MORGAN THE ROGUE

LYNN GRANVILLE

First published as Song of the Mountains by Eternal Press.  All rights returned to author.  Now published by Linda Sole Publications.

The picture licence is purchased from Dreamstime stock photos and is representative of the kind of castle the characters would have lived in.

The copyright for the manuscript belongs to Linda Sole.  This book may not be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author and publisher.

The characters are fictional and bear no resemblance to anyone – other than where historical characters have been used for reference and accuracy.

PART ONE

1399

MORWENNA

ONE

The sun had risen over the Black Mountains these three hours or more, sweeping through the valley, reaching the gloomy old manor house built of stone into the ridge at the far end, but scarcely penetrating its thick walls.  The house was always cold, had been cold ever since she was brought here as a bride, Maire, lady of Gruffudd thought, shivering and pulling her shawl about her shoulders.

She was thin and beginning to stoop a little, though she had not yet passed her thirty-fourth summer.  She had been fourteen when she was wed to Dafydd Gruffudd, fifteen when her son was born – the only son to survive though she had borne three more and a daughter, all dying in infancy.  In the end her husband had named her a barren cow and sought his pleasures elsewhere.

Walking into her son's bedchamber, Maire's nose wrinkled in disgust.  The stench of sweat, stale urine and ale made the air thick in this tiny cell, which was separated from the Great Hall by a curtain of leather.  She looked down at the man snoring on his straw pallet for a moment before taking the pitcher she had brought with her and dashing icy water into his face.

The effect was instantaneous.  He spluttered and jerked, starting up with an oath as his hand went instinctively to the sword lying on the floor by his side.  Anger sparked in the bright blue eyes as he saw the reason for his rude awakening.

'In God's name, Mother!  Why did you do that?'

'The day is wasting while you snore abed, Morgan Gruffudd.  'Tis time you rose.  Besides, there's a messenger come from Owain Glyn Dwr himself.  Will you show discourtesy to Owain?'

'Owain has sent a messenger to me?'  The expression in Morgan's eyes were suddenly wary, suspicious.  'Why should he bother after all this time?'

They had expected to hear something from Maire's kinsman after the death of Dafydd Gruffudd.  The two men had not been exactly enemies, but it was accepted within the family that they had had no love for each other.  Had it been otherwise, Morgan might have been sent into the lord of Glyndyfrdwy's service long ago.  He was now almost nineteen years of age and, apart from trips into the mountains and forests that bounded his home, had to his mother's knowledge, never been further than Tintern Abbey, Chepstow or to the Eisteddfod with his father.  They  had both hoped for a summons after Dafydd died but the word had not come in two long years.  Two years that Morgan had subsequently spent drinking, fighting and whoring in the neighbouring valleys with his friends.

'How should I know why he sends his messenger?' Maire asked, though she was well aware that Owain Glyn Dwr's man had come in response to her plea for help.  She had despaired of her son, known throughout the lordship of the Brecon as Morgan the Rogue, realising that she had no hope of curbing his wild ways.  The small manor was falling into ruin through neglect, Morgan promising always to do whatever she asked the next day and doing nothing.  If as she hoped her kinsman had exercised his rights to take Morgan into his service, the care of the manor would be left in Maire's capable hands.  The land in this southern valley was fertile and sweet; left to her management it would yield a good living for Maire and her dependants. 'I suggest that you make yourself decent and discover his purpose for yourself.'

Morgan had risen from his bed.  Despite his indolence of late he was a fine figure of a man, over six feet in height and broad in the shoulder with strong, muscled thighs and a mane of dark hair about his face, his chin dark for want of a shave this past week. A week that Maire suspected he had spent in the bed of some whore.

'If Glyn Dwr has sent a messenger to me I'd best not keep him waiting.'

'You'll not go like that?'  Maire pulled a face.  'He'll think you a barbarian!'

'Would you have me dress like an English jay, Mother?'  Morgan scowled at her.  'You must know that 'tis said across the border that all Welshmen are barbarians.  Why should I be different?'

'You could at least put on a clean tunic and hose.'

Maire shook her head as Morgan ignored her and walked into the hall, scratching beneath his armpits.  Her son's habits did not come from her, for she was a clean, industrious woman and had done her best to raise Morgan as a good Christian.  There were many in the valleys to listen to the bards sing of the old mythology, but Maire was not one of them.

She had been brought up at the edge of the Marches close by the border with England; her family had connections in Hereford, her own mother an Englishwoman, her father in the service of one of the hereditary Marcher lords.  She had regularly attended mass in the church on her father's manor, and when she married Dafydd Gruffudd had believed him a good Christian.

Dafydd had disappointed her in many ways.  He seldom attended mass, was surly and careless in his habits, and very soon caused his wife to wish that her father had chosen the English baron who had offered for her, even though he was older and not as handsome as Dafydd had been as a young man.  Her husband's sudden death of a virulent fever had been a release for Maire, though she had had the physician to him despite his angry dismissal of such men as charlatans, and she had nursed him until the end, as a good wife should.  She had not loved him and her grief at his passing had been brief.

However, her love for Morgan had survived despite his wild ways.  It was mainly for his sake that she had sent to Owain Glyn Dwr.  Maire suspected that boredom had driven her son to drink.  His salvation lay in service to his kinsman.  She prayed that Morgan's cousin would find some use for her son, otherwise she saw no hope for his future.

Maire could not know that Morgan's thoughts were much as her own.  Morgan hated the idleness of his life, enforced on him in the first months after Dafydd's death for want of the means to leave this place and strike out for himself.  He had no love for the husbandry of land and had left the care of it to servants. They in their turn neglected their work through a lack of respect for the young master who they believed spent his time drinking and fighting.

That his life had turned out as it had was the fault of the system imposed on the Welsh by their English masters, for a young man in Morgan's position could rise only in the service of an overlord.  There were many amongst the Welsh burgess who were happy to do just that, finding fulfilment and wealth by serving the lords who seldom came to inspect their estates in Wales.  Morgan Gruffudd was not willing to subdue his hatred and resentment of the English sufficiently to accept such servitude, preferring to stay brooding on his own small manor rather than seek out a position in the household of a rich English lord.

His restless spirit needed an outlet, and he lived only to strike a blow for freedom and for Wales, but balked of any chance to fight the cause he championed, he chose to use his time in other ways, some of which were brawling and drinking with his friends. There were other aspects of Morgan's life that he kept secret from all but a few, but his mother was not aware of them.  It was better that way.

'You have come from Owain Glyn Dwr?' he asked of the servant awaiting him in the dark, echoing chamber of the hall.  'What message do you bring?'

'The lord of Glyndyfrdwy asks that you attend him with all speed at his manor.  I have come to guide you through the mountains, for it is my master's wish that you come to him without delay.'

Morgan grinned, his heart lifting.  He wanted to shout his triumph aloud, the shadows and doubts of the past months sloughing off him like a discarded skin.  Now at last the summons had come and perhaps Glyn Dwr would find a good use for him, against the English if his hopes proved true and the rumours that had reached him were not false.

Morgan was not quite the drunken lout his mother believed him, though it suited him to be thought a useless fool.  It would not do for others to learn of his trips into the mountains, of the meetings he attended there – of the sedition and treason spoken amongst men of like mind.  He was not the only young Welshman to feel resentful of the English yoke, or to believe that the time for rebellion had come.

*

Morwenna, daughter of Hywell Gethin, stopped outside the door of her kinsman's private chamber and listened to what the two men inside were saying.  She had suspected that her father had some plan afoot when he brought her to Glyndyfrdwy, the home of Owain Glyn Dwr.

''Tis a bold plan, Owain,' her father was saying.  'You know that I shall support you whatever you decide.  With God's good grace and your right as the true line from Powys and Deheubarth, we may unite Wales, as it has not been since the time of the great Llywelyn.'

'Your words please me, Hywell.  Be sure that I shall not forget those who support me in this venture.'

'Merlin's prophecy says that one day the people of Wales shall rise up and take back what those accursed English have stolen from us.  It is sung of by poets and bards, and I have always believed that in the end we shall triumph.'

'Since Owain of Wales was foully slain I am the true prince,' Owain Glyn Dwr said in a solemn tone.  'I believe it is my duty to stand up for the rights the English have so long denied us.  King Richard's intent was to hold all the lordships of Wales for himself or his friends, disinheriting the lords who have held them for years past, but with Henry of Bolingbroke's return from banishment there will be rebellion, both in Wales and in England itself.  The King may be defeated, his realm in turmoil.  Then shall come our chance to strike.  Until then we shall watch and wait.  You are sworn to keep secret these words, Hywell Gethin.  I must be careful as I gather my friends about me, for there are those even amongst our Welsh brothers who would betray us.'

'Those who would sell their souls to the English are no brothers of mine!'  Hywell said harshly.  'And now I would talk of that other matter…'

'Your daughter Morwenna.  She is almost fifteen now and you think of a marriage for her?'

'I have been asked for her in marriage by Dafydd ap Gwilym, steward in the household of the lordship of Mortimer, but I have refused my permission.  There has been too much change, too much unrest of late.  I would prefer my only daughter to marry into your household Glyn Dwr – then she cannot be used against us in the future.'

'In times like these thought should be given to any alliance,' Owain replied.  'We must make sure that we gain allies and a marriage is a good way of bringing about such ties.  I have plans for my own children.  But you will let me think on this, Hywell.  I have something in my mind that may serve both our purposes.'

Morwenna waited with bated breath for her kinsman to go on.  She wanted to know the name of the man to whom she was to be given, but she was disappointed.  The subject had been changed once more; the men were now talking of King Richard 11 and his efforts to raise support against Henry of Bolingbroke, who had roused his followers and was marching against the king.

Turning away from the small chamber where her father and Owain Glyn Dwr were talking privately, Morwenna found her way through the house to the gardens outside.  It was a house of goodly proportions and clearly the property of a man of some substance, though not as splendid as Glyn Dwr's moated manor house at Sycharth.  She had spent two pleasant weeks there the previous winter and knew it to be a comfortable house with a solid tiled roof and a chimney that miraculously did not smoke!  As at her father's house, there was a fishpond, an orchard and a dovecote, but there the similarity ended.  Her father's manor was small compared to either of Owain's estates, with far less land and revenues.

Morwenna wandered on in the warmth of the sunshine lost in thought, away from the house through the bustling courtyard where men worked at various trades or practised their skills in hand to hand fighting, through the orchard and the meadow.  She turned away from the threatening menace of the forest, where the wolves had once hunted in ravenous packs and the polecats still lurked, towards the river. Here the mountains loomed huge; their peaks a dark blue as they seemed to touch the sky and disappear into the clouds, and yet the sun had found its way through a sweet vale, dipping into the waters of the Dee and making it sparkle as it burbled and sang through deep banks.

Finding a dry spot on the bank, she sat down and bent over the water, scooping a little in her hand to drink; it tasted cool and crisp on her tongue and she splashed a few drops on her face and neck, wetting her wimple.  She removed it, revealing the dark gold of her heavy plaits that were bound about her head like a coronet.  She was wearing a surcoat of blue over a simple yellow tunic, her shoes of soft leather having pointed toes.  She was, though she was yet unaware of it, a pretty girl with the potential for great beauty.  She leaned back on her elbows, letting her head tip back as she sung softly to herself the songs she had heard at the Eisteddfod with her father, but was suddenly woken from her reverie by the sound of splashing and loud voices calling to one another.

Seeking out the source of the noise, which seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of her idyll, she saw that two young men had dived into the river from the opposite bank.  A third man stood on the bank waiting for them and keeping watching over their horses.  She thought from his dress that he was a servant, but could not tell his identity or that of the men in the water.

But they were swimming towards her, racing each other and calling out excitedly in the way young men will, reminding Morwenna of her young brothers who sometimes swam in the lake near her home at Bala.  As they came nearer, she saw that their shoulders were naked and realised they must have removed much of their clothing before plunging into the water.  One of them had reached the bank a short distance from where she was sitting.  He had not seen her because of the reed bed that partially obscured her and them.

She had a clear view of the man, who hauled himself from the river and stood shaking his long hair like a hound, the droplets sparkling in the sunshine as they flew around him.  He was completely naked, his strong, muscled body open to her curious gaze as he stood laughing at his friend, clearly unashamed of his unclothed state and pleased to have won his race.

He was beautiful!  Morwenna drank in the sight of his power and grace, the colour of his skin seeming to indicate that this was not the first time it had been exposed to the elements, gleaming wetly like pale copper in the sun's rays.  She could not draw her eyes away for she had never seen a man thus, nor such a well formed man at any time.  And then his friend shouted a warning, pointing in her direction from where he trod water in mid river, and the young god on the bank turned his head to look at her.

Colour flooded Morwenna's cheeks as she realised that she had been caught staring at him.  For a moment he seemed startled, then he threw back his head and laughed, turning deliberately so that now she saw him from the front and became aware of his maleness.  Where before she had seen him as something distant and strangely beautiful like some mythical figure of ancient lore, now she became very much aware of him as a man.  Fear and shame swept over her in a great wave, and jumping to her feet she snatched up her wimple, fleeing up the bank towards the path that led towards the meadow and her kinsman's house.

His laughter echoed behind her adding to her confusion and distress.  What had she been thinking of?  She ought to have turned her eyes away, to have made her presence known sooner, before he came out of the water, or left immediately she heard them.  Her behaviour had been immodest!  He would think her a wanton.

Her cheeks were hot and she was ashamed of herself.  She ought never to have stared at him in that brazen way!  Yet his body had been beautiful and had fascinated her, for she had never seen a naked man before, though she had occasionally helped Gwenny to bathe her brothers.  They were but boys of five and seven years of age, and Morwenna had stood in some part as a mother to them after Maud Gethin died of birthing fever.  Her fourth child had died with her and was buried in the churchyard at Gethin.  As yet Hywell Gethin had not taken another woman to wife.

Morwenna's mother had brought the small manor at Oswestry to her husband on her marriage.  It had revenues of no more than ten gold nobles a year and was too close to the English borders to please her father.  He had never spent much time there and Morwenna had been told that it was to be her marriage portion.  The manors at Bala and Gethin were far more important and would pass to Dafydd and Gwilym on their father's death.

Morwenna's confusion gradually calmed as she felt safer on her kinsman's land.  The stranger would not follow her here, nor was she likely to see him again.  She did not think him one of Glyn Dwr's men, for there had been a wild bold look about him that would have made her notice him before this had she seen him about the house or lands.

She began to smile as she recalled the incident with a cooler mind.  It was not so very terrible after all – and he had been beautiful.  She hoped that the man her father chose for her would be young and handsome.  The steward who had offered for her was a man of her father's age, but soft in the service of his lord with a great belly that shook when he laughed.  Morwenna had been pleased when her father refused him.

Escaping to the tiny room in the tower that had been provided for her use, Morwenna discovered Gwenny there shaking out her second-best gown.  She looked up as the girl entered and smiled, then shook her head as she saw the discarded wimple clutched carelessly in her hand.

'Your poor mother would turn in her grave,' she muttered darkly.  'What were you thinking of, sweeting?  Your hair has shaken free of its pins.  Such a state to be in!  And the lord of Glyndyfrdwy asking for you half an hour gone.  Where have you been?'

'I went for a walk to the river.  It was pleasant there in the sun.  I took my wimple off because it was so warm.'

'Well, now you must put it on again, but first let me tidy your hair – and you should put on this clean gown.  The tunic you are wearing has become stained; it has mud on the hem.  It must have been muddy by the river.'

'Mayhap.  I did not notice.'

Morwenna turned a deaf ear to the old woman's scolding.  Gwenny had been Maud Gethin's nurse, coming with her from her home in the Marches.  Maud's grandmother had been an Englishwoman, something Hywell had resented.  He had no love of the English, though he had loved his beautiful wife.

Dressed in her second- best gown of white with a girdle of gold threads and hanging sleeves embroidered with gold beads, Morwenna went back down the spiral stone steps to the hall below.  Her father and Owain Glyn Dwr were standing together by the raised dais at the far end, and as she hesitated to approach, her father called to her.

'Come, Morwenna, there is no need to be shy.  Glyn Dwr is waiting.'

Morwenna felt the eyes of her kinsman on her as she walked slowly, gracefully, towards them, making a small but reverent curtsey as she had been taught.  She smiled shyly at him as his eyes continued to study her before giving a nod of approval.

'You have reason to be proud of your daughter, Hywell,' he said in his deep, pleasant voice.  He was a bearded man dressed in a long tunic similar to that her father wore but edged with heavy braid.  At his waist he wore a belt and sheath of tooled leather, the handle of the dagger of carved bronze, but there was little else to show that he was possibly the wealthiest man in Wales.  At least, the wealthiest Welshman in Wales, Morwenna corrected her thoughts.  There were many English lords with vast revenues from Welsh estates – lands that brought in perhaps as much as three thousand gold nobles or more a year.  These lands had been stolen long ago from their rightful owners and were a cause of festering resentment in the minds of those who believed themselves dispossessed.  'You are comely, my lady.  Your husband will be a fortunate man.'

'Am I to be married soon, my lord?'  As a child Morwenna had called her kinsman Owain but she thought it might seem impertinent now that he was the true prince of Wales – at least he would be once his claim had been established.

'The matter is under discussion,' her father told her with a slight frown.  The wench was perhaps over bold for want of a mother's care, and he knew he had spoiled her for she reminded him of the woman he had loved too well.  'I have asked Owain to arrange it and this he will do in the fullness of time.'

'Morwenna is impatient to know her fate,' Owain said and smiled.  'We must forgive her.  Nothing is certain yet but I believe I shall know soon.  I have sent word to…' He was interrupted by his steward who came hurrying up to him, whispering something close to his ear.  'Ah, that is good news, Iolo.  I thank you.  Pray tell Morgan Gruffudd that I will speak to him privately and take him to my chamber.'

'There is another young man with him – one Rhys Llewelyn of Powys.  He is a second cousin of Morgan Gruffudd on his father's side and has come to offer his services to you, my lord.

'Then I shall see them together.  Pray take them to my chamber and stay with them until I come.'  Owain frowned as his steward departed, then turned to Morwenna's father.  'A small matter I must attend without delay.  I believe I may have news for you soon, Hywell.'

He inclined his head to Morwenna and followed in the wake of his steward.  Hywell looked at his daughter, eyes narrowed in thought.

'You must not plague Owain, girl.  The details of your marriage are of slight importance and he has weightier matters on his mind.'

'Yes, Father.'  Morwenna gave him a dutiful look, knowing that he had gone to considerable trouble already on her behalf.  'I am grateful that the lord Glyn Dwr has agreed to give my marriage some thought.'

Her father gave her a suspicious glance, for she was not normally so meek.  'You have not been listening at doors, daughter?'

'No, Father,' she denied, a faint flush in her cheeks.  'At least, I heard very little for I turned away almost at once.'

'Whatever you have heard is secret.  Do you understand me, Morwenna?'

'Yes, Father.  I would never do anything to injure Owain.  You must know that?'

'Yes, I do,' he agreed.  'But a still tongue keeps a wise head in such times.'

'I shall not forget.'

'Go away and amuse yourself with your needlework,' Hywell told her gruffly.  'We shall not sup for some hours yet and I shall come for you myself when the hour is nigh.  If there are strangers here it is best that you remain in your chamber until then.'

Morwenna bent her head in submission.  She disliked being ordered to remain in her chamber, which, though well appointed with colourful hangings and everything needed for her comfort, was small, round and airless with no more than an arrow slit for a window.  There was surely no harm in her walking in the gardens alone?  And yet her father was looking stern and though usually indulgent towards her, he could also show anger.  This time she judged it wise to obey without argument.

As she walked towards the spiral staircase leading to her solar, she heard the sound of a man's laughter and halted, her foot on the bottom step.  Even as she hesitated three men emerged from her kinsman's private chamber.  One of them was Owain himself, the other two strangers.  Yet she had recognised one of them instantly.  It was the man she had seen naked on the banks of the River Dee an hour or so earlier.

Pray God he would not recognise her!  Morwenna ducked her head, her cheeks scarlet as she hurried up the stone steps to her chamber, anxious now to hide herself away.  How unfortunate that the man should have come here!  Yet she ought to have guessed that travellers might be heading towards the manor of Owain Glyn Dwr for it was the only house of note in the area.

Hospitality was always offered to travellers if they came in peace and friendship.  Wales was a land of dark forests and treacherous mountains that made travelling difficult for anyone unused to the terrain, but a warm welcome was usually to be found in the castles built in the Marches and elsewhere by the Norman overlords.  Owain Glyn Dwr's house was not a castle but it was still a large and comfortable manor.  Where else would strangers find a bed for the night?

Morwenna wished desperately that she had never walked to the river that morning.  If her father learned that she had been so brazen as to stare at a naked man…a shiver ran through her as she imagined his anger.

She could only pray that the stranger did not know her.

*

'Who was that young woman?' Morgan asked of his mother's kinsman.  He had caught sight of Morwenna's flushed face before she fled to safety, sensing her embarrassment.  'Your daughter, mayhap?'

'My daughter is at Sycharth,' Owain replied, eyes narrowed as he looked at the younger man.  'The girl is the daughter of a distant cousin of mine.  Hywell Gethin of Bala.  Why do you ask?'

'No particular reason,' Morgan lied smoothly.  It would do no good to tell tales of the girl and might bring her harm.  'She hath a sweet face, no more.'

'Morwenna's mother was a beauty.  I believe the girl will be the same in a few years.  Her father came to me in the matter of her marriage.  He wants to wed her to someone within my household if it can be arranged.  She has a small estate at Oswestry as her dower.  It came to Hywell through his wife and he does not care to live there.'

Morgan nodded, made thoughtful by a certain look in the other man's eyes.  Was this the reason he had been summoned?  He hoped not, for though the girl was comely he had expected more.  A small manor so close to the English border would not satisfy his needs or ambitions.  However, his fears were put to rest in the next moment for Owain was speaking again.

'I am always glad of another sword arm,' he told Rhys Llewelyn.  'If you wish for service here, sir, I shall put you under the guidance of my best captain.  You will be trained with my men-at-arms and must swear fealty to my service and my cause.'

'I accept gladly, my lord,' Rhys grinned at Morgan.  'It was I who insisted that my cousin let me travel with him, for I am but a third son and my father has little need of me at home.  When his estate is divided between us there will be hardly enough for a man to exist, and I must win myself a living elsewhere.'

'Then make yourself free of my estate,' Owain told him.  'Go now with my steward Iolo and he will give you food and show you where you may rest.  I would speak to Morgan alone for a little, but he will join you shortly.'

'Thank you, my lord,' Rhys inclined his head and went off to follow in the wake of the steward.

'That was generous of you, Owain,' Morgan said as he looked at the older man.  'When I told Rhys I was coming here he begged me to let him accompany me and place his services at your command.  Mayhap I should have refused and sent for him later if you agreed - but we have been good friends.'

'Can you trust him?' Owain asked, eyes narrowed, intent.  'I need all the men I can gather about me, but I must be able to trust them.'

'He has never let me down,' Morgan said.  'If I thought he would betray you, my lord, I would slit his throat myself.'

Owain nodded, a wintry smile on his lips.  'Brave words, Morgan.  If you always remember that your first duty is to me then we shall deal well together.  I sent for you because I have work for you, not because your mother begged me to help you.  If you would earn your place in my household you must show yourself willing to serve in whatever way I ask of you.'

'I swear that on all I hold dear, my lord!'

'According to Maire that is not much,' Owain said wryly.  'But I have heard other things of you, things that please me more, and I believe you may do me a service that may not be done by another.'

Morgan was intrigued.  'Anything you ask – my life if you require it.'

'It might be that your life became forfeit if the true purpose of your mission was known,' Owain said grimly.  'I have kept your friend here, Morgan, but to serve me you must leave me for a while.'

'Leave you – I do not understand?'

'Listen well, Morgan, for I shall tell you of things you must swear to keep secret even if they try to tear the heart from your body.'

'I so swear, my lord.  I shall die before I betray you – but I have heard whispers of your plans in the mountains.  The songs of the secret places tell many stories that make me long to prove myself in your service.'

Owain nodded, brow furrowed in thought.  'The mountains whisper of many things.  They whisper to me that Morgan Gruffudd is no friend to the English.  They whisper of Welsh gold that goes astray on its journey to English lords and finds its way into the coffers of Welsh churches to pay for the relief of the poor…'

Morgan's teeth gleamed white as he grinned his appreciation of Owain's choice of words.  'As you say, my lord, the mountains whisper of many things but it is best not to believe all they say – or wiser to ignore the words of the bards, for truth to tell they sometimes say too much.'

'Wiser perhaps,' Owain replied.  'But a man who has the slyness of a fox could be of much use to me.  There is talk of rebellion; you may have heard that Henry of Bolingbroke has roused his followers to rebel against Richard?'  Morgan nodded but said nothing.  'There will be bloody war between Richard and Henry.  It matters not which of them wins; we must be prepared to take our chance when the moment is right.  For the time being I need a man…young, charming of manner and bold…a man who may travel wherever he pleases for no other reason than his own pleasure.  A man whose mother has despaired of him, and whose kinsman sent him out to earn his living unaided.  A man who could gather information and bring it back to me…'

'Where must this man travel, my lord?'

'To Shrewsbury and the length of the Marches, even to Chester or London if need be,' Owain replied.  'I need to learn the mood of the English.  Will they accept Henry as their king with open arms, or are there some who might become a thorn in his side?   We could not hope to drive out the English entirely alone.  We shall need to make alliances and I would learn what I can of those who might take our side once the fight begins.  For that I need someone with a steady head and a brave heart. Here in Wales I have other spies who may bring me news of the feeling in Wales, but already I believe that the time that is sung of in the mountains is near.'

'It is what I have heard,' Morgan said, a gleam of excitement in his brilliant blue eyes.  'And if this man could sing songs that might please the English, might he not earn a few coins along his way – a reason to travel where the fancy took him?'

'I have heard that you have a pleasant singing voice, Morgan.'

'It is said by some that I might follow the paths taken by Iolo Goch and Dafydd ap Gwilym if I so chose,' Morgan said, his eyes dancing with mischief now.  'Cast out by my family, who knows what I might do in the next few months?'

'I see we understand each other,' Owain replied and smiled.  'I believe we shall deal well together – and now to the matter of the girl you saw earlier.  Hywell has asked me to arrange her marriage.  It would please me if you were to take her to wife, Morgan – set the seal on our relationship.  Her manor is small and of little interest, but I shall give her a wedding gift of two hundred gold nobles, with which a larger manor near to Sycharth might be purchased.  For a man bound to me by both blood ties and service would be needed and required often in my household.'

Morgan was silent for a moment, considering.  He had always thought to love the woman he married, and as yet had never met any woman that had touched his heart.  But when Owain asked such a thing it was not lightly to be dismissed and a refusal might cause a breach between them.

He nodded his head, understanding the bond he was required to seal by marriage.  'The girl is comely enough,' he said.  'I believe the matter is a simple one and may be arranged – perhaps when I return from my travels?'

'That is my own thought exactly,' Owain said giving him a look of approval.  'The girl shall go with me to Sycharth and be told only that the matter of her marriage is being attended.  If you are of the same mind when you return the wedding shall take place with my blessing.'

'Then all is settled between us,' Morgan said and clasped the hand he was offered firmly.  'What would you wish me to tell Rhys?  He will ask why I leave so suddenly, and I must offer him an excuse he will believe.'

'You will allow him to think that we quarrelled after he left us, because I believed Maire's stories of your drunkenness and wild behaviour.  Tell him that I insisted you should show willingness to reform and that you refused to serve me under my terms.  It is a story that some will believe and may assist you in your dealings with the English.  They are an arrogant race and may treat you with disdain, but you must hold your temper and say nothing of what passes between us.  As yet they know little of Owain Glyn Dwr, but that may soon change.'

'Yes, that is my hope and wish,' Morgan said.  'Shall you be ready when I return?'

'We must see what Bolingbroke's rebellion brings forth,' Owain replied.  'We have waited centuries for our chance, Morgan, and the timing must be right.  It would be foolish to strike too soon as others have before us, for unless we can gather enough support we shall fail.  This time I truly believe we shall fulfil the prophecy that the men of Wales shall take back all that is truly theirs – once more to be called rightfully Britons and masters of this island that was stolen from us first by the Romans and then the Saxon hordes.  And finally our Norman overlords, the ancestors of those who rule us now.'

'I pray for it,' Morgan said fervently.  'And now I must take my leave of you – for it would not look right if I were to tarry.  I am known for my temper and my impulsive ways.  I shall seek out Rhys and tell him I am leaving at once.'

'Nay, nay, Morgan,' Owain said and smiled at his impatience.  He liked this eager young man and had instantly trusted him, though the friend he had brought with him was a different matter.  There was something in Rhys Llewelyn's eyes that told Owain he would bear watching.  'Stay and rest this night.  I shall show my displeasure towards you at supper and you will drink too heavily at table, behaving badly as you go off to find yourself a corner to sleep in the stables.  There you shall be met by my steward Iolo, who will give you food for the first part of your journey and money - for I believe the English gold did not find its way into your pockets?'

'To steal for myself would make me a thief,' Morgan said.  'To steal for others…'  He threw back his head and laughed.  'I am not sure what that makes me.  Will they sing of me as a fool or a hero when I am gone, Owain?'

'If they sing of you at all, you will have done all that a man can,' Owain said.  'To be remembered is all that a man can ask of himself or others…'

TWO

Morwenna was nervous as she came down the stairs just behind her father that evening.  He had come himself to fetch her as he had promised, looking at her in approval as he saw that she was wearing her best surcoat of cloth of gold over a tunic of white.  Her dark blonde hair had been bound into thick plaits and wound each side of her head into circlets so that she could wear a small cap of gold mesh, with a veil hanging down her back.  At her shoulder she had a pin of pearls and emeralds that he had given her as a keepsake  after her mother died and was her only jewel of any note.

'You look well, daughter,' Hywell said and smiled at her.  'Come, I shall make you known to Owain's guests, and then you are invited to sit at his right hand for the evening.  Is that not an honour for you?'

'Yes, Father,' she replied.  'I am glad to have such favour shown me.  It was kind of Owain to single me out for the honour.'

'Well, I dare say it was yours by right as there are no other ladies here,' her father told her gruffly.  She must not be allowed to become swollen headed after all.  'There are two young men at board with us tonight.  Master Rhys Llewelyn and one of Owain's kinsmen, though the relationship is more distant than our own – Morgan Gruffudd's mother is a second cousin of Owain's through her father's side.'

Morwenna nodded her understanding.  Recounting the ancestry of one's relations was a very important Welsh tradition.  People often spoke of a man as being the son of someone who was the son of someone else, tracing their ancestry back in time to the Welsh princes and lords who had once held these lands in their own right.  It was the bards who travelled the country singing their songs and stories of the past that kept these traditions alive, and the same thing happened in families where father's repeated the history of their lineage to their sons.

'I see,' she said, hoping that the man who had seen her watching him on the bank was not Morgan Gruffudd, or that if he was he would not recognise her this evening in all her finery.  She had deliberately worn her best things to blind him to the truth, for surely a girl of her standing would not sit on a riverbank and stare at a naked man!

Her hand trembled a little on Hywell's arm as he led her towards the high table on the raised dais, where chairs had been set for three persons – Owain's own elaborately carved chair in the centre and plainer ones to each side.  Everyone else sat on stools or benches, their importance denoted by their position above or below the salt.  Several boards had been set on trestles ready for the feasting that evening, for Owain's men joined him in the Great Hall at night, and many had already taken their places.

Morwenna was aware that eyes followed her the length of the room, but she was used to it for she had felt the attention of a hall filled with men before this night, and it did not distress or frighten her.  She was frightened only as she approached the high table and saw that Owain's guests had already taken their places there.  One of them was to his left but not given the place of honour next to him.  He was a handsome man of perhaps twenty summers with fair hair that was cut neatly about his ears and eyes that reminded her of a spring sky, not blue or yet grey.  He smiled at her as she approached, but there was no knowledge or malice in his eyes, and she knew that he had not seen her clearly enough that morning to recognise her.

'Morwenna, this is Rhys Llewelyn,' her father said.  'Newly come to the service of the lord of  Glyndyfrdwy – and this is Owain's kinsman, Morgan Gruffudd.'

Morwenna's heart stood still as she looked into the eyes of the young man who had stood so boldly on the bank of the river and laughed at her when he discovered her staring at his nakedness.  His eyes were even brighter blue than she had thought at the time, and deep within them she saw the knowledge she had dreaded.  A smile lurked at the corners of his mouth for an instant, though it was quickly hidden as he scowled at her and slouched down on his stool to her right.

'Sir,' she said in a voice hardly above a whisper.  'I am honoured to meet you.'

She received no more than a grunt in return and sat down as a page attended her chair.  Morgan Gruffudd clearly had no manners, and his dress left much to be desired.  His chin had been shaven recently for there was but a shadow of a beard, but his hair was long and looked in need of a trimming.  His clothes were dark of hue and the same ones he had been wearing on his journey by the look of them, stained by travel and of coarse cloth.  He had made no effort to improve his appearance for the evening, and she felt offended by his sloth.  His appearance was an insult to his host and Owain's guests.  Her own father was dressed in his best gown, belted with a girdle of gold thread and ornamented with a jewelled chain about his neck.  If Morgan Gruffudd had no change of clothing with him, he could at least have had a page shave him in honour of the occasion – though she could not smell sweat on him and guiltily recalled that he must at least have cleansed his body in the river.  Perhaps that was why he had taken the chance to plunge into the cold water, washing away the dirt of his journey before coming to his kinsman's house.

His laughter had sounded joyous then, and his manner had been bold and free, but she could almost think him a different man to the one who slouched by her side as the feasting commenced.  He seemed surly and disinclined to talk, and after two attempts to engage him in conversation, Morwenna gave up.  Let him sulk all night if he would, it was no matter to her!  She stared straight ahead of her, ignoring her companion.

'You drink too much, Morgan,' Owain said when the evening was half done.  'If you do not heed your ways you will be useless to me.  I have no place for a drunken fool in my service.'

Morgan's eyes were half closed as he glanced towards his host.  'You believe too much of what you hear, sir.  I am no tame dog to be tied to my mother's skirts.'

'A man may be free of his mother's skirts but still remain sober,' Owain replied and gave him a cold, disdainful look.  'Pray oblige me by showing some manners to the lady Morwenna.  You have scarce spoken to her all night.'

Morgan glowered at him, deliberately reaching for the wine sack and pouring more of the rich red liquid into his drinking cup before turning his intense blue gaze on Morwenna.

'I am bidden entertain you, lady.  What would you have of me?  I can sing you a fair song if you wish it?  I have not my lute with me, but can carry a tune without it.'

Morwenna's cheeks grew warm as she looked into those eyes, which were the colour of a summer sky, seeming to see deeper than she wanted or expected.  She suspected him of laughing at her.  He was not drunk!  She could almost swear it – but then why was he acting this way?  There was some mystery here.

'If it is your pleasure I would hear you sing, sir.'

'It is your pleasure that matters.  I would pleasure you, sweet lady.'

The soft, low tone of his voice, which was meant for her alone to hear, sent a shiver down Morwenna's spine.  She sensed that he was insinuating he would enjoy more than merely singing for her, and she felt herself grow hot all over.  For that look in his eyes could surely mean but one thing – and it was wicked of him to mock her so!  Especially when she could not answer him as he deserved to be answered, with a slap on his face.  She ground her teeth, remaining outwardly calm though inside she was fuming.  If they were but alone she would show him what she thought of his manners!

'Sing if you think your voice deserves a hearing,' she said, raising her head proudly.  'I care not what you do, sir.'

She sat stiffly as Morgan rose to his feet and began to sing, struck by the beauty and clarity of the notes that came from his throat.  His voice was as pure as any she had ever heard at the Eisteddfod.   His song told of a lover dying of unrequited love, which brought tears to her eyes.  She felt the anger inside her begin to melt, the sweetness of his voice drawing her to him.  She was about to applaud him when his song drew to a close, but before she could do so, he drank deeply of his ale and then began to sing something that made her blush for shame.  It was a ribald tale that should never have been sung before her, and made her  look away in disgust.

'Be quiet!' Owain roared and rose to his feet, his anger plain for all to see.  'If you cannot behave respectably leave my board now.  In the morning when you are sober you will apologise to the lady you have just insulted with your filth.'

'Be damned to you and her if she takes my song amiss,' Morgan said and lurched to his feet again.  'If my presence displeases you, I'll take myself off.'

His progress through the hall and out of the door at the other end was far from steady.  More than once he stumbled as if he would fall, and then righted himself.  As he disappeared out of the hall, Owain turned to her with an apology on his lips.

'I beg you will forgive Morgan's behaviour, Morwenna.  He is clearly not used to strong ale.  Fear not, I shall teach him better manners before he is allowed into your presence again.'

A ripple of laughter went round the hall at this, and Morwenna's cheeks were rosy as she smiled at Owain.  She did not answer him, for she did not believe that Morgan Gruffudd had been drunk – but what was his purpose in making everyone believe it?

If he was determined to be thought a rogue perhaps he was one?  Perhaps he had come here for some evil purpose?

'I think you should be careful of that man,' she whispered softly to Owain.  'It might be that he was not as drunk as he pretended – and that he seeks to do you harm.'

'Did you think that?'  Owain's eyes narrowed and she thought she saw a gleam of appreciation.  'I thank you for your concern, Morwenna, but I am well protected in my own home.'

'Yes, of course.'

He would think her a fool.  Yet she knew that all had not been as it seemed.

*

Morwenna dressed with the dawn in a simple tunic, belting it with a girdle of leather and slipping on the sheath that contained her tiny jewelled dagger so that it hung at her hip.  She loved this time of day, before the household was completely awake, and often went walking in the dew of the morning.  At home no one knew or troubled where she went, but here in her kinsman's house she was afraid she might be seen and questioned or sent back to her solar for her own safety.

However, although some of the men were stirring in the Great Hall, others were still snoring.  The feasting had gone on long after she had retired, and many of them would have drunk deeply – more deeply than Morgan Gruffudd.  Owain's reaction to his young kinsman's behaviour had surprised her, for she had not thought it worthy of so public a reprimand.  After all, he had done no more than sing a bawdy song, which others had done before him, though seldom in her presence.  Yet she was not such an innocent that she did not know how many of the men-at-arms and servants pleasured themselves with kitchen wenches.  It was the natural order of things.

Besides, she was still convinced that Morgan Gruffudd had not truly been drunk, merely pretending to be so – but why?  Her warning to Owain had been dismissed with a smile and she could do no more, for she knew that men seldom listened to what the women had to say.

She skirted the men still sleeping huddled on the floor around the now long extinguished fire, finding her way out into the courtyard where a few of the more hardy were dunking themselves in water drawn from the well.  One or two called a friendly greeting, for they knew her of old and liked the pretty girl who usually had a smile for them.  Morwenna inclined her head but did not tarry, escaping from the waking household through the orchard into the meadow.  If she was to be confined to her chamber again today, she would take her customary walk first.

It was as she approached the edge of the forest, that she heard the thunder of hooves behind her and looking back saw a man on horseback riding at speed towards her.  His black hair flew like a banner in the breeze, and she knew him at once, standing as if turned to stone as he approached.  She thought he would sweep by her, but then he seemed to become aware of her and jerked on his reins, causing his horse to rear up a short distance away from her.  She watched him fight with the spirited beast, admiring his strength and power as he controlled it in the end and then trotted up to her.  Her heart raced as he grinned down at her.

'Are you away to the river, lady?' he asked, mischief in his eyes.

Morwenna's cheeks flushed with fire.  'I did not realise you were…' she floundered as she saw the mockery in his face.  'You are unkind, sir.  I was shocked by…I had never seen…'

'A naked man?'  He grinned at her, his eyes so blue and filled with a fire that made her tremble.  'And did you like what you saw, Morwenna?'

'You are too forward, sir.'

'Or not forward enough.'  She heard the soft chuckle of laughter and felt hot.  His words seemed to suggest so much more than they said.  'It would be sweet to dally with you, lady, but I must away.  I have work to do.'

'Are you leaving so soon?'

'Do you wish I might stay?  I am sorry to disappoint you for I have never disappointed an eager wench before.'  His mockery stung her and she tossed her head.  'Do not despair, sweet Morwenna.  I may yet return – or I may not.  I am free – free as the air that surrounds you.  I have a living to make and all the world is open to me.  I bid you adieu, fair one. Be careful what you do at the river…'

'You were not drunk last night,' she said as he prepared to ride away.  'If you plan harm to Owain he is well protected.  I would kill you myself rather than let you harm him.'  She touched the dagger at her waist, her look fierce and angry.  'If you betray him you will be my enemy.'

'I should not like for there to be enmity between us,' Morgan said, the smile dying from his eyes.  'I cannot tell you more, Morwenna – but no matter what you hear, I ask you to think kindly of me.'

As he rode on past her, Morwenna turned her head to stare after him, feeling an odd ache in her breast.  Would she ever see him again?  He had spoken of the whole world being open to him and that boded ill in her mind.  The only way a man in his position might see the world was to sell his sword to the English – the enemy of her people.

She walked back towards the house, head bent, her plans to escape to the river somehow tarnished by this chance meeting.  What kind of a man was Morgan Gruffudd?

Entering the courtyard, she saw the young man who had accompanied Morgan here.  He was dressed now in the way of Owain's men-at-arms, a leather hauberk over his short tunic and hose, his head covered by a helmet of leather and chain metal.  He was already hard at work practising swordplay with the others, and had no time to do more than smile at her as she passed.

Rhys Llewelyn was a handsome man, Morwenna thought.  His smile did not terrify her the way Morgan Gruffudd's did, and she smiled back at him.

Going into the hall, she saw that the servants had cleared away all the debris of the night before and were sweeping the floor with fresh herbs to sweeten it.  A couple of hounds hunted in the old straw to seek out scraps of food or bones that might have been discarded the previous night, and the servants half-heartedly chased them off every now and then, laughing and muttering to each other as they worked.

Morwenna was about to mount the steps to her solar when she heard her father call to her and turned to wait for him to come up to her.

'So you have been out already, daughter,' Hywell said.  'Well, I dare say you are safe enough here for Owain's men would not harm you – any who laid a finger on you would be hanged for his folly.  I am assured of your comfort with Owain so I may leave you in peace of mind.'

'Leave me, Father?'  Morwenna stared at him.  'You mean I am to stay here without you?'

'For the moment, though I believe Owain means to travel to Sycharth soon.  He will take you there and you will have female company to make your stay more pleasant than here.  I ask only that you do nothing that would cause either of us shame.'

'You know I would not, Father – but may I not come with you?  Do you go home?'

'Not for the moment, daughter.  I have work – work that will take me many a league before I return.'  He shook his head as she looked at him inquiringly.  'Nay, daughter, this is men's business.  You would not understand, and it is best that you don't.  Come, kiss me, child, and receive my blessing.'

Morwenna kissed his cheek as he bade her, and felt the touch of his hand on her head.  A cold chill had settled at the base of her spine and she was suddenly afraid for him, afraid of this work that must take him away from his home and all that he held dear.  She suspected it was to do with the secrets she had overheard Owain and her father discussing the previous day.

'Is your work dangerous, Father?'

'You ask too many questions, my daughter,' Hywell said.  'Go up to your nurse now and think of your wedding.  Owain has the matter in hand and it may be that in a few months you will be married to a man deserving of you, but you must not plague your kinsman.  You will be told when the time has come.'

Morwenna made no reply as she went on up the stairs to her solar.  Why did men always seem to believe that women were incapable of understanding?  She understood all too well that her father's business was for Owain, and that it had something to do with his intention to declare himself the true prince of Wales.  Her father was being sent as a messenger or to gather information, of that she was certain.  She just hoped that it was nothing more dangerous, though considering the nature of Owain's secret plans even carrying a message was dangerous enough.  The English would torture and kill any man they believed to be involved in such nefarious business.

It was odd, she thought, that Morgan Gruffudd should depart so suddenly.  His quarrel with Owain had surely not been serious enough to warrant his departure?  Unless, there was some secret business he had undertaken for his kinsman?

Recalling the look in Owain's eyes the previous evening when she had been bold enough to warn him to be careful of Morgan, Morwenna wondered if she had stumbled on the truth.  Morgan had clearly been excited as he rode away that morning, not sullen or resentful, which he might have been if he had been refused service by his kinsman.

The more she considered, the more she believed she was right.  A little smile tugged at the corners of her soft mouth as she recalled Morgan's words to her.  She thought he might have been telling her that he would return to her, though he could not promise it openly – and he had asked her to think kindly of him.

It was possible that he too had departed to carry out some secret mission for Owain.  The thought pleased her and lifted her spirits, for if she was right it meant that he would return one day.

*

Morgan listened again as he heard what he thought was a woman screaming.  He was nearing the end of the forest that bordered the land that became England once the river was crossed, and could see the trees thinning and the light becoming stronger as the day gained on the night.  He had travelled constantly since leaving Glyndyfrdwy, stopping to rest only for brief periods, eating sparingly of the food Owain's steward had given him, determined to make good speed on his journey to Shrewsbury.

There it was again!  Screaming, a woman and a horse now, both terrified, and the unmistakable sound of fighting.  Spurring his horse forward, Morgan came out of the forest in time to see the struggle going on on the banks of the river.  Three women and two young pages were fighting against the men who seemed intent on capturing them.  The men were undoubtedly English, but looked like brigands rather than men-at-arms.  There were four of them, but Morgan did not think twice as he put his horse to the charge and with a yell that had struck fear into the hearts of many an Englishman, charged at them, sword in hand.

The woman were struggling and screaming, three of the men having dismounted to try and wrestle them to the ground, intent on rape it seemed.  The man still mounted seemed to be in charge and was urging the others on, but as he saw Morgan charging at him, drew his sword and rode to meet him.  Morgan's sword swooped down on him before he could do much more than begin to defend himself, slicing through the leather covering that he wore on his wrist as protection, penetrating through to the bone.  He gave a scream of pain as his hand was severed and his weapon fell uselessly to the ground, then turned his horse and fled towards the forest.

Morgan did not bother to give chase to the craven coward, wheeling his horse about and attacking the first man on the ground to break off from his attempt to subdue the women and draw his sword.  From his advantage, he dealt savage blows to the man's head and shoulders, his sword slicing deep into the rogue's neck so that a scream issued from his lips in a froth of crimson and he staggered and fell to the ground, his lifeblood draining from the savage wound.  The other two rogues hesitated and then, as he whirled about, ready to charge, they suddenly fled towards the forest, their horses running madly before them as they vainly attempted to catch and mount them.

Satisfied that they would not return, Morgan steadied his mount and looked down at the women.  Now that he had time to study them, he saw that one was a lady of high rank, the other two her serving women.  The pages were dressed in blue and yellow livery, and looked to be no more than eleven years of age.

'I thank you, sir, for your timely help,' the woman said in a soft husky voice that told Morgan she was English.  'Had it not been for your arrival I fear we were lost.'

'Why are you abroad at this hour and unescorted?' Morgan asked and glared down at her, incensed by such foolishness.  'Where are your men?'

'We have none with us,' the lady said, frowning slightly.  'For we thought it unnecessary so close to my husband's castle.  This side of the border we have always been safe – and indeed the rogues who sought to harm us were English brigands.  When my husband learns of this outrage on his land he will seek out the perpetrators and have them hanged.'

'Even so, you should not have been riding alone at this hour,' Morgan said, eyes narrowed as he gazed down into a face more lovely than he had ever seen.  'May I know your name, my lady?'

'Rosamund de Grenville,' she said.  'We are but fifteen minutes ride from my husband's castle, sir.  Will you not accompany us there?'

'Where are your horses?'  Morgan looked round and saw that five horses had wandered into the edge of the forest to graze, apparently unfazed by the altercation that had taken place.  'Wait and I will bring them to you.  Here, boy, hold my horse – and you come with me.'

He gave his reins to one page and the other followed obediently, helping him to recapture the horses and bring them back to the ladies.

'I shall help you to mount, my lady,' he said.  Taking her about the waist, he lifted her effortlessly into the saddle of the most richly dressed horse.  The pages had given their service to the other ladies to assist them, cupping both hands for a dainty foot before mounting their own ponies.

'You have not given us your name, sir?'

Her eyes were a greenish blue, as clear as a mountain pool; the strands of her hair, which had escaped from beneath her wimple as she struggled against her attackers a bright red gold.  Morgan knew a fierce sharp spur of desire in his belly and experienced a longing to know her intimately.  Never before had he seen a woman that stirred him this deeply!

'I shall be pleased to escort you, my lady,' he told her.  'For though I think those rogues will not return I do not like the idea of ladies riding alone so close to the forest.  Have you not heard that the Welshmen of these mountains are wild barbarians?'

Her laughter echoed that lurking in his eyes.  She gazed down from her horse's back into his face, clearly amused by his mockery.

'Are you not one of them, sir?'

'I am Morgan Gruffudd at your service,' he said with an elegant bow that would have surprised Maire.  'A poet of somewhat dubious worth, ready to sing for my supper at the board of any who will pay me.  Do not confuse my humble self with the fighting men of Wales.'

'A poet and a singer of tales no doubt,' she said, her eyebrows arching.  'I have heard that your bards sing of sedition and treason, sir.  My husband may be an English lord but he has lands across the border and I know more of the Welsh people than you may imagine.'

'Indeed, my lady?'  Morgan's expression did not waver.  'Pray tell me then why you were riding so close to the forest at this hour without your men?  Since you must be aware that there are those but a short distance away who would seize any person of nobility or wealth and hold them to ransom?'

Her cheeks flushed at that and he knew he had scored a hit, for she raised her head looking at him proudly.  'I do not think it is for you to question me, sir.  Believe only that I thought myself safe from attack here.  Nothing more concerns you.  Come, I wish to return to the castle.'

She spurred her horse forward at speed, leaving Morgan to mount and catch up to her, which he did with ease.  She glanced at him but gave no sign of acknowledgement, riding in silence as they continued towards the castle, which was already visible.

As they came nearer, Morgan saw that it was typical of the moated keeps that had been built all along the borders with Wales by the Normans some two hundred years earlier, but over the centuries changes had been made and in this last fifty years or so a larger building had been added to bring some comfort to what was now more of a moated manor house than a castle, though the towers remained to guard against attack from across the borders.

'Welcome to the Castle of Bundesley,' Rosamund said as he dismounted and came to assist her down before a servant could reach her.  His hands lingered momentarily on her waist, bringing a flush to her cheeks.  'This is one of three my husband keeps for the King, sir.'

'And your husband's name?'

'Sir Philip de Grenville,' she replied, lowering her eyes swiftly as if she found his intent gaze disturbing.  'My husband is from home at the moment; he has been inspecting a castle over the border.  I am expecting him today or perhaps tomorrow – and my ride was merely for pleasure.'

Now why had she told him that?  Morgan wondered that she had bothered, for he had told her that he was merely an insignificant bard and she had seemed to believe him.

'Perhaps you were impatient for your husband's return?'

'Yes, perhaps…'  For a moment he caught a flicker of unhappiness in her eyes and he knew that she had not ridden to meet her husband – but perhaps a lover?  Yes, it might well have been a secret tryst at that hour!  'My husband would want me to offer you board and more for the service you have rendered me,' she continued.  'Will you break your journey here for a day or so, Morgan Gruffudd?'

'I thank you, my lady,' Morgan said.  It had been his intention to ride on, but fortune had perhaps put a valuable contact in his way.  Philip de Grenville was clearly a man valued by the King, and as such might be of use to him in his search for information concerning the mood of the country.  Would the English people rise for Richard or support the usurper?  'It is kind of you to offer.  If you are sure Sir Philip would not object?'

A touch of bitterness was in her voice as she answered, 'My husband is not a jealous man, sir.  He values me as a possession and as such will be grateful that I am safely returned to him.  Had I been snatched I would no doubt have been held to ransom as you suggested.  Therefore I am sure that he will be pleased to welcome you to his board, and may offer you service with him.  We are to travel to Chester on his return.  It may be that he would take you with us to while away the tedious hours of our journey.'

Morgan could not believe his luck.  He had hoped to find service with an Englishman of some standing in Shrewsbury and perhaps progress in his company to Chester, which was King Richard's most favoured city in the region.  If he could attach himself to Sir Philip de Grenville's household it would save time and bring him closer to his quarry more swiftly than he had imagined possible.

'I am honoured to accept, lady.'

'My steward will give you food and lodging,' she said, indicating an older man with a wave of her hand.  Without more ado, she swept on ahead of him into the castle.

Morgan stared after her, his brow creased in a frown.  Several men had clustered about the women, taking away their horses and listening to their excited chatter.  The glances and general interest in him told Morgan that his exploits were being described enthusiastically, and after a moment the steward came up to him, offering his hand.

'I have been told of your service to my lady,' he said.  'In the name of Sir Philip I bid you welcome here and thank you for what you have done this day.'

'I should have been a scurvy knave had I stood aside while those rogues attacked her,' Morgan replied.  'I did only what any man would have in my place.'

'Any true man,' the steward agreed, eyes narrowed as they swept over Morgan.  'They tell me you are Welsh – a singer of songs?  You will forgive me if I say that you do not look like such a man?'

'I have been cast out by my family,' Morgan said harshly, his face creasing in a scowl of bitterness.  'What else must I do to earn my living?  I can sing a little and by this means hope to enter the service of a generous man.'

'Lady Rosamund is generous,' the steward replied.  'I have known and served her all my life.  'Her husband is not so generous – but she usually gets her way in most things.  It is by her favour that Sir Philip holds these castles of the king, for she is an heiress of some note.  Those rogues did not guess how lucky their chance meeting with my lady might have been had you not happened by.'

'She is favoured by the King?'

Morgan's question was not to be answered for the clattering of horses' hooves across the drawbridge announced the arrival of a large party of men.  From the look in the steward's face as he left Morgan and hurried to meet them, he guessed that the lord had returned home.

It was a simple task to pick out Sir Philip, for he was dressed richly in gold and blue, his armour burnished to a bright silver and clanking heavily as his retainers helped him to dismount.  As he removed his helmet, Morgan saw that his hair was silvered through what had once been black, his face lined with the years.  He must be at least twice his wife's age!  Tall and lean, with a hooked nose and stern features, his grey eyes surveyed the scene around him, seemingly searching for fault until they came to rest on Morgan and then he frowned, barking something at his steward.  He listened to what the man told him, frowned once more and then came towards Morgan, his eyes assessing him.

'I believe I am indebted to you, sir.  Will you stay and give me a chance to repay the service you have rendered me this day?'

'Gladly, Sir Philip.  I am looking for service, be it of a few hours or a few months – and will thank you for my board and lodging.'

'You will stay with us as we journey to Chester,' Sir Philip said decisively.  'My wife dislikes travelling and grows weary.  Mayhap your songs will lighten her mood.'  He nodded briskly.  'You shall entertain us at supper.  My servants will look after you.'

Morgan watched as he strode away to be disrobed of his heavy armour.  It was clear that Sir Philip was aware of the danger, brought closer by the general unrest of the time, even if his wife was not.

'Will you not come with me, sir?'

A gentle hand was tugging at his sleeve, and he turned to look down into the face of one of the women he had saved from the rogues attacking her and her mistress earlier.

'My name is Morgan,' he said and smiled at her.  She was comely enough, though not as beautiful as her mistress.  'I trust no harm came to you earlier, mistress?'

'I am well enough,' she replied.  'My name is Alicia and I am a distant cousin of Lady Rosamund.  She asked me to see that you were given all that you might need.'

Morgan gave into the pressure of her hand, allowing her to lead him into a part of the house that was clearly a small hall attached to the kitchens, and used by the servants of the household.  The smell of slowly roasting meat over the spit permeated the air of the small antechamber, making Morgan's belly rumble in anticipation.

'How long have you been with your mistress, Alicia?'

'Since I was a child, sir.  I was her playmate then and now I serve her as companion and friend.  My lady does not trust many, but in me she knows she has a true friend.'

'True friends are hard to come by,' Morgan said, thinking briefly of the one he had left behind at Glyndyfrwdy.

'That is true, sir,' Alicia replied and smiled.  'My lady said that if her lord refused you board here I was to give you money.  If you would prefer…'

'No.  I thank your lady, but it is service I look for not coin.'

Alicia nodded, looking at him curiously.  'Are you truly Welsh, sir?  I had thought they were all wild barbarians.'

Morgan grinned at her.  'Am I not a barbarian then?'

'I do not think so, sir,' she replied a smile on her lips.  'This is the first time I have accompanied my lady to this part of England.  Until she married we lived in Winchester with her father.  My lady did not take me with her when she was first wed, though she sent for me when she learned that we were to come here.'

'I thought your lady was familiar with Wales and its inhabitants?'

'She has been to Wales before as a child,' Alicia replied.  'It was her father who brought her then I believe.  My lady's mother was Welsh, though she does not like to speak of it for it does not please Sir Philip to have the connection.  My lady holds lands in Wales that came to her from her mother – though I suppose they belong to her husband now.  That is the custom, is it not?'

'That is the custom,' Morgan agreed, warming to the talkative girl.

'It is perhaps unfair but such is the way of things.'

'Yes, it is the way of things,' Alicia agreed and sighed.  'A woman must trust the man she marries, for he may do as he will with her afterwards – unless she has friends.  At least Lady Rosamund has a friend in the King.

'I am glad to hear that,' Morgan said.  'I believe Richard is expected back from Ireland soon?'

'As to that, I would not know, sir.'  Alicia frowned as if realising that perhaps she had said too much.   'Sit here by the fire, sir, and I shall bring you food and drink.  Tonight we shall feast in the hall but I dare say you would like to break your fast now?'

'Yes, that would be kind,' Morgan said, watching as she walked away.  He had learned much from the girl in a few seconds, and he believed she would be an invaluable source of information in the future.

THREE

Rosamund glanced at her reflection in her handmirror of burnished silver and dark glass, seeing herself only as a blurred image.  She knew that she was considered beautiful, for she had been told so many times in those happy days when she had been favoured at King Richard's court.  She sighed and laid down her mirror, feeling the mantle of sadness descend on her once more.  That time of excitement and pleasure when she had ridden often at the King's side seemed so long ago now, though it was no more than a year since she had been wed to Sir Philip de Grenville.

How often she had wished that her father, Sir Harald Clare of Winchester had chosen otherwise in the matter of her marriage, but she knew that he had been ailing and had sought to protect her.  Sir Philip had seemed a man of culture and learning, as indeed he was, and Rosamund's father had believed him kind.  Rosamund herself had been deceived by his gentle manner towards her then, making no protest when told of her father's decision.  That deception had lasted no longer than her wedding night, when her husband had taken her with a cold detachment that made her weep bitter tears into her bed cushions long after he had left her.  She knew then that he had married her only for the fortune she was to inherit on her father's death, which had followed her wedding all too soon.  Since then Philip had visited her no more than half a dozen times, and that in the hope of getting his heir on her.  He seemed to take no pleasure in the act, leaving her without a word as soon as he was done.

Rosamund's nurse had told her that she should be grateful his treatment of her was no worse.  'If he lusted after you he might come to you night after night, giving you no peace,' Margaret told her when she found her weeping after his last visit.  'Some men enjoy inflicting pain on their wives.  At least Sir Philip has not beaten you.'

Rosamund had not answered her.  She thought that perhaps the behaviour Margaret had described might be easier to bear than her husband's coldness.

'I have left the Welshman breaking his fast in the servant's hall,' a voice said and Rosamund was brought from her reverie, turning to see Alicia enter the room.  'I offered him the money but Sir Philip had already pledged him to ride with us to Chester and he preferred service to coin.'

Rosamund looked at her thoughtfully.  'What is your opinion of our brave rescuer, Alicia?  Do you think him what he claims to be – merely a singer of songs?'

'He hath a stout sword arm for a poet,' Alicia replied.  'But he did you good service, my lady.  Had his arrival not been so opportune we might have suffered a fate worse than death.  Indeed, some of us might be dead, for only you would have been worth the ransom they would demand.'

'I should have refused to be ransomed without you,' Rosamund said but a shudder gripped her and she felt coldness at the base of her spine.  'My life here without you…' She shook her head as Alicia put out a hand to comfort her.  'Nay, I do not mean to waste tears on something that cannot be mended.  They say that King Richard is on his way from Ireland and will try to raise the men of Wales to fight for him.  Think you they will rise for him, Alicia?'

'I do not know, my lady.  I pray that it may be so – for it might go ill with his followers if the mood should be against His Majesty.'

'Yes, I have thought the same.'

Rosamund did not voice what was in her mind.  Would her husband hold firm for the king if it seemed that the advantage was with Henry of Bolingbroke?  She herself would never betray King Richard, but she was afraid that her husband might.  Sir Philip de Grenville's loyalty might not hold if he thought that the King's cause was lost.

Rosamund lifted her head, forcing a smile to her lips.

'We must pray that Wales rises for King Richard,' she said.  'And now I must go down and greet my husband…'

*

'Richard is returned from Ireland and on his way to Conway,' Rosamund's husband told her after she had greeted him with a cool smile.  'Thomas Despenser, Earl of Gloucester, has been dispatched to Glamorgan to raise support, and John Montagu has the task of rousing the north.'

'Do you think the Earl of Salisbury has much chance of rousing the men of North Wales?'

Philip de Grenville's gaze narrowed as it centred on the slim figure of his young wife.  She was intelligent as well as beautiful, but he had married her for the lands she brought him.  Women had never stirred him for he had a secret vice, finding his pleasure in the young boys he ordered to his bed when the mood was on him.  For years he had resisted marriage, taking a wife at last because he saw a chance to gain wealth and power, but he had not expected Rosamund to stand up to his treatment of her so bravely.  He would have liked to imprison her in one of her own castles and forget her, but while Richard was King he would never dare to slight her so openly.

'Time alone will tell,' he replied gruffly.  'I have been ordered to ride with my men for Chester without delay.  Richard fears Bolingbroke is on his way there.  I shall leave this afternoon.'

'So soon?'  Rosamund was surprised.  'The servants are preparing a feast for your return.  It will take several hours for my women to pack my things.'

'I shall go on ahead of you,' de Grenville said, looking at her sourly.  'You may order your household as you wish, Rosamund.  That Welsh singer may accompany you.  It is as well this way, for I shall be there before you to make arrangements for your coming.'

'As you wish, my lord.'  She acquiesced outwardly as she had so often in the past but inside she was angry and suspicious.  Why was her husband so anxious to leave her behind?

'I shall leave within the hour,' Philip said.  'If it suits you, you may follow in a day or so.  I would not have you put to much inconvenience through my haste to obey the King's order.'

There had to be some reason for his consideration of her comfort.  He had never been this thoughtful before!  Besides, there was an odd gleam in his eyes as he looked at her that she did not like, a gloating expression as though he was pleased over something he had not shared with her.

Rosamund was careful not to show suspicion of his motives.  Let him think her a foolish woman more interested in the packing of her possessions than the political repercussions of Bolingbroke's revolt.

She wished him God speed, stayed to discuss what servants should be left at Bundesley, and then took her leave of him.  She could see that as he turned away to shout instructions at his steward he had already put her from his mind.

Her first action on leaving him was to instruct Alicia to gather her women and have them begin the task of packing her personal possessions, which was no easy accomplishment.  Her furniture, hangings, chattels and clothes must all be loaded onto the carts that would accompany her retinue.  As a lady of wealth and rank, she had about her some fifty followers all told: serving men and women, ladies to keep her company and care for her clothes, her steward William Baldry, and twenty men-at-arms.

These men had been chosen for her, their livery and arms a gift from King Richard when she married.

'These men are loyal to me, Lady Rosamund,' the King had told her kindly.  'They will guard you with their lives – and through them you have my protection always.'

Had Richard guessed that de Grenville was not the honourable knight her father had believed him?  She had thought once that King Richard was a little in love with her and that he might refuse to see her wed to another.  Yet Richard had been beset by his own problems, his power often curtailed by powerful nobles and a council that made it difficult for him to rule his own country.  Of late he had been greatly preoccupied by the troubles in Ireland, returning hastily when he heard of Bolingbroke's intentions.

But now he was in Wales and on his way to Conway Castle.  Did he plan to wait there for Welsh support or press forward to Chester?

Rosamund feared that by the time he could reach his citadel, Bolingbroke might already be there.  Was that why Philip was in such a hurry to get there – did he intend to offer his sword to Henry of Bolingbroke?

Rosamund was afraid that might be the case.  Did she want to be caught up in her husband's treachery?  The answer came swift and true.  She would not follow Philip to Chester tamely as he had bid her.  Instead, she would take all the men loyal to her and go to join King Richard at Conway.

It was not the first time she had disobeyed her husband.  Indeed, she had been prepared for him to rage at her for riding out with only her ladies and two pageboys.  His disinterest in the matter of the attempted abduction served to enforce her suspicion that he was intent on betraying his king.  He had weighed up the situation both in Wales and England and decided the safer bet was Bolingbroke.  Philip clearly believed that Richard was not likely to receive much help from the Welsh.  They were a strange, dark, brooding people, many of whom still clung to their ancient resentment of the English.  Richard had made changes, redistributing lands long held by ancient lordships amongst his favourites and taking much of it for himself.  Such changes would not be popular.

Rosamund wondered that Richard had not understood the nature of the Welsh people better.  If he would win them to his side, he should have offered favour and service, giving them a chance of both pride and preferment.   He had neglected to do so and Rosamund was sure that his pleas for help now would fall largely on deaf ears.  But she would offer what she could and that was no slight thing.  She owned the Castle of Caris in the lordship of Ruthin, and if Richard asked it of her she would hold it for him.

The people there were loyal to her mother's memory.  She believed that they would rally to her and knew the Bowmen who kept the castle for her were unequalled in their skill and ferocity.

A little smile touched her mouth as she summoned her steward to her.  'My lord must leave almost at once,' she told him.  'But we shall feast this night as we had planned.  Tomorrow we shall be ready to leave ourselves.  I want everything stripped from this place, and every servant loyal to me to accompany us.'

'Do we ride for Chester, my lady?'

Rosamund placed a finger to her lips.  'In the morning I shall tell you, my good William.  It is safer to keep a still tongue.'

'And the Welsh singer?'

'We shall invite him to go with us.  Make a friend of him, Will.  I think he may serve us well on our journey.'

Thick lashes veiled the steward's eyes as he inclined his head.  His lady was impetuous, as her whim of riding out unprotected had shown only that morning, but he would gladly die for her – as would all who served her.  No matter what she planned, they would follow her: to the death if need be.

He was pleased that Morgan Gruffudd was to be invited to accompany them, for the man was a skilled fighter.  Yet he did not wholly trust him.  Gruffudd claimed that he was a bard and would serve anyone who paid him, but there was too much pride in those eyes!

William would do as his lady bade him and make a friend of the Welshman, but he would also watch him.  If he suspected treachery he would kill Morgan Gruffudd rather than let him bring harm to the Lady Rosamund.

*

Morgan glanced around the hall at the company of men and four ladies.  It was a smaller gathering than he would have expected at a castle this close to the border, but that was because Philip de Grenville had ridden out with thirty men-at-arms at his back that afternoon.

He had been surprised at the lord's departure so soon after his return, but William Baldry had told him it was on the King's business that de Grenville had ridden for Chester.

'My lady's journey will commence soon after dawn tomorrow,' he had continued.  'She asks that you will accompany her, sir.'

'To Chester?  Does your lady follow her husband?'

The steward's eyes were veiled as he waved his hand vaguely.  'My lady goes where she chooses.  She may follow or she may not.'

What mischief was the Lady de Grenville planning?  Had she intended to escape her husband and find protection with another?  Was that why she had ridden out early that morning?  Mayhap she was planning to make good her escape now that her husband had deserted her.

'Then I shall give my answer when the lady makes up her mind,' Morgan said and smiled lazily at the steward.  'I had made plans to seek my fortune in England, but who knows?  I may change my mind.'

'My lady has bid me make you welcome in her hall,' William replied, his eyes fixing coldly on the younger man.  'But I should warn you that every man here would die for her.'

'You have no need to warn me, friend,' Morgan said easily.  'I mean your lady no harm, but ask only for her destination before making up my mind whether to accompany her.'

William nodded.  He could not argue with such reasonable words, and yet he was wary.  Why did this Welshman want to seek his fortune in England?  There were surely enough Englishmen of wealth in Wales if he chose to seek service with one of them?

Yet perhaps he had been dismissed by his patron and hoped to travel where he was not known.  William was curious but his attempts to pierce the young man's armour met with little success.

Morgan read the suspicion in his eyes and was amused.  He had time enough to discover the things Owain had asked of him, and was not loath to tarry in the company of a beautiful woman for a while longer.

Discovering that he had been given a place at her right-hand at supper, which was more than he could have expected in his lowly disguise, Morgan was intrigued.  Had she judged him from the start, and decided that he was of more worth than he had claimed?  Her smile as she greeted him gave nothing away, but he found it fascinating.  There was about her a mantle of pride, which he guessed she had donned to protect herself.  Having met her husband briefly, he did not imagine that she loved de Grenville nor yet that the marriage was a success.

There were no children, which after a year of marriage might have been expected.  Was the Lady Rosamund barren or did the fault lie with her husband?  She looked to have all the womanly attributes to attract any but the basest of men and was young and healthy; therefore, it seemed to Morgan that perhaps Sir Philip was to blame for the lack.

'You have all that you want?' she asked as he took his place beside her.  'I trust that my people have attended to your comfort?'

'Indeed, my lady, I could want for no more than I have been offered.'

'That is well,' she said and smiled at him so sweetly that Morgan's head span.  She was even lovelier this evening than he had thought her – and there was a subtle change in her manner.  It was as if she had sloughed off the sadness that had hung over her, her eyes seeming brighter somehow.  'I believe my steward has asked if you will accompany me tomorrow, but you have not given him an answer.'

'I wished to know where you were going, lady.'

'And this matters to you?  I thought you sought service wherever you could find it?'

'I had thought to seek my fortune in England, but it is no matter.  If you wish it, I shall go with you.'  He hardly knew why he was so easily persuaded, yet there was something between them – a thin invisible thread that seemed somehow to have entangled itself about his heart.

Her eyes deepened, mysterious and compelling, holding him.

'Then you shall accompany us.  I go to meet my King, sir.'

'King Richard?'

'There is no other.'

Morgan inclined his head, amused by the note of pride.  'I am sure you are right, my lady.  At the moment Richard is truly king of England.'

'And shall be if his loyal subjects can do aught to prevent the usurper gaining his evil way.'

'You are very loyal, I see,' Morgan murmured.  'I am honoured to offer my services to you – and your king, lady.'  And now his words carried the ring of truth, for he admired her loyalty and her determination to do what she thought right despite danger to herself.

To be taken to the King of England was an unexpected bonus!  He could never have hoped for such a thing, and hid his excitement with difficulty.  Surely he would learn all he needed from such a source?

'Thank you, Morgan,' Rosamund replied and lifted her cup to toast him.  'Eat and drink your fill this night, for we leave tomorrow after dawn.'

'Where is His Majesty to be found?'

'I am told that he is on his way to Conway,' Rosamund said.  'We shall hope to be there almost as soon as he is, for his journey from the coast is longer than ours.'

'But the King may ride faster, for we shall have much baggage.'

'That can follow as it will,' Rosamund said.  'Indeed, I am sending most of it to my castle near Ruthin for the moment.  It may be that I shall hold that place for the King.'

'And will your husband join you there?'

'That is for him to decide,' she said.  'He may have other plans.'

Morgan's eyes narrowed as he looked at her, reading her discomfort and her anger – anger directed not against him but another.

'Do you think he means to join Henry Bolingbroke?'

'Perhaps.'  Rosamund flushed as she met his direct gaze.  He read her mind too easily for comfort!  'I pray that I am wrong, and that he will not betray Richard…'

'But you think it likely?'  Morgan saw the answer in her eyes.  'Nay, it is not necessary for you to say it, my lady.  These are troublesome times.  It may be that men will change sides more than once.'

'Some men will choose only their own side,' she replied.  'But I owe loyalty to King Richard and so I have decided to go to him.  I have men he may need in my service, and others at Ruthin that will remain loyal to me.'

'You are certain of them?'

'I believe so.  They were always loyal to my mother and would defend me against all comers.'

'Then perhaps you should go there at once, lady.  In times like these it is sometimes wiser not to be seen to take sides.'

'Those are the words I would expect of a coward, sir,' she said scornfully, her eyes flashing with anger.  'Since I know you are not, you must have thought to protect me and I shall forgive you – pray do not repeat them.'

'Your forgiveness,' Morgan said, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought to control his silent laughter.  The wench had more spirit than many a man!  'I shall of course accompany you wherever you choose to go.'

Rosamund saw the twitch and suspected that he was laughing at her.  A part of her was angry with him for daring to be amused, but something inside her was responding to him.

'Will you not sing for us?' she asked.  'I am of a mind to be merry this evening, for I have my friends about me…'

Morgan had noticed a happy, carefree atmosphere in the hall, judging it to be because of the lord's absence.  It was clear that the people here were loyal to their lady, prepared to serve her in whatever way she asked, and he understood that such loyalty did not come lightly; it must be  earned.

'It shall be my pleasure,' he said and rose to his feet, taking up the lute he had brought with him to supper and walking from behind the board to stand before her.  'This is for you, lady – and for your friends.'

First of all he sang in English, a merry song of lovers playing a jest on each other, then another, sadder, tale of unrequited love and a lover left to pine for the lady who had left him for another.  After that he sang a Welsh song written by one of Wales's greatest poets Dafydd ap Gwilym, his rich deep voice portraying all the melancholy and despair of a people driven from their lands.

When he finished his song and went back to sit beside Rosamund, she was wiping a tear from her cheek.  Her eyes sought his and for a moment he imagined that she was trying to offer him an apology, as if she felt herself guilty for what had been done to his people so long ago, but in a moment the look was gone and he might have imagined it.

'You sing with great feeling, sir,' she said and rose to her feet, giving him her hand as he rose once more to take it, towering over her.  'I thank you and shall hope to hear more another night.  Forgive me now, I must leave for there is much to be done before we depart and I want to be on my way soon after dawn. Until I retire to my chamber the work cannot commence.'

He kissed her hand.

'God give you sweet rest, lady.'

'And you, sir.'

He watched as she walked from the hall, half expecting it to be the signal for the men to behave in a bawdy fashion or drink themselves into a stupor as so often happened when the ladies had left for the evening.

Instead, he saw that the servants set immediately to clearing the board of the food left strewn upon it, which was a signal for others to begin what was clearly the huge task of packing everything within the house.

'May I be of help?' Morgan asked William Baldry as he caught sight of the man scurrying about, ordering the stowing of various goods.  'I can help load the wagons if you like?'

'My lady has ordered all her possession stripped from this place,' William said.  'Most will be sent to her castle at Caris and she will take only clothing and personal items with her to meet….' He broke off abruptly.

'Lady Rosamund has told me something of her plans,' Morgan said.  'Tell me what I may do and I shall be glad to help.'

'We need all the hands we can get,' William said, pleased with the offer.  The Welshman was strong and with shoulders like his could carry as much as two others might.  'My lady's chairs, the stools and benches – all the boards and trestles must be loaded on the first carts.  The kitchen chattels may be left to others and will travel on another wagon – apart from those we shall need on our journey, which will go on the mules.  When that is done the women may need help with some of the hangings…'

Morgan set to work with a will, wondering as he lifted and carried various items what the lord would think should he return and find his castle stripped bare.  It was the custom to take the household goods from place to place, but not to strip everything as completely as had been ordered here.  The Lady Rosamund must be planning a long stay at her Welsh fortress…

*

Rosamund sent the baggage train on its separate way an hour or two after the small train crossed the border into Wales; two of her women, most of the servants and three of her men-at-arms went with it.  After some lengthy discussion, William was persuaded to go with the party bound for Caris.

'You will need me,' he had argued.  'Someone must care for your comfort on the journey.'

'I have my women to do that,' Rosamund told him, but only you can set Caris in order for our coming, my good William.  I shall be well protected on my journey, and when I reach the King I shall be given all the comfort I need.'

'Indeed, I know His Majesty regards you highly,' William replied, glancing darkly at the Welshman who was to accompany his mistress. 'And you have others to guard you – but take care, my lady.  I pray you, do not be too trusting.'

'I thank you for your care of me, but someone must watch over my possessions, for all I can now claim to be mine is in those carts.  When Philip learns what I have done, he will seize everything else of value.'

William inclined his head, for he knew she spoke truly.  Her act of defiance would cost her dearly for in law her husband owned all the lands she had brought to him on her wedding, save only Caris, which she held through her mother and had been reserved to her by royal decree.  Its revenues were some fifty or sixty gold nobles a year, little enough to feed and equip her household, and not a hundredth of what she left behind.

So they parted, William looking back anxiously until the two trains  were too far apart to see anything more.  Their horses went at a good canter, Morgan at Lady Rosamund's side, Alicia and an older woman he judged to be Rosamund's nurse riding pillion behind grooms. Behind them came the men-at-arms, and at the rear the pack horses with their baggage and the servants.

'I fear Master Baldry does not trust me, my lady.' Morgan spoke after they had ridden for some time in silence.

'William worries too much,' Rosamund replied with a smile of affection for her steward.  'He is almost like a father to me, and indeed has stood in my father's stead many times since he died.'

'I have been told something of this,' Morgan replied for he had not wasted his time while he loaded furniture the previous night.  Servants loved to gossip, and he had encouraged them to talk of the lady they clearly loved, which they were very willing to do.  'I understand that Sir Harald died soon after you were wed, and that your mother died when you were a child.'

'Yes, that is true,' she said and shivered as they approached the forest.  'I hate your Welsh forests, sir.  They are dark and cold, and I fear there may be wolves lurking in their depths.'

He sensed that she wished to change the subject and smiled at her.

'I believe any forest, Welsh or English, may be dark and chilly at times,' he replied.  'As for wolves – some say that they have seen them lurking deep in the forests, but I believe they have been hunted to extinction in most cases.  Where once they roamed in packs and were a danger to the unwary, now there is likely to be no more than one or two if any, and they would probably fear you more than you fear them.  We may see a polecat but they are no danger to a party such as ours. Besides, I promise to fight them for you if they attack.'

She pulled a face at his teasing.

'Still I hate the forest.'

She could not explain that she still recalled the tales of evil spirits and strange beasts that lurked in the forest, which had been told to her by her nurse, to keep her from straying, for this man would think her foolish.  And for some reason, which she could not explain even to herself, she wanted him to think well of her.

'It is easier to traverse than the mountain paths,' Morgan replied.  'Trust me and I shall bring you to Conway sooner than you may imagine.'

'Yes, I shall trust you,' she said, her clear eyes meeting his in a way that sent a jolt through his body.  'Even though my good William has warned me not to.'

Morgan felt that he might drown in the clear mountain pools of her eyes, experiencing that sharp stirring of desire he had known once before when looking into her face.  He was also aware of guilt, for she and all her race were his sworn enemy, and he was deceiving her, using her for his own ends.

He must not let himself like her too much!

They rode in silence for two hours or more, penetrating into the heart of the huge forest.  Morgan appeared deep in thought and yet was aware of what was around him.  He had for some while suspected that they were being watched, though he was not yet completely certain whether the watchers were English or Welsh.

'Why do you frown so?' she asked and he shook his head, not wishing to alarm her.

He dropped back to ride by the side of the captain of her men, giving him a questing glance.  He nodded, confirming Morgan's suspicion that they were being shadowed.

'In your opinion - Welsh or English?'

'I think they must be Welsh, sir.'  Morgan nodded at the confirmation of his own judgement, for he had felt the watchers too stealthy and surefooted to be English.  'They seem more curious than anything.  At the moment I don't see any sign of…' The man stiffened as both he and Morgan suddenly saw a party of horsemen coming through the trees towards them.  'These are English…the King's men…'

Some ten men-at-arms had ridden up to Lady Rosamund, who spurred her horse forward to greet them.  She was smiling, clearly pleased, and as he rode up to her she turned to beckon him closer.

'This is well met,' she said.  'His Majesty is near at hand and received the message I sent to Conway yesterday.  He has sent an escort to bring us in lest we meet with any hostility in the area.  I have told Sir John Forster that we have been riding for some hours and seen no sign of anything untoward.  Apparently, there has been some lawlessness from bands of robbers and brigands in these mountains; it seems that gold meant for his coffers has been going astray in recent months, and the culprits have proved impossible to find.  Richard wanted to make sure I was well protected.'

'He must think highly of you, my lady.'

'Yes, he has been a good friend to me,' she said and looked happier than he had seen her.

'Then it is good that you will soon be seeing him again.'

Morgan dropped back to ride with the captain of her own guard, for he could see that Sir John was a man of Lady Rosamund's rank and it was more fitting that he should ride beside her.

'They have gone, sir.  I think they ran off as soon as the King's escort joined us.'

'Yes…' Morgan looked at the captain as he spoke.  He seemed a bright, intelligent man though young for the position he held.  'I am called Morgan – what may I call you?'

'Thomas Bridger, sir.'

'How long have you served Lady Rosamund?'

'Since she was wed; before that I served His Majesty.  I did not want to leave him, but he made me captain of Lady Rosamund's bodyguard and told me that if I wished to serve him I must go with her.  I have been content to serve her, for she is a good woman, deserving of a better fate than has been dealt her.'

'You are not surprised she has chosen to join the King?'

'No – for she would not betray him as others might.'  His scowl told Morgan what he thought of traitors.

'You are observant, Thomas.  Did you think the men following us just now were brigands or thieves?'

'No, sir.  As I said before, they seemed curious – more as if they were watching us, that's all.'

'Yes.'  Morgan nodded.  'I think His Majesty may fear danger from another source more than Welsh brigands at this moment.'

'My thoughts exactly.'

'I see we understand each other.'

Morgan smiled and they rode on in silence until at last the great Castle of Conway came into view.  A herald trumpeted their arrival and the drawbridge was lowered, the horses clattering over it into the courtyard, to be surrounded by grooms and servants.

Someone helped Lady Rosamund down, and then a man came out of a door in the inner bailey.  Of good height, he was bearded, pleasant of feature, his long auburn hair falling softly about his face, and his eyes were large and prominent, a piercing blue. Slender of form, he was richly dressed in a long velvet robe belted with a heavy gold chain, from which hung a dagger in a sheath of gold studded with jewels.  Morgan needed no one to tell him that this must be the King, though he wore no crown or badge of office.

From the way Rosamund smiled and kissed the hand he offered, he saw that there was true affection between them.  In Wales Richard had long been thought of as something of a tyrant.  He had done much to make him unpopular since he first came to the throne in 1377, but it appeared that he could also show friendship. A woman such as Rosamund de Grenville would not otherwise have been so happy to see him.

'You are welcome here, lady,' Richard said.  'Your husband has gone on to Chester – he had my message?'

'Yes, Sire – but I would speak privately with you on this.'

'I see that it is a serious matter,' Richard said.  'Come, we shall go inside and you may tell me what troubles you.'

Morgan watched as the two disappeared into the castle, Lady Rosamund's hand on the King's arm, wondering for a moment what he should do.  He was a part of the Lady de Grenville's train yet he had no real place in her household.  He turned as he found Thomas Bridger at his elbow.

'Will you come with us, sir?   My lady will send for you when you are needed.'

'Willingly.  My thanks,' Morgan said.  At Bundesley the atmosphere had been informal and he had been left to wander as he pleased; here he sensed things were very different.  Eyes followed him suspiciously as they heard his voice, for though he spoke English naturally, they knew him to be Welsh.

However, as part of the Lady Rosamund's retinue, he was accepted, albeit it grudgingly by the King's men.  He was given food and ale, and a place to stable his horse.  After he had eaten he began to stroll about the courtyard and to play on his lute, and then to sing a merry tune of England.

His voice drew men to him, and he saw the suspicion begin to die from their faces as they were told by Lady Rosamund's men that he was but a Welsh bard she had given service for her pleasure.

Morgan was wise enough to ask no questions of the King's men, for to do so would immediately have aroused suspicion, but as the day wore on and they grew more careless of his presence he heard snatches of conversation.

'They say Bolingbroke hath gathered an army twice the size of ours…'

'We should bide here at Conway until the Welsh rise…'

'Bah!' The soldier spat on the ground.  'I'd as soon fight with the usurper as the Welsh.'

'You can't trust them,' another man said.  'They would as soon slit your throat with your back turned than face you man to man…'

Morgan held his tongue though he saw the look that accompanied these harsh words.  He might have reminded them of a prince long ago who had gone to feast with the English; he and his men had discarded their weapons at the door, thinking themselves safe, and were murdered, cut down to a man and boy with no more compunction than a man would show a fly.

Such tales of English treachery and the revenge that had followed were remembered in the songs of the mountains, but here they would meet only with sly looks or mockery.

'His Majesty speaks of moving on to Flint…'

'He should bide here.  We could defend this place for months against all comers…'

'But if he is not to lose England he must reach London…'

'I tell you, it is better to stay here until we gauge the mood of the country, which may be against the King.'

Clearly there was unease amongst Richard's men.  Most seemed loyal to him, though Morgan judged that some would turncoat at the first sign of trouble.  Having come to his throne as a young boy, Richard had never been as secure as he might, for his nobles had been reluctant to give up the power they had seized while he was a minor.  Perhaps it was his desire to be free of them that had led Richard to many unwise acts, which had caused him to be hated by those he had dispossessed.

Henry of Bolingbroke was one of these, and it was to take back what was rightfully his that he had returned from banishment – but now that he had such a strong army at his back it seemed likely that he would not be satisfied with so little.

When the chance arose, Morgan would send word by the method agreed before he left Glyndyfrwdy.  There were Welshmen in the forest near by who would read the signs and carry his message to Owain Glyn Dwr.  He was sure that news of his arrival at Conway had already been relayed to his kinsman.

At first he had been uncertain of the intentions of their shadows earlier that day, but then he had ceased to wonder.  Owain had spies everywhere in Wales.  He would have known of King Richard's arrival at Conway, and that a party of English accompanied by a Welsh bard had joined them.

He would know, but for the moment he was prepared only to watch and wait.

FOUR

Rosamund woke with a start and sat up in the darkness.  Such a terrible dream, a dream that had left her sweating with fear and cold.  She threw back the light covering that was all she had needed when she retired, pulling on a fur-lined robe that lay on top of her dower chest near the bed, and slipped her feet into soft leather shoes.

It was still the dead of night as she walked to her window and looked out at a sky devoid of all but a single star that suddenly went shooting across the black sky and seemed to burst into thousands of tiny sparks.  They burned brightly for a few moments and then died, leaving the sky pitch black so that briefly she felt that her eyes had been robbed of sight.

Feeling her way towards the small side table where her chamberstick stood, she fumbled and then struck the flint, lighting her candle.  Relief stole through her as she realised she had not been struck blind by the strange phenomena she had witnessed.  But what could it have meant?  She was certain that it had been a star of ill omen, and coupled with her dream, which was still vivid in her mind, she was suddenly very afraid – for herself but even more so for Richard.

In her dream she had seen him shut in some dark prison, and then the dream had changed and she had seen that she too was a prisoner, though here her dream was not so clear.  She could not tell what kind of a prison she was in, but she knew that she felt a great sadness that lay on her like a heavy weight, oppressing her with sorrow.

That feeling of oppression had stayed with her on waking and was making her feel as if she could not breathe.  It was no good, she could not stay here in this small airless chamber!

Leaving her room, she went down the spiral staircase that led to her solar, leaving the tower, which housed her, and going out into the night air.  It was cool and sweet, and now she saw that the frightening blackness had been no more than heavy clouds, most of which had since moved aside so that the stars sprinkled the blackness in a comforting familiarity.  She smiled to herself, thinking how foolish she was to let herself be swayed by a dream, then turned as she heard a soft footfall behind her.

'Are you ill, my lady?'

Rosamund recognised the voice before she could see his face.

'I was restless and could not sleep,' she replied.  'I see that you too are wakeful, Morgan Gruffudd.'

'I seldom sleep for more than short periods – unless I have drunk too well of strong wine.'  There was a hint of laughter in his voice and she moved closer so that she could see his smile.

'Do you often drink too well, sir?'

'I have been known to,' he replied and she heard the self-mockery.  'But that was when I had too much time and too little to occupy it.'

'Time can hang heavily,' she agreed.  'I have known that feeling, Morgan, though I did not drink to forget my sorrows.'

'Perhaps my lady hath more patience than I.'

'Perhaps,' she agreed and laughed huskily.  'Though my father would not have agreed with you.'

He heard the wistful note in her voice and glanced at her.               'Do you still miss him, my lady?'

'On nights like this, when I am alone,' she said and then realised she had been betrayed into revealing too much of her thoughts.  'What are you doing here, Morgan Gruffudd?  I think there is some mystery about you.'

'Mayhap I am running from myself,' he replied.  'Or trying to find myself.'

'As usual you answer a question with another,' she said.  'But 'tis no matter.  For some reason I trust you, Morgan – though my good William might think me a fool.'

'Rest easy, my lady.  Whatever I may do in the future I shall not betray you.  You have my word on that.'

'Then I shall continue to trust you,' she said.  'And now my restlessness has gone and I shall return to my chamber.  I bid you goodnight, sir.'

'Good night, my lady.'

Rosamund could feel his eyes on her as she walked away.  She did not know why but their brief time together had eased her fear of the future.

*

They had been at Conway for some days when the news came that Henry of Bolingbroke had taken Chester and it seemed that he had reached the city on the day that Richard had come to Conway.  Conflicting reports reached them, one saying that the city had been stoutly defended, another that it had surrendered without a fight.  The truth probably lay somewhere between the two, Morgan thought as he watched the comings and goings.

A strict guard was kept on the castle battlements at all times and thus far he had had no opportunity of passing a message to Owain, but he was content to bide his time.  It might be that soon there would be something of more importance to pass on.  Owain was sure to have heard of the fall of Chester and to reach his own conclusions.

Morgan was aware of a great stir the morning the ships anchored in the bay and it was obvious that an important envoy had come.  Men were shouting and it was clear the excitement was running high as the delegation was hustled into the main body of the castle.

'What is happening?' Morgan accosted Thomas Bridger as he saw him coming from the stables.  'Is there news?'

'I know nothing for certain.  I have heard a whisper.'  He glanced over his shoulder.  'They say the Earls of Salisbury and Northumberland have arrived – that there is a message sent from Bolingbroke.'

So that explained the flurry!  But why should Bolingbroke want to send his emissaries to King Richard at this stage?  He surely could not expect the King to surrender?

Morgan frowned.  'Bolingbroke has taken Chester yet the King remains strong here.'

'If I were in command I should have Bolingbroke come here.'

'That would be both fitting and wise.'

'I have heard Richard thinks of going to meet him at Flint.'

'I would advise against it.  He could make a stand here.'

'I agree…' Thomas looked thoughtful.  'Will she go with him do you think?'

'Lady Rosamund?'  Morgan frowned.  He had spoken to the lady alone only once since their arrival at Conway; their brief meeting by starlight had troubled his spirit, for he had sensed that she was deeply unhappy.  Yet outwardly she gave no sign.  She had been with Richard constantly.  At feast she sat at his right-hand and during the day they were often to be seen walking together.  It was obvious that there was warm affection between them, but was there more?  'She spoke of going on to her Castle of Caris but she may have changed her mind.'

'Here comes Alicia now.  Mayhap we shall learn more,' Thomas said as the young woman came up to them.  'You have news for us, lady?'

'Lady Rosamund wishes to speak with Morgan,' Alicia told him.  'You are to leave for Caris in the morning.  You will bid your men to be ready at first light, Thomas Bridger.'

'We shall be ready as always.  Does my lady go with us?'

'She will inform you of her wishes in the morning.  I am merely bid to tell you to prepare.'

Morgan waited for Alicia.  She was taking her time, seeming to enjoy bantering with the young soldier, but then she turned and beckoned to Morgan to follow her.

'My mistress wishes to have private words with you.  I am bidden to take you to her solar.'

His pulses quickened for he knew something was afoot and when Alicia left him at the door of her mistress's chamber, biding him to knock and then go straight in, he soon discovered that Lady Rosamund was not alone.

Morgan bowed his head to her and then to the King.  Until this moment Richard had done no more than glance his way and he felt slightly uneasy as those large eyes dwelt on his face.

'Lady Rosamund has told us of your service to her,' Richard said in a rich deep voice.  'We thank you for it, sir.  This lady is highly valued by us and had she been snatched at this time it would have caused us much grief.'

'I did no more than any right-minded man would do, sir.'

'Be that as it may, you have earned our gratitude.  Now we would ask another service of you if you care to listen?'

'Do you wish me to see Lady Rosamund safely to her castle?'

'No, Morgan,' she hushed him with a smile.  'You must wait for His Majesty to tell you.'

'I apologise, my lady.'

'No need.'  Richard wearily waved his stiff apology away.  'Your service is to me, sir.  I would have you accompany me to Flint, where I am pledged to meet Henry of Bolingbroke…'

'Is that wise, sir?  Were I your advisor I would say that you would be stronger if you stayed here.'

'To be King of England I must be able to move freely about my kingdom,' Richard said, a flash of anger in his eyes.  'I have done with being told what I should or should not do.  I shall treat with Bolingbroke.  If I return the lands that were taken from him all may yet be as it was.'

Morgan thought the King either foolhardy or badly advised.  At the moment Bolingbroke was flushed with triumph.  It would be better to fight on and see the usurper either hold his ground or suffer some reverses.  However, he could not expect King Richard to listen to the advice of a Welsh singer when he would not accept that of his own counsellors.

'I shall go to meet with Bolingbroke,' Richard went on in his own time.  'The reason I ask you to accompany me is that I need someone whose loyalty I can be certain of to carry a message back to Lady Rosamund at Caris. You may have no loyalty to me, but I believe you would serve your lady faithfully.'

'If you would only allow me to go with you…' she began but was silenced by a shake of his head.

'I know you would risk all for me if I asked it of you,' he said with a sad smile.  'But I prefer that you go to Caris.  At least I shall know that there is a part of Wales that holds for me if you are there.  Besides, if there is treachery…' He broke off as she paled.  'I am sure all will go well.  I shall talk with Bolingbroke and come to terms.  Mayhap he will demand more than the restoration of his lands, but I am sure that we shall reach an agreement.'

'Then you wish me to go with you – to carry news back to Lady Rosamund?'

Morgan was thoughtful.  At first he had not thought it wise to support the King in what he saw as weakness.  A strong man made his enemy come to him.  Yet it seemed that Richard was determined on the meeting with Bolingbroke, and if Morgan went with him he might learn things that would be of use to Owain.

'Yes,' the King said, his eyes dwelling on Morgan once more.  There was a hint of bitterness in his voice as he said, 'The people of Wales refuse to fight for me, Morgan Gruffudd, but they will not welcome Bolingbroke.  I tell you now that if he ever gains my crown he will be a worse king than I have been.  Yet I believe that you are loyal to those you serve, and that you would carry my message faithfully to this lady.'

'You may rely on that, sir.'  Morgan said.  'I have accepted service with Lady Rosamund and I would not see harm come to her.'

'Then we are agreed,' the King said and smiled.  For a moment Morgan saw beneath the mask of kingship and understood what might bind a woman to him.  'If I believe I am to be taken I shall send word with Morgan Gruffudd, Rosamund.  Believe only him and none other.  If any other comes and claims that I have fallen to my enemy bar your gates and fight – but if this man comes to you, you will know that it is true.'

Rosamund lowered her head submissively, but she was very pale and Morgan guessed that she was close to tears.

'At what time should I be prepared to leave, sir?' Morgan asked.

'We leave in the morning,' Richard asked.  'You will join my party at first light.  For now I bid you adieu, sir.'

Morgan bowed and left the chamber.  He did not glance at Rosamund for he knew that he would see tears in her eyes, and a small, unworthy knot of jealousy was burning in his breast.  He could not doubt that she felt a deep affection for Richard, though whether they were lovers he did not know.  He discovered that the thought made him angry.  Richard was a weak fool and not worthy of her love!

Walking down the spiralling stone steps, Morgan laughed at his thoughts.  Jealousy was a fool's game!  Lady Rosamund was beautiful but she was not for him.  She had a husband and mayhap a King for a lover – what should she want with him?

At the foot of the stairs he met Alicia.  She smiled at him, fluttering her lashes flirtatiously.  He knew that she would have been easy enough to seduce, but she did not stir him.  Besides, he believed that Thomas Bridger had hopes in that direction and he liked the man too well to take his woman in a careless moment that would mean nothing to him.

'Are you to come with us tomorrow, sir?'

'Not this time, Alicia.  It seems that our lady has other work for me.'

She nodded, a faint air of disappointment in her manner as she saw he would pass her by.

'Shall we see you at Caris one day?'

'I think that may happen,' he replied.  'And now I must speak with Thomas – if you will excuse me, Alicia.'

She let him pass and went on up the stairs towards her own chamber, which was directly above that of her mistress at the top of the tower.

Morgan went outside to find the young captain of Lady Rosamund's guard.  He wanted to warn him of certain dangers he might encounter the following day, and to help him to avoid them.  For he would rest easier at night if he knew that Rosamund was safe with her own people inside the stout walls of Caris Castle.

*

Rosamund was desperately unhappy as she took her leave of the King after Morgan had departed.  Richard did not like emotional scenes, so she did not cling to him or beg him not to leave her behind, but though she held her head high she could not keep the sparkle of tears from her eyes.

'I pray that we shall meet again one day, Sire.'

Richard took her hand and carried it to his lips.  He loved her as much as he had ever loved a woman, but she was not his lover.  He had been tempted to take her to his bed when she came to him, for he had wanted her since he first saw her at his court.  Yet to dishonour her, now when he knew not what was to happen, would be an evil thing.  She must be able to return to her husband if need be with her head held high.

After what she had told him of de Grenville's behaviour towards her that knight would soon find himself on service in some foreign land, hopefully to die there of his wounds or a fever.  He would certainly never be allowed to mistreat her again – and if things went well perhaps…

'Be of brave heart,' he told her.  'When I am in London I shall send for you.'

Rosamund was silent, remembering the fear that had possessed her on waking from a dream a few days earlier. That shooting star had seemed to be the harbinger of evil, and now she was very afraid that something terrible was about to happen.

'I shall pray for that day,' she said.  'May God keep and protect you, Richard.'

'Amen to that,' he said and smiled wearily.  'I must leave you now, sweet lady, for I have councillors waiting to discuss the meeting with Bolingbroke.'

'Did any warn against it?' Rosamund asked, for she knew that he had spent many hours in discussion with men who had persuaded him that he must meet with his enemy.

'Some but I have made up my own mind that this must be.'

Rosamund said no more for she knew he would not listen.  As a youth he had been dictated to too often and it had made him stubborn, but she wondered at the wisdom of trusting Henry Bolingbroke.  If Morgan Gruffudd thought it unwise…but he was merely a Welsh singer.  Or was he?  She had never quite believed in his story, though his voice was beautiful and there was no reason to suppose he was lying – and yet the way he had swooped down on the rogues attacking her that morning had made her think him a fighting man.

Why should he pretend to be other than he was?  She wondered if she had been wise to recommend him to Richard as their messenger, and yet there was no one else she could spare.  She needed all her men-at-arms, for Richard had bade her hold the castle for as long as he lived.

'If you hear that I am dead, you must decide what to do for your own sake,' he had told her.  'But until then hold true for me, Rosamund.'

She had sworn that she would, and given him a kiss to seal her promise.  For a moment they had clung together and she had wished that he would carry her to his bed, but knew that he loved her too well.  He would not dishonour her lest she be forced to return to her husband one day.

She would never, never do that!  Rosamund vowed fiercely to herself.  This little time of freedom had taught her that she would rather die than submit to Philip again.

*

Richard was full of confidence as he set out towards the meeting with Bolingbroke that morning.  He had been persuaded by the Earl of Northumberland, and Arundel the former Archbishop of Canterbury, that it was the best way forward.  Morgan was with the King's party, which had left Conway an hour earlier than Lady Rosamund and her people.  There was an atmosphere of tension amongst some of the men for despite Richard's manner, which seemed one of determined cheerfulness, some were uneasy.

Morgan knew most of the men by sight now, but though accepted outwardly by them, he had met no one he could talk to, as he would have Thomas Bridger.  For the most part he rode in silence, the sense that something was wrong growing steadily inside him, his eyes on the King's back.  It would not have surprised him had an attack come while they were in the forest for he suspected treachery and thought the King foolish to have abandoned a position of strength.

Richard's army was by all accounts no match for the one Bolingbroke had amassed against him but had the King remained at Conway he might have held out for some months, and by then perhaps others would have rallied to his cause.

Morgan was surprised when during a break to rest their horses, Richard sent for him.  He was standing a little apart, staring into the distance, his back towards Morgan when he approached, almost as if he scorned to take any precautions for his safety.

'You sent for me, Sire?'

Richard turned and Morgan was struck by his expression.

'Ah, my lady's singer of songs,' he said and smiled oddly.  'I wished for some private words with you.'

Morgan inclined his head, waiting as he was silent once more.  There was an air of resignation about the King, almost as if he were expecting…his own death?  Something in his eyes told Morgan that he knew or suspected more than he had indicated to Rosamund.  No fool then, but perhaps a man who believed too strongly in his own right to rule.  A man who was prepared to die rather than surrender those rights he cherished.

'If anything should happen…' Richard took a ring from his little finger and handed it to Morgan.  'Give this to your lady.  Tell her that if I should be killed and she should need help there are men who might offer her shelter.  If she is in trouble she should place herself under the protection of Hotspur or Thomas Percy.  Even if they take my enemy's side now, I believe them both to be as honest as any man in my realm.  They will not deal well with Bolingbroke and the day may come…' He broke off, shaking his head as if to clear it of unwelcome thoughts.

Morgan glanced at the ring, then placed it safely within his clothing.  It was fashioned of gold and wrought in the shape of a pair of clasped hands with a small ruby at its centre.

'I shall carry your message faithfully, Sire.'

'If we are attacked you must get away and warn her.  Go at once to your lady, for she will need you more than I.'

'It shall be as you command.'

For a moment the King's sad eyes dwelt on him.

'Like others of your race you think I have acted out of self interest and greed in Wales, but what was done was done for the good of my realm as a whole.  I sought to bring peace to my people.  War can only bring ruin and hardship.  For this land to be at peace it must be united under one strong hand.  Before God, I have done my duty.  I ask only that one day men shall say of me that I tried to bring good to this land and its peoples.'

Morgan made no reply.  He had been taught to hate the English as a nation of conquerors and to long for the day when the yoke of oppression could be cast off.  Yet for a moment in this man that many reviled as a tyrant he saw sincerity and one other thing - that the burden of kingship was heavy for a man to carry alone.  Perhaps this man had done what he believed right by his standards but he had succeeded only in stirring up hatred and resentment against him.

Richard made a gesture of dismissal and Morgan went back to join the other men, who were talking uneasily amongst themselves.  He sensed that their unease was growing and there were murmurs that they should turn back while there was still time and make their stand at Conway.

The respite was brief and soon they were riding again.  The attack came towards evening.  They had been making good time, anxious to reach a secure place before stopping to make camp for the night.  Suddenly, without warning, they were surrounded by a superior force of men-at-arms and, in the trees, Bowmen could be glimpsed in the failing light.

Some of the King's men drew their swords, prepared to defend their lord and themselves              to the death, but before they could do more than look about them and shout to one another, a hail of arrows came at them, cutting down men and horses indiscriminately.  Pandemonium broke out as they tried to rally themselves into a fighting unit, jostling and manoeuvring for position, but the site chosen for the ambush was a good one and there was little chance the King's men could survive the attack.  It looked as if they would be slaughtered to a man where they stood.

Morgan looked towards the head of the train, seeing that some of the men had closed ranks to try and prevent the King being taken.  He tried to reach Richard himself, but in the confusion and chaos was unable to make any headway, and then the order came from His Majesty.  Turning, he raised himself in the saddle and cried out that there must be no more fighting.

'Let no more lives be lost,' he commanded in a voice of iron.  'I am prepared to go willingly with this escort Henry of Bolingbroke sends for me.  Sheath your arms and let us depart in peace.  I command you to bury your dead and return to your homes.  We shall treat with our enemies and there shall be no more bloodshed.'

The men looked at one another in consternation.  The King seemed to be resigned to his fate and there were some wild murmurings amongst the hotheads who wanted to fight.

'We should fight.  All is not yet lost…'

'Aye, fight on,' a man next to Morgan agreed and went charging out of the line on his horse, his sword arm raised as he made a valiant attempt to reach the King.

His scream as the arrow entered his eye was fearful, his body crashing to the ground where it writhed in agony for a time before lying still.  Morgan hesitated as he waited to see what would happen next.  It seemed that a small detachment of soldiers was being allowed to go with Richard, and that His Majesty was so far being treated with the respect due to a King.

One of the attacking force, clearly an officer by his manner and dress, was riding along the line of the King's men, calling out in a loud voice that any who joined him now and pledged allegiance to Bolingbroke could go with him, those who did not wish to change sides would be permitted to leave in peace.  Only a handful of men accepted the terms offered, their faces shamed as they moved to join him and were directed to join the ranks of Bolingbroke's men.

'Are you all decided?' the officer asked again and was met with a sullen silence.  'God have mercy on your souls…'

A hail of arrows came from out of the trees, the men's screams horrible as they died for their act of defiance.  Morgan had expected treachery and was ready for it, bending low over his horse's back, he raced towards the officer who had offered terms to the King's men, a wild battle cry on his lips.  His action spurred the men around him to a similar desperate act and their combined force took the enemy by surprise.  Morgan was on the officer who had betrayed them in seconds, and with one blow he sliced into his shoulder, passing by swiftly without stopping to glance back.  But he heard yelling behind him and guessed that he was not the only one to seek revenge for dead colleagues.

He knew that he must reach the trees, must force his way through the Bowmen still gathered there, their bows trained on what was left of the King's men.  His horse was maddened by the stench of blood and the screaming that rent the air on all sides as the bloodbath Richard had hoped to prevent began.  The screams of dying men ringing in his ears, Morgan had almost reached the safety of the trees when he felt the arrow strike his arm.  He reeled with the pain, yet managed to hold on, clutching on to his horse's reins as he ploughed into the forest, trampling on the Bowman crouched there before he could load another arrow into his bow.

Gritting his teeth against the agony of the iron tip embedded deep in his arm, he rode without stopping until the sounds of screaming were far behind him and he was lost deep within the forest.  Alone and faint from loss of blood, he dismounted at last beside a small stream.  Taking the arrow with his right hand, he pulled it from his arm, a scream of agony wrenched from his lips as he staggered to the edge of the water. There he bent to cup his hand, drinking a few sips and then lying back, his eyes closing as he tried to fight the exhaustion creeping over him and failed.  The sleep that claimed him was restless and wrought with fever, but after a while it became strangely pleasant, carrying him to a place that he had never visited before – a place of sunlight and music and a face that seemed to gaze down at him with love.

*

Day was breaking when the shock of icy water dashed into his face brought him back to consciousness.  He swore and opened his eyes, thinking himself back at home until he looked up into the face of a stranger.  Starting up, Morgan reached for his sword but found it was not beside him.

'I thought it best to remove your weapon in case you were maddened with fever when you woke,' the man standing over him said.  'You do not know me, but I know you – you were the Welsh singer that was to accompany Lady Rosamund to Chester.  Here, my lord, drink this for it will ease you.'  He offered a cup which Morgan did not immediately accept.

'You were at the castle that day…' Morgan sat up gingerly, gazing warily at the face of the man before him.  He was well into his later years, his face lined, his beard and hair a silvery grey, but his eyes had a brightness that seemed to belong to a man half his age.  Morgan's arm was very sore but as he looked at it, he saw that it had been bound with what was clearly some kind of poultice.  'Did you do this?'

'Aye, I have some skill with healing that is why the lord de Grenville ordered me to go with him and his men. That drink is brewed from herbs and will dull the pain.  I have already given you some and it will not harm you.'  He took a sip from the cup and then offered it to Morgan, who took it from him this time but still did not drink.

'Are you not one of de Grenville's men?'  Morgan looked at him suspiciously.  'Is de Grenville near?'

'Not him,' the other man pulled a wry face.  'He is with Henry of Bolingbroke celebrating the betrayal of King Richard by now.  He saw you break out from the King's men and bid me follow you, for he would know where Lady Rosamund has taken her followers.'

'Is that why you bound up my wound – so that I could betray her?'

'Nay, for I served my lady before I served him, and I would go to her and offer her my help for what little it is worth.'

'Why should I trust you?' Morgan asked.  'You might have poisoned my wound while I slept.'

'I might have slit your throat while you slept,' the other man said, an odd smile on his lips.  'Why should I trouble myself to bind your wound – why not let you bleed to death as you might had I not come?'

Morgan nodded, knowing that this much was true, yet uncertain whether to trust a man who came from Philip de Grenville.

'What do they call you?'

'I am known as Kestrel, but I have many names.'

'I am Morgan Gruffudd.'

'Known to some as Morgan the Rogue, I believe?'

Morgan's gaze narrowed.  'Who are you?  And how do you know of that name?'

'I know many things, my lord.'

'Why do you give me that title? I am not your lord, nor any man's.'

'Titles given by men are but empty things, yet I think you have that about you that deserves this one.  You are a man destined for great things, Morgan Gruffudd.  This I have seen and for this reason I nursed you while you lay in your fever.  How long do you think you have lain without waking?'

'A few hours – a night.'  Morgan stared at him.  'Why do you ask since you followed me after the ambush?'

'That was three days since,' Kestrel replied.  'My charms held you in a sweet dream from which you have woken as if from a night's sleep – tell me if I lie.'

'You do not lie about the way I feel.  Apart from some soreness in my arm I feel nothing of my wound…yet three days lost.  I cannot believe it.'

'You do not believe in the power of my magic?'  Kestrel smiled.  'You are not alone, my lord.  Yet if I did not have the healing power – if I could not look into the future – how should I know who and what you are?  Or that much lies ahead for you?'

Morgan's eyes narrowed warily.  'If you know so much why did you need to follow me to discover the Lady Rosamund's whereabouts?'

'My lady is at Caris of course – where else would she go?  I said that the Lord de Grenville sent me to follow you to discover her whereabouts.  I did not say that I needed to be told.'

Morgan got to his feet.  His head swam for a moment or two but then he recovered his balance and the feeling of nausea passed.  'I think they should name you Kestrel the Fox,' he said, 'for you are as sly as that cunning creature.  Yet it would seem that you mean me no harm.'  He drank the mixture, which tasted bitter, and returned the cup to its owner.  'Since you know so much, tell me – shall I gain what I desire most in the life?'

Kestrel's eyes were bright with secret laughter.  'It is the question all men ask of me and few deserve a true answer, for most would slit my throat if I gave it – yet I shall answer you, Morgan Gruffudd.  That which you believe you most desire shall never be yours, though a time will come when you will remember my words and think me wrong – but that which you do not yet know is your secret desire shall be yours.  You may betray yourself and yet you shall not betray those you love.'

'Those I love…' Morgan's eyes narrowed.  'You speak in riddles, good healer, but you have probably saved my life and I thank you for it.  If ever I can do you a service, you may ask.'

'And you will refuse me,' the other said.  'But it will not be your fault and so I forgive you now.'

'Have done with this nonsense,' Morgan said gruffly.  He was feeling a cold chill at the base of his spine and this talk of future betrayal disturbed him.  'My sword and my horse.  I see that you have cared for my horse – but I need my sword.  Fear not, I shall not strike you down. If I have wasted three days in a fever I must lose no time.'

'Do you go to Caris?'

Morgan hesitated for a moment, then reached inside his clothing and brought out the ring given him by King Richard.

'You may give this to Lady Rosamund and tell her I shall come to her when I can.  His Majesty gave this to me for her and I also have a message for her.  When I come I shall tell her what he said, but for now I have other things I must do.  Tell her to stay where she is for the moment, to defend her castle and trust no one.'

'Your advice is good,' Kestrel said.  'The lord de Grenville may come for her, but she would do well to bar her gates to him – he was very angry when he discovered that she had gone to Richard.'

'As any husband might be,' Morgan said.  'Yet I believe she may have had cause to dislike her lord.'

'He is not a man many would like or trust.'  Kester moved a pile of leaves and twigs and handed Morgan his sword.  'Where do you go, my lord?'

'Do you not know already?'  Morgan mocked him with a smile.  'Where are your powers, old man?'

'The gift is not mine to dictate,' Kestrel replied.  'When a sight is given to me it is not of my choosing.  Indeed, I might choose not to know some things that are revealed to me.  If you go in the vain hope of rescuing King Richard…' he shook his head.  'But the choice is yours, your destiny is in your own hands.  I know where you will arrive at a certain point in time, but the path you follow is your own.'

Morgan gazed down at him, eyes narrowed intently.  It had been in his mind that he might try to discover the whereabouts of King Richard with some thought of an attempt at rescue.  Yet in his heart he knew that a vain hope.  Still he would discover what he could before making his report to Owain and then to Lady Rosamund.

'I bid you farewell, sir,' he said gazing down at the old man, who seemed to be waiting for something, his eyes fixed on a distant peak.  'Perhaps we shall meet again one day.'

'Yes, we are destined to meet,' Kester replied, his eyes coming back to rest on Morgan's face.  'I see danger for you – not the kind of danger you are accustomed to facing.  You are about to do something that will cause you much pain one day.  Perhaps your death…'

'I am accustomed to all kinds of dangers, sir.'

'This is different…'  Kester shivered as though someone had stepped on his grave.  'I would beg you for your own sake as well as others not to do this thing – but I do not know what it is…'

Morgan threw back his head and laughed.  'I thank you for your warning, my friend – but since I do not know of what you warn me I cannot heed it.'

He saluted the other man with his sword, and then sheathing it, he mounted his horse and laughing once more, waved a last farewell before galloping away.

It was only when he was disappearing into the distance that Kester gave a groan of despair.  'No,' he whispered.  'You must not…she is not for you.  I beg you to listen…hear me…you must not…'

It was too late, Morgan had gone, and he knew that when they met again it would be too late.

FIVE

Morwenna sighed as she walked in the meadows near her kinsman's house at Sycharth, feeling the heat of summer begin to wane as autumn approached.  She had been here for more than six weeks now and was anxious because she had heard nothing from her father.  It was unusual for him to stay away so long, and she worried that something might have happened to him.  It was not that she was unhappy here, for she had companions and she was treated with kindness, yet it was not quite the same as being at home.

She longed for a home of her own, where she might be the mistress and welcome her husband back at the end of the working day, and it irked her that nothing more had been said of her wedding.  She had promised her father that she would not plague Owain, but she was growing weary of waiting to be told what had been arranged.  She had ceased to think of Morgan Gruffudd as often now, for there had been no word of him since he rode away that day, and his cousin had told her that he did not believe he would return.

'Morgan was angry because Owain believed his mother's tales of him,' Rhys Llewelyn had told her.  'I do not believe he will come again to be dismissed so summarily.'

Perhaps he was right and she had let her imagination run away with her, Morwenna decided.  She would be foolish to let her head be turned by a man she might never see again, especially as another handsome man was here and more than willing to pay attention to her.

He was waiting for her as she returned from her walk.  It was happening often now, and she smiled as she saw Rhys loitering just outside the gates.  The drawbridge was always left down during the day to allow the people of the village to come and go at will.  At night it was raised and none was allowed to enter unless they were known, for the times were uneasy since Henry Bolingbroke had captured King Richard at Flint.  The usurper was meanwhile busy fortifying various castles, which were to be held against any attempt by Richard's Irish troops to come to his assistance, and demanding allegiance from those who might have taken a stand against him.  Most had hurried to assure him that they were for him, though in Wales it was an uneasy truce.

'Did you enjoy your walk, Morwenna?'

Rhys had walked to meet her as she lingered to retrieve a wild flower she had dropped from the posy she had picked in the meadow.  She held the flowers to her nose, hiding her delight in seeing him.  She suspected that her eager suitor was in love with her, and it pleased her well for she liked to be courted by him.  He was softly spoken with her, and his passionate looks sent little thrills down her spine.  She had made up her mind that when her father returned she would ask him if she could be betrothed to Rhys Llewelyn.

'It was pleasant,' she replied, smiling up into his handsome face.  'But the air grows colder.  Soon it will be winter.  If my father does not soon return the snows may come and who knows when I shall see him again.'

'You are worried for him?' Rhys asked and looked pleased as she nodded.  'Then I am glad to be the bearer of good news.  Hywell Gethin has returned not twenty minutes ago and waits for you within.'

'My father is here?'  Morwenna's face lit up.  'That is good news indeed, Rhys.  I thank you for bringing it to me.'

'It will not be good news for me if he takes you away from here, my lady.'

The throb of passion in his voice made Morwenna gurgle with laughter.  It was so pleasing to know that he cared for her that much.

'Shall you miss me, Rhys?' she asked.  'If we leave here and return to our home at Bala shall you be sorry?'

'You know that I shall…' He stared at her hungrily, the longing in his eyes.  'You must know that I…'

'I must go to meet my father…' Morwenna's heart was racing and suddenly she was a little frightened by his intensity, though she did not know why.  He meant her no harm and yet a cold chill had passed over her and she felt that she was on the brink of some terrible disaster.

'Nay, do not go for a moment,' Rhys said and caught her by the wrist as she would have walked past him.  The look he gave her was almost desperate, and lifting her hand to his lips he placed a heated kiss within her palm.  'I love you, Morwenna.  I do not know what I shall do if you leave here.  I am desperate for love of you…'

'You should not,' she said, trying to pull her hand away and feeling the strength of his as he denied her.  'If you care for me you must speak to my father.'

'It is my intention,' Rhys said eagerly.  'I have nothing to offer as yet, Morwenna, but I shall work hard to earn my living and one day I shall give you a house and lands that you will be proud to be mistress of.'

'You must speak to my father.  Now let me go…'

She pulled sharply away and this time he released her.  As she walked on ahead of him, her cheeks were heated.  She had thought it amusing to dally with the young man, but something in his eyes had frightened her that morning.  Until this moment she had not given a thought to his prospects, but now she realised that he was too poor to offer her the kind of life she had been accustomed to living.  Until he proved himself and began to rise in Owain's service, they would have nothing but the revenues from her estate at Oswestry.

She was not sure that her father would allow such a match, and in her heart she had begun to realise that perhaps she did not truly want it either.

*

After a meeting with Henry of Bolingbroke at Flint, the details of which were revealed only to a chosen few, Richard, King of England, was arrested and taken to Chester, that citadel which had been his pride.  By the time Morgan reached the city he was greeted by the news that the King had been taken to London, there to be imprisoned in the Tower.

It was useless to think of going to his assistance, nor was there any sense in repining at the days lost to a fever.  Morgan could not understand his own desire to make the attempt, nor his rage at the deceit and betrayal that had led Richard into a trap.  Richard the king was his enemy, yet despite himself he had liked Richard the man – and for her sake he would have tried to rescue that man had it been possible.

In his heart he had known Richard's was a lost cause, and perhaps Richard himself had also known that – perhaps his fate had been foretold in the stars?  Something in Kestrel's farewell had seemed to indicate that he believed Morgan would be wasting his time making this journey, as if he had already looked into the future and seen it was hopeless. But for Morgan it had proved useful in many ways.

Singing for his supper at the taverns in the towns through which he passed, Morgan spent several weeks travelling the border between Wales and England after leaving Chester.  He gathered information as he went, listening to the mood of the people, hearing their grievances – which seemed as much against Bolingbroke as Richard himself. Henry of Bolingbroke was victorious for the moment but his victory was not without dissent.  Richard had not been a popular king but it seemed that there were those who muttered as fiercely against the usurper.  Plainly the kingdom was uneasy and Henry would have trouble with the dissenters.

There were parts of Wales where he had been welcomed, particularly at his own lordships in the Brecon.  Henry was intent on restoring all that Richard had changed these past years, which must cause further unrest.  As one wrong was righted so it followed another took its place, creating new hatreds and more resentment.

At last Morgan decided that he had gathered all the information he was likely to discover here in these border towns.  It was time to return to Owain and tell him what he had learned, which was little enough in itself but might serve to help his kinsman form his own opinion.

But first he would take a detour to Caris Castle and deliver Richard's last message to the Lady Rosamund.

*

'I had almost given up hope of your coming,' Rosamund said as she looked at the Welsh singer, her heart beating oddly fast so that she was aware of a strange feeling of breathlessness.  The meeting was taking place privately in her chamber, where she could be certain of not being overheard.  'Kestrel said that he believed your destiny lay elsewhere and that I was not to look for you.'

'Did he not tell you that I had a message for you from the King?'

'No, he said nothing of that.  He gave me the ring and told me that he had helped you when you were in a fever…' She looked at him, a faint spark of hope in eyes that were shadowed with sadness.  'What news of Richard?'

'None that can give you any pleasure, my lady.  I dare say you have been told that he was taken to Chester a prisoner and from there to the Tower?'

'He was betrayed by those he trusted,' Rosamund cried, her face pale.  'I tried to warn him, as did others, but he would not listen.'

'It may be that he sensed his destiny.  Great men sometimes have no choice but to follow where fate leads them.'

Rosamund stared at him for a moment in silence, then gave a sob of despair.  'What message did he send me?'

'Only that you were not to surrender while he lives, but that if you were in trouble you might one day seek sanctuary with Thomas Percy.'

'Yes…' Rosamund nodded.  'I remember that my father was at one time close to that family – and I believe them to be honest men.'

'Those were the King's words exactly,' Morgan said.  'His thoughts were of your safety if he should no longer be able to protect you…'

Morgan stopped speaking as he heard her sob of grief, and with an oath at his own clumsiness moved towards her as she swayed, seeming overcome by her emotions, catching her in his arms and holding her close as the storm of grief overcame her.

'There, my sweeting,' he whispered hoarsely, his lips touching her hair.  'It may be that he will win free and come to you again.'  He stroked her soft hair, which she had left uncovered and was hanging in silken glory down her back, a mass of red gold waves.  'You shall never be alone while I live…'

Why had he said that?  Even as the words left his lips, Morgan knew that it was an empty promise.  He could not give her his word when his loyalty was pledged to another.

Rosamund released herself gently from his arms, turning so that her back was towards him she fought for control and when she faced him again there was only the wetness of her lashes to show that she had given way to her emotions.

'I thank you for your pledge, Morgan,' she said in her soft husky tones.  'I know it was meant to soothe me, but I think spoken too hastily.  Our ways are not together – this has been told to me.  You must leave this place and I must stay.  It has been revealed to me that my safety is here at Caris.'

'By Kestrel?'  Morgan read the truth in her face and nodded.  'Your wise man seems to know many things.  Perhaps it was he who warned Richard of his fate?  He wanted to warn me of something I must not do – is he here with you now?  I would speak with him before I leave.'

She shook her head.  'He left some days ago, for he believed he was needed elsewhere.  Kestrel comes and goes.  He says that to stay in one place too long would be his death.  He has gone for now but he will return before I need him.  He says that the time is not yet.'

'Who and what is he?' Morgan asked with a frown.  'He healed me of a wound that might have killed me, and there is hardly a scar left to show where the arrow pierced my flesh.  While I was in a fever I seemed but to dream and when I woke I was not weakened by loss of blood as I might have expected.'

'Kestrel is a man of mystery and magic,' Rosamund said.  'I know nothing more of him than you, for he came to me soon after my marriage and told me he would serve me when the time came, and then he left me.  He says that he served my mother when she was a young girl, and that I am under his protection, but he will say nothing of himself.'

'Then I shall ask you no more questions,' Morgan said and smiled at her.  'I dare say he would not have answered mine had he been here.'

'Kestrel never answers questions, except to give another riddle,' Rosamund replied.  'I suspect that his mystery lies in his refusal to do so – yet I know that he has the power of healing, for Alicia had a fever when he came to us and now she is well again.'

'I am glad that your friend has recovered,' Morgan said.  'I think that I must take my leave of you, lady – though if you should need me…'

'Make no promises,' Rosamund replied.  'If fate should bring us together again I know that you will be my friend and that is all I ask of you, Morgan Gruffudd.'

She offered him her hand and he took it, turning it to drop a kiss within her palm.  She was beautiful and he knew that he loved her, but Kestrel had spoken truly.  He could not stay with her even if he would.

'Farewell, sweet Rosamund.'

'Farewell, good sir.  I wish you all that you wish for yourself in life.'

Morgan bowed and left her.  It was harder than he had imagined, while all his senses clamoured to be obeyed.  If he had acted as his heart demanded he would have returned and swept her into his arms, kissing away her tears for a lost love and forcing her to acknowledge a new one.  Yet his head told him that he would be rebuffed.  She was grieving for Richard and she had dismissed him, telling him that her magician had forecast a parting of the ways.

Morgan knew that Kestrel had spoken truly, for he was sworn to a path that must surely make them enemies.  To give his heart to such a woman and to take hers would be foolish and cruel.  Better they part now before it was too late.

*

'I have refused Rhys Llewelyn permission to address you, Morwenna,' her father told her.  He had visited her in her solar so that they might be private.  'He swears that he loves you and believes you love him – is this true, daughter?'

'I believe that Master Llewelyn feels some…affection for me,' she replied, hardly daring to meet his eyes for she knew herself at fault in encouraging the young man.  'And I like him well enough, Father.  He has little money but if some preferment could be found for him we might manage on what we have.'

'Your marriage has already been arranged between Owain and myself,' Hywell told her sternly.  'I have not spoken to you before because Owain wished it to be kept a secret – but he has received word that Morgan Gruffudd is returning and will be here within a few days.  The marriage will be arranged then.'

'Morgan Gruffudd…' Morwenna's heart raced wildly as she looked at her father.  'But it was said that he had quarrelled with Owain…'

'That was what Owain wished to be known for reasons of his own.  It is almost three months now since Morgan left us, and during that time he has been gathering information for Owain.  I tell you this now for your peace of mind, but you must not speak of it to anyone – including Rhys Llewelyn.  Do you hear me, Morwenna?  Owain is not certain of that young man's loyalty.'

Morwenna blushed as her father's eyes dwelt on her face.  Had she not guessed that there was some mystery from the start?  She was feeling both excited and frightened at the news that she was to be married to the man who had looked at her with such bold eyes.  If she had known at the start she would never have flirted with Rhys, and she was sorry now that she had encouraged him.

'Rhys is Morgan's friend, Father,' she said more in defence of her own behaviour than any wish to defy him.

'And so far has proved himself an apt student of the art of warfare,' Hywell said.  'Owain was uncertain of him at first, but I believe he is satisfied with his work.  Yet still he is wary.  These are difficult times for us, daughter, and we must take care what we do or say.'

'Yes, Father.  I know that our kinsman has much on his mind.'

'It was my intention to go home,' her father told her.  'But now that Morgan is expected any day we shall stay here so that your betrothal may take place before we return to our own house.'

'When shall we be married, Father?'

'Perhaps within two months, before Christmas certainly.'  Hywell smiled at her.  'Owain's plans are for next year and therefore your wedding will be soon.  Tell me, does this marriage please you?'

'I think so,' she replied uncertainly.  'I do not dislike Morgan Gruffudd, though I do not know him well.'

'From what Owain has told me of the young man I believe he will be a worthy husband for you, daughter.  You must make up your mind to the match and forget this other man.  I want your promise that you will not do anything that might disgrace both you and our family, Morwenna.  I trust there has been nothing between you and Llewelyn that I should know about?'

She blushed and looked away from her father's stern gaze.

'I promise I have done nothing that could cause you shame, Father.  Nor shall I…'

'I believe you, child – but you must remember that a careless smile or a word of encouragement may be taken to mean more than it does.  Master Llewelyn was passionate in his avowal and I would not see a quarrel between him and Morgan over you, my daughter.'

With that he dismissed her, and Morwenna walked away with her head bent.  She knew that her father was right to chide her for she had given Rhys encouraging smiles that had led him to believe his love for her was returned.  He would be angry and hurt that his suit had been rejected.  She had not meant to hurt him, for she liked him and would have wed him had he been able to support a wife in the manner to which she was accustomed.

She knew that Rhys would be waiting for her to return from her walks, and that he would do his best to persuade her to defy her father's wishes.  Therefore it might be best if she did not go walking alone for the time being.  She would stay close to her cousins and give Rhys no chance to speak to her alone.

She wondered how long it would be before Morgan returned, and her heart raced as she thought of being his wife.  The idea made her breathless and she knew that he affected her powerfully, though she could not tell what her feelings for him truly meant.  Did this excitement inside her mean that she loved him – or was she a little afraid of his bold eyes and the laughter she had seen in them?

And what did he think of her?  He had seemed to hint that he would like to know her intimately, and his words had made her feel hot all over – but did he love her?

*

It was foolish, Morgan thought as he rode towards his kinsman's house, to let the sadness in a woman's eyes haunt him.  The lady of Caris was beautiful but she was out of his reach, above him in station and married to another.  And she was English.  He had vowed to serve Owain and to rid Wales of the English yoke.  He must put all thought of Rosamund from his mind, forget her – forget that he had ever seen her, touched her, held her close to his heart, inhaled the sweet perfume that was hers alone.

He had been a damned fool to let her beneath his skin!  His head told him that he must forget her, but she was there inside him, an ache in his heart, a burning in his loins, a part of him whether he willed it or no.

He shook his head grimly.  Rosamund was hardly aware of him save as a man who had once done her a service.  Her heart belonged to a king – a king who had lost his crown and was now a sorry prisoner in the Tower of London.  Who knew what his fate might be in the future?  It was doubtful that Henry Bolingbroke would allow him to live for long, for while he survived there was always the danger that others might rebel in his name.

For the moment Henry had his hands full making new alliances and visiting the various regions of his country, for it was already clear that there would be turbulence amongst dissatisfied nobles.  Owain would be pleased to hear some of the news Morgan carried, for the more trouble Henry's own people caused him, the less time he would have to waste in subduing the Welsh.

As he rode across the drawbridge at his kinsman's manor, Morgan caught sight of a young woman walking with companions in the courtyard gardens.  Her laughter was joyous and made him glance her way a second time.  For a moment as she smiled at him he could not place her, and then he remembered a moment on the riverbank and the thought brought a gleam to his eyes.  Ah yes, Morwenna Gethin – the woman Owain had suggested he should marry on his return.  He had forgotten her, but now he saw that she was comely and it was good to hear her laughter.  It might be for the best if their wedding were to take place as soon as possible.  Perhaps that way he would find it easier to put Rosamund's haunting eyes from his mind.

He sent her a flashing grin not guessing that he had made her heart flutter wildly and strode on into the house.  Owain was waiting for him in the hall for he had sent word of his coming a day or so earlier.

'Well met, Morgan Gruffudd,' Owain said as he saw him and came to greet him.  'I have heard of your exploits for my spies gave me news of you when you rode with the Lady de Grenville to Conway.'

'I thought they might be your men,' Morgan said with a grin.  'I left word in the ways we spoke of, though I was not sure you would receive my messages.'

'I have known of your comings and goings,' Owain said, his eyes narrowed.  'You returned to Caris before you came here?'

'To give the lady a message from her king.'

'You were with him when he was captured I believe?  And wounded?'

'A slight wound that troubled me little,' Morgan said unwilling to mention Kestrel for some reason unless Owain knew of him.  'I returned to Flint and from there made my way to Chester to discover what I could of Richard's whereabouts.  When I learned he was on his way to the Tower I knew that nothing could be done to save him.'

'If he is not already dead he will be soon,' Owain replied.  'I had no love for him, but it is a sorry thing to be betrayed by those you trust.'

'Aye, that it is,' Morgan said.  'As a king he was the oppressor of my country, but I respected the man.'

'It is a wise man who learns to respect the enemy,' Owain said.  'If your travels taught you no more, the time was not wasted.'

'I have learned many things,' Morgan said.  'Henry is victorious now but there are those who distrust him.'

'With good cause I dare say.'

'I believe there may be trouble from certain quarters…'  Owain arched his brows.  'It is not certain but from something Richard told me just before he was taken…I believe that perhaps the Percies may find reason to quarrel with Bolingbroke before too long has passed.'

A certain gleam in Owain's eyes made Morgan suspect that what he has just told his kinsman was not entirely unknown to him.

'You have done well, Morgan,' Owain said and smiled.  'When I sent you away to gather information it was more a test of your ingenuity than any real need for news.  As you must realise I have a vast army of spies within Wales and the border towns.  I have been making plans for a while and very soon now I shall make my first move.'

'It cannot be soon enough for me!'

'Your loyalty remains with me?'

'Have you cause to question it?'

'No, I merely ask.  The time is coming that will test any man's loyalty to the utmost.  I would have only friends about me.'

Morgan nodded, eyes narrowed as he looked into the other's face.

'What of Rhys Llewelyn?  Has he proved himself?'

'He is a good swordsman.  My captains have only good to say of him.'

'And yet you doubt him?'  Morgan frowned as Owain was silent.  'I believe him to be a good friend, but if you think otherwise you should send him away.'

'Nay, for it may be imagination,' Owain replied.  'I feel something in his presence yet cannot lay my finger on it.  Let him stay for I think he means me no harm.  If the time came when things were different…'

'I have already sworn to defend you before any other.'

'It would be a hard thing to kill a friend,' Owain said and smiled oddly.  'Let us pray that it will not be put to the test.'  Morgan would have protested his loyalty again but Owain waved his protest away.  'It is well that you are home again, for I would have the matter of your betrothal to the lady Morwenna settled.  You should marry before Christmas, and make your home near by.  I have already begun negotiations for a house and land in a valley not too far from here.  Knowing you have no love for husbandry of the land, I have bought property that will bring you revenues rather than crops.'

'I thank you for your thought,' Morgan said, laughing softly.  'I see that you believed some of my mother's tales after all.'

'You have passed the test I set for you,' Owain said, 'and we shall have no more secrets between us.  From now on you are as a brother to me – and with God's help we shall make Wales free again.'

'Amen to that,' Morgan said.  'I pray for that day with all my heart.'

'And I, my friend – and now I think I shall send for Morwenna and tell her that she is to make ready for her betrothal on the morrow.'

'And I shall go in search of Rhys and tell him that I am home again.'

*

Morwenna's heart was fluttering as her father came to meet her that morning.  She was dressed in a new white gown embroidered with gold and beads at the hem and on the sleeves, her hair hanging down her back and covered by a tiny cap of jewelled mesh with a fine veil.

'You look beautiful, daughter,' Hywell told her as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her towards the dais at the end of the room where the ceremony of her betrothal was to take place before a small group of Owain's family and friends.  'Do not look so nervous.  Owain thinks highly of your husband, and from what I know of him you have naught to fear.'

'I am not afraid, Father,' she replied in a voice that was hardly above a whisper.  'Just a little nervous.'

'As is right and proper.'  He smiled at her, well pleased by her answer, which showed she was modest.

Morwenna's hand trembled slightly on his arm as he led her to stand beside Morgan.  Owain was there together with the priest who was to bless them and conduct the ceremony of betrothal, which was almost as binding as the wedding itself.

She glanced at Morgan and found that he was smiling at her in a way that set her fears to rest.  His blue eyes made her heart beat all the faster but it was for a different reason and she found that she wished this was indeed her wedding day.  She lifted her head, meeting his gaze proudly and yet with pleasure and heard the soft chuckle in his throat as he sensed a challenge in her.

The ceremony was brief, and afterwards there was special wine to be drunk and all the good wishes of her family to receive.  She was told of the house and lands Owain was to settle on her, which would be the property of her husband, of course.  She was also given several small gifts from Owain's wife and children together with kisses and smiles from all those present.  And Morgan gave her a beautiful cross of garnets set in silver, for which she thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, blushing at the laughter this occasioned.

In all the happy confusion of such a gathering it was the more chilling to turn and find Rhys Llewelyn staring at her with such anger that she felt shocked.  It was a surprise that he should be here – why was he?  Yet as Morgan turned to him with a grin, his expression changed and became easy again, leaving Morwenna to wonder.  If he was so angry that she was betrothed to Morgan and not him – why was he pretending to be Morgan's friend?

She looked away and when she looked for him again he had gone.  Her heart ceased to beat so wildly and she was smiling once more as she heard her husband to be addressing her.

'Your father is to take you home this afternoon,' he told her.  'The wedding will take place here the week before Christmas and we shall go from here to our new home.'

'We are to leave this afternoon?'  She looked at him in disappointment.  'Am I not to see you again before the wedding?'

'So impatient, Morwenna?'  The wicked laughter in his eyes made her blush and she did not know whether to laugh or be angry with him.  'Nay, that was unkind of me – for you could not be more impatient than I, sweet lady.  Owain has some task for me.  I must travel once more, this time in Wales.  When I return I shall call on your father and perhaps we can spend a little time together.'

'I shall be pleased to see you, sir.'

'And I to see you, Morwenna,' he replied and took her hand to kiss it.  As he did so he was reminded of another woman he had taken his leave of in that way, and the kiss he gave Morwenna was brief, a mere salute.  He let go of her hand almost at once, as if stung by some insect.  For a moment the pain that swathed through him was intense as he realised that he felt nothing for the woman he had promised to wed – or at best a mild affection.  'Go now with your father.  I have things I must do.'

Morwenna watched as he walked away from her.  Something in his manner had disturbed her.  What had caused the light to go so suddenly from his eyes?  He had been teasing her, seeming to court her, and then it was as if he had shut her out, closing his heart to her.

He did not love her!  A great wave of disappointment and hurt swelled up inside her as she understood that this had been a political alliance for him and nothing more.  He had married her because she was connected to Owain and he wished to serve him.  Such marriages were commonplace, and she had known that she was marry as her father dictated.  Yet she had hoped that her husband would love her – as Rhys Llewelyn did…

Morwenna's heart ached as she left the company and went outside.  All the bright promise of the day seemed to have disappeared as she walked through the courtyard and out into the meadow.  She walked towards the woods, wanting to be alone, to hide her deep hurt and the pain that was beginning to gnaw inside her.  After all her excitement and pleasure in her marriage, it was to be but an empty thing after all.

The man who would be her husband did not love her.  Perhaps there was another woman who had stolen his heart?  Morwenna felt anger stir inside her.  How could he do this to her?  If he loved another he should have refused the match.  Yet what was she to him?  No more than a possession to be taken as part of a bargain sealed and signed.  And she a fool to expect more!

Anger warred with her tears as she tried to hold them back.  Why should she weep for a man who did not love her?  She had come close to loving him, Morwenna realised.  Had he given her a chance she would have been a true and devoted wife, but now…now she was lost, her misery so deep that she did not see the man watching her.

'So you are to be his wife,' a voice said behind her, startling her from her reverie.  'You will regret this day, Morwenna.  He does not love you.'

'Nor I him,' Morwenna said, stung into defiance.  She raised her head, her eyes bright with tears she was too proud to shed.  'This wedding was my father's and Owain's doing.  I had no choice.'

'Is that the truth?'  Rhys moved towards her, his face twisting with passion.  'I thought you willing.  You had been avoiding me.  You knew that I love you – that I wanted you for my wife!'

'I was not allowed to walk alone when my father returned,' Morwenna lied.  She was hurt and angry at the way she had been deceived and wanted to strike out.  'My father would not allow us to marry, Rhys.  You have nothing and Owain would not have given me a dowry had I been pledged to you.'

'But it was me you truly wanted?'

Morwenna looked into his eyes and found herself drowning in the passion she saw there.  'How could it be otherwise?' she asked.  'You know I love you, Rhys – but I am betrothed to Morgan and the vow was sacred.  It cannot be broken.'

'A dead man cannot marry…' His eyes seemed to burn into her, his look sending icy chills down her spine.  'If I killed him you would not be forced into this marriage.'

Morwenna was turned to stone by his words.  She stared at him in horror.  To what had her foolish words led them?

'No,' she whispered.  'You must not, Rhys.  To murder him in cold blood would be a terrible sin…'

'But I cannot give you up,' he said and reached out for her, drawing her into his arms, crushing her in a hungry, desperate embrace that left her head spinning.  'I would risk even my immortal soul for you, Morwenna.'

'No…' she said again, and then to pacify him as she saw the wildness in his eyes.  'At least not yet.  Think, Rhys!  If Morgan were dead they might marry me to another of Owain's kinsmen.  If I had been married and was a widow with my own lands…'

His eyes gleamed as she ceased, frightened by what she had said, her own eyes opening wider as she saw that he was agreeing with her.

'My clever Morwenna,' he said and smiled.  'Yet you know what that would mean?  Once you are his wife…No, I shall kill him now!  I cannot bear to think of him touching you…possessing you.'

'He may possess my body,' Morwenna replied calmly.  'But not my heart or my spirit – they shall be yours, Rhys.'

'And your body?' he murmured huskily as she stared at him.  'I would have all of you, my love.'

Morwenna smiled as the thought came to her.

'Yes,' she said and gazed up to him.  'You shall have me first, Rhys, then I shall always be yours despite that I am his wife.'  She darted back as he would have taken her in his arms, his intent plain to see in the burning look he gave her.  'No, not now, for the wedding does not take place yet and I must not be dishonoured by bearing a child too soon or all is lost.  Come to me the night before my wedding.'

'The night before…'  Rhys stared at her as he realised what she was saying.  'My sweet, clever Morwenna.  It is as well that you do not betray me as you would him, for I should kill you.'

'Save your talk of killing for the future,' Morwenna warned.  'And be careful that you give no sign of your jealousy – for if what we plan were suspected…'

'I should be killed,' Rhys agreed.  'Morgan would kill you himself if he knew.  He may know that you do not come to him a virgin…'

'I shall take a pig's blood to my bed and stain the sheets,' Morwenna said.  'And my tears and cries shall convince him that there has been no other.'

Rhys took her chin in his hand, gazing intently into her face.  'Do not think to deceive me, Morwenna.  For if you ever do I shall make you wish this day had never happened.'

'What is there in life for me but you?' Morwenna asked.  She reached up to kiss him, biting his bottom lip so that the blood ran and licking it with her tongue.  'The pact is sealed between us.  You must be patient, my love.  Do nothing against Morgan until the time is right.'

He touched the spot where her teeth had drawn blood, looking down at her with a smile of satisfaction on his lips.  'You are a vixen.  From your looks you would seem a milk and water wench, but there is fire in you.  I have always known it – but even I did not guess at the deviousness of your mind, Morwenna.'

'Then we are well matched, sir.'

'Aye, that we are,' he said, and caught her to him, crushing her mouth beneath his once more so that she almost cried out for pain, as he bit her and licked the blood.  'Now you know that I shall give back what I get, Morwenna.  Remember and keep faith with me.'

SIX

''Tis a messenger, my lady.'  Alicia hesitated, looking at her mistress uncertainly.  'He asks for an audience with you.'

'A messenger?'  For a moment Rosamund thought of the Welshman who had saved her from abduction.  Perhaps Morgan had news for her! Then, as she saw her companion's frowning look, her heart caught with sudden alarm.  'Does he come from my husband?'

'Yes, my lady.  He says that Sir Philip has sent you a letter, and that he is to deliver it into your hands and none other.'

Rosamund sighed.  She had known the message must come.  It had only been a matter of time, for she knew that Richard was a prisoner though she was not sure where he had been taken.  It was said that he had been moved from the Tower to a secret location for fear that an attempt might be made to rescue him, but her informants were not certain of his whereabouts.  Some believed he might even be dead.

Henry of Bolingbroke had laid claim to Richard's throne and the small rebellions of his followers were being ruthlessly put down wherever they occurred.  It seemed that all was lost.

'You may tell this messenger to bring his letter,' Rosamund said with a weary sigh.  'But let him be guarded for I would not trust anyone who comes from Philip.'

After Alicia had gone she looked at the ring she wore on her middle finger.  Richard's ring, given to the Welsh singer for her…but she did not believe that Morgan Gruffudd was merely a wandering bard.  He had the look of a fighter, and Kestrel had told her he was a man of destiny.

She was not quite sure what the old man had meant, and she had lied to Morgan for Kestrel had told her that her destiny was bound up with his.  She had lied because she had trembled in his arms, finding herself strangely drawn to him as he comforted her.  She had not wanted to feel that way for she had been grieving for her lost friend.  Richard had shown her more kindness than any man had since her father died and she had loved him dearly.  He was a man of vision and of culture; his influence would be sorely missed in England, especially by those he had patronised in the arts and with works of great architecture.  Rosamund felt that with Richard had gone all the best of an age of glory.  It might be many years before his like was seen again.

Yet it was not of Richard that she was thinking as she waited for her husband's messenger.  Caris was not yet isolated from the world outside.  People came and went and rumours reached them – sometimes strange rumours that Rosamund found disturbing.  Was it possible that the Welsh people planned revolt against the English lords that had ruled this land and suppressed them for so long?  She would not have thought it possible, but she had not dreamed that Richard would be so easily deposed.

If only he had remained at Conway.  Had he made a stand there his followers might have fought on for him and Henry been defeated.  She turned as she heard footsteps and then Alicia entered the room, Philip de Grenville's messenger with her.  Thomas Bridger, who from the look on his grim face, was determined to protect his mistress at any cost, accompanied them.

Rosamund lifted her head, her manner proud and cool.  'You have a message for me?'

'Yes, my lady.  Forgive me for my presumption, but I was ordered to give it to no one but you.'

'Very well.'  Rosamund held out her hand.  'There, I have it.  Now you may go.'

'I was told to wait for an answer.'

'Then you may wait in the kitchens, for I dare say you are hungry.  Take him with you, Thomas, and offer him our hospitality.  If there is an answer I shall send Alicia to you later.'

'As you wish, my lady.'

Rosamund inclined her head, waiting until they had gone before breaking the seal.  Henry Bolingbroke had laid claim to the throne and Richard was deposed, therefore she was required to surrender up her castle. She frowned as she read her husband's demands.  She was to return to Bundesley with all her goods and people and wait there until he chose to come to her.  He had decided to forgive her providing that she obeyed him immediately.

To obey would be to place herself in Philip's power for she knew that his talk of forgiveness meant nothing.  He was merely attempting to save himself the trouble of forcing her to surrender to him.  He had never loved her.  Now that she was alone and friendless, he would keep her a prisoner once he had her.  At least at Caris she was free to live as she pleased for the moment.

'Alicia was looking at her anxiously.  'Is it bad news, my lady?'

'My husband demands that I return to Bundesley to await his coming.'

'Shall you go?'

'No, I shall not.'  Rosamund raised her head proudly.  'We are well able to withstand a siege of some months here.  I doubt that Philip has the patience to force me to come out.  Why should he?  He has all that was mine.  He has offered reconciliation and may now cast me off before the world as a wife who has deserted her husband.'

'Will he truly leave you here in peace?  Do you not think that he will vent his anger on you for disobeying him?'

'He disobeyed his king,' Rosamund said scornfully.  'Had he remained true to Richard I would have joined him at Chester.'

Alicia gazed at her doubtfully.  She knew the lord de Grenville to be a cold, harsh man who punished his enemies.  Was it likely that he would simply leave his wife in peace here at Caris?

'If you are afraid I give you leave to go.'

'Oh no!' Alicia cried.  'I do not wish to leave.  It was of you I thought, my lady.  If you do not obey him you are condemned to stay here, for where else could you go?'

'I do not know,' Rosamund replied.  'But I would rather die here alone than return to Philip.  Yet I shall not ask such a sacrifice of others.  Any who wish to leave here have my permission to do so.  I shall announce it this evening in the hall.  Let it be known that I do not command obedience.  I have chosen so must others.'

'I shall tell your Steward of your decision,' Alicia said.  'But no one will leave, my lady.  If you stay we stay – for as long as you wish it.'

'Then you may tell Philip's messenger there is no answer.'

'Yes, my lady.'

Rosamund went back to her narrow window as Alicia went away, gazing out at the mountains that protected their backs.  It was impossible for a hostile force to come at them from the rear.  No, any attack would come from out of the forest.  The tiny village of Caris lay at the foot of the hill, overshadowed on one side by the castle and the mountains and on the other by the forest, a small stream tumbling from the mountains into a pool inside the castle walls.  It was this eternal spring that made them so strong under siege, for though food might eventually run short they would always have water.

No, it was the inhabitants of the village who would be the ones to suffer most if an attack should come, Rosamund decided.  At the first signs of hostility they must either flee into the forest or take shelter with her.  She was not afraid to die if the time came, but she must protect her people as she best she could.  She would ask Thomas Bridger about setting up an early warning.  There must be watchers in the forest at all times so that by the time a force of armed men could reach them they were prepared.

And she would double the stores held within the castle.  Philip would grow tired after a few weeks and go away, she was certain of it – but it was best to be prepared for a longer siege…

*

Morwenna lay trembling in her bed.  It was the eve of her wedding and she was frightened of what she had promised Rhys Llewelyn.  Her rash words had been spoken in anger, and she had wished them unsaid a thousand times.  Yet she had no way of taking them back for Rhys had stayed at Sycharth with Owain's household and she had been at her father's house until that very morning.  She had hoped to be able to have a private word with him, but it had proved impossible.  She had caught no more than a fleeting glimpse of him as she arrived, but the message his eyes conveyed then had been sufficient to set her trembling.

She had seen little of her betrothed since the ceremony, for he had been visiting many parts of Wales on some business for Owain.  But though he had sent her a kind letter, which her father's scribe had deciphered for her, saying that he was looking forward to their wedding, he had not come to her father's house.  His neglect had hurt and angered Morwenna, and it was not out of remorse that she had changed her mind but fear.  Supposing someone saw Rhys come to her chamber?  Supposing Morgan discovered that she had betrayed him with his friend and killed her?

The sound of her door opening stealthily made her start up, her throat tight with panic.  If she cried out the servants sleeping in the tiny room above hers would come to her.  She could claim that Rhys had come uninvited to her room…

'Are you awake, dear heart?'  Rhys whispered.  'Do not fear, it is only I come to claim my bride.'

'Be quiet,' Morwenna said, stifling her laughter at his words.  It was true that she would be his bride, not Morgan Gruffudd's, and that would serve him right for ignoring her.  Her fear began to evaporate as she remembered why she wished to punish Morgan Gruffudd.  'Are you sure that no one saw you?'

'Quite sure,' Rhys reassured her.  'They have all drunk far too much in celebration of your wedding, Morwenna.  I let them think I was drinking too, but I poured my wine away – for I wanted to come sober to your bed.  I have thought of this moment every moment of my waking day, and dreamed of it each night since you left.  You are more precious to me than the air I breathe, my love.'

'Rhys…' Morwenna breathed.  'I am frightened.'

'There is no need to be frightened,' he assured her, and throwing back the rugs that covered her, he slid between the sheets and reached out for her.  'We have no need of this…'  He pulled at the night-robe she wore, and Morwenna lifted her arms so that he could take it up over her head and discard it on the floor. 'We must place this beneath you,' he said and held her as she lifted her hips for him to slip the cloth under her.  'I shall take it with me and then none will know what has happened here this night.'

Morwenna lay gazing up at him.  Her heart was beating so fast that she felt as if she were short of breath.  It was she who had planned this revenge on Morgan but it seemed that Rhys was gloating over what they did and for some reason she found that unpleasant.  Yet when he gathered her to him and began to kiss her body she made no protest, her response to his loving ready and eager.  This was what she had hoped for in her husband, a tender, passionate lover who would teach her all the secrets of womanhood.

'You are so beautiful,' he told her.  'The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.  I love you and shall love you all my life.'

His words thrilled her and when he thrust into her she was ready, warm and wet for him so that he slid deep inside her.  His thrusting manhood tore her maidenhead so that she almost screamed with the pain, but he covered her mouth with his own, silencing her cries and then she felt the rushing heat inside her and her back arched to meet him as he thrust into her again and again.  She moaned beneath him, though when her cries grew too loud he stifled them with his hand and whispered in her ear that she must be quiet.

'All will be lost if we are heard,' he said.  'We must take care, Morwenna.  We have too much to lose…'

Morwenna clung to him as the spasm of pleasure swept through her and she felt him empty his sperm inside her.  Tears stained her cheeks as he rolled away from her, though she did not know why she wept.

Rhys wiped her cheeks with his fingertips, kissing her eyelids as she lay with them closed.  'It is over and it will not hurt so much the next time,' he told her softly.  'You are mine now, Morwenna.  Your husband may enjoy you for a while but you belong to me and always shall.'

She did not reply nor did she look at him.  She felt him take the blood stained cloth from beneath her and heard his grunt of pleasure as he saw it carried the evidence of her lost virginity, and then she heard him walk to the door, open it and close it behind him.  Only then did she open her eyes.

What had she done?  Morwenna felt the sting of shame sweep over her as she got out of bed and examined the sheets.  There was nothing to betray her; Rhys had seen to that and she was grateful, though she suspected that he had been thinking of what they both might lose if her shame were discovered.

She walked to where a jug of water and a bowl stood on a small trestle table.  Pouring a little water into the bowl, she used it to wash herself, wincing at the sting of her bruised flesh, then she carried the bowl into the closet where her privy was housed and poured it down the hole in the wooden slats.  It fell to the cavity far below, where the effluent of the castle's nightsoil was carried out into the moat.  Sometimes, in the summer when it was very hot the moat stank, but every now and then it was drained and cleaned to take away the accumulated filth.

Returning to her bed, Morwenna hesitated, then knelt on the hard floor, her head bent as she prayed to be forgiven for her sin.  Climbing into the bed, she could still smell the musky scent of Rhys' body and hoped that it would be gone by the time the serving women came to strip the bed of its covers.

She closed her eyes, but all she could see was the handsome face of a young man as he stood naked on the riverbank, laughing at her.  Morgan would hate her for what she had done – any man would be furious at being cheated of what was rightfully his. She had wanted to punish him, and yet she was conscious of a terrible sense of loss.

She had lost nothing!  Morgan did not love her.  He had not even bothered to come to her during the weeks before their wedding.  She had been willing to love him, but he did not want her love.  It was his fault that she had betrayed him with his friend.

She would not think about it again nor what Rhys might do in the future.  It was not her fault.  Morgan had brought it all on himself…

*

Morgan looked at the pale face of his bride as she joined him in front of the priest who was to marry them.  She looked terrified and it was no wonder.  He blamed himself for not taking the time to get to know her a little better after their betrothal, to reassure her that he was in no hurry to claim his rights as a husband.

He had spent the intervening weeks getting to know parts of Wales that he had never visited, following the mountain trails and talking to the people, studying the castles that they would need to take and hold if their revolt against the English was to succeed.  Once again, his disguise as a singer had stood him in good stead, and he had been inside several of the fortresses he visited, staying as a welcome guest as he took note of their defences.

In September Henry Bolingbroke had made his claim for the English throne, by the 13, October 1399 he had been crowned, though as far as was known the rightful King still lived.  Richard's whereabouts were not certain, for he had been taken from place to place.  Morgan had heard a whisper that he might be in Pontefract but it was not sure.

Morgan had made his report to Owain on his return.  His kinsman had been pleased with all the detail and small maps he had made, though most of what he had learned was committed to memory.

'You have done well, Morgan.  These things may serve us in the future.  And now you must forget our plans for the moment and think of your own,' Owain had told him with a smile.  'Your house is ready for you, and you shall spend a week alone there before you come back to join me here for Christmas.  After that…it will not be long now, I promise you.'

Morgan frowned as he thought of the week ahead.  A groom should anticipate his wedding with eagerness yet for some reason he had no joy in what he did, and it was his own fault.  Morwenna was young, beautiful and modest as befitted a bride.  If he could not love her as he ought it was because his heart had been given to another.

He was a damned fool!  Morgan cursed himself inwardly as he took his vows, knowing that he must try to conquer his feelings for Rosamund De Grenville.  She was not for him, even Kestrel had said that their ways must part.  It would do no good to pine for a woman he could not have.  He must make up his mind to make the best of this marriage.  Surely it could not be hard to love such an innocent child as this?

He thought that perhaps her youth was the trouble.  Beside Rosamund she seemed a child rather than a woman – but he must not think of Rosamund on this day!

He forced his last memory of her, of the scent of her body as she wept in his arms, from his mind, concentrating on the ceremony.  It seemed to drag on interminably, but at last it was over and the feasting had begun.  He and Morwenna had been given the places of honour at the high table, sitting to the right-hand of Owain.  Morwenna next to Owain and he beside her as once before.  Morgan had found the girl attractive enough then.  He tried to recapture the feeling he had had that night, but found it impossible.  His heart was irrevocably given to another woman.  He would be kind and generous to his wife, he decided, and always treat her well – but he would never love her.

The feasting was well under way now, the room filled with laughter as their guests watched the tumblers going through their antics.  A travelling minstrel played for them, and then the dancing began.

Morgan stood up and offered his hand to his bride, noticing that it trembled a little as she allowed him to lead her into the middle of the floor.

'There is no need to be frightened of me,' he whispered.  'I shall be kind to you.  You shall not find me a demanding husband, Morwenna.  Nor need you fear that I shall force you to yield up my rights before you are accustomed to me.  There is time enough for that in the future.  We shall both want children but there is no hurry.'

The look she gave him made Morgan frown.  She seemed startled, rather than relieved that he had made it clear he would not take the privilege of a husband as yet.

'You are considerate, my husband,' she said as they began the stately dance that was decreed for them.  'But I would always wish to do my duty.'

'Certainly you owe me a duty,' he said and for a moment the old humour was in his eyes.  'But I would rather it was a pleasure – for both of us.  We shall wait until the time is right.'

He smiled at her, thinking her blushes those of a trembling virgin, and knew that he had been right to stay his hand in this matter.  A marriage was binding for life and he saw no reason to destroy her life as his mother's had been by a careless brute of a husband.  Morgan was not his father, and he was determined that his young wife should be content – even if he could not give her the love that should rightfully be hers.

Yet perhaps if they were both patient in time they might reach an understanding.  There were many forms of love and he believed that he might eventually come to find a different kind of love with Morwenna.  It would not be the raging passion he felt for Rosamund…her image was in his mind again but he banished it ruthlessly.  He must not think of her on this day.

*

The bridal chamber was in a separate part of the house.  It had been prepared earlier in the day by giggling serving women, decked with garlands of greenery and the bed strewn with rose petals.

Morwenna was led there by the ladies of the household, who helped her to disrobe.  They stayed with her for a while, teasing her gently about the handsome man who was so soon to become her husband in truth and giggling at her blushes.  Then, as they heard the raucous shouting and male laughter from outside, they were quiet as the door opened and Morgan entered, accompanied by several of his friends.  Owain was with them and Morwenna's father.  They had come for the ceremony of the bedding, and as many as could manage it crowded inside the chamber, waiting expectantly.  They were to be disappointed for though Morwenna was in bed as custom decreed, Morgan shook his head and began to shoo them from the room.

'I believe my bride would prefer privacy on her wedding night,' he told them.  'Away with you and drink to the health of my first child.'

Laughter greeted this, though Morwenna saw Rhys Llewelyn glance at her, a secret smile in his eyes.

'Shame on you, Morgan,' one man, more intoxicated than the rest, cried out.  'We must see you bedded.'

'Nay, we have seen Morgan to his chamber and the bride is young,' Owain decreed.  'He will do his duty and in the morning you shall all see the evidence of it.'  He ushered them from the room as they protested and threw ribald jests over their shoulder at Morgan.

He shut the door and barred it after them, turning to Morwenna with a smile.  Her serving women had slipped away through a door at the side of the room, which was covered by a curtain.  Morgan thrust the curtain aside, opened it to shoo away the giggling wenches, then locked it after him.

'I think we may be alone now, Morwenna,' he said.  'You must forgive them for their ribaldry.  It is the custom, though hard for a young and innocent girl to bear.'

'I-I did not mind it,' Morwenna replied.  She was terrified and she dare not look at him.  He had said that he was in no hurry to claim his rights – but what did that mean?  If not tonight, then when?  If he did not come to her bed for a long time and she was already carrying the child of another man…

'I told you not to be frightened of me,' Morgan said and came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, taking her hand.  He raised it to his lips and kissed it.  'I shall not force you to yield to me tonight, Morwenna.  Perhaps in a few days – or a few weeks, when you are accustomed to seeing me in your chamber.'

'But…'  Morwenna's hand trembled in his.  'What of the proof that we must show my father in the morning?'

'Ah…'  Morgan laughed and produced a small vial.  'This is pigs' blood.  Sprinkle it liberally on your sheets and in the morning everyone will smile and believe the deed is done.'

Morwenna swallowed hard.  It was so strange that he should have suggested using the very artifice that she had prepared to deceive him.  He was no fool, this man she had married – and she realised now that he was both kind and generous.

'You are thoughtful, my husband.'

'I do not believe that a young girl should be used by the man she marries as if she were nothing but a possession,' Morgan said.  'You are a woman with feelings and dreams of your own, sweet Morwenna, and I would not hurt you.  For this reason I shall tell you the truth.  I am not in love with you, but I admire and honour you.  In time I believe that we may come to care deeply for one another.  It is perhaps unfair that you should have been given to me in marriage, for I know well that you had no choice in the matter.  I could have refused, but it was Owain's wish – and you are beautiful and good.  There is no other I would take to wife…'

No other that he could marry, his mind echoed.  'Therefore, I would deal fairly with you.  One day, when we are both in the mind for it, we shall become husband and wife in every way.'

He bent his head and kissed her briefly on the lips.  It was a kiss of such sweetness that Morwenna's breath left her and she stared up at him, wishing that he would take her now – that she had come to him virgin pure as she ought.

'Do you not want me?'

'You stir my blood,' Morgan said.  'I could lie with you now and it would pleasure me, Morwenna – but I think it best we wait.  Perhaps when we are in our own home…'

'I do not please you.'  Her eyes filled with tears and he smiled and shook his head.

'You please me as much as any woman could,' he said and knew that he lied.  'Sleep well, Morwenna.  I shall be here when you wake.'

He removed some of the cushions and took them to a mat beside the fireplace, lying down with nothing to cover him, his back towards her.

Morwenna stared at him, torn between anger and a strange pleasure at his tenderness towards her.  He had not left her as he might, staying with her so that all would think she had kept him in her bed the whole night.  It was done for her pride's sake, she knew and that touched her, as did his kindness.  If she had been a frightened virgin she might have loved him for his forbearance – but now she was frightened for an entirely different reason.

If Morgan continued to exercise self-restraint towards her, she could have no hope of convincing him that any child she might bear was his.  She must pray that he would relent and take her to his bed soon, for otherwise she might find that his kindness had turned to anger.

*

They were to return to Sycharth the next day and Morgan still had not claimed his rights as her husband, despite all the smiles and inviting looks she had sent his way.  Morwenna was afraid that once he was back with Owain his time would be taken up by duties and her chance would be lost.  It might be that her monthly flow would come and she would have no need to worry, yet she would have felt safer if she was indeed his wife.  The fear that he would know she had lain with another was ever present in her mind, and she could not rest until their first coupling was over.

Morgan had been a pleasant companion for these past few days, walking with her about the estate Owain had provided for them, discussing the management of their household and asking her how she liked to spend her time.  She had shown him her tapestry and the embroidery she was presently working on, and in her turn she asked him what kinds of foods would please him at their table.

As yet he had not sung for her but on their last evening  she asked him if he would sing the haunting ballard he had sung for her once before.  She had noticed that he had eaten and drunk sparingly that evening, and when he offered her his hand after his song was done her heart leaped wildly.  She knew instinctively that the moment had come when he looked down into her eyes.

'Tell your women to help you prepare and then I shall come to your chamber, Morwenna.'  His smile sent shivers down her spine.  'You are not afraid?'

'You are my husband, Morgan.  You have been patient.  I could ask no more.'  She felt her cheeks grow warm but then she raised her head and smiled at him.  'I shall await your coming with pleasure.'

Her pulses were racing as she left him and went to her own chamber.  They had slept in separate but adjoining rooms for the house Owain had given them was a large modern manor with many of the comforts that older houses lacked.  Although the walls were made of solid stone, they had thick tapestries to bring colour and warmth and were less draughty than the house at Oswestry that was her marriage portion from her father.

Morwenna dismissed her maids once she was undressed, then she placed the vial of blood she had secreted amongst her things beneath her bed cushions.  Somehow  she would sprinkle it on the sheets once Morgan had claimed her as his own.  Perhaps he would sleep afterwards…

She turned guiltily as he entered as she was smoothing the cushions into place, smiling at him nervously.

'You are welcome, my husband.

'I thought you would be in bed?'

'I was merely finishing my devotions.'

Morgan nodded but made no reply.  He came to her as she pulled back the covers, gazing down into her eyes for a few moments before taking her into his arms.  Her heart jerked as his mouth sought hers, tentatively at first and then with sudden passion.

Something within her seemed to leap in answer to his passion and she pressed herself against him, eager for what was to come between them.  Morgan made a little moaning sound in his throat and bent to sweep her off her feet and into his arms.  Laying her on the bed, he hastily divested himself of his tunic, then helped her to throw off her nightgown.  He bent to kiss her breasts, teasing them with his tongue, flicking at the rosy nipples and then sucking at them, grazing them with his teeth until she whimpered with pleasure.  Oh, how sweet it was to feel his mouth upon her and hear the rasp of his breath against her breast.  Morwenna had never felt such ecstasy as his kisses and caresses brought her now.  He seemed to play upon her body as he would a harp, coaxing her to a response that had her body singing with pleasure.

She was swept along by a rushing tide of heat that spread through her limbs, arching towards him, mewing like a kitten.  When he opened her legs and began to thrust at her, gently seeking entry to that inner citadel of her warm secret self, she made little cries of entreaty, forgetting in her eagerness to feel him inside her to cry out as if in pain when he thrust himself deep into her.  She had been terribly sore after Rhys' possession, which had been rougher and much swifter than this slow, sensual loving.  It was good, so very good, and she clung to him, arching into his body, matching his rhythm, moaning with pleasure as he spilled himself inside her, bringing her to a shuddering climax at that same moment.

'Ohhh…' she cried and pressed her face into the dampness of his shoulder.  'Morgan my love…my husband…'

He lay still for a moment, then rolled away from her, leaving the bed immediately.  Morwenna lay with her eyes closed for a moment as her senses slowly gathered and she became aware that he was pulling on his clothes.  She opened her eyes and saw that he was staring down at her – and he was angry.  A trickle of fear went through her as she remembered.  She had neglected to cry out in pain and she had forgotten the blood.  Her hand crept beneath the cushions but he was before her.  She gave a little cry of alarm as he pulled out the tiny vial of blood.

'I do not need to ask what this is or why you needed it, do I?  Who was he, Morwenna?  Tell me his name and I shall kill him.'

She shook her head, reaching for the thick coverlet to cover her nakedness.  Shame washed over her as she saw the anger and disgust in his eyes.

'I cannot…I do not know what you mean…'  The excuse died on her lips as his hand reached out to tear the covers back.

'Do not pretend to a false modesty, Morwenna.  I know that you have lain with another man – perhaps more than one.  Tell me, are you a wanton?  A whore that any man might have for a few coins!  Has your father knowledge of your sin?'

'No!'  Morwenna sat up in the bed, hunching her knees to her chest and hugging them.  She was shaking with fright.  The look in Morgan's eyes terrified her.  'My father knows nothing.  He would beat me if he guessed.'

'I should beat you,' Morgan said and grabbed her arm, dragging her from the bed so that she tumbled to the floor and lay staring up at him with terrified eyes.  'I am within my rights to beat you – indeed many men would kill you for what you have done.'

'No!  I beg you,' she cried and struggled to her knees, the fear making her voice shrill.  'It was once only and he – he forced me.  He came to my chamber while I slept.  When I woke he was beside me.  I tried to cry out but he covered my mouth with his hand and then – he raped me…'  Tears were slipping down her cheeks as she looked at him imploringly.  'I should have taken my own life or told my father that I could not marry but…I was afraid.'

'So you sought to deceive me.  No wonder you were so eager to become my wife in truth.'  He reached down and jerked her roughly to her feet, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.  'Are you carrying his child?  Tell me the truth or it will go hard with you.'

'I-I  don't know.  It is not time yet…'  She caught her breath as his grip tightened on her arm, making her wince with pain.  'It – it was on the eve of our wedding.'

Morgan swore viciously and thrust her away from him so violently that she fell against the bed.  He turned his back on her for a moment and she crouched on the bed, beginning to weep.

'Tears will not help you,' he said harshly as he swung back to face her.  She felt chilled as she saw his expression.  She did not know this man.  It was not the gentle knight who had been so kind to her, nor yet the bold rogue who had stood laughing upon the riverbank, but a harsh stranger who frightened her.  'Had you come to me honestly I would not have blamed you, Morwenna.  Rape is an ugly thing and the sin more often man's than woman's.  But you sought to deceive me and that cannot soon be forgiven – but you shall be avenged, I promise.  Tell me his name and I shall kill him.'

'No, I beg you…'

'You plead for him?'

'No.  I am frightened.  You may be hurt and – it will cause a scandal.  I shall be reviled and spat upon by all those who have been my friends.'

'Your name shall not be mentioned except to him so that he knows why he dies.'

'But…'  Morwenna's throat was tight with fear.  She felt that she was choking, her heart beating so wildly that she could scarcely breathe.  If she did not give him the name he demanded he would surely kill her.

'It was your friend,' she said at last.  'Rhys Llewelyn…'

'Rhys?'  Morgan stared at her in stunned disbelief.  'You lie!  Rhys would never do such a thing – we are blood brothers.'

'Ask my father…'  Morwenna lifted her head, her eyes bright with anger and pride.  She had been given to this man because Owain desired it.  If her father had listened to Rhys this would never have happened.  'He loves me.  He asked for me in marriage and was refused – and so he took what he wanted and gloried in the taking.  He told me he would kill you if he had to, but I begged him to spare you.  So then he came to my chamber…'

'At your invitation?'  Morgan gazed into her eyes.  She would not look away, facing him boldly now, her sense of shame replaced by anger.  'Was this a plot between you?  Never mind, do not tell me – I shall get the truth out of Rhys.'

'Where are you going?' Morwenna cried as he turned away from her.

'To Sycharth of course.  I shall have the truth of this, Morwenna – and then I shall deal with you.'

'But…we were to go together tomorrow…'

'You will stay here,' Morgan said coldly.  'I do not yet know what you deserve, Morwenna – but until I decide you will wait here.  Do you understand me?  Try to defy me and you will regret it.'

Morwenna could not answer him as he left her.  She felt cold and crawled under the covers, hugging them about her and shivering.  The ice was spreading through her limbs but she could hardly feel it.

What had she done?  It had all gone so terribly wrong.  She could not remember why she had been so foolish as to make that wicked pact with Rhys Llewelyn.  She must have been out of her wits when she agreed to cheat Morgan in such a fashion.  She did not know why she had had done it.  Except that Rhys had seemed to love her and Morgan did not.  She had been so hurt and angry after their betrothal when she'd realised that she meant nothing to him.

Oh, but he had been kind to her – a gentle considerate husband and a tender lover.

She recalled the way he had made love to her, taking such care to arouse her and trying not to hurt her as he took what he had believed her maidenhead.  His loving had made her body sing for joy.  He might not love her but he had cared for her in his own way.  She understood that now that it was too late.  He hated her now.  Morgan hated her but she…loved him.

The realisation swept over her with an awful clarity.  She had loved him from the first moment she saw him on that riverbank.  Pride and a girl's foolish dreams had led her astray.  She had dallied with Rhys because his burning looks fed her vanity, and because Morgan had gone away and she was not sure she would ever see him again.  Besides, she had not expected Rhys to become so passionate -–his manner had frightened her a little that day and she had spoken to pacify him at first, her stupid pride leading her into saying things she had never meant.

But why had she made that wicked pact with Rhys?  She had let anger and disappointment cloud her mind and in her heart she had regretted her words almost as soon as they were spoken, but once committed it had been impossible to draw back.

She had been so foolish, so vain and wicked!  She had wilfully betrayed her husband in the most cruel way possible.  She should have cried out when Rhys came to her bed…fought him if need be, told him she had changed her mind.  Yet she knew that if she had tried to stop him he would indeed have raped her.  His passion and his jealousy were powerful emotions, sweeping them both along to this tragedy.

Tears trickled down Morwenna's cheeks.  Rhys would surely tell Morgan the truth and then he would kill her when he returned.

SEVEN

Rhys knew the moment he set eyes on Morgan that he had somehow learned what had been done against him.  Morgan's lips were white with anger, his eyes cold as the mountain pools in winter when the snows came.

'I would have words with you.'

Rhys inclined his head, ignoring the curious glances of the other men.  He followed Morgan from the courtyard, out across the drawbridge, through the meadows to the edge of the forest.  In the early morning air the ground beneath their feet was crisp with frost, the air making little clouds of their breath.  Neither of them spoke until they knew they were alone and could not be heard or seen by others.

Rhys stopped walking and turned to look at Morgan.

'She told you I have been her lover?'

Morgan's hands clenched at his side.  'You do not deny you went to her chamber the night before our wedding – nor that you took her against her will?'

Rhys smiled, a smile of triumph and of bitterness.

'She told you I forced her?  She was willing, as hot and eager for it as any wench I have known.  It was her idea that I should have her first – on your wedding eve.  I would have killed you rather than let you have her.  It was she who wanted it this way.'

'Damn you for a lying knave!'  Morgan could no longer control his temper.  He launched himself at Rhys, knocking him to the ground and then flinging himself on top of him.  'You were my friend – my brother…'

Their fight was fierce as they rolled over and over on the ground.  Rhys went for Morgan's throat, his hands closing about it, squeezing hard as he tried to choke the breath from him.  Morgan used his strength to prise Rhys' hands away and then he heaved Rhys from his body, leaping on him, straddling him, hitting at his face with his fists several times before Rhys in his turn managed to throw him off and both men scrambled to their feet.

It was Rhys who pulled his dagger from the sheath at his waist, his eyes wary as he waited for Morgan's reaction.

'You were always the strongest of us,' he muttered.  'When we wrestled as boys and men, you were the winner of our contests.  But I've learned a trick or two these past months while you've been living soft…singing for your supper.  Well, Morgan, I've had your wife.  I had her before you.  She begged for it…sucked me dry and wanted more…'

Morgan gave a growl of rage and drew his own dagger.  They circled each other, eyes hard, teeth bared, like barbaric warriors all thought of chivalry or the rules of warfare forgotten, blotted out by the red mist of hatred.

'You always took the prettier girls for yourself as if it were a God-given right,' Rhys muttered, his breath rasping.  'You were the leader.  It was you the others listened to, you the one men followed.  But I lay with your wife and you can never forget that…'

'You were my brother…'  Morgan cried, then darted forward knife raised to strike.  Rhys avoided him neatly, laughing as he struck air and found that the other man had somehow got behind him.  'Devil!  I see they have taught you how to fight…you were never a fighter, Rhys.  You would have done better to trade your sword for a plough…'

Rhys laughed, his eyes bright with triumph.  'That may have been true once, Morgan, but no more.  Your kinsman's men have taught me well.'

He lunged at Morgan, who twisted away but was caught on the arm by the tip of Rhys' dagger.  He felt the blade rip through his sleeve scoring the flesh but ignored the stinging sensation it caused.  Warily, he circled Rhys again, ready this time when the other man lunged at him, and this time his own dagger struck home, catching Rhys' arm.

'Blood for blood,' he said and smiled.  'You have learned, my brother, but you were always too impatient…'

Rhys gave a roar of rage and flung himself at Morgan.  They struggled desperately, Morgan dropping his own weapon as he fought to hold the other off and wrest his dagger from his hand.  In close combat his superior strength told again, and after some minutes of desperate struggle, the dagger fell to the ground and was kicked away in the fight.  Then they were on the ground again, hitting at each other wildly and grunting like animals as they began to pant for breath.  At last Morgan managed to land a punch on Rhys's chin that laid him out.  As he lay still, no longer resisting, Morgan got to his feet and looked down at him, noticing the trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.  He wiped his own with the back of his hand, suddenly feeling the anger drain out of him.  He had meant to kill Rhys – but what was the point?  It would not change what had happened or take away this bitter taste in his mouth.

Rhys had opened his eyes, was looking at him.

'Kill me then,' he said.  'Finish it between us – for I shall have her from you one day.'

'Take her if you wish,' Morgan said.  'She means nothing to me – and from this day neither do you.  You would do best to go from this place, Rhys, for if I see your face again I shall kill you.'

He turned away, feeling a sense of emptiness.  Morwenna's betrayal was as nothing to the loss of the friend he had loved.  He would not kill his friend, for in truth the girl had never touched his heart and it was only his pride and anger that had driven him here.

He meant to walk away but something alerted him and he turned just as Rhys struck at his back with the dagger he had retrieved from the ground.  Morgan put out his hand to defend himself, but he had been off guard and it was too late.  He cried out as he felt the blade bite deep into his side and then he sank to his knees, keeling over as the blood gushed out in a crimson tide.

'You shouldn't have turned your back – that's the first rule of warfare,' Rhys said but his voice came dimly as from a distance.  'Know that I hate you, Morgan Gruffudd.  I hope you die for then I shall have all that was yours…'

Morgan made no answer.  He was slipping into unconsciousness, aware only of the pain…

*

There was no Kestrel this time to tend his wound, binding him by charms to a dreaming sleep that brought him ease and rest.  This time there was only the fever and the pain, raging in him as he fought his way through endless days and nights of sweating, his body racked by the ill humours that possessed it.  And in his fever there was one name often on his lips.

'Rosamund…Rosamund…'

In his helpless state Morgan gave way to the desires and feelings he had ruthlessly kept in check while in control of his mind.  Tending him, bathing his heated body with cool water and giving him the mixtures prescribed by Owain's own physicians, Morwenna learned to hate the woman she had never seen.

Almost three weeks had passed before Morgan was able to focus clearly on the face of the woman who tended him, and even then he was still too weak to do more than whisper her name.

'Morwenna?  What are you doing here?'

'I was sent for, my husband,' she replied glancing at the man who stood at the foot of the bed and waited.  Owain had been in the room constantly since Morgan was brought home close to death. 'I am your wife.  Where else should I be but by your side?'

Morgan could not answer for he had not the strength to remember or name the reasons why she should not be here, though he was aware of them, aware of her betrayal and that of the man he had loved as dearly as a brother.

Another ten days passed before Morgan could leave his couch, another week before he began to recover his strength.  And it was then that he asked her the same question, but in a way that told Morwenna she must answer him with more than sweet words.

'Rhys Llewelyn left you bleeding to death,' she said.  'One of Owain's men was suspicious when he came back alone.  He told Owain that Rhys had a flesh wound in his arm, but when he asked him how he had come by it he would not answer, and a few minutes later he rode out and they discovered that he had taken most of his possessions with him.'

Morgan nodded, his eyes narrowed.  'Owain has told me how I was found and brought back to his house nearer to death than life – but that does not explain your presence here.  Do not pretend to misunderstand, Morwenna.  I have lost much blood but not my memory.'

She hung her head but did not answer.

'I ordered you to stay where you were until I decided what to do – why did you come here?'

'Owain sent for me to nurse you.  He was afraid you might die and he thought that I should be here.  It is my right as your wife – and I have nursed you better than any other might.'

'I know that you have done much for me while I was ill,' Morgan acknowledged.  'I asked you why you came.'

'Because I did not want you to die – and because I knew that it was my fault you fought with Rhys.  If you had died your death would have been on my conscience.'

His eyes were intent on her face.  'Did you hope for reconciliation – that I might forgive you?'

Morwenna fell on to her knees beside the bed, her head bent, tears trickling down her cheeks.  'I do most humbly beg you to forgive me, sir.  If you would let it be as it was before that night…I would never betray you again…'

'Get up,' Morgan bade her, frowning.  'You need not abase yourself before me, Morwenna.  For what you did with Rhys I have no forgiveness, but for your care of me in my fever I am prepared to accept you before the eyes of the world.  I shall not reject you publicly, nor shame you before your family.  You may live where you please – at the house Owain built for us or at your own estate at Oswestry.  It matters not to me.  I shall never be more than your husband in name…'

A sob left Morwenna's lips and she looked at him imploringly.

'I beg you to take me back.  I love you, Morgan.  You are my husband.'

'But I shall not live with you as man and wife,' Morgan said.  'I know that my decision is hard for you to accept, Morwenna.  If you decide to go away with your lover I shall not force you to return to me.  I accept at least part of the blame for I knew when I married you that I did not love you, but I had intended to try to make it a good life for us both.  What you did killed any feeling I might have had for you.  You are as nothing to me.'

Morwenna turned away, her shoulders shaking as she fought to control the storm of weeping that had overtaken her.  If he had raged at her and beaten her she could have borne it – but she could not fight this coldness.  Something had changed in him, and she knew that she would never reach him.

'I shall go to Oswestry,' she said at last and turned back to face him.  'You blame me for what I did, Morgan – but when you were ill you called ceaselessly for the woman you love.  I have sinned no more than you.'

'That is not true for I have never lain with the woman I love,' Morgan said.  'If she had given me a sign…I should never have married you.'

Morwenna caught her breath as his final arrow struck home, and she felt the pain deep within her.  Useless to tell him that she was with child, for he would not relent.  Why should he when neither of them knew who was the father of her child?

'Then I have your permission to retire to Oswestry?'

'Or anywhere else you please,' Morgan said gently.  'I believed for a short time that I hated you, Morwenna – but now I know that I could never feel such a strong emotion for you.  You do not touch me in any way.'

Morwenna turned away as anger surged in her.  She had loved him but she had betrayed him and he had rejected her.  So be it!  She would not offer him her love again.  Indeed, she did not believe that there was any love left inside her to offer anyone.  He had killed it with his cold, cruel words and she was beginning to feel the emotion that would come to fill her in the empty years ahead.

What had once been love was fast turning to a bitter hatred.  She looked at him as he sat propped against his pillows, still too weak to do more than get out of bed to relieve himself.

'Perhaps the emotion is too strong for you,' she whispered.  'But it is all I have to sustain me, and believe me I shall feed it.  You have made me hate you, Morgan Gruffudd, and one day you will be sorry for it.'

If her kinsman's guard had not been standing outside the door, where he had been ever since Morgan was brought back more dead than alive, she might have killed him then.  He was too weak to have stopped her, but she knew that one cry from him would bring a dozen men running to his aid.  Owain was furious at what had been done and he had men out looking for Rhys Llewelyn with orders to bring him back either dead or alive.

Owain saw her as she left Morgan's chamber and came up to her.

'How is he this morning, Morwenna?'

'Still weak but gaining strength every day,' she replied and gave him a small sad smile.  'My husband has bid me go home for he says the household must not be neglected and there are others here to help him.'

'You will not wish to leave him?'

A hint of tears was in her eyes as she raised her head proudly.

'Morgan is my husband.  I must obey him.'

'Yes, that is true,' Owain said and frowned.  He had heard Morgan speak another woman's name in his fever and he had guessed that the marriage was no love match.  It saddened him if they were not happy together, for it had seemed to be a good match.  The girl was beautiful and good, and Morgan was a fool to pine after a woman he could not have.  'I shall speak to Morgan and ask him to let you stay.'

'No, please do not,' Morwenna begged.  'In truth I am very tired and would like to rest quietly at home, my lord.  I am…with child.'

'That is a different matter,' Owain said and smiled at her.  He had misjudged the way things stood between them.  Clearly Morgan was sending her home because she had been doing too much. 'I shall send an escort with you, Morwenna.  You must take care of yourself.'

'Thank you, my lord.  You are very kind.'

He inclined his head, going into Morgan's chamber as she passed by and made her way to her own.  Outwardly she was calm, but inside she was raging.

The hatred was forming a hard knot inside her.  Morgan thought he could dismiss her and be free to go to his woman, but one day she would have her revenge – on him or both of them!  She did not believe for a moment that they had never lain together, and picturing them together fanned the flames of her anger.

Inside the chamber, Owain waved Morgan back to bed as he would have made the effort to get out.

'No, no, my friend, not yet.  You must rest a little longer – get your strength back.'

'I shall soon be well again.'

'We must pray for that,' Owain said.  'I have work for you, Morgan.  The time is not yet here but it is coming soon – the time when we shall make our strike.  I need my friends to be strong enough to fight when the time comes.'

'I shall be strong again,' Morgan said.  'But I am going away for a while, Owain.  I shall return when you need me but I need a little time for myself.'

'You are not fit to travel nor will be for some months,' Owain said.  'This is foolish talk, Morgan.  Why should you go anywhere until we are ready to move against the English?  Besides, we have not yet found Rhys Llewelyn and while he lives you are not safe.'

'Rhys could have killed me while I lay there helpless had he wanted,' Morgan said.  'I could not kill him, though I meant to do it – and I think he could not finish the task.'

'He tried hard enough,' Owain retorted.  'He might have finished the task if Alain had not come in search of you.'

'I do not believe he will try again.  I am willing to take the risk.'

'But why – and why did you fight with him?  I thought Rhys was your friend?'

'It is between us,' Morgan replied.  'I cannot tell you more, Owain – except that it is a private matter.'

'Yet still you must give me your word that you will not go yet.'

'I give you my word that I shall return when you need me,' Morgan said.  'When I am ready I shall go.'

'As you wish,' Owain replied, eyes narrowed.  'I would be happier if you could trust me, Morgan – but I shall not ask again.'

'It is a matter of honour,' Morgan replied.  'Believe me that it makes no difference between us.  I am still loyal to you, Owain.'

'Then we shall forget this conversation,' Owain said.  'Go with God and return safely, my friend.'

Morgan lay back as the other man went out, closing his eyes.  He was no longer in terrible pain but the weakness still came over him in waves.

'Where are you, Kestrel?' he asked with a wry grimace.  'I need your magic now.'

Morgan knew that he must leave Sycharth for a while.  His restless spirit would not bide here until he could forget Rhys' betrayal – but where could he go?

The answer came winging its way into his mind.  He would go to Rosamund.  Perhaps she would know where Kestrel might be found.  He had sworn to Owain that he would be strong enough to fight for him, but unless something changed he believed that he might never fight again.

*

Morgan paused as he saw the stark outline of the castle against a darkening sky.  It was not far now, and yet his strength was fading fast and he scarcely knew whether he had enough to go on without pausing to rest.  Yet if he should sleep he might not wake again.

He had passed by Caris on his travels for Owain last year, but had not trusted himself enough to go near it.  He was weary almost unto death, his weakness terrifying to a man who had always been strong, but now as he drew near he hesitated.  Ought he to go to Rosamund?  She had warned him against it, and yet he felt himself drawn as a moth to a flame, and knew that if he must die he wanted it to be near her.

The sound of rushing feet startled him and he looked at the men coming towards him through the trees in alarm.  If they attacked he was helpless for he could not lift his sword in anger, let alone fight his way through.  There must be at least six or seven of them, too many for him to match in his weakened state.

'I come to see the Lady Rosamund,' he said in a voice hardly above a whisper.  'She will know of me…Morgan Gruffudd…'

'How can we be sure you come in friendship, stranger?'

'It is him…' a different voice cried.  'I told you it was – the Welsh singer who saved Lady Rosamund last year.'

'And by the look of him he needs help now…'

Morgan was near fainting as willing hands reached out to help him from his horse, and then he was aware of lying on the ground for a while before he was lifted to a board of some kind.  They were carrying him now, voices all round him, talking to him, encouraging him.

'Kestrel…' he whispered.

'Kestrel is at the castle,' a voice he knew but could not place spoke beside him.  'He came because he knew he would be needed.  He is waiting for you, Morgan Gruffudd.'

It was a voice he knew, a woman's voice - but not her voice.  Morgan closed his eyes as the weakness robbed him of the power of thought.  He was being taken to her, it no longer matter whether he lived or died.

*

The dream was sweet.  Morgan was reluctant to leave it, though the hands that tended him were not as soft as those that had tended him in his dream.  He was being shaken quite roughly and he murmured a protest.

'Throw water into his face, it will bring him out of his trance,' a voice said.  'He is better now and must be woken.'

'I do not like to be so cruel…'

That voice was hers!  Morgan opened his eyes and gazed into her face.  She was here, she was with him.  It was she who had tended him so sweetly while he lay senseless -–and behind her the old man who had saved his life once before.

'So we meet again, magician.  I had sore need of you this time.'

'I knew that you were calling to me,' Kestrel replied.  'I came to you, Morgan Gruffudd.  Now you owe me your life twice over.'

'I shall repay you somehow…'

'I have told you before.  When I ask you will refuse me – but it will not be your fault.'

'You speak in riddles…'  Morgan feasted his eyes on Rosamund.  'My lady…you have cared for me.  I think I owe my recovery as much to your nursing as this rogue.'

'Kestrel eased your fever.  You owe your life to him and should not call him a rogue,' Rosamund replied and smiled.  'Yet I sense that there is a bond between you and I need not scold you for your mockery.  I have done only as much as Kestrel would allow.'

'I thank both of you for my life, and more.'  Morgan sat up in bed.  His head span a little for a moment or two but he knew at once that his strength had returned.  'I am better.  When I came here I was as weak as a kitten.  I thought that I should never be fit to fight.  How long have I lain here?'

'A week,' Kestrel told him.  'I was not there to tend you when you were wounded, yet I knew it had happened.  I tried to warn you not to do that which you did…'

'But you did not tell me what,' Morgan said.  'If only I had known…'

'The vision came too late.  You had ridden away I knew not where,' Kestrel said, 'and I knew it was your destiny.  There are some things that are meant to be and though we fight against them they will happen.  Now the worst has happened and out of your pain a new man is born.'

'There has certainly been pain enough,' Morgan said wryly.  'But I shall not mock you, my good Kestrel, for I know that if you had not helped me I should never have regained my strength.'

'You were not destined to die yet,' Kestrel said and shook his head.  'Do not ask.  It has not been revealed to me, though it may be one day.  If that day comes I shall warn you if I am able.'  He inclined his head and turned to leave the room.

Morgan said nothing.  In the nature of things he should outlive the old man, but after his recent brush with death he knew that youth did not guarantee life.

'I shall bring you food,' Rosamund said, smiling at him in a way that brought joy to his heart.  'Kestrel has done his work and it is up to us now to make you truly well again.'

'Stay a moment longer,' Morgan said and caught her wrist as she would have moved away.  'I came to you because I needed Kestrel's help but I can leave if it might bring danger to you.'

'Kestrel told me once that our destinies run side by side,' Rosamund replied.  'I denied you when last you came, because I was afraid to acknowledge what was between us – and because I was grieving for a friend.'

'Was that all Richard was to you?'

Rosamund's eyes did not leave his.  'There was a time when it might have been more but it did not happen.  I know now that it was not right.  We were friends but not lovers, though I sorely needed to be loved and I would have taken what he offered.  But it was not meant to be.  I was meant to love another – a man I shall love until I die.'

'And how do you know this, my lady?'

Her cheeks were pink as she looked at him.  'You ask too many questions, sir.  I should leave you to rest and Alicia will bring you some food.'

'You are not afraid of me?'

'I think that between us there can never be fear, Morgan.'

The look in her eyes told him more than a thousand words, and he released his hold on her.  'Go then, my lady.  I shall spare your blushes – but you should understand why I came to you.  It was not just because I hoped that Kestrel might be here…'

'You forget that I have tended you as you slept,' she said.  'You dreamed long and deep, but as you dreamed you spoke of what was in your heart.  I do not believe that you need to say more at this moment.  Soon we shall talk and then we may both say all that is in our hearts.'

He lay back, his eyes following her as she left the room.  Was it possible that she had learned to love him as he loved her?  It was more than he had ever dreamed, more than he could have expected.

He did not think of the difficulties that lay ahead, for neither of them was free to marry.  Man and God forbade their love – and yet he believed that it would survive what lay ahead.  A smile touched his lips as he closed his eyes.  He had walked through fire to come to her, but it was where he belonged and though they might be forced to part sometimes, he knew that the future was theirs.

PART TWO

1400 –1403

ROSAMUND

EIGHT

She rode ahead of him, her horse seeming to have the speed of the wind and he could hear her triumphant laughter as she reached the lake ahead of him.  Reining in, she turned to look at him as he arrived a second after and threw himself down, coming to help her from her mount, his hands lingering about her waist for a moment as he gazed down into eyes that were brimming with laughter.

'That will teach you to offer me a start, my lord!'

'Indeed it will, my lady,' Morgan said and felt the hot desire surging in him as he bent his head to kiss her lips.  'There shall be no more concessions from me, Rosamund.'

'None were asked for,' she reminded him.  But there was only warmth and laughter in her face, for it was their habit to tease one another, a part of the love and trust that had built between them these past months.

Morgan touched her face, tracing the line of her cheek and the arch of her throat.  'You are so lovely,' he said.  'You have made me whole again, Rosamund.'

She smiled and shook her head.  'Do not think of the past,' she murmured.  'We promised each other the night that we became true lovers that we would think neither of the past nor the future.  We must live only for now, Morgan, for the moment we have.  If our time should be brief or long, we will take each hour and make it as sweet as if it were our last.'

Morgan nodded.  What she said was true and he knew that if he had only these months to remember they would sustain him through his life long.  He had never known such happiness, nor experienced such a feeling of content as when he was with her.  Her smile, her touch, her scent were all he needed to set the blood singing in his veins, to make him feel that the world was a good place.

'I never want to leave you,' he said.  'I would spend all my life with you, Rosamund.'

'And I with you,' she said.  'But we both know that you have your duty to Owain – and that the time is almost here.'

'Hush, do not speak of it,' he warned and put a finger to her lips.  'I do not want to think of anything but you.'

She smiled, shook her head and moved away from him.  He saw that she was searching for the special flowers she had told him of that grew near the lake, and when she dropped to her knees and began to part the long grasses he went to see what it was that she had found.

'It is my orchid,' she said.  'Look, Morgan, there is a whole clump of them this year.  Sometimes there are only one or two.'

He bent and picked two of the delicate dark mauve flowers, kissing one and giving it to her.  She kissed the other and he placed it inside his tunic, next to his heart.

'Rosamund's flower,' he said and smiled at her, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.  As she gazed up at him he knew an urgent desire to make love to her, but knew that their faithful guardians would not be far away.  It was too dangerous to ride into the forest alone, for Rosamund had been sent another message by her husband, demanding that she returned to him, and she feared that Philip de Grenville might send men to attack them.  'I want to make love to you…'

'Shall we go back to the castle?'

'In a while,' he said and took her hand.  'I shall exercise patience, my dearest, for I know that you love to walk here.'

'It is such a beautiful day,' she said.  'The beginning of September, Morgan.  Soon the autumn mists will come and then winter.  In winter the forest is dark and I do not like to ride out so far.'

She did not add that if what she believed was true she would not be able to come this far in a few months time.  She had missed her monthly flow and noticed small changes in her body, but she was not yet sure enough to tell her lover that she was carrying his child.

For an hour they wandered hand in hand, moving from dappled sunlight to shade, watching a tiny red squirrel burying its finds for winter beneath the roots of an ancient oak.  Above them a benign sun beat down and the lake sparkled in the sunlight.  A Woodlark sang and other songbirds burbled at them from the treetops, the peace of the ancient woodland seeping into them and bringing a curious mixture of content and sadness.

At last when the sun began to dip into the far side of the lake, Morgan helped her to mount and they set off together through the trees, back towards the castle that was their home.  Their retinue formed a little procession behind them, amongst them Thomas Bridger and Alicia, who were noticeably becoming more than friends.  It was expected that they would marry one day.

It was when they were inside the castle that Rosamund's steward William Baldry came to him with a letter that carried Owain's seal.

'This came for you while you were out, my lord.'

Morgan had long ago given up reminding them that he had no title.  Kestrel had begun it and everyone had fallen into the habit – perhaps because they thought that as Rosamund's lover he should have some title.  It was accepted that they were lovers, although they did not flaunt their relationship, and Morgan knew that William was silently disapproving.  He said nothing, his loyalty to Rosamund unshaken, but Morgan had seen him looking at him oddly sometimes.

'I thank you,' he said.  'Was an answer required?'

'The messenger did not stay.'

Morgan nodded.  He knew in his heart what the letter would say, but he would not read it yet.   Rosamund was looking at him, but he shook his head.

'Later – when we have supped with our friends.'  He took her hand and held it for a moment.  'I think we should have a feast this night, my lady.  We shall sing and dance and laugh…'

'Yes, I agree,' she said.  'William, this is to be a night of celebration.  We shall have special wine and food from the stores…'

'As you wish, my lady.'

Morgan looked at her after the steward had gone.

'I fear your good William still does not trust me.'

'He thinks you will hurt me.'

'You know I would never willingly do that, my love?'

'Yes, I know, but William worries too much.'

She knew why William worried about the life she had been leading these past months.  Owain Glyn Dwr had known where to find Morgan, and her husband also had his spies.  Word would have reached him that she had taken the Welshman as her lover.  The time might come when Philip would make her pay for her happiness…but she would not think about that, now when time was so short.

'Come with me, my love,' she said.  'I shall not send for my ladies yet and we can be together.'

He smiled at her, feeling the urgency that he had suppressed in the forest, knowing that she felt it too.

'Yes, we can be together,' he said.

*

As always Morgan had tempered passion with tenderness and sweetness.  He lay with his head against her breast, their turbulence done for the time being, his gentle, deep breathing telling her that for the moment he slept.  She touched his dark head, stroking the wild tangle of his hair, the silkiness of its texture a delight to her fingers.

She would always remember this loving, Rosamund thought.  There had been an urgency about it that both felt, as if they knew that this would be their last night together for a while, though the letter was still unread.

Rosamund smiled as she touched her lips to his dark head.  She would not weep, for she knew that tears were foolish and would only grieve him if he knew.  Besides, she had learned to face sorrow as it came, and to cope with grief.

In March of that year they had received news that Richard was dead, murdered in Pontefract Castle.  Rosamund had grieved for her lost friend, though with Morgan to comfort her she had not sunk into melancholy.  She did not know what she would do without him in the coming months.

Kestrel had told her that they were bound together until death for one or the other – or for both.  She believed that though they must part they would be together again, and if it should not be then she would cherish the child she carried and remember the time they had shared all her life.

Morgan looked up at her as she sighed, smiling as he moved away from her and reached out to touch her face with his fingertips.

'Do not be sad, my love,' he said.  'We knew this time must come for my vow was made before we met – and it is my destiny.  I feel it deep inside and I cannot deny it even if I would.'

'I do not ask you to deny it,' she said.  'To ask such a thing of you would be to diminish our love, and that I shall never do.  It is the man you are, Morgan Gruffudd, that makes me love you – I would have you no otherwise.'

'We shall be together again,' he promised.  'Owain is ready to make his claim as the true prince of this land of ours and I must fight for him – only then can we hope to be free.'

'I love you and loving you must love your cause,' she said a tender smile on her full red lips.  'Caris held for Richard while he lived now he is no more it shall be held for Owain Glyn Dwr – Prince of Wales.'

'You are as brave as you are lovely, my dearest,' Morgan said.  'But you must not make rash promises.  I would not have harm come to you for any reason.'

'Here in Caris I am safe,' Rosamund declared.  'We have a score of archers and as many men-at-arms.  There are few castles in Wales better able to withstand a siege.  You may tell your kinsman that his enemies will receive no welcome here for as long as you are his man.'

'I thank you on Owain's behalf,' Morgan replied, a twinkle in his bold eyes.  'It is good to know that we have one castle to our name.'

'And will soon have more I doubt not,' she replied.  'Should you and your men ever need shelter here, Morgan, my gates will be opened to you.'

'I know that, my love,' he said and looked deep into her eyes.  'But there is something on your mind.  Will you not tell me?'

'Do you know me so well?'  Rosamund laughed as she looked at him.  'I have not spoken because I am not certain, but I believe I am carrying our child…'

'Our child?'  Morgan's eyes went over her anxiously.  'If that be the case I shall pray for you, my love.  We have known it might happen, and I rejoice in the news – but it means there may be difficulties for you.'

'It is woman's nature to bear children, my lord.'

'You know I did not meant that, Rosamund.  You are young and strong and God willing will survive and nurse our child.  I was thinking of Sir Philip's reaction when the news reaches him…'

'I care not what he thinks,' Rosamund said.  'I have not betrayed him for he never cared for me.  He demands my return every now and then, for he must appear to want me back, but all he cares for is the wealth I brought him.  I believe he is well satisfied to leave me here -–and he must have heard tales before this.'

'I dare say,' Morgan said.  'Your people are loyal to you, Rosamund, but others come and go and tales will have reached him – as they did Owain.'

'And your wife…'

'I have no wife,' Morgan said.  'I told you that I shall never live with her again.  She has gone to Oswestry and may go where she pleases, for I have released her from her vows to me.'

'You should not be too harsh towards her,' Rosamund said and gently smoothed the lines that creased his forehead with her fingertips.  'She was very young and led astray by the man who betrayed you.'

'It was his betrayal that wounded me most,' Morgan said.  'I have forgiven Morwenna, dismissed her from my mind.  She means nothing to me.  You are my only love.'

'As you are mine.'  She smiled and leaned up to kiss him.  'Let us not talk of these things tonight, Morgan.  Kiss me again, love me once more before we part – for it may be many months before you can come to me again.'

With a little groan, he gathered her to him, kissing her hungrily, his lips and tongue exploring the soft, secret places of her body that were so well known to him until they were both trembling with the need raging inside them.  Their loving was long and sensual, taking them to heights that few were privileged to reach, and then at last they slept, content in each other's arms.

*

It was on Thursday 16 September 1400 that a gathering of Welshmen from northeast Wales came to the home of Owain Glyn Dwr at Glyndyfrwdy, to bear witness as the true prince of Wales was proclaimed.

Slipping into the hall unannounced some time after the meeting had begun, Morgan glanced round and saw several faces that he knew for many of the men present were neighbours and friends or relatives of Owain Glyn Dwr.  It was an enthusiastic and fiercely loyal gathering, though not as large as Morgan had hoped to see here.

'Others will join us once the uprising begins,' Owain had told him confidently when they first spoke after Morgan's arrival.  Besides, we shall have the element of surprise on our side.'

This much was true.  Morgan knew that his kinsman was still trying to raise support both in Wales and abroad, his emissaries going out to Ireland, Scotland and France, all enemies of England.  To delay the rising longer might be to waste their opportunity.  They must take their chance and hope that as news spread others would join their cause.

After the formal ceremony, which had gained credence from the presence of the Dean of St. Asaph, Morgan was called to a council of war with the most important of the Welsh squires.  There was much heated debate and argument about how to proceed, with the various factions giving their opinions forcefully, some for instant action, others for caution, but in the end it was decided that they would begin their campaign here in North Wales.

'At first we can only hope to inflict some damage on our overlords,' Owain said.  'But we may make some important gains and as the momentum builds so shall we take back what is rightfully ours.'

There were murmurs of approval on all sides and a strong feeling of excitement ran through all those present.  Listening and watching, Morgan remembered the ambush Henry of Bolingbroke, now King Henry 1V of England, had sprung on Richard.  It had been a brilliant manoeuvre, overwhelming and surprising the King's party. He had heard little in the way of strategy from these eager men and thought that more planning was needed.  However, he was younger than most of those present and his quiet words of warning had fallen on deaf ears.

As he turned to leave at the general exodus, Owain called him back.

'Stay a moment, Morgan,' he said and then, when they were alone, 'You have doubts?  I see it in your face.  Tell me, my friend.  I would hear your opinion.'

'We should take time to plan our campaign.  They are brave men and eager, but the English have been trained to fight and they have superior numbers.'

'My men have also trained for months.'

'But most of your neighbours have scant knowledge of warfare.  They are eager to try their hand but may discover the reality is harsher than they realise.'

'Yet I believe the time is right,' Owain said frowning.  'Henry has much to occupy him elsewhere at the moment.  We may gain a march on him by striking now.  Delay might mean that our chance was lost.'

'Yes, perhaps,' Morgan agreed, though he knew that a dispute with an old enemy had brought Owain to the point sooner than might have been the case otherwise.  But that point had been reached and if let slip the chance might not come again.  'I merely wished to warn of the difficulties ahead.'

'I believe they are known and understood.  These men may not have fought a battle before but they are not fools; they feel the yoke of England and would give their lives in this cause, which is not only mine but that of all Wales.  We fight for justice and right is on our side.'

'I would not disagree with that,' Morgan said.  'We must pray that God is also on our side.'

'Enough of these matters,' Owain said.  'Have you seen Morwenna yet?  She is here waiting for your return.'

'I thought she was at Oswestry?'

'She was for some months, but I believe she found it uncomfortable and returned to the manor I gave you.  When I heard she was there I invited her to come here for the birth of your child.'  Owain exclaimed as he saw Morgan's startled look.  'You did not know?  How can this be?  Morwenna told me she was with child before you left us.'

'I did not know,' Morgan said and swore beneath his breath.  'When is her child expected?'

'You were wed a week before Christmas and on the Lord's day you were struck down…'  Owain's gaze narrowed in suspicion.  'Yet you need to ask?  Does this mean…the fight with Llewelyn was over her?'

'It means nothing,' Morgan said swiftly, realising that shock had made him betray what he had meant to keep secret.  'I was surprised at the news, that's all.'

'You are a poor liar and I am a fool,' Owain said.  'Forgive me.  When I arranged your marriage I believed her a good modest girl.'

'No one else is to know,' Morgan's tone was firm.  'The child may be his or mine.  She claimed he raped her on our wedding eve…'  Owain swore and Morgan smiled wryly.  'I cannot be sure the child is not mine, and since I cannot wed the woman I love…'

Owain nodded his understanding.  'Rosamund de Grenville.  You stayed with her many months. I have heard that she is beautiful...'

'She is – in every way.  She hath a nature to match her beauty, for she is loving and generous.  And I know that the child she bears is mine.'

'You have made an enemy in de Grenville.  I have heard he is a dangerous man, Morgan.  I think it would go hard with your lady if she were ever to fall into his hands.'

'She will never surrender Caris to him.'  Morgan grinned.  'She was fiercely loyal to King Richard but now she holds the castle for you, Owain.  She bid me tell you that we would always find shelter there if we needed it.'

Owain smiled.  'I think I understand why you love her, Morgan.  I wondered why you went to her but now I see.'

'I went because I was sick to my soul and weak in body.  Rosamund healed my spirit and Kestrel gave me back my strength.  Without his help I feared I might never have been able to fight again.'

'I have heard of your healer, Morgan.  They say there is some mystery about him.'

'That is how Kestrel wants people to think of him.  He speaks only in riddles,' Morgan said with a slight frown.  'Perhaps he can see into the future as he claims, I do not know – but I owe my life to him twice over.'

'Wise men always speak in riddles for otherwise fools might mock them.  No matter whether he be a magician or merely a healer, I am glad to see you strong and well again.  I shall have need of you in the months to come.'

'Kestrel told me that I was destined for great things.  I pray that he was right and that we shall have many triumphs together, Owain.'

'Amen to that,' Owain said.  'And now you should see Morwenna.  It may be best if her child is born here.  After that…'

'Morwenna is free to go or stay as she pleases,' Morgan said.  'I have no hatred for her, yet I cannot love her – nor feel anything towards her.'

'Yet if the child is yours…'

'Then I would keep the child,' Morgan replied.  'But if Morwenna wishes to go I shall not deny her.'

'I am sorry to hear this…'

'I shall not deny or shame her.  I am not so heartless.'

'Then she is fortunate.  Many men would not have been as forgiving.'

Behind the curtain, which concealed the outer door into Owain's private chamber, Morwenna listened to their words, the anger and bitterness festering inside her.  She had hoped that Morgan would have forgiven her by now, but his feelings towards her had not changed.

He would keep the child if it was his but she might go where she pleased.  It was easy for him to say – but where could she go?  If she left him all the world would know that he had cast her off.  It might be that in the future he would find some means to put her from him and take this woman he loved as his wife.  Yet they had spoken of a husband…

If that were so he could not marry his woman.  It pleased Morwenna that the woman her husband loved was tied to a man she did not love, and that he might one day wreak his vengeance on her.  Morwenna would have liked to witness that – or at least to play some part in it, but she was never likely to have the chance.  Yet she would find some way to take her revenge on her husband if she could.

She wished that she had taken the chance while he lay ill.  It would have been an easy matter to hold a cushion over his face as he lay in a fever. Yet she had feared to do anything then that might cause blame to fall on her.  Owain had been so angry at Rhys Llewelyn's betrayal, he would have had her killed if she had been caught trying to harm Morgan.

It might even have been worth it!  Oh, how she hated him!  She could feel it rising in her throat, tasting the bitterness as gall.  Frustration worked in her and she was aware of sudden pain.  It was sharp and she knew that her time had come.  She realised that she was beginning her labour pains.  She clutched at her belly, stifling the moan that rose to her lips, knowing that she must not be discovered here.

She had gained access through a narrow stairway that led to Owain's bedchamber, and she dragged herself up the twisting steps to the door that led to an outside stair.  This door was normally locked and she had stolen the key so that she could eavesdrop on her kinsman.  She would need to return it to its accustomed place soon or it might be discovered that the key was missing – but she could not think properly now.  She was in too much agony.  She must keep the key for the moment and hope that its loss was not discovered before she had a chance to replace it.

No one saw her leaving the tower and she walked with her head bent, feeling the pain strike again and again as she made her way back to her own quarters.  Oh, the pain was too violent, coming at her again and again, making her stumble and clutch at herself in agony.  She did not think that she could bear it.

'Are you ill, lady?'  She heard the concerned voice near by and saw that it was one of Owain's neighbours who had come for the ceremony.  'You should not be out here in your condition.'  She heard the note of censure in his voice and tears ran down her cheeks.  'Nay, do not weep. I was merely concerned for you.'

'I thank you, sir,' she said in a voice choked with tears.  'I came out for some air but I am wracked with pain.  If a servant could be called…'  She gave a cry and stumbled against him half fainting.

Dafydd Thomas caught her as she would have fallen, gallantly supporting her into the main hall of the house.  He called for help as he did so and several servants came running.  Morwenna was taken from him, and helped to the stairs but it was clear that she could not mount them unaided.  It was at this moment that Owain and Morgan came out of Owain's chamber into the Great Hall, and seeing what was happening, Morgan strode immediately to her side.

'You are in pain,' he said and swept her up in his arms.  'You were foolish to come down in your condition, Morwenna.'

'I wanted some air.  Forgive me,' she whispered in a voice so low that none but he could hear.  'If I should die…'

'You will not die,' Morgan told her.

His face was grim as he carried her up the stairs to her chamber, her women hurrying to prepare the bed to receive her.  Morwenna was moaning and crying out in her pain.  For a moment Morgan stood gazing down at her as the women bent over her, moved to pity by her agony.  Then, realising he was in the way, he turned and left them to their work.  Morwenna's screams followed him down the stairs to the hall below.

He saw other men glance at him and knew what they were thinking.  So many women died in childbirth and men lost beloved wives.  He did not love Morwenna, but Rosamund was carrying his child and because of that he felt pity for his wife.  Rosamund had told him he was too harsh towards her, and perhaps he had been.

He could never love her, nor would he ever be her true husband again, but if she survived her ordeal he would try to be kinder to her.  He would advise her to stay near Owain, where she might have more company than at Oswestry, and if the child was his…yet how would he ever be sure?

It did not matter, Morgan decided.  The child was blameless and he would not treat it unkindly, no matter who the father.

*

Morwenna's labour was long and hard.  For many hours she was wracked with terrible pain as she struggled to give birth to her child.  She had long since ceased to scream for she had no strength left, and she heard one of the women say that she was going to die.  Anger surged in her then.  She would not die!  That would make it too easy for Morgan.  She was going to live and find some way of taking her revenge on him for his slights.

Anger made her push harder when the next pain came and then as she screamed in agony, she felt the child slip out between her thighs in a mess of slime and blood.  It was over, it was done.  She gave a great sigh and relaxed against the pillows, only to be gripped almost immediately by another pain, and then once again she felt the sensation of a body ejecting from her own in a rush of blood.

Two children – there were two?  She raised her head to try and see what was happening.

'You have a daughter,' one of the women said.  'She is well, Morwenna.'

'But there were two…'  Morwenna said weakly.

'The second babe was born dead,' the woman said.

'Boy or girl?'

'Nay, do not ask, mistress.'

'Boy or girl?'

'It was a boy – as fair as you yourself, Morwenna.  The girl is dark like your husband.'

'Like Morgan…let me see…' Morwenna lifted herself weakly on her elbows to look at the child.  The babe was large and had a shock of black hair, eyes as blue as a summer sky.  'Morgan's daughter…' she whispered and lay back against the cushions.  'His daughter…'

She smiled to herself.  If the child was Morgan's she was safe.  He would not deny her nor shame her publicly.  She could live at their manor of Orlane or go to Oswestry if she pleased without fear of being cast off.

And one day…one day her chance would come.  The years might be empty but she would feed on her hatred and in the end she would have her revenge.

NINE

Walking round the camp, as was his habit in the late evening, Morgan listened to the laughter and excited voices of the men gathered about the fires.  For the past several days they had successfully attacked English towns in Northeast Wales.  Ruthin, Denbigh, Holt and Rhuddlan were just some of the towns on which damage had been inflicted.  The village and castle of Caris had been left in peace, for Owain had passed the word that it must not be attacked.

Morgan had been in charge of the party, which attacked an English relieving force at Flint, routing them and scoring an important victory.  There were reports coming in of a simultaneous rising in Northwest Wales, including Anglesey, and it seemed that almost the whole of North Wales was involved in the revolt.

'Come and join us,' Dafydd Thomas invited as he saw Morgan walking by their campfire.  'There is no need to be so watchful, Morgan.  The King's army cannot return from Scotland so quickly and the burgess is frightened out of their wits.  Especially after what happened at Oswestry.'

The damage inflicted there had been substantial.  Not a part of that particular force, Morgan thought it mindless and a waste of resources, but he did not want to offend Owain's neighbour so he smiled and shook his head.  For some reason he did not share his companions' elation.  They had inflicted some damage it was true but for Morgan what they had done thus far seemed more like revenge than war.

What had they gained?  To take back the controlling power in the country they needed strongholds.  The English still held almost all the strategic positions and when King Henry brought his army back from Scotland he would sweep into the country and take back the few gains Owain's men had made.

It was as Morgan had feared at the beginning.  Men had fought and died bravely but for very little.  If they were to succeed they must rally support in the rest of the country.

He had just finished his rounds of the sentries, making sure that the men posted were not neglecting their duty, when he was told that Owain had sent for him.  He went at once to join his kinsman in his tent.

'Word has reached me that King Henry's army is on its way here,' Owain told him.  'They should be in Wales within two or three days.'

'I had been expecting it,' Morgan replied.  He noted that his kinsman sounded grim but not unduly alarmed.  'We are not strong enough to meet them head on as an army, Owain.'

'We can do no more than fight.'

'But there are many ways to fight.  We should retreat to the mountains, regroup and plan a new campaign for the spring.'

'You think as I do,' Owain replied.  'I have talked to some of those hotheads out there but they are reluctant to leave their estates.  Several are thinking of returning to their families.'

'They have settled old scores and for some that is enough,' Morgan said nodding.  'But what have we gained?'

'We have made a start…shown the English we are not to be ignored.  But you were right, Morgan.  We should have waited until the whole of Wales was roused.'

'You must think of the future, Owain.  Without you there is no hope for us.  You are the only one who has the right to be our prince.  You must use avoiding tactics.  Fight when you have to, but choose your moment.  Inflict damage in a surprise attack and then retreat.  Make them fear you but never know where to expect you next.'

'Yes, it is the only way for the present.'  Owain frowned.  'But I have other plans for you, Morgan.  I want you to be my eyes and ears again, and this time I want you to speak for me.  Be my emissary.  There are those who would rally to my call who as yet are not with us.  Your task is to co-ordinate support all over Wales and in the border towns.  If we are to begin a new campaign in the spring we must be better prepared next time.'

'You are asking me to leave now – before the King's army arrives?  I would be with you in that fight, Owain.'

'And if you are killed?  There is no other I can trust with this mission, Morgan.  You are the only one I believe shrewd enough to know what must be done.  You tell me I must be cautious for the sake of our land, and I say the same to you.'

Morgan bowed his head, accepting the truth.  'Tell me who I must see and what you wish me to say to them.'

Owain handed him a small piece of parchment.  'Memorise these names and then destroy the evidence.  In the wrong hands that would be the ruin of our hopes for the future.  We need men like these on our side, Morgan.'

Morgan read through the list.  There was a mere handful of names but they were important.  He knew them all well and would not need to see the list again.  A taper was burning in a metal sconce.  Morgan held the parchment to the flame, watching as it burned and crumbled into brown ash.

He turned and clasped hands with Owain.  'I shall be with you again before too many months have passed.  Keep strong and safe, my prince.'

'You will know how to find me.'

'I shall look for the signs, but we shall meet again soon God willing.'

'God be with you, Morgan.'

'And with you, Owain.'

*

Maire Gruffudd was watching her serving women laying some linen on bushes to dry.  It was early November now, but although cold the air had a fresh bite to it and she hoped her washing would dry in the pale sunlight that filtered down through the valley.  Seeing a horseman riding towards them, Maire shaded her eyes to see more clearly, her heart catching with fear for these were desperate times.  She knew that the King had brought his army into Wales on his return from Scotland, and fierce fighting had ensued for some weeks, but by late October it was being said that the uprising had been put down and that the English were back in control of their towns.  She had heard that some of the brave men who had ridden out with Owain Glyn Dwr had been executed on 28th October and that others had sued for peace with the King.

Was the rider English or Welsh?  She strained to see and then her heart jolted as she recognised him.  It was surely her son!  She had heard nothing from Morgan since he left to join Owain and she had been wondering what had happened to him…whether he had been in the midst of the fighting and where he was now.

She went out of the house to greet him, her heart gladdened though she gave little sign of it.  'So you are alive,' she said, greeting him with a wry look.  'I was beginning to think I might never see you again in this life.'

'Are you ill, Mother?'  He pretended to misunderstand and grinned at her.  'You were not anxious for me?'

'I might have known you would turn up eventually,' she said.  'Has Owain grown tired of your slothful ways?'

'Perhaps,' Morgan replied.  He had ridden from place to place unceasingly for weeks, never stopping long enough to risk being caught, spreading the word that the time had come to support Owain in his fight for Wales, and contacting the men from whom he hoped that help would come.  It was secret and dangerous work, for if the English caught him he would be tortured and then hung. 'Come – are you not glad to see me back?'

'I am happy to see you looking so well,' Maire admitted.  'But you should be with Owain.  I have heard grave things – that the revolt does not go well for him.'

'Aye, so I believe,' Morgan said.  'They say in the taverns that one of his sons has been forced to surrender, and that others of his supporters are suing for pardon.'

'Several have been executed for the part they played in the attack on Ruthin.'

'I feared it would be so,' Morgan said.  'They should have made certain of their gains, taking strongholds that we could fortify against the enemy - but there was no proper planning, no co-ordination, though much good will and enthusiasm.'

Maire's gaze narrowed.  'That sounds as if you were there?'

'I have been with Owain.'

'Then why are you here?  You have not run away now that things have gone ill for him?'

'Do you believe I am a coward?'

Maire was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head.  'No, I do not think you a coward, Morgan.  Therefore you are here for a purpose and it is best that I ask no questions.'

'Much better,' he replied and grinned at her in his old way.  'Instead I shall give you some news that may interest you.'

'I dare say you are hungry?  Will you come inside and eat?'

'I had hoped to stay a day or so – if that will not disturb you?'

'This is your home.  I cannot deny you.  Nor would I if I could.'

'I thank you, Mother.'

Morgan followed her inside the dark cold house.  Nothing had changed yet after months spent roaming from place to place, it seemed more welcoming than he remembered. Maire sent a serving wench for food and ale and led the way to a small chamber off the hall where they might sit while he ate.  She took a roughly hewn chair beside the fireplace, where a huge log smouldered and glowed amongst the ashes.  He sat in the inglenook and warmed his hands at the flames.

'It is a good fire, Mother.'

'I would hear your news, Morgan.'

'I have a child – a daughter.  She has been named Morganna after me.'

'A daughter?'  Maire looked at him sharply.  'Do you also have a wife?  You did not send word of your marriage?'

'It was my intention to bring Morwenna to see you…but I had other things to occupy my time.'

'When was the child born?'

'In September.'

'So you were wed before last Christmas.  Unless…'

'I left Morwenna soon after the wedding for purposes I shall not name and knew naught of my child until my return.'

'Then I pity your wife.  You were unkind to desert her so soon, Morgan.'

'Morwenna does as she pleases.  It was not a love match. Owain made the marriage for reasons of his own.  My wife has her home and friends.  She does not need me.'

'Those are harsh words, Morgan. I thought you kinder than your father.'

Morgan felt the sting of her rebuke but kept his silence.  'I am sorry you think me like him, Mother.  Perhaps one day you will understand me.'

''Tis none of my affair,' Maire said and then frowned.  'Have you quarrelled with Rhys Llewelyn?  I heard that he has been seen recently at his father's house.  Thomas Llewelyn died and the estate was divided such as it was.  Rhys was given some horses and cattle as his share, and has sold them so I have been told.'

'He always knew he would need to seek his living elsewhere.  How long ago was it that he came here?'

'Two months – why?'  Maire's gaze narrowed in suspicion.  'You did quarrel with him!  I suspected it for I saw him once at the market and he would not look at me, though I spoke his name.'

'Rhys tried to kill me.  I was close to death for a while.'

'God have mercy!'  Maire crossed herself.  'What did you do to make him hate you?'

'Would you believe me if I said I had done nothing against him?'

Maire considered, then inclined her head.  'Yes, for I knew he was always jealous of you.  I never knew why but it was there in his eyes when he looked at you sometimes.'

'I never suspected it,' Morgan said.  He broke off as a girl brought food, ale and a jug of water, placing the board she carried on a small trestle beside him.  Smiling at her, he thanked her, breaking off a piece of bread and eating it.  'Freshly baked.  I have not tasted bread as good as this in weeks – and cheese.  This is a feast, Mother.'

'You were not always so appreciative.'

'Was I not, Mother?'  Morgan swallowed the food, raising his brows at her in teasing mood.  'Then perhaps I have learned better manners.'

'Perhaps.'  Marie watched in silence as he ate hungrily.  He had not shaved his beard in a while and he could do with a wash and a change of clothes, but there was a change in him.  It was in his manner.  He was confident, sure of himself and she felt that he had suffered, had become stronger for it.  Time alone might have wrought these changes, but she suspected more.  'Who has changed you, Morgan?  I do not think it was your wife.  Owain or someone else – a woman?'

Morgan laughed.  'You see too much, Mother – but there is someone I love.  She is a true lady and as far above me as the stars.  Had it been possible I would have wed her.'

'Then she is married already.'

'To a man who treats her ill.'

'Yet marriage is sacred, Morgan.'

'I know that, Mother.'

She nodded, seeing into his heart and understanding what he would not say.  'You feel that you have the right to this love.  Well, I shall not preach to you, my son.  Perhaps there are things that I do not know – but if you wished me to know you would tell me.  I pray only that your sins do not rebound on you or your lady.'

'If there is a price to pay I pray that it will be me who bears it.  Rosamund is good and generous.  You would like her, Mother.'

'Would I like your wife?'

'Perhaps.  I cannot say.'

'I should like to see your daughter one day, Morgan – if I live long enough.'

'Perhaps when things are calmer I will bring her to see you.'

'And Morwenna?'

'If she wants to come.'

Maire looked at him.  What was he keeping from her?  She was sure there was something but he had always had his secrets and she knew better than to push him too far.

'Since you have been gone there have been whispers,' she said.  'Some friends of yours sent word that they would like to join you should you need them.'

'Owain needs all those who are loyal to our cause,' Morgan said.  'It was to speak to those friends that I came back, Mother.  I shall see them tomorrow  or the day after and then I must go for I have much to do.'

'Then you go with my blessing,' she said.  'And if it should be that I have misjudged you in the past, my son, I ask you to forgive me.'

Morgan looked at her, his eyes narrowing.  'I ask you once again, Mother – are you ill?'

'Perhaps, a little,' she replied.  'Pain comes sometimes but it goes and I am better.  I would not have you worry, Morgan.  You have other concerns.'

'Would you like me to send word to Morwenna – ask her to bring the child here?'

'I would like to see your daughter, but I believe there is a little time left to me.  Bring the child yourself if you can.'

'I shall come in the spring before…'  Morgan got up and went to kiss her cheek.  'I shall come when I can, Mother.'

'Then I shall see you again,' she said.  'Now, finish your food – and perhaps then you should have the servants bring water.  You stink worse than the midden.'

'You do not change, Mother,' Morgan said and laughed.  'I swear I had forgotten how sharp your tongue was…'

*

Morgan walked further up the mountain, past the tiny waterfalls and rocks worn into grotesque shapes by time, to a place where he had liked to come as a boy.  Here he was at one with the earth, seemingly close to the sky and the heavens.  As a child he had felt that the gods of the earth, air and water were near at hand.  Maire truly believed that there was only one God but here in this lonely, beautiful place it seemed to Morgan that it would be disrespectful to deny the existence of earlier gods.

Possessed by some urge that came from deep inside, Morgan felt the need to commune with the gods of nature.  He threw out his arms, inviting them to answer as he cried out his thoughts.

'When shall Wales be free?  When shall we gain the victory we desire?'

The silence mocked him as the echo died away, and so he tipped back his head, circling as he cried out once more.  'Give me your answer, gods of my ancestors.  Tell me I command thee what lies ahead for Owain.  I demand an answer in the name of my ancestors and by the power of Merlin for it was he who prophesised that this time would come.'

The wind was beginning to sigh across the mountain.  Its sound was like a song, a song echoed by the tumbling streams as they rushed between steep ravines, gathering force so that at times they became fierce and frothing with white foam.  And around him the wind had become fierce of a sudden, whipping his long black hair across his face and almost lifting him from his feet.  He felt its force battering against him yet he stood straight and tall, defiant and gloriously unafraid.

'Owain the true prince of Wales shall never die.'

The voice came from nowhere yet it was in his head, all around him, like a whisper on the wind or sweet music.

'Thus it is promised and thus it shall be.'

The music rose to a crescendo in Morgan's head, becoming so loud and piercing that he put his hands to his ears to shut it out.  He was stunned by the response to his demands, for he had called out in a mood of defiance, never expecting to be answered.  When at last the wind died the music had gone.  He was lying on the ground and he woke from a trance, wondering if he had fallen and banged his head.  Surely it was the only rational explanation of what had happened?

His vision – for within the music had been images – had been of Harlech Castle and a great victory.

It must surely mean that Owain was destined to win the struggle he had begun?

Picking himself up from the cold ground, Morgan made his way back down the mountain, taking care not to lose his foothold.  He had spent several months touring the villages and towns of his homeland, crossing backwards and forwards across the secret mountain trails to stay ahead of the English spies he knew searched for him.  His visits to important men on Owain's list had met with mixed response.

'It is useless,' some said when he asked for their promise of support.  'The English will always win.  We cannot hope to stand against them.'

'Not if we rise together,' Morgan repeated his message of hope over and over again.  'Owain will fight on but he needs help if we are to make real gains.  This is our chance.  Give us your support and we shall win.'

'But if you fail…we should lose our lands and perhaps our lives.  It is too risky.'

There was too much apathy, too much willingness to lie down and let the English walk over them!  Morgan was angered by the attitude of many of the men he spoke to.  They were unhappy with the way they were treated by their English masters, yet unwilling to risk what they had.  But there were some that pledged their support willingly.  They had not risen sooner because the King had brought his army swiftly into Wales – but if there were to be a new campaign they would be ready next time.  All they needed was a sign.

Was the voice he had heard in the mountain a sign?  Morgan knew that if he tried to tell of his experience he would be laughed at and ridiculed.  Indeed, he hardly believed what he had seen and heard himself.  How was it possible that Owain should never die?

Some said that Merlin still lived, that he had simply gone to a secret place in the mountains and would return when he was needed – but Merlin was a magician or a myth, depending on what you believed.  Owain was flesh and blood and all men must die.

But there was one way a man might live on – and that was in the hearts and minds of men who remembered his name with pride.  Perhaps that was the meaning of his vision, Morgan thought as he made his way back to where he had left his horse.  If Owain was the saviour of Wales then he would be forever remembered and in this way he would live on, never dying from men's memories.

It seemed to Morgan that there could be no other explanation, or none that his mind would accept.  It also meant that Owain was destined for great things.  Combined with the vision of Harlech Castle and a victory celebration, it restored some of Morgan's faith in the future.  They would regroup and they would take back Wales from the English.

Lost in thought he was not aware that he was being watched until the man stepped out in front of him.  Startled, he reached towards his sword, ready to defend himself.

'I am not armed,' Rhys Llewelyn said quickly.  'Kill me if you will, Morgan.  It is no more than I deserve for the foul blow I struck you.'

Morgan's hand rested on his sword hilt.  Rhys was not wearing a weapon but he might have a knife concealed about his clothes.

'What do you want of me?'

'I know what you have been doing,' Rhys said.  'I want to join you – I want to fight for Wales when the time comes.'

'Owain's men have been told to kill you on sight.'

'I know – that is why I dare not come near Glyndyfrwdy when the meeting took place,' Rhys said.  'I have regretted what happened.  I was a stupid fool, Morgan.  I was so mad for her that I would have done anything…'

'You should have come to me and told me of your feelings.  I would not have wed her if I had known.'

'I was a fool – mad and evil to strike my brother down as I did,' Rhys Llewelyn said.  'I beg you to forgive me and give me the chance to fight with you.'

'It would not be my choice,' Morgan replied.  'I do not believe that Owain would have you near him – but there are others who might give you the chance you need.'

'I would serve you if you have formed the band of brothers again.'

'I have certain promises,' Morgan said.  'When I leave this place I go to see someone, and in the spring I have arranged for our friends to be waiting at a certain place.  If you are with them I shall speak to Owain for you.'

'Thank you.'  Rhys moved towards him, but Morgan kept him at bay with a gesture of his hand.  'Know that I have told Morwenna she is free to come to you if she wishes -–but the child is mine…'

'Child?'  Rhys looked startled.  'She had a child?'

'My daughter.  She is named Morganna.  If you wish it, Morwenna is yours – but the child remains with me.'

'I understand,' Rhys said but his eyes narrowed.  'I shall not betray you again, I give you my word.  Perhaps when the fight is over…Morwenna…'

'That is between you and her,' Morgan replied.  'I go now, Rhys, and I charge you not to follow – for what I do must be secret.'

Rhys stood back, watching as he mounted his horse.

'The English are searching for you in the lordship of the Brecon, but they have not confiscated your mother's house for she claimed that it was hers by her widow's right.  I came to warn you, stay away from the towns and take the mountain paths for there is a price on your head.'

'I thank you for your warning,' Morgan said.  'I hope that we shall meet again as friends, Rhys.  May God be with you.'

'And with you, Morgan.'

Rhys stood back and watched as Morgan rode away.  He had been tempted to inform and take the price offered for betraying Morgan to the English, but he had not yet stooped that low.  His hatred of his cousin and one time blood brother had not abated, but he was still a Welshman and he hated the English even more than he hated Morgan.  Time would show him the way to be rid of Morgan – but next time it would be done in such a way that he himself was not hunted as an animal.

He needed Morgan to reinstate him in the eyes of Owain Glyn Dwr – then, one day, when the time was right…He would not only have Morwenna and her daughter, he would also have everything that Morgan owned.  Including the estate that Maire Gruffudd claimed was hers.

If  both she and Morgan were dead none would have a better right to it than Rhys – unless it was his widow and her child…

*

Morgan was thoughtful as he rode away.  He did not trust Rhys for a moment, though he believed that his desire to fight for Wales was genuine.  Their private quarrel was a thing apart and in his heart Morgan knew that one day it must be settled between them.  He would have done better to kill Rhys when they fought, for he ought to have known that such a breach could not be healed.  Rhys had come to him to ask for pardon so that he might take his place in the band of brothers that Morgan was forming to fight with him against the English.

These were mostly young men who had been with him when they robbed the English revenue collectors and gave the money to the church for the poor.  Some were of good family, others like Rhys were landless and needed to work for their living, all had the same hatred of the English, and all were ready to join with Morgan in the fight that was coming.

'Understand, my brothers,' Morgan had told them.  'This struggle will not be for a few days or weeks.  It may be that we shall have victories but we shall also have defeats.  We shall be outlawed, our homes and estates confiscated, our lives forfeit – but when we are stronger we shall have freedom and that will be worth the pain and tears.'

'We are with you, Morgan,' Gwilym Gruffudd had cried out.  'Since you left us there has been nothing to do but stand aside and watch the English strip our land of its riches.  'Tis time we stood up for our rights – or died in the attempt.'

Amongst his friends that attitude had been universal.  Morgan guessed that they had not dared to make the lightening raids on the English tax collectors since he left them, for it was always he who planned their escapades.  It had begun out of boredom and frustration, but for some months they had made the enemy fear them.  If he had his way they would do so again, but to an extent they had not dreamed of in the past.

Morgan was on his way now to visit some men he believed of like mind.  They had been faithful servants of King Richard while he reigned and were disgruntled with the new order.  These men were the kind that Owain needed to inspire his followers, men who knew how to organise and fight.  They had already risen in support of the revolt, but were lying low for the moment.  Morgan had an idea that had been forming for the past several months and with the help of Rhys ap Tudur and his brother Gwilym he hoped that it might be possible to do something that would make the rest of Wales sit up and wonder.

*

Rosamund felt the ache in her back and sighed as she got up to wander about the room, stopping to glance out of the window.  There was so little of interest to see in the courtyard and she was tired of being confined to her chamber, but it would not be wise to venture far in her condition.

From time to time news reached her of Morgan.  She knew that he had been working for Owain and that there was a price on his head.  The English wanted him dead or alive, and that terrified her though she would never have let him know it.  But Kestrel had told her their destinies lay together and she would try to believe that.

'Are you in pain, my lady?'

Rosamund turned as Alicia came into the room and smiled.

'No, it was merely a backache and it is going now that I am moving about.  I think I grow weary from sitting too long.  I shall come down and walk in the courtyard for a while.  Perhaps you will walk with me?'

'You know that I will,' Alicia replied.  Take my arm, my lady.'

Rosamund did so, feeling the comfort of her friend's presence.  'I do not know what I should do without you,' she said.  'But tell me, has Thomas asked you to be his wife yet?'

'No…' Alicia blushed.  'He seems to care for me but he has not spoken yet.'

Rosamund chuckled.  'It seems to me that Master Bridger needs some help, Alicia.  We must give him a little push in the right direction.'

'Oh no,' Alicia said and laughed.  'I dare say he will speak when he is ready…' She broke off as she saw William Baldry waiting for them at the foot of the steps.  'Is there news, sir?'

'No, none,' William said and cursed inwardly as he saw the look of disappointment in his mistress's eyes.  'I came merely to see how the Lady Rosamund was today.'

'I am well enough,' Rosamund replied, lifting her head proudly for she would show no one that she lived in hope of a message from Morgan.  It was foolish of her to expect him simply because her time was near.  Having a baby was a woman's work and he had far more important things to see to.  'I am going for a walk in the fresh air, my good William – if you will excuse us now please.'

William frowned as they walked away, their heads together as they laughed over some trifle.  He knew how much Lady Rosamund suffered from Morgan Gruffudd's neglect and he cursed the day the Welshman had come into his lady's life.  She would have been far happier if she had never met him!

*

'You are a master strategist,' Gwilym ap Tudur said and slapped Morgan on the shoulder.  ''Tis a clever plan and we are the men to carry it out, Morgan Gruffudd.'

'I noticed how vulnerable the castle was when the garrison was at its devotions,' Morgan said.  'I doubt that the English will be on alert now that so many months have passed since the attacks on Ruthin and Oswestry.  They think they have crushed us but this time we shall not be so easily stopped.'

Rhys ap Tudur looked at him, eyes narrowed.  'You are saying that we should be able to simply walk in and take the castle without a fight?'

'There will be some small resistance, but I believe Conway is vulnerable at this time – as perhaps are a dozen others.  The English are careless.  They leave many of their strongholds with nominal garrisons.  Strike now and I believe you will succeed.'

'And you will be with us?'

'If you wish it, though I shall leave you after we have taken it, for I have other work.'  Morgan frowned for he had hoped to go to Rosamund after he had visited with the brothers.  Her time must be near and she might need him, but having brought this plan to Gwiylm he could not refuse to be a part of it.

Gwilym laughed and slapped him on the shoulder again.  'We have heard whispers of you, Morgan Gruffudd.  When I was privileged to work in King Richard's household I heard of English taxes being stolen and a name was mentioned, but I thought it best to forget I had heard the whisper.'

Morgan grinned at him.  The brothers were both Tudur ap Goronwy's sons and had found preferment in Richard's household.  They were also relatives of Owain and bold, brave men. In the year 1386 they had led a force of Welsh archers to guard the English coast against French attack, and had gone with Richard to Ireland in 1398.  For this service they had both been given life pensions of ten pounds a year, and had good reason to dislike the man who had stolen Richard's crown.

The rumours that Richard had been murdered had grown of late and there were new claimants to the throne.  Even amongst the English, many muttered beneath their breath that Henry Bolingbroke was no true king but merely the Duke of Lancaster.

*

Morgan rode with Gwilym that day.  It was on the first of April 1401 that they came to Conway Castle, surprising the English while the garrison was at prayer.  It was Good Friday, one of the Holiest days of the year for Christians and the guards were absent from their posts.  A few did realise what was going on as the small raiding party rode in, but it was too late to do more than put up a token resistance.  Those who drew their swords were soon dealt with and the others surrendered without resistance.

Morgan's knowledge of the castle and its customs had allowed them to take it by a ruse, for the drawbridge was always down on this special day to allow those who wished to visit and join in the prayers.

The Tudur brothers were jubilant at having so easily captured the castle, and Morgan celebrated with them.

'This will be sung of in the mountains for a thousand years,' Gwilym cried in triumph.  'They will talk of this in every valley – and 'tis due to you, my friend.'

'Nay,' Morgan denied.  'It is not my name that will echo through the mountains, Gwilym Tudur.  I merely gave you my knowledge of the castle and the English ways.  It was you and your brother who took the garrison.  My own men have not yet come to me.  I go to meet with them in a few days.'

'The English will not be so easily surprised again,' Rhys ap Tudur said.  'They will reinforce their other garrisons.'

'They will do whatever they can to stop us,' Morgan said, his eyes bright as he looked at the two men.  'But I believe that we shall have victory in the end.  The way may be long and hard – but we shall make it as hard for them as it is for us.'

'Have you other tricks up your sleeve?' Gwilym asked.

'Do not ask,' his brother warned.  'What we do not know we cannot be accused of telling.'  He gave Gwilym a warning look.

Morgan pondered on that look as he rode away from the castle the next morning.  He had found the brothers receptive to his suggestions but he was not sure of their reasons.  He thought Gwilym eager for the fight against the English, but Rhys seemed less inclined.

It did not matter.  Their bold action would breathe new life into the revolt no matter what they did next.  Once word of the capture of Conway Castle spread throughout Wales it would give others the courage to come forward.

Morgan knew that much of the fighting in the next few months would be in the form of swift strikes against the enemy followed by retreat into the forests and the mountains.  He had been forming his own plans and would have much to discuss with Owain when he next saw him – but now that his mission was complete for the moment he had other things on his mind…

*

The drawbridge was lowered at his approach.  Morgan saw Thomas Bridger almost as soon as he dismounted and eager hands came to take the reins of his horse.

'We expected you,' Thomas said.  'You are in good time, Morgan.  Lady Rosamund went into labour early this morning.  Alicia told me that she is suffering greatly.'

'Kestrel is here?'  Morgan knew that it must be so for how else would they know he was coming when he had only known it himself that morning?  'I must go to her…'

He heard her cries of pain as he ran up the spiral stone staircase to her solar.  Two of her ladies were with her, and Kestrel was standing at the foot of the bed, directing the women as they bent over her.

'Rosamund…' Morgan cried, his heart twisting as he heard her scream terribly just as he entered the room.  'Forgive me.  Forgive me, my love…'

'Ah…' Kestrel turned and saw him, a smile on his lips.  'I told her you would be here for the birth – and now you see I am right.'

As Morgan's eyes turned towards the bed he saw that Rosamund's body was heaving with the pain, and then a child's head appeared between her thighs.  He went to her at once, reaching for her hand as she screamed in agony and pushed once more at the urging of her women.  Then the child came slithering out as he grasped her hand holding it tightly.

'Morgan…' she whispered, clearly almost spent, her strength gone.  'You came to me…'

'Forgive me, my love,' he said.  'I should have come sooner.'

'You had work to do.  Kestrel told me that when I needed you, you would be here.'

He bent to kiss her brow, smoothing back her damp hair and stroking it as he gazed into her eyes.  'I love you, Rosamund.'

'You have a son, my lady.'  Alicia held the babe wrapped in a white cloth for them to see, then laid it in Morgan's arms.  A loud wail issued from the tiny red-faced babe, making both Rosamund and Morgan smile.  'Stand back, my lord, for we need to attend your lady now.'

'I am in the way.'  Morgan looked ruefully at his love.  'I shall come back soon, Rosamund.'

He carried the child to a nurse who stood waiting to receive the precious bundle.  For a moment longer he held the child, gazing down into the face of his son – his son.  He knew that this child was his flesh, though he would never be certain that Morwenna's child carried his blood.

'Take good care of him, Gwyneth,' he said and gave the bundle to the nurse.  'He shall be called Richard Morgan in memory of a friend.'

With a glance towards the bed, he left Rosamund to the care of her women and went out.  It was as he reached the bottom of the spiral staircase that Kestrel came to him.

'She will be well,' Kestrel said.  'Are you pleased with your firstborn, my lord?'

'My firstborn…' Morgan frowned.  If Kestrel knew as much as he claimed, that meant Morwenna's child was not his but Rhys's.  'I am pleased with my son.  I thank you for your care of my lady.'

'It is my destiny to care for her,' Kestrel replied.  'As it is yours to love her.  You will have other children, Morgan, but the others will not be sons.  Guard Richard well for a time will come when he may be in danger.'

'I thank you for your warning, friend.  No harm shall come to either Richard Morgan or Rosamund if I can prevent it.'

'You do not question me?'  Kestrel's eyes were alight with mischief.  'It has happened then – the vision?'

'You knew?'

'There will be more,' Kestrel said.  'Learn to trust them, Morgan.  One day it may mean the difference between life and death.'

'You are going?' Morgan asked as he turned away.

'Like you I have other work.  I come when I am needed.'

Morgan watched him walk away.  He was about to go outside and talk to Thomas Bridger when he saw the steward looking at him.  There was something in the man's eyes that made Morgan uneasy.

'Was there something you wanted, Master Baldry?'

'No, my lord – what should there be?'

Morgan had thought that the steward had ceased to dislike him, had come to trust him, but now he was not so sure.  He hesitated, wondering whether to have it out with him, then changed his mind.  He would be better employed in talking to Thomas than wasting time with a man who clearly resented his relationship with Rosamund.

*

Rosamund smiled as they laid the child in her arms.  She was feeling better for she had slept and now she was ready to feed her babe.  As the boy sucked greedily at her breasts, she nodded to Alicia.

'Ask Morgan to come to me now,' she said.  'I want him to see Richard feeding.  It is a memory he will carry with him when he goes.'

Rosamund knew that Morgan could not stay long with her, for Kestrel had told her that he had a leading role to play in the struggle ahead, and that she must not seek to keep him with her.

'The time will come when you are together,' Kestrel had told her.  'It will be the best and the worst of times for you.  You will know great happiness and great sorrow, but that time is not yet.'

She smiled as Morgan came into the room.  He crossed in eager strides, bending over her to kiss her gently on the lips and to place a tender finger on the child's forehead.

'He is beautiful,' she said.  'Do you not think so?'

'He has your hair and your eyes,' Morgan said.  'But I see something of myself in that nose.'

'I think he looks a little like my father,' Rosamund said.  'Are you pleased with him, Morgan?'

'More than I could ever tell you,' he replied.  'Forgive me for the pain I brought you, my love.'

'It is but a few hours and then 'tis gone,' she said, and gave the babe to his nurse.  She reached out for Morgan's hand and held it to her cheek.  'It is good to have you here, my lord.  When must you leave?'

'Forgive me – in two days.  I would that I could stay with you forever, Rosamund, but I must see Owain and then I have more work.'

'Kestrel told me it would be so,' she said and smiled at him lovingly.  'I shall not beg you to stay, my love.  Go as you must and return as you will.  I shall be waiting.'

'Thomas tells me that you have not heard from Philip de Grenville since I was last here?'

'There has been no word of him, though someone told me that they had heard he was ill for some months.  I do not know if that is true.'

'You must remain vigilant,' Morgan said.  'These are dangerous times, Rosamund.  Gwilym and Rhys ap Tudur have taken Conway Castle by a trick.  Be careful you are not caught off guard.  Philip de Grenville is no fool.  He may wait until he thinks you have forgotten him and then strike.'

'We take no chances,' Rosamund said.  'But sit here with me for a while and tell me of yourself.  Where have you been these many months, my love?'

'I have travelled the length of Wales,' Morgan told her.  'And I visited my mother.  She knows about you, Rosamund – she told me that someone had improved my manners and she guessed that there was a woman I loved.'

'If you have changed it is because you love and know yourself loved,' Rosamund replied and kissed his hand.  'I am glad you named our son Richard, Morgan.  I fear that Henry Bolingbroke has had King Richard murdered, and I pray that the crown of England will never sit easily upon his head.'

'I too have heard these tales, they grow more strongly all the time.  There are some who would claim the throne for themselves, and it may be that we shall find willing allies to our cause amongst those who hate Henry.'

'I was thinking of Richard's message to me…'

'That you should seek refuge with the Percies?'

'He named Hotspur and his father the Earl of Northumberland,' Rosamund said thoughtfully.  'It might be that he suspected that these men would not long be easy bedfellows with Henry Bolingbroke – they have too much pride.'

'You have heard something?'

Rosamund nodded.  'Just a whisper.  But they say that Hotspur is not happy with things as they are…that perhaps he and his father might not always be loyal to Henry.'

'But has Hotspur not been given powers and high honours?'

'Yes – but still he is not satisfied.  Henry's advisers are to blame.  Hotspur feels that they do not listen to him…for he knows how to handle the Welsh better than most and yet the English ignore his advice.  He has advised that it would be best to make peace with Owain, to give back not only the estates they have confiscated since the rebellion but that which was stolen from his family long ago.'

'Then it is possible that Hotspur and his father may be brought to support our cause,' Morgan said.  'I shall think on this, Rosamund.'  He touched her cheek.  'Now no more of this.  My time is short and I would think of nothing but you.  Tell me how you spend your days when I am not with you…'

TEN

'We have to find some way of making the English think twice about sending their men against us,' Owain said to Morgan as they discussed their future strategy.  'Despite our gains the English still levy fines and confiscate out lands.'

'So nothing has changed,' Morgan agreed.  'But I believe the tide has begun to turn, Owain.  The capture of Conway has shown what can be done – and money stolen from us may be stolen back again.'

'That is what you wish to do – why you have been forming your band of brothers again?'

'This time there will be more of us,' Morgan assured him.  'I have discussed this for many hours and we have arranged that there will be three bands of brothers.  They will never know where we are going to strike; we shall harry them at every turn and take whatever they collect in taxes and fines.'

Owain looked at him thoughtfully.  'For the moment it may be the best course for you and your men to follow, Morgan.  We must not let the enemy settle.  If they are attacked on all sides and robbed, unable to follow their usual business it must make them uneasy.'

'Meanwhile you will continue to negotiate with Hotspur?'

'He speaks of my suing for peace,' Owain said.  'If we could win back what is rightfully ours I might consider it…but Henry is stubborn.  I doubt that we shall come to terms.'

'We should fight on until Wales is ours.'

'For that we need the whole of Wales to rise.'

'I believe that it will happen.  Already there is word of men joining our ranks in many regions – Camarthenshire, Powys and the Middle March to name but a few.  Soon it will spread. Word of the capture of Conway will hearten our people.'

'Already the English have Conway under siege,' Owain said.  'In the end the Tudur brothers may be forced to surrender.  But it was a brave deed and if others follow suit…'

'One day we shall hold many castles, and then you shall be truly Prince of Wales.'

'I pray you are right,' Owain said and then frowned.  'You know the English have confiscated your manor of Orlane?'

'Yes, I had heard a whisper of it.  Morwenna and the child were not there, I think.'

'I understand they had gone to Oswestry,' Owain said.  'She holds that manor in her own right and may be safe.  With good fortune they will leave her in peace.'

'As they have my mother,' Morgan said.  'I may take Morwenna and the child there.  If she wishes…'

'She might be more comfortable there,' Owain agreed.  'At least she would have company.  'So – you are to go your way and I shall expect you again in the autumn.'

'If I am needed sooner you have only to send word and I shall bring my men to you.'

'Then may fate favour you, Morgan,' Owain said. 'God be with you.'

'And with you, my prince.'

*

Morwenna hurried towards the woods, eager for the meeting with the man who had sent word of his coming two days earlier.  She knew that she was being reckless for if Morgan should learn that she had seen Rhys again he would surely cast her off.  Yet she was weary of being alone and it was too long since she had seen her husband.  He had left Glyndyfrwdy soon after the birth of her child without taking leave of her, though she knew he had seen the babe.  In all these months he had sent no word.  No doubt he had been to her!  His woman!  The bitterness tasted like gall in her mouth.  Hatred had festered inside her these many months, for she imagined that her husband spent much of his time with Rosamund de Grenville.

'You came!  I was afraid you would not.'

Morwenna was suddenly breathless as Rhys stepped out of the trees in front of her.  She had forgotten how handsome he was for she had thought of nothing but her hatred in months.

'Why should I not?' she asked as her racing heart became less agitated.  'Did you think I would be angry with you because you had not come before this?'

'You knew why I could not come to you, Morwenna.  I tried to kill him.  Owain ordered that I should be captured or killed.  They were looking for me everywhere.'

'They still look for you.'

'No…' Rhys's smile was strange, tinged with resentment.  'I have begged Morgan to forgive me.  He has promised to speak to Owain for me, to have the order for my capture nullified so that I may join him in the fight to free Wales from the enemy.'

Morwenna's eyes flashed with scorn.  'Then you should not be here.  I have nothing to say to a man who begs for forgiveness like a coward.'

Rhys caught her by the arm as she would have turned away, swinging her back to face him, his grip bruising her soft flesh.  'It is the only way.  If we are ever to be together – to have all that was his.'

'The English have confiscated the manor at Orlane,' she said.  'This is all I have left and that is little enough.'

'But Morgan has his own estate at Gruffudd.  The land is good there, sweet and fertile, and properly tended it would bring a good living.'

'Morgan has a mother.  She lives there. Besides, he has not given me permission to go there.'

'Maire is ill,' Rhys said.  'I have heard that she will not live long.  If you went there to nurse her none could blame you.  And if both Maire and your husband were dead you could claim a widow's rights.'

'If Morgan were dead…'  Her eyes narrowed.  She felt cold of a sudden and her heart was pounding, and yet there was also a strange excitement in her.  'You failed once.  How can you be sure you would succeed next time?'

'Trust me,' Rhys said.  'Next time I shall make certain.'  He drew her to him, breathing raggedly as he gazed into her face.  She could see the anger and pride in him and caught her breath.  Sometimes she was afraid of him!  He was ruthless, dangerous.  She would do better to walk away from him now, but she knew she would not.  Her life had been too empty of late.  'I want you, Morwenna.  Tell me it is me you love – tell me that you will be mine when he is dead!'  His fingers were digging into her flesh, bruising her.

'Kill him for me and I am yours,' she said, her eyes glittering as the excitement raced in her.  The words came of their own volition, surprising even her. 'I hate him and his woman.  Help me to be revenged on them, Rhys.  If you love me – kill them both.'

'I have never killed a woman.'  Rhys looked at her uneasily.  'You ask a terrible price, Morwenna.'

'If you loved me you would do it and not think twice.'  She pulled away, her beautiful face haughty and proud, her eyes scornful.  'But perhaps you have no stomach for it?'

'You know I would do anything for you!'  He looked down into her face hungrily.  When she looked at him that way he was driven near mad with his desire for her.

'Then I shall go to Maire Gruffudd and when she is dead I shall be mistress there.  Come to me when you have done as I ask and you shall be my husband.'

'You swear it?'

'I swear it,' Morwenna said.  She smiled at him, moving closer so that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face as she reached up to kiss him on the lips.  'She is naught to you, Rhys.  Kill her and Morgan and you shall have all you desire.'

'You are a witch!' Rhys said and caught her in a crushing embrace.  'I may burn in hell for my sins but I shall do as you ask.'

Morwenna smiled.  'Then I shall be waiting for you.'  She allowed him to kiss her but when she felt the heat of his passion burn against her she drew away.  'No, not yet.  I must not bear another child for Morgan has not been to my bed since…that night.  If he rejects me your plans would come to naught.  Come to me when they are dead, Rhys – and then I shall be yours.'

Rhys let her go.  He could have taken his will of her by force but he wanted so much more.  He had always coveted the rich land Morgan had neglected, knowing that he would never own such a manor.  As Morgan's cousin he had some right to it if Morgan was dead but others had as much claim.  Morwenna's right was the one that would stand in Welsh law, and as her husband he would own it through her.

'I shall come to you when I can,' he promised.  'Go back to your child now, Morwenna.  And remember that I love you.'

'I shall remember all that you have promised,' she said and smiled as she turned away.

As she walked back towards her house she was singing.  The sun was warmer now and the air tasted sweeter on her tongue.  She was alive again, had not felt this good in months.  Above her a bird sang his song of gratitude for the day, and her heart soared with it to the skies. Rhys had given his word that he would kill both Morgan and his woman!  She wanted to shout her triumph aloud, but knew that she must keep her excitement to herself.  She did not want to live at Oswestry alone all her life.  She wanted Rhys to be her husband – and he would be once Morgan was dead.

Entering the house, which was old and gloomy, the stone walls almost permanently damp, Morwenna was aware that something had changed.  The servants were scurrying about with a new purpose.  Her heart caught, beating fast so that she felt breathless.

'What has happened?' she demanded as a servant wench came running towards her.  'Have the English come?  Have they confiscated the estate?'

'No, mistress,' the girl said, her eyes sparkling.  'Your husband has arrived.  He has gone up to your solar to see the child.'

Morgan here!  Morwenna's heart did a rapid somersault.  How strange that both Rhys and Morgan should arrive on the same day!

She might so easily have been caught with her lover – but she had not.  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Morgan could not know that she had been meeting Rhys for it had happened but once in all this time.  But why was he here?  Had he come to tell her that he was casting her off?  Yet he had given his word that he would not shame her in the eyes of the world.

As she walked into her chamber Morwenna saw that her husband was holding Morganna in his arms.  The child was gurgling with laughter and patting at him with her chubby hands.  It was a picture that would touch most hearts and she paused for a moment, recognising the tenderness in Morgan's eyes and realising that he truly cared for the child.  For a moment she was overcome with regret and remorse.  Why had she betrayed him?  If only she could go back…but it was too late.  Far too late.

The tenderness faded from his face as he looked up and saw her.  He handed the child back to its nurse, who discreetly left the room.

'Your child grows, Morwenna.'

'Your child, Morgan.  She has your hair and eyes.'

'Perhaps.'  He frowned.  'Have no fear, I shall not deny her or you.  I have not come for that.'

'Why have you come?'

'To ask if you would like to stay with my mother for a while,' he said.  'It is dangerous here in these troubled times.  I think you would be safer at Gruffudd.'

'You are considerate,' Morwenna said, her eyes downcast.  'I thank you for your kindness.  I should be pleased to visit your mother.  It is often lonely here.'

'Yes, I imagined it might be,' Morgan replied.  'And my mother would like to see the child before she dies.'

'Your mother is ill?'  Morwenna pretended not to know.  'I am sorry to hear that, Morgan.'

'I dare say it would be a comfort to her to have you there,' Morgan said.  'If it will suit you I should like to leave in the morning.  You need only bring what the baggage mules will carry.  Your possessions may follow in the wagons.'

'I shall tell Gwenny to prepare,' Morwenna said.  'Morganna may travel in a litter with her.  She is almost weaned and will be no trouble on the journey.'

'I shall escort you,' Morgan said.  'But you have your servants to attend you and I may leave you to camp and rest from time to time.  I have other matters that need my attention as we travel.'

'Of course.'  She inclined her head.  'I am well provided for.  I shall trouble you as little as possible, my husband.'

'Then I shall leave you to make your arrangements.'

'Thank you, my husband.'

Morwenna felt the anger rise inside her once more.  Oh, how she hated him!  For a moment she had felt regret and remorse but the moment had passed.  He cared nothing for her.  If he had not been travelling in the same direction he would not have bothered to come at all, merely sending word that he thought she should go to his mother.

He had probably been thinking of his mother rather than her – that she would make a good nurse for the sick woman!

Her anger abated slightly as she remembered the plans she had made with Rhys Llewelyn.  Soon both the mother and the son would be dead.

*

Morgan left the house and walked towards the woods.  He needed some air!  The smell of the bracken was strong and he noticed that it had been trampled recently by a horse.  Someone had tethered a restive animal here not long ago.  He saw evidence of its presence, the droppings still steaming.

Glancing over his shoulder he looked for signs of more horses but there were none.  One rider then.  Why should one man tether a horse here when the house was so close?

Morgan frowned as he began to look about him for more clues.  Had he been followed here?  He knew that the English had put a price of ten gold nobles on his head, which was a fortune to most.  Catching sight of something blue he plucked a piece of cloth from a bramble.  Morwenna had been wearing blue when she came in – and she had looked excited.

Had she been meeting someone?  It would not surprise him.  It was lonely in this isolated house and she had few friends to visit her.  He knew that she was not the kind of woman who would be happy to live alone for long.

Rhys!  She was meeting Rhys Llewelyn.  Morgan knew it instinctively.  What had they been plotting together here – and for how long had they been meeting in secret?

His brow wrinkled in thought.  His anger was for her slyness rather than of a jealous nature.  He had given her the freedom to go with Rhys – why should she appear to be an obedient wife when she wanted another man?  Unless that was not all she wanted?

If Rhys had always been jealous of him might he not covet all that he had?  Not that he owned anything much of value.  The estate was Maire's for her lifetime and if she died then the English would confiscate it as they had Orlane.

A little smile touched Morgan's lips.  He would say nothing of this to Morwenna now, but before he left Gruffudd Manor he would make sure that his wife understood her best hope of securing a home there was to keep Maire alive for as long as possible…

*

'The child is beautiful,' Maire said as she stood with her son gazing down at the sleeping babe.  He had brought his wife and child to her that morning and now she knew that he was thinking of leaving soon.  'She reminds me of my mother sometimes – but perhaps that is just foolishness on my part.'

'I have never known you to be foolish,' Morgan said.  'If you think she is like your mother then perhaps she is.'

Maire glanced up, looking into his eyes.  'You are not sure the child is yours.'

'Of course she is mine – How could it be otherwise?'

Maire shook her head but said nothing.  'The babe is beautiful and innocent, my son.  She needs to be loved as we all do.'

'You have not known much love since you came to this house.'

'I have loved you.'  Maire saw the denial in his face and smiled oddly.  'You may not always have thought so, but it has been so, my son.  We do not all show our love in the same ways.'

'You must take care of yourself while I am away,' he told her.  'Morwenna will be company for you.'

'Your wife…' Maire frowned.  'She is bitter, Morgan.  You have hurt her with your neglect.  If she has harmed you…'

'I have not said so.'

'Not in words but it is easy to see in the way you look at her, in your manner towards her.  She knows you have no love for her and it has turned her against you.'

'Then be careful of her,' Morgan said.  'Shall I take her away again – send her back to Oswestry?'

'I do not fear her,' Maire said, 'for my death is closer now and the pain comes more frequently.  She can do me little harm – but she may seek to harm you if she can.'

'I am aware of her feelings towards me – and of other things,' Morgan replied.  'Do not concern yourself for me, Mother.  But look after Morganna if you will.  The child is innocent and I would not have harm come to her.'

'When do you leave?'

'This evening,' Morgan replied.  'I have people I must see – but I may come again.  I expect to be in this area for some months.  If it is possible I shall visit you and the child sometimes.'

Morwenna stood outside the chamber and listened as they spoke.  She was angry that Morgan should dismiss her so easily – one day he would remember his words and wish that he had taken more notice of his mother's warning.

Strangely enough, she had discovered that she did not hate Maire.  Indeed, the woman's welcome had been kind and the warmth of her embrace had comforted her.  Maire knew that Morgan suspected the child was not his, but she had not held that against his wife.

After so many lonely months at Oswestry, Morwenna discovered that she was looking forward to some company.  There was after all no hurry for Maire to die, for unless Morgan was also dead she would not be able to claim the estate.

No, Morgan and his woman must die first and then she would decide what Maire's fate would be…

*

Morgan was slightly uneasy as he left his mother's house that night.  Was he wronging his wife in thinking her sly and not to be trusted?  Perhaps he had jumped to conclusions at Oswestry.  There were many reasons why a horse might be tethered in the woods for a while, and why Morwenna might go there.  He remembered that she had always been fond of walking alone.

There was nothing more he could do for the moment.  Maire seemed to understand the girl and perhaps they would be friends.  Besides, he had other things on his mind.  He had his duty to Owain, which would keep him here in the Brecon for the rest of the summer, and after that who knew what might happen next?

For a moment his thoughts turned towards the woman he loved.  Rosamund was often in his thoughts, for he knew that her days must be lonely shut away in that castle when she had been used to a far different life.  He wished that he might go to her, sweep her and their child up on his horse and ride away with them – but it could not be.

Owain's cause was gathering momentum.  Excitement was reaching into every corner of Wales as more and more men decided to join them.  Now the English would begin to realise that this was not just a group of hotheads taking a petty revenge but a serious uprising.

Their cause was just and had been a long time festering in the minds of men.  If Merlin's prophecy was ever to come true surely now was that time…

*

It was as the leaves were beginning to change their colour that the news came.  Rosamund's heart caught with fright as she heard the words that she had expected yet dreaded for so long.

'How long before my husband's men can reach us?'

'An hour or so at most,' Thomas Bridger told her.  'Our spies sent word at once, but they were on foot and your husband's men are mounted.  The village has been alerted.  Those who wish will come inside our walls, the others will drive their beasts into the forest and take their chances there.'

Rosamund could hear shouting in the courtyard below as the castle was prepared for a siege.  She glanced out at the confusion, knowing that the news must have cast fear into the hearts of her people.

'You are needed elsewhere,' she said.  'But before the bridge is drawn up you should send word to Morgan.  He told me that Owain Glyn Dwr had pledged support should we need it and it may be that the time has come.'

'A messenger is already on his way,' Thomas assured her.  'And now, my lady, I must leave you.'

Rosamund bade him go.  She stood at her window gazing down at the courtyard as servants and men-at-arms scurried about securing the castle.  Some of the villagers had brought livestock with them: a pig, two sheep and a few hens were adding to the general chaos.  They might be needed to help feed the garrison if Philip de Grenville was determined to starve them out.

'Oh, my lady,' Alicia came hurrying into the room.  'I came as soon as I could when I heard the news.  What shall we do?'

'For the moment there is little we can do,' Rosamund replied.  'Once the fighting starts we may be able to help with the wounded, but until then we should carry on as always.'  She saw the anxiety in Alicia's face and smiled at her.  'Do not be too alarmed, Alicia.  Caris has stout walls and we are well prepared.  I believe that Philip will soon tire of this fight and then he will go away and leave us in peace again.'

'I pray God that you are right!'

'Come, sit with me,' Rosamund invited.  'Take up your needlework, Alicia.  It may be that Philip means us no harm.  He may merely be on route to somewhere else for his master King Henry.'

Her mouth twisted with scorn for she had never forgiven her husband for siding with Henry Bolingbroke against King Richard.

Alicia sat down and took up a piece of needlepoint but then in a few seconds she was on her feet as she heard shouting below.  She went to the window and looked out.

'A messenger has come,' she said.  'Thomas is speaking with him from the ramparts above the gate.'

Rosamund refused to be drawn to the window, though her heart missed a beat.  Determinedly, she set another stitch in the hanging she was embroidering.

'Then we shall know very soon what my husband intends,' she said calmly.

Within a few minutes her steward, William Baldry came hurrying into the chamber.  His expression was grave, his eyes anxious as he looked at his young mistress.

'Thomas bade me tell you – Sir Philip has brought his men to the gates and demands entrance in the name of King Henry.  He says that he has an order from His Majesty and that you will be guilty of treason if you deny him.'

'My lady!'  Alicia looked at her in fright.  'The punishment for treason is death.'

'I thank you, my good William.  You may carry this message back…' She raised her head proudly, her expression defiant.  'I hold this castle for King Richard of England and for Owain Glyn Dwr the true Prince of Wales,' she said.  'Ask Thomas to convey my words to my husband's messenger.  And add these – we do not treat with traitors.'

Alicia turned paler than before when she heard her mistress's brave words.  Her defiance would cost her dearly if the castle should fall.

'Do not be afraid,' Rosamund said as the steward departed.  He had not commented on her choice of words for he had expected no less.  'Philip will not trouble us for long.  We are prepared to stand a siege of several months and I believe help must come long before we are broken.'

'I pray that you are right, my lady.'

Alicia's fear was very real, not only for herself but also for Rosamund and for the man with whom she herself had fallen in love.  If there was fighting Thomas might be killed and that would break her heart.

'I think that we should all pray,' Rosamund said.  'I shall instruct my chaplain to bless the garrison at their posts and say prayers in the courtyard so that all may hear them.  We must ask for God's help in this struggle.  It is all we can do.  I believe that our cause is just and in the end we shall prevail.'

Alicia noted how pale her mistress was.  She had more to lose than any of them for it would be upon her that Philip de Grenville's vengeance would be vented if the castle fell to his men.  Rosamund's own lover was somewhere beyond those walls fighting for the cause he believed in so passionately, and they had had no word of him in months.

If her mistress could be brave, then so must she, Alicia decided.  Besides, it was true that the walls of Caris were stout and could be defended for a long time.

*

She would pay dearly for her defiance!  Philip de Grenville scowled as the trembling messenger repeated the words he had been bidden carry to his master.  Philip's anger was such that he struck the man a heavy blow with his mailed fist, sending him crashing to the ground, where he lay in a daze, blood trickling from his ear.

'Get rid of that fool!' he snapped and two servants darted forward, afraid that they might be next if they were tardy.  As the luckless man was carried out, Philip turned to the captain of his men-at-arms.  'Send another messenger, Frobart.  This time to the garrison.  Freedom will be granted to those who surrender but if I am forced to fight there will be no quarter given when the castle is taken.'

'But are we not to go on to Carmarthen and the Brecon?'

'All in good time.'  Philip scowled at him.  'We were ordered to subdue the rebels where we found them.  You will do as I bid you, damn you!  Question me again and I'll hang you with the rebels.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Do it now!'

Philip growled low in his throat as the man departed, clearly reluctant to obey his order.  The scurvy rogues were reluctant to fight against a woman they had once served, curse them!  He knew that his men respected Rosamund and that they considered the men they must now fight against were old friends.  But they would do as he bid them or he would have a few of them hung as an example to the rest.

He had expected Rosamund to seek sanctuary with Richard.  It was a part of his plan to rid himself of a wife he did not want and still hold the inheritance she had brought him.  He had imagined it would be easy to cast her off once she had refused to return to him, but Henry was insisting that he must come to terms with her.  It seemed the King respected her show of defiance, despite the fact that she stubbornly refused to accept that Richard had been deposed.

In that she was not alone, for there were many voices raised against it – and his subsequent disappearance.  The conviction that he had been murdered was growing and it had created much dissension, not least amongst those who believed they had as much right to claim his throne as Henry Bolingbroke.

'Your wife is loyal and I am told beautiful,' King Henry had told him when he entered his claim to throw her off.  Himself a sturdy, squat man with more strength than favour in his features, Henry was yet an admirer of beauty.  'It is up to you to persuade your lady to come out, Sir Philip.  When you have done so you may bring her to me and I shall see if I can win her to my cause.'

'As you wish, Sire.'

Philip had told no one that his wife had borne a son to another man.  A year of marriage to him had brought no sign of her quickening but a few months with that damned Welsh singer…He clenched his fists as he realised the man had fooled him.  Morgan Gruffudd was no bard but one of Glyn Dwr's most trusted lieutenants.  And he might have hung him months ago!

Some said it was Morgan Gruffudd who had roused the various regions to revolt and there were other, more sinister rumours.  During the summer there had been a series of daring raids in the Brecon and throughout a wide area of the surrounding districts, spreading over most of South Wales.  As it was the richest area, from which the highest rents and fines had been elicited, it was the more damaging that much of the money was either going astray or being withheld out of defiance.

Sometimes robberies took place within hours of each other, which meant that more than one group of bandits was at large.  Yet all the raids were meticulously planned and carried out, almost as if the robbers had prior knowledge of the routes the English collectors planned to follow.  No matter how they varied them, the robbers were waiting for them and it was making the English population very uneasy.

It was to search out and destroy these robber bands that Sir Philip had been despatched.  His decision to attack Caris first was a personal one and in direct contradiction to the King's order, but he had thought Rosamund might give in once she knew that he had actually come in person to demand her surrender.

Damn her!  She had always been too independent and it was time she was taught a lesson she would not soon forget.

Morwenna saw the blood stained cloth that Maire had tried to hide from her and shook her head.  The older woman was very ill but she would not admit it, her spirit refusing to give in.

'You should rest more,' she told her.  'I can see to things, Maire.  There is no need for you to concern yourself about the house.'

'You are young yet and you have the child to care for,' Maire replied. Wiping her mouth once more as she tasted the blood in her saliva, she faced the younger woman bravely.  'I am not dead yet, though I do not know if I shall see another winter out.'

'You must not die,' Morwenna said, fear betraying her.  'Not yet.  If you die…'

'The English will confiscate the estate – is that what you fear, Morwenna?'

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.'

'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.

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.'

'Perhaps – when I can,' Morgan replied.  'But come, Rosamund is expecting us to join her in the chapel.  The wedding cannot begin until the guest of honour is present.'

*

Rosamund lay with her head against Morgan's shoulder as he caressed her soft flesh and kissed the arch of her white throat.  She sighed, feeling content after the heat of their passion was for the moment slaked.

'Are you sad?' Morgan asked, gazing down into her lovely face.  'What are you thinking, Rosamund?  Do you feel hurt because Alicia is married to Thomas and we cannot marry?'

'It is my greatest wish that we might marry,' Rosamund replied.  'But I am never sad when you are with me, my love.  No, I do not sigh because I an unhappy, but because I am content.'

'I would marry you this minute if I could.'

'I know that,' she said and kissed his shoulder, tasting the salty flavour of his sweat.  'There is no good to be had from wishing for the moon, Morgan.  What must be must be.  If it is meant that we shall marry it will happen.'

'And if does not?'

'Then I shall count myself blessed for having had your love.'

'You are as wise and generous as you are beautiful.  Owain told me that he understood why I could never love another woman after he had seen and spoken with you.'

'You do not love your wife,' Rosamund said, looking at him gravely.  'But you must try to love your daughter.  You must visit her when you can, Morgan.'

'Did Owain put that thought into your mind?'

'It has been there for a long time,' Rosamund replied.  'The child is growing, Morgan.  She ought to know her father – and she ought to have a father's love.  You should visit her and take her a present when you can.'

'I have given you no gifts.'

'I have your love and whatever time you can spare from your work.  What else should I need?'

'One day I shall give you things, Rosamund.'

'Until then I am content.  But do not let Morganna grow up to hate you.  Give her something that will make her smile when she looks at it and think of you.'

'What do you suggest?'

'An ornament – a small gold cross that she may wear on a chain or a ribbon about her neck.'  Rosamund slipped from the bed and went over to her counter, which was an oak cupboard on legs and had been used by her father's steward for counting and storing money.  She took a heavy silver casket from inside and opened it, then she seemed to look for something before giving a murmur of satisfaction.  She removed the trinket and brought it back to the bed, pressing it into Morgan's hand.  'My father gave me this when I was a tiny child, no more than three or four at most.  Give it to your daughter, Morgan.'

He looked at the cross, which was delicately engraved and hung from a fine chain of gold links.

'This is beautiful, Rosamund.  It must mean a great deal to you.  How can I take it from you?'

'My father gave me many gifts, Morgan.  I can spare this one small thing – and you might find it difficult to purchase a gift for your daughter.  If you approached a goldsmith he might betray you to the English.'

'There are some I might trust – but I shall take the cross because you offer it, Rosamund.  One day I should like to give you precious jewels.'

'When you have won back what rightfully belongs to you, you may give me what you please,' she said and then laughed as she kissed him.  'For now I am content with what you I have of you.'  She reached up to touch his face.  'I want another child, Morgan.  I would have a daughter this time if it pleases you.'

Morgan chuckled deep in his throat as he gathered her to him.  'Then I must see what I can to do to oblige you, my lady…'

*

Morwenna frowned as she left her mother-in-law's bedchamber.  Maire had been ill again in the night and was keeping to her bed for the moment, though she would drag herself downstairs before the day was over.

'You should rest.  There is no need for you to get up,' Morwenna had told her over and over again, but her answer was always the same.

'I shall die in bed, Morwenna.  Until then I shall come down when I can.'

Morwenna did not push the argument further.  She had learned to respect Maire and it grieved her to see the other woman so ill.  Indeed, she dreaded the day when Maire finally died and not only because the English might confiscate the manor.  If that happened she could return to Oswestry, though she preferred to live here.  The land here was rich and fertile and they lived well.  She knew that Maire had gold locked in a counter in her chamber, for she had given her money to buy material for new clothes for herself and the child from the cloth merchants who came to the market once a month.  When Maire was dead she would take that gold for herself but for the moment she was content with what she was given.

Hearing a child's laughter, Morwenna turned to see that Gwenny had brought her daughter to visit her.  She smiled as she saw the little girl for Morganna was a lovely child.  She hardly ever cried or screamed and was no trouble.

'She wanted to see her mother before I put her to bed for her afternoon sleep…'

'Come to Mother,' Morwenna invited, holding out her arms to the child as she walked unsteadily towards her.  She sat down suddenly on her bottom, her face creasing as if it had hurt but then she picked herself up and set her mouth determinedly.

How like her father she was!  Morwenna had seen that look in her husband's eyes.  If she had doubted that the girl was her husband's daughter she did not now.

It was months since Morgan had been to visit them.  At Christmas she had wondered if he might make the effort to visit his daughter but he had not come.  No doubt he was with his woman!

The bitterness was strong in her.  Rhys had promised to kill Rosamund de Grenville but she had heard nothing from him.  She believed he was too much of a coward to carry out his promises.  Were she a man both Rosamund and Morgan would have been dead long ago – or she killed in the attempt.

'Mumma…'  Morganna patted her hands against her mother's face and Morwenna realised that the child had sensed her anger.  'I am not angry with you,' she said. 'It is him I hate…'

Even as she spoke she heard voices outside the door and then it opened and he came in.  She stared at him in disbelief.

'I thought you must be dead.'

'Or did you merely hope for it?' Morgan asked.  'You should know that Rhys Llewelyn is an outcast again.  He tried to kill Rosamund de Grenville – but killed her serving woman instead.  His life is forfeit and if he comes here you should have nothing to do with him, Morwenna.'

'I have not seen him since…' she faltered as his angry, accusing eyes stabbed at her.

'I do not care when you last saw Rhys.  Go with him if you wish but leave Morganna here with her nurse or you will be sorry when I find you.'

'I do not wish to go away with Rhys.'

It was true enough.  Rhys had failed her once again.  He was a fool and a coward and she despised him.

'Why have you come?' she asked.

'To see Morganna.'  He was smiling at the child as she clung to her mother, clearly disturbed by the tension she sensed between this stranger and her mother.  'You are lovely, my daughter.  Will you come to your father?'  He squatted down and held out his arms to her.  'Come and kiss me, my pretty one.'

Morganna stared at him for a moment.  She had no conscious memory of him, but something in her responded to the scent of him and the caressing tone of his voice.  She held out arms to him.  Morgan took her up, holding her high above him and tossing her in the air, catching her with ease.

She shrieked with laughter, clearly enchanted with this new person in her life.

'Do you remember me?' Morgan asked as he held her lower and looked into her face.  'I nursed you as a babe but it is many months since I have seen you.'

'She is eighteen months old,' Morwenna said, the hatred twisting inside her as she contrasted his manner with the child and her.  There were smiles and kisses for Morganna but not even a kind word for her!

'And I have given her nothing,' Morgan said and took something from his pocket.  Lodging her against his hip he fastened the chain Rosamund had given him around the child's neck.  The clasp was secure and would not easily yield unless you knew its secret.  'That is for you, my daughter, to remind you of your father.'  Turning to Gwenny he passed the child to her.  'Guard her well, Gwenny.  I shall come again when I can.  For now I would speak to my wife alone.'

'She is a sweet child and no trouble,' the nurse told him.  'I love her well.'

Morgan nodded, his expression hardening as the nurse went out.

'I have nothing for you but this…'  Morgan gave his wife five gold coins.  'You may use it as you wish.  I hope that you have all you need here with my mother?'

Morwenna wanted to throw the gold nobles into his face, but resisted the impulse.  She might need money if the English came to turn her out of the house.  She frowned as Morgan turned away.

'You are leaving at once?'

'I shall visit my mother and then eat food her servants are preparing for me.  After that I shall go.  It is not wise to stay here for long and I have work I must do for Owain.'

'You are going to her!'  Morwenna cried, the jealousy in her face.

'Where I go is my business, Morwenna.  But I shall not be with Rosamund again for months.'

Morwenna made no answer.  She was eaten up with her jealousy and bitterness.  He had come to see the child and his mother.  She meant nothing to him.  And now she would not even have the satisfaction of knowing that he had lost the woman he loved, for Rhys had failed again.

She watched as her husband went out, hating him.  Anger and self-pity welled up inside her.  Surely one day she would find a way to be revenged on him!

*

The Battle of Bryn Glas was a turning point for Owain Glyn Dwr's cause.  The devastation wreaked on the enemy was terrible indeed and the savagery inflicted by the Welsh on the hated English went far beyond the rules of warfare.

Morgan was sickened by some of the mutilation he witnessed as he moved amongst the dead and wounded afterwards.  It had been a glorious battle but this cruelty was inglorious.

'Was it necessary?' he asked Owain later.  'God knows I hate the English as much as any man here – but some of what has been done here makes me ashamed.'

'You have a soft streak in your nature, Morgan.  I have noticed it before.  This will make the enemy fear us.  They will not now dismiss us as cowards and weaklings.'

The battle had taken place in June 1402 and as that year wore on it became clear that Owain's words had the ring of truth.  Now at last the rest of Wales was beginning to respect this man who had come to deliver them from the yoke of English dominance that had lain too long upon their land.  More and more men were swelling their ranks and the momentum seemed unstoppable.

In every region there were uprisings against the English, and the burgess cowered in their towns, terrified of what might happen if they tried to resist.  The people refused to pay the fines and taxes levied against them.  Now there was a belief that Owain was the true Prince of Wales, and that Merlin's prophecy was coming to fulfilment at last.

Owain was being taken seriously in France and Scotland.  There were negotiations for foreign troops to come and aid them in their struggle against the English oppressors.

'Owain's cause rides on a tide of victory,' Morgan told Rosamund when he visited her in the autumn and discovered that she was big with their second child.  'I believe that all we desire shall be ours one day.'

'I am glad that all goes well for you,' she said and looked at him with love in her eyes.  The content of bearing her second child was on her like a blessing, making her more beautiful than ever.

'I wish that Kestrel was here to see it,' Morgan said.  'I should like to talk to him…'

'Do you not think he sees what we do?'

'Perhaps…'  Morgan had told Rosamund of his vision but it had begun to fade after so many months and there were times when he doubted.  He had tried to call Kestrel to him but to no avail.  He had neither heard nor seen him and wondered if he had been dreaming that day on the mountain.  'But enough of these things.  How are you, my love?'

'I am very well.  Much better than I was when I carried your son, my lord.  Your daughter is much more considerate.'

Morgan laughed and drew her into his arms, kissing her forehead.  'I am glad to hear that, but it does not surprise me.  Our son has too much energy.  His nurses tell me he is never still.'

'That is why I took another girl from the village to help care for him,' Rosamund replied with a fond smile.  'Bethan is very young and she can run as fast as Richard.  He would be too much for any one nurse to cope with.'

'So I have heard.'  Morgan chuckled.  'Let us hope that our daughter will be less trouble, Rosamund.'

'I believe she will.  She is very quiet and only kicks now and then to remind me of her presence.'

Morgan nodded, thinking briefly of his eldest child.  Morganna was like her half-brother, determined to have her way, brave and full of energy.  His mother had told him that she was a pleasure to have in her home.

'Promise me that you will not forget her, Morgan,' she had begged him when he'd visited her in her chamber.  He had been shocked by the change in her for her skin was yellow, her eyes dull. 'I know you hate her mother but you must not hurt the child.'

'I feel nothing for Morwenna, not even hate.'

'Poor Morwenna.  She is very bitter, my son.'

'She must blame herself for the way things are between us.  Rhys tried to kill Rosamund – why would he do that, Mother?  He might want me dead but he can have no reason to hate her.'

'You think Morwenna…surely not?'  her face creased with pain, part physical but partly of the heart.  'She has been good to me, Morgan, and I feel for her loneliness.'

'Then perhaps I wrong her,' he said, not wanting to distress her further.  'Rhys may have acted from his own malice.'

They had spoken no more of Morwenna, though both knew that Rhys must have had good reason for what he did.

'What are you thinking?' Rosamund asked, breaking into his thoughts.  'Was it of Morganna?'

'If it were possible I would like her with us one day.  Could you accept that, Rosamund – perhaps for a part of the year?'

'Yes, of course, for as long as she and you wish it,' she replied.  'But is it fair to take her away from her mother?'

'If Morwenna were to go with Rhys…'

'Then your daughter would always be welcome in my home.'

'You are always so generous.'

'But I have so much,' Rosamund said.  'Morwenna has so little.'

'Perhaps she has all she deserves.'

Rosamund said nothing more.  She knew that he was sometimes troubled that he could not see his daughter more often.  She took his hand, placing it against her swollen belly so that he could feel the child kicking inside her.

Morgan smiled and put his thoughts of Morganna away.  She had her nurse Gwenny to love her and perhaps he had wronged his wife in his thoughts.  Perhaps she was not the vengeful witch he had come to think her.

*

Morwenna was gathering herbs at the edge of the stream.  She sometimes brewed a drink from them, which helped to dull Maire's pain for a while. Hearing a twig crack beneath someone's foot behind her she was startled and swung round in alarm.  Her fear left her as she saw and recognised the man who stood a short distance away and was watching her warily, as if he feared she might scream at him.

'What are you doing here?' she asked coldly.

'I wanted to see you,' Rhys said.

'You have taken your time in coming.'

'I have been hunted like a beast,' he said.  'Owain has offered a reward for my death – ten gold nobles.'

'Morgan's price is one hundred.'

'You hate me for failing you.'

It was on the tip of her tongue to agree, but something made her hold back the bitter words.  Maire would die soon and then she would be alone apart from the servants and the child.

'I hate Morgan,' she said.  'The woman is not so important, though it would hurt him if she were to die – but it is him I would see dead.'

'He is too powerful for the moment,' Rhys said.  'Owain values him highly and unbeknown to him he is constantly watched over and guarded lest anyone should try to assassinate him.'

'And if that were not the case?'

'If I had the chance I would betray him to the English and take their gold.'

'Yes…' she smiled at that.  'I would betray him if I could.  The money would help us to live as I would wish, Rhys.  I do not want to lose Gruffudd Manor.  It could be a part of the bargain that I am allowed to keep it.'

'Then you still want me as your husband?'

'Of course.  I have always loved you, Rhys.'  She lied easily, moving towards him, her lips parted enticingly.  'You may kiss me and touch me – but there must not be a child until Morgan is dead.'

'Morwenna,' he breathed, his face lighting up as he reached for her.  'I was afraid to come to you – afraid that you would hate me.'

She pressed herself close to him, feeling his manhood harden with desire for her, and she let him kiss her.  Then she took his hand and folded it over her breast.

'When Morgan is a prisoner of the English you shall take me to our bed, my love.'

'That time cannot come soon enough for me.'

'Or me,' she said.  'But if we must wait we shall be patient.  You may meet me sometimes like this but you must not come to the house.  If Maire knew that I had seen you she would send word to Morgan – and you know what he would do?'

'Yes, I know.'  Rhys bent his head and kissed her.  His body throbbed with desire and he groaned as he felt the agony of denial, but at least he had hope.  For many long months he had lived without hope, often cold, exhausted and sometimes desperate for food.  'I shall do as you command and ask only that I can see you…know that you will be mine one day.'

'When Morgan is taken by the English and we have the promise of their gold.  Then you shall be my husband, Rhys.'

She kissed him once more, then held him away from her as he pressed for more.  'I must go now.  Come to me here again. Rhys, but be careful.  If Maire knew you were here she would send to Owain and have you killed.'

She was singing softly as she began to walk back to the house, a song she had not sung in these many months.  She had thought that all hope of revenge had gone but it seemed that Rhys still wanted her.  She had no love for him, but she would use him and perhaps she would wed him if it suited her once Morgan was dead.

She laughed for sheer joy as she went into the house.  Gwenny was bringing the child downstairs. Morganna ran to her, catching at her skirts.

'Mumma pick up!' she demanded imperiously.

Reminded of her father, Morwenna pushed her away.  'I am busy,' she said her tone harsh.  'Go to Gwenny.'

Lost in her thoughts and excited by her new hope of the future, Morwenna did not notice that Gwenny was staring at her oddly.

'Come to Gwenny.  She loves you, sweeting.'

Gwenny burned with anger as she saw the child's look of anguish at her mother's thoughtless dismissal.  Morwenna was too often unkind to her daughter in the nurse's opinion.  She did not know what had happened to make Morgan Gruffudd despise his wife but she suspected that it was something Morwenna had done.

She had been spoiled by her father and too fond of her own way.  Something had happened for Morgan had been a kind and considerate husband at the start – and she had overheard heard a terrible quarrel between them one night.

She did not know why they had quarrelled but she had her suspicions.  However, the child was clearly his.  Maire was convinced of it and so was Gwenny.

Both women adored the brave, strong-willed child and Gwenny was determined to shield her from her mother's spite for as long as she could.  She was as old as Maire but had never suffered a day's illness in her life.

She would live long enough to see Morganna grow up – and pray God her father would not forget her.  Perhaps one day he would come and take her away with him.

*

'Henry has gone home with his tail between his legs,' Owain said to Morgan as they met for a council of war early in November.  'His march succeeded in destroying only a small village.'

Morgan smiled as he heard the note of triumph in the other's voice.  As he had forecast, the tide was turning their way at last.

'He has sent his son – that other Prince of Wales – to relieve the castles of Harlech and Caernarfon, and Percy won a victory at Homildon Hill,' Morgan reminded him.  'I think we should send again to the Percies.  I hear that they grow mighty discontented and we would do well to make allies of them if we can.'

Owain agreed.  'Have you heard that Richard Grey of Condor has been appointed as the King's lieutenant in the Brecon?  He is rumoured to have some seven hundred and fifty men in his service.'

Morgan grinned.  'It seems that we have pricked the English where it hurts, Owain.  They know it is a long struggle between us.'  He was thoughtful for a moment.  'I have been thinking that we should continue our campaign into the winter – give them no chance to settle.'

'Yes, perhaps.  It has been my habit to break off for the worst of the winter, but think what a blow it would be for them if we attacked when they believed they were safe.'

'I have thought,' Morgan said and a look of grim satisfaction had settled on his mouth.  'I have decided to visit Rosamund for a few days now and then I shall return to the Brecon.  Who knows, perhaps by next spring my price will reach two hundred nobles?'

'You see fit to jest,' Owain said and frowned.  'But I cannot afford to lose my good friend and able lieutenant.'

'Nor shall you,' Morgan replied.  'I know my enemies, Owain.  You accused me of having a soft streak in my nature and perhaps I have – but I have learned to be wary.'

'Then God go with you – and give my good wishes to your lady.'

Morgan smiled as he left Owain.  He knew that Rosamund had given birth to their second child for he had received word that all was well and he was not to worry.  He wanted to see her and the child for he knew that it would be a while before he could see her again if their campaign was to continue into the winter as he had planned.

*

'My lord, it is good to see you,' Rosamund greeted him with a kiss as he came to her.  She was sitting in her solar nursing her daughter – a red-haired, green-eyed tiny thing that made Morgan fear for her.  'I thought we might call her Maire – do you agree?'

'No, not Maire,' he said, thinking of his mother as he had last seen her.  'Why not call her Ellen after your own mother?'

'If you wish it.'  Rosamund was puzzled.  She had thought he would like to call the child after his mother.  'Do you not think her beautiful?'

'She is lovely,' he said and touched a finger against the babe's fist.  To his surprise she caught it strongly.  He chuckled, feeling pleased.  'She looks so fragile but her grip is firm.'

'Do not be deceived by her looks,' Rosamund said understanding his reaction now.  'She will not die, Morgan.  She is always hungry and I have employed a wet nurse for my milk would not satisfy her.'

He nodded and smiled.  'Then we shall call her Ellen Maire of Caris,' he said and turned his eyes on her, searching her face.  'You are well, Rosamund?  You have recovered your own strength?'

'I am very well,' she told him.  'But I fear I have sad news for you.  I received word from your manor at Gruffudd.  They say that Maire will not live for many days.'

'When did this message come?'

'Only this morning.  I had planned to send a messenger to look for you, but I was not sure where you might be.'

'I have been with Owain, but he thinks I should return to the Brecon.'  He grinned.  'There is a new garrison, much stronger than before.  I think they mean business this time.'

'Take care, Morgan,' Rosamund cried for a chill had started at the nape of her neck.  'Fortune has been with you thus far, but I fear you grow too bold.  You know the English would hang you if they could.'

'That has always been the case,' he replied and his smile had vanished as he saw how anxious she was.  'I would not have you worry for me, my love.  You know that I cannot promise to return to you for my life may be at risk at any time – but I shall not grow careless.  My love for you makes me stronger.  I believe in my heart that we shall know peace and content one day.  Owain was close to despair last winter but now he is full of confidence.  Have faith, Rosamund.  I feel our time is close at hand.'

Rosamund went into his arms, hiding her fear as he kissed her.  She knew she must let him go for it had always been thus between them.  To weep would simply make it harder for them both.  Yet she had a terrible sense of impending danger.  Not for herself or her children but for him.

It was almost as if she heard Kestrel's voice warning her, yet she knew it was only in her mind.

'I have always known it must be so,' she agreed.  'I simply ask that you take care when you are at …Gruffudd Manor.'  The words were suddenly so clear that she could hear them.  She put a hand to her head, trying to hear more clearly.  'It is so strange.  I think…I have words in my head…Kestrel is telling me that you are in danger from an old enemy.'

'Rhys Llewelyn,' Morgan said and frowned.  He had tried so often to summon Kestrel but without success.  Now the healer had spoken to Rosamund.  'Yes, I shall take care, my love.  I promise you that all will be well.  You must not worry too much.'

Rosamund gave him the smile she knew he wanted from her.  Each time he left her it grew harder to let him go, tearing at her heartstrings, but she knew she must never let him see that their parting hurt her so deeply.  Morgan needed her to be brave and so she must, but inside she was weeping.

'I wonder why Kestrel came to you?' Morgan said and looked thoughtful.  'Why did he not speak to me?'

'It is not for us to question,' she said.  'And now you should leave, my lord.  If you delay you may not see Maire alive.'

'I had planned to spend a few days with you.'

'And now you must go.  I shall not try to hold you, Morgan.  I have my children and I know you will return when you can.'

He drew her into his arms, kissing her hungrily, wanting to deny his duty.  Would that he could stay with her and forget the world but he knew that he had to go to his mother.  She must be dying or she would not have sent for him.

'I would live with you always in peace and content if it were possible, Rosamund,' he said and touched her cheek with his fingertips.  As he gazed into her eyes he sensed the pain that this parting was causing her and guilt struck him to the heart.  She had given him so much and he had so little to give her in return.  'Take care of our children, Rosamund.  I shall be with you again as soon as I can – and perhaps then I can stay for longer.'

'Make no promises,' she warned him.  'Go now, Morgan.  Maire has so little time left to her.'

He kissed her once more and left her.  Rosamund watched him walk away.  Tears were stinging her eyes but she would not let them fall – until she was alone.

The life at Caris was often lonely and hard to bear when Morgan was away.  She had her women to keep her company but Alicia was married now and carrying Thomas Bridger's child.  They stayed with her out of loyalty but she knew that Alicia longed to return to her home to see her parents and show off her husband.  In the spring, after her child was born and she was strong again, Rosamund meant to tell her to go.

She could find other companions, though none would be like Alicia – and she still missed her good Margaret terribly.  There were times when she wished she could leave Caris and visit her other manors.  It would be pleasant to see old friends …to feel free again.  Yet she had chosen to leave Philip de Grenville of her own free will and that meant she must stay here for the moment.

Perhaps one day when the war was over…But when would that be?  She believed that the struggle might go on for years.  Morgan would never desert Owain and she could never leave him.  She must bear the loneliness of the months ahead and pray that he would return one day.

'Come back to me, my love,' she whispered to the empty room.  'For I could not bear it if you should die.'

She wished that Kestrel was still with them in this life for though she had heard his words so clearly in her mind they had done nothing but create terror in her heart.

Morgan was on his way to Gruffudd Manor to see his sick mother as was right and proper – but what would he find there?

*

'Do not send for Morgan.  I forbid it.'  Maire pushed away the broth Morwenna had made for her.  'He can do nothing and I do not want him here.  It is too dangerous…'

Maire knew that she was close to death and she did not fear it.  Indeed, she would welcome an end to her pain.  She had already lived with it for years and longed for peace.  In death she would find peace such as she had not known since she was a child – but of late there had been a growing fear for her son.

She suspected that Morwenna was plotting against him with Rhys Llewelyn.  Morwenna had become increasingly sly of late and Gwenny had told her that she was often unkind to the child.

Maire had tried to warn her son that Morwenna was bitter but she knew that he had not listened.  He had never listened.  But she could do nothing.  She was not sure that her fears were more than imagination for she was finding it difficult to hold on to reality these days, and she suspected that Morwenna gave her things to make her sleep.

'Leave me,' she said.  'I would rest.'

'You should eat a little,' Morwenna said.  'But I cannot make you.'

She went out carrying her bowl, taking it back to the kitchen.  The servants looked at her and she shook her head.

'She would eat nothing.  I think she was wandering in her mind again.  She has forgotten that she told me to send for Morgan.  I am going out now.  I need some fresh air.'

She left the house, feeling the tension mount inside her.  It was a week or more since she had sent for Morgan and there had been no word.  Surely he would come?  He could not ignore his mother's pleas.

She had sent her message despite Maire's insistence that he was not to be summoned.  Excitement warred with the fear inside her for she had planned it carefully with Rhys.

'It is the greatest good fortune,' Rhys had told her when she met with him some days earlier.  'I have discovered that Sir Philip de Grenville is with Richard Grey, who is the King's lieutenant in this part of Wales.  If I go to him he will be glad to pay for information.  He hates Morgan as much as we do.  He will use anything to force his wife into submission, and after his humiliation at Caris he must want to see Morgan hang.'

Morwenna felt a thrill of pleasure at his words.  At last!  She would have the revenge she had longed for at last.

Rhys was waiting for her in the appointed place.  She felt the cool breeze catch at her wimple and the chill of autumn bit into her flesh as for a moment the wind seemed to whirl about her fiercely.  She ran towards Rhys, allowing him to draw her into his arms and kiss her hungrily.

'What news?  Did you see Sir Philip?' she asked.  'What did he say?'

'He will arrange for you to keep Gruffudd Manor as your widow's right,' Rhys replied.  'And we shall be given the reward as soon as Morgan is taken.  He was as eager as I expected.  I almost pity Morgan.'

'Do not waste your pity,' she scorned.  'He deserves whatever the English do to him.  I hope they make him suffer before they hang him.'

Rhys felt oddly chilled as he looked at her.  What had happened to the innocent girl he had loved at Sycharth?  She was if anything more beautiful and he hungered for the moment when he could take her to his bed – yet something had changed in her.  He had fallen in love with a warm, passionate girl but Morwenna had become a hard and bitter woman.  He had known she hated Morgan but now he was seeing something in her he disliked.

'You are harsh, Morwenna.  I want him dead so that we may be together and enjoy this estate without fear – but I would give any man a clean death.'

'What does it matter how the English treat him?' she asked.  'We must hope that he comes soon.  How shall you warn Sir Philip?'

'I must stay close to the house for the next few days,' Rhys said.  'As soon as he arrives I shall go to Sir Philip.'

'Then I must go back.  If he should be there already I shall come to the door and shake out a white tunic.'

'Kiss me first…' Rhys drew her to him, his eyes suddenly hard and bright.  'Very soon now you shall be mine.  Do not think to cheat me of what you have promised, Morwenna.  If you do I shall kill you.'

'Do not be a fool,' she said.  'Without you I should be alone.  I have no wish to live alone for the rest of my life.  Come to me as soon as Morgan is taken.  When he is dead you shall be my husband.'

She left him then and began to walk back to the house.  Rhys was a fool.  She would marry him if she had to but she was tired of living as she had for so many months.  When they had the English gold as well as that Maire kept in her counter they could live as they pleased…but Maire might give it to Morgan if he came in time.

Morwenna was determined that he should not have that money.  It was hers by right.  She had kept Maire alive, tending her, washing her, clearing up her vomit when she was ill.  That money should be hers and she would take it while her mother-in-law was sleeping.  After all, Maire had no use for it now.'

THIRTEEN

Maire closed her eyes as the door of her chamber opened.  It was dark save for the light that filtered through the tiny slit in the wall of her chamber, but she knew it was Morwenna for the scent of her was imprinted on her senses.  She kept her eyes shut as her daughter-in-law came to the bed and peered down at her.  Why had Morwenna come to her chamber at this hour?  Most of the household was sleeping but Maire slept very little these days unless something was given to her in her food or drink to make her sleep.

'Are you awake, Maire?' Morwenna asked softly.

Maire did not answer, keeping her eyes closed as the girl looked at her for a moment longer and then began to move about the room.  Opening her eyes when she thought it was safe, Maire watched as Morwenna went to the counter and took out the small bag of gold that was hidden there.

So it was accepted that she was dying.  Morwenna was taking the gold to make certain of it now.  In the darkness the sick woman smiled.  She was not such a fool as to leave all her money where it could be so easily found.  What she had was for Morgan's daughter and she would tell Gwenny where it could be found.  Gwenny loved Morganna as she did and would make sure the money came to the girl one day.

She closed her eyes again as Morwenna left the room, feeling no pleasure in the discovery of her daughter-in-law's betrayal.  She had suspected it would happen when her time was near, but she had hoped she was wrong.  It saddened her that the girl was so bitter for she had hoped that Morgan's wife would love him.

Perhaps his woman loved him.  Maire hoped that he would find some happiness in life.  What little she had known had come from him as a child and from his daughter.

She gasped as she felt the pain in her chest.  It seemed to spread down her arm and then up into her head, so terrible the agony that she thought she would burst.  The last few days the pain had got so much worse and she prayed for death every night.

The door was opening again.  Morwenna had returned, this time with a candle.  Maire watched as she searched the counter once more.  Clearly she had expected to find more.

'What are you doing?'

Morwenna turned, her face a ghastly yellow in the candleglow.  It was clear that she was angry.

'Where have you hidden it?' she demanded.

Maire did not pretend to misunderstand.  She pushed herself up against the pillows, ignoring the pain that was threatening to overcome her as she looked directly at Morwenna.

'You have your portion.  The rest is for someone else.'

'You old witch!  Morwenna muttered, moving closer to the bed.  'Why should he have anything?  He cares nothing for you.  I have nursed and cared for you like a daughter these past months.'

'And I am not ungrateful.  There are twenty gold nobles in the bag you took, Morwenna.'

'There were two hundred or more,' Morwenna said.  'I have seen them and I want them.  Tell me where you have hidden the gold!'

'You may search where you will.  I cannot stop you.'

'Tell me!'  Morwenna grabbed her by her thin shoulders, shaking her back and forwards like a piece of rag.  'I want that money, you old witch.  It belongs to me.'

Maire felt the pain sharpen and consume her.  She choked as the blood welled up from her chest into her mouth and some of it gushed out as she fought for breath, staining the tunic of the woman shaking her.  Then, as Morwenna gave a cry of horror and let her go abruptly, she fell back against the pillows, her mouth open and her eyes staring.

'Maire…' Morwenna whispered in her fear as she realised what she had done.  'Maire…forgive me.  I did not mean…'

She turned away from the bed just as the door opened and someone entered.  The shame and horror of her crime was on her face as the other woman came to the bed.  Gwenny looked down at the dead woman and then at Morwenna.

'What did you do to her?'

'Nothing.  I heard her cry out in pain and I came to see what was happening.  She died as I bent over her.'

Gwenny knew instinctively that she was lying but did not dare to accuse her.  Morwenna was mistress here and could dismiss her as she pleased.  If that happened the child would suffer.  Her face showed no emotion as she bent over Maire and closed her eyes.

'I shall see to her,' she said without looking at her mistress.  'She was a good woman and things must be done properly.'

Morwenna did not answer.  Gwenny heard the door close behind her as she went out.  Her expression was grim as she fetched water to wash Maire's body.  She knew what she had heard and what she had seen, and she was certain that Morwenna had hastened her mother-in-law's death, though she had not heard clearly enough through the heavy door to know why they had quarrelled.

'May God forgive you, Morwenna,' Gwenny muttered.  She would hold her tongue outside this room, at least for the time being – but if her mistress ever harmed the child she would speak out.  'If you harm my darling, I'll see that Morgan Gruffudd knows exactly what you are…'

Alone in her chamber, Morwenna fell to her knees and clasped her hands in prayer.

'Forgive me,' she whispered, consumed with guilt.  'I did not mean to kill her.'

Yet she had known how ill Maire was.  Her rage at discovering how little gold was in the bag had consumed her, driving all else from her mind.  The money would have enabled her to go anywhere, but without it she must rely on Rhys.  She doubted that he would share his reward with her.  He would keep the English gold to himself to make sure she could not leave him.

Morwenna scowled as she realised that Maire had died without confessing her secret: unless she had told Gwenny?  But no, she had intended the money for her son.

Morwenna knew a moment of fear as she wondered what Gwenny had seen.  Did she suspect Morwenna of hastening Maire's death – and did she know why?

Morwenna's only chance of gaining her freedom was to search for the gold.  When Maire was buried she would go through her things.  It must be somewhere in her chamber.

*

It was early the next morning when Morgan arrived.  He knew as soon as he walked into the house that he was too late.  One of the serving wenches came to greet him and he saw that she had been crying.

'You come too late, sir,' the girl said.  'Your mother died last night.'

'I am sorry I was not sooner,' Morgan replied and crossed himself.  'God rest her soul.  It is good that she no longer suffers.'  His eyes closed for a moment and then he looked at the girl.  'Where is she, Annis?'

'She lies in her chamber,' the wench replied.  'Your lady has sent for the priest to bless her but she is to be buried here at Gruffudd.  It was her wish.'

'I know of a quiet spot by the stream where she would wish to lie, Annis.  I shall bury her myself later.  Now I shall go up to see her, but if the priest comes warn me before you bring him up.  It is best I am not seen here – for all our sakes.'

'Yes, my lord.  I shall keep a watch for him and let you know.'

Morgan nodded.  He was conscious of a sense of loss as he walked up the twisting stair to his mother's solar.  Maire had possessed a sharp tongue but he had respected and loved her in his way.  He regretted that he had not arrived in time to tell her so before she died, but he had been forced to hide in the mountains for two days.  The English were everywhere and he knew it was for him they searched.  He and his band of brothers had caused them too much trouble these past years.

Maire's body had been washed and dressed in a simple white tunic.  She lay with her hands crossed, a look of peace on her face.  He went to the bed and bent to kiss her forehead.  For some minutes he stood in silence by her bed, his head bent in prayer.

'Rest in peace, Lady of Gruffudd,' he said at last.  'Forgive me for not being here.  I loved you well though I may never have told you.  I pray that you knew what was in my heart.'

'She did not want you to come, my lord.'

Morgan turned and frowned as he saw Gwenny in the doorway.

'Why do you say that?  I do not think she hated me.'

'She loved you truly, sir.  She would not have you sent for, because she believed there was danger here for you.  It was Morwenna who sent for you.'

'You suspect her of something, Gwenny.  I can see it in your face.'

'I think she has been meeting Rhys Llewelyn – but do not tell her that I said so or she will dismiss me.  I must take care of Morganna…'

'Does she ill treat my daughter?'

'I – I take care of the child, my lord.  While I am here no harm shall come to her, I promise you.'

Morgan nodded, eyes narrowed.  'I shall speak to her before I leave…'  He broke off as the door opened and Annis looked at him from the threshold.  He sensed that she was anxious.  'Has the priest arrived?'

'Yes, my lord.  I came to tell you – but he told me he saw English soldiers in the village and he heard that they were coming here…'

'For me.'  Morgan swore softly.  'Then they knew I was coming here.  They have been warned.  Where is my wife?'

'She saw you arriving and slipped out the back way, 'Gwenny told him.  'That is why I came to warn you.'

'I must go, for I bring danger to you all.  You will see my mother decently buried, Gwenny?'

'It shall be done as she would have wished it, my lord.'

'Yes, I believe I can trust you.  Take good care of my daughter, Gwenny – and you, Annis, watch over Gwenny and do as she bids you.  Remember both of you that Morwenna is not to be trusted.  I shall return when I can.'

He ran down the stairs and left the house.  A servant had his horse ready and Morgan thanked him as he hastily mounted.  It seemed that Maire's servants were loyal even if his wife had betrayed him.

He was riding hard when he saw the soldiers coming towards him.  There were at least twenty of them, mounted on swift horses and unburdened with heavy armour, clearly ready to give chase.  It seemed that they were learning a little about fighting the Welsh, who were masters of the art of surprise attack and the ability to disappear just as swiftly.

He would do his best to outrun the English soldiers!  If he could just reach the forest he might be able to give them the slip.  Once there he knew the secret ways, places where a man might hide safely until dark.  He bent over his horse, urging it on.  He had to escape for he knew his fate if they should take him.

His horse was fast, flying over the soft earth as if on wings, its hooves seeming barely to cut the mossy ground.  He could see the dark line of the forest just ahead of him.  The men behind were catching him but he was still ahead.  With luck he could disappear into the vastness of the forest before they caught up to him.

He was beginning to feel more confident when five archers leapt to their feet.  They had been hidden in the first line of trees and he had not seen them until now.  He pulled frantically on the reins, causing his horse to rear up as he tried to change direction.  A hail of arrows let fly, piercing the soft underbelly of his mount.  Its screams were terrible to hear as it went crashing down, trapping Morgan beneath its writhing body.  He was aware of pain as something struck his head and then everything went black and he was no longer conscious as the English surrounded him.

Morgan knew nothing as the soldiers hauled the dead horse off of him, lifting him clear.

'Is he dead?' one of them asked of his companions. 'Sir Philip wanted him taken alive.'

'He's out of his senses but still breathing,' their leader said.  'We'll carry him on a litter.  Treat him with care.  Sir Philip would have him fully conscious of what he plans for him.'

'It would be kinder to kill him now,' another soldier muttered beneath his breath but said nothing aloud.  He remembered Morgan as the man who had saved Lady Rosamund's life and had always respected him.  'God help him, for I fear none else can.'

*

Rosamund woke with a start.  She had been resting on her bed and must have fallen asleep, but her dream was so terrible that it had left her trembling and afraid.

'Morgan…' she whispered as she left the bed and went over to her window to gaze out.  'Where are you, my love?  I fear that you are in danger…'

Her dream had left her anxious and she could not forget what had been so vividly in her mind as she woke.  Morgan was captured and being tortured.  She had felt his pain as they beat him, every stroke of the cruel cane seeming to thud into her own flesh.

The pain had left her as she woke, but her anxiety remained for she could not rid herself of the feeling that Morgan was in trouble and needing her.  She had seemed to hear him calling to her.

'God help him,' she prayed.  'Oh, my love.  I would come to you if I could but I do not know where you are…'

'Be at peace, Lady Rosamund…'

She was startled to hear the voice behind her.  She turned and for a moment thought she saw a figure hovering in the corner of the room.  She knew no fear for immediately she sensed that it must be Kestrel, though she could not see him clearly enough to be sure.

'Kestrel?' she asked in wonder.  'Are you truly here?'

'Believe and you may see me,' his voice said.  'But I must not stay, Morgan needs me…'

'Then my dream was true?' Rosamund started towards the misty figure but it had disappeared.  'Tell me…will he come back to me?' she cried but there was no answer.

Rosamund felt the tears trickle down her cheeks, tasting their saltiness.  Kestrel had come to comfort her, but she had not been able to hold him for her will was not strong enough.  But if she believed in what she had seen and heard he was going to Morgan.

Weeping desperately, Rosamund bent her head.  She had been taught to believe in one God and her belief in the magical powers of her much missed and loved healer were not strong enough to help her now, though she longed to believe.

'Help Morgan,' she prayed as she knelt beside the bed, though in her heart she was not sure to whom she prayed.  'I beg you, bring him safely back to me.'

*

Morgan was barely conscious as they flung him back into his cell.  He had been taken out and beaten as they tried to make him betray the secret places known only to Owain and a few of his most trusted followers.  In the end he had not been able to stand it any longer and had fallen to the ground in a daze.

'Take him away and revive him,' Sir Philip de Grenville muttered.  'I would not have him die too soon.  I want the pleasure of seeing him burned alive.'

Morgan had heard the words through a mist of pain.  Surely he must have imagined or heard wrongly?  He would be hanged not burned – burning was kept for witches or martyrs.  He would not have put even his worst enemy to the torch.

He lay for a long time hovering between the darkness and a pain-filled consciousness.  And then he felt someone bathing his face with cold water and he opened his eyes, looking up at the soldier who bent over him.

'Water…'

'Drink this,' the soldier said, glancing over his shoulder.  'They let me tend you because Sir Philip wants you alive.  You don't know me, Morgan Gruffudd, but I know you.  I'll help you all I can for Lady Rosamund's sake.'

'Thank you,' Morgan muttered through his split lips when he had swallowed a few sips of the water.  'You are kind, sir.'

'You saved my lady,' he said.  'And though I am forced to serve Sir Philip it is my lady I respect and revere.'

'You are not alone,' Morgan whispered, pushing himself to a sitting position.  His body still hurt for he was black with bruising to his flesh all over and each tiny movement was an agony.  'I believe that all who serve her would say the same.'

'I wish that I might serve her.'

'If you went to her she might take you in.'

'She would not trust me…'  The soldier looked at him doubtfully.  'My name is Jack Errin, my lord.  'I would have left Sir Philip's service long ago if I dared – for he is an evil man.'

'If you could help me to escape…'

'No!'  The man started back in terror.  'They would kill me…'

'Yes, perhaps they would,' Morgan leaned back weakly, feeling what strength he had ebb out of him.  'It was wrong of me to ask you to risk so much for me – but go to Lady Rosamund anyway when I am dead.  Tell her that I loved her and thought of her to the end. I am certain she would give you service if you asked it of her.'

'Forgive me.  I must go…'  the soldier muttered and left him.

Morgan lay down on the hard ground and closed his eyes.  It was useless to think of escape for he had not the strength to try.

'Is this the Morgan Gruffudd who called on the old gods to let him see into the future?  Cry shame on you – I thought you braver, my lord.'

Morgan opened his eyes, looking about him.

'Kestrel – is it really you or have I gone mad?'

'If you believed you would see me.  Have courage, my friend.  This is not the end but only the beginning…'

'Kestrel!'  Morgan hauled himself to his feet, staggering to the slit that served as a window.  'Where are you?  Don't leave me here.'

'I am with you but you do not see me,' Kestrel's voice answered.  'It is in you to save yourself, Morgan Gruffudd.  I shall help you to feel strong again, but the way to freedom is for you to find.  I cannot do everything for you.  To fulfil your fate you must have faith in yourself, for only in this way can a man be free.'

'Riddles, always riddles,' Morgan cursed.  'Damn you, Kestrel!  I could wring your scrawny neck!'

Kestrel's laughter seemed to echo in the little cell and for a moment Morgan saw him…hovering above the ground as he had above the ravine.  He grinned as he felt a renewal of strength, of mind and purpose if not of body.  He still ached in every limb, each movement an agony, but now he could bear it.  He could think again…think about a way of escape…

*

'You should not have come here yet,' Morwenna said as she opened her eyes and saw Rhys Llewelyn standing by her bed.  'We have not yet heard that Morgan is hung.'

'The English have him,' Rhys said and smiled down at her.  She looked so beautiful lying there with her hair spread upon the pillow and he had wanted her, waited for her so long.  'Sir Philip has paid me half of the reward money and I am to have the rest on the day Morgan hangs.'

'Fool!' Morwenna scorned.  'He will cheat you.  You should have insisted on half first and the rest when Morgan was taken.'

Rhys sat on the bed beside her, his eyes suddenly hard.  'Do not speak to me in that way, Morwenna.  I have put up with your scolding tongue long enough.  I have done what you asked – it is time that you kept your part of the bargain.'

'Morgan is not dead yet.'

'But near to it if I am any judge,' Rhys said.  'I know they will torture him to make him confess Owain's whereabouts…'  He shivered as the ice touched the nape of his neck.  'You have all you want and now I intend to take what I am owed.'

'No!' Morwenna cried but she could see by the glint in his eyes that he would not be stayed.  'I wanted to come to you sweet and freshly prepared not like this…'

It was a weak excuse and she knew it would not make him draw back.  She had kept him at bay for so long only because he feared that they would lose everything if he did not listen to her, but excuses would not hold him now.

She let him kiss her, lying still as he caressed and explored her body, finally possessing her with a hunger she could never match.  His loving did not rouse her, though once she had found it pleasant enough.  Hatred had destroyed all the natural feeling in her, making her cold and unresponsive to his touch.

After he had done she lay staring at the ceiling while he turned on his side and began to snore.  She felt nothing but indifference towards him, knowing that she could endure his passion if she had to but had nothing to give him in return.

Rhys was a selfish lover, taking rather than giving, and she had known a different kind of lover, though only once.  The love she had felt for Morgan then had turned to hate and bitterness, but she had discovered to her dismay that revenge was not as sweet as she had expected.

She took no pleasure in the knowledge that Morgan was being tortured and would soon be no more.  Her hatred of him was all that had kept her going and without it she was empty.  Staring at the stone walls about her, she realised that she had merely exchanged one kind of prison for another.  Without Maire's gold she was trapped here with Rhys and would be forced to endure his mauling whenever he chose to exert his rights.

Somehow she must find that money!  It was owed her and she should have it.  With a fortune in her hands she could leave this dark house and go wherever she pleased.  Perhaps to England, where she might find a wealthy husband who would indulge her with all the things she had dreamed of as a young girl.  Perhaps she might even learn to be happy again, to forget Maire's staring eyes when she had choked on her own blood…

*

Morgan braced himself when the door of his cell opened but relaxed as he saw it was Jack Errin.  The soldier had brought him bread, a hard corner of cheese and water to drink.

'You are a welcome sight,' Morgan said and grinned at him.  For some reason they had not beaten him now for two nights and his pain was easing.  'I thought they had decided to starve me to death.'

'Sir Philip plans to burn you,' Jack said and shuddered, crossing himself.  ''Tis not right nor human, sir.  It would be kinder to hang you.'

'Even kinder to let me go,' Morgan suggested.  'But do not worry, Jack Errin, I would not have you risk your life for mine.  So when am I to be burned?'

'It was to have been today,' Jack replied.  'Sir Philip had decided that it was useless to question you further.  But the King's son has sent word that he wishes to see you.  He has decided to interrogate you himself.'

'Ah, I see…perhaps a more amusing form of torture…'

'You jest, my lord,' Jack said and crossed himself again.  'You know I would help you if I could?'

'Yes, I believe you would,' Morgan said.  'But I shall not ask it of you, Jack – but you would still do better to serve the Lady Rosamund.  Leave the master you despise and go to her.  Tell her that you were kind to me and that I asked a similar kindness of her for you.'

'I must go,' Jack said and looked nervously over his shoulder.  'Eat what you can, my lord.  They will come for you soon.'

'The condemned shall eat heartily?'  Morgan smiled.  'I thank you for your thought, Jack Errin.'

Morgan's smile vanished as the soldier went out and he began to eat hungrily.  They had given him water but no food for the past two days and his stomach was growling fiercely.  For a moment he felt as if it would reject the food, but he forced it down, swallowing the brackish water, making himself finish every last crumb of the stale cheese and coarse bread.  After he had eaten he got to his feet and began to pace the tiny cell, back and forth, back and forth.  It was important not to let himself become weak.  He must fight the blackness that seemed to take over his mind when he let it, to remember Kestrel's words.

The healer had not come to him again, though he had tried to summon him.  Morgan accepted that his strength was returning little by little, though how much of that was natural healing and how much came from his faith in Kestrel he was not sure.  What new torture would they invent for him now?  He knew that so far he had not suffered the refinements of a torture chamber, where terrible instruments of cruelty were used to wring a confession from the poor wretch subjected to these torments.  Clearly, Sir Philip had not come prepared for such work, but perhaps they had been sent for?

Morgan prayed that he would not break under torture.  He would rather die than betray Owain and his friends, but he knew that a man could endure only so much pain.

He turned as the door of his cell was unlocked and a young man entered.  His gaze narrowed in surprise.  This man was no common soldier, his features lean and aristocratic, his jaw jutting, lips compressed – but there was also intelligence and something finer.

'You are Morgan Gruffudd they tell me?'

'Yes, sir.  I fear I do not know you.'

'Yet you rebel against my father.'

'King Henry's son…' Morgan stared at him, surprised that he should come to this wretched cell.  'I am honoured, sir.  I ask you to forgive my lack of hospitality, for I can offer you nothing – not even a place to sit.'

'It distresses me that you have been given such poor accommodation,' Prince Henry said and smiled as if he appreciated Morgan's jest.  'Had you been my guest I assure you it would not have been so.'

'I have been told you want to question me, sir.  I must tell you now that I shall not confess to you the whereabouts of my friends.  I would prefer that you give me a clean death – but I shall die on the rack rather than betray those I love.'

'I see no rack,' the prince replied.  'Nor have I asked Sir Philip's men to prepare the hot irons, which is what I understand he intended next for you – before you were condemned to the flames.  No, I have come to see if you will talk terms with me, Morgan Gruffudd.  I have heard much of your work in the Brecon and believe me I admire men of courage and intelligence.  I should like to offer you the hand of friendship.  This foolish feud has gone on long enough between our two countries.'

'I do not believe the Welsh can ever willingly accept bondage, my lord.'

'Nor should they,' the prince agreed.  'I would have us unite as one, become stronger to fight our enemies abroad.  Our nations have both known what it is to fight the foreign invader, to have our villages raided and our women stolen, our young boys taken to make slaves of them.  With a common heritage why should we be not become one nation?'

For a moment Morgan saw the sense of his argument, and for a brief time he was tempted.  He believed the prince was sincere – why not take what he offered and avoid a painful death?  Other men had surrendered honourably.

'I thank you for the offer, sir,' Morgan replied carefully.  'There is in me something that responds to your words – but it cannot be.  I have sworn to serve Owain while we both live and I cannot forsake my oath to him.  Perhaps if you and I had met in other circumstances I should have been honoured to serve you.'

'You are an honest man, Morgan Gruffudd, and a stubborn one,' the prince said with a frown.  'Very well, I accept that your mind is set.  I must say farewell now for I have work to do here in Wales.  If your people will not come of their own will they must be dragged into the future that awaits them.'

'May God go with you, Prince Henry,' Morgan said.  'For I believe that in another life we might have been friends.'

The prince looked at him in silence for a moment, inclined his head and went out without speaking.

*

Rosamund paced the floor of her chamber.  She had risen after a restless night spent dreaming of Morgan.  In her dream she had seen him consumed by fire and the fear that he might have been executed in this most barbarous and cruel way was on her.

'Morgan…Morgan, my love,' she whispered.  'If my prayers can bring you comfort let them reach you…wherever you are.  I pray that if you are dead you did not die in great pain, and that we shall meet again one day.'

She was at her devotions when Bethan came to her with the news that Alicia's time was close.

'She is in great pain and asks for you, my lady,' Bethan said.  'And Richard has a stomach-ache.  I told him you were resting, but he cries for you.'

'Then I shall come to him,' Rosamund asks.  'For a moment only, and then I must be with Alicia, for I know how she suffers.'

Rosamund put her fears away from her, for that was all they were.  She did not know where Morgan was or what he faced and it was foolish to dwell on wretched thoughts and dreams.

Kestrel had told her to be at peace, and she wished that she might believe in his words, for then she would know that nothing could happen to her beloved lord.

*

Morgan woke from another night spent sleeping on the hard floor of his cell.  All that night he had slept peacefully, though the previous day had been one spent in imminent expectation of his death.  He had not thought it would be long delayed after his refusal of the prince's offer, but the summons had not come.  Mayhap they had merely wanted to prolong the agony of waiting a little longer.

The door was opening now.  Four soldiers had come to escort him to his final examination and then his death.

'Forgive me, sir, we have been told to bind your hands,' one of the men said and came forward with a thick rope.  'Will you put your hands behind your back, sir?'

'I would sooner go with you of my own free will…but you have your orders.'  Morgan put his hands behind his back, feeling the bite of the thick rope as he was bound tightly.

He had made no attempt at escape for he could see other men waiting outside and realised that they were making sure of him.  On the other occasions that he had been questioned by Sir Philip, he had been taken to another part of the dungeons, but this time he was being pushed up the stone steps that he had been brought down while he was still unconscious after being almost crushed by his horse.  He felt the rush of cold air as they came to the outer door and then he saw they were in the courtyard of the castle where he had been held these past ten or more days.  The ground was hard with frost for it was a bitter winter day. He was not quite sure how long he had been here for he had lost count, and his eyes felt odd as the daylight dazzled him.

He looked for the pyre he expected to consume him but could see nothing and his spirits lifted as he thought that perhaps he was to be hung after all.  Yet now he saw that there were horses waiting, and a small group of ten men-at-arms.  Was it possible that he was being taken somewhere else?  He stiffened as he saw Sir Philip come towards him.

'So, I am not to have the pleasure of seeing you burn,' the Englishman said, an angry look in his narrow set eyes.  His mouth twisted with spite. 'Prince Henry says that it would be wiser to hold you prisoner at Conway.  He hopes to bargain with my wife for her surrender and perhaps your kinsman Owain Glyn Dwr.'

'Owain will not surrender for my sake – and nor will Rosamund.'  The prince must surely have known that, Morgan thought, wondering what more lay behind the change of plan.

'Be that as it may,' Sir Philip replied.  He was snarling like a caged beast that sees its prey but cannot strike and it was clear that he was angry at being robbed of his revenge.  'Your fate is out of my hands now – but when my wife surrenders be sure that I shall make her suffer in your stead.'

'You are a fool,' Morgan said, remaining cool though he could cheerfully have wrung the other's scrawny neck with his bare hands.  His spite was that of a frustrated coward and unworthy of notice.  'Do you know so little of her?  She would die rather than surrender to you.'

He received a blow across the face that split his lip.  Morgan raised his head, looking into the other man's eyes, challenging him to do it again, but it was not repeated, and he knew that he had been charged to deliver his prisoner safely to the prince's men.  He smiled, mocking his captor for his impotence and Sir Philip stood back, scowling as he gestured to the men to carry on.

One of them came to help him mount, which he could not do unaided as his hands were tied.  His eyes met Morgan's for a moment as he helped him to the mounting block, swinging him into the saddle, where Morgan sat shoulders and back straight, his hands still tied behind him.  It was the soldier who had brought him food and spoken fairly to him, and that gave him a source of hope.  Perhaps even yet there was a chance that he might escape.

'It is my task to lead your horse, sir,' Jack Errin said.  'They are afraid that if they untie your hands you will take the opportunity to escape.'

'And if I gave my word?'

'They would not dare to take it.'

'So be it,' Morgan said and smiled.

If he had given his word he must have kept it or lost all honour, but as it was he would find some opportunity of escaping from his captors on the ride ahead.  They were nervous now and on their guard, but it was a long journey and there were only ten of them.  If he could just free his hands …

FOURTEEN

Morwenna was in the stillroom making a tisane when she heard the sound of booted footsteps and suddenly Rhys burst in.  He looked stunned, frightened, and she felt her heart catch with fear as she sensed what he was about to tell her.

'Morgan – you have news of him?  They have not let him go?'

'No – but I have heard that terms were offered for his surrender,' Rhys said.  'Prince Henry ordered that he be been taken to Conway Castle and be held there.  Sir Philip is furious and will not pay the other half of the reward.  He says that he has been cheated of his rights and the money will compensate him…'

Morwenna's lip curled in scorn.  'I told you he would cheat you,' she said.  ''Tis a wonder that he did not demand the return of what he gave you.'  She laughed as Rhys turned pale.  'Tell me, when is Morgan to die?  For I know he did not surrender.'

'Some say the prince will not hang him,' Rhys said and his colour was a ghastly yellow.  'They say Prince Henry admires brave men and that if he chose he could enter his service…'

'And you fear he will take the prince's offer and come back to kill you?'  Morwenna looked at him with disdain.  'You are a coward, Rhys Llewelyn.  Morgan is twice the man you are.  I was a fool that I did not know it sooner.  Think again, my coward.  Morgan will never betray Owain.  He would sooner face the fire they planned for him.'  She smiled coldly.  'If I were you I should run now, before Morgan comes to find you.  While they had him in that cell they could contain him, but the road to Conway is long and Morgan knows it better than most.  I will wager that he escapes his captors before too long, and then he will come here – and he will kill us both.'

Rhys swallowed hard, his forehead glistening with beads of sweat.  It was clear that he feared Morgan's revenge.

'Are you not afraid?' he asked.  'You were as much in this as I, Morwenna.'

'I do not fear to die,' she answered, her eyes meeting his scornfully.  'Rather I fear life.'

'I do not understand you,' Rhys growled.  'You are trying to make me run away.  You want this place for yourself and you think that Morgan would let you stay if I was not here.'

'Think what you will,' Morwenna said.  'I care not what you do.  But I tell you that Morgan will escape those English fools – and he will come here.'

She had no intention of leaving without Maire's gold.  Rhys had refused to leave the house since that night.  He came to her chamber when he pleased, forcing her to submit to him, which she did without a fight.  Better to let him have his way than risk being beaten.  She had no illusions about him now.  He was a bully and a coward and she cursed the day she had met him.

But for Rhys Llewelyn…but it was useless to think that way.  For the moment she was tied to him, for she would never leave this accursed house without the gold Maire had hidden.

Her search for it had been hampered by Rhys's presence for she did not want him to guess there was gold here.  She believed it must be in the house.  Maire had been too ill to leave the house for weeks before she died, and the gold had been there only three weeks prior to that night.

Besides, Maire had admitted that it was hidden – but where?  Morwenna had been through all her chests and coffers but could find no trace of it.  There must be a secret place somewhere.  All she had to do was find it.

She had thought there was plenty of time, but now she felt a sense of urgency.  If she could find the gold she could leave before Morgan returned to kill her.

*

'Will you not untie my hands so that I can eat?' Morgan asked as Jack brought him food.  'It is not fitting that I should be fed like a babe.'

'I have thought of that, my lord,' Jack said.  'See, I have brought more rope.  'I shall tie your ankles while you eat and then when we ride your hands will be bound again.'

Morgan grinned at him.  'Do your friends fear me so much, Jack Errin?  I am not a magician.  I cannot fly nor make myself invisible.  There are ten of you to stop me if I try to seize a horse and escape into the forest.'

'They have been ordered to deliver you safely to the prince,' Jack said and smiled slightly.  'I think they would rather do that than see you consumed by the fire, sir – as would I.'

'I am grateful for the prince's grace in sparing me that,' Morgan said.  'But freedom would be better, Jack.  Why do you not change sides?  All I ask is that you tie my hands less tightly next time.'

'Sir Philip would hang me!'

'But you need never return to that evil man.  Why should you when a better life could be yours?'

'You have a silver tongue, Morgan Gruffudd,' Jack said, tying the rope securely about his ankles before loosening his hands.  'I wish that it were as easy as you say – but even if you were free it would not be possible.  There are ten men here to stop you, and I would not be the cause of their deaths.'

'Even I could not kill ten men, nor do I wish to,' Morgan replied.  'I respect that they have their duty, as you have, Jack.  All I ask is that you tie me a little less tightly, for the ropes pain me.  If I were to slip away it would be when you were all sleeping and I would rather knock a man senseless than kill him needlessly.'

'Tell me nothing,' Jack said sharply.  'I cannot help you, my lord.  You know that I dare not.'

'Then I shall not ask again,' Morgan said and smiled.  'I merely thank you for your kindness.'

Jack shot a suspicious look at him as he gave him the bread, meat and water, which was the same fare as all the men shared and much better than he had been given in the cell of his prison.

Morgan's strength was returning with every hour they rode in the fresh air.  Away from the stench of the dungeons he felt able to breathe again.  He was close to his beloved mountains, riding, eating the kind of food he was used to, and gradually gaining in strength and hope.

Jack's resistance was weakening.  He sensed it though the man denied him.  It was only a question of biding his time.

*

'Is he not beautiful?' Alicia asked as she cradled the babe in her arms.  'He caused me some pain but I have forgotten it now.'

'He is very beautiful,' Rosamund said and touched the babe's forehead with her fingertips.  'I have been thinking, Alicia – in the spring when you are feeling better, would you like to visit your home?'

'Could we?'  Alicia's face lit up with excitement.  'I should like to show Elizabeth to my mother – and introduce my father to Thomas.  It is a long time since I saw them.'

'Then you must go when you are ready,' Rosamund said.  'I have been thinking of it for some time but waited until your babe was born.  The winter is on us now and you would find it too cold and difficult to travel for a while, but in the spring it will be much better for both you and the child.'

'But – will you not come with us?'

'No, I could not leave Caris,' Rosamund replied.  'My husband sent another letter only this morning demanding my return to him.  He says that Morgan Gruffudd is his prisoner…'  She caught her breath on a sob and Alicia reached for her hand.  'He demands my surrender in return for Morgan's life…'

'My lady!'  Alicia stared at her in dismay.  'Surely you will not give way to his demands?'

'No, for Morgan made me promise him before he left me.  He told me that if such an offer was ever made to me I must resist it.'

'And so you should, my lady,' Alicia said.  'If you must stay here then so shall I.'

'No, I pray you do not give up your pleasure,' Rosamund said.  'You and Thomas have my leave to go, though I shall always be happy to see you return.'

'Then we shall,' Alicia said and gripped her hand.  'If you wish us to go for a while we will, but we shall return to you.'

Rosamund smiled, touched the babe's face once more and left her to rest.  Going upstairs to her own solar, she found that Richard was arguing with his nurse about coming to find her.

'Mumma,' he said imperiously.  'Mumma pick up.'

'Yes, my darling,' she said and picked him up to kiss him.  He was growing into a sturdy lad, advanced for his age and clever, and he would make his father proud of him when he returned.  Pray God he did!  'Mumma is here now.  Shall we go to see Thomas and the horses?'

Richard clapped his hands in delight.  More than anything he loved to be taken up before Thomas on his horse and taken for a ride around the courtyard.  She would have liked to take him into the forest but dare not allow him to go beyond the castle walls.

She would not give in to save Morgan's life even though it was tearing her apart to refuse, but if it came to her son then she would have no choice.  She set the child on his feet, taking him down the stone stairs to the great hall, torn between pride in her son and the pain in her heart.

It was almost two weeks since she had dreamed of Morgan and she feared the worst.  She could no longer see his face when she closed her eyes and it frightened her.  She must not forget him.

'Oh, Morgan.  Morgan my love,' she whispered.  'I love you so.  Come back to me – alive or dead, come to me.  Let me see your beloved face again…'

*

Morgan could feel the blood returning to his fingers.  Jack Errin had tied the rope much more loosely this time, and he knew that with a little work he could manage to free his hands – but not yet.  He knew that Jack was trusting him to keep his promise and escape without killing his friends, and he intended to keep his word if he could.

The best time would be in the evening when they stopped to rest and sleep.  The men would eat and some of them would drink.  He had heard them laughing amongst themselves as they got nearer to the Castle of Conway.  They felt that their task was almost over and that soon they would be released from the burden of delivering their prisoner safely.

It had taken several days of gentle persuasion to get Jack to tie the ropes sufficiently loosely for Morgan to work his hands free, but he knew that once they lay down that night he would manage it.

His opportunity was coming.  He could feel it, could almost hear Kestrel telling him to be alert, to seize his opportunity when it came.

It came sooner than he had thought.  The officer in charge decided to make camp earlier that night.  They had but one more day's journey, and he was close to his home village.  He rode off as soon as the men had set up camp and returned two hours later with a sack of ale and one of wine slung over his saddle.  Morgan watched as the others gathered round, jesting and laughing about their celebration on their last night of freedom.

One of them brought a cup of wine to him, grinning at him in a way that was not unfriendly.

'Drink this, Morgan Gruffudd.  I know not what awaits you at Conway, but at least you can enjoy your last night before we get there.'

'I thank you for your kindness, soldier.'

'You Welsh are fools,' the man said.  'You can rebel as often as you like, but we shall beat you in the end.  Why not surrender to Prince Henry?  He is different from his father and a good man to serve.'

'I shall think about it,' Morgan said, giving him the empty wine cup.  'Give me another cup of this and who knows what I might decide.'

The man grinned and went off to fetch it.  He watched as Morgan drank it all and then retied his hands, leaving them even more loosely bound than Jack had been doing these past few days, then he went off to fetch a blanket and flung it over him.

''Tis cold enough to freeze a man's parts to ice,' he said, 'sleep well, Morgan Gruffudd.'

Was it carelessness or something more? Morgan wondered but gave no sign that he had noticed.

'And you, friend.'

Morgan settled down, grateful for the blanket that hid his hands as he worked at the knots.  They fell open almost at once, but he left them loosely about his wrists as he made fists of them, letting the blood flow freely.  All the men were drinking deeply and he could hear their laughter everywhere around him.

Was this part of some plan?  He wondered, frowning as he saw that Jack Errin was in charge of the horses that night.  It was the soldiers' practice to tether them all to a line to make it more difficult for them to be stolen.  Morgan debated whether to try stealing a horse or simply slip away into the darkness.  If he took a horse it would mean a greater risk of waking the men, even though they were drinking freely – but perhaps one or two were not.

It might be that some of them were hoping he might make the attempt to escape – or was he reading too much into a situation that seemed to have been made easy for him?

'Goodnight, Morgan.' Jack Errin's voice said softly.  'Speak kindly of me to Lady Rosamund.'

Morgan smiled to himself in the darkness.  He waited until the singing and the laughter had stopped, until nothing could be heard other than snoring, and then he shook the blanket off, sitting up carefully, his breathing shallow as he waited for the shout that would betray him.  It did not come even as he got to his feet and began to walk carefully through the camp, stepping over one of the sleeping men.

He reached the horses, saw that the last one had been left loosely tied and hesitated.  No, it would be foolish to risk disturbing the men.  He was at home in the mountains and he knew where he could find shelter and a horse soon enough.

He glanced round the camp, saw that all the men slept, then he slipped away into the darkness.  After he had gone, one man lifted his head and smiled as he saw the discarded blanket.  He would wait until the hue and cry died down, and then he would go to Caris Castle…

*

Morwenna threw the contents of the oak hutch to the floor of Maire's chamber, emptying it so that she could drag it free of the wall.  She had searched every chest and coffer in Maire's chamber without finding the gold so it must be hidden in a cavity somewhere.  The hutch had been too heavy to move but now she could just manage it.  She was tapping the wall with a heavy wooden mallet that she used in her stillroom when the door opened and Rhys walked in.

He stared at her in silence for a moment, then asked, 'What are you doing?'

'I saw a rat,' she said.  'I wanted to kill it in case it bites Morganna.'

Rhys's eyes narrowed, intent on her face.  'You are lying,' he said.  'You emptied the hutch to make it lighter so that you could move it.  You would not go to so much trouble for a rat.  You would have called the servants to search for it.  What are you looking for, Morwenna?'  He smiled oddly.  'Did Maire hide her gold?  She was sly enough to have done it to spite us.'

'She knew nothing of you.'  Morwenna was angry at having been caught searching.  Rhys would never give her a moment's peace now.  'I told you, it was a rat.'

'I do not believe you,' he said.  'I knew you were searching for something.  I have heard you moving about in here at night.  Why didn't you ask me to help you?  Two of us would have had more chance of finding it.'  His lips curled back in a sneer.  'But you don't trust me, do you, Morwenna?  You planned to take the gold and leave before Morgan comes here.'

'There is a whisper that he escaped from the English soldiers,' she said and glared at him.  'You should go, Rhys.  He will kill you first.  Why don't you run now while you have the chance?'

'You are a cold bitch,' Rhys said anger flaring.  'I should teach you a lesson, Morwenna.'  He moved towards her, grabbing her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh.  'I could kill you…'  He put his right hand about her throat and she felt the pressure cutting off her breath, making her gasp.  'One squeeze and that would be the end…'

'Do it,' she croaked, staggering as he suddenly pushed her away from him violently.  'No, you haven't the courage.'

'Do not test me too far, Morwenna,' Rhys said.  'One day I shall not stop – now help me examine this wall.  We shall search for Maire's gold together.'

Morwenna watched sullenly as he tapped the wall.  He was more thorough than she had been and tapped harder for he did not care who heard.  She was reluctant to go on with the search for she knew that if they found the gold he would take it from her.  Rhys would never let her leave him.

Damn him!  She was beginning to hate him now.  It was his fault that her life had turned sour.  If she had never met him she might have been happy as Morgan's wife.

'Come on,' Rhys commanded.  'Help me, Morwenna.  If you don't you won't see a groat of the money when I find it.'

*

Rosamund read the brief message from Morgan.  He was safe and she was to remain at Caris until he came to her.  He promised to come soon but there was something he must do first.

She read his words again, her lovely eyes lit with relief.

I shall be with you soon, my love, Morgan had written.  I am well and there is no need for you to be anxious.

She had heard that Morgan had escaped from the English in the forest a short distance from Conway, and for a while they had doubled the guard at Caris in case they were attacked in revenge.  So far it had not happened.  Word had it that the English were thinly stretched and suffering reverses.  For the moment no one had the time or inclination to bother about one defiant woman; she was not important when so much else was at stake.

Smiling, she folded Morgan's letter and put it away in her coffer.  It seemed that Kestrel had spoken truly after all and her fears had been foolish.

'Come back to me soon, my love,' she whispered to the empty room.  'It grows so lonely here without you.'

*

Morgan stood on the mountain gazing down at the house below.  The moon had come from behind the clouds, which had partially obscured it, seeming to shed its light benevolently over the old stone manor.  He had never liked it for it was gloomy and dark.  With Maire gone he would have been content to leave it to his daughter and Morwenna – but she and Rhys had betrayed him to the English.

He scowled in the darkness as the moon hid itself again.  Owain was right, there was a soft streak in him.  He had left this reckoning too long.  While Rhys lived Rosamund and their children were at risk, and his own life was endangered by the other man's treachery.  He had no choice.  His one-time friend must die.

His expression was grim as he began the descent.  It was not in anger or for revenge that he sought Rhys' death but so that there would be no more plotting, no more attempts to murder Rosamund.

The doors had been barred against the night as he had expected, but that had never kept Morgan out when he returned under cover of darkness.  There was a cellar, forgotten and neglected, home to broken casks and rats.  The servants always locked the door leading from the cellar into the house at night, but Morgan had a spare key hidden.

It took but a moment to find for no one came near the disused cellar.  He wrinkled his nose in disgust.  The air in here did not grow sweeter with time.

Letting himself into the kitchens, Morgan saw a wench lying on a rush mat by the ovens, huddled up to her sweetheart for warmth.  It was a bitter night and he did not blame them for seeking what comfort they could.  He grinned as he realised they were sleeping soundly, having helped themselves freely to Maire's home brewed ale.

But Maire was no longer here to keep her servants in check and it seemed that they did not respect their new mistress.  The smile left Morgan's face as he recalled that he had not even had time to bury his mother.  Rhys and his wife had not even allowed him that in their haste to betray him.

Rhy's deserved his fate!  Morgan's expression was grim as he trod softly up the stone steps leading to his wife's bedchamber.  He suspected what he would find and moments later his lip curled in scorn as he gazed down at Morwenna lying with her head against Rhys' shoulder.  She had wasted no time in taking her lover to her bed.

He reached out, dragging the fur covering from them.  Beneath it were yet more coverlets of woollen material for it was always bitterly cold in this house in winter.  He wrenched these too from the sleeping couple and saw they were both naked.  Yet still they did not stir.

His top lip curling back in a sneer, Morgan fetched cold water from the pitcher and emptied the contents over Rhys.  Morgan's sword was drawn and he held it to the man's throat as he woke, swearing fiercely until he saw Morgan and the breath left him in a little hiss.

A faint light was shining in at the window, but Morwenna was awake now and lighting a taper beside the bed, its smoky flare shedding light over Rhys' waxy face.  She gave a gasp of fear and reached for a cover to hide her nakedness from her husband's contemptuous gaze.

'It was Rhys,' she said and there was a strange excitement in her eyes.  'He betrayed you to the English.  Then he came here and forced himself on me.  I told him they would not hold you.  I warned him to run but he is a fool.'

'Do not waste your breath,' Morgan told her.  'I have come here to kill him but you mean nothing to me.  I care not what you do, Morwenna.  Stay here if you wish.  For Morganna's sake I shall spare you but not him.'  He lowered his sword.  'But I shall not kill you where you lie, Rhys Llewelyn – for our past friendship it shall be a fair fight.'

Rhys rose from the bed.  Unlike Morwenna he did not try to cover his nakedness but stood straight and tall, facing Morgan proudly.

'Take my life then,' he said defiantly.  'I deny nothing.  I wanted her.  She has been my destiny and my downfall.  Yet I do not regret it.  All that was yours has been mine.  You can kill me but you cannot deny what has been done.'

'You took nothing from me that I wanted, though it was your intention,' Morgan said.  'You tried to murder the woman I love and you betrayed me to the English.  Yet I shall give you a chance.  Dress and come downstairs and we shall settle this for good.'

He turned away, but then, alerted by Morwenna's gasp, swung back as Rhys lunged at him, a long thin dagger in hand.  Morgan struck out with his sword, thrusting it deeply and cleanly into Rhys' side before pulling it free.  The blood gushed in a tide of crimson as Rhys sank to his knees, froth on his mouth, an odd smile in his eyes.

'You were right,' he muttered.  'I took nothing from you that was worth the taking.'  And then he fell to one side, twitched for a few moments and lay still.

Morgan whirled round as Morwenna moved but she had no weapon and fell to her knees beside Rhys' body as it finally lay still.

'He was a coward and a fool,' she said looking up.  'Yet he loved me.  You never loved me even when you stole my heart and made me love you.'

'You forfeited any right to love when you lay with him,' Morgan said.  'I would be within my rights to kill you where you stand, Morwenna.  I shall spare you for your child's sake.  A child needs its mother.  Be good to her.  If I hear otherwise you will be sorry.'

She rose to her feet, meeting his harsh gaze without flinching.  Beneath her bare feet the floor was icy cold and she shivered as the chill went through her but suppressed it as best she could.

'I do not fear you.  My life means nothing to me – but I shall teach my daughter to hate you, Morgan.  She shall hate you as much as I do.  You would do better to kill me and take her with you now if you care for her.'

'No, I shall not make it easy for you,' he said.  'You will live here with your crimes, Morwenna, and may you remember what you have done in your dreams; it is a more fitting punishment than death.  Hate me if you will but have a care what you teach Morganna.  I shall visit her sometimes, mayhap take her with me for a time if I can.  She will learn to know me and judge for herself and it might be that she learns to hate you instead.'

Morwenna stared after him as he left the room.  She felt the surge of hatred rise in her and laughed.  He little knew that he had given her back her reason to live.

She was free now.  Free to live as she pleased, to search for Maire's gold and to hate.  Hating Morgan was better than the emptiness his death would have left in her.

*

Rosamund felt as if she flew on air as she ran down the steps of her solar.  She had caught sight of her lover from the window as he dismounted in the courtyard, and was in the Great Hall when he came hurrying to meet her.  He swept her up in his arms, whirling round with her in a rush of excitement as they both felt the relief and love overwhelming them.

'I thought you were dead.'

'And I thought they would kill me.  I believed I should never see you or my children again.'

'Oh, Morgan.  I was close to despair when I knew they had taken you prisoner.  Did Kestrel come to you there?  Did he help you to escape?'

'He gave me strength to hope for the future,' Morgan said.  'But he told me that each man's destiny is within his own making.  He did not show me the way to escape but without him I might have given up for I had begun to despair.'

'Yes, that is how it was for me,' she told him.  'He seemed to tell me that I must not despair but then he disappeared and I began to doubt that I had ever seen him.'

'Kestrel has told me many times that I should trust my visions…'  Morgan smiled at her.  'But why dwell on what has passed?  We have the future to look forward to, Rosamund.'

'How long can you stay with me?' she asked.  'I know you must go to Owain but…'

He touched a finger to her lips.  'Do not be anxious, my love.  I must join Owain soon, but for now I want a little time with you and my children.'

*

They lay entwined in the aftermath of love, whispering long into the night, holding each other, both aware that this night might never have come.  Their loving had been sweet, urgent and satisfying, and now they were content just to lie this way.

Rosamund was the first to speak.

'It seems that this war drags on so long,' she said, pressing her lips to the salty dampness of his shoulder.  'Will the time ever come when we can live together in peace, Morgan?'

'Do not lose faith, my dear one,' Morgan said and stroked the satin arch of her back, cupping her buttocks as he held her pressed close to him.  'In the visions that Kestrel has shown me I see great things for Owain.  I see that we shall be victorious in the coming years, that castles and towns will fall to us, that Owain shall rule in Wales – and that we shall be together.'

'Do you say these things to comfort me?'  She reached up to touch his face.  'If it were never to be I should still count myself fortunate to have known your love, Morgan – but happiness breeds greed and I long for more.'

'I must leave you again soon,' he told her and kissed her throat as he felt her body move in protest.  'But soon I believe we shall be able to live freely outside Caris.  And then you shall be with me, Rosamund.  In my vision I saw us riding in a great procession.  It was a celebration of the New Year and we had taken Harlech Castle.'

'If only your vision could come true,' she said and pressed herself against him as the heat of his passion told her that he wanted her again.  'I so want to be with you, to live as your wife…'

'I cannot promise that we shall ever be wed,' Morgan replied, holding her closer as he began to stroke her quivering flesh.  'But you are the wife of my heart and when the situation becomes more stable you shall be accepted as my wife by all who are our friends.  You have been too much alone here at Caris, my love.  Once it is safe to leave here we shall visit friends and your time will pass more pleasantly I promise you.'

She lifted her face for his kiss, offering a silent prayer that his vision was true, for the life that he spoke off glittered before her like a golden prize and she longed for it with all her heart.'

'Then I am content,' she whispered into his shoulder.  'As long as I know that we shall be together soon I can let you go to Owain with a glad heart.'

Morgan smiled as he gathered her to him, their passion flaring so that all time for talk was done.  His visions had shown him the future and he knew that it would be good.

PART THREE

MORGANNA

FIFTEEN

‘I am bigger and stronger than you,’ Richard Morgan boasted to his half-sister.  At eight years of age, Morganna was several months older but he was the taller of the two.  Richard liked his half-sister better than Ellen and Anne, perhaps because she was a rare visitor to their home and he could impress her.  His true sisters always told tales to their mother.

‘But I can run faster than you,’ Morganna replied.  For her Richard was a beautiful, shinning being and she adored him, but the rivalry between them was fierce and she would not let him have all his own way.

‘You cannot!’

‘Yes I can!’

‘Race you then…’

Richard started off as soon as he had thrown down the challenge but Morganna had expected it and she was after him at once.  Her boast had not been idle and soon she had caught and passed him.  For a while she sped on, glorying in the freedom and sense of exhilaration running gave her, her bare feet flying over the mossy floor of the forest.  The sun was filtering through the canopy of overhanging branches, its rays bringing warmth to pierce the chill of the thickly ranged trees.

At home she often ran as far and as fast as she could, away into the forests or up into the mountains she loved the most, but her mother scolded her if she was away too long.  Here at Caris she was hardly ever scolded.  The lady of Caris was very kind to her, even though Morganna’s mother had told her that she was wicked and had stolen her father away from them.  But then, her mother was always telling her unkind stories of her father and his lady, but Morganna had long ago learned to ignore them.

Reaching the lake, Morganna threw herself down on the dry grass at its edge and rolled over on to her stomach, inhaling the scent of the wild flowers that grew here in profusion.  She picked a stalk of grass and chewed the end, smiling to herself as she waited for Richard to join her, knowing that he would be disgruntled because she had won their race.  He arrived seconds later and stood glaring down at her, his mouth sulky, and clearly annoyed to have been beaten.

‘So not look so cross,’ she said to appease him.  He was her only true friend for at home she had none, because her mother did not like her to play with the children of the servants, and her half-sisters did not seem to like her very much.  ‘I can run fast but you are better at everything else.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Richard agreed and grinned at her, his sunny humour restored.  ‘I can shoot an arrow straighter than most men and I am learning to be a great soldier like my father.’

‘Our father,’ Morganna reminded him.  She clung to her relationship with Morgan Gruffudd, for it meant a great deal to her even though she did not often see him.  His visits to Gruffudd over the past years had been few enough, but there were the special times when he took her with him, and for those times she loved him.  ‘Your mother says that he was responsible for the str..atgey that took Harlech Castle.’ She struggled over the difficult word. ‘She says it was only because he urged Owain Glyn Dwr to keep faith that we won so many victories.’

‘Father is the bravest and the cleverest of them all,’ Richard boasted.  ‘Owain told me so himself.’

‘Have you met Owain?’  Morganna looked at him in awe.  Owain Glyn Dwr was her hero.  His many victories since the year of 1403 and the fall of Harlech at the end of the following year, had given him control of much of Wales and he was a legend to the people.  These past four years or so he had truly been prince in Wales, holding court and passing laws, negotiating with the French and even some English nobles who held a grudge against Henry.  Morganna’s mother had told her that her grandfather, sadly killed in a battle with the English long ago, had been Owain’s kinsman.  Yet Morganna had never seen Owain.  He did not visit them and she had never met any of her mother’s family.  Morwenna hardly ever left the house these days, unless it was to walk down to the stream to pick herbs for her simples.

‘Yes, of course,’ Richard said a little pompously.  ‘We stay with him sometimes and he visits with us at Caris when he can, though he is always so busy.  Owain says that I shall be as brave a soldier as my father one day.’

‘So shall I!’

‘Girls don’t fight.  They stay home and embroider things.  You would be afraid to go into battle.’

‘No, I wouldn’t!’

‘You are afraid to swim in the lake.’

I’m not,’ Morganna said but she lied and he knew it.  ‘I just don’t want to.  Besides, your mother told us we were not to swim.  She says the lake is too deep and too dangerous.  And the water is cold.’

‘Too dangerous for you,’ Richard taunted.  ‘I’m going to swim.  You can just sit there and watch because you’re only a girl and scared of water.’

‘I am not!’

‘Come with me then.  I dare you!’

Morganna watched as he began to strip off his thick wool tunic and long boots.  He waded into the shallow water at the edge of the lake wearing only his hose and then dipped down into it, splashing out like a puppy with arms and legs flailing.  Her heart catching with fright yet not wanting to be outdone, Morgan lifted her tunic and tied it under her legs to keep it out of the water, then took a wary step into the lake.  It felt sharp and sandy beneath her feet, unlike the smooth pebbles in the shallow stream that ran in the meadows near her home.  The water was icy, chilling her legs and making her shiver.

‘Get right down in it,’ Richard urged, his eyes bright with excitement now that he had goaded her into joining him.  ‘It’s lovely and you can’t drown in this shallow bit.  I’m going to swim out further but you should stay here until you’ve learned to swim.’

‘Please don’t,’ Morganna begged him, genuinely frightened.  ‘The water is deep further out and you might get into trouble.’

‘I can swim right across,’ Richard boasted and set out to prove it.

‘Come back,’ Morganna called, wading to the edge now and climbing back on to the bank.  She was trembling all over and not just because the water had chilled her.  ‘Oh, please come back, Richard.’

Richard had gone no more than a few yards and he seemed to be in difficulty.  Remembering what Lady Rosamund had said about the dangers of the lake, she screamed out for help, and pointed frantically at the water for she knew that someone would be watching over them albeit from a distance.  They were never alone in the forest for Lady Rosamund’s servants kept a watch over them always.

‘Help Richard!’ she screamed and saw two of the men-at-arms burst out of the trees and run towards the lake.  One of them plunged in and swam out to Richard, who was going under for a second time, clearly in trouble now.  Morganna was sobbing, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she watched helplessly from the bank.   She would not be able to bear it if anything happened to Richard.  ‘Oh, please help him…don’t let him drown.  It’s all my fault for making him cross…it’s all my fault…’

‘Don’t you worry, little mistress,’ the soldier on the bank reassured her kindly.  ‘Jack Errin will get him.  Jack’s a good swimmer.  See, he’s got him already.’

Morganna was crying as she saw Jack Errin carry Richard from the lake.  Richard’s head was lolling back and he looked terrible.  She was afraid that he was dead, and she felt her guilt swamp her.  If he died it would be her fault.  She should have stopped him swimming somehow.  She knew that his mother had forbidden it, and she believed he had only disobeyed his mother’s orders because she had beaten him in their race.  She ought to have let him win, because then he would not have needed to show her how clever he was.

Richard was lying on the grass where Jack Errin had put him, and now the soldier was doing something to him, pumping on his chest, turning him as the water came rushing out of his mouth and he choked.  He was alive.  Oh, thank goodness!  Richard was alive.

‘I don’t know what the pair of you were up to,’ Jack scolded as he looked at Morganna.  ‘You know you shouldn’t have gone into the water – either of you.  It isn’t fitting for you, Morganna – and Richard knows his mother has forbidden it.  I dare not think what Lady Rosamund will say about this.’

Morganna looked at him unhappily.  She had never wanted to go into the water, but Richard had goaded her into it.  Yet she was unwilling to blame him, especially after he had come so close to death.

‘We didn’t mean to be wicked…’

‘Never mind that now,’ said the soldier who had comforted her on the bank.  ‘Give the lad to me, Jack, and get yourself dry.  We’d best take Master Richard home before he catches his death of cold…’

*

'It was a foolish thing to do,' Lady Rosamund said as the two children stood before her, their heads downcast, awaiting just chastisement.  'You could have drowned, Richard.  I want your word that you will not swim again unless your father is with you.  Do you give it?  If you will not I shall not let you go to the forest again.'

'I give you my word,' Richard said and looked contrite.  'I am sorry, Mother.'

'I am glad that you are ashamed of having caused me so much worry.'  Rosamund looked at Morganna, seeing the shame and guilt in her eyes.  She needed no scolding for she was already ashamed of her disobedience.  'I shall not punish you, child.  I know that my son was the instigator of your downfall – but I want your promise that you will not do anything so foolish again.  If something had happened to you while you were in our care your mother would never have forgiven us.'

Morganna felt her cheeks burning but made no reply.  She did not think her mother would care if she never went home, for all she ever did was scold her, but she could not say so.  Even if Morwenna did not love her, Morganna was loyal to her mother and she loved her.

'Don't scold us, Mother,' Richard said and coughed.  There was pride in his face as he raised his head to look at her. 'A soldier's life is always in danger and I'm going to be a soldier like Father one day.'

'We shall see,' Rosamund said, frowning as he coughed again.  He did not like her to fuss over him, but she could not help worrying because he was so very precious to her.  'Perhaps it may not be necessary for you to fight.  The wars will be over and finished when you grow up.'

She prayed that she was right as she spoke the words, but in her heart she knew that there was still trouble.  Morgan was away even now because there had been some fighting, and she feared that the English would never give up, never go away and leave them in peace.  Perhaps if Hotspur and his father had not been killed during their short rebellion at Shrewsbury they might have forced concessions from the English, but though their cause was also Owain's the loss of such important men had been a blow. She was so tired of all these years of war, even though for the last four years they had seemed to ride on a crest of glory.  She knew that of late Morgan had started to worry, that he was concerned Owain's grip on the regions they controlled was beginning to slip.

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?'

'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.

SIXTEEN

'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.

Her father loved her, she was sure of it.  He might be angry, he might blame her for encouraging Richard to swim – though she had not – but surely he would not forget her?

The years ahead might be lonely, but if she had some hope she thought that she could bear it.

*

Rosamund stared out at the forest, which had become hateful to her now.  It was almost four long years since Richard's death from the fever he had caught while swimming in the lake.  Once she had delighted in its beauty but now could not bear to go there even to see the flowers she loved, and she spent most of her time working on her embroidery.

She had learned to think of her daughters and devoted much of her time to teaching them.  Ellen was a clever girl who could read and speak four languages as well as embroider and play the harp.  Anne was quieter and less inclined to study.  She liked to help Rosamund in the stillroom and had a way of making people love her.  Sweet natured and kind, she helped everyone she could and would make someone a good wife one day.

The terrible black despair that had fallen on Rosamund after her son's death had eased at last, but she was still aware of a feeling of emptiness.  Much of this was caused by the rift between her and Morgan, for it was months since she had seen or heard from him.  He had returned to Caris a few times in the early days after Richard's death, but there had been a distance between them that neither seemed to know how to cross, perhaps because she had not wanted to let him near her.  Her pain had been too sharp, too raw.  She had regretted afterwards that she had been so cold towards Morgan, but somehow she had not been able to find the way to tell him.  Besides, Morgan was in the mountains with Owain, both of them being hunted by the English.  A series of reverses and setbacks since the year 1408 had stripped Owain of almost all of his earlier gains and now it was almost as if the years of glory had never been.

'I am so sick of war,' Rosamund said aloud to the empty room.  'I wish…Oh, I do not know what I wish.'

She wished that things could be as they were before Richard died, but no amount of tears or crying for the past would bring her son back to her, and sometimes now she thought that she had lost Morgan forever too.  It was perhaps her fault that they had drifted so far apart, but Richard's death lay between them, a festering sore that neither could lance.

The only way that they might be happy again was if they could live together in peace and freedom, and for that Morgan would have to sue for peace with the English.  Many of Owain's friends and allies had surrendered on favourable terms.  The struggle had been a long one and perhaps the English were as sick of the struggle as was Rosamund herself.

'My lady…' She turned at the sound of Alicia's voice.   She was plumper now, a smiling contented mother of three children.  Alicia came to Caris for a few months each year but her home was in Worcester and before winter she would leave again.  Jack Errin had taken Thomas's place as the captain of Rosamund's guard.  'There is a messenger…'

Rosamund's heart missed a beat.  'From Morgan?' she asked, feeling a surge of hope.  Was he coming to visit at last?

'No, my lady.  I am not quite sure who he comes from for he will speak only to you – but he says he has something of importance to tell you.'

'Then ask him to come in but stay near in case I need you.'

'Yes, my lady.  He has been searched but carries no weapons.'

Rosamund waited anxiously until the messenger entered, her pulses racing.  Perhaps the message came from Owain.  Had Morgan been killed or wounded?

'Lady Rosamund.'  The stranger bent his head in deference.  He was richly dressed in livery of gold and silver.  'I have been sent by Prince Henry…'

'The King's son?'  Rosamund trembled inwardly, though she hid her anxiety as best she could.  'Pray give me your message, sir.  What demands does your prince make of me?'

'None at this time, lady.  I am commanded by my master to tell you that Sir Philip de Grenville is dead.  He did not die in battle of his wounds, but of a putrid sickness that kept him to his bed for some months before he died.'

'My husband is dead?'  Rosamund crossed herself.  'God have mercy on his soul.  I am sorry if he died in pain, though I have no grief for him.'

'My master wished you to know that you are no longer in danger from Sir Philip.  He has the matter of your rights and lands in hand and will let you know his decision concerning them when he has had time to deliberate on the matter.  In the meantime you are free to go where you please – to your English manors if you so wish.  You will not be hindered or impeded in any way.'

Rosamund was astonished, wondering if she had heard rightly, but the messenger was handing her a written message and she would read it later to be sure.

'I thank you for your message, sir.  You may tell the prince that I shall remain here until I hear his decision.'

'As you wish, my lady.'

Alicia looked at her excitedly as the messenger bowed and left them, the sound of his booted feet on the stone steps echoing back to them.  'What did he mean?  Do you trust him?'

'Morgan met the prince when he was my husband's prisoner.  I believe he liked him even though they were enemies.  I suppose I could trust him but I shall stay here for the moment.  I may be free to leave Wales but Morgan is not.'

'Yet you never see him,' Alicia said impulsively.  'Why stay here now that Sir Philip is dead?  You could visit your home, see old friends – be free again.'

Rosamund was sorely tempted by her friend's urging.  It would be so good to leave Caris.  Once Alicia and Thomas left she would have no close friends here, other than her faithful William, though there were many others who served her well and she was never truly alone.  And her daughters would be of an age to marry in a few years.  She must think of their future as well as her own.

'I shall consider the matter,' she said.  'But it may yet be a trap.  I must think carefully.  I shall ask William to write letters.  I must know for certain that Philip is dead.'

Yet in her heart she knew that it was so.  She was free at last of the shadows that had lain over her so long.  She could be Morgan's wife…but no, he had a wife.  Rosamund was free but he was not.

She wandered over to the window, staring out.  She was as much a prisoner of her unhappiness as ever.

*

'Where did you get that?'  Morwenna saw the gold coin in her daughter's hand and caught her arm.  Her eyes were narrowed, glinting avariciously. 'Did you take it from my coffer?  Give it to me!'

Morganna held it out to her and she snatched it up, turning it in her fingers as if it were some strange talisman.  'I was going to buy medicine from the fair in the village.  I thought they might have something to ease the pain in your chest, Mother.  It is not your gold.  Maire left it to me.  I found it in a box beneath my bed.  She had carved my name on the lid and Gwenny said it was mine.'

'Gwenny knows nothing,' Morwenna said.  In all these years, she had never ceased to search for Maire's gold and all the time it had been hidden under the child's bed.  Why had she never thought to look there?  'It is mine.  It was owed me for what I did for her while she was ill.  It is mine, I tell you!'

Suddenly the look of accusation in Maire's eyes as she choked on her own blood flashed into Morwenna's mind.  It had haunted her for years, giving her no peace, invading her dreams.  She had searched and searched for the gold so that she could escape this accursed house and now it was too late.  The pain in her chest was getting worse and she had begun to bring up blood when she coughed.

It was Maire's curse on her.  She had hastened her mother-in-law's death and now she was dying of the same illness.  She must have taken it from her when she nursed her. The sickness had not shown itself for years, but of late she had begun to notice a strange weakness and she believed she would die before too many years had passed.

'Keep your money,' she said, throwing the coin down as if it burned her.  'Do not waste it on nonsense.  There are no cures that will help me.  I am dying of some foul sickness and soon you will be alone.  You will need money then for there is no one to care for you.'

'My father…' Morganna began but was silenced by the flash of anger in her mother's eyes.  'Besides, I have Gwenny.'

'Gwenny is old and you need someone to arrange your marriage.  You are twelve, old enough to be betrothed … but I cannot do it.'  Morwenna coughed, wiping her mouth with a cloth as she tasted blood.  'If your father ever comes here again you must ask him what you should do but I doubt that he will come.  He has forgotten you.  He blames you for the death of his precious son.'  Morwenna's mouth twisted with spite as she saw the hurt in the girl's eyes.  Once she had cared for her child despite her hatred for Morgan, but now she cared for nothing but this pain in her chest.  Besides it was better that the girl should learn that it was wiser to hope for nothing in this life than suffer later.

Bitterness and this strange sickness had made Morwenna old long before her time.  Her face had lost its youthful promise, becoming hard and sour, the flesh withered to the bone and grey.  She had rejoiced in Morgan's loss, feeling that at last she had her revenge.  Now he knew what it was like to feel pain!  But the knowledge of his suffering had not eased her own or erased the bitterness of her empty existence here in this accursed house.

'You should rest,' Morganna told her as she heard the harsh rasp of her breath.  'I will make you a soothing tisane before I go.  Perhaps that will ease you.'

'I can make it myself,' Morwenna said coldly.  'Go to the fair with Gwenny as you planned.  At least then I may have some peace.'

Morganna looked at her in silence for a moment before turning away.  Her mother's harsh words no longer hurt her.  She was used to them and she pitied her because she understood the emptiness of Morwenna's life.

She too had felt like that when she'd been sent home after Richard's death, and she had cried into her pillows night after night.  And then she had begun to sense a presence in her room.  At first she had thought it imagination, but it had grown stronger, surrounding her with what she could only think of as love.  It came to her when she was at her lowest ebb, when the loneliness of her life was almost too much to bear.  She had seen nothing but she had been comforted and once she believed she had heard a woman's soft voice talking to her, felt a gentle kiss on her cheek.

'Do not break your heart for Richard,' the voice seemed to say.  'He loves you and says that you were not to blame.'

'Who are you?' Morganna asked but she was not afraid.

'Someone who loves you,' the voice replied.  'Take heart, Morganna.  You must face a time of loneliness but one day great happiness shall be yours.'

Morganna had listened for the voice for many nights after but she had never heard it again, though she believed that someone had come to her in her darkest moment to comfort her.  The next day she had found the gold under her bed.  She had dropped her necklet, the one her father had given her when she was very young, and in reaching under the bed had discovered the coffer.  It was small but very heavy, which was why the servants had not dislodged it with their sweeping brooms.  Not that they often swept beneath the beds for the coffer was covered with a thick layer of dust as was the floor.  It was only when she had wiped the coffer clean that she had seen her name scratched on the lid.

She had shown it to Gwenny later that day, asking her how it had come there and who could have hidden it.

'It was Maire,' Gwenny replied without hesitation.  'She hid it there before she died so that your mother should not find it.  She wanted you to have it, Morganna.'

'How do you know?'

'Because I saw her leaving the room the day before she died.  She was breathing hard and it had cost her much to do what she did, but she was a strong, determined woman.  She warned me not to tell Morwenna but she did not say why.  Maire loved you, child.  She wanted you to have something of your own – lest your life here should become unbearable.'

Then it must have been Maire who had come to comfort her.  Morganna liked to believe it for it made her feel happy to know that she had been loved – was still loved – by her grandmother.

Sometimes her life was almost unbearable.  Morganna's mother was hard to please and forever scolding her.  Yet she had not beaten her.  A sharp slap about her legs now and then but no worse.

Morganna could bear the scolding and the slaps.  Her deepest hurt came from the knowledge that her father had forgotten her.  She had heard nothing from him in all these years.  She had been eight when Richard died and now she was only a few months from her thirteenth birthday.

She knew that both her father and Lady Rosamund blamed her for their son's death.  It must be so for otherwise she would not have been forgotten.

Morganna had ceased to weep for herself.  Intelligent and diligent, she was also a spirited, friendly girl and spent her time being as useful to her mother and others as she could.  She had learned all she could about making cures and simples from her mother and Gwenny, and from the book she had bought from the peddler who came to the fair every few months.

Her skill was becoming talked of everywhere in the houses that were hidden in the valleys about the Black Mountains.  The people were often isolated and yet communicated with each other through the travellers who passed by; folk whispered one to another and in this way Morganna's fame as a healer had spread beyond the confines of her home.  And  it was to Morganna rather than the mistress of the house that the servants came if one of them was sick.

She smiled as Gwenny brought her mantle, fussing over her as she always did.  Even if her father had forgotten her she could always rely on her nurse for love and devotion.  She had made up her mind that she would go to the fair as her mother had bid her, for she could buy things there that would make the healing tisanes she prepared for her mother and the servants.

'Are you ready, my lovely?'

'Yes, Gwenny.'  Morganna's blue eyes sparkled with excitement.  She was already bidding fair to becoming a beauty, her colour striking, and her features classic rather than softly pretty.  'I shall order some material from the cloth merchant today.  It is time that both you and I had a new gown.'

Gwenny nodded.  Morganna was the darling of her heart, and she thought her far more lovely than her mother had ever been.  If she had had the benefit of a loving family she might already have been betrothed, but it was unlikely to happen as things stood.  It would be a wicked waste if she were to give up everything to nurse her mother.  Morwenna would die slowly over a period of months or years, for she had the same wasting sickness as Maire.

'You should send word to your father,' she said as they left the house to walk to the village where the fair was held twice a year.  'Your mother is very ill.  It might ease her mind to make her peace with him at the last.'

'Do you think so?'  Morganna looked at her doubtfully.  'Even if it would I do not believe he would come.  He has so much to do – and it might be dangerous for him.'

These were difficult times, the English hunting for the rebels everywhere.   It had been hard for the people too, this revolt of Owain Glyn Dwr, for harvests had been lost, towns destroyed and the people were always the ones who suffered most.  And yet there were many who would always bless the name of the man they considered their rightful prince.

'Your father will come if you ask it,' Gwenny said.  'Morgan Gruffudd was always a man to do his duty – even if he has forgot his duty to you these past years.'

'But even if I sent a message it might not reach him' Morganna said looking thoughtful.  'No one knows where he or Owain is to be found.'

'Some know,' Gwenny told her.  'It is not spoken of for the English would give much to capture them and end this war that drags on so uselessly between us.'

Morganna nodded.  She knew that Owain, her father and other of his devoted followers were hiding somewhere in the mountains.  The English were weary of this war, as were the Welsh, but while Owain was free there was always a chance that the tide would turn his way once more.  He was a legend to the people, and his name brought hope even at this darkest time.

'If France or Scotland would but come to Owain's aid…I heard someone say that it might happen yet.'

'I know naught of that,' Gwenny said and frowned.  'Your father would do better to make terms.  He could return to his manors then and take you to live with him.'

'I could not leave my mother.'

'You mean you will not.  There are others to care for her.  You are too young to spend all your time nursing a sick woman.'

'I could not leave her knowing that she might die,' Morganna said, a determined jut to her chin.  'But I shall send to my father and tell him that I believe she may be dying and it would be a kindness in him to visit her one last time.'

She would send her message to Caris for if anyone knew where to find Morgan Gruffudd it would surely be Lady Rosamund.

*

'This came for you some months ago, my lord.'  William Baldry handed Morgan a small sealed packet.  'We did not know where to reach you or I would have sent it on.'

Morgan sensed the disapproval in the steward's manner.  His stern features were expressionless, hiding his thoughts, but Morgan knew that he was angry.  William had never truly liked or approved of him and he sensed that the feeling of hostility had not lessened with the years.  William thought that he had hurt and neglected Lady Rosamund and perhaps he had, though not intentionally.

He opened the packet as he walked up the stone steps to Rosamund's solar, frowning over the message it contained.  Morganna had sent word that her mother was very sick.

I think she is dying, the girl had written. Gwenny says it is the same sickness as my grandmother died of and indeed it seems that she suffers in the same manner.  I know there has been an old quarrel between you.  Would it not be a kindness in you to forgive her now that she is dying?  If it is possible I would ask that you visit her one last time.  Your loving and obedient daughter, Morganna.

He was aware of guilt as he folded the letter and tucked it safely inside his surcote, knowing that he had neglected the girl since Richard's death.  At first his grief had been too sharp and she would have been too vivid a reminder of his loss, for of all his daughters she was the most like Richard in spirit and temperament.   However, the tearing pain had softened with time, leaving a dull ache and an emptiness that could never be filled.

A part of the emptiness was because of the estrangement with Rosamund.  She had rejected all attempts on his part to comfort and reach her, and that had hurt him.  In the end he had simply stayed away from Caris, believing that her love had turned to hate.  It was now the year of 1413 and the bitter winter was on the wane.  He had returned because he was too weary to go on for the moment and needed to rest to recoup his strength and his spirits for the spring.

'My lord…' Bethan was leaving Rosamund's chamber as he reached it.  She was a comely young woman now and Rosamund's closest companion since Alicia had left her to live in England.  'Shall I tell my lady you are here?'

'Do not trouble yourself.  I shall go in and surprise her.'

Rosamund was gazing out of the window, her face half turned from him, the proud line of her head reminding him of the young woman he had first met.  She was as beautiful now as she had been then, but there was an air of sadness that never left her, a lessening of the bright spirit that caused him to feel an ache of loss in his breast. Their time of happiness had been so brief.

'Rosamund…'

She turned as if startled from a dream, then smiled.

'I was thinking of you,' she said and the softy, husky tones of her voice set his heart racing.  Her power to move him to hot, straining desire was as strong as ever and he felt the urgent burning in his loins.  'Somehow I thought you might come.'

'The winter has been hard,' Morgan said.  'Sometimes we are close to despair.  We hear nothing but ill news these days.'

'I have heard that many are surrendering – have surrendered.'

Suddenly her face was intense, passionate, her eyes seeking his in an emotional plea.  'Why do you not sue for peace, Morgan?  You will never win this fight and can expect nothing but years of useless wandering.  In the end they will find you and you will hang.'

His expression did not change, though he felt both the justice of her appeal and sorrow that she should need to make it.  'I have always risked death, known that it may await me in the next moment.  I see no reason to change now.  The people love Owain.  He is spoken of and sung of as a great hero.  While he lives there is always hope for the future.'

'Do not be a dreaming fool,' Rosamund said and in her urgency her tone was sharper than she meant.  'Why waste the rest of your life?  Philip is dead.  If you were to make terms with the English we could go anywhere, live in peace and care for our daughters.  They will soon be of an age to marry.  Do you want them to waste their lives too?'

'Have you wasted your life, Rosamund?'  Morgan's expression was harder than she had ever seen it, his eyes as cold as a mountain pool.  'You knew from the start that I had pledged my life to Owain.  I shall never betray him.'

'You will not desert him but you care little for your daughters or me.  Why should we suffer for your foolishness?'

'You speak truly.  I have no right to ask you to stay here for my sake, Rosamund.  You must leave if you choose, go where it pleases you.  Now that Philip is dead you could marry again – to a man of your own rank.  A more fitting arrangement than that I have offered you these many years.'

Rosamund went white.  She felt as if he had slapped her in the face.  How could he say such things to her?  After all the love that had been between them – but it seemed that love was gone.  It had died with Richard.

'Yes, I could marry if I chose,' she said.  'But that is my affair I think.'

'Rosamund…' He took a hesitant step towards her and halted as he saw her haughty pride; head high, face white, manner regal, she was untouchable.  The barrier was there and he could not find the way to breach it.  'You know I did not mean to hurt you.  If I were free…'

'But you are not,' she replied.  'You would never be free even if there was no Morwenna.  Your duty is to Owain.  Return to him, Morgan.  Leave me to grieve alone.'

'Rosamund…' He stared at her in silence, feeling helpless as he realised he did not know this woman.  The woman he loved had retreated into a world of her own where he may not enter.  Once he would have taken her in his arms, kissing away the hurt and the pain but she was too far away from him.  'Forgive me.  I never meant to hurt you, nor that your life should be as lonely and bitter as it seems.  I wanted to give you everything, but I have brought you naught but sorrow.'

'No, that is not true,' she said, some of his hurt reaching through her shield.  'We were happy until Richard died…' She gave a little choke of despair.  'I thought that if we could live together in peace we might find that content again.'

'I am not sure that once something is lost it is possible to find it again.  Besides, my loyalty to Owain lies between us.'

'Then I see no hope for the future.'

Morgan cursed inwardly as he saw the hurt mirrored in her lovely eyes.  Why could he not give her the one thing she asked?  She had asked so little of him over the years.  What was it in him that refused to admit defeat?  Was it merely pride or a stupid stubbornness that would lead him to his death?

'I think it best that I leave,' he said after the silence had deepened and stretched between them, becoming painful.  'One day I shall return if it is possible.  If you are here and things have changed…'

'How can they change if you refuse to surrender?'

'Then I shall pray that you will find happiness, Rosamund.  I have loved you with all my heart and I beg you to forgive me for the harm I have brought you.'

Rosamund had turned away to stare out of the window.  She felt as if her heart was breaking as she struggled to find the words – words that might heal the breach between them.  It was difficult to begin for she knew that she had let things drift too long.

'Morgan, I…'

She turned and saw that she was addressing an empty room.  For a moment she was stunned, devastated, and then she realised that there was no point in trying to stop him leaving.  It was too late.  The harm had been done and she could see no way to heal it for Morgan would not surrender no matter how she begged him.  His duty and his loyalty was given to Owain, and while Owain remained a fugitive Morgan would stay with him.

What of her life and that of her daughters?  Rosamund fought the misery building inside her.  For the moment the hurt was too deep to think at all, but one day soon she would have to decide.

Morganna was gathering berries and wild herbs by the stream when she saw the horse and rider.  From the way he rode hunched over his horse the man looked utterly weary, almost defeated, and it was not until he came close that she began to suspect it might be her father.  It was now almost a year since she had sent her message to him and she had almost given up hope of his coming.  Her heart gladdened as she suddenly knew that she was right.

He reigned in as she walked to meet him, rush basket filled with pungent herbs over her arm, and she saw how weary he was as he sat his horse looking down at her, the lines of exhaustion cut deeply into his face.  Yet he was still young, still handsome and strong, and she sensed it was the pain of grief that had brought him to this state.  She read it in his face and her heart went out to him despite the years of neglect.

'You are Morganna?  It is a long time since I saw you, child.'

'Too long, Father.  I was a child when you last saw me but I think I am not that now.'

His eyes went over.  She had grown, was taller than he would have imagined and there was a maturity about her that he had not expected.  She was a striking girl, her colouring much like his own.

'No, you are a young woman, Morganna.  Forgive me.  I had remembered you as a child.'

'There is nothing to forgive,' she told him at once, her face lighting up with a smile of rare sweetness.  Now he saw that she was beautiful.  'You have been at war and must have many duties to take your time.'

'I have neglected my duty to you, Morganna – but I came as soon as I received your letter.  Does your mother want to see me?  The last time I saw her we parted badly.'

Morganna's face clouded with sorrow, tears making her eyes sparkle though she blinked them away, lifting her head to gaze at him steadily.

'She is close to death.  Gwenny says she does not fight the sickness as Maire did.  She lies on her bed all day and will neither eat nor drink.  I think that she longs for death.'

'And you care for her,' Morgan said, studying her face thoughtfully.  There was tenderness in her, a womanly humility and grace that her mother had lost long ago.  'I know she has not always been kind to you. Yet you love her despite everything?'

'She is my mother.'  Morganna wiped the tears his soft words provoked with the back of her hand.  'But you are tired, Father.  Come in and rest.  I shall have the servants prepare food for you.'

'Yes, I am tired,' he agreed.  'I think I shall rest and eat before I visit Morwenna.'

*

Morwenna heard the door open but did not raise her head to see who had entered.  She was not interested.  Morganna would only nag at her, trying to force her to eat or drink something.  It was all too much trouble.  Why would they not simply leave her in peace?  Her life had no meaning.  Even the need to hate had left her now.  All she wanted was to be left alone to die.

'I have come to ask your forgiveness, Morwenna.  There has been anger and bitterness between us, but I would have an end to it.'

Morwenna opened her eyes as she heard his voice.  It had been so long that she'd believed she would never see him again.

'Have you come to gloat over me?' she asked hoarsely.  Her skin had turned yellow in these past weeks, her eyes dull from the sickness that possessed her every thought, and her once glorious hair had become thin and lifeless.  'Stare at me if you will.  I am ugly and old before my time – that is your doing, Morgan Gruffudd.  You brought me here to nurse that old witch Maire and she laid her curse on me before she died.'

'You are ill, Morwenna,' Morgan said, touched by sudden pity for her.  'Maire would not curse you, she was fond of you.  She blamed me for the rift between us not you.'

'In your place I would have told her the truth.'  Her mouth twisted with spite and then she began to cough.  The fit lasted for several minutes and blood trickled from the side of her mouth.  When at last the fit had ended she lay back against the pillows, exhausted. 'Why don't you laugh?  You will be free of me soon, free of the wife you never wanted.'

'I am not a vindictive man.  And I am sorry to see you like this, Morwenna.  May we not put the past behind us?'

Morwenna closed her eyes as the bitterness welled in her.  It was easy for him to prate of forgiveness; he was not sick and like to die at any moment.  He would live and be happy with his woman.  He might marry again once she was dead.  He had never wanted her, taking her only as a part of the bargain he had made with Owain.

'Go away,' she said, a sudden burst of anger giving her strength to lift her head from the pillows, her eyes blazing at him.  'I hate you, Morgan Gruffudd.  I shall curse you with my dying breath.'

'Such hatred still?' he said.  'I have never hated you, Morwenna, though the things you did angered and hurt me – but I have forgiven you.  Hate me if you will, but go to your final rest knowing that I have only pity for you.'

Morwenna lay back against the pillows, her strength gone, eyes closed, a single tear slipping from the corner of her eye.  He had only pity for her.  She did not want his pity!  She had wanted his love but he had given it to another woman, and all her life had been wasted in this empty place his neglect had brought her to. She would be glad to die…

*

Morgan and his daughter stood together as the priest said prayers over the departed woman, and then Morganna threw a posy of wild flowers into the open gave.  Morgan put an arm about her shoulders, leading her away as the servants began to fill it in with the damp, sticky soil, the smell of it in his nostrils as bitter as the moment.

'She is at peace now,' he said to the girl who was silently crying.  'Forgive me, Morganna.  I think the past years have been hard for you.  Your mother was not an easy person to care for I know.  I always meant to take you away for longer periods but somehow I have neglected to do what I had promised myself I would…'

'I do not blame you for that,' Morganna replied.  'I know that you and Lady Rosamund were angry with me for letting Richard swim in the lake that day…'

'You thought that?'  He looked deeply into her face and was saddened by what he saw reflected there.  'What selfish fools we were, thinking only of our own grief!  You loved him too.'

'I beat him in a race,' Morganna said, eyes laden with spilling tears.  'If I had let him win he would not have gone into the lake.'

'Richard always went his own way,' Morgan told her and reached out to stroke her cheek and brush away the tears with his fingertips.  'You could not have stopped him if he had made up his mind to swim, Morganna.  He was stubborn and reckless, and we always knew that his headstrong ways might lead him to trouble.  You were not to blame.  I have never blamed you and I know that Rosamund would not either.  She has been devastated with grief or I am sure that she would have asked for you to stay with her again.'

'I thought that I was being punished…'

'No!  God forgive me that I caused you such pain,' Morgan said.  He looked down into her lovely face and saw that she was a woman, and a woman who had known pain and suffering.  She had been forced to grow up too fast.  'Will you forgive me, Morganna?  I swear that I will make up for what I have neglected one day.  I do not know what Lady Rosamund plans for the moment but I shall ask her if she will allow you to live with her and her daughters for the time being – and perhaps one day I may be able to see more of you…'

'Will Lady Rosamund want me in her house, Father?  She must always be reminded of what happened when she sees me.'

'I believe that she would want to help you,' Morgan said.  'I may not be able to visit her just yet, for when I leave you I must return to Owain.  I ask that for the moment you remain here with Gwenny.  I shall send for you when I can.'

'Yes, Father.  Where else would I go?'

'Your mother had two brothers.  They were too young to take part in the rebellion when it began and they have never done so.  It might be that they would take you in.' Morgan nodded, his eyes serious as they rested on her lovely face.  'Something must be done about your future, Morganna.  I shall speak to Lady Rosamund as soon as I can, but if arrangements cannot be made – or if I should be killed – then you should approach your uncle at Bala for help.'

'I shall remember, Father,' Morganna said, her eyes downcast.  'But I pray that you will keep safe and that I shall see you again.'

She wanted to believe that he meant what he said, and that her life would change for the better, but she knew that he had forgotten her before.  It was possible that he would go away and forget her again.

SEVENTEEN

Rosamund was in her solar intent on her embroidery when Bethan came to tell her that Jack Errin wished to speak with her.  He was the most faithful of her men-at-arms and she trusted him as she had Thomas Bridger.  She stood up, turning to greet him with a smile.

'You have some news of importance, Master Errin?'

'It is only that the King comes, my lady,' he replied, a little out of breath as if he had been running.  'A messenger has ridden on ahead to ask if you will receive His Majesty King Henry V.'

'His Majesty…' They had heard in the spring that King Henry1V had died of a seizure after visiting the shrine of St. Edward in Westminster Abbey.  'He has come here to me?'  She shivered as if a chill wind had touched her but conquered her fear almost at once.  There was no point in barring the gates against this king, besides she was weary of war and ready to learn what had been decided in the matter of her estates and lands.  'Then we must admit him, Master Errin.  Let it be done with all ceremony but with pride.  We have held this castle for more than thirteen years and we are not conquered but admit him of our own free will.'

'Yes, my lady,' Jack said bowed and went away to prepare the garrison for her bidding.

'Come, I must change my gown,' Rosamund said to her ladies.  'I shall wear my best silver robe over the tunic of blue for I must look well to meet His Majesty.'

She stood patiently as her ladies clothed her in her finery, letting them brush her hair and arrange it in coils about her head, covering it with a cap of silver thread encrusted with pearls and a long, shimmering  veil of silver gauze that hung down her back to her waist.  About her neck she had a double string of pearls which held a jewelled cross set in heavy silver, and her slippers were of the finest leather.  She looked regal, beautiful and fit to meet with any of royal blood, her head held proudly as at the fanfare of trumpets to announce the King's arrival, she went down to the Great Hall to meet him.

He came towards her, not a handsome man, but imposing, dressed in black and silver with a lean aristocratic face, long nose and short-cropped hair.  His eyes were piercing, inquisitive and knowing, reflecting a keen intelligence that she must respect.  She sank into a graceful curtsey before him.

'I am happy to welcome you to Caris, Your Majesty.'

'I thank you for your welcome, Lady Rosamund.'  He smiled at her and took her hand, raising her.  'My visit has been long delayed but I have had business elsewhere.'

'I have heard of some of your business, Sire – and I thank you for the courtesy you showed King Richard.'

He had had the late king's body transported from its resting-place to Westminster in accordance with Richard's will, an act for which he was generally commended.  He had also showed clemency to the Percies, restoring the lands to their heirs that had been confiscated after their rebellion at Shrewsbury – a rebellion that had resulted in the death of both Hotspur and his father.

'It was no more than ought always to have been,' he said.  'I am glad to see you looking so well, lady.  I had hoped you would take advantage of my invitation to leave this place and visit your estates freely.'

'I was unsure,' Rosamund said.  'Your Majesty's letter said that you would give the matter of my estates some thought.'

'At that time I was not in the position of being able to restore them to you fully,' he said.  'Now it is a matter of some pleasure to me to tell you that you are once more the owner of your lands and manors.'

'You are gracious indeed, Sire,' Rosamund said for this was more than she had ever expected.  'I do not know how to thank you.'

'I ask only friendship,' the King said and though there was a smile on his lips his eyes held a glint that told her there was another man behind the smiling face, a man who meant to be obeyed.  He might rule justly and more fairly than his father, but he was not to be taken lightly.  'I wish that I might bring all my former enemies to peace, Lady Rosamund.  I would have an end to all unrest within my kingdom.'

Rosamund knew what he was asking of her in return for his generosity.  She was expected to do what she could to persuade Morgan Gruffudd and Owain Glyn Dwr to surrender.

'My own wish is very like your own, Sire,' she replied.  'But I fear there are stubborn men who must be given more time to realise that war is naught but foolishness.'

'Then we shall speak of other things,' he said.  'My stay here can be but brief, Lady Rosamund.  I return to England almost at once – but if you should be thinking of beginning a tour of your estates, I should be happy to escort you and to see you at Court in the near future.'

Rosamund curtsied once more.  A royal request was tantamount to a command and she knew that she must not give offence after he had shown such generosity.

'I should be glad of your escort, Sire.  I think a visit to my home is long overdue and I am grateful that you took this time to visit me.'

'We were on an errand of our own, but it is done for the moment,' he replied.  'We leave at first light on the morrow.'

'Then may we offer you and your companions food and wine, Sire?  This is a rare occasion for us and I would make it a night of celebration…'

*

'We shall take only what we need,' Rosamund told her ladies as they prepared to pack her possessions.  'I mean to return to Caris from time to time and I shall not need much of what is here.'

'Shall we pack all your clothes, my lady?' Bethan asked, and then went to answer a knock at the door.  'Master Baldry is here to see you, Lady Rosamund.'

'Admit him,' Rosamund said.  'You may finish here later, Bethan.  I would speak with my good William alone.'  She greeted the steward warmly as he entered.

'You sent for me, my lady?'

'I want you to write a letter for me,' Rosamund said.  'Do it now at my dictation and I shall sign it.'

'As you wish.'  William sat down on a stool and took up the small writing box he carried, balancing it on his lap as he waited for her dictation.  'To whom is the letter to be addressed?'

'It is to Morgan Gruffudd,' Rosamund said.  'I do not wish to write it myself for I might say too much.  I want merely to tell Morgan that I am going on a visit to my manors but that I shall return from time to time.  Tell him that I hope he will have reconsidered that which we spoke of and that he is always in my heart.'

William scribbled industriously for a few moments then read what he had inscribed back to her.

'I have accepted His Majesty King Henry's escort to England as I go to visit my manors that have been graciously restored to me,' he read aloud.  'I shall return in time and hope that you will have reconsidered what we spoke of before.  I give you my warm felicitations and hope that this finds you in good health, my lord.'

'Yes, that is well enough,' Rosamund said, though it was not exactly what she had dictated.  'I shall sign it and you will give it to Jack Errin to keep for Morgan should he return while we are absent.'

'Yes, my lady, as you wish.'

'Go then,' she said.  'For you must have much to do as have we all.'

Rosamund was thoughtful as her steward departed.  Perhaps she ought to have written the message herself, and yet she had not wanted to do so fearing that she would say more than she meant.  She had regretted the harshness of their last parting a thousand times, though she felt that Morgan was as much to blame as she, perhaps more so.  If he truly cared for her he would have done as she asked.  He must know that Owain's cause was lost.  It had been so for the last year or two and yet stubbornly he and others clung to their obduracy, refusing to surrender.

No, she would not beg him, she decided.  If he no longer loved her enough to consider what she had asked of him, then perhaps it was best it should end this way.  Her heart was aching but she had her pride.  She had given Morgan her love for so many years, and he owed her this much.

She would leave the letter William had written for her and no other.  It should suffice.

*

It was autumn when they chanced to be passing close to Caris Castle.  Owain was sick and told Morgan that he wanted to rest in the house they knew was safe near by, refusing to go with him to the castle.

'No, my friend,' he said.  'I do not know what this fever is that grips me from time to time.  I would not bring infection to your lady.  Go to her for a few days and then come to me again here.  I shall be safe enough for a while I promise you.'

'I do not like to leave you in this case,' Morgan said regarding him anxiously.  Owain had aged much of late, his flesh wasted and grey and there was a look in his once bright eyes that worried him.  'Will you not reconsider and come to Caris?  We could find shelter there this winter and I fear another winter in the mountains may…'

'Kill me?'  Owain smiled oddly.  'Would that be such a terrible thing, my friend?  All men must die.  I have lived my life to the full and I have known glory.  For a while Wales was mine.  If all the promises of France had been kept I might still be prince – but it was not to be.  Yet I do not regret what I have done.  I took my chance for glory and it was good.'

'Yes, it was good,' Morgan agreed.  'For a while we had all that we desired.'  But it had slipped through their fingers too soon and the taste of defeat was bitter as gall.

'I care not what becomes of me,' Owain said.  'But I shall never surrender.  I would a thousand times rather die upon the mountain than bend the knee to the English tyrants.'

'Then I shall stay with you to the end,' Morgan promised him.  'But you will excuse me while I visit Caris, my lord.  I made a promise to my daughter that must be kept.  She lives alone at Gruffudd and I would not have it so.  I hope that Lady Rosamund will take her in and arrange a marriage for her.'

'Yes, you must think of your daughter,' Owain agreed.  He had suffered too many losses within his own family and felt it keenly, sons and close friends killed or imprisoned . 'Go then, my friend.  I can spare you for a few days.'

'Keep strong,' Morgan said as Owain drew a rasping, hurtful breath.  'Hope is not extinguished while you live.'

Owain nodded wearily, but did not smile nor yet answer.  Morgan's heart was heavy as he left him.  Their wandering from place to place was necessary to keep the men who hunted them at bay, but it was exhausting and dispiriting, and he knew that Owain was very sick.  He could only pray for a miracle.

'Oh, Kestrel,' he cried aloud as he rode.  'I wish that you were here to help him.  I would have hung Rhys Llewelyn a thousand times if I had known what was to come…'

*

'Gone – Lady Rosamund gone with the King?'  Morgan stared at the man who had once played a part in his escape from the English.  'When did this happen?'

'Some months ago, my lord,' Jack Errin said.  'The King came here himself and she admitted him.  He told her that all her lands and manors were restored to her and asked if she would like his escort.  She went with him, and I have heard that she visits the court.  Apparently, she is much admired by the King…'

'Yes, I think he would find much to admire in Lady Rosamund,' Morgan said, remembering the prince who had visited him in his cell.  'He admires both spirit and courage, and she hath always had them in abundance.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'She left no message for me – no word of when she might return?'

'No, my lord.  There was nothing.'

Morgan nodded, showing no sign of the grief the soldier's words had given him.  He had expected that Rosamund would at least leave word, some message of farewell.  But he had told her to go where she would and she had clearly believed that it was over between them.

Fool!  Fool that he was for leaving her so coldly and so proudly the last time.  He had regretted it many a day, wishing that he could take back the words that had so cruelly hurt them both.  Yet nothing had changed.  He could not desert Owain, nor would he surrender to the English.

So there was no more to be said.  Rosamund had chosen and perhaps it was for the best.  At least she and her daughters would be free to live their lives as they pleased.  As for Morganna…he must think on that for a while.  Perhaps her uncles would take her in and arrange a marriage.  In the spring he might find time to visit them and see if something could be done.

For the moment he must return to Owain.

*

'I can go no further for the time being,' Owain said.  The wind was bitterly cold as it swept across the mountainside, the curiously light sky carrying the promise of more snow before nightfall.  'Tell the others to go on and we shall join them soon at the agreed meeting place.  I must rest.  I am sick unto death, Morgan – but I pray you, stay with me.'

'You know I would never leave you,' Morgan said, looking at the deep exhaustion in his kinsman's face.  His eyes had sunk into his head and he had a wasted, skeletal appearance. It was true that Owain was close to death, and clear that he did not want anyone else present at his passing.  'Rest here and I shall give the others your message.'

There were twenty in the party, all fiercely loyal to Owain and none of them wanted to leave him.

'We can carry him if he is sick…'

'We shall stay here with him…'

'Nay, it is not what he asks of you at this time,' Morgan said.  'You have all served him well and loyally, but this mountainside is too bleak to serve as a resting-place for all of us.  Go on to that place we know of where you may find shelter for the worst of the winter and Owain will join you there when he has rested.'

'You stay with him?'

'While he needs me.'

They bowed their heads, accepting his words for they had all read the signs.

'Then go with God, Morgan Gruffudd.'

'And may God be with you all.'

Morgan watched as they turned and began to make their way through the snowy pass.  The weather was treacherous and had been for the past several weeks.  It was not fit for man or beast to be out on a night like this, and few could survive long in such hostile conditions.

He returned to Owain, knowing that the sick man could not travel much further, his heart heavy as he saw the shadow of the man who had set out with such high hopes on this glorious adventure more than thirteen years before.

'There is a cave I know of not far from here, Owain,' he said.  'Let me take you there.  It is dry and will shelter us from the night, and I can care for you there – until you are ready to go on again.'

'You know that I shall not survive the night, Morgan.  I did not want the others to see me die.  They have given so much for me…suffered so much in my cause.'

'We did what we did for Wales,' Morgan replied.  'Do not repine, Owain.  A man must do what he has to if he is be free.  You were our prince and we followed you.  It was our choice. I for one have never regretted it'

'You have been the most faithful, the bravest and best of them all,' Owain said.  'When I am dead you must bury me here in the mountains and then you must surrender to the King.  This new king is a better man than his father.  I believe you may come to honourable terms with him.'

'Speak not of dying or of surrender,' Morgan said, his expression grim.  'Once you have rested you will feel better.  It is not far now.'

But it was too far for Owain, he could no longer sit his horse.  Morgan lifted him from the saddle, carrying him in his arms, the horses plodding behind him of their own accord as if trusting him to find them shelter.

The cave reached, Morgan laid his kinsman on the ground and made a pillow of his cloak for him.  The snow was falling thickly now, covering their tracks, though the English would not be fool enough to search for them in this weather.  But here they were safe for the moment, safe and warmer than on the exposed mountainside. There was wood in the cave that had been left there for just such an emergency as this, a pile of mouldering hay that would serve the horses as fodder and there was food and a little wine in the bags the packhorse carried.  He could melt snow for water for them all.

Morgan made a fire and warmed a little wine, making a drink of some herbs that Morganna had given him.  She had told him that it would ease him when he was tired and he had kept them with him, now he offered the cup to Owain, who sipped it gratefully.

'You are a good friend,' he said.  'No more for now, Morgan.  Sit here with me and talk to me.  Tell me how good it was when we held so much of Wales…'

'Merlin's prophecy came true,' Morgan began.  'We held Harlech and most of…' He ceased to speak as he saw that Owain's eyes had closed.  He was sleeping.  Morganna's tisane had given him some ease at last.

Owain lived for two more days in that cave.  Morgan tended him like a baby, cleaning him, giving him the drink that was all he would take and talking to him.  And when at last he died, he wept over him, holding him in his arms until the warmth had gone and he was as white as the snow that had fallen for almost two weeks but was melting now.

Owain had asked that he bury him – but where?  In his grief Morgan could not think at first of a fitting place to bury the man who had been prince in Wales, and then it came to him.  He would take him to the high place where he had taken Kestrel, and he would beg the old gods to take him with them to eternal life.

*

'Take him to your bosom, gods of my ancestors,' Morgan cried, arms outstretched, eyes turned to the sky as the light began to fade.  'Give him I beg you the life you gave to Merlin and Kestrel, so that he may never die but live on to be held for ever in the memory of men.'

The snow had melted here, leaving the mountainside slippery and the earth wet.  A pale sun had fought its way through the leaden skies and that day Morgan had seen the first signs of spring as he fought his way through the mud and slush to this place, but now the night was cold and seemed to herald a return of winter.

The journey here had been difficult and he had been close to despair, for by burying Owain he was burying the hopes of a people.  This was his last hope – the hope that the miracle that had happened once before would happen again.

He went into the slow, ritual whirling that had on two occasions brought him visions, round and round endlessly until his head span and he fell to the ground in a daze.  His dreams were vivid but he saw nothing that stayed with him when he woke and Owain's body lay upon the altar of stone where he had placed it the previous night.

Morgan knew that his hopes had been in vain.  Kestrel had been a magician but he was a mortal man, as was Owain.  His attempt to summon the old gods had failed and there was nothing left for him but to bury Owain.

His body was aching from lying on the hard ground, and the cold had nipped at his toes, giving him pain.  He grimaced ruefully as he took his sword and began to carve a grave for Owain in the soft earth at the foot of the mountain.  It was hard, painful work and he toiled for some hours before it was finished and he could at last lay his friend to rest.

'Here lies a great man,' he said as he stood over the grave, which he had covered with stones so that it could not be discovered or opened by man or beast.  'I pray that God will give him rest.  May he be judged by what he believed and what he tried to do, not what he achieved.'

'Do not despair, Morgan,' a voice said softly behind him and as he span round he saw Kestrel hovering just above the ground.  'Owain shall never die in the hearts and minds of those who loved him.'

'Kestrel…' Morgan walked towards him but the image was gone.  'What do you mean?  Owain is dead.'

'Only if you believe it…' the voice was still there in his head but he could not see Kestrel.

'Only if I believe it…' Morgan frowned.  'Damn you, Kestrel.  Riddles always riddles…I beg you, tell me what I must do for I do not know.'

'Look into you heart and know yourself, Morgan Gruffudd.  Remember what the mountains told you before.'

'Look into my heart and remember…' Morgan frowned, and then his head went up and he was smiling.  'Owain shall never die…Merlin lives…Kestrel lives…'

And then he knew what he must do.  Owain had gone into the mountains and would never return, but none should know of his death.  It should remain a mystery.  For as long as men believed that Owain might come again they would believe and hope; he would live on as a legend, a glorious legend of what was and what might have been – perhaps might yet come to be.

'Men shall sing of him in the mountains for a thousand years,' he said softly and his spirits lifted as the sun broke through the grey of the skies, warming him, and he knew that spring was truly on its way.  'Owain the true Prince of Wales does not lie buried in this ground.  He lives on in our hearts and minds forever.'

*

Morgan's message to the followers of Owain was this: Owain had gone apart from them for a little while to rest and recoup his strength.  When he was ready he would return to them, but those who wished to surrender had his permission and his blessing.

Those who had been with them towards the end might suspect that Owain was no longer in this life, but they would not speak of it for they had been fiercely loyal.  It was a conspiracy that all would keep.

There were many who were surrendering now to the new king, who had shown a leaning towards leniency and forgiveness, but others never would.  As far as the English were concerned, Owain and his closest followers were still somewhere in the mountains, wandering as they had been for many long months.

Morgan spread his message far and wide before turning his horse towards Gruffudd Manor.  He had come to a decision over the weeks since Owain's death.  He would not surrender to the English as so many others were doing but return to his home.  His thoughts were often of his daughter now, and he knew he owed her a duty.  He had neglected her too long and must make what amends he could.

She would be fourteen years in September of that year and he must think of a marriage for her.  The choice was not as wide as it might have been if he had been able to beg a favour of Rosamund for her, but still he would do his best to secure a future for his daughter.

He would write to her uncles at Bala, and to other men he knew who had settled their difficulties with the English.  He knew of one or two young men he thought worthy of the girl and would see how the land lay in that direction.  Until her marriage he would bide with her at Gruffudd - unless the English came to arrest him.

He would try to solve the matter of Morganna's marriage before that happened if he could, but if not he would ask the King to show her mercy and he did not doubt that it would be granted.  The man he had met that day in his prison cell did not make war on innocent women.

*

Rosamund had been in London for some months when she decided that she would pay a visit to Caris.  She had heard of the favourable terms offered to any of Owain's followers that surrendered now, and she wanted to ask one more time if Morgan would reconsider.

'May I tell him he would be treated favourably, Sire?' she asked of the King when she sought an audience.  He had received her in his private chamber, which was hung with silken tapestries and much warmer than the echoing halls of the palace.

'I shall be glad to welcome Morgan Gruffudd to my service, lady,' King Henry told her.  'I have a place for such men as he amongst those who serve me.   Ask him to swear allegiance to my faith and it shall be as if there was never any anger between us.'  He smiled at her.  'I offered terms once before and they were rejected.  I pray that you will have success where I had none.'

Rosamund curtsied deeply.  'I shall do my best to make him see the sense of your offer, Sire.'

She was thoughtful as she left the court later that day.  Banners hung from the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall, carved stone faces peering down at her from alcoves to either side, flanked by gleaming armour, shields and pennants, reminders of a glorious age of chivalry now passed.  From sconces on the wall torches flared, giving an unreal light to the huge chamber.  It's chill made her shiver and hold her mantle about her more tightly.

She had enjoyed the time she'd spent here at Court basking in the King's favour.  It had been almost as it was when she was young and much loved by her father and King Richard, but she had discovered that honour and wealth meant little to her if she must spend her life without the man she loved.

Morgan was a part of her, the man she would always love and she missed him desperately.  The grief that had set a barrier between them for so long had eased now and she had at last reached a time when she could remember her son with pleasure.  Richard's death had left a gap in her life that could never be filled but she knew that she must move on.  She must begin to live again before it was too late.

Perhaps if she could see Morgan again, talk to him, it might not be too late to begin again.

She would go back to Caris and see if Morgan had visited in her absence.  It might be that he had left a message for her.  With so many of Owain's followers surrendering now he must surely know that their cause was finally lost?

EIGHTEEN

Morganna looked toward the mountains.  The fragile sun was striking showers of light from the streams that cascaded over boulders worn smooth with age and yet she shivered, wrapping her cloak about her.  Her father had been gone all the previous day and night and she was worried for him.  It was still bitterly cold despite the signs that spring was on its way, too cold for him to sleep out on the mountain at night.  He had come to her weary and sick at heart and she had done her best to ease him in whatever way she could, making her healing tisanes and giving him good food.  Yet it seemed that nothing could ease whatever was eating at his soul and he spent many hours alone, walking in his beloved mountains.

He had tried to be cheerful for her sake and she knew that he had sent out letters in the hope of achieving a good marriage for her, but his heart was heavy.  She dare not ask what troubled him so but she had seen the haunting sadness in his eyes and that hurt her.  He was a shadow of his former self, wrapped about by brooding sorrow, yet still proud, at times untouchable.  Her inability to ease that inner pain was a constant ache in her breast for he was her father and she loved him.

In the months since her mother's bitter death Morganna had employed her time in helping others.  There had been some sickness in the village that winter and her cures had brought relief to many, though too many had died.  But at least they had not been visited by the plague, which had decimated the population in the last century and still scythed its way through the country from time to time, cutting down all it touched with the cobwebby hand of death..

At last!  Morganna's anxiety eased as she saw her father coming towards her.  He was carrying a posy of wild flowers and presented them to her with a smile.

'I found these in a sheltered spot on the mountain, Morganna.  It is a sign that winter is nearly done I think.'

'Yes, perhaps,' she agreed and held them to her nose, inhaling their perfume.  'But you should not spend so much time on the mountain, Father.  Why not come in and rest by the fire while I make you something warming to eat?'

'You worry too much, Daughter,' Morgan said and grinned at her in the old way, the years seeming to slip away for a moment before the shadows closed in once more.  'I have been used to living rough these many years.  You would spoil me with your mothering.'

Morganna laughed and shook her head.  She could not tell him that he meant all the world to her and that her joy in his return to Gruffudd was always shadowed by the fear that he would go away and forget her again.  No matter that he had told her she had kin, who would take her in, it was her father she loved.  She had been afraid in the long lonely months after her mother's death that she would not see him again, but he had kept his promise to return.

'You must not mind my fussing, Father.  It is a pleasure to me to have someone to fuss over.'

He looked at her then, his eyes moving over her face, searching.  'Your life has been lonely here.  We must see what can be done in the matter of finding you a husband you can love and respect, Morganna.  I would have a good man for you, one that will treat you kindly.'

'Oh, Father.  I am not in such a hurry to be wed.  I am happy to be here with you.'

'I am but poor company for you,' he said.  'If things were different I should have taken you to visit friends…' Morgan sighed.  'But we must make the best of what we have.  I noticed that the bottom meadow lies fallow.  It should be ploughed and the seed sown if it is to bear a harvest this year.'

'Yes, I suppose it should,' Morganna agreed.  'We have had sheep there for the past few years but there was no one to tell us what to do after Maire died – and then my mother was ill and everything was left to chance. We have been lucky in these hard times, Father, for many have lost everything.  At least we support ourselves, though there is little enough to sell.'

'I am here now.  I neglected the land when I was young but shall not do so now.'  He broke off as a fit of coughing took him and then cursed as she looked at him in concern.  'It is nothing, Morganna.  Do not look so anxious.'

'It was bitter last night.  You may have taken a chill.  Come, I shall make you something for your chest.  You should rub some goose grease into it tonight…'

They were almost at the house when they saw the horse and rider approaching from the direction of the village.  Morganna's heart caught with fright as she sensed a sudden stillness in her father.  He had waited outside for the rider to reach them, but pushed her towards the door.

'Go into the house, Morganna.'

'Let me stay with you.'

'Do as I say.'

She hesitated and then went inside.  They seldom had visitors.  Who could the horseman be?  Was it the summons she knew her father had been expecting?  The English would have learned that he was here.  Had they sent for him to surrender?  She stayed just inside the door, straining to hear what was said outside.

'You are the lord of this manor – Morgan Gruffudd?'

'Yes.  Who asks?'

'I come from the King, sir.  He offers you the hand of friendship if you will swear fealty to him.  You are commanded to come to a certain place at a certain time and surrender your sword.'

'Give me your message.'  Morgan held out his hand for the scroll.  'Thank you, sirrah.  You may tell your master that I shall give some thought to his offer.'

'You have one month to surrender.  After that…'

Morgan silenced him with a wave of his hand.'

'You need not continue.  I am aware of the consequence of further disobedience.  You have my answer.'

'I shall give my message to my master.'

Morgan turned and went into the house.  He saw his daughter waiting for him and knew from her anxious look that she had been listening, and that she was worried for his sake.

'You should not have listened, Morganna.  I did not want you to hear.  You will only worry.'

'But Father…should you not have sent fairer words to the King?  Has the time not come to lay down your sword?  Everyone says that the rebellion has failed.'

'We have lost all that we once held,' Morgan agreed.  'But even if we held Wales for but a short time it was glorious.  No one can take that away.  Owain's name will live in the minds of men forever.'

'Owain is a legend as are you,' Morganna said.  'But no man can stand alone, Father.  Would it not be better if Owain were to lead his men into the surrender?  Could there not be honour in admitting defeat?  You have fought long and bravely but the English were more powerful.'

'You are as wise as you are beautiful, my daughter,' Morgan said and smiled at her.  'But Owain will never surrender.'

He was tired, so very tired.  He had wandered all night, resting hardly at all, trying to remember and make sense of all that had happened these past years.  Had it all been in vain?  The dream was over and the taste of defeat was bitter as gall.  Yet it had been glorious in the doing.

What was it that Kestrel had said to him once – that he would not gain his heart's desire though it might seem for a while that he had.

'Yet that which you do not yet truly know to be your desire shall be yours.'

Morgan had never been sure what the healer had meant by that, though he had thought at times he must mean Rosamund and the love that had blossomed between them.  Surely that had been the most wonderful thing he had known, more precious even than the fall of Harlech Castle and the victories he had won on the field of battle.  But that love was gone now, lost to him by his own foolishness.

He sighed as he went up the twisting stair to his chamber and lay down on his bed.  It was because he felt so very tired that the pain of his loss was hard to bear.  When he had rested he would be able to face his life once more.

*

Morganna found him later when she took him the healing drink she had made for him.  He was tossing restlessly on the pillows, his skin as hot as fire and beaded with sweat.  She laid a hand on his brow, soothing it as she bent over him anxiously.

'It is a fever,' she told him softly.  'It will pass and I shall care for you, my dear father.  You will be well again.'

'Rosamund…' the cry was wrenched from him as he twisted in agony, his fingers curling about her wrist in a fierce grip that pained her.  'Rosamund…forgive me.  I loved you…always loved you…so sorry that he died…but I loved you…'

'Of course you loved her,' Morganna soothed.  'I saw the love between you when I visited…'

In truth she had been a little jealous of it, though the lady of Caris had been kind to her, welcoming her into her family – until that dreadful day when Richard died.

'Rosamund…forgive me…'

Fetching cool water to bathe her father's heated body, Morganna wondered that he cried out so desperately for the lady of Caris.  She had believed that his despair was for the loss of the cause that had meant so much to him, but was it possible that there was another, deeper reason?

'Rest easy, Father,' she whispered as she held him later, helping him to sip a little of the warm cordial she had brewed.  'I shall send to your lady and beg her to come to you.  If she loves you half as well as I believe she will answer my plea.'

Morgan was too far gone in his fever to know what she said, conscious only of the soft hands that tended him and the loving voice that comforted his feverish dreams.  But the water had cooled him for a while and her cure had given him sleep for the moment, a sleep that was disturbed only now and then by a fitful cry.

Morganna watched over him until he seemed to rest, then went downstairs and penned a careful letter.  She sent for her most trusted groom and gave him the sealed message.

'You must take this to the Castle of Caris, Jedro.  You have been there before with a message for my father; this is to the lady of Caris herself.  You are to give it to her yourself and wait to guide her here should she decide to come.'

'Yes, mistress,' Jedro said and grinned at her.  'I shall do your bidding as you say.'

Morganna watched him leave the house.  It was a journey of several days there and back, but she could only pray that Jedro's journey would not be in vain. And, of course,  that Rosamund was at Caris.  If she had gone away…

Sighing, Morganna went back to her father's chamber.  She found Gwenny there, bending over him.  She was bathing his forehead again and Morganna saw that he was hot and sweating once more.

'He was a little better when I left him,' she said, looking anxiously down at Morgan's flushed face.  'I fear he is very ill, Gwenny.'

'I have seen such fevers before,' Gwenny replied.  'We can do naught but watch over him and keep him as cool as we may.  But you are tired, my lovely.  Go you and rest a while and I'll stay by him.'  She smiled as the girl would have argued.  'Nay, you cannot tend him all the time or you will be ill and I could not care for both of you.'

'You are right to chide me,' Morganna said and her eyes were shadowed even as she smiled.  'But he is so precious to me, Gwenny.  If he should die...'

'Such nonsense!'  Gwenny scolded.  'Morgan Gruffudd is a strong man and a fighter.  If the English could not kill him, think you a fever can?  Nay, rest easy for you worry too much. A little fever such as this will not defeat him.'

Morganna shook her head but she left the nurse to care for him while she took her rest in her own chamber.  Gwenny was right, all they could do was care for him – and pray.

She knelt beside the bed, hands clasped, head bent in prayer.

'Do not take him from me,' she whispered.  'I have known him such a little time.  I beg you let him live – and let Lady Rosamund show mercy and come to him…'

*

Rosamund stared at Jack Errin in dismay as he told his tale of Morgan's visit to Caris in her absence.

'But I left a letter for him.  It was to have been given into your care lest Morgan should come while I was away.'

The man's honest face showed his bewilderment. 'Forgive me, lady.  I swear that I have not received it.  I should have been right glad to give it to my lord for he was mighty disappointed that there was no word left for him.'

Rosamund contained her anger; that should be reserved to Master Baldry and in private.  'I thank you for telling me the truth, Master Errin.  You will come to me at once if any message should come from Gruffudd for me.'

'Yes, my lady.'

Rosamund walked slowly back to her chamber, her head bent in thought.  Bethan was ordering her clothes, the trunks half unpacked and her things strewn everywhere in a profusion of bright silks and velvets.  Bethan apologised for the mess as she turned to her with a smile.

'We have not yet prepared your chamber for your comfort, my lady.'

'No, matter.  I would rest and think for a while.'

'Is there something more I may do for you, my lady?'

'Yes, you may send Master Baldry to me.'

Rosamund walked over to the window to gaze out as the woman hurried away, looking towards the forest.  The view had become hateful to her for a time, but now she was remembering the happy days she had spent there with Morgan during that first summer.  He had been so vivid in her thoughts these past days.  It was almost as if he was calling to her, trying to reach her.

'Morgan…' she whispered and turned away from the window as her steward spoke behind her.  'Ah, Master Baldry, I would have words with you.'

She could hear loud voices in the courtyard below but her thoughts were centred on the man who had served her so faithfully for so many years.  He was looking anxious, his manner slightly uneasy as if he had guessed what was in her mind.

'Yes, my lady.  How may I serve you?'

'When I left here with the King I signed a letter for Morgan Gruffudd, which you were to have given to Master Errin for safekeeping.  You did not do so – why was that?'

William was silent for a moment as he stared at her.  He had destroyed the letter before they left Caris, believing it was better if she never saw the Welshman again.  Indeed he had hoped that they would never return here to Caris.

'I must have forgotten in the hurry to be ready, my lady.'

'Then give it to me now.'  She held out her hand but saw by his expression that he was discomforted.  'But you cannot, can you?  Did you destroy the letter, William?'

He could not lie to her, though he sensed that she was very angry.

'I burned it.  He had caused you so much pain.  I believed that you would forget him when you left this place – that you would never want to return.  The whole of England is open to you now and you could marry where you will.  I believed you would want to put the past behind you.'

'Then you believed wrongly, William.  I am very angry with you for deceiving me…'

'I did not mean to deceive you, my lady.  I acted for your good.'

'I know that you believed you were acting for my good, and for that reason I shall not dismiss you,' Rosamund said.  'But you exceeded your duty, William, and you have lost my good opinion.  I am not sure that you may continue as my steward for I must be able to trust those who serve me in such close capacity.  I shall think on this and…'

She broke off as she heard running footsteps and then Jack Errin burst into the room.  'Forgive me, my lady,' he said and he was breathing hard.  'But you said that I was to bring any message from Gruffudd to you and the news is ill…'

'What?'  Rosamund's face turned pale as she took the sealed packet from him, opening it with shaking fingers.  'Oh no!  Morgan is desperately sick and calling for me in his fever.'

'The lad told me so,' Jack said.  'Shall you go to him, my lady?'

'At once,' Rosamund replied.  'I shall take nothing but what we need for our journey, anything more can follow.  Go you and prepare an escort, Master Errin – and William, you will ask Bethan and the other ladies to come to me at once.  I would be ready to leave within the hour.'

'But it is late,' William protested.  'Your journey may wait until the morning.'

'My journey will not wait a minute longer than it takes to be ready,' Rosamund said.  'My love may be close to death and I must see him – must beg his pardon for the hurt I have given him these past years since Richard's death.'

'But it was he who hurt you…'

'No!'  Rosamund lifted her head, her face pale but proud.  'I was the one at fault.  Morgan tried to reach me, to ease my grief – but I shut him out.  I knew that he was grieving as deeply as I but I could help neither him nor myself.  Now I am punished indeed, for if he dies I shall have nothing left to live for…'

William stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then bowed his head and left to do her bidding.  Rosamund felt the sting of tears as she reread the letter.  His condition must be serious or Morganna would not have sent – and therein lay another source of guilt, for she had not treated the girl well after Richard's death.

'Forgive me,' she whispered.  'I have been such a fool to let my grief for Richard destroy all else that was good.  Give me one more chance I beg you.'

Once before she had been desperate as she prayed.  Kestrel had come to her then to comfort her, but there was no sign now.  She could only wait until her journey's end was reached and pray that she would be in time to see him.

*

'You will be ill yourself,' Gwenny warned as she found Morganna lying on a mat beside her father's bed, covered only by a thin blanket.  'Have you been here all night, you foolish child?'

'He was so ill and calling for her again,' Morganna said as she got to her feet and stretched.  The floor was hard and cold and it had made her bones ache.  'I did not want to leave him and I could not lie on the bed for he tosses and turns all the time in his fever.'

'I should think not,' Gwenny scolded shaking her head.  'Go and rest, Morganna.  You cannot do it all. I shall take your place now.'  She bent over the sick man, laying a gentle hand upon his brow.  'I think he seems a little cooler this morning.  If we are lucky the fever will break soon.'

'I shall go and make more of the tisane that seems to ease him,' Morganna said.  'You must call me if there is any change.'

'The only change will be for the better,' Gwenny said confidently.  'Make your tisane then since nothing else will content you, but then you should rest.'

Morganna smiled at her scolding.  Gwenny had always loved her, but she had been as worried as they all had that Morgan would die.  He had lain in the fever for ten days now and they had begun to think that it would never break.

When she reached her stillroom Morganna discovered that she had no more of the leaves from which she brewed her healing drink and she decided that she would go and pick some by the stream.

It was a pleasant morning, warmer than it had been of late, and she believed that the change might help her father to recover – providing the fever was breaking at last.  She had been so afraid that he might die, for his fever was very like that that had killed Richard.

She was fortunate to find the plant she sought by the stream and gathered as much as she could into her basket before setting off towards the house.  As she drew near she saw that a small party of people had arrived and gave a little cry, running towards them as she saw and recognised the woman she had prayed would come.

'Lady Rosamund…' she called as the woman dismounted, helped by one of her grooms.  'You came...at last...'

'Morganna…'  Rosamund stared at her for a moment in disbelief.  'But you have grown, my dear.  Such a beautiful young lady!  I am so glad to see you, Morganna.'

She had opened her arms and Morganna ran to them, her tears falling as she was gathered into a warm embrace.  All the anxiety of the past few days came welling out of her as she sobbed of her fears, and Rosamund comforted her.  At last, when she had calmed, she drew back, looking at her shyly.

'Forgive me, my lady.  I did not mean to weep over you.'

'I understand, my dear,' Rosamund said.  'You have had so much to bear and all alone – but that is at an end.  I am here now and you shall not be alone again, I promise.'

'My father calls for you all the time,' Morganna said, drying her eyes on the sleeve of her tunic.  'It is he who needs you and I waste your time…'

'He still lives?'  Rosamund's hand was shaking as she touched the girl's face.  'God be praised!  I thought I might be too late…'

'No, though I was afraid that you would not come in time,' Morganna said as she led the way into the house and towards the stone steps that led to his chamber.  'He has been so ill and I thought he might die but I think he is a little better this morning.'

'May I go up to him?'

'Yes, of course.'  Morganna took a step back.  'Go up alone, my lady.  I have a tisane to make.  I shall come later to see how he does.'

'You are generous, Morganna,' Rosamund said.  'I shall not forget this kindness in you.'

'He loves you so,' Morganna told her.  'I do not know if you have quarrelled, but it has hurt him.  He has been low of spirits and I think it was that that brought him down as much as the fever.  Forgive him if you can, my lady.  He needs you.'

The tears were trickling down Rosamund's face as she met the girl's pleading look.  'It is I who must ask his forgiveness,' she said.  'For I love him far more than I ever knew…'

*

Rosamund's heart was racing as she went softly into the chamber at the top of the stairs.  A woman was bending over the bed, bathing the sick man's forehead with a cloth wrung out in cool water.  She looked up as Rosamund approached and curtsied.

'I think he is a little better, my lady.  He is cooler than he has been.'

Recognising her now as Morganna's nurse, though grown stouter with the years, Rosamund nodded and smiled.  'Thank you, Gwenny.  I believe he has been very ill?'

'Yes, my lady.  I shall leave you now, but if you need help you have only to call.'

Rosamund nodded.  She bent over Morgan as the older woman left, stroking his forehead lightly with her fingertips and then she bent to kiss his brow.

'My dear love,' she said.  'It seems that God is just for you are not dead.  Return to me, Morgan Gruffudd, for my life is nothing to me without you.'

His eyelids flickered and he made a little moaning sound in his throat.  His lips moved as if he wanted to form a word but found it too difficult.

'Do not try to speak, my love,' Rosamund touched her lips to his.  'Your daughter has cared for you devotedly and I am here to share her task now.  I promise that we shall make you well again.'

'Rosamund…forgive me.  Always loved you…'

Morgan's eyes were open but though he looked at her she did not think he knew her.

'You should not beg my pardon.  It is I who should beg yours, my love.  You tried to comfort me but I turned from you in my grief and pride.  Forgive me for hurting you.'

He made a moaning sound and his hand clutched at the bedcovers as he closed his eyes.  She reached out to stroke his forehead, listening to the harsh sound of his breathing as the seconds passed, and then he stirred once more.

'Rosamund?'  Morgan was conscious now and staring at her in disbelief.  'Where am I?  I thought I was at Gruffudd…'

'And so you are, my love.  You have been very ill.  Morganna has nursed you, but you called for me and so she sent to Caris and I came.'

'Morganna sent for you…but you had left Caris.'

'Only for a time.  I left a letter to tell you I would return but it was mislaid.'

'I thought you wanted to forget…that it was over.'

'I could never forget all that had been between us.  Ah no,' she said as he tried to sit up and failed, falling back against the piles of downy pillows.  'You are not yet recovered, my lord.  You must lie there and not tire yourself.'

'Then sit beside me, give me your hand.'

Rosamund did as he asked, smiling at him tenderly.  His fingers curled about hers, though not as strongly as they would have once.

'I thought I should never see you again.  They told me you had gone to Court.'

'Yes, that is true,' she replied.  'His Majesty has restored all my lands to me.  He has been both gracious and generous, Morgan.  I have so much to thank him for.  He has even helped me in the matter of our daughter's future.  Ellen is to be betrothed to a man worthy of her, and Anne is to be admitted to Court as a waiting woman to a noble lady until she is a little older, when we shall arrange a marriage for her.  It is all I had hoped for and more.'

'That is good news,' Morgan said.  'I am glad for you.'  His eyelids flickered and closed.  'I am weary, Rosamund.  I would sleep – but I pray you, do not leave me yet.'

'No, my love.  I shall sit here quietly while you rest.  Do not worry.  I shall not leave you.'

She glanced up as Morganna entered the room, putting a finger to her lips.

'He sleeps,' Morganna whispered.  'The fever has gone…' Tears caught at her throat.  'God be praised for his mercy.  I was so afraid that I would lose him.'

'Morgan must thank God for His mercy,' Rosamund said softly, her look tender and warm.  'But I think he owes much to you, my dear.  You have nursed him so devotedly.  I can see how tired you are.  Will you not go and rest for a little now?'

'Yes, I can rest now,' Morganna replied.  'He will be well again now that he has you.  You should take him back to Caris with you when he is well, Lady Rosamund.  This house has too many bitter memories.'

'For you as much as Morgan,' Rosamund said.  The girl had suffered too much and amends must be made her. 'We shall all leave here when he is well.  For it is my sincere hope that you will come to live with us?'

'If you can forgive me?'

'For what?'  Rosamund frowned as she realised what the girl must mean.  'Oh, my dear - you were not to blame for what happened.  My son was spoiled and headstrong.  Richard went his own way.  It was always so from the time that he could walk.  His nurse was forever running after him, rescuing him from trouble. We must forget the sadness and remember only the happiness he gave us.'

'You are kind, my lady…I have blamed myself for I could surely have done something…'

'There was nothing anyone could do.  I have learned to accept it,' Rosamund said.  'Now I think only of his beauty and the love he brought us all.'

Morganna nodded and left the room quickly before the tears could spill.  After so many years of believing herself unloved and unwanted, Rosamund's kindness was almost more than she could bear.

NINETEEN

'You should not have left your bed so soon,' Rosamund chided as Morgan came down to the small chamber where she and Morganna were sitting at their needlework.  A fire crackled and spat in the hearth for the house was never warm, its long shadows sending chills into every corner. 'It is scarce more than a week since the fever broke and you have not yet regained your strength.'

'I was feeling restless,' he said and smiled as she raised her delicate eyebrows.  'No, Rosamund, do not scold me. I am not used to lying abed for so long.  But I shall do nothing foolish so you may stop looking at me as if I might break.'

'I told you he would not stay in bed much longer,' Morganna said and shook her head at Rosamund.  'But I must speak with Gwenny so I shall leave you to talk.'

She withdrew, knowing that they must have much to discuss.  Rosamund had made it clear that she would welcome her as a part of her family, healing old wounds and insisting that she must go with them when they left Gruffudd.

'You have spent too much time here alone.  Besides, I should like to get to know you better, and to help arrange your marriage.  I think we might do better for you if we were to go to Court.'

'Go to Court?'  Morganna was astounded.  'But how could I go to Court?  I know so little of the world.  I should not know how to behave – and I have no clothes fit to be seen.'

'That is a matter for me,' Rosamund told her with a smile.  'You are beautiful, Morganna, and dressed as befits your beauty you will be much admired at Court.  If you will allow me I shall teach you all that it is necessary for you to know before you are presented, and we shall choose your clothes together.'

Her warmth and gentle manner had soon won Morganna's friendship, for she had been starved of normal affection from her mother, learning to endure rather than to expect kindness.  Now she was excited at the prospect of the new future, which seemed to be opening out before her.

'But what of Father?' she asked, a little frown creasing her brow.  'He told the King's messenger that he would think about surrendering to the court, but I am not sure he will agree.  He is so stubborn – and loyal to Owain.'

'Morgan must think of his family now,' Rosamund said.  'He has given too many years to Owain's cause.  I pray that he will see he has a duty to us and to himself.'

Rosamund had held her peace while Morgan was recovering, but now that he was beginning to feel more like himself she would speak of what was in her heart.

Morganna hoped that her father would not be angry.  Rosamund was thinking only of his future, for if he refused the King's offer of clemency now there might never be another chance.  He would be an outlaw, condemned to a life of wandering until at the end he was killed or taken prisoner.

*

'I ask only that you think carefully before you refuse His Majesty's offer,' Rosamund said as she saw Morgan's expression of rejection.  'It is not for my own sake that I ask, though you know that I have hoped for this.  Morganna is devoted to you.  I believe we owe her something, Morgan.  Her life has not been what it ought to have been, and that is as much my fault as yours. I have promised to take her with me and do what I can for her – but I do not think she could be happy knowing you were condemned to…'

Morgan held up his hand to silence her.  'I know what you would say, Rosamund.  And though you say you do not ask for yourself, I know this means much to you.  I have listened to your words.  In return I ask that you give me a little time to decide.  It is not an easy thing you ask and I must think on it.'

'I know it is not easy,' Rosamund said in her softy, husky voice.  'You gave your word to Owain and you will not break it lightly.  But for the love we bear you, I beg you will not leave it too long.'

'I have another week to decide before I must give my decision.  Do not worry, my love.  Whatever I decide this king will not blame you or Morganna.  I do not think he will seek a petty revenge from you or my daughter.'

'No, but…'  She saw the look in his eyes and was silent.  He had seen his dream die and it was a bitter thing for a man of his pride to surrender his sword.  'I cannot quarrel with you again, Morgan.  Without you my life was an empty thing. Whatever you choose I shall always love you.'

'Then let us speak of other things,' he said and now he was smiling, his expression softened by love.  'Tell me of Ellen's betrothal and of your stay in London…'

*

Morgan felt the warmth of the sun on his face as he began to climb the mountain.  It was early yet but the signs of spring were appearing everywhere in the bursting buds and thrusting shoots.  He had slipped away unnoticed early that morning for he knew the women would have tried to prevent his leaving the house, fearing that he was not yet recovered sufficiently from his fever, and he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

There was no real reason why he should not now sue for pardon from the King.  It was only his stubbornness and his pride that had kept him from returning a fair answer to His Majesty – and something inside him that hated the idea of returning to the English yoke.  Henry V was a man he could like, yet he would be his own man, free in thought and will to serve where he pleased.  Owain's last words had directed him to surrender for their dream had gone, and yet still he had held out.

He walked steadily, seeking secure footholds as he climbed the rocky face of the mountain, higher, ever higher, until he reached the place that he felt closest to the heavens.  Here he could breathe again after the weeks of confinement and sickness, his lungs filling with the clear pure air, renewing his spirit.

'Am I fool that I cling to a dream?' he asked of the sky, his arms outstretched as if in supplication, his strong voice echoing through the mountains.  'Does pride mean so much to me?  Must I sacrifice love and happiness for an ideal?  The dream is lost.  I dreamed that Wales might be free, that I might be free…'

The wind was sighing across the mountains and the song was in the wind and the rushing water of the falls as they tumbled over rocks worn smooth with the ages of their passing.  The music filled Morgan's ears and in the music was the voice: Kestrel's voice.

'Freedom is within you, Morgan Gruffudd.  A man may be free in many ways and from the death of one dream may come another even greater.'

'Kestrel…'  Morgan span round but he could not see his old friend even though his need was great.  'How can the dream be greater?'

'From your daughter,' the voice seemed to answer.  'Her blood will mingle with the blood of kings…'

'The blood of kings?'  Morgan put his hands to his ears to shut out the voice for it was surely madness.  'But that would mean…she carries Owain's blood through her mother and mine…'

'Owain lives…' came the answer unbidden.  'The dream lives on and Wales shall be free, though there shall not be a Welsh prince in Wales.'

The music was loud and so fierce that Morgan thought his head would burst from it.  As always Kestrel spoke in riddles.  His words seemed to promise so much, yet his words were only that – a vague promise.

'Remember, Morgan Gruffudd, no man's mind is chained.  All men are free to dream and the brave live through their dreams to dream once more.  Farewell, my friend, for you will not need me again.'

'Kestrel…' Morgan cried.  'Stay!  I beg you, do not leave me.'

The music was dying with the wind and then it was gone.  Morgan felt a sense of loss and somehow he knew that Kestrel had spoken to him for the last time.

'Farewell, my good healer,' he said.  'I shall never forget and I pray that we may meet again, if not in this life then the next.'

*

It was as Morgan walked back to the house that he saw the small party of horsemen arrive.  They were wearing the King's colours and his heart quickened.  Should he take his chance and escape now?  Yet to do so might bring harm on those he loved.  Better to let them arrest him than that Rosamund or Morganna should suffer.  He entered the house to see Morganna there to confront the men and her brave stance touched his heart, making him smile.

'I tell you he is not here.'

'And I must ask again, lady.  Where is Morgan Gruffudd?'

'You seek me, good sirs?'

Their leader spun round, his eyes intent on Morgan's face.  'You are Morgan Gruffudd?'

'I am he.  In whose name do you come?'

'In the King's, sir.'

'Am I to be arrested?'

'Father!'  Morganna darted towards him, her face pale and tense.  'There was to be another three days granted before you had to give your answer.'

'Hush, Daughter.  Do not fear for me.'

'We have been sent to escort you, sir.'

'Where are we going?  May I at least know that?'

'I am not at liberty to say.  My orders are to take you to a certain place – and alone.'

Rosamund had just entered the hall behind them.  'But this is outrageous,' she cried.  'He has but now risen from his sick bed.  We must be allowed to go with him lest he falls ill.'

'Forgive me, lady,' the soldier said, discomforted by her distress.  'We must obey our orders.'

'Morgan…' Rosamund rushed to him, her face drawn and pale, eyes wide with fear for him.  'Go quickly!  Escape now, while you can.  I was wrong…'

'Hush, my dear love,' he said and clasped her in his arms, kissing her hungrily.  'You know that you were always the wife of my heart and I would wed you if I could.  Forgive me if I ever caused you pain.  I must go with these gentlemen.  To resist would bring harm to you and my daughter and you might be arrested in my stead.  Take care of Morganna, my love, and be happy yourself.'

'Morgan…' Tears caught at her throat.  'You are not well…'

'I am well enough, fear not.  Go to Caris and wait there until you hear what has happened.'  He glanced at Morganna.  'Be happy, my child.  I loved you well, though I have not been a good father to you.  I beg you will forgive me for my neglect.'

'There is nothing to forgive, Father.  May God bless and keep you safe.'

'Then I am content.  I am ready, good sirs.  I go with you of my own free will.  We need wait no longer.'

The two women moved instinctively closer together as Morgan was escorted from the house, to where the horses were waiting.  Grooms had been dispatched to fetch his own horse and he was allowed to mount and ride with them, his hands unbound.

'He will escape,' Morganna said as Rosamund's arm drew her into a gentle embrace, giving her courage.  'He was worried for us, but when they are away from here he will give them the slip.'

'No, I do not think he means to run away,' Rosamund said and her lovely eyes were wet with tears.  'He is a man of honour and he has gone with them of his own will – but I do not understand why His Majesty has done this.  He swore to me that he would show clemency and there were three more days before Morgan must lay down his sword.'

'What can we do?' Morganna asked.  Desperation was in her face for she could not bear to see her father leave as a prisoner of his old enemy.  'Will they hang him as an example to the others?'

'I pray he will be given a fair trial,' Rosamund replied.  'We must travel to London, Morganna.  I shall go to the King and beg for his life, on my knees if need be.'

'No,' Morganna said, her expression thoughtful.  'You should not beg, Rosamund.  My father would be angry and humiliated if you did that.  I think we should go to Caris as he bid us.  We must wait there to hear his fate.  Whatever it may be we must face it as bravely as he would expect.'

Rosamund wanted to protest, her heart aching as she thought of Morgan broken and bent on the rack or condemned to the headsman's axe, but as she looked at the girl's pale face she knew that Morganna was right.  Morgan would not want her to beg for his life.  He would rather go proudly to his death.

'Perhaps you were right,' she said more in the hope of comforting her than any real belief.  'Perhaps he does mean to escape and come to Caris.  We shall go there and wait as he bid us…'

*

'This is where the orchids grow later in the year,' Rosamund said as they walked together by the lake.  Its waters were grey, a breeze rippling the surface; at its edge graceful willows dipped their heads, their grey green fronds stroking the banks.  'I have not been here for so long.'

'Is it too painful for you?' Morganna asked.  'You must think of Richard here.'

'Richard is never far from my thoughts, but they are mostly happy ones now.  As they are when I think of your father.  Those years were the happiest and the saddest of my life – just as Kestrel told me.'

'We have heard no word of my father in all these weeks.'  Morganna's voice throbbed with the emotion she kept inside.

They had heard that early in March more than six hundred Welsh nobles and rebel lords had taken an oath of loyalty to the King and been pardoned.  In various regions other similar courts had been held and men restored to their estates, but these men had not included Owain Glyn Dwr's closest friend and trusted lieutenant.  It was likely that an example was to be made of Morgan Gruffudd.

'If the King has him executed I shall go no more to Court,' Rosamund said, her eyes bright with unshed tears.  'It is too cruel.  I believed he would surrender in the end.'

'They came too soon.  It was not honourable,' Morganna said angrily.  'Father was not allowed to decide…'

It was the end of May now and they had almost given up hope of hearing that Morgan had escaped, their hopes dying as the days and weeks passed with no word of him.

Rosamund shivered as a cloud passed across the sun, blotting out its fragile warmth.  'We should go back to the castle.  I must write some letters, discover if there is any news…'  She broke off as she heard voices and then Jack Errin came running towards them and she clutched at Morganna's arm in sudden fright.  'Something has happened…What news, Master Errin?'

'William has sent word, my lady.  There is a great company arrived at Caris.  The King and his gentlemen await you there.'

Rosamund looked at Morganna, seeing her own fear reflected in the girl's eyes.  She reached out and took her hand, clasping it for a moment.

'Be brave, my love.  We shall have news now – for good or ill.'

'Yes…'  Tears hovered on Morganna's dark lashes but she blinked them away.  Her father would not want her to humble herself or shed tears for him before the King.  'At last we shall have news.'

The ride to Caris was tense, the thudding of the horses' hooves as they cut into the soft earth echoing the thundering of their hearts.  Neither Rosamund or Morganna dare think of what awaited them.  If the news was bad…but it could be no worse than this terrible waiting, for the fear came in the night, bringing dreams to tear and taunt them.

The castle was reached.  The horses clattered over the wooden drawbridge into the cobbled courtyard.   Above them the sky had turned leaden as if a storm threatened, and Morganna shivered in the sudden chill as her eyes turned towards the forbidding stone walls of the fortress.  What news awaited them within?

Servants hurried to help them dismount.  Everywhere was in a bustle, a hive of activity as the castle was prepared for its unexpected visitors.

'Give me your hand, Morganna,' Rosamund said.  'We shall go in together.  Whatever the news you have me beside you.'

Morganna took the hand she offered but said nothing.  She had the strangest feeling.  It was something to do with the peculiar looks she had noticed amongst the servants…as if they were excited but trying not to show it.  Yet they did not seem afraid or distressed.  What was happening?  She sensed something hidden yet dare not put a name to it lest she was wrong, but her heart was pounding, beating wildly against her ribs as she walked into the echoing hall and saw a crowd of men gathered at the far end.  Smokey torches flared in their sconces and a huge fire was burning in the hearth, sending out a shower of sparks as the great log flamed.

'Lady Rosamund,' a man said, coming forward, hands outstretched in welcome.  He was resplendent in blue and silver, regal and commanding – yet his smile as he greeted Rosamund was warm.  'Forgive us for descending on you with no warning.'

''Tis no matter,' Rosamund said and curtsied, her head bent respectfully.  'You are welcome to Caris, Your Majesty.  But I beg you to tell me without delay – what news of Morgan Gruffudd?'

'Morgan Gruffudd…'  The King seemed to deliberate, a sly mocking curve to his mouth.  'I am not sure I know that name…'

Morganna was searching the faces of the other men.  She might be dreaming…but no, there he was, dressed as finely as any other of that company.  He had seen her and was coming forward to greet them.  Her heart beat wildly and she looked at Rosamund, saw her turn pale as she caught sight of him too.

'You must not tease my lady, Sire,' Morgan said and smiled as he moved to catch Rosamund as she swayed, supporting her until the faintness passed.  'She has been in some distress these past weeks.'

'Morgan…'  Rosamund gave a sob of relief.  'You are alive…here…I do not understand.'

'Hush, my love,' he said and placed a finger to her lips.  'You told me the King would treat fairly with me and so he has.  I was not asked to surrender, merely to promise friendship.  That I promised right willingly, and was offered service, for which I am grateful.'

'But there was no word.  We thought…'

'For that you must blame me, Lady Rosamund,' the King told her.  'We wanted to surprise you – and your lord took some time to decide.'

'No more than a few days, Sire – which we spent in debate if you recall.'

'And since then we have been caught up with matters of State.  I trust Lady Rosamund will forgive us the small deceit?'

She could do no more than curtsey and kiss the hand he offered.  'I thank you for your generosity, Sire.'

He nodded, looking mighty pleased with himself.  'We have settled things between us and the past is forgot.  Let us think now of happier times.  I hope to see you and Sir Morgan at my court soon – and Sir Morgan's daughter.  Where is she?  May I meet her?'  He glanced about him.  'Come hither, lady.  I would see your face.'

'Sir Morgan?'  Rosamund looked at him as Morganna was brought forward to make her curtsey to the King.  'Morgan…'

'His Majesty was pleased to honour me.  He said a worthy opponent was worth a few honours.  My estates in Wales are all restored to me – but I fear new duties will keep us often in London once we are wed.  I hope you will not mind that, Rosamund?'

His eyes dwelt on her face.  'You know that I shall not.  To be your wife and live with you in peace…'

He smiled, touching her cheek lightly with his fingertips before his eyes moved to Morganna.  She was smiling up at the King as he raised her and he was reminded of Kestrel's words.

'Her blood shall mingle with that of Kings…'

For a moment he knew fear for her, a premonition of pain and hurt in the future.  She would never be wife to this king and no good could come of the only alliance that might be offered in marriage's stead.  He regretted that he had brought Morganna to the notice of royalty, but then he relaxed, laughing inwardly.  Kestrel's riddles were never that simple.  He was letting his imagination run away with him.

'What worries you, my lord?' Rosamund asked, recalling his thoughts.  'There is something on your mind.'

'It was nothing, a mere foolishness,' he said and smiled down at her.  'How soon can we be married, my love?'

'As soon as it may be arranged.  You know it is all I want of life.'

'We must be grateful that His Majesty has been gracious.'

'Indeed…'  A little smile hovered on his mouth.  'It was in my mind to surrender the day the King's men came for me.  If they had not brought me to him I should have gone to the court with the others to lay down my sword.'

'Did you tell him that?'

Rosamund looked at him curiously, seeing the hint of wicked glee in his eyes and the pride that had been so sadly missing in the days before he was brought to the King.  This was the man she had first met, bold and daring and filled with an inner joy that seemed to shine out of him.

'Only after we had settled our differences, which we did after some lengthy discussion on all manner of subjects.  This king has a vision, Rosamund, and thus is a man I can serve.'

'And Owain?'

'Owain will never surrender,' Morgan said.  'I have told His Majesty that nothing I can do will change that.  The revolt is over, though a few hotheads may make trouble from time to time – but there is no need for further discontent.  I have talked to Henry.  He is a fair man and I believe the whole country will prosper for as long as he rules.  His vision of the future is one I share.'

'Then we are free at last,' Rosamund said as he put his arm about her waist, lowering his head to touch his lips lightly to hers.  She sensed the need in him, which was echoed by her own, a need that must be held in check until they were at last alone.

'Yes, my love,' he said, holding her hard against him.  'For freedom is something each man holds inside him.  A slave may yet be free if his spirit and mind can soar above the petty chains that bind him.'

'That is a wise but true thought,' Rosamund said gazing up at him with love.

'I had it from a wise men,' Morgan replied and grinned.  It was the grin of old, as bold as when he was young when all the world lay before him and his dreams were new.

And in the mountains the rising wind held the song; it was carried in the rushing water that tumbled headlong over boulders to the gentle streams, and the trees caught the whisper and took up the song.  It was a song of brave men and brave deeds, of sacrifice and glory, and of despair, of courage and hope renewed to spring again as the water that comes from the mountain springs eternal.

And the song was this: Owain lives in the hearts and minds of those who remember, and his song shall be sung for a thousand years.

Lynn Granville also writes as Linda Sole, Anne Ireland and Anne Herries.

We hope you have enjoyed the book

www.lindasole.co.uk

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