Powerful Magic

by Karen Whiddon

  "And those were the ones who killed his family?"

  Her expressive face full of pain, Rhiannon nodded. "We call them the Black Faeries, Faeries who are willing to fight and kill for their own, dark reasons."

  "But why?" Megan couldn't understand it. "What would they possibly gain by attacking innocent people?"

  "One named Myrddin leads these black Faeries. He believes the prophecy is about him, that it is he would should carry the power that Kenric refuses to claim. We believe it was he who went to Blackstone Keep to kill Kenric and everything that made up who Kenric is. But Kenric was not there, so Myrddin and his followers destroyed everything else."

  All that Kenric loved. Images of fire and savagery

  flashed in Megan's mind, though what she could picture was based on the movie Braveheart. No doubt the real thing was ten times worse.

  "And Kenric?" She whispered, her throat aching. "Where was he?"

  "Though bastard born, he was accepted into the family as a third son. Lord Madoc had sent him to train with another English Lord. With part of the very power he despises, Kenric sensed what was going on and rode home. He was too late, returning in time for Lord Madoc to give him the sword Thunder, and die.

  "For this, he blames himself."

  Fighting back tears, Megan bowed her head. An ache started inside of her, thinking of all the pain Kenric had endured, of the weight of the needless guilt he carried. This explained so much of the man's actions, though not all. "And Blackstone Keep?"

  "The English King gave it to another English Baron. As bastard son, my brother had no claim to it, though he is the last of the Madoc line. This is why he hungers for land of his own."

  Megan racked her brain, trying to remember what she'd learned in college about medieval times and Marcher Lords. She remembered very little, having concentrated on her mathematic studies. She’d loved calculus and physics, taking only the history and literature courses because the degree program required them. She’d retained very little. But she remembered enough to know that a landless man, especially a Bastard son with no blood claim to his family's holdings, was reduced to hiring out as a mercenary. "And that is why he fights. For money to buy the land." She didn't realize she had spoken out loud until Rhiannon answered.

  "Yes. Though this too has taken its toll on him. Fighting his own magic takes much strength. And he has killed, though killing is foreign to us, against all the very fiber that makes up our souls. Kenric is a man at the end of his endurance."

  Megan had sensed that in him, that iron-like control that sometimes seemed ready to shatter.

  She found herself wanting to find Kenric, to gather him in her arms and comfort him. Something about the man....

  Wait a minute, she told herself, pinching her arm to bring herself back to reality. This entire thing was none of her business. After all, these events had happened in a long distant past, where reality was way different. She hadn't even been born yet. She couldn't afford to care what happened here. She needed to focus on one thing, and one thing only - figuring out how to get home to her own time and place and get rid of Roger without him killing her. This stuff about faeries and magic was too strange for her.

  Still, the truth of where she wanted to return was even stranger. Yet she had no choice but to try and see if Rhiannon could help her.

  "Listen, I know this is going to sound really strange, but I’m from the future." Megan said, watching the faerie woman carefully for her reaction. "Nine hundred years in the future, to be exact. From a place that doesn't exist yet, at least as far as I know. Can you help me return there?"

  Arching her perfectly shaped eyebrows, Rhiannon didn't seem surprised. "Time is relative." She said, waving a hand dismissively. Again the silver slivers of light danced after her. "And magic transcends time. You were brought here for a purpose, my dear. Your purpose has not yet been realized."

  "Brought here? By whom?"

  "By the fates." Rhiannon looked away, a secretive smile curving her ruby lips. "It is your destiny."

  More magical gobblegook. Deciding to let that one go, Megan wondered if Rhiannon could really help her or not. "Can you send me home?"

  The other woman's mouth curled up in a swift smile. Again she countered, not with an answer but with another question. "Are you certain that you really want to go?"

  Ignoring the sudden pang of doubt - and fear - that the question brought, Megan nodded.

  "Of course I do." Her words came out in a sharp tone. She took a deep breath and tried again. "I don't belong here. Can you or will you help me?"

  "Will you aid me with my half-brother?" Rhiannon asked

  "But what can I do?" Puzzled, Megan wondered if Rhiannon might have the wrong idea about her and Kenric. "I barely know him. He has only agreed to help me find my way home."

  "What can you do?" Rhiannon's laughter sounded

  incredulous. "How is it possible that you do not know?"

  "Know what?"

  Rhiannon stared at her for so long that Megan began to fidget. Finally, Rhiannon shook her head, her expression once again closed and remote. The Faerie Queen.

  "Know what?" Megan repeated stubbornly.

  "Have you not felt it, in your woman's heart?"

  "Felt what?"

  "The pull he has for you, that tingling on the back of the neck that tells you that his man is different, that slow dawning of awareness that here, in front of you, might be the one?"

  First magic, then romantic nonsense. Roger had cured her of that a long time ago, the first time he hit her.

  "No." Megan shook her head. Then, feeling a strange compulsion to be truthful, she smiled. "Though I will admit he is extremely easy on the eyes."

  Rhiannon smiled back. "In this you are like him. Both of you run from the truth. You and he were made for each other. You, Megan Potter of Dallas, Texas, are my half-brother's rightful mate. He senses it, as you do. You are soul-halves. Only together will you be complete."

  Two hours later, bathed and dressed in a gorgeous gown of some diaphanous, blue material that seemed to float around her legs, Megan tried to put the faerie Queen's words from her head.

  She wasn't sure she believed in destiny, in soul mates, and all that sort of baloney. But then, she'd never believed time travel was possible either, or that such a thing as faeries existed, or magic.

  Her world, in short, had been turned upside down. She no longer knew what was real and what wasn't.

  Rhiannon had never explained what it was, exactly, that she wanted Megan to do. She'd waved her hand and a fragrant, steaming bath had appeared in the white marble tub. In a similar manner the dress had appeared, the vibrant cerulean startling against the stark whiteness of the room.

  Peering at herself in the crystallized mirror, Megan knew she had never looked so beautiful. The long dress hugged her body, swirling about her legs in a cloud of sheer material. No matter that she felt like she was wearing a Halloween costume (the harem girl she'd always wanted to be couldn't), she felt feminine and pretty.

  This, she reflected with a rueful smile, would be what she'd dream if she had a choice. A beautiful faerie kingdom, with the outside temperature an even seventy-two degrees. No insects, tropical flowers, and warm sunshine. Gorgeous clothes that were comfortable as well as good to look at. And no doubt the food Rhiannon had mentioned would be a feast fit for a queen. Now this was the life. Forget that freezing snowy ride on Lancelot's broad back. Kenric could-- Kenric.

  Her entire body flushed hot.

  How would he react to seeing her dressed up like this? In a beautiful gown that seemed to more sexy in its enveloping curves than the tiniest mini-dress. This was the kind of outfit Kenric would be used to seeing on women. No doubt he'd approve, after all he'd made in clear that he found her modern clothing odd and distasteful. But would she measure up? Strange thought, but Megan found herself wondering just the same. How could she possibly hope to compete with the perfect, shimmering beauty of faeries?

  Compete? Sin
king down onto the bed, Megan groaned. This was Rhiannon's fault, with her ambiguous words, making Megan long for things that couldn't be.

  What could she be thinking? She had no need to attract Kenric's attention; all she needed him for was to protect her long enough for her to get home.

  That was all. No more. Despite the fact that he was the most gorgeous male she'd ever seen, despite the way her mouth went dry when she saw him, the way her bones felt like they were melting when he put those massive arms around her, not to mention the deep, drugging wonder of his kiss....

  Whoa. Hands to her flushed cheeks, Megan realized she tingled all over. Ok, time for rational thought here. So she was sexually attracted to Kenric of Blackstone - heck, who wouldn't be? He was every woman's fantasy man.

  Again she thought of Rhiannon's insistence that she was Kenric's mate. Not possible. Obviously, the Faerie Queen didn't really believe Megan's tale of being from the future. If she did, she'd know that Megan had been born some nine hundred years too late.

  No, somewhere out there in the world of 1072, some fair maiden lived who would be perfect for Kenric. All he had to do was find her, which shouldn't be difficult. Heck, if the women of this time were anything like the women of modern day Dallas, they'd be standing in line for someone like him.

  Megan scowled. The idea seemed a bit, well, unsettling. But that didn't mean she had somehow become attached to the taciturn warrior. Nah. He was simply the only person she really knew in this time and place. Or, she amended with a grimace, in this utterly fantastical dream. Whichever.

  Descending the stairs, which seemed to be made out of cut glass blocks, Megan inhaled the tantalizing smells that wafted up the staircase. Food. Wonderful, delicious food, to judge from the scent of it.

  She rounded a corner and ran smack dab into the very man who'd plagued her thoughts all day. Kenric.

  If she'd thought she cleaned up well... man, oh man, looking at him took her breath away. He wore a fresh tunic of some rich golden material that looked like crushed velvet. His leggings were grey, the same slate color as his eyes, and outlined his muscular legs. Hurriedly, she looked away, focusing her eyes on the center of his impossibly broad chest.

  "Megan?" He sounded as stunned as she. One giant hand came under her chin, cupping it, caressing it, lifting her face to look up at him.

  God help her, she felt as shy as a schoolgirl with a crush on a rock star.

  His velvet gaze traveled over her, disbelief warring with approval.

  "You are…" He cleared his throat, his eyes darkening, "absolutely beautiful."

  Because he said so, she believed him. For one perfect instant, gazing into his silver eyes, she felt pretty for the first time in her life.

  "Thanks." She managed, her throat tight. She wished she could find the courage to say the same words back to him.

  "You look nice too." She said instead, unable to control the tremor in her voice. Nice was a major understatement.

  Kenric held out his arm for her to take. "Now I might almost believe your claim to be a Princess." He told her, low voiced, his breath tickling her ear.

  She started, taking his arm with a nervousness that surprised her. "I'd forgotten about that. Remember, I told you I was only joking -er, jesting with you." She'd also managed to forget the simple fact that Kenric, with his sister the Queen of Faeries, was a genuine Prince. Straight from a dream. He even had the white horse.

  Dangerous thinking. She had to concentrate on getting home.

  "Remember, this is only temporary." Kenric's stern voice contained a warning.

  She gasped. "Do you read minds?"

  His short bark of laughter contained no humor. "Nay. Despite my sister, I claim no magical skills. Tis in your face, Megan of Dallas. The childlike wonderment at what you see here. Do not let the enchantment beguile you, for we ride away from this place at first light."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  With a stiff, mocking bow, Kenric turned and led her down a long, marble hallway. The tantalizing scent of roasting vegetables grew stronger. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she was starving.

  She shot a glance up at Kenric from under her lashes. Once again, the cold, formidable warrior stood next to her.

  They rounded a corner and found themselves surrounded by people - or faeries - whichever the case may be. Row after row of tables, made of some type of crystalline glass, filled the room, though the faeries were not seated. Rather, they stood around in groups, laughing and chattering, like some North Dallas cocktail party. Except for the clothes. Megan had never seen such colors, such variety except on television when watching the Grammy awards.

  Kenric stopped, the expression on his handsome face unreadable. As the room took notice of them, all conversation came to an immediate halt.

  Kenric cursed under his breath. Megan could feel the sudden tension in the corded muscles of his arm.

  He glanced at her, a bold, appraising look, then nodded. “Are you ready?"

  In answer she squeezed his arm. Oddly, having him at her side made her feel protected, cosseted even, though she knew these people, er faeries, surely meant her no harm.

  Right now however, the silence seemed deafening.

  As soon as Kenric began to move into the room, the assembled crowd resumed their conversations.

  They headed straight for the banquet table, Kenric

  murmuring niceties but not stopping to make polite small talk as she would have. Megan tried not to gawk, but good Lord it was difficult. All of the women were stunning, exquisite. She felt like a drab robin among peacocks.

  And the men, oh the men put even Mel Gibson to shame. Whether blond or dark haired, blue-eyed or brown, there was not a balding, paunchy man in the crowd. They were all tall, all slender, some with wide shoulders, others more lean. She saw muscular men and wiry men, young men and men the age of Sean Connery. All in all, there were more gorgeous men in the room than gracing the pages of any Chippendales calendar.

  But none, she admitted reluctantly, could hold a candle to Kenric. It was an odd sort of irony this, that the best looking man in the room was with the most plain woman.

  Ah well, she reminded herself. She was only human, while they were magical beings who, no doubt could use magic to choose exactly how they wished to appear to others.

  The thought cheered her immensely. She was in the most divine fantasy land she could ever imagine, escorted by a gorgeous man, wearing a dress that made her appear prettier than she ever had before. And the food - the array of delicacies spread out on the buffet table made her mouth water.

  To top it all off, Kenric had called her beautiful.

  Her stomach growled, reminding her. She felt like she could eat a horse.

  Grinning, Kenric handed her a plate. Normally, she would have taken time to examine the patterns etched in the sparkling crystal. Maybe she would, later. But for now Megan moved down the table, heaping helping after helping of food on her plate. She didn't recognize some of the dishes, though they looked to be some sort of gourmet fruit and or vegetable casseroles. She felt confident they'd taste wonderful. Anything would have tasted wonderful after the limited diet of dried beef and hard bread she and Kenric had shared. Though there was no meat - were Faeries vegetarians - there were so many wonderful dishes that she knew she'd be stuffed. Especially if she went back for seconds.

  "Is that for both of us?"

  The amusement in Kenric's deep voice made her grin. She glanced down at her plate, then at his. While he had a large portion, fit for a man of his size, hers was easily twice that.

  "Maybe." She answered, batting her eyelashes facetiously. “Either that, or my eyes are bigger than my stomach.”

  His husky laugh warmed her heart. And more.

  "Come, wench." Hand in the small of her back, he escorted her to a table. "I will enjoy watching you attempt to eat all of that."

  Taking a seat in the chair he pulled out for her, Megan felt truly content for the first time in years. Ever since
she'd finished high school, through college and then after, she'd felt this knawing sense of emptiness, an ache that nothing and no one seemed to appease.

  For a time, she'd thought Roger would fill it, until she'd agreed to marry him. It had started in small ways after that, a disparaging remark, a direct order then, the first time she'd displeased him, he'd slapped her across the face. Hard.

  It had progressed from that, such a smooth slide into hell that she'd never even realized she'd arrived. When she found herself driving to the emergency room, her arm wrenched from its socket, she'd realized she had to get away from Roger. As soon as she worked up the courage.

  Now he'd been after her to change her will and lately she’d began to wonder if he intended to kill her.

  Glancing around her, at the unbelievably beautiful people with their gaily colored clothes, then at the rugged giant of a man who took a seat across from her, she found herself wishing that, if this were a dream, it might never end.

  #

  Kenric had never been at ease around the faerie folk. Truth be told, he avoided them as if they carried the plague. They reminded him too much of the side of himself he tried the hardest to suppress. Ever since he'd been a young boy, taken in by his father at the tender age of five, he'd known he was different. So had all the other children of the castle, skirting him with wary looks and cruel taunts. As he grew older he'd told himself it was because he was the bastard son of the Lord, but even then he'd known that was only the partial truth.

  Though it was probably only some magical gift his sister had bestowed on him in secret, the fact remained that he was good at everything. Once he'd taken a fierce sort of pride in this. It was only as he grew older, more mature, and had come to realize what this meant, that he'd come to hate it.

  Still, he could not help what he was. Hand him a sword, and he bested his opponent. Hand him an old manuscript, and he'd have it translated from Latin to English to Gaelic to Latin and back again in no time. His half brothers had at first despised him for it, though as they'd all grown older they'd come to regard him with a grudging sort of respect.