Morgana Part III

By Anne Phillips

Morgana is freed of any blame for the death of Lady Edith, saved by the intervention of Queen Eleanor. But there there is a price to pay for this freedom, when she is commanded to marry d`Raconville, and it seem he is reluctant as she is about the match. However the marriage takes place, and she finds herself the lady of Castell Felyn, and also stepmother to d`Raconville`s heir, his daughter, Alina. But her perils and adventures are far from over as she becomes ever embroiled in danger resulting in her incarceration at the Priory of Wydda, the very place her own mother, Rhannon, was inprisoned in and died. The place she had dreaded all her life. But it is here that she will find the truth about herself and her mother`s fate.
It is her mother`s kin who come to her rescue, and take her to her mother`s home, Plas-yr-Hyfred. It is there she comes face to face with her cousin Rhodri ap Bedwas.
Mad with anger and grief over the murder of his half-brother, Frith, by Rhodri`s kin, Crespin has vowed to burn to the ground Rhodri` s maenol and put his kin to the sword.
Morgana finds herself caught in the middle of mayhem, and fears for her life by her husband`s hand, for she is Rhodri`s kin also, as is the child that she carries.
Here at Plas-y-Hyfred her fate and the future of her un-born child will be resolved either in life or death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Phillips
• Release date: Mar 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370374533

Anne Phillips

I was born in Swansea in March 1942, and apart from 5 years spent in Australia in my twenties, I have lived all my life in Wales. I have been married over 50 years, and I have one daughter. I have been a writer ever since I could hold a pen and mastered the alphabet. I belong to the Tuesday Afternoon Writers of Port Talbot. My hobbies are reading,reading, reading, and anything creative ie gardening, sewing and drawing. IAlso Iove to travel, and have done so extensively - and hope to do much more. Anne Phillips

Book preview

Morgana Part lll

By

Anne Phillips

Copyright 2009 Anne Phillips

Anne Phillips has asserted her right, under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise,

be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

CHAPTER ONE

Castell Felyn

It was a day of cold, driving rain when Edith de Barfleur was finally laid to rest beside her husband in a tomb she had long prepared for herself. The day before, Pirelle d`Anvers had been buried with scant ceremony. Her grave lay in unhallowed ground, and already everyone shunned the place. All of Belcarte was stunned by the events of that week, but only a privileged few knew the truth of what had happened.

Morgana attended the funeral mass, but still did not believe that she was free. Standing apart in the chapel while the priest intoned the requiem, she found the horror seemed to have increased rather than diminished. No one chose to stand near her, for despite her vindication she was still tainted with suspicion.

Isolated as she had been in her imprisonment, she had known nothing of the queen’s return to Belcarte or the events it had precipitated. She had spent a hopeless night and a morning of increasing despair. Since Awdra`s clandestine visit, and the heartening news she had brought, Morgana had heard nothing. She had believed herself abandoned. When the door of her cell opened to admit Gilbert Lacey, she had refused to believe her eyes. He was pale and unsmiling, and her heart sank. Had the time come for her to face her accusers? Then she sensed the air of elation that the old cleric was endeavoring to suppress. Demoiselle, he began in measured tones. You are to come with me at once. Seeing the fear in her eyes, he said no child, do not be alarmed. Hastily he told her everything. The queen’s return, de Gise`s confession and his betrayal of Pirelle. And finally of Pirelle`s swallowing of the poison which had also killed the Lady Edith.

Morgana heard it all in bemused silence, then her knees buckled and she slid into the filthy straw on the cell floor. You are free, Gilbert Lacey’s words came to her through a ringing in her ears, and around her the walls of the cell shimmered and faded in and out. Fighting the faintness, she managed to whisper, "So we guessed aright, Master Lacey. It was all Pirelle`s doing. Then the full horror of it all overwhelmed her and she lowered her head and wept in relief and anguish.

Gilbert Lacey watched her in consternation. Demoiselle, I beg of you, he muttered, for her tears disturbed him. It was more than he could bear. Slowly he bent his stiff legs and lifted her. He held her clumsily, while the tearing sobs wracked her body. Come, my child. He was at a total loss as how to deal with this outpouring of female emotion. You are vindicated. You are free. Let us leave this noisome place. Her Grace wishes to speak with you. Composure returned at length. The sobs abated, the tears ceased, hastily Morgana wiped her face on her sleeve. It was a curiously childish gesture that caught once again at Gilbert Lacey’s heart. Slowly they made their way up into the mellow light and sweet air of a soft, September afternoon.

Morgana was given time to cleanse herself and change into fresh garments. She washed and brushed her hair, which had become matted and tangled. Food was served to her; the first hot, appetizing food she’d had in days. Morgana fell on it ravenously, much to her mortification, but she felt better for it. When she was admitted into the queen’s presence she found Eleanor attended only by Master Gilbert and her lady-in-waiting. Morgana fell to her knees before Eleanor’s chair, and bowed her head.

Get up, I pray you, demoiselle, the queen said kindly. She patted a stool beside her chair. When Morgana was seated, Eleanor turned appraising eyes on her. It distresses me to see how your ordeal has left you. How pale you are, demoiselle. She glanced over her shoulder to Master Gilbert. You must see to it my friend that the demoiselle spends much time in the fresh air and sunlight. We must bring back the colour to her cheeks. Then Eleanor became more serious. "It causes me much disquiet that you have suffered so unjustly. Evil has been abroad in Belcarte, but now, Jesu be praised, justice has triumphed.

Your Grace, Morgana ventured nervously. Master Gilbert has told me of your concern, and I wish to thank you.

Eleanor held up a hand to silence her. No demoiselle, we did nothing. Indeed, we were saved by Divine Providence the distasteful task of bringing lady d`Anvers to justice. Eleanor paused to cross herself. God in his wisdom and compassion took it upon himself to awaken the lax conscience of Messire de Gise.

May I be permitted to ask the fate of Messire de Gise? Morgana could not help asking.

No doubt he will be suitably punished for his treachery. But that is in my Lord de Barfleur’s hands.

I see. Even so, Your Grace, thank you.

Demoiselle, Morgana felt the queen`s hands on her shoulders. There is one other who deserves your thanks.

Morgana raised her head and smiled at Master Gilbert with dazzling gratitude. I am aware of the kindness of Master Gilbert, she said.

It was not he we had in mind, but my lord d`Raconville. Morgana stared at Eleanor uncomprehendingly. The queen smiled wryly. But yes, demoiselle, has Master Gilbert not told you? On hearing of your plight my lord d`Raconville hastened back to Belcarte, ready to do battle for you; prepared to tear down your prison walls stone by stone if need be.

Morgana was bewildered. Why would he wish to do such a thing? I am no concern of his.

Surely you must know his reasons more than anyone? Eleanor said raising a quizzical eyebrow.

I do not believe my lord d`Raconville has any high regard for me, Your Grace, Morgana replied, as slow heat rose from her throat to her hairline, causing her to duck her head in embarrassment. Eleanor sighed and shook her head. How mistaken you are, she thought. She beckoned to her lady, who glided silently to her side and handed her something small and glittering.

We must return this to you before we forget. The queen handed the silver medallion to Morgana. This medal had indeed been your talisman, demoiselle.

I will try never to part with it again, Your Grace. Morgana took it from her and put it back about her neck.

Let us hope you have no need to, Eleanor replied. Then the queen dismissed Morgana, and as she turned to go said, Do not judge d`Raconville too harshly. He holds you in higher esteem than you think.

Recalling now the queen’s last words, Morgana could not help but glance in d`Raconville`s direction. He stood amongst Her Grace’s party, and she allowed herself to watch him for a moment. He looked solemn and tired, and she realized that he truly mourned Lady Edith, and was not playing at grief as others might. When he had entered the chapel, his glance had found her at once, and swept over her swiftly, causing her a little discomfort. She remembered their last meeting, with confused feelings. She did not know what to make of him. Was he her antagonist, or as Her Grace thought her protector?

* * *

It was late in the afternoon and the rain still fell in melancholy cats` tails over Belcarte. The queen and her party departed, riding away through the wetness to continue upon their aborted journey. Morgana had spent the hours since the funeral alone in her own chamber. She had avoided the feast. The company of the household and those who had come to pay their last respects to the chatelaine did not appeal to her. She had not even begun to come to terms with what had happened. Had it only been a week? It had, but the reverberations of that week would echo about Belcarte`s towers for many months to come, as it would in the deepest recesses of her heart, for the rest of her life.

The day had darkened early into evening when her solitude was broken by a summons to attend upon Stephen de Barfleur. Reluctantly, even fearfully, Morgana followed the messenger through the passages and antechambers. She was to be sent away, of course. Her proven innocence meant nothing to Stephen. His dislike of her went deep, and she had become irrevocably bound up in the web of evil that had brought about the murder of his grandmother, and the suicide of his mistress. The fact that she had nothing to do with either death would be of no matter to him.

She tried not to flinch under Stephen’s baleful stare. Even so she was taken aback by his haggard appearance. And he was not alone, for Constanca was with him. Morgana’s heart leapt with hope to see her sister here. Smiling eagerly, she took a step towards her, but was halted by the warning look in her sister’s eyes. She recovered herself quickly and said, You wished to see me, my lord?

Demoiselle, his tone was flat, remote and his eyes did not quite focus upon her. It was as if the very sight of her was distasteful to him. "I will not waste time, but come immediately to the heart of the matter. You must realise that after what has happened here, it is impossible for you to remain at Belcarte.

That is unfair, messier, I am innocent Morgana said in the quick heat of indignation.

Silence! he roared and she saw Constanca shake her head again, pleadingly. Morgana held her tongue with difficulty. Stephen took a deep breath then continued, Her Grace the Queen has charged me with your welfare. He lowered his voice to a hiss. My choice would be to shut you away where you could do no more harm. Morgana cast a desperate look at her sister, but Constanca looked away.

Alas, it seems that it is not to be, Stephen continued. Her Grace saw fit to arrange a marriage for you instead.

For a second Morgana was convinced she had misheard him. A marriage? she gasped.

Aye, demoiselle. Marriage, and to my lord d`Raconville.

Now Morgana was convinced she had heard wrongly, and she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. You are mistaken, Messier. d`Raconville would never marry the likes of me.

I am as astounded as you are. Stephen’s tone was scathing. "But it seems Crespin has as little choice in the matter as you have. It was the queen’s wish, and he has as little desire to incur royal displeasure as the next man.

But why would Her Grace wish such a thing?

It seems the queen must feel some responsibility for your fate, demoiselle, Stephen retorted.

Morgana struggled to assimilate this news. She knew how Crespin d`Raconville saw her. Good enough only to be his whore, unworthy to be a wife. How galling it must be for him now to be forced into a marriage with her. But even if the queen had commanded it, she could not allow herself to be bound to a man who despised her.

I cannot agree to this, she said.

Stephen leaned forward in his chair menacingly. You misunderstand demoiselle. You have no choice. You will marry as Her Grace commands.

Then messier a nunnery would be preferable, she whispered defiantly, but knew she was defeated all the same. But as I have no choice…

You are wise to acknowledge that, Stephen said and rose to turn his back on her dismissively. I wish Crespin luck of you. He will need it a thousand fold with you beneath his roof, for all you brought to this house was ill fortune. Then he left the room.

As soon as he was gone Constanca came up to Morgana, and flinging her arms about her neck declared, God be praised. It is good to see you safe. But how pale you are, and so drawn.

There is little light or air in a dungeon, Constanca, she replied dryly, but returned her sister’s embrace with fervor. "I thank Our Lady that you and the babe are unharmed. I feared that you were to be her victims too.

Indeed we might have been. That Whore of Babylon was full of evil. Constanca murmured with a shudder. I wish I could have saved you the ordeal of your imprisonment, but I was powerless. I dared not intervene. My lord would listen to no one but that creature Pirelle. Morgana nodded wearily. He mourns Pirelle d`Anvers almost as much as he does his grandmother. Even now when he knows of her wickedness, I believe he will always be in thrall to her. Tears of anger and frustration welled in Constanca`s eyes. But I will be strong for my son’s sake. Motherhood has not come easy to me, but when I knew my child was in danger, I suddenly knew that he was all that mattered to me. I will devote my life to his well0-being. Perhaps Stephen will take other mistresses. If he does, I will see that they never attain the power that Pirelle d`Anvers had. Constanca spoke with such ferocity that Morgana stared at her in alarm. Her sister seemed to have undergone some fundamental change, like fine steel that has felt the heat of the furnace. My resolve will be tested soon, Constanca went on. It seems my humiliation is not yet complete. My lord has sent for his bastard son, Etienne d`Anvers, to come and live here at Belcarte. Her dark eyes blazing, she said. I am fated; to suffer as my mother did, to have to endure the presence of my husband’s illegitimate child beneath my roof."

As ever Constance was oblivious to any hurt she may have inflicted. Morgana spared a pitying thought for the boy, Etienne, for she had caught a glimpse of Camilla de Malvey looking out of her daughter’s eyes. I will miss you, Constanca was herself again. It will be lonely here without you. There is no one else I dare trust.

I do not want this marriage, Morgana said.

Not want it? her sister was amazed. Do you know how fortunate you are? How favoured by Her Grace? You have been offered a marriage far better than you could ever have hoped for. You will be a lady of rank, Morgana. You will be mistress of your own household. Only a halfwit could fail to appreciate such a boon.

Morgana knew it was useless to try and explain how she felt. Constanca would never understand. Suddenly she was very apprehensive, almost more so than when she had been imprisoned and in peril of her lif.

That evening d`Raconville came to her chamber. Morgana had been instructed to expect him. You have spoken with Stephen, he said without preamble, his presence filling the small personal space of her chamber. And you know of Her Grace`s wishes? he continued with an air of finding this formality distasteful. Morgana nodded, and met his glance as bravely as she could. This was the closest she had been to him since that encounter in the stables, and she was as nervous as a scalded cat. And will you comply with those wishes? he went on. His face was devoid of expression, the hooded eyes guarded. With sudden insight, Morgana realised that he disliked this as much as she did. A quick dart of sympathy for him shocked her.

Like you, Messier, she said wearily. I have little choice.

A small flicker of something that might have been exasperation crossed his face. Aye, demoiselle, but that is how it is, he said turning away abruptly. He began to pace the room, his sweeping glance missing nothing. He gestured towards he workbench and brazier, the shelves with their neat rows of pots; the sweet bunches of herbs hung to dry. Is this where you ply your trade, demoiselle? he asked mockingly. Morgana`s spine stiffened, but she did not reply. Then he saw her harp in the recess over her bed. She had put it there when she had first come to Belcarte, and had all but forgotten it. Crespin took it down and ran a finger ineptly across its strings. The harp gave off a jangling discordant sound, and a cloud of dust.

Is this yours, he enquired.

Aye.

Do you know how to play?

There would be little point in me having the instrument if I did not know how to play it, she retorted.

Do you make music often? he said ignoring her sarcasm.

I should think it plain from the dust that I do not.

He answered her sharp tongue with a quick frown before returning his attention again to the instrument. In his hands it was small and fragile. So, he thought, this was one more thing he did not know about her. Obliquely, he watched her. Since her release he had kept his distance, therefore, he was not prepared for the change he now saw in her. The pallor of her face disturbed him, as did the shadows beneath her eyes. Even her hair seemed to have lost its sheen and vitality. He wanted to make some kind of atonement, but was quite unable to do so. It was a feeling he had not had to deal with before. Mayhap you will want to play again one day, he said lamely.

Pray tell me, messier, she said suddenly. Why did you leave the white mare after I had refused her? And why did you come to my aid when you heard I had been accused of Lady Edith’s murder? It is something which has troubled me greatly, especially as you took such pains to demonstrate just how low your regard for me was.

The mare was a gift, demoiselle, he said with a flicker of anger. And once a gift is given it cannot be taken back. As to my returning to Belarte in haste, you forget that I owed the Lady Edith a great debt of respect and affection. I saw it as my duty to find the truth of what had happened here.

I see, she replied. So Her Grace had been mistaken. It was not for her sake that he had come ready to do battle.

It is of no matter now, he went on dismissively. Then he said, in quite a different tone of voice. Custom dictates that I must present you with some token of our betrothal. Crespin drew from his little finger a heavy gold ring set with a dull, green stone – an agate, on which was carved the d`Raconville badge. It was not fashioned for a lady’s hand, but will suffice for our purpose.

Morgana looked own at the ring and then back up at him. The gash that de Gise`s lance had inflicted was thrown into sharp relief by the flickering rush dip that lit the small chamber. With a pang she recalled the spots of bright blood on the grey-green silk. Suddenly she wished she were a hundred miles away from here. Listlessly she held out her hand for him to take. His touch was firm and warm as he slid the ring onto her finger. It was much too big, and hung cold and weighty, like her heart.

"I will bind some thread about it to hold in place. Otherwise it might slip off and get lost, she remarked tonelessly.

So, he said sardonically. It seems we are hand fast…

Before she could avoid it he tilted up her chin and kissed her on the mouth. There was no hesitancy, no tentativeness. It was done with resolve. Caught off guard, Morgana felt only confusion, then memory rushed back and she froze. He released her at once. She saw that the control he so carefully nurtured had fled. His eyes were no longer guarded, and what she read in them threw her into consternation. She heard him curse quietly, and whether he was cursing her or himself it was hard to tell. Then he put distance between them.

The marriage will take place on the morrow, mademoiselle. Early, directly after the fast is broken, he announced expressionlessly. Special dispensation has been granted. We leave before noon for Castell Felyn. I wish you a good night`s rest. Then he was gone.

CHAPTER TWO

Constanca sent the girl, Awdra, to help Morgana prepare for her wedding. Awdra was subdued, matching her mood to Morgana`s, as she brushed 0out her hair. Constanca had presented her with a gown of green brocade and a tunic of gold silk.

Green is the colour all maids should wear at their wedding. Awdra ventured timidly. It is the colour of virginity, demoiselle.

Morgana didn’t comment, and the girl didn’t wonder at her lack of enthusiasm. She knew the circumstances of this match as well as any, and thought it as incongruous a pairing as did everyone else. When she had finished her ministrations, Awdra was pleased with her efforts. Yet, despite her work, and the richness of the gown, Morgana looked as pale and sad as any martyr going to her fate. Knowing the reputation of the d`Raconville men where their wives were concerned, she could not blame her.

When she produced the bridal wreath as the final touch and placed it on Morgana’s brow, she said, Thank you, Awdra. But you should not have taken such trouble. Awdra had risen at dawn to gather the berries, autumn leaves and ears of wheat that were woven into the wreath, and felt a pang of disappointment that her skill was unappreciated.

But demoiselle, she protested shyly, You must have a bridal wreath. You do not wish to have ill luck.

* * *

When the nuptial mass was done and Belcarte`s priest had said the final blessing over them Crespin took Morgana`s hand firmly in his and led her from the chapel. As they passed by Lady Edith’s tomb Morgana removed the wreath from her head and laid it there.

There was no wedding feast, and the farewells were brief. Morgana had already made up her mind that once she was clear of the town she would not look back. She had not been happy at Belcarte, and would not pine for it. But it was hard to leave her sister behind, and her small nephew. Talking leave of Gilbert Lacey would be painful too. He had been her true friend, and she owed him much. She wondered sadly if she would ever see any of them again in this world. Their party was to be small. Morgana was to ride Eira. Crespin was mounted on the black destrier that pawed the ground and tossed its head, almost as impatient to be off as its master. At the last minute when they were about to leave, one other joined them.

Suddenly, Constanca approached with Awdra trailing behind. Morgana, you are a lady of rank now. You must have your own woman. I give you Awdra. She seems to suit you far better than she ever did me.

Morgana had been pleased, but she felt a twinge of guilt. Belcarte was probably the only home Awdra had ever known. Most likely she had never ventured more than a mile away from it in any direction in her whole life. How did she feel about being uprooted and sent off like a piece of baggage on a lady’s whim? But one quick glance in