Morgan the Rogue

by Lynn Granville

  ‘What are you doing here, sweeting?’ Gwenny asked as she came into the tiny chamber they shared with an armful of clean linen. ‘You should be out in the sunshine playing or sitting with your sisters and practising your embroidery.’

  ‘They do not like me,’ Morganna said, her eyes wide and filled with unshed tears as she looked up. ‘And they are so young and foolish. I want to be with Richard but Lady Rosamund will not let me near him.’

  ‘That is because he is so very ill,’ Gwenny said and looked at her sadly as she saw how her words had affected the child who was her darling. She did not like to see her looking so distressed, her soft mouth trembling as she fought her tears. ‘No, no, do not blame yourself, my lovely. It was not your fault that Master Richard swam in the lake.’

  Morganna gave a little sob of despair. ‘Lady Rosamund blames me, I know she does. That’s why she won’t let me see him.’

  ‘No, of course it isn’t,’ Gwenny said and shook her head, her chins wobbling as she clucked over her chick. ‘We are not sure what has caused his fever. It may be contagious and Lady Rosamund would not want you to take it from him.’

  ‘What does that word mean?’ Morganna asked.

  ‘I wasn’t sure myself when Lady Rosamund told me,’ Gwenny said. ‘But it means you might take the fever from him; she does not want that to happen and nor should I. You must be patient and wait until he is better, Morganna.’

  ‘Will he get better?’ Morganna looked at her anxiously as she voiced the fear that had been nagging at her all day. ‘He won’t die, will he, Gwenny?’

  ‘No, of course he won’t,’ Gwenny assured her though she wasn’t so sure of that herself. Richard had taken a putrid fever and many children died of such illnesses, as many dying in infancy as lived to adulthood. In the houses of the poor the death of a child was accepted as a fact of life, but Lady Rosamund had only one son and she guarded him jealously, loving him perhaps too well. ‘Now, away with you and play outside in the fresh air for a while. I’ll tell you as soon as I hear any news.’

  *

  Rosamund pressed a hand to her son’s feverish brow. He was burning up and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had sponged him with cool water and given him all the cures she knew how to make and nothing had worked. He was so much worse now than he had been at the start and she was frightened. He was so very ill!

  ‘Mumma…’ The word he had used as a baby struck terror into her heart. In his right senses Richard would never call her that. He was wandering in his mind as she bent over him, smoothing his heated brow and whispering words of love. ‘Want…Father…’

  ‘We have sent for your father,’ Rosamund told him and kissed his brow. ‘Rest easy, my darling. Mumma is here with you. I love you and I shall take care of you. Your father will come as soon as he can I promise.’

  Richard’s feverish whimpering brought tears to her eyes. She was so afraid of losing him. She had two daughters of her own and she was fond of Morganna, but Richard was her pride and joy. If he should die… but she would not let herself think of that. It was too painful, too hurtful to imagine life without her son.

  If only Kestrel were here! If that wicked Rhys Llewelyn had not murdered her poor Margaret and the healer, they would have known how to cure her son. If only Morgan had done as Kestrel had begged him…if he had never brought that evil man into their midst…if Richard had not gone swimming with Morganna.

  The thoughts went round and round in Rosamund’s mind as she sat by her son’s side hour after hour, watching his desperate struggle for life. She knew it was unfair to think such things or to apportion blame to anyone, but she could not help herself. Her fear was growing with every second that passed as she watched him growing weaker, losing the struggle.

  *

  Morganna stared at Gwenny in disbelief, her chest so tight with the hurt of what she had just been told that she could not breathe. She had this moment risen from her bed and was dressed only in her shift, her feet bare, hair hanging wildly down her back in a tangle of black curls. It could not be true! They had told her Richard would get better and they hadn’t let her go to see him. If they had she might have been able to save him. Surely there was something that someone could have done! How could they have let him die? Richard was so strong, so bold and full of life; it was impossible that he should die!

  ‘You said he would get better – that it was just a little fever…’ she cried accusingly as the hysteria gripped her. She could feel the screams building inside her as she denied what she knew was truth. ‘You lied to me…’

  ‘Ah no, my lovely,’ Gwenny said, catching at her as she started to sob and shake with the force of her distress. ‘It wasn’t a lie. We all thought…hoped he would take a turn for the better, but it wasn’t to be. I’m so sorry, Morganna. I know you loved him.’

  ‘He was my friend,’ Morganna said gazing up at her. ‘My only friend. He mustn’t die…’

  Her eyes were filled with tears, her mouth wobbling as she fought to cope with her distress and failed. How could Richard die? He had been so strong, so full of life – so brave! It hurt so much that she could not bear it. She had to see him. They were hateful to keep her away from the brother she loved.

  ‘I’m going to see him. I’ll make him better…’ She was wild in her grief, refusing to believe that it was too late. They were wrong, Richard wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be.

  ‘No, Morganna!’

  Gwenny tried to catch her but she dodged the woman’s arms and ducked under, running out of the chamber, hurtling down the worn stone steps and through the castle yard on bare feet until she came to the tower that housed Richard and his mother. Her chest hurt from running so hard, but she did not stop until she reached the chamber that she knew was Richard’s, and burst inside, her chest heaving as she tried to get her breath.

  Lady Rosamund was kneeling on the stone floor beside her son’s bed, her head bent in prayer. On the bed Richard lay with his eyes closed, his hands crossed over his chest, face white as the sheet they had wrapped him in. He looked like an effigy in the chapel, like some young lordling of times gone by carved in stone.

  ‘Wake up, Richard!’ Morganna went to the bed and began to shake him, feeling that if she could just provoke him enough he would open his eyes and mock her in his old way. ‘Stop pretending to be asleep. I know you’re not. I know you’re just pretending…’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lady Rosamund cried and Morganna felt her shoulders grasped painfully as she was dragged away from the bed. ‘What are you doing, you wicked girl?’

  Morganna was shocked by the sharpness of her tone. Lady Rosamund never spoke to anyone like that. She looked up at her, seeing her anger and her terrible grief. The expression in her eyes seemed to accuse and Morganna felt its sting bite into her.

  ‘I want him to wake up. He mustn’t be dead. I love him…I love him so…’

  ‘Oh, Morganna…’ Rosamund’s tears began to flow again. She shook her head, turning aside to cover her face with her hands. ‘You foolish, foolish child. Richard can’t wake up ever again…’

  ‘Why? He mustn’t be dead…I don’t want him to be dead. I love him…he has to wake up.’

  ‘Go away,’ Rosamund said wearily, feeling that she could not bear to see Morganna’s grief. Her own was too heavy for her to bear. ‘Go away and ask Gwenny to explain. I cannot have you near. I want to be alone with my son.’

  For a moment Morganna stared at her, the hurt and bewilderment churning inside her and then she turned away. Lady Rosamund didn’t like her anymore. She was sending her away because she blamed her for what had happened to Richard. She ran back down the stairs and into the courtyard, past all the sombre men who were mourning for their lady’s loss and over the drawbridge, her feet bare on the dewy grass as she headed for the forest.

  She would go to the lake and perhaps there it would all come right again, she would wake from a dream and find that Richard was with her…laughing at her…

 
*

  ‘But why are we to go home?’ Morganna asked as Gwenny told her to help pack her things into the wooden trunks with their heavy iron locks. ‘I was to have stayed here for another month. Father said so…he was going to take me home himself.’ The knot of misery inside her was growing daily. Her half-sisters would hardly speak to her. She knew they blamed her for Richard’s death, because they had told her so. Little Anne was hardly big enough to understand, but she believed everything that Ellen told her and Ellen was jealous of Morganna.

  ‘It was your fault Richard disobeyed Mother and went swimming,’ she had told Morganna, her mouth sour with her dislike. ‘We don’t want you here anymore. I heard Mother telling Father that it was best you go, and I am glad for I have never liked you. You do not belong here with us.’

  ‘This is a house of mourning,’ Gwenny said, answering her question as best she could. ‘Your father and Lady Rosamund are beside themselves with grief. They haven’t got time to worry about you, my lovely. Your father said that he could not leave Lady Rosamund at this time but would come to visit you at home as soon as he could.’

  ‘But he hasn’t seen me at all,’ Morganna said, the pain twisting inside her. Outside the sun was shining but in this house it was winter and she felt its bitter chill strike deep into her heart. ‘Does he blame me? Does he think it’s my fault Richard died?’

  ‘No, of course he doesn’t,’ Gwenny said stoutly, though she hardly knew what to think. Morgan Gruffudd had been unlike himself when he told her to take Morganna and return home.

  ‘I cannot take her myself,’ he had said, his eyes bleak as they looked at a point somewhere beyond her. ‘But I shall send Jack Errin with you. He will see you safely back to Gruffudd, Gwenny.’

  ‘But the child is terribly upset, my lord. She loved Richard very much. How shall I explain that she is to go?’

  ‘We all loved Richard,’ Morgan replied and his face was stony, his eyes dark with the grief of his loss and the pain that he was finding so hard to accept. ‘I cannot think of Morganna for the moment. Tell her I shall come when I can.’

  It was wrong if they were blaming Morganna for Richard’s death. Gwenny was angry that it should be so. The boy had been spoiled and headstrong – just like his father – and in her opinion his parents had only themselves to blame for not disciplining him more.

  ‘They do blame me,’ Morganna said and her tears were inside where no one could see them. ‘And it was my fault…’

  She did not listen as Gwenny tried to comfort her. Both Lady Rosamund and her father thought she had made Richard go swimming and they hated her – just as her mother had told her they would.

  *

  ‘Rosamund, you must try not to weep so much,’ Morgan said as he found her lying on her bed two weeks after Richard had been laid to rest. His hand hovered above her head, but he did not touch her. ‘Crying will not bring him back and you have your daughters to think of. Ellen was upset when I spoke to her earlier, because she said you didn’t love her now that Richard is dead.’

  ‘Ellen is foolish,’ Rosamund said. She sat up and wiped a hand across her face. ‘I have not stopped loving her but…’ She caught back a sob. ‘I know you are right, Morgan, but I feel as if the light has gone from our lives. Richard was so…very alive. He made everything worthwhile. It seems so quiet without him. I do not know how I can bear life without him.’

  ‘That is foolish talk, my love,’ Morgan said. ‘I feel the loss as much as you do…’

  ‘How can you?’ she cried, her eyes wild with grief. ‘How can you know what I feel? I bore him in my womb for nine months and he almost killed me at his birth, but I loved him. He was a part of me – the best part. I loved him more than anything…’

  ‘And anyone,’ Morgan said quietly, sadly. ‘I have known that he meant more to you than our other children and more than our love…’

  ‘No…’ Rosamund faltered as she saw the expression in his eyes. How could she explain that Richard was a part of the love she felt for him? How to explain that their shared love for Richard was what had held them together so steadfastly in these turbulent years, especially since the reverses that Owain’s cause had suffered of late had begun to occupy more and more of his thoughts? How could she tell him that she had felt him slipping away from her these past years, caught up in affairs away from her? There were no words to say what was in her heart. ‘I am only a part of your life. You have so much more to think of, Morgan. Richard was here…he was that part of you I could not hold to me…’

  ‘My love…’ Morgan sat beside her on the bed, drawing her to him, kissing her brow. ‘I do not seek to blame you for loving Richard the most. I loved him too. I know I did not carry him within my body, but he was in my heart, and I feel as if it has been torn from my breast. I can hardly bear to think of him, to remember…’

  Rosamund clutched at him. ‘We must remember for if we do not it will be as if he never lived.’

  ‘No, no, we shall not forget the love we bore him,’ Morgan said. ‘One day we shall be able to remember the happy times…’

  ‘They were so short…’ Rosamund’s face twisted with pain. ‘So brief a time together…’

  ‘I do not like to see you like this…’

  ‘Because you must go and leave me?’ she asked, a note of anger in her voice. ‘I have expected it. You have your duty…you always have your duty. Go then, leave me. It makes little difference. If you stay you cannot give Richard back to me.’

  ‘This is not like you…so bitter.’

  Morgan stared at her, feeling her harsh words strike deep into his heart. He had sensed that she was shutting him out these past few days; it was as if she wanted to be alone with her grief, to mourn alone.

  ‘I had planned to stay another week or so, Rosamund. There are things I must do but…’

  ‘Go,’ she said and lay down, turning her face from him. ‘Perhaps when you come back I shall feel better.’

  ‘If that is what you truly want?’

  Morgan rose and stood staring down at her as she lay with her back to him. This was not the first time he had tried to comfort her and been rejected. She had turned away when they lay side by side at night and he had not dared to make love to her, though he had longed to do so, had needed the comfort of being one with her, sharing their love and their sorrow as they had shared their joys these past years.

  He had thought she was happy these past years. Since the taking of Harlech Castle four years earlier they had had much to celebrate. Life had been easier and they had stayed with Owain and his family, visiting friends, moving from place to place at will. It was true that from time to time he had had to leave her, but believed she understood the need for what he did. Wales had been almost theirs but the threat of an English invasion was always present, and of late things had begun to go wrong for them once more. Gwylim and Rhys ap Tudur had surrendered to the English, losing patience with Owain over some dispute between them. He had never entirely trusted them since their surrender of Conway in return for favours, but this latest betrayal was undoubtedly a severe blow. And there were others. The French had made peace with the English and there was no help forthcoming from Scotland. They were almost back to where they had been in the winter of 1402.

  Morgan would have liked to talk to Rosamund, to explain why it was necessary to leave her now at this time, that he feared they were about to lose everything for which they had struggled so long – but he knew she would not listen. She had closed herself to him, closed herself to the world about her, preferring to dwell in her own little world of grief.

  He could not blame her for her grief. His own was sometimes so sharp that he felt he would die of it, and yet he believed that if they could only have talked, come close to each other… but it was not to be.

  ‘I shall return as soon as I can,’ Morgan told her. ‘Forgive me if I have done anything to hurt you, Rosamund. I love you more than my life. I have never ceased to think of you and my children, even when I was
not here. I pray that God will give you some comfort for it seems that I cannot.’

  Rosamund lay with her face pressed into the pillows. She could not answer him, did not want to answer. It was too soon, too painful to let love back into her life. Only by shutting out her feelings could she hold this terrible agony at bay.

  *

  Leaving the castle later that day, Morgan was still thinking of the woman he loved. He frowned as he rode, his thoughts as dark as the overcast sky, which seemed to herald a storm.

  Rosamund had given him so much, so much happiness and love and he had been able to give her so little. Since the fall of Harlech to the Welsh, there had been a period when Owain had held his own courts and issued his own decrees. Morgan had been able to give Rosamund costly presents from the revenues that had been restored to him, and from gifts of money made him by Owain, but though she had never complained or asked for more, he sensed it had not been enough.

  Rosamund had been born to riches. She had lost everything when she chose to leave her husband, and Morgan began to see that the life he had been able to offer was not sufficiently fulfilling for her. Had she continued as Sir Philip’s wife she would have been often at the English court, mixing with other ladies of her own rank, making friends. It was a very different world to the one she had known of late. Indeed, with the situation as it was now she would very likely be a prisoner within the walls of Caris again before long.

  While she was content with his love and their children…but it appeared that in losing Richard she had lost everything. Morgan felt an overwhelming sadness. He had wanted to make her happy, to fill her life with joy and it seemed that he had failed.

  He thought of Morwenna alone and bitter at Gruffudd Manor, of his daughter Morganna who had lost a friend, and of Rosamund. At this moment it seemed that he had failed them all.

  Pray God that he would not fail Owain in the coming struggle! He feared that all they had gained was gradually slipping away, that the fight they had waged for so long and so hard might in the end prove to have been in vain.