Morgan the Rogue (15 page)

             
'Your father is to take you home this afternoon,' he told her.  'The wedding will take place here the week before Christmas and we shall go from here to our new home.'

             
'We are to leave this afternoon?'  She looked at him in disappointment.  'Am I not to see you again before the wedding?'

             
'So impatient, Morwenna?'  The wicked laughter in his eyes made her blush and she did not know whether to laugh or be angry with him.  'Nay, that was unkind of me – for you could not be more impatient than I, sweet lady.  Owain has some task for me.  I must travel once more, this time in Wales.  When I return I shall call on your father and perhaps we can spend a little time together.'

             
'I shall be pleased to see you, sir.'

             
'And I to see you, Morwenna,' he replied and took her hand to kiss it.  As he did so he was reminded of another woman he had taken his leave of in that way, and the kiss he gave Morwenna was brief, a mere salute.  He let go of her hand almost at once, as if stung by some insect.  For a moment the pain that swathed through him was intense as he realised that he felt nothing for the woman he had promised to wed – or at best a mild affection.  'Go now with your father.  I have things I must do.'

             
Morwenna watched as he walked away from her.  Something in his manner had disturbed her.  What had caused the light to go so suddenly from his eyes?  He had been teasing her, seeming to court her, and then it was as if he had shut her out, closing his heart to her.

             
He did not love her!  A great wave of disappointment and hurt swelled up inside her as she understood that this had been a political alliance for him and nothing more.  He had married her because she was connected to Owain and he wished to serve him.  Such marriages were commonplace, and she had known that she was marry as her father dictated.  Yet she had hoped that her husband would love her – as Rhys Llewelyn did…

             
Morwenna's heart ached as she left the company and went outside.  All the bright promise of the day seemed to have disappeared as she walked through the courtyard and out into the meadow.  She walked towards the woods, wanting to be alone, to hide her deep hurt and the pain that was beginning to gnaw inside her.  After all her excitement and pleasure in her marriage, it was to be but an empty thing after all.

             
The man who would be her husband did not love her.  Perhaps there was another woman who had stolen his heart?  Morwenna felt anger stir inside her.  How could he do this to her?  If he loved another he should have refused the match.  Yet what was she to him?  No more than a possession to be taken as part of a bargain sealed and signed.  And she a fool to expect more!

             
Anger warred with her tears as she tried to hold them back.  Why should she weep for a man who did not love her?  She had come close to loving him, Morwenna realised.  Had he given her a chance she would have been a true and devoted wife, but now…now she was lost, her misery so deep that she did not see the man watching her.

             
'So you are to be his wife,' a voice said behind her, startling her from her reverie.  'You will regret this day, Morwenna.  He does not love you.'

             
'Nor I him,' Morwenna said, stung into defiance.  She raised her head, her eyes bright with tears she was too proud to shed.  'This wedding was my father's and Owain's doing.  I had no choice.'

             
'Is that the truth?'  Rhys moved towards her, his face twisting with passion.  'I thought you willing.  You had been avoiding me.  You knew that I love you – that I wanted you for my wife!'

             
'I was not allowed to walk alone when my father returned,' Morwenna lied.  She was hurt and angry at the way she had been deceived and wanted to strike out.  'My father would not allow us to marry, Rhys.  You have nothing and Owain would not have given me a dowry had I been pledged to you.'

             
'But it was me you truly wanted?'

             
Morwenna looked into his eyes and found herself drowning in the passion she saw there.  'How could it be otherwise?' she asked.  'You know I love you, Rhys – but I am betrothed to Morgan and the vow was sacred.  It cannot be broken.'

             
'A dead man cannot marry…' His eyes seemed to burn into her, his look sending icy chills down her spine.  'If I killed him you would not be forced into this marriage.'

             
Morwenna was turned to stone by his words.  She stared at him in horror.  To what had her foolish words led them?

             
'No,' she whispered.  'You must not, Rhys.  To murder him in cold blood would be a terrible sin…'

             
'But I cannot give you up,' he said and reached out for her, drawing her into his arms, crushing her in a hungry, desperate embrace that left her head spinning.  'I would risk even my immortal soul for you, Morwenna.'

             
'No…' she said again, and then to pacify him as she saw the wildness in his eyes.  'At least not yet.  Think, Rhys!  If Morgan were dead they might marry me to another of Owain's kinsmen.  If I had been married and was a widow with my own lands…'

             
His eyes gleamed as she ceased, frightened by what she had said, her own eyes opening wider as she saw that he was agreeing with her.

             
'My clever Morwenna,' he said and smiled.  'Yet you know what that would mean?  Once you are his wife…No, I shall kill him now!  I cannot bear to think of him touching you…possessing you.'

             
'He may possess my body,' Morwenna replied calmly.  'But not my heart or my spirit – they shall be yours, Rhys.'

             
'And your body?' he murmured huskily as she stared at him.  'I would have all of you, my love.'

             
Morwenna smiled as the thought came to her.

             
'Yes,' she said and gazed up to him.  'You shall have me first, Rhys, then I shall always be yours despite that I am his wife.'  She darted back as he would have taken her in his arms, his intent plain to see in the burning look he gave her.  'No, not now, for the wedding does not take place yet and I must not be dishonoured by bearing a child too soon or all is lost.  Come to me the night before my wedding.'

             
'The night before…'  Rhys stared at her as he realised what she was saying.  'My sweet, clever Morwenna.  It is as well that you do not betray me as you would him, for I should kill you.'

             
'Save your talk of killing for the future,' Morwenna warned.  'And be careful that you give no sign of your jealousy – for if what we plan were suspected…'

             
'I should be killed,' Rhys agreed.  'Morgan would kill you himself if he knew.  He may know that you do not come to him a virgin…'

             
'I shall take a pig's blood to my bed and stain the sheets,' Morwenna said.  'And my tears and cries shall convince him that there has been no other.'

             
Rhys took her chin in his hand, gazing intently into her face.  'Do not think to deceive me, Morwenna.  For if you ever do I shall make you wish this day had never happened.'

             
'What is there in life for me but you?' Morwenna asked.  She reached up to kiss him, biting his bottom lip so that the blood ran and licking it with her tongue.  'The pact is sealed between us.  You must be patient, my love.  Do nothing against Morgan until the time is right.'

             
He touched the spot where her teeth had drawn blood, looking down at her with a smile of satisfaction on his lips.  'You are a vixen.  From your looks you would seem a milk and water wench, but there is fire in you.  I have always known it – but even I did not guess at the deviousness of your mind, Morwenna.'

             
'Then we are well matched, sir.'

             
'Aye, that we are,' he said, and caught her to him, crushing her mouth beneath his once more so that she almost cried out for pain, as he bit her and licked the blood.  'Now you know that I shall give back what I get, Morwenna.  Remember and keep faith with me.'

SIX

''Tis a messenger, my lady.'  Alicia hesitated, looking at her mistress uncertainly.  'He asks for an audience with you.'

             
'A messenger?'  For a moment Rosamund thought of the Welshman who had saved her from abduction.  Perhaps Morgan had news for her! Then, as she saw her companion's frowning look, her heart caught with sudden alarm.  'Does he come from my husband?'

             
'Yes, my lady.  He says that Sir Philip has sent you a letter, and that he is to deliver it into your hands and none other.'

             
Rosamund sighed.  She had known the message must come.  It had only been a matter of time, for she knew that Richard was a prisoner though she was not sure where he had been taken.  It was said that he had been moved from the Tower to a secret location for fear that an attempt might be made to rescue him, but her informants were not certain of his whereabouts.  Some believed he might even be dead.

             
Henry of Bolingbroke had laid claim to Richard's throne and the small rebellions of his followers were being ruthlessly put down wherever they occurred.  It seemed that all was lost.

             
'You may tell this messenger to bring his letter,' Rosamund said with a weary sigh.  'But let him be guarded for I would not trust anyone who comes from Philip.'

             
After Alicia had gone she looked at the ring she wore on her middle finger.  Richard's ring, given to the Welsh singer for her…but she did not believe that Morgan Gruffudd was merely a wandering bard.  He had the look of a fighter, and Kestrel had told her he was a man of destiny.

             
She was not quite sure what the old man had meant, and she had lied to Morgan for Kestrel had told her that her destiny was bound up with his.  She had lied because she had trembled in his arms, finding herself strangely drawn to him as he comforted her.  She had not wanted to feel that way for she had been grieving for her lost friend.  Richard had shown her more kindness than any man had since her father died and she had loved him dearly.  He was a man of vision and of culture; his influence would be sorely missed in England, especially by those he had patronised in the arts and with works of great architecture.  Rosamund felt that with Richard had gone all the best of an age of glory.  It might be many years before his like was seen again.

             
Yet it was not of Richard that she was thinking as she waited for her husband's messenger.  Caris was not yet isolated from the world outside.  People came and went and rumours reached them – sometimes strange rumours that Rosamund found disturbing.  Was it possible that the Welsh people planned revolt against the English lords that had ruled this land and suppressed them for so long?  She would not have thought it possible, but she had not dreamed that Richard would be so easily deposed.

             
If only he had remained at Conway.  Had he made a stand there his followers might have fought on for him and Henry been defeated.  She turned as she heard footsteps and then Alicia entered the room, Philip de Grenville's messenger with her.  Thomas Bridger, who from the look on his grim face, was determined to protect his mistress at any cost, accompanied them.

             
Rosamund lifted her head, her manner proud and cool.  'You have a message for me?'

             
'Yes, my lady.  Forgive me for my presumption, but I was ordered to give it to no one but you.'

             
'Very well.'  Rosamund held out her hand.  'There, I have it.  Now you may go.'

             
'I was told to wait for an answer.'

             
'Then you may wait in the kitchens, for I dare say you are hungry.  Take him with you, Thomas, and offer him our hospitality.  If there is an answer I shall send Alicia to you later.'

             
'As you wish, my lady.'

             
Rosamund inclined her head, waiting until they had gone before breaking the seal.  Henry Bolingbroke had laid claim to the throne and Richard was deposed, therefore she was required to surrender up her castle. She frowned as she read her husband's demands.  She was to return to Bundesley with all her goods and people and wait there until he chose to come to her.  He had decided to forgive her providing that she obeyed him immediately.

             
To obey would be to place herself in Philip's power for she knew that his talk of forgiveness meant nothing.  He was merely attempting to save himself the trouble of forcing her to surrender to him.  He had never loved her.  Now that she was alone and friendless, he would keep her a prisoner once he had her.  At least at Caris she was free to live as she pleased for the moment.