Morgan the Rogue by Lynn Granville

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