Morgan the Rogue (16 page)

             
'Alicia was looking at her anxiously.  'Is it bad news, my lady?'

             
'My husband demands that I return to Bundesley to await his coming.'

             
'Shall you go?'

             
'No, I shall not.'  Rosamund raised her head proudly.  'We are well able to withstand a siege of some months here.  I doubt that Philip has the patience to force me to come out.  Why should he?  He has all that was mine.  He has offered reconciliation and may now cast me off before the world as a wife who has deserted her husband.'

             
'Will he truly leave you here in peace?  Do you not think that he will vent his anger on you for disobeying him?'

             
'He disobeyed his king,' Rosamund said scornfully.  'Had he remained true to Richard I would have joined him at Chester.'

             
Alicia gazed at her doubtfully.  She knew the lord de Grenville to be a cold, harsh man who punished his enemies.  Was it likely that he would simply leave his wife in peace here at Caris?

             
'If you are afraid I give you leave to go.'

             
'Oh no!' Alicia cried.  'I do not wish to leave.  It was of you I thought, my lady.  If you do not obey him you are condemned to stay here, for where else could you go?'

             
'I do not know,' Rosamund replied.  'But I would rather die here alone than return to Philip.  Yet I shall not ask such a sacrifice of others.  Any who wish to leave here have my permission to do so.  I shall announce it this evening in the hall.  Let it be known that I do not command obedience.  I have chosen so must others.'

             
'I shall tell your Steward of your decision,' Alicia said.  'But no one will leave, my lady.  If you stay we stay – for as long as you wish it.'

             
'Then you may tell Philip's messenger there is no answer.'

             
'Yes, my lady.'

             
Rosamund went back to her narrow window as Alicia went away, gazing out at the mountains that protected their backs.  It was impossible for a hostile force to come at them from the rear.  No, any attack would come from out of the forest.  The tiny village of Caris lay at the foot of the hill, overshadowed on one side by the castle and the mountains and on the other by the forest, a small stream tumbling from the mountains into a pool inside the castle walls.  It was this eternal spring that made them so strong under siege, for though food might eventually run short they would always have water.

             
No, it was the inhabitants of the village who would be the ones to suffer most if an attack should come, Rosamund decided.  At the first signs of hostility they must either flee into the forest or take shelter with her.  She was not afraid to die if the time came, but she must protect her people as she best she could.  She would ask Thomas Bridger about setting up an early warning.  There must be watchers in the forest at all times so that by the time a force of armed men could reach them they were prepared.

             
And she would double the stores held within the castle.  Philip would grow tired after a few weeks and go away, she was certain of it – but it was best to be prepared for a longer siege…

*

Morwenna lay trembling in her bed.  It was the eve of her wedding and she was frightened of what she had promised Rhys Llewelyn.  Her rash words had been spoken in anger, and she had wished them unsaid a thousand times.  Yet she had no way of taking them back for Rhys had stayed at Sycharth with Owain's household and she had been at her father's house until that very morning.  She had hoped to be able to have a private word with him, but it had proved impossible.  She had caught no more than a fleeting glimpse of him as she arrived, but the message his eyes conveyed then had been sufficient to set her trembling.

             
She had seen little of her betrothed since the ceremony, for he had been visiting many parts of Wales on some business for Owain.  But though he had sent her a kind letter, which her father's scribe had deciphered for her, saying that he was looking forward to their wedding, he had not come to her father's house.  His neglect had hurt and angered Morwenna, and it was not out of remorse that she had changed her mind but fear.  Supposing someone saw Rhys come to her chamber?  Supposing Morgan discovered that she had betrayed him with his friend and killed her?

             
The sound of her door opening stealthily made her start up, her throat tight with panic.  If she cried out the servants sleeping in the tiny room above hers would come to her.  She could claim that Rhys had come uninvited to her room…

'Are you awake, dear heart?'  Rhys whispered.  'Do not fear, it is only I come to claim my bride.'

             
'Be quiet,' Morwenna said, stifling her laughter at his words.  It was true that she would be his bride, not Morgan Gruffudd's, and that would serve him right for ignoring her.  Her fear began to evaporate as she remembered why she wished to punish Morgan Gruffudd.  'Are you sure that no one saw you?'

             
'Quite sure,' Rhys reassured her.  'They have all drunk far too much in celebration of your wedding, Morwenna.  I let them think I was drinking too, but I poured my wine away – for I wanted to come sober to your bed.  I have thought of this moment every moment of my waking day, and dreamed of it each night since you left.  You are more precious to me than the air I breathe, my love.'

             
'Rhys…' Morwenna breathed.  'I am frightened.'

             
'There is no need to be frightened,' he assured her, and throwing back the rugs that covered her, he slid between the sheets and reached out for her.  'We have no need of this…'  He pulled at the night-robe she wore, and Morwenna lifted her arms so that he could take it up over her head and discard it on the floor. 'We must place this beneath you,' he said and held her as she lifted her hips for him to slip the cloth under her.  'I shall take it with me and then none will know what has happened here this night.'

             
Morwenna lay gazing up at him.  Her heart was beating so fast that she felt as if she were short of breath.  It was she who had planned this revenge on Morgan but it seemed that Rhys was gloating over what they did and for some reason she found that unpleasant.  Yet when he gathered her to him and began to kiss her body she made no protest, her response to his loving ready and eager.  This was what she had hoped for in her husband, a tender, passionate lover who would teach her all the secrets of womanhood.

             
'You are so beautiful,' he told her.  'The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  I love you and shall love you all my life.'

             
His words thrilled her and when he thrust into her she was ready, warm and wet for him so that he slid deep inside her.  His thrusting manhood tore her maidenhead so that she almost screamed with the pain, but he covered her mouth with his own, silencing her cries and then she felt the rushing heat inside her and her back arched to meet him as he thrust into her again and again.  She moaned beneath him, though when her cries grew too loud he stifled them with his hand and whispered in her ear that she must be quiet.

             
'All will be lost if we are heard,' he said.  'We must take care, Morwenna.  We have too much to lose…'

             
Morwenna clung to him as the spasm of pleasure swept through her and she felt him empty his sperm inside her.  Tears stained her cheeks as he rolled away from her, though she did not know why she wept.

             
Rhys wiped her cheeks with his fingertips, kissing her eyelids as she lay with them closed.  'It is over and it will not hurt so much the next time,' he told her softly.  'You are mine now, Morwenna.  Your husband may enjoy you for a while but you belong to me and always shall.'

             
She did not reply nor did she look at him.  She felt him take the blood stained cloth from beneath her and heard his grunt of pleasure as he saw it carried the evidence of her lost virginity, and then she heard him walk to the door, open it and close it behind him.  Only then did she open her eyes.
             

What had she done?  Morwenna felt the sting of shame sweep over her as she got out of bed and examined the sheets.  There was nothing to betray her; Rhys had seen to that and she was grateful, though she suspected that he had been thinking of what they both might lose if her shame were discovered.

             
She walked to where a jug of water and a bowl stood on a small trestle table.  Pouring a little water into the bowl, she used it to wash herself, wincing at the sting of her bruised flesh, then she carried the bowl into the closet where her privy was housed and poured it down the hole in the wooden slats.  It fell to the cavity far below, where the effluent of the castle's nightsoil was carried out into the moat.  Sometimes, in the summer when it was very hot the moat stank, but every now and then it was drained and cleaned to take away the accumulated filth.

             
Returning to her bed, Morwenna hesitated, then knelt on the hard floor, her head bent as she prayed to be forgiven for her sin.  Climbing into the bed, she could still smell the musky scent of Rhys' body and hoped that it would be gone by the time the serving women came to strip the bed of its covers.

             
She closed her eyes, but all she could see was the handsome face of a young man as he stood naked on the riverbank, laughing at her.  Morgan would hate her for what she had done – any man would be furious at being cheated of what was rightfully his. She had wanted to punish him, and yet she was conscious of a terrible sense of loss.

             
She had lost nothing!  Morgan did not love her.  He had not even bothered to come to her during the weeks before their wedding.  She had been willing to love him, but he did not want her love.  It was his fault that she had betrayed him with his friend.

             
She would not think about it again nor what Rhys might do in the future.  It was not her fault.  Morgan had brought it all on himself…

*

Morgan looked at the pale face of his bride as she joined him in front of the priest who was to marry them.  She looked terrified and it was no wonder.  He blamed himself for not taking the time to get to know her a little better after their betrothal, to reassure her that he was in no hurry to claim his rights as a husband.

             
He had spent the intervening weeks getting to know parts of Wales that he had never visited, following the mountain trails and talking to the people, studying the castles that they would need to take and hold if their revolt against the English was to succeed.  Once again, his disguise as a singer had stood him in good stead, and he had been inside several of the fortresses he visited, staying as a welcome guest as he took note of their defences.

             
In September Henry Bolingbroke had made his claim for the English throne, by the 13, October 1399 he had been crowned, though as far as was known the rightful King still lived.  Richard's whereabouts were not certain, for he had been taken from place to place.  Morgan had heard a whisper that he might be in Pontefract but it was not sure.

             
Morgan had made his report to Owain on his return.  His kinsman had been pleased with all the detail and small maps he had made, though most of what he had learned was committed to memory. 

             
'You have done well, Morgan.  These things may serve us in the future.  And now you must forget
our
plans for the moment and think of your own,' Owain had told him with a smile.  'Your house is ready for you, and you shall spend a week alone there before you come back to join me here for Christmas.  After that…it will not be long now, I promise you.'

             
Morgan frowned as he thought of the week ahead.  A groom should anticipate his wedding with eagerness yet for some reason he had no joy in what he did, and it was his own fault.  Morwenna was young, beautiful and modest as befitted a bride.  If he could not love her as he ought it was because his heart had been given to another.

             
He was a damned fool!  Morgan cursed himself inwardly as he took his vows, knowing that he must try to conquer his feelings for Rosamund De Grenville.  She was not for him, even Kestrel had said that their ways must part.  It would do no good to pine for a woman he could not have.  He must make up his mind to make the best of this marriage.  Surely it could not be hard to love such an innocent child as this?

             
He thought that perhaps her youth was the trouble.  Beside Rosamund she seemed a child rather than a woman – but he must not think of Rosamund on this day!

             
He forced his last memory of her, of the scent of her body as she wept in his arms, from his mind, concentrating on the ceremony.  It seemed to drag on interminably, but at last it was over and the feasting had begun.  He and Morwenna had been given the places of honour at the high table, sitting to the right-hand of Owain.  Morwenna next to Owain and he beside her as once before.  Morgan had found the girl attractive enough then.  He tried to recapture the feeling he had had that night, but found it impossible.  His heart was irrevocably given to another woman.  He would be kind and generous to his wife, he decided, and always treat her well – but he would never love her.