with pleasure. Oh, how sweet it was to feel his mouth upon her and hear the rasp of his breath against her breast. Morwenna had never felt such ecstasy as his kisses and caresses brought her now. He seemed to play upon her body as he would a harp, coaxing her to a response that had her body singing with pleasure.

  She was swept along by a rushing tide of heat that spread through her limbs, arching towards him, mewing like a kitten. When he opened her legs and began to thrust at her, gently seeking entry to that inner citadel of her warm secret self, she made little cries of entreaty, forgetting in her eagerness to feel him inside her to cry out as if in pain when he thrust himself deep into her. She had been terribly sore after Rhys’ possession, which had been rougher and much swifter than this slow, sensual loving. It was good, so very good, and she clung to him, arching into his body, matching his rhythm, moaning with pleasure as he spilled himself inside her, bringing her to a shuddering climax at that same moment.

  ‘Ohhh…’ she cried and pressed her face into the dampness of his shoulder. ‘Morgan my love…my husband…’

  He lay still for a moment, then rolled away from her, leaving the bed immediately. Morwenna lay with her eyes closed for a moment as her senses slowly gathered and she became aware that he was pulling on his clothes. She opened her eyes and saw that he was staring down at her – and he was angry. A trickle of fear went through her as she remembered. She had neglected to cry out in pain and she had forgotten the blood. Her hand crept beneath the cushions but he was before her. She gave a little cry of alarm as he pulled out the tiny vial of blood.

  ‘I do not need to ask what this is or why you needed it, do I? Who was he, Morwenna? Tell me his name and I shall kill him.’

  She shook her head, reaching for the thick coverlet to cover her nakedness. Shame washed over her as she saw the anger and disgust in his eyes.

  ‘I cannot…I do not know what you mean…’ The excuse died on her lips as his hand reached out to tear the covers back.

  ‘Do not pretend to a false modesty, Morwenna. I know that you have lain with another man – perhaps more than one. Tell me, are you a wanton? A whore that any man might have for a few coins! Has your father knowledge of your sin?’

  ‘No!’ Morwenna sat up in the bed, hunching her knees to her chest and hugging them. She was shaking with fright. The look in Morgan’s eyes terrified her. ‘My father knows nothing. He would beat me if he guessed.’

  ‘I should beat you,’ Morgan said and grabbed her arm, dragging her from the bed so that she tumbled to the floor and lay staring up at him with terrified eyes. ‘I am within my rights to beat you – indeed many men would kill you for what you have done.’

  ‘No! I beg you,’ she cried and struggled to her knees, the fear making her voice shrill. ‘It was once only and he – he forced me. He came to my chamber while I slept. When I woke he was beside me. I tried to cry out but he covered my mouth with his hand and then – he raped me…’ Tears were slipping down her cheeks as she looked at him imploringly. ‘I should have taken my own life or told my father that I could not marry but…I was afraid.’

  ‘So you sought to deceive me. No wonder you were so eager to become my wife in truth.’ He reached down and jerked her roughly to her feet, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. ‘Are you carrying his child? Tell me the truth or it will go hard with you.’

  ‘I-I don’t know. It is not time yet…’ She caught her breath as his grip tightened on her arm, making her wince with pain. ‘It – it was on the eve of our wedding.’

  Morgan swore viciously and thrust her away from him so violently that she fell against the bed. He turned his back on her for a moment and she crouched on the bed, beginning to weep.

  ‘Tears will not help you,’ he said harshly as he swung back to face her. She felt chilled as she saw his expression. She did not know this man. It was not the gentle knight who had been so kind to her, nor yet the bold rogue who had stood laughing upon the riverbank, but a harsh stranger who frightened her. ‘Had you come to me honestly I would not have blamed you, Morwenna. Rape is an ugly thing and the sin more often man’s than woman’s. But you sought to deceive me and that cannot soon be forgiven – but you shall be avenged, I promise. Tell me his name and I shall kill him.’

  ‘No, I beg you…’

  ‘You plead for him?’

  ‘No. I am frightened. You may be hurt and – it will cause a scandal. I shall be reviled and spat upon by all those who have been my friends.’

  ‘Your name shall not be mentioned except to him so that he knows why he dies.’

  ‘But…’ Morwenna’s throat was tight with fear. She felt that she was choking, her heart beating so wildly that she could scarcely breathe. If she did not give him the name he demanded he would surely kill her.

  ‘It was your friend,’ she said at last. ‘Rhys Llewelyn…’

  ‘Rhys?’ Morgan stared at her in stunned disbelief. ‘You lie! Rhys would never do such a thing – we are blood brothers.’

  ‘Ask my father…’ Morwenna lifted her head, her eyes bright with anger and pride. She had been given to this man because Owain desired it. If her father had listened to Rhys this would never have happened. ‘He loves me. He asked for me in marriage and was refused – and so he took what he wanted and gloried in the taking. He told me he would kill you if he had to, but I begged him to spare you. So then he came to my chamber…’

  ‘At your invitation?’ Morgan gazed into her eyes. She would not look away, facing him boldly now, her sense of shame replaced by anger. ‘Was this a plot between you? Never mind, do not tell me – I shall get the truth out of Rhys.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Morwenna cried as he turned away from her.

  ‘To Sycharth of course. I shall have the truth of this, Morwenna – and then I shall deal with you.’

  ‘But…we were to go together tomorrow…’

  ‘You will stay here,’ Morgan said coldly. ‘I do not yet know what you deserve, Morwenna – but until I decide you will wait here. Do you understand me? Try to defy me and you will regret it.’

  Morwenna could not answer him as he left her. She felt cold and crawled under the covers, hugging them about her and shivering. The ice was spreading through her limbs but she could hardly feel it.

  What had she done? It had all gone so terribly wrong. She could not remember why she had been so foolish as to make that wicked pact with Rhys Llewelyn. She must have been out of her wits when she agreed to cheat Morgan in such a fashion. She did not know why she had had done it. Except that Rhys had seemed to love her and Morgan did not. She had been so hurt and angry after their betrothal when she’d realised that she meant nothing to him.

  Oh, but he had been kind to her – a gentle considerate husband and a tender lover.


  She recalled the way he had made love to her, taking such care to arouse her and trying not to hurt her as he took what he had believed her maidenhead. His loving had made her body sing for joy. He might not love her but he had cared for her in his own way. She understood that now that it was too late. He hated her now. Morgan hated her but she…loved him.

  The realisation swept over her with an awful clarity. She had loved him from the first moment she saw him on that riverbank. Pride and a girl’s foolish dreams had led her astray. She had dallied with Rhys because his burning looks fed her vanity, and because Morgan had gone away and she was not sure she would ever see him again. Besides, she had not expected Rhys to become so passionate -–his manner had frightened her a little that day and she had spoken to pacify him at first, her stupid pride leading her into saying things she had never meant.

  But why had she made that wicked pact with Rhys? She had let anger and disappointment cloud her mind and in her heart she had regretted her words almost as soon as they were spoken, but once committed it had been impossible to draw back.

  She had been so foolish, so vain and wicked! She had wilfully betrayed her husband in the most cruel way possible. She should have cried out when Rhys came to her bed…fought him if need be, told him she had changed her mind. Yet she knew that if she had tried to stop him he would indeed have raped her. His passion and his jealousy were powerful emotions, sweeping them both along to this tragedy.

  Tears trickled down Morwenna’s cheeks. Rhys would surely tell Morgan the truth and then he would kill her when he returned.

  SEVEN

  Rhys knew the moment he set eyes on Morgan that he had somehow learned what had been done against him. Morgan’s lips were white with anger, his eyes cold as the mountain pools in winter when the snows came.

  ‘I would have words with you.’

  Rhys inclined his head, ignoring the curious glances of the other men. He followed Morgan from the courtyard, out across the drawbridge, through the meadows to the edge of the forest. In the early morning air the ground beneath their feet was crisp with frost, the air making little clouds of their breath. Neither of them spoke until they knew they were alone and could not be heard or seen by others.

  Rhys stopped walking and turned to look at Morgan.

  ‘She told you I have been her lover?’

  Morgan’s hands clenched at his side. ‘You do not deny you went to her chamber the night before our wedding – nor that you took her against her will?’

  Rhys smiled, a smile of triumph and of bitterness.

  ‘She told you I forced her? She was willing, as hot and eager for it as any wench I have known. It was her idea that I should have her first – on your wedding eve. I would have killed you rather than let you have her. It was she who wanted it this way.’

  ‘Damn you for a lying knave!’ Morgan could no longer control his temper. He launched himself at Rhys, knocking him to the ground and then flinging himself on top of him. ‘You were my friend – my brother…’

  Their fight was fierce as they rolled over and over on the ground. Rhys went for Morgan’s throat, his hands closing about it, squeezing hard as he tried to choke the breath from him. Morgan used his strength to prise Rhys’ hands away and then he heaved Rhys from his body, leaping on him, straddling him, hitting at his face with his fists several times before Rhys in his turn managed to throw him off and both men scrambled to their feet.

  It was Rhys who pulled his dagger from the sheath at his waist, his eyes wary as he waited for Morgan’s reaction.

  ‘You were always the strongest of us,’ he muttered. ‘When we wrestled as boys and men, you were the winner of our contests. But I’ve learned a trick or two these past months while you’ve been living soft…singing for your supper. Well, Morgan, I’ve had your wife. I had her before you. She begged for it…sucked me dry and wanted more…’

  Morgan gave a growl of rage and drew his own dagger. They circled each other, eyes hard, teeth bared, like barbaric warriors all thought of chivalry or the rules of warfare forgotten, blotted out by the red mist of hatred.

  ‘You always took the prettier girls for yourself as if it were a God-given right,’ Rhys muttered, his breath rasping. ‘You were the leader. It was you the others listened to, you the one men followed. But I lay with your wife and you can never forget that…’

  ‘You were my brother…’ Morgan cried, then darted forward knife raised to strike. Rhys avoided him neatly, laughing as he struck air and found that the other man had somehow got behind him. ‘Devil! I see they have taught you how to fight…you were never a fighter, Rhys. You would have done better to trade your sword for a plough…’

  Rhys laughed, his eyes bright with triumph. ‘That may have been true once, Morgan, but no more. Your kinsman’s men have taught me well.’

  He lunged at Morgan, who twisted away but was caught on the arm by the tip of Rhys’ dagger. He felt the blade rip through his sleeve scoring the flesh but ignored the stinging sensation it caused. Warily, he circled Rhys again, ready this time when the other man lunged at him, and this time his own dagger struck home, catching Rhys’ arm.

  ‘Blood for blood,’ he said and smiled. ‘You have learned, my brother, but you were always too impatient…’

  Rhys gave a roar of rage and flung himself at Morgan. They struggled desperately, Morgan dropping his own weapon as he fought to hold the other off and wrest his dagger from his hand. In close combat his superior strength told again, and after some minutes of desperate struggle, the dagger fell to the ground and was kicked away in the fight. Then they were on the ground again, hitting at each other wildly and grunting like animals as they began to pant for breath. At last Morgan managed to land a punch on Rhys’s chin that laid him out. As he lay still, no longer resisting, Morgan got to his feet and looked down at him, noticing the trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. He wiped his own with the back of his hand, suddenly feeling the anger drain out of him. He had meant to kill Rhys – but what was the point? It would not change what had happened or take away this bitter taste in his mouth.

  Rhys had opened his eyes, was looking at him.

  ‘Kill me then,’ he said. ‘Finish it between us – for I shall have her from you one day.’

  ‘Take her if you wish,’ Morgan said. ‘She means nothing to me – and from this day neither do you. You would do best to go from this place, Rhys, for if I see your face again I shall kill you.’

  He turned away, feeling a sense of emptiness. Morwenna’s betrayal was as nothing to the loss of the friend he had loved. He would not kill his friend, for in truth the girl had never touched his heart and it was only his pride and anger that had driven him here.

  He meant to walk away but something alerted him and he turned just as Rhys struck at his back with the dagger he had retrieved from the ground. Morgan put out his hand to defend himself, but he had been off guard and it was too late. He cried out as he felt the blade bite deep into his side and then he sank to his knees, keeling over as the blood gushed out in a crimson tide.

  ‘You shouldn’t have turned your back – that’s the first rule of warfare,’ Rhys said but his voice came dimly as from a distance. ‘Know that I hate you, Morgan Gruffudd. I hope you die for then I shall have all that was yours…’

  Morgan made no answer. He was slipping into unconsciousness, aware only of the pain…

  *

  There was no Kestrel this time to tend his wound, binding him by charms to a dreaming sleep that brought him ease and rest. This time there was only the fever and the pain, raging in him as he fought his way through endless days and nights of sweating, his body racked by the ill humours that possessed it. And in his fever there was one name often on his lips.

  ‘Rosamund…Rosamund…’

  In his helpless state Morgan gave way to the desires and feelings he had ruthlessly kept in check while in control of his mind. Tending him, bathing his heated body with cool water and giving him the mixtures prescr
ibed by Owain’s own physicians, Morwenna learned to hate the woman she had never seen.

  Almost three weeks had passed before Morgan was able to focus clearly on the face of the woman who tended him, and even then he was still too weak to do more than whisper her name.

  ‘Morwenna? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was sent for, my husband,’ she replied glancing at the man who stood at the foot of the bed and waited. Owain had been in the room constantly since Morgan was brought home close to death. ‘I am your wife. Where else should I be but by your side?’

  Morgan could not answer for he had not the strength to remember or name the reasons why she should not be here, though he was aware of them, aware of her betrayal and that of the man he had loved as dearly as a brother.

  Another ten days passed before Morgan could leave his couch, another week before he began to recover his strength. And it was then that he asked her the same question, but in a way that told Morwenna she must answer him with more than sweet words.

  ‘Rhys Llewelyn left you bleeding to death,’ she said. ‘One of Owain’s men was suspicious when he came back alone. He told Owain that Rhys had a flesh wound in his arm, but when he asked him how he had come by it he would not answer, and a few minutes later he rode out and they discovered that he had taken most of his possessions with him.’

  Morgan nodded, his eyes narrowed. ‘Owain has told me how I was found and brought back to his house nearer to death than life – but that does not explain your presence here. Do not pretend to misunderstand, Morwenna. I have lost much blood but not my memory.’

  She hung her head but did not answer.

  ‘I ordered you to stay where you were until I decided what to do – why did you come here?’

  ‘Owain sent for me to nurse you. He was afraid you might die and he thought that I should be here. It is my right as your wife – and I have nursed you better than any other might.’