Morgan the Rogue (41 page)

             
Rosamund did not think she could bear it if they were forced to remain shut up within the castle for long months and years.  Why could it not all end peacefully?  If only Owain would come to terms with the English, but it seemed that it was a case of stubborn men against stubborn men, neither side willing to give the concessions that were needed.

             
Richard was coughing again.  She noticed that he had red cheeks and was suddenly alarmed.  Could he have caught a chill in the icy waters of the lake?  It had been a warm day, and yet the lake was so very cold, fed by streams from the mountains.

             
'Are you ill, Richard?'

             
'No, of course not, Mother.  It is just a little cough.  I am perfectly well, thank you.'

             
Rosamund put a hand to his forehead.  It felt warm but not hot, and Morgan had told her not to worry about their son so much.  It was foolish of her, she knew, but he meant so much to her, and she could not quite forget Kestrel's warning just after he had been born.

             
But that was some years ago now and the memory of the healer had grown fainter with the years.  She had not seen or heard him again since the time he had come to comfort her, and she did not think that Morgan had either, though she knew he sometimes tried to summon Kestrel.

             
'Go away and play,' Rosamund said, smiling at the two downcast children.  'But do try not to get into mischief.'

*

Morganna was distraught.  Richard was so terribly ill and she knew that Lady Rosamund blamed her for letting him swim in the lake.  She had told Morganna to go away when she tried to visit Richard in his chamber earlier, and that could only mean that she hated her for making Richard ill.

             
Morganna knew all about hate.  Her mother hated her father.  She had told Morganna that he was cruel and thoughtless and that one day he would desert her as he had Morwenna.

             
'For the moment it pleases him to visit and take you to stay with his woman,' Morwenna had told her bitterly when her father had come to fetch her for this visit.  'But one day he will tire of you and then he will forget you.'

             
Morganna did not want to believe her mother, but sometimes she could not help wondering why her father had so seldom come to see her over the years.  If he loved her as much as he loved his other family he would visit her more – wouldn't he?  And yet he was not always at Caris either.  Lady Rosamund said that he had work to do for Owain, and that he could not give any of them as much time as he would like.

             
Gwenny had told her much the same, reminding her of the gold cross that he had given her when she was small, and he had brought her here to stay at Caris twice, and once she had gone to Harlech Castle with him, riding in a great procession to a big celebration.  She thought Owain Glyn Dwr might have been there too, but she had been too young to really understand what was going on and she did not remember seeing her hero at that time.

             
'What are you doing here, sweeting?' Gwenny asked as she came into the tiny chamber they shared with an armful of clean linen.  'You should be out in the sunshine playing or sitting with your sisters and practising your embroidery.'

             
'They do not like me,' Morganna said, her eyes wide and filled with unshed tears as she looked up.  'And they are so young and foolish.  I want to be with Richard but Lady Rosamund will not let me near him.'

             
'That is because he is so very ill,' Gwenny said and looked at her sadly as she saw how her words had affected the child who was her darling.  She did not like to see her looking so distressed, her soft mouth trembling as she fought her tears.  'No, no, do not blame yourself, my lovely.  It was not your fault that Master Richard swam in the lake.'

             
Morganna gave a little sob of despair.  'Lady Rosamund blames me, I know she does.  That's why she won't let me see him.'

             
'No, of course it isn't,' Gwenny said and shook her head, her chins wobbling as she clucked over her chick.  'We are not sure what has caused his fever.  It may be contagious and Lady Rosamund would not want you to take it from him.'

             
'What does that word mean?' Morganna asked.

             
'I wasn't sure myself when Lady Rosamund told me,' Gwenny said.  'But it means you might take the fever from him; she does not want that to happen and nor should I.  You must be patient and wait until he is better, Morganna.'

             
'Will he get better?'  Morganna looked at her anxiously as she voiced the fear that had been nagging at her all day.  'He won't die, will he, Gwenny?'

             
'No, of course he won't,' Gwenny assured her though she wasn't so sure of that herself.  Richard had taken a putrid fever and many children died of such illnesses, as many dying in infancy as lived to adulthood.  In the houses of the poor the death of a child was accepted as a fact of life, but Lady Rosamund had only one son and she guarded him jealously, loving him perhaps too well.  'Now, away with you and play outside in the fresh air for a while.  I'll tell you as soon as I hear any news.'

*

Rosamund pressed a hand to her son's feverish brow.  He was burning up and there was nothing she could do to stop it.  She had sponged him with cool water and given him all the cures she knew how to make and nothing had worked.  He was so much worse now than he had been at the start and she was frightened.  He was so very ill!

             
'Mumma…'  The word he had used as a baby struck terror into her heart.  In his right senses Richard would never call her that.  He was wandering in his mind as she bent over him, smoothing his heated brow and whispering words of love.  'Want…Father…'

             
'We have sent for your father,' Rosamund told him and kissed his brow.  'Rest easy, my darling.  Mumma is here with you.  I love you and I shall take care of you.  Your father will come as soon as he can I promise.'

             
Richard's feverish whimpering brought tears to her eyes.  She was so afraid of losing him.  She had two daughters of her own and she was fond of Morganna, but Richard was her pride and joy.  If he should die… but she would not let herself think of that.  It was too painful, too hurtful to imagine life without her son.

             
If only Kestrel were here!  If that wicked Rhys Llewelyn had not murdered her poor Margaret and the healer, they would have known how to cure her son.  If only Morgan had done as Kestrel had begged him…if he had never brought that evil man into their midst…if Richard had not gone swimming with Morganna.

             
The thoughts went round and round in Rosamund's mind as she sat by her son's side hour after hour, watching his desperate struggle for life.  She knew it was unfair to think such things or to apportion blame to anyone, but she could not help herself.  Her fear was growing with every second that passed as she watched him growing weaker, losing the struggle.

*

Morganna stared at Gwenny in disbelief, her chest so tight with the hurt of what she had just been told that she could not breathe.  She had this moment risen from her bed and was dressed only in her shift, her feet bare, hair hanging wildly down her back in a tangle of black curls. It could not be true!  They had told her Richard would get better and they hadn't let her go to see him.  If they had she might have been able to save him.  Surely there was something that someone could have done!  How could they have let him die?  Richard was so strong, so bold and full of life; it was impossible that he should die!

             
'You said he would get better – that it was just a little fever…' she cried accusingly as the hysteria gripped her.  She could feel the screams building inside her as she denied what she knew was truth. 'You lied to me…'

             
'Ah no, my lovely,' Gwenny said, catching at her as she started to sob and shake with the force of her distress.  'It wasn't a lie.  We all thought…hoped he would take a turn for the better, but it wasn't to be.  I'm so sorry, Morganna.  I know you loved him.'

             
'He was my friend,' Morganna said gazing up at her.  'My only friend.  He mustn't die…'

             
Her eyes were filled with tears, her mouth wobbling as she fought to cope with her distress and failed.  How could Richard die?  He had been so strong, so full of life – so brave!  It hurt so much that she could not bear it.  She had to see him.  They were hateful to keep her away from the brother she loved.

             
'I'm going to see him.  I'll make him better…'  She was wild in her grief, refusing to believe that it was too late.  They were wrong, Richard wasn't dead, he couldn't be.

             
'No, Morganna!' 

Gwenny tried to catch her but she dodged the woman's arms and ducked under, running out of the chamber, hurtling down the worn stone steps and through the castle yard on bare feet until she came to the tower that housed Richard and his mother.  Her chest hurt from running so hard, but she did not stop until she reached the chamber that she knew was Richard's, and burst inside, her chest heaving as she tried to get her breath.

Lady Rosamund was kneeling on the stone floor beside her son's bed, her head bent in prayer.  On the bed Richard lay with his eyes closed, his hands crossed over his chest, face white as the sheet they had wrapped him in.  He looked like an effigy in the chapel, like some young lordling of times gone by carved in stone.

'Wake up, Richard!'  Morganna went to the bed and began to shake him, feeling that if she could just provoke him enough he would open his eyes and mock her in his old way.  'Stop pretending to be asleep.  I know you're not.  I know you're just pretending…'

'What are you doing?' Lady Rosamund cried and Morganna felt her shoulders grasped painfully as she was dragged away from the bed.  'What are you doing, you wicked girl?'

             
Morganna was shocked by the sharpness of her tone.  Lady Rosamund never spoke to anyone like that.  She looked up at her, seeing her anger and her terrible grief.  The expression in her eyes seemed to accuse and Morganna felt its sting bite into her.

             
'I want him to wake up.  He mustn't be dead.  I love him…I love him so…'

             
'Oh, Morganna…'  Rosamund's tears began to flow again.  She shook her head, turning aside to cover her face with her hands.  'You foolish, foolish child.  Richard can't wake up ever again…'

             
'Why?  He mustn't be dead…I don't want him to be dead.  I love him…he has to wake up.'

             
'Go away,' Rosamund said wearily, feeling that she could not bear to see Morganna's grief.  Her own was too heavy for her to bear.  'Go away and ask Gwenny to explain.  I cannot have you near.  I want to be alone with my son.'

             
For a moment Morganna stared at her, the hurt and bewilderment churning inside her and then she turned away.  Lady Rosamund didn't like her anymore.  She was sending her away because she blamed her for what had happened to Richard.  She ran back down the stairs and into the courtyard, past all the sombre men who were mourning for their lady's loss and over the drawbridge, her feet bare on the dewy grass as she headed for the forest.

             
She would go to the lake and perhaps there it would all come right again, she would wake from a dream and find that Richard was with her…laughing at her…

*

'But why are we to go home?' Morganna asked as Gwenny told her to help pack her things into the wooden trunks with their heavy iron locks.  'I was to have stayed here for another month.  Father said so…he was going to take me home himself.'  The knot of misery inside her was growing daily.  Her half-sisters would hardly speak to her.  She knew they blamed her for Richard's death, because they had told her so.  Little Anne was hardly big enough to understand, but she believed everything that Ellen told her and Ellen was jealous of Morganna.

             
'It was your fault Richard disobeyed Mother and went swimming,' she had told Morganna, her mouth sour with her dislike.  'We don't want you here anymore.  I heard Mother telling Father that it was best you go, and I am glad for I have never liked you.  You do not belong here with us.'

             
'This is a house of mourning,' Gwenny said, answering her question as best she could.  'Your father and Lady Rosamund are beside themselves with grief.  They haven't got time to worry about you, my lovely.  Your father said that he could not leave Lady Rosamund at this time but would come to visit you at home as soon as he could.'

             
'But he hasn't seen me at all,' Morganna said, the pain twisting inside her.  Outside the sun was shining but in this house it was winter and she felt its bitter chill strike deep into her heart. 'Does he blame me?  Does he think it's my fault Richard died?'