Daffyd drew back as if to slap her, but clamped his fist closed and banged it against his open palm instead. “Lord Maginnis is our baron. You will do as he says. If you do not, Morgana, you will be dead to me. Glyn and Cadell will be my only children!”
Morgana gasped as her father motioned to the very sentry who had retrieved her cursed rope. “Take her to her room and see that she escapes not.”
“Nay! Father, I beg you—”
“Do not beg, Morgana. ’Tis weak,” Daffyd ordered.
Morgana crumbled inside. Her own father, the man she respected and loved … though her soul ached and her pride and love were battered, she tossed back her head and walked stiffly up the stairs.
“Now, Lord Maginnis,” she heard her father’s voice following her like a ghost up the stairs, “let us rest. Tomorrow we shall talk of payment.”
She turned cold as stone inside. Would her father sell her so easily?
Aye, Morgana, have you not endangered this keep you love so dearly?
She nearly stumbled as the sentry flung open her bedroom door. She walked inside, and the door banged shut behind her, echoing like a clap of thunder through the old stone halls. I am doomed, she thought desperately, walking to the window and staring out at the familiar castle walls and the gardens she had known all her life. The sun was just beginning to crest the hills to the east. Pale lavender light flooded the valleys, and the morning breeze brought with it the smells of spring — new-sown oats and barley, fresh-turned earth and wildflowers. Wolf, whining, padded over to her, and she stroked his broad head.
Aye, she had been foolish, she thought wretchedly. She had to pay.
But this banishment from that which she loved? How could her adoring father be so harsh?
“I will return,” she vowed, sending a prayer to the skies to ask for forgiveness as tears studded her lashes. “I shall find Garrick’s son, pretend to become a lady, and protect the tower as well.”
For if the danger and death were to come from the north, what better way to thwart the fates? Before the death swept down upon Tower Wenlock, Morgana would halt it in the northlands.
r /> Closing her eyes, she felt a breath of wind against her face. Tell me, she pleaded silently, her fingers curling in wolf’s thick fur. Tell me how Garrick of Abergwynn will harm us.
She waited, squeezing her eyes shut, listening for the voice.
Please tell me more of the death and the danger.
She strained to hear as the breeze caught in her hair and rustled through the rushes.
But though she listened a long, long while, the wind said nothing.
Chapter Five
“God will punish you!”
The door to her room swung open, and Glyn, wearing Meredydd’s favorite blue tunic and white mantle, swept into the room.
“He already has.”
“Aye, and now mayhap you’ll be more devout. You didn’t even come to mass this morning,” Glyn said, her eyes filled with smug satisfaction.
Morgana cared not what Glyn thought. While her sister slept she’d spent the few hours before dawn in abject misery. As Glyn and the servants awakened and the familiar noises that were a part of every morning seeped into her room, she’d stood at the window. A cock crowed, and she heard her servant girl, Tarren, throwing seed to the chickens, clucking at the roosters and hens. As the sun climbed over the hills, Morgana had seen the chaplain scurrying across the bailey. Stable boys had swept the stables, and the smith had begun pounding out horseshoes, his hammer clanging loudly. The laundress had soaked sheets and clothes in a wooden trough near the candlemaker’s hut, and old Berthilde had waddled into the shop. Morgana had spent the hours filled with remorse.
Then the soldiers had come bearing the crest of Maginnis. With rustling chain mail, the creak of wagon wheels, the shouts of men, and the continual thud of horses’ hooves, Garrick Maginnis’s army had arrived and made camp outside the walls of Tower Wenlock. Her home. Her throat clogged when she remembered her father’s anger, his hasty words of banishment.
Glancing up at Glyn, she asked hopefully, “Has Father changed his mind?”
“Nay. You are still to be banished.” Sighing, Glyn crossed her small bosom and eyed her sister. “God be with you,” she said softly. “You will need all of his blessings.”
Morgana raised a skeptical eyebrow. Whenever Glyn was in one of her pious moods, there was usually mischief about. “Did God tell you this — that I would need his blessings?”
“Oh, Morgana, I pray for your wretched soul,” Glyn said, her face serene, her blond hair and blue eyes adding to her angelic appearance.
“Have your prayers been answered, sister?”