Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

  She closed her eyes again as Morwenna left the room, feeling no pleasure in the discovery of her daughter-in-law’s betrayal. She had suspected it would happen when her time was near, but she had hoped she was wrong. It saddened her that the girl was so bitter for she had hoped that Morgan’s wife would love him.

  Perhaps his woman loved him. Maire hoped that he would find some happiness in life. What little she had known had come from him as a child and from his daughter.

  She gasped as she felt the pain in her chest. It seemed to spread down her arm and then up into her head, so terrible the agony that she thought she would burst. The last few days the pain had got so much worse and she prayed for death every night.

  The door was opening again. Morwenna had returned, this time with a candle. Maire watched as she searched the counter once more. Clearly she had expected to find more.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Morwenna turned, her face a ghastly yellow in the candleglow. It was clear that she was angry.

  ‘Where have you hidden it?’ she demanded.

  Maire did not pretend to misunderstand. She pushed herself up against the pillows, ignoring the pain that was threatening to overcome her as she looked directly at Morwenna.

  ‘You have your portion. The rest is for someone else.’

  ‘You old witch! Morwenna muttered, moving closer to the bed. ‘Why should he have anything? He cares nothing for you. I have nursed and cared for you like a daughter these past months.’

  ‘And I am not ungrateful. There are twenty gold nobles in the bag you took, Morwenna.’

  ‘There were two hundred or more,’ Morwenna said. ‘I have seen them and I want them. Tell me where you have hidden the gold!’

  ‘You may search where you will. I cannot stop you.’

  ‘Tell me!’ Morwenna grabbed her by her thin shoulders, shaking her back and forwards like a piece of rag. ‘I want that money, you old witch. It belongs to me.’

  Maire felt the pain sharpen and consume her. She choked as the blood welled up from her chest into her mouth and some of it gushed out as she fought for breath, staining the tunic of the woman shaking her. Then, as Morwenna gave a cry of horror and let her go abruptly, she fell back against the pillows, her mouth open and her eyes staring.

  ‘Maire…’ Morwenna whispered in her fear as she realised what she had done. ‘Maire…forgive me. I did not mean…’

  She turned away from the bed just as the door opened and someone entered. The shame and horror of her crime was on her face as the other woman came to the bed. Gwenny looked down at the dead woman and then at Morwenna.

  ‘What did you do to her?’

  ‘Nothing. I heard her cry out in pain and I came to see what was happening. She died as I bent over her.’

  Gwenny knew instinctively that she was lying but did not dare to accuse her. Morwenna was mistress here and could dismiss her as she pleased. If that happened the child would suffer. Her face showed no emotion as she bent over Maire and closed her eyes.

  ‘I shall see to her,’ she said without looking at her mistress. ‘She was a good woman and things must be done properly.’

  Morwenna did not answer. Gwenny heard the door close behind her as she went out. Her expression was grim as she fetched water to wash Maire’s body. She knew what she had heard and what she had seen, and she was certain that Morwenna had hastened her motherin-law’s death, though she had not heard clearly enough through the heavy door to know why they had quarrelled.

  ‘May God forgive you, Morwenna,’ Gwenny muttered. She would hold her tongue outside this room, at least for the time being – but if her mistress ever harmed the child she would speak out. ‘If you harm my darling, I’ll see that Morgan Gruffudd knows exactly what you are…’

  Alone in her chamber, Morwenna fell to her knees and clasped her hands in prayer.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she whispered, consumed with guilt. ‘I did not mean to kill her.’

  Yet she had known how ill Maire was. Her rage at discovering how little gold was in the bag had consumed her, driving all else from her mind. The money would have enabled her to go anywhere, but without it she must rely on Rhys. She doubted that he would share his reward with her. He would keep the English gold to himself to make sure she could not leave him.

  Morwenna scowled as she realised that Maire had died without confessing her secret: unless she had told Gwenny? But no, she had intended the money for her son.

  Morwenna knew a moment of fear as she wondered what Gwenny had seen. Did she suspect Morwenna of hastening Maire’s death – and did she know why?

  Morwenna’s only chance of gaining her freedom was to search for the gold. When Maire was buried she would go through her things. It must be somewhere in her chamber.

  *

  It was early the next morning when Morgan arrived. He knew as soon as he walked into the house that he was too late. One of the serving wenches came to greet him and he saw that she had been crying.

  ‘You come too late, sir,’ the girl said. ‘Your mother died last night.’

  ‘I am sorry I was not sooner,’ Morgan replied and crossed himself. ‘God rest her soul. It is good that she no longer suffers.’ His eyes closed for a moment and then he looked at the girl. ‘Where is she, Annis?’

  ‘She lies in her chamber,’ the wench replied. ‘Your lady has sent for the priest to bless her but she is to be buried here at Gruffudd. It was her wish.’

  ‘I know of a quiet spot by the stream where she would wish to lie, Annis. I shall bury her myself later. Now I shall go up to see her, but if the priest comes warn me before you bring him up. It is best I am not seen here – for all our sakes.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I shall keep a watch for him and let you know.’

  Morgan nodded. He was conscious of a sense of loss as he walked up the twisting stair to his mother’s solar. Maire had possessed a sharp tongue but he had respected and loved her in his way. He regretted that he had not arrived in time to tell her so before she died, but he had been forced to hide in the mountains for two days. The English were everywhere and he knew it was for him they searched. He and his band of brothers had caused them too much trouble these past years.

  Maire’s body had been washed and dressed in a simple white tunic. She lay with her hands crossed, a look of peace on her face. He went to the bed and bent to kiss her forehead. For some minutes he stood in silence by her bed, his head bent in prayer.

  ‘Rest in peace, Lady of Gruffudd,’ he said at last. ‘Forgive me for not being here. I loved you well though I may never have told you. I pray that you knew what was in my heart.’

  ‘She did not want you to come, my lord.’

  Morgan turned and frowned as he saw Gwenny in the doorway.

  ‘Why do you say that? I do not think she hated me.’

  ‘She loved you truly, sir. She would not have you sent for, because she believed there was danger here for you. It was Morwenna who sent for you.’

  ‘You suspect her of something, Gwenny. I can see it in your face.’

  ‘I think she has been meeting Rhys Llewelyn – but do not tell her that I said so or she will dismiss me. I must take care of Morganna…’

  ‘Does she ill treat my daughter?’

  ‘I – I take care of the child, my lord. While I am here no harm shall come to her, I promise you.’

  Morgan nodded, eyes narrowed. ‘I shall speak to her before I leave…’ He broke off as the door opened and Annis looked at him from the threshold. He sensed that she was anxious. ‘Has the priest arrived?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I came to tell you – but he told me he saw English soldiers in the village and he heard that they were coming here…’

  ‘For me.’ Morgan swore softly. ‘Then they knew I was coming here. They have been warned. Where is my wife?’

  ‘She saw you arriving and slipped out the back way, ‘Gwenny told him. ‘That is why I came to warn you.’

  ‘I must go, for I bring danger to you all. Y
ou will see my mother decently buried, Gwenny?’

  ‘It shall be done as she would have wished it, my lord.’

  ‘Yes, I believe I can trust you. Take good care of my daughter, Gwenny – and you, Annis, watch over Gwenny and do as she bids you. Remember both of you that Morwenna is not to be trusted. I shall return when I can.’

  He ran down the stairs and left the house. A servant had his horse ready and Morgan thanked him as he hastily mounted. It seemed that Maire’s servants were loyal even if his wife had betrayed him.

  He was riding hard when he saw the soldiers coming towards him. There were at least twenty of them, mounted on swift horses and unburdened with heavy armour, clearly ready to give chase. It seemed that they were learning a little about fighting the Welsh, who were masters of the art of surprise attack and the ability to disappear just as swiftly.

  He would do his best to outrun the English soldiers! If he could just reach the forest he might be able to give them the slip. Once there he knew the secret ways, places where a man might hide safely until dark. He bent over his horse, urging it on. He had to escape for he knew his fate if they should take him.

  His horse was fast, flying over the soft earth as if on wings, its hooves seeming barely to cut the mossy ground. He could see the dark line of the forest just ahead of him. The men behind were catching him but he was still ahead. With luck he could disappear into the vastness of the forest before they caught up to him.

  He was beginning to feel more confident when five archers leapt to their feet. They had been hidden in the first line of trees and he had not seen them until now. He pulled frantically on the reins, causing his horse to rear up as he tried to change direction. A hail of arrows let fly, piercing the soft underbelly of his mount. Its screams were terrible to hear as it went crashing down, trapping Morgan beneath its writhing body. He was aware of pain as something struck his head and then everything went black and he was no longer conscious as the English surrounded him.

  Morgan knew nothing as the soldiers hauled the dead horse off of him, lifting him clear.

  ‘Is he dead?’ one of them asked of his companions. ‘Sir Philip wanted him taken alive.’

  ‘He’s out of his senses but still breathing,’ their leader said. ‘We’ll carry him on a litter. Treat him with care. Sir Philip would have him fully conscious of what he plans for him.’

  ‘It would be kinder to kill him now,’ another soldier muttered beneath his breath but said nothing aloud. He remembered Morgan as the man who had saved Lady Rosamund’s life and had always respected him. ‘God help him, for I fear none else can.’

  *

  Rosamund woke with a start. She had been resting on her bed and must have fallen asleep, but her dream was so terrible that it had left her trembling and afraid.

  ‘Morgan…’ she whispered as she left the bed and went over to her window to gaze out. ‘Where are you, my love? I fear that you are in danger…’

  Her dream had left her anxious and she could not forget what had been so vividly in her mind as she woke. Morgan was captured and being tortured. She had felt his pain as they beat him, every stroke of the cruel cane seeming to thud into her own flesh.

  The pain had left her as she woke, but her anxiety remained for she could not rid herself of the feeling that Morgan was in trouble and needing her. She had seemed to hear him calling to her.

  ‘God help him,’ she prayed. ‘Oh, my love. I would come to you if I could but I do not know where you are…’

  ‘Be at peace, Lady Rosamund…’

  She was startled to hear the voice behind her. She turned and for a moment thought she saw a figure hovering in the corner of the room. She knew no fear for immediately she sensed that it must be Kestrel, though she could not see him clearly enough to be sure.

  ‘Kestrel?’ she asked in wonder. ‘Are you truly here?’

  ‘Believe and you may see me,’ his voice said. ‘But I must not stay, Morgan needs me…’

  ‘Then my dream was true?’ Rosamund started towards the misty figure but it had disappeared. ‘Tell me…will he come back to me?’ she cried but there was no answer.

  Rosamund felt the tears trickle down her cheeks, tasting their saltiness. Kestrel had come to comfort her, but she had not been able to hold him for her will was not strong enough. But if she believed in what she had seen and heard he was going to Morgan.

  Weeping desperately, Rosamund bent her head. She had been taught to believe in one God and her belief in the magical powers of her much missed and loved healer were not strong enough to help her now, though she longed to believe.

  ‘Help Morgan,’ she prayed as she knelt beside the bed, though in her heart she was not sure to whom she prayed. ‘I beg you, bring him safely back to me.’

  *

  Morgan was barely conscious as they flung him back into his cell. He had been taken out and beaten as they tried to make him betray the secret places known only to Owain and a few of his most trusted followers. In the end he had not been able to stand it any longer and had fallen to the ground in a daze.

  ‘Take him away and revive him,’ Sir Philip de Grenville muttered. ‘I would not have him die too soon. I want the pleasure of seeing him burned alive.’

  Morgan had heard the words through a mist of pain. Surely he must have imagined or heard wrongly? He would be hanged not burned – burning was kept for witches or martyrs. He would not have put even his worst enemy to the torch.

  He lay for a long time hovering between the darkness and a pain-filled consciousness. And then he felt someone bathing his face with cold water and he opened his eyes, looking up at the soldier who bent over him.

  ‘Water…’

  ‘Drink this,’ the soldier said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘They let me tend you because Sir Philip wants you alive. You don’t know me, Morgan Gruffudd, but I know you. I’ll help you all I can for Lady Rosamund’s sake.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Morgan muttered through his split lips when he had swallowed a few sips of the water. ‘You are kind, sir.’

  ‘You saved my lady,’ he said. ‘And though I am forced to serve Sir Philip it is my lady I respect and revere.’

  ‘You are not alone,’ Morgan whispered, pushing himself to a sitting position. His body still hurt for he was black with bruising to his flesh all over and each tiny movement was an agony. ‘I believe that all who serve her would say the same.’

  ‘I wish that I might serve her.’

  ‘If you went to her she might take you in.’

  ‘She would not trust me…’ The soldier looked at him doubtfully. ‘My name is Jack Errin, my lord. ‘I would have left Sir Philip’s service long ago if I dared – for he is an evil man.’

  ‘If you could help me to escape…’

  ‘No!’ The man started back in terror. ‘They would kill me…’

  ‘Yes, perhaps they would,’ Morgan leaned back weakly, feeling what strength he had ebb out of him. ‘It was wrong of me to ask you to risk so much for me – but go to Lady Rosamund anyway when I am dead. Tell her that I loved her and thought of her to the end. I am certain she would give you service if you asked it of her.’

  ‘Forgive me. I must go…’ the soldier muttered and left him.

  Morgan lay down on the hard ground and closed his eyes. It was useless to think of escape for he had not the strength to try.

  ‘Is this the Morgan Gruffudd who called on the old gods to let him see into the future? Cry shame on you – I thought you braver, my lord.’

  Morgan opened his eyes, looking about him.

  ‘Kestrel – is it really you or have I gone mad?’

  ‘If you believed you would see me. Have courage, my friend. This is not the end but only the beginning…’

  ‘Kestrel!’ Morgan hauled himself to his feet, staggering to the slit that served as a window. ‘Where are you? Don’t leave me here.’

  ‘I am with you but you do not see me,’ Kestrel’s voice answered. ‘It is in you to save yourself, Morgan
Gruffudd. I shall help you to feel strong again, but the way to freedom is for you to find. I cannot do everything for you. To fulfil your fate you must have faith in yourself, for only in this way can a man be free.’

  ‘Riddles, always riddles,’ Morgan cursed. ‘Damn you, Kestrel! I could wring your scrawny neck!’

  Kestrel’s laughter seemed to echo in the little cell and for a moment Morgan saw him…hovering above the ground as he had above the ravine. He grinned as he felt a renewal of strength, of mind and purpose if not of body. He still ached in every limb, each movement an agony, but now he could bear it. He could think again…think about a way of escape…

  *

  ‘You should not have come here yet,’ Morwenna said as she opened her eyes and saw Rhys Llewelyn standing by her bed. ‘We have not yet heard that Morgan is hung.’

  ‘The English have him,’ Rhys said and smiled down at her. She looked so beautiful lying there with her hair spread upon the pillow and he had wanted her, waited for her so long. ‘Sir Philip has paid me half of the reward money and I am to have the rest on the day Morgan hangs.’

  ‘Fool!’ Morwenna scorned. ‘He will cheat you. You should have insisted on half first and the rest when Morgan was taken.’

  Rhys sat on the bed beside her, his eyes suddenly hard. ‘Do not speak to me in that way, Morwenna. I have put up with your scolding tongue long enough. I have done what you asked – it is time that you kept your part of the bargain.’

  ‘Morgan is not dead yet.’

  ‘But near to it if I am any judge,’ Rhys said. ‘I know they will torture him to make him confess Owain’s whereabouts…’ He shivered as the ice touched the nape of his neck. ‘You have all you want and now I intend to take what I am owed.’

  ‘No!’ Morwenna cried but she could see by the glint in his eyes that he would not be stayed. ‘I wanted to come to you sweet and freshly prepared not like this…’

  It was a weak excuse and she knew it would not make him draw back. She had kept him at bay for so long only because he feared that they would lose everything if he did not listen to her, but excuses would not hold him now.