Morgan the Rogue (31 page)

             
Behind him someone was shouting.  He heard a voice call his name and knew that Morgan had seen him.  His crimes would be discovered.  He would become a hunted man, an outcast.  And this time there would be no forgiveness.  If he ever met Morgan again one of them would die.

*

'Margaret had been tidying my things,' Rosamund said, a sob in her voice.  'I told her to rest but she would not and now…He attacked her from behind, Morgan.  Why should he do that?  She has never harmed anyone in her life.'

             
'Forgive me for I know you loved her,' Morgan said.  'I should never have brought Rhys here.  I never thought he would seek to harm you.  For it must have been you he meant to harm.'

             
'Why should he want to kill me?'

             
'I do not know,' Morgan said his expression grim.  'I can only think it was intended to harm me through you.  He thought that by killing you…' Morgan shuddered as he realised how close Rhys had come to doing just that.  'If you had been here in Margaret's place instead of with our son…'

             
'He woke and was hungry…' Her eyes were wet with tears.  'My poor Margaret.  She loved me like a mother and now she has died for me.'

             
'I am to blame,' Morgan said.  'Kestrel warned me.  He asked me to have Rhys hung for the crime that was in his mind.  And now he lies close to death and your nurse has paid the price for my stupidity in not trusting him.'

             
'You could not know what was in Rhys's mind.  You believed that he would harm no one but yourself – and that you could outwit him if he tried.'

             
'I shall find him one day and then I shall see him hang for what he has done this day.'

             
'He deserves to be punished,' Rosamund said.  'I shall not plead for Rhys Llewelyn – but you must not also punish yourself.'

             
'I cannot forgive myself.  Kestrel said that I could save his life and I did nothing.  He did so much for me and I have failed him, that must always haunt me.'

             
'He is not dead yet,' Rosamund said.  'I must go to him.  Perhaps I can do something to help him.'

             
'May I come with you?' Morgan asked.  'I would do anything I can to help.'

             
'Of course, if you wish it.'  She smiled gently.  'Kestrel would not blame you, my love.  He knew what was to happen.  He could have gone away if he had chosen that path, but he believed in fate and by fate he died.'

             
Morgan made no reply.  She might plead that he was not to blame but he could never forgive himself.  He should have listened to Kestrel.  His instincts had warned him to listen but he had not heeded them.  He could at least have placed Rhys under arrest, indeed it had been in his mind to send him away on some errand to Owain, but he had not acted immediately and now it was too late.  He prayed that it would not be too late for Kestrel but he knew in his heart that there was nothing to be done.  When they were met at the door of the chapel where the wounded were housed, he knew by William Baldry's grave expression that Kestrel was no longer with them.

             
'He is dead.'

             
'Yes, my lord.'

             
'God forgive me!'  Morgan felt the sting of guilt and grief.  'He saved my life twice and I failed him.'

             
'I do not know how that may be,' William said.  'He spoke of you before the end – he asks that you take him to a place in the mountains and that you lay his body on a high stone.  He wants no Christian prayers or tears, but asks only this of you, my lord.'

             
'He will not allow us to give him a Christian burial?' Rosamund asked.  'Are you certain of his words, William?'

             
'It is not the first time he has spoken of his death to me,' William said.  He looked at Morgan.  'He said that you would know where to take him, my lord.'

             
'Yes, I believe I know a place,' Morgan said and turned to Rosamund.  'I must do this for Kestrel.  It will take me some days to journey there and then…'

             
'You must go to Owain,' Rosamund said.  'The time you were to have spent with me must now be for Kestrel.  It is fitting and right that we should pay some price for his passing.  He died for me for he came to my aid but was too late to save Margaret.'

             
Morgan took her by the hand, leading her outside.  It was a cold still night and as they glanced up at the darkening sky they saw a star go shooting across the heavens.

             
'Does that mean ill luck?' Rosamund asked and her hand trembled in his.

             
'I think it may have been sent as a sign,' Morgan replied.  'A sign of hope in this our darkest hour.  We have both lost good friends but Kestrel bore no grudges.  I like to think his spirit soars to the heavens as that star.'

             
'Then you loved him as I did,' Rosamund said and looked up at him.  'I shall not weep because you must leave me, my love.  Kestrel told me that I must be patient.  He said that our time would come and that when it did it would be our best and our worst of times.'

             
'He told me that I must guard Richard well for one day he might be in danger – and that I should trust my visions.'

             
'Then we must part for the moment and believe in a future when we may be together.'

             
'It will happen.  When Owain goes to his secret places in the mountains I shall come to you,' Morgan promised.  He drew her to him, kissing her softly on the mouth.  'Pray for Kestrel for your good nurse and for me.'

             
Rosamund watched as he went into the chapel where Kestrel's body lay.  He would take his friend's body to its resting-place and she must do the same for Margaret.

*

Morgan had left the horses and litter at the foot of the mountain, carrying the old man's body in his arms to this place.  It was the place where he had always felt closest to the heavens, the place where his vision had come to him.

             
He had remembered the slab of flat rock, which had once been the altar of the old gods.  There was a quietness here, a stillness that was almost churchlike, he thought as he lay his burden down.  Kestrel's body had not yet begun to decay or to smell of death and his expression was so peaceful that he looked as if he might be sleeping.

             
For a moment as he looked down at the old man who had been such a friend to him, he was overcome with grief.  Then he flung back his head and howled like a wounded wolf.

             
'He asks no blessing of you, gods of my ancestors,' he cried aloud in his grief.  'He wants no tears, no regrets.  It is as if he had never lived.  But if he has not lived he can never die.  Give him immortality.  Let his spirit live with you in the world beyond this.  Take him now I beg you, let him not be corrupted by earth's foulness but come again like the eternal spring that brings life to the earth.  Let his body not decay nor return to the dust but let him live forever in your eternity.'

             
The wind was sighing through the mountains and in the wind was the song.  Morgan spread his arms, circling ritually round and round until he was dizzy and fell to the ground.

             
He lay upon the ground all night, waking as the sun touched his face and starting up.  Where was he?  He had dreamed such a dream!  Owain was truly Prince of Wales and the country was theirs.  He had been riding in a great train of men to a celebration and Rosamund was at his side.

             
He got to his feet, stretching as he felt the aching in his limbs from a night spent lying on the hard ground and looked towards the place where Kestrel's body had lain.

             
It had gone!  Morgan rubbed his eyes.  He must be mad!  Had someone taken it while he slept – or wild animals stolen it?

             
'Trust your visions, Morgan.'  He whirled around and for a moment it seemed that Kestrel was there, laughing at him as he had so often in the past, mocking him.  'I shall come when you need me…'

             
'Kestrel!  Come back…'

             
Morgan ran towards the spot where he had seemed to see the old man seconds earlier but found that it was a sheer drop into the ravine below.

             
He was mad!  He would turn and see the body where he had left it.  But the slab was empty, no sign of blood or debris that a wild animal might leave.  It was almost as if it had never happened, as if Kestrel had never existed.

             
'Merlin lives…'

             
He seemed to hear the whisper in the rushing water of the falls as they tumbled over dark grey boulders, down the ravine to join the bubbling stream in the valley below.

             
'Kestrel lives…'

             
In the tales sung and remembered by the bards it was said that Merlin lived on, that he would come again when he was needed.  Could it be that the two were one - or two halves of the same being?  To believe that was to believe in a power beyond the imagining of normal men.

             
Morgan shook his head as he began to laugh aloud, his grief swept away on a tide of joy.

             
'You have won, my good healer,' he cried aloud.  'How can I doubt your magic now?'

             
And in the rushing water, in the wind that sighed over the mountains and the whispering trees, the music and the laughter were as one.

TWELVE

'I am glad to welcome you to Caris, my lord,' Rosamund said and curtsied to Owain.  'I have heard much of you from Morgan.'

             
'And I of you, Lady Rosamund,' Owain replied and smiled.  'But nothing I have heard prepared me for the truth – you are indeed truly beautiful.'

             
Rosamund blushed, shaking her head slightly at the compliment.  It was almost Christmas and Owain had come to Caris to join them for a time.  The winter months had been hard for Owain.  Some of his best men had been captured and forced to make terms for their surrender, and he had for a while negotiated with Hotspur for his own surrender, but as he confided to Morgan later the terms had not been satisfactory.

             
'Hotspur would have offered honourable terms,' Owain said.  'But the King and his council would not listen.  They are determined to make an example of me, and would hang me if they had the chance I dare say.'

             
'You should fight on,' Morgan urged.  'Do not let a few reverses destroy you, Owain.  Keep a stout heart and we shall win through.  I believe there are great victories ahead for you.'

             
'You give me hope, Morgan.  Had the terms been favourable I might have accepted.  Hotspur would have given me back all that was stolen from my family in the distant past besides my own manors – but it is useless to hope for anything from this stubborn king.'

             
'We should have risen for Richard when he begged us to help him,' Morgan said and he was remembering the moment when Richard's mask had slipped revealing the true man.  'I believe we might have come to terms with him.'

             
'There are others with as true a claim to the English throne as Henry,' Owain said and there was a new determination in his voice.  'And I may yet form an alliance with France or Scotland.'

             
'We must not lose hope because things have gone against us,' Morgan said.  'The King's army brought destruction to the abbey at Strata Florida but achieved little other than a petty revenge.  I believe that the tide will turn our way in the spring if we can just hold on.'

             
'Then we shall somehow,' Owain said.  'And now we should join the ladies.  Did I not hear that there is to be a wedding?'

             
'Thomas Bridger and Alicia are to wed,' Morgan said.  'It has taken Thomas a long time to speak his mind but at last they are to become man and wife.'

             
Owain smiled and nodded.  'Have you heard ought of your mother or Morwenna?'

             
'Not since I took Morwenna and the child there,' Morgan said with a frown.  'My mother is ill but strong.  She told me she is not yet ready to die and I know she will fight as long as she can.'

             
'I am sorry that she is so ill,' Owain said.  'You must try to see her again before she dies.'