Morgan the Rogue (42 page)

             
'No, of course he doesn't,' Gwenny said stoutly, though she hardly knew what to think.  Morgan Gruffudd had been unlike himself when he told her to take Morganna and return home.

             
'I cannot take her myself,' he had said, his eyes bleak as they looked at a point somewhere beyond her.  'But I shall send Jack Errin with you.  He will see you safely back to Gruffudd, Gwenny.'

             
'But the child is terribly upset, my lord.  She loved Richard very much.  How shall I explain that she is to go?'

             
'We all loved Richard,' Morgan replied and his face was stony, his eyes dark with the grief of his loss and the pain that he was finding so hard to accept.  'I cannot think of Morganna for the moment.  Tell her I shall come when I can.'

             
It was wrong if they were blaming Morganna for Richard's death.  Gwenny was angry that it should be so.  The boy had been spoiled and headstrong – just like his father – and in her opinion his parents had only themselves to blame for not disciplining him more.

             
'They do blame me,' Morganna said and her tears were inside where no one could see them.  'And it was my fault…'

             
She did not listen as Gwenny tried to comfort her.  Both Lady Rosamund and her father thought she had made Richard go swimming and they hated her – just as her mother had told her they would.

*

'Rosamund, you must try not to weep so much,' Morgan said as he found her lying on her bed two weeks after Richard had been laid to rest.  His hand hovered above her head, but he did not touch her.  'Crying will not bring him back and you have your daughters to think of.  Ellen was upset when I spoke to her earlier, because she said you didn't love her now that Richard is dead.'

             
'Ellen is foolish,' Rosamund said.  She sat up and wiped a hand across her face.  'I have not stopped loving her but…'  She caught back a sob.  'I know you are right, Morgan, but I feel as if the light has gone from our lives.  Richard was so…very alive.  He made everything worthwhile. It seems so quiet without him.  I do not know how I can bear life without him.'

             
'That is foolish talk, my love,' Morgan said.  'I feel the loss as much as you do…'

             
'How can you?' she cried, her eyes wild with grief.  'How can you know what I feel?  I bore him in my womb for nine months and he almost killed me at his birth, but I loved him.  He was a part of me – the best part.  I loved him more than anything…'

             
'And anyone,' Morgan said quietly, sadly.  'I have known that he meant more to you than our other children and more than our love…'

             
'No…'  Rosamund faltered as she saw the expression in his eyes.  How could she explain that Richard was a part of the love she felt for him?  How to explain that their shared love for Richard was what had held them together so steadfastly in these turbulent years, especially since the reverses that Owain's cause had suffered of late had begun to occupy more and more of his thoughts?  How could she tell him that she had felt him slipping away from her these past years, caught up in affairs away from her?  There were no words to say what was in her heart. 'I am only a part of your life.  You have so much more to think of, Morgan.  Richard was here…he was that part of you I could not hold to me…'

             
'My love…'  Morgan sat beside her on the bed, drawing her to him, kissing her brow.  'I do not seek to blame you for loving Richard the most.  I loved him too.  I know I did not carry him within my body, but he was in my heart, and I feel as if it has been torn from my breast.  I can hardly bear to think of him, to remember…'

             
Rosamund clutched at him.  'We must remember for if we do not it will be as if he never lived.'

             
'No, no, we shall not forget the love we bore him,' Morgan said.  'One day we shall be able to remember the happy times…'

             
'They were so short…'  Rosamund's face twisted with pain.  'So brief a time together…'

             
'I do not like to see you like this…'

             
'Because you must go and leave me?' she asked, a note of anger in her voice.  'I have expected it.  You have your duty…you always have your duty.  Go then, leave me.  It makes little difference.  If you stay you cannot give Richard back to me.'

             
'This is not like you…so bitter.'

             
Morgan stared at her, feeling her harsh words strike deep into his heart.  He had sensed that she was shutting him out these past few days; it was as if she wanted to be alone with her grief, to mourn alone.

             
'I had planned to stay another week or so, Rosamund.  There are things I must do but…'

             
'Go,' she said and lay down, turning her face from him.  'Perhaps when you come back I shall feel better.'

             
'If that is what you truly want?'

             
Morgan rose and stood staring down at her as she lay with her back to him.  This was not the first time he had tried to comfort her and been rejected.  She had turned away when they lay side by side at night and he had not dared to make love to her, though he had longed to do so, had needed the comfort of being one with her, sharing their love and their sorrow as they had shared their joys these past years.

             
He had thought she was happy these past years.  Since the taking of Harlech Castle four years earlier they had had much to celebrate.  Life had been easier and they had stayed with Owain and his family, visiting friends, moving from place to place at will.  It was true that from time to time he had had to leave her, but believed she understood the need for what he did.  Wales had been almost theirs but the threat of an English invasion was always present, and of late things had begun to go wrong for them once more.  Gwylim and Rhys ap Tudur had surrendered to the English, losing patience with Owain over some dispute between them.  He had never entirely trusted them since their surrender of Conway in return for favours, but this latest betrayal was undoubtedly a severe blow.  And there were others.  The French had made peace with the English and there was no help forthcoming from Scotland.  They were almost back to where they had been in the winter of 1402.

             
Morgan would have liked to talk to Rosamund, to explain why it was necessary to leave her now at this time, that he feared they were about to lose everything for which they had struggled so long – but he knew she would not listen.  She had closed herself to him, closed herself to the world about her, preferring to dwell in her own little world of grief.

             
He could not blame her for her grief.  His own was sometimes so sharp that he felt he would die of it, and yet he believed that if they could only have talked, come close to each other… but it was not to be.

             
'I shall return as soon as I can,' Morgan told her.  'Forgive me if I have done anything to hurt you, Rosamund.  I love you more than my life.  I have never ceased to think of you and my children, even when I was not here.  I pray that God will give you some comfort for it seems that I cannot.'

             
Rosamund lay with her face pressed into the pillows.  She could not answer him, did not want to answer.  It was too soon, too painful to let love back into her life.  Only by shutting out her feelings could she hold this terrible agony at bay.

*

Leaving the castle later that day, Morgan was still thinking of the woman he loved.  He frowned as he rode, his thoughts as dark as the overcast sky, which seemed to herald a storm.

Rosamund had given him so much, so much happiness and love and he had been able to give her so little.  Since the fall of Harlech to the Welsh, there had been a period when Owain had held his own courts and issued his own decrees.  Morgan had been able to give Rosamund costly presents from the revenues that had been restored to him, and from gifts of money made him by Owain, but though she had never complained or asked for more, he sensed it had not been enough. 

             
Rosamund had been born to riches.  She had lost everything when she chose to leave her husband, and Morgan began to see that the life he had been able to offer was not sufficiently fulfilling for her.  Had she continued as Sir Philip's wife she would have been often at the English court, mixing with other ladies of her own rank, making friends.  It was a very different world to the one she had known of late.  Indeed, with the situation as it was now she would very likely be a prisoner within the walls of Caris again before long.

             
While she was content with his love and their children…but it appeared that in losing Richard she had lost everything.  Morgan felt an overwhelming sadness.  He had wanted to make her happy, to fill her life with joy and it seemed that he had failed. 

             
He thought of Morwenna alone and bitter at Gruffudd Manor, of his daughter Morganna who had lost a friend, and of Rosamund.  At this moment it seemed that he had failed them all.

             
Pray God that he would not fail Owain in the coming struggle!  He feared that all they had gained was gradually slipping away, that the fight they had waged for so long and so hard might in the end prove to have been in vain.

'Did I not tell you how it would be?' Morwenna asked, a sneer of derision on her lips as she looked at her daughter and saw the hurt in her eyes.  'They will hate you now, Morganna, blame you for killing their only son.'

             
She laughed softly, feeling a surge of satisfaction as she realised the grief both Morgan and his woman must be feeling over the loss of their son.  It served them right! She was almost gleeful as she imagined the pain they must have felt watching him die of his fever.

             
'But I did not want Richard to swim in the lake,' Morganna said, eyes bright with tears.  'I told him he ought not to do it…'

             
'Well, 'tis over now,' her mother said harshly, the hatred in her so fierce it was almost a tangible thing.  Those eyes were so like his that sometimes she wanted to punish the girl simply for being Morgan's child.  'I warned you that Morgan Gruffudd would hurt you and now perhaps you will believe me.   You will know that like all men he is not to be trusted.'

             
Morganna turned away, running up the worn stone steps to her chamber, wanting only to hide from her mother's harsh words.  The coldness of the house seemed to seep into her soul, bringing her close to despair.  She had sought comfort but she should have known she would get none from her mother.  It seemed that Morwenna had no pity or kindness left in her.

             
Morganna's hurt was making her eyes sting with the tears she was trying not to shed.  Her father had said he would come to her when he had time.  She must believe that, for if she did not there was nothing left for her to hope for, nothing but the emptiness of her life here.

             
She lay weeping on her bed for some time, and then she felt as if someone were near by – a comforting presence that seemed almost to touch her – but when she looked round there was nothing.

             
Blinking away her tears, Morganna took out the precious journal her father had given her as a birthday gift, smoothing it with reverent fingers.  It was made of the finest vellum bound in soft leather, such a costly gift that Morganna had at first been afraid to touch it, and in it Lady Rosamund had set the letters of the alphabet for her to learn.

             
She had been shocked to discover that Morganna could not even write her own name, setting herself to teach her that at least.  Morganna had learned swiftly for she did not want to be ignorant, though her mother said it was a waste of time to learn to read and write.

             
'I have always made my mark when it was necessary,' she had told Morganna.  'My father did not think it right or proper for me to be taught such things.'

             
But Morganna wanted to learn to read for a special reason.  Gwenny had taught her some of her recipes for making simples and ointments, and she had spoken of books where the learning of wise men was set down to explain these mysteries.  Morganna's need to know more of such things meant that somehow she must learn first to read, and then where she could buy such books.  Richard had died because no one knew how to make him better – if she had known these things he might have lived.  She would learn what she needed to somehow and then perhaps she might be able to save others from a death such as his.

             
She lifted her head as the idea came to her.  She would write down everything she learned in her journal, and one day she might be able to help others.  It would give her life some meaning and some purpose.