Morgan the Rogue by Lynn Granville Read Free Book Online

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