Morgan the Rogue (30 page)

             
'No, I do not think he will,' she said and smiled up at him.  'So you came to me again when I needed you – that is three times now.'

             
'I hope that I shall always be here when you need me, Rosamund.'  He gazed down into her face, tracing the line of her cheek with his fingertips.  'But you were troubled when I arrived.  I saw men who were badly wounded and in pain.  Kestrel is not with you?'

             
'I have not seen him since you were last here,' Rosamund said.  'He is an old man.  Perhaps his powers are failing him.'

             
'Or perhaps he was needed more elsewhere,' Morgan suggested.  'Even he cannot be everywhere.  We cannot know where he goes or what he does.'

             
'That is very true,' she said, a tender smile in her eyes.  'And now you must come and see your son.'

             
'I am eager to see him,' Morgan told her.  'Does he grow well, Rosamund?'

             
'He is beautiful,' she said, 'and looks more like you every day.'

             
'To be beautiful he should look like his mother.'

             
'If we have a daughter she may take after me.  Your son should resemble you.  I want him to be strong and powerful when is a man, but he must also be generous and honest.'

             
'You make me a hero, Rosamund.  I am but a man with a man's failings.'

             
'That is not what I hear of you,' she said and laughed, holding out her hand to him invitingly.  Her lips were soft and moist, setting off the hungry desire in him.  'Tell me, what brave deeds have you done these past months, my lord?'

             
'Do you know what they once called me in the Brecon?'  Morgan's eyes danced with wicked laughter as she shook her head.  'Morgan the Rogue.  I think it is a name well earned for I make a good thief.  The English have a price of one hundred gold nobles on my head now.'

             
Her laughter trilled out.  'You must have caused them much trouble for your price to be so high.  Last year it was no more than ten.'

             
'That must prove my summer has not been wasted I think?'

             
'Yet such a vast sum of money must be tempting to some,' Rosamund said and the laughter died from her face.  She shivered, an icy chill trickling down her spine.  'Be careful, my love.  I fear that someone may betray you for the money.'

             
'The work we do is dangerous,' he replied.  'There is always the risk of being wounded or killed – but I do not fear that I shall be sold to the English.  My men hate them as much or more than I do do.  Even Rhys Llewelyn.'

             
'Is he with you?'  Rosamund was startled.  'Did you not tell me that he tried to kill you?'

             
Rhys begged my pardon and asked to be allowed to ride with us.  I thought it best to agree.  Better to have your enemy where you can see him than search for him in the dark.'

             
'But …he might be waiting his chance to do you harm.'

             
'I am a match for Rhys and he knows it.  I would not be fool enough to turn my back on him again.'

             
Rosamund wanted to argue.  She felt instinctively that Rhys Llewelyn was a danger to the man she loved, but she knew that Morgan would not listen to her fears.  He had reached a decision concerning his one time friend and nothing would change him.

             
She smiled as they reached her solar and she led him up a back stair to where their son lay sleeping in his cradle.  The nurse had been keeping watch over him but she curtsied and went out, leaving them alone with the child.

             
Morgan leaned over the cradle.  He smiled as he saw that the babe had opened his eyes, which were a dark blue and very like his own.  His hair had become darker but still held a hint of red and it clustered in soft curls over his head.

             
'He is a little like both of us,' Morgan said.  He touched a finger to his son's forehead, tenderness welling up inside him.  'And he is beautiful just as you said.'

             
'We have been blessed in our firstborn.'

             
'Yes.  We have a fine son, Rosamund.'

             
'God willing we shall have more in the future.'

             
'I would not want you to suffer so much pain again…'

             
'Kestrel told me it would never be as bad again.  Besides, it is a woman's natural role and I want to be yours, Morgan.  Though I may never be your true wife in the eyes of God, I would be your love and bear your children.'

             
'You are the wife of my heart.  I wish it could be a true marriage, my love.'

             
'Yet we have more than most.'

             
'You are so brave, Rosamund.'  Morgan reached out and drew her to him.  'I have wanted you, missed you so much, my beloved.'

             
'How long can you stay?'

             
'A few days.  We shall help you to replenish your stores and make sure there is no more danger and then we must go.  King Henry is bringing his army into Wales.  Owain may need our help.'  He smiled at her.  'When the winter comes I shall come back to you.  It is impossible to fight when it grows too cold.  Yes, I shall go to Owain now but I shall come back to you soon, Rosamund.'

             
'My lady…' they turned as William Baldry spoke from the doorway.  'Thomas Bridger has been wounded and Kestrel is here.  He has told us what to do for Thomas – and now he would have words with you urgently, my lord.'

             
'Kestrel wishes to speak with me?  Then I must come at once,' Morgan said.  'I shall see you later, Rosamund.'

             
Kestrel was waiting for him below in the hall.  Morgan smiled at him, holding out his hand in welcome.

             
'It is good to see you, my friend.  We were speaking of you earlier and wondering if you would come.'

             
'I always come when I am needed,' Kestrel said.  'But this time I have something to ask of you.'

             
'Ask and it shall be granted.'

             
'You have not yet heard my request.'  Kestrel's smile was strangely sad.  'There is a man here – a man I believe to be a danger to us all.  I ask that you kill him now, either by your own hand or by hanging.  You know the one I speak of, Morgan Gruffudd.  Let him be taken out and hung for the crime that is in his mind.'

             
'That is a strange request from you Kestrel for you seek only to preserve life.'  Morgan stared at him, trying to read his mind and failing.  'Do you speak of Rhys Llewelyn?'

             
'You know that I do – and you know that I am right.'

             
'Yes, you are right to warn me of him,' Morgan agreed.  'But you know that I cannot do as you ask.  A man cannot be condemned for a crime he has not committed.'

             
'I knew that you would refuse me.  It is not your fault – but you may regret this one day, my lord.'

             
'Forgive me,' Morgan said, a cold sense of dread clutching at his heart.  'It goes hard with me to refuse you, Kestrel, for you have saved my life and…'

             
'You could have saved mine.'

             
'I do not understand you.  Why should Rhys harm you?  It is me he hates.'

             
'I have work to do,' was Kestrel's reply.  'But remember to trust your visions, Morgan Gruffudd.  They may aid you when I am no longer here.'

             
Morgan watched him walk away.  He knew that Kestrel was going to tend the wounded and he was tempted to follow, to argue his point.  Yet how could he argue against what he did not understand -–and how could he hang a man who had fought valiantly for a cause they all believed in?  If he were to do such a thing none would trust him again, and all he had struggled for these past months would be lost.

             
Kestrel had always spoken in riddles.  Before this he had dismissed them with a smile but this time he was uneasy.  Yet how could he take the life of a man without cause?  Rhys had fought hard and well these past months.  He had pardoned him for the attempt on his own life and thus far he had no proof that he meant to harm anyone other than their common enemy.

             
There was nothing he could do except keep a watchful eye and make sure that Rhys had no chance to stab him in the back.  As for Kestrel – who would want to kill a man who did nothing but good?  Even Rhys could harbour no malice against the healer!

*

So, Morgan had refused to condemn him without a hearing.  The fool!  In his place Rhys would have hung an enemy without a second thought.  He stepped out of the small cubicle where he had hidden earlier.  The old man suspected him.  Yet how could he know what was in his mind?

             
Rhys felt cold all over.  It might be dangerous to stay here for much longer.  Men had been known to change their minds and perhaps this was the time to strike: as well now as any other.  He might never get a better chance to kill the woman.

             
Everyone was busy and the mood was for celebration.  They had driven off the English and the garrison had temporarily let down its guard.  He could kill Morgan Gruffudd's woman and escape before anyone knew what had happened.  The price on Morgan's head had reached one hundred gold nobles.  It was a small fortune, more than he might earn in ten years as a serving soldier.  He knew where Morgan was going when he left this place; he could follow and when the time was right…If he could discover the whereabouts of Sir Philip de Grenville he might get more than the reward offered.  But that reward was being offered in most English towns and the burgess would be only too willing to pay for the capture of the man who had plagued them all summer long.

             
But first he had to kill the woman!  Rhys felt his mouth run dry as he turned towards the steps leading to her solar.  He knew she had gone up there with Morgan earlier and had not thus far come down, which meant he would find her there.  It was not a task he relished for he had never killed a woman.  Yet he had given his word to Morwenna and she would be satisfied with nothing else.

             
He was shaking violently as he set his foot upon the first step, but he forced himself on, his hand going to the knife he wore in a sheath at his waist.  It was for Morwenna's sake that he did this.  She was the prize that drew him on despite the horror he felt inside.  Only if Rosamund de Grenville was dead could he hope to gain all that he desired.

             
The woman was standing with her back towards him, her hair covered by a plain white wimple.  She was bending over the couch, apparently intent on some task or other and she had not heard his approach.  Rhys knew a flood of relief.  He was not sure that he could have gone through with it if she had looked at him or begged him for mercy.  He drew his knife, moving swiftly and silently towards her.  His arm came up and he struck just as she turned and screamed.  In that instant Rhys realised that he had made a mistake – he had murdered Rosamund de Grenville's serving woman.

             
Rhys turned and rushed from the room, the horror of what he had done sweeping over him.  As he flung himself heedlessly down the twisting stairway he suddenly found that Kestrel was in his way, preventing him from escaping.  The old man's eyes seemed to burn into him, searing him with his contempt.

             
'Murderer!' Kestrel cried in ringing tones that reverberated in Rhys's head.  'I curse you for your wickedness.  You will never know another easy moment in your life, Rhys Llewelyn.  Your desire shall turn to ashes in your mouth and you will long for death but even then you shall know no peace for the fires of hell await you.'

             
'Damn you!  Hold your tongue, old man!'

             
'Remember my words for they shall haunt you all your life…'

             
'I said be quiet!' Rhys yelled and flew at him, knocking him backwards so that he tumbled down the steps, hitting his head against a carved stone pillar at the bottom.

             
Rhys hardly glanced at the old man's body lying so still, a trickle of blood oozing from the side of his mouth.  Stepping over him he ran in terror, knowing that his life would be forfeit.  If he were caught now Morgan would hang him and not think twice.

             
Emerging into the crowded courtyard, which was filled with horses and men, he saw a horse that had been left unattended and grabbed its harness.  Hauling himself into the saddle he kicked his heels into the horse's flanks, startling it so that it bolted.