Morgan the Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page B

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