Morgan the Rogue (12 page)

             
'I thought it best to remove your weapon in case you were maddened with fever when you woke,' the man standing over him said.  'You do not know me, but I know you – you were the Welsh singer that was to accompany Lady Rosamund to Chester.  Here, my lord, drink this for it will ease you.'  He offered a cup which Morgan did not immediately accept.

             
'You were at the castle that day…' Morgan sat up gingerly, gazing warily at the face of the man before him.  He was well into his later years, his face lined, his beard and hair a silvery grey, but his eyes had a brightness that seemed to belong to a man half his age.  Morgan's arm was very sore but as he looked at it, he saw that it had been bound with what was clearly some kind of poultice.  'Did you do this?'

             
'Aye, I have some skill with healing that is why the lord de Grenville ordered me to go with him and his men. That drink is brewed from herbs and will dull the pain.  I have already given you some and it will not harm you.'  He took a sip from the cup and then offered it to Morgan, who took it from him this time but still did not drink. 

             
'Are you not one of de Grenville's men?'  Morgan looked at him suspiciously.  'Is de Grenville near?'

             
'Not him,' the other man pulled a wry face.  'He is with Henry of Bolingbroke celebrating the betrayal of King Richard by now.  He saw you break out from the King's men and bid me follow you, for he would know where Lady Rosamund has taken her followers.'

             
'Is that why you bound up my wound – so that I could betray her?'

             
'Nay, for I served my lady before I served him, and I would go to her and offer her my help for what little it is worth.'

             
'Why should I trust you?' Morgan asked.  'You might have poisoned my wound while I slept.'

             
'I might have slit your throat while you slept,' the other man said, an odd smile on his lips.  'Why should I trouble myself to bind your wound – why not let you bleed to death as you might had I not come?'

             
Morgan nodded, knowing that this much was true, yet uncertain whether to trust a man who came from Philip de Grenville.

             
'What do they call you?'

             
'I am known as Kestrel, but I have many names.'

             
'I am Morgan Gruffudd.'

             
'Known to some as Morgan the Rogue, I believe?'

             
Morgan's gaze narrowed.  'Who are you?  And how do you know of that name?'

             
'I know many things, my lord.'

             
'Why do you give me that title? I am not your lord, nor any man's.'

             
'Titles given by men are but empty things, yet I think you have that about you that deserves this one.  You are a man destined for great things, Morgan Gruffudd.  This I have seen and for this reason I nursed you while you lay in your fever.  How long do you think you have lain without waking?'

             
'A few hours – a night.'  Morgan stared at him.  'Why do you ask since you followed me after the ambush?'

             
'That was three days since,' Kestrel replied.  'My charms held you in a sweet dream from which you have woken as if from a night's sleep – tell me if I lie.'

             
'You do not lie about the way I feel.  Apart from some soreness in my arm I feel nothing of my wound…yet three days lost.  I cannot believe it.'

             
'You do not believe in the power of my magic?'  Kestrel smiled.  'You are not alone, my lord.  Yet if I did not have the healing power – if I could not look into the future – how should I know who and what you are?  Or that much lies ahead for you?'

             
Morgan's eyes narrowed warily.  'If you know so much why did you need to follow me to discover the Lady Rosamund's whereabouts?'

             
'My lady is at Caris of course – where else would she go?  I said that the Lord de Grenville sent me to follow you to discover her whereabouts.  I did not say that I needed to be told.'

             
Morgan got to his feet.  His head swam for a moment or two but then he recovered his balance and the feeling of nausea passed.  'I think they should name you Kestrel the Fox,' he said, 'for you are as sly as that cunning creature.  Yet it would seem that you mean me no harm.'  He drank the mixture, which tasted bitter, and returned the cup to its owner.  'Since you know so much, tell me – shall I gain what I desire most in the life?'

             
Kestrel's eyes were bright with secret laughter.  'It is the question all men ask of me and few deserve a true answer, for most would slit my throat if I gave it – yet I shall answer you, Morgan Gruffudd.  That which you believe you most desire shall never be yours, though a time will come when you will remember my words and think me wrong – but that which you do not yet know is your secret desire shall be yours.  You may betray yourself and yet you shall not betray those you love.'

             
'Those I love…' Morgan's eyes narrowed.  'You speak in riddles, good healer, but you have probably saved my life and I thank you for it.  If ever I can do you a service, you may ask.'

             
'And you will refuse me,' the other said.  'But it will not be your fault and so I forgive you now.'

             
'Have done with this nonsense,' Morgan said gruffly.  He was feeling a cold chill at the base of his spine and this talk of future betrayal disturbed him.  'My sword and my horse.  I see that you have cared for my horse – but I need my sword.  Fear not, I shall not strike you down. If I have wasted three days in a fever I must lose no time.'

             
'Do you go to Caris?'

             
Morgan hesitated for a moment, then reached inside his clothing and brought out the ring given him by King Richard.

             
'You may give this to Lady Rosamund and tell her I shall come to her when I can.  His Majesty gave this to me for her and I also have a message for her.  When I come I shall tell her what he said, but for now I have other things I must do.  Tell her to stay where she is for the moment, to defend her castle and trust no one.'

             
'Your advice is good,' Kestrel said.  'The lord de Grenville may come for her, but she would do well to bar her gates to him – he was very angry when he discovered that she had gone to Richard.'

             
'As any husband might be,' Morgan said.  'Yet I believe she may have had cause to dislike her lord.'

             
'He is not a man many would like or trust.'  Kester moved a pile of leaves and twigs and handed Morgan his sword.  'Where do you go, my lord?'

             
'Do you not know already?'  Morgan mocked him with a smile.  'Where are your powers, old man?'

             
'The gift is not mine to dictate,' Kestrel replied.  'When a sight is given to me it is not of my choosing.  Indeed, I might choose not to know some things that are revealed to me.  If you go in the vain hope of rescuing King Richard…' he shook his head.  'But the choice is yours, your destiny is in your own hands.  I know where you will arrive at a certain point in time, but the path you follow is your own.'

             
Morgan gazed down at him, eyes narrowed intently.  It had been in his mind that he might try to discover the whereabouts of King Richard with some thought of an attempt at rescue.  Yet in his heart he knew that a vain hope.  Still he would discover what he could before making his report to Owain and then to Lady Rosamund.

             
'I bid you farewell, sir,' he said gazing down at the old man, who seemed to be waiting for something, his eyes fixed on a distant peak.  'Perhaps we shall meet again one day.'

             
'Yes, we are destined to meet,' Kester replied, his eyes coming back to rest on Morgan's face.  'I see danger for you – not the kind of danger you are accustomed to facing.  You are about to do something that will cause you much pain one day.  Perhaps your death…'

             
'I am accustomed to all kinds of dangers, sir.'

             
'This is different…'  Kester shivered as though someone had stepped on his grave.  'I would beg you for your own sake as well as others not to do this thing – but I do not know what it is…'

             
Morgan threw back his head and laughed.  'I thank you for your warning, my friend – but since I do not know of what you warn me I cannot heed it.'

             
He saluted the other man with his sword, and then sheathing it, he mounted his horse and laughing once more, waved a last farewell before galloping away.

             
It was only when he was disappearing into the distance that Kester gave a groan of despair.  'No,' he whispered.  'You must not…she is not for you.  I beg you to listen…hear me…you must not…'

             
It was too late, Morgan had gone, and he knew that when they met again it would be too late.

FIVE

Morwenna sighed as she walked in the meadows near her kinsman's house at Sycharth, feeling the heat of summer begin to wane as autumn approached.  She had been here for more than six weeks now and was anxious because she had heard nothing from her father.  It was unusual for him to stay away so long, and she worried that something might have happened to him.  It was not that she was unhappy here, for she had companions and she was treated with kindness, yet it was not quite the same as being at home.

             
She longed for a home of her own, where she might be the mistress and welcome her husband back at the end of the working day, and it irked her that nothing more had been said of her wedding.  She had promised her father that she would not plague Owain, but she was growing weary of waiting to be told what had been arranged.  She had ceased to think of Morgan Gruffudd as often now, for there had been no word of him since he rode away that day, and his cousin had told her that he did not believe he would return.

             
'Morgan was angry because Owain believed his mother's tales of him,' Rhys Llewelyn had told her.  'I do not believe he will come again to be dismissed so summarily.'

             
Perhaps he was right and she had let her imagination run away with her, Morwenna decided.  She would be foolish to let her head be turned by a man she might never see again, especially as another handsome man was here and more than willing to pay attention to her.

             
He was waiting for her as she returned from her walk.  It was happening often now, and she smiled as she saw Rhys loitering just outside the gates.  The drawbridge was always left down during the day to allow the people of the village to come and go at will.  At night it was raised and none was allowed to enter unless they were known, for the times were uneasy since Henry Bolingbroke had captured King Richard at Flint.  The usurper was meanwhile busy fortifying various castles, which were to be held against any attempt by Richard's Irish troops to come to his assistance, and demanding allegiance from those who might have taken a stand against him.  Most had hurried to assure him that they were for him, though in Wales it was an uneasy truce.

             
'Did you enjoy your walk, Morwenna?'

             
Rhys had walked to meet her as she lingered to retrieve a wild flower she had dropped from the posy she had picked in the meadow.  She held the flowers to her nose, hiding her delight in seeing him.  She suspected that her eager suitor was in love with her, and it pleased her well for she liked to be courted by him.  He was softly spoken with her, and his passionate looks sent little thrills down her spine.  She had made up her mind that when her father returned she would ask him if she could be betrothed to Rhys Llewelyn.

             
'It was pleasant,' she replied, smiling up into his handsome face.  'But the air grows colder.  Soon it will be winter.  If my father does not soon return the snows may come and who knows when I shall see him again.'

             
'You are worried for him?' Rhys asked and looked pleased as she nodded.  'Then I am glad to be the bearer of good news.  Hywell Gethin has returned not twenty minutes ago and waits for you within.'

             
'My father is here?'  Morwenna's face lit up.  'That is good news indeed, Rhys.  I thank you for bringing it to me.'

             
'It will not be good news for me if he takes you away from here, my lady.'

             
The throb of passion in his voice made Morwenna gurgle with laughter.  It was so pleasing to know that he cared for her that much.