Morgan the Rogue Read Online Free PDF

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