Morgan the Rogue (29 page)

             
Morwenna lowered her eyes.  'It is merely that I do not want you to die, Mother.  You have been good to me.'

             
'Better than my son at least,' Maire replied.  'I know that things are not right between you, Morwenna.  I pray that you will do nothing foolish…'

             
'I do not know what you mean.'

             
Morwenna could not look at her.  Surely she could not know of the secret meetings with Rhys?  He had come to the house twice when all was dark and Maire was asleep, and once she had slipped out to meet him in the woods.

             
'You took a risk coming to me,' she had told him as he drew her into his arms to kiss her hungrily.  'What if Maire had seen you?'

             
'It is time you found a way to be rid of that old witch,' he muttered.  'I know she always hated me.'

             
'Maire has been good to me,' Morwenna replied.  'Besides, it is only by her right that we hold the manor.  If she should die before Morgan…' She looked into his eyes.  'Why have you come – is it to tell me that he is dead?'

             
Rhys looked at her oddly.  'I have not seen him in weeks.  We do not ride together but in separate bands.  When the chance comes I shall take it, I promise you – but as yet it has not.'

             
'You promise much but you do little,' her tone was sharp and dismissive.  'If Morgan were dead I would smother Maire in her bed and we should have everything, but until then I shall let her live.'

             
'You must be patient,' Rhys said.  'I have given my word, but it must be done in such a way that we are not reviled as murderers.'

             
'You speak in riddles!'

             
'When the time comes I shall betray him to the English for money.'

             
'The English…' Morwenna stared at him.  She felt cold all over, an icy shiver trickling down her spine.  'But you hate them…'

             
'That is why you must be patient,' Rhys said.  'Morgan is looked up to by his men, and they speak of him as being a hero.  I must do this thing carefully, Morwenna – use the English to destroy him so that I am not suspected and may take his place in all things.'

             
'You should not wait too long,' Morwenna had warned him.  'For if you do we may lose all that we might gain.'

             
'I am not a fool,' Maire said, recalling her thoughts to the present.  'I do not condemn you for I understand what it is to live with bitterness in your heart, but I warn you.  Morgan has been harsh with you, but not as cruel as he might have been.  If you should arouse the sleeping beast that dwells in all men you may regret the day you betrayed him.'

             
'You are ill,' Morwenna told her.  'Your mind wanders.  I have not betrayed my husband, and I hope you will not tell tales of me if he should come to visit us.'

             
'I doubt he will come,' Maire said.  'He is too busy – and he has no reason save for the child.'

             
'He will come to see Morganna,' Morwenna said confidently.

             
She smiled to herself as she reached a decision.  Morgan would come and if Rhys had not the courage to kill him she would find some way of doing it herself.

ELEVEN

The news of a siege at Caris Castle reached Morgan as he was on his way to join Owain at the end of September.  There was a rumour that the King was leading an armed force into Wales himself and it had been decided that the robber bands should become one for the time being and swell the ranks of Owain's men.

             
'We have harried the English at every turn,' Morgan told his men.  'Now we must be prepared to fight against the King's army.'

             
'We're with you – to the death if need be.'

             
The meeting with Owain was to take place at the beginning of October but before they reached the appointed place a messenger came from Owain himself.

             
'I am sent to bring you word that Caris is under siege,' the man gasped out as he flung himself from his horse in front of Morgan.  'Owain is on his way to cut off the King's army if he can, but he says that you should take your men to the relief of Caris.'

             
'How many men has Sir Philip brought against Caris?' Morgan asked.  'When he set out for Chester he had no more than thirty.'

             
'We do not know for sure but it was thought at least forty or more, though some may have been killed for the siege began three weeks ago and there has been fierce resistance from the castle garrison.'

             
Morgan's heart lurched with fear for his lady.  He knew that Thomas Bridger and his men would fight valiantly but some were sure to be killed and they could not hold out forever.  He prayed that he and his men would reach them in time.

             
'We ride for Caris at once,' he said.  'For Rosamund de Grenville is a brave lady who holds the castle for Owain.  Who is with me?'

             
A chorus of voices were raised as they vowed to a man to follow him.  Rhys Llewelyn added his voice to those who clamoured for the fight.  If they were successful in driving off the English the lady of Caris would welcome them inside and his chance to carry out at least a part of the promise he had made to Morwenna might come at last.

*

'You must rest,' Alicia said as she saw Rosamund gather cloths and ointments into her basket.  'Leave the wounded to others.  You have not slept in a week.'

             
'No more have others,' Rosamund replied.  'You should rest yourself, Alicia, for you look tired to death.'

             
'How much longer can we sustain this level of resistance?' Alicia asked.  'They have attacked day after day and ten of our men have been wounded, another three are dead.'

             
'We shall fight on for help must come soon,' Rosamund replied.  'We have food and water and when one man falls another takes his place on the ramparts.  We have inflicted heavy losses on them.  Surely Philip will tire of this soon and withdraw?'

             
Alicia made no answer as she turned away, hiding her anxiety, and Rosamund knew that she was worried for Thomas.  The brunt of their defence had fallen on him and he was looking tired and drawn.  Some of his best men had been killed and those who took their places were untrained villagers.  The archers who rained death and destruction on the enemy below were vulnerable to the enemy's arrows themselves and it was they who had suffered most in the constant fighting.

             
Some of the village woman had joined the men on the ramparts.  They had helped to tip boiling pitch on the attacking force but Philip's men had brought up covered defences to protect them from attack from above and that morning some of the most determined had reached the top of their scaling ladders before they were repulsed.

             
For all her brave words to Alicia, Rosamund knew that they could not continue to resist at this level for much longer.  Nor was it fair to expect it, though every man within the castle had sworn to die rather than surrender.

             
The groans of the wounded wrenched at Rosamund's heart as she brought fresh supplies to the women tending them.  She was responsible for their suffering and her pity was roused as she bent to bathe the forehead of a wounded archer.

             
'God bless you, my lady,' he muttered feverishly.

             
She held a cup to his lips, lifting him so that he could drink a few sips.  He managed to swallow a little and then fell back, his eyes closing.  Rosamund felt remorse strike deep into her heart.  For herself she would resist bravely to the end but did she have the right to demand so much of others?

             
Margaret was tending a young man who had been struck in the arm by an arrow.  She glanced up as Rosamund approached, shaking her head.

             
'The wound is festering, my lady.  I do not have Kestrel's healing powers.  Unless that arm is cauterised I fear he will die of the rotting sickness.'

             
Rosamund looked sad for the practice of applying a red-hot iron to the wound was a painful one and not always successful. 

             
'I shall speak to Thomas, for if the thing must be it is best done soon.'

             
'I gave him the strongest measure of the sleeping draught I dare for he was in much pain.'

             
'And you are tired,' Rosamund said, looking at her sadly.  'You have done more than your share, my good Margaret.  Go up and rest now.  I shall take your place here.'

             
'It is not fitting that you should be here, my sweeting.'

             
'If it is fitting that these men should suffer in my name it is fitting that I help to tend them.  Go now and…'

             
Rosamund broke off as she heard shouting and the sound of hurrying feet and then William Baldry came in, clearly excited.

'Good news, my lady.'

Rosamund looked at him, suddenly breathless.  'Tell me – has help come at last?'

'Thomas saw them coming from the ramparts.  He ordered our men to the alert and as the Welsh attacked Sir Philip's men from the rear he had our men fire at them from above.  He says they broke and ran when they heard the Welsh battle cry, fleeing in all directions.  Sir Philip will have some trouble in gathering them again.'

'Then it is over?'  Rosamund felt an overwhelming surge of relief.  'Owain's men came to help us.'

             
'Not Owain,' William replied.  'It was Morgan Gruffudd and perhaps thirty of his men.'

             
'Morgan is here?'  Rosamund's heart leapt with joy.  'He has come himself?  I thought him far away.'

             
'And so I was…'

             
Rosamund looked round, startled to hear his voice behind her.

             
'Morgan!' she cried and ran to him.  'Oh, my love.  I cannot believe that you are here.  I sent to Owain as you bade me but it was you that came.'

             
'I was on my way to meet Owain when his messenger intercepted us and we came here instead.'  Morgan clasped her to him, gazing down at her lovely face, noticing the signs of strain and tiredness.  His lips moved against her hair as he held her and felt her tremble.  'My poor love.  How you have suffered these past weeks.  I wish I had known sooner.'

             
'It does not matter now,' she said and looked up at him, eyes bright with tears she would not shed.  'I needed you so and you came to me.'

             
'My dearest love.'

             
He bent his head and kissed her on the lips, an action that brought a ragged cheer from the wounded men who were watching and able to summon enough strength.

             
Morgan turned and saluted them with a grin.

             
'My thanks to all our brave men for protecting the Lady Rosamund,' he said and then, taking her by the hand he led her from the chapel where the sick had been housed.  They walked in silence through various rooms until they reached the far end of the quadrangle where they were finally alone.

             
'I was so afraid,' she said as he kissed her again, lingeringly this time with a sweetness that seemed to draw the heart from her body.  'I thought that I might be forced to surrender to Philip and that I might never see you again.'

             
'I would have found you somehow,' Morgan vowed.  'You know that I love you more than life itself.'

             
'You would have had to search for me in the afterlife,' Rosamund said.  'For rather than return to my husband I would take my own life.'

             
Morgan touched his fingers to her lips, hushing her.  Then he bent his head to kiss her as she quietened and the desire flamed between them.  He felt the tension drain out of her and then she was pressing herself against him, responding to his hungry kisses, melting into his body as he soothed her with tender caresses and sweet words.

             
'Philip de Grenville has gone,' Morgan said.  'Some of my men pursued his.  Those that are not killed will run for their lives.  Philip will not try to attack Caris again.'