Morgan the Rogue (20 page)

*

Morgan paused as he saw the stark outline of the castle against a darkening sky.  It was not far now, and yet his strength was fading fast and he scarcely knew whether he had enough to go on without pausing to rest.  Yet if he should sleep he might not wake again.

He had passed by Caris on his travels for Owain last year, but had not trusted himself enough to go near it.  He was weary almost unto death, his weakness terrifying to a man who had always been strong, but now as he drew near he hesitated.  Ought he to go to Rosamund?  She had warned him against it, and yet he felt himself drawn as a moth to a flame, and knew that if he must die he wanted it to be near her.

             
The sound of rushing feet startled him and he looked at the men coming towards him through the trees in alarm.  If they attacked he was helpless for he could not lift his sword in anger, let alone fight his way through.  There must be at least six or seven of them, too many for him to match in his weakened state.

             
'I come to see the Lady Rosamund,' he said in a voice hardly above a whisper.  'She will know of me…Morgan Gruffudd…'

             
'How can we be sure you come in friendship, stranger?'

             
'It is him…' a different voice cried.  'I told you it was – the Welsh singer who saved Lady Rosamund last year.'

             
'And by the look of him he needs help now…'

             
Morgan was near fainting as willing hands reached out to help him from his horse, and then he was aware of lying on the ground for a while before he was lifted to a board of some kind.  They were carrying him now, voices all round him, talking to him, encouraging him.

             
'Kestrel…' he whispered.

             
'Kestrel is at the castle,' a voice he knew but could not place spoke beside him.  'He came because he knew he would be needed.  He is waiting for you, Morgan Gruffudd.'

             
It was a voice he knew, a woman's voice - but not
her
voice.  Morgan closed his eyes as the weakness robbed him of the power of thought.  He was being taken to her, it no longer matter whether he lived or died.

*

The dream was sweet.  Morgan was reluctant to leave it, though the hands that tended him were not as soft as those that had tended him in his dream.  He was being shaken quite roughly and he murmured a protest.

             
'Throw water into his face, it will bring him out of his trance,' a voice said.  'He is better now and must be woken.'

             
'I do not like to be so cruel…'

             
That voice was hers!  Morgan opened his eyes and gazed into her face.  She was here, she was with him.  It was she who had tended him so sweetly while he lay senseless -–and behind her the old man who had saved his life once before.

             
'So we meet again, magician.  I had sore need of you this time.'

             
'I knew that you were calling to me,' Kestrel replied.  'I came to you, Morgan Gruffudd.  Now you owe me your life twice over.'

             
'I shall repay you somehow…'

             
'I have told you before.  When I ask you will refuse me – but it will not be your fault.'

             
'You speak in riddles…'  Morgan feasted his eyes on Rosamund.  'My lady…you have cared for me.  I think I owe my recovery as much to your nursing as this rogue.'

             
'Kestrel eased your fever.  You owe your life to him and should not call him a rogue,' Rosamund replied and smiled.  'Yet I sense that there is a bond between you and I need not scold you for your mockery.  I have done only as much as Kestrel would allow.'

             
'I thank both of you for my life, and more.'  Morgan sat up in bed.  His head span a little for a moment or two but he knew at once that his strength had returned.  'I am better.  When I came here I was as weak as a kitten.  I thought that I should never be fit to fight.  How long have I lain here?'

             
'A week,' Kestrel told him.  'I was not there to tend you when you were wounded, yet I knew it had happened.  I tried to warn you not to do that which you did…'

             
'But you did not tell me what,' Morgan said.  'If only I had known…'

             
'The vision came too late.  You had ridden away I knew not where,' Kestrel said, 'and I knew it was your destiny.  There are some things that are meant to be and though we fight against them they will happen.  Now the worst has happened and out of your pain a new man is born.'

             
'There has certainly been pain enough,' Morgan said wryly.  'But I shall not mock you, my good Kestrel, for I know that if you had not helped me I should never have regained my strength.'

             
'You were not destined to die yet,' Kestrel said and shook his head.  'Do not ask.  It has not been revealed to me, though it may be one day.  If that day comes I shall warn you if I am able.'  He inclined his head and turned to leave the room.

             
Morgan said nothing.  In the nature of things he should outlive the old man, but after his recent brush with death he knew that youth did not guarantee life.

             
'I shall bring you food,' Rosamund said, smiling at him in a way that brought joy to his heart.  'Kestrel has done his work and it is up to us now to make you truly well again.'

             
'Stay a moment longer,' Morgan said and caught her wrist as she would have moved away.  'I came to you because I needed Kestrel's help but I can leave if it might bring danger to you.'

             
'Kestrel told me once that our destinies run side by side,' Rosamund replied.  'I denied you when last you came, because I was afraid to acknowledge what was between us – and because I was grieving for a friend.'

             
'Was that all Richard was to you?'

             
Rosamund's eyes did not leave his.  'There was a time when it might have been more but it did not happen.  I know now that it was not right.  We were friends but not lovers, though I sorely needed to be loved and I would have taken what he offered.  But it was not meant to be.  I was meant to love another – a man I shall love until I die.'

             
'And how do you know this, my lady?'

             
Her cheeks were pink as she looked at him.  'You ask too many questions, sir.  I should leave you to rest and Alicia will bring you some food.'

             
'You are not afraid of me?'

             
'I think that between us there can never be fear, Morgan.'

             
The look in her eyes told him more than a thousand words, and he released his hold on her.  'Go then, my lady.  I shall spare your blushes – but you should understand why I came to you.  It was not just because I hoped that Kestrel might be here…'

             
'You forget that I have tended you as you slept,' she said.  'You dreamed long and deep, but as you dreamed you spoke of what was in your heart.  I do not believe that you need to say more at this moment.  Soon we shall talk and then we may both say all that is in our hearts.'

             
He lay back, his eyes following her as she left the room.  Was it possible that she had learned to love him as he loved her?  It was more than he had ever dreamed, more than he could have expected.

             
He did not think of the difficulties that lay ahead, for neither of them was free to marry.  Man and God forbade their love – and yet he believed that it would survive what lay ahead.  A smile touched his lips as he closed his eyes.  He had walked through fire to come to her, but it was where he belonged and though they might be forced to part sometimes, he knew that the future was theirs.

PART TWO

1400 –1403

ROSAMUND

EIGHT

She rode ahead of him, her horse seeming to have the speed of the wind and he could hear her triumphant laughter as she reached the lake ahead of him.  Reining in, she turned to look at him as he arrived a second after and threw himself down, coming to help her from her mount, his hands lingering about her waist for a moment as he gazed down into eyes that were brimming with laughter.

             
'That will teach you to offer me a start, my lord!'

             
'Indeed it will, my lady,' Morgan said and felt the hot desire surging in him as he bent his head to kiss her lips.  'There shall be no more concessions from me, Rosamund.'

             
'None were asked for,' she reminded him.  But there was only warmth and laughter in her face, for it was their habit to tease one another, a part of the love and trust that had built between them these past months.

             
Morgan touched her face, tracing the line of her cheek and the arch of her throat.  'You are so lovely,' he said.  'You have made me whole again, Rosamund.'

             
She smiled and shook her head.  'Do not think of the past,' she murmured.  'We promised each other the night that we became true lovers that we would think neither of the past nor the future.  We must live only for now, Morgan, for the moment we have.  If our time should be brief or long, we will take each hour and make it as sweet as if it were our last.'

             
Morgan nodded.  What she said was true and he knew that if he had only these months to remember they would sustain him through his life long.  He had never known such happiness, nor experienced such a feeling of content as when he was with her.  Her smile, her touch, her scent were all he needed to set the blood singing in his veins, to make him feel that the world was a good place.

             
'I never want to leave you,' he said.  'I would spend all my life with you, Rosamund.'

             
'And I with you,' she said.  'But we both know that you have your duty to Owain – and that the time is almost here.'

             
'Hush, do not speak of it,' he warned and put a finger to her lips.  'I do not want to think of anything but you.'

             
She smiled, shook her head and moved away from him.  He saw that she was searching for the special flowers she had told him of that grew near the lake, and when she dropped to her knees and began to part the long grasses he went to see what it was that she had found.

             
'It is my orchid,' she said.  'Look, Morgan, there is a whole clump of them this year.  Sometimes there are only one or two.'

             
He bent and picked two of the delicate dark mauve flowers, kissing one and giving it to her.  She kissed the other and he placed it inside his tunic, next to his heart.

             
'Rosamund's flower,' he said and smiled at her, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.  As she gazed up at him he knew an urgent desire to make love to her, but knew that their faithful guardians would not be far away.  It was too dangerous to ride into the forest alone, for Rosamund had been sent another message by her husband, demanding that she returned to him, and she feared that Philip de Grenville might send men to attack them.  'I want to make love to you…'

             
'Shall we go back to the castle?'

             
'In a while,' he said and took her hand.  'I shall exercise patience, my dearest, for I know that you love to walk here.'

             
'It is such a beautiful day,' she said.  'The beginning of September, Morgan.  Soon the autumn mists will come and then winter.  In winter the forest is dark and I do not like to ride out so far.'

             
She did not add that if what she believed was true she would not be able to come this far in a few months time.  She had missed her monthly flow and noticed small changes in her body, but she was not yet sure enough to tell her lover that she was carrying his child.

             
For an hour they wandered hand in hand, moving from dappled sunlight to shade, watching a tiny red squirrel burying its finds for winter beneath the roots of an ancient oak.  Above them a benign sun beat down and the lake sparkled in the sunlight.  A Woodlark sang and other songbirds burbled at them from the treetops, the peace of the ancient woodland seeping into them and bringing a curious mixture of content and sadness.