Powerful Magic

by Karen Whiddon

  What had that been all about? Kenric seemed to believe she and Roger were some sort of Lords and Ladies, for God's sake. She nearly giggled out loud, imagining some pompous footman announcing her as Her Grace, the Lady Duchess Megan of Dallas, Texas.

  Whatever.

  Though it would be better to correct his misconception, to tell him that she was American after all, and Americans didn't have such things as titles, she knew she couldn't. America didn't even exist at this point in time. If he knew she was from another place and time, he would know the land she promised him was worthless. At least to him.

  And she need Kenric to protect her, to somehow help her get home, especially since his sister seemed disinclined to use her magical powers to assist in the effort unless Megan betrayed Kenric.

  Which she would never do.

  Rhiannon had said Kenric had magical powers of his own. But how could she get him to help her, especially once he learned she'd lied about gifting him with land.

  What a mess. Closing her eyes, Megan allowed herself to remember the seductive chords of the musical, the sensual lure of Kenric as he swayed with her in his arms. Kenric made her feel things she'd never expected to feel, feelings she didn't know existed outside of the world of Hollywood movies and romance novels.

  If Rhiannon was to be believed... no. She'd let herself believe in happily ever after with Roger, and look where that had gotten her.

  Somehow, things would work out. Kenric would get his land - oh yes, she would figure out a way to do it, no matter what it took. Her ring ought to be worth something - maybe Kenric could sell it and use the money to buy some land.

  Of course that meant she would have to return home, and Roger would know that the lightening strike hadn't killed her after all. If she could ask for one thing, one thing separate from the incredible boon of returning her to her own time and place, it would be help with breaking things off with Roger - and help staying alive.

  The thought terrified her.

  No, for now she would stay with Kenric, in his time, a bit longer. And if her heart beat faster when he was around, well, she simply would let herself enjoy it.

  Megan drifted off to sleep, thoughts of a handsome warrior keeping her pleasantly warm.

  The morning dawned with cheerful brightness.

  Megan smiled, snuggling under her covers, and stretched. The sun poured in, a river of golden warmth. All in all, a great way to start a day. She wanted to explore this beautiful place, meet some more people er, faeries, and... Then she remembered Kenric's dictate. Today they would return to the bitterly cold real world. She would not be able to remain here another day, unless she could convince him otherwise.

  Which, she decided with a grimace, she would have to figure out a way to do.

  After she'd dressed - in another lovely, archaic gown that she'd found hanging over the back of a chair - Megan made her way downstairs. What time it was she had no idea. Her watch had not survived the lightening strike. Without a watch she felt curiously bereft, a fact she had not realized until just that moment.

  She wandered the empty hall, searching for Rhiannon. Not finding her, she supposed she ought to go meet Kenric.

  But her stomach told her it was breakfast time, not matter what the hour. She followed the same path to the dining room as the night before. There she found an array of vibrant, bright colored fruits, puffy, steaming rolls, and juices. Other than the food, which looked as if it had come straight from the glossy page of a restaurant advertisement, the room was deserted.

  After heaping her plate (something about this place made her ravenous), Megan took a seat at one of the long banquet tables. She had barely taken a bite of a roll when a loud, clanking sound made her look up.

  Kenric appeared, wearing his chain mail, newly polished, and a fierce, furious expression. Legs planted apart in a battle stance, he said nothing. Instead, he merely glared at her. She hid her smile.

  "Would you like a roll?" Megan held one up, wondering what had put him in such a foul mood. Surely it could not be something she had done; after all, she'd only just risen from her bed.

  "No." Though perfectly modulated, the icy coldness of his voice told her he would have his say. "I would not like a roll. What I would like is your explanation, lady."

  "Explanation?" Taking a delicate bite, Megan savored the taste of the sweetbread before swallowing. "For what?"

  "Did I not tell you we would leave this morn?"

  She nodded.

  "At first light?"

  "Yes."

  "So you did hear me say it?"

  "Yes." Megan finished off her roll and started on a ripe apple. She had no idea where he was going with this, but she felt quite certain she would not like it.

  "Then where were you?" These last four words he shouted, his voice rising until it seemed to echo off the crystal walls. "I have been waiting for you for nigh unto an hour."

  She said the first thing that came to mind. "I was trying to find your sister."

  "My sister will be found if she wishes to be found. Most likely she is furious that we dare to decline her hospitality one more day.” His gaze, cold and hard, raked over her. "That does not explain why you did not meet me where I asked you to and why I find you here, enjoying a leisurely meal."

  "I thought we should eat first." Actually, she'd wanted to forget all about leaving. She didn't want to leave. "And anyway, how can I be late? It's barely sunrise."

  "I broke my fast well over an hour ago." He narrowed his silver eyes. "Long before the sun rose."

  So he was an early riser. How was she to know?

  "I'm sorry." She began. "But--"

  Kenric held up a hand. Apparently he was not finished. "Tis it not customary to depart from the bailey?"

  Since she had only the faintest idea what a bailey might be, Megan simply shrugged. "I don't know. Is it?"

  Kenric moved closer, until he loomed quite threateningly over her. He was huge and fierce and devastatingly handsome. If she hadn't slept in his arms, she guessed she'd be frightened. But no, Megan knew somehow that he was different than Roger. Kenric would never hurt her or any woman. He needed a bit of placating, that was all.

  "You didn't specify a time." Never taking her eyes off his, she laid a gentle hand on his arm and made her voice soothing. "And I have no watch. You should have sent for me or something. I don't even know where the bailey is, " she confessed, in what was nearly a whisper.

  His eyes darkened, until they were the color of slate. Before she could move, before she could react, he reached out and hauled her up against him. She gasped, then his mouth claimed hers.

  The kiss was raw, hard, and furious and spoke of his frustration. No doubt he meant it simply to punish her, but instead she thrilled to it. She found herself kissing him

  back with a kind of mindless, desperate need, her hands winding around his neck, keeping him close to her.

  Kenric.

  As her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her desire nearly out of control, he pulled back. His breathing as ragged as her own, he let her catch her breath before taking her mouth again. But this time the touch of his lips changed.

  He gentled the kiss, slowed it, until she thought her legs would no longer support her. He possessed her and stroked her, all with his mouth. He made her want him with a mindless sort of passion; it consumed her so that she forget where she was, even who she was.

  When he pulled away again, she sagged against him, stunned.

  Never in all of her life had a man kissed her like that. She'd felt cherished, cosseted, desired.

  She wanted him to do it again.

  He pushed her away, making a sound between a groan and a moan. He sounded like an animal in pain.

  Megan opened her eyes. "Kenric--"

  "Nay." Turning away, he shook his head. "I regret I have touched you in such a manner."

  Shoulders stiff, he would not look at her. Instead, he made a mocking bow. "Finish your feast, then make ready to leave with all has
te. After all," He flashed a twisted smile that seemed more of a grimace, "Your Roger awaits." With those mocking words he was gone.

  "Good Lord." Megan sank slowly into her chair, weak at the knees. She picked up her half eaten apple, but the fruit had lost its appeal.

  Roger. Soon she would have to tell Kenric that she meant to break off her engagement. And also that Roger existed somewhere in the far off future. The fact of the matter was that, no matter how hard Kenric searched, he would never find Roger. Not in this place nor this time. And, more importantly, there was no land, at least not in any place that he might want land.

  Yes, someday soon she would have to tell Kenric that the entire foundation of their relationship was based on a lie. What a mess this was turning out to be.

  She hadn't expected to want him so badly. Sure, he was gorgeous, tall and muscular with thick hair the color of her new mink coat. But she wasn't like other women of her time, she wasn't the type who could indulge in random sexual affairs without risking her heart.

  Even with someone as magnificent as Kenric.

  Ah, but that kiss... Like the first time he'd kissed her, it had been, well, different. No, not merely that, it had been earth shattering, enough to curl her toes and straighten her hair.

  And, though she certainly wasn't experienced enough to be any authority on the subject, she was willing to bet sparks like that didn't come around all too often. It had been more than a melding of mouths. It had been like coming home to a place she hadn't even known existed until now. Kissing Kenric of Blackstone was like joining souls.

  Great. Next she would be buying into Rhiannon's strange pronouncement that they were soul mates. Even if such a bizarre thing were true, there was the simple matter of time that lay between them. In her world, Kenric had been dead for more than nine hundred years.

  She kept trying to tell herself it was a fantasy, a dream. But this life, this time, this man had become all too real to her. If this kept up, she was in very real danger of becoming hurt.

  And once she told him the truth, no doubt Kenric would hate her, for she'd promised him the very thing he wanted above all others.

  Land.

  Panic filled her, the kind of urgent, powerful panic that clouds the thoughts and makes one only think of escape.

  Leaping to her feet, Megan pushed back her chair, sprinting down the hall to her room. Kenric was right. The sooner they got out of this enchanted place and he helped her return home (or find Roger, as he thought she wanted him to do), the better.

  Rhiannon appeared in her doorway just as she'd finished changing out of the borrowed dress and into Kenric's shabby old tunic.

  "Kenric says we must go." Megan dared to take the Faerie Queen's hand, clasping it and hoping Rhiannon would listen. "But before I do, I need to know the truth. I’ll ask you one more time. Do you have the ability to help me get home?"

  Infinite patience shown from the other woman's serene eyes. "This is your home. You belong here, Megan Potter of Dallas. You, like your soulhalf, have a task to complete."

  Great. More riddles. Megan tried to hide her impatience. "What kind of task?"

  Some of the serenity left Rhiannon's face. "Kenric faces great danger. Beware the one called Myrddin."

  "Myrddin? The Black Faerie leader?"

  Rhiannon nodded. "Tis not only Kenric he seeks to destroy. Tis me, and all of Rune with me. Warn my brother against him. He will hear your words better than he will hear mine."

  "But I haven't even told him--"

  Rhiannon pulled her hand free, the aristocratic expressionback on her face. "There will be time enough for that later. But this is vital. Guard my brother, Lady Megan. Please. Guard him well."

  Kenric said not a word as he helped her mount his war horse, ignoring the sadness in her lovely eyes. He saw her glance around the deserted bailey and knew what she would ask before her lush mouth even framed the words.

  "Where is everyone?"

  "They do not believe in leave-takings."

  Climbing on the horse in front of her was no easy task with the heavy chain mail he wore. He'd been surprised to find it, lying on the floor in his sleeping chamber all polished and shiny.

  At first he'd been afraid to touch it, believing it might be a thing of magic. But upon closer search, he'd discovered it to be his very own chain mail, brought to him my magic but yet untainted by it.

  His instincts dictated that he wear it. Danger lurked in the very air.

  And Megan had no idea. Even now she regarded him with that steady gaze that would, if he let it, reduce him to a puddle at her feet.

  Ignoring the roiling emotions inside of him, he swung on the war horse's broad back. Luckily, the animal was sturdy and well used to carrying a lot of weight. He bore it all patiently, only the forward perk of his ears telling of his own eagerness to be off.

  At last Kenric gathered the reins in one hand and urged the war horse forward. Lancelot. He snorted. To think the woman thought she could tack such a name on his noble steed. He did not name his possessions, and that was all the horse was to him. A valued possession. Nothing more.

  "Kenric." With a tug on the back of his hair, Megan commanded his attention. "Why didn't your sister come to see you off?"

  "She despises good-byes." He told her tersely, not wanting to let her know that even now his sister glided along silently beside them, cloaked in her faerie magic.

  When they came to the edge of the meadow, he raised one gloved hand in silent farewell. He saw the answering twinkle of lights and turned to look over his shoulder at the woman sitting so silently behind him.

  "Be prepared for the cold. We leave this place when I ride into those trees."

  Megan said naught, simply nodding. He found himself admiring her courage. The snow and frigid air had been daunting even to him, and he was a man well used to harsh conditions.

  The war horse seemed to understand, needing no further urging to pick his way carefully into the mist shrouded forest.

  They rode through the last group of trees and Kenric

  braced himself, wishing he had more than an old, tattered cloak to protect the woman. He had decided, after that foolish, foolish kiss, to think of her that way, the same as his horse. She was only a woman after all, an employer who had charged him with a task. It was the payment, the land that mattered, not the lustful thoughts that even now heated his blood.

  He must remember that he was Kenric of Blackstone, mercenary warrior. He had no human family, no land, nothing. Emotions and foolish dreams he could ill afford. Therefore, he would take control of his body and of his destiny.

  He felt her stiffen behind him as they broke through the last bit of mist. The war horse tossed his head, moving them into bright, warm sunlight much like the weather they'd just left.

  Kenric cursed. The sun shone straight overhead in the azure sky and the air felt warm with a hint of jasmine blowing in the breeze.

  "Springtime." Megan breathed, awe in her voice. "How can that be?"

  "I told you, time passes differently in the realm of faerie." He made no effort to hide the bitterness in his words. "What seemed but a day and a night to us was an entire season here."

  She tensed, her hands digging into his shoulders like claws. "Months?"

  "Aye." He thought of what this might mean to her, to them, and cursed again. "Think you that your Roger has taken another woman to wife in the time you have been gone?"

  She was silent, finally relaxing her hands enough to drop them from him. "I... I don't know."

  Kenric cursed a third time. He had the strangest urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. To kiss the tip of that downcast head, the sweet smelling, sable hair. He scowled. Maybe it was because she sounded so forlorn, like a lost, abandoned child.

  Whatever the reason, he would not do it.

  "We will find your Roger." He vowed, hoping his sister listened from whatever place she hid herself. "I promise you, we will find him. If the man cares for you any, he will not have
wed so soon."

  The sound she made was a choking one, a cross between a laugh and a sob. Because there was naught else he could do, except that which he would not allow, Kenric urged the war horse into a brisk trot. They had a lot of ground to cover before nightfall if they were to reach the next town.

  Wrapping her arms tight around his waist, Megan did not speak again. Her soft breasts bounced against his back in way that, were it not for the protection of his chain mail, would have been a torment.

  All around them were the scents of spring; the heady aroma of flowers, the scent of heather and of hay. The sun felt warm, and under his chain mail he grew hot. But he dared not remove it, not knowing where danger might come from. In these uncertain times, danger was everywhere.

  The jog of his war horse was smooth and would soon lull them into an unguarded state. For this reason, Kenric urged the horse into a canter. He had but one goal - to reach the next town safely and see if Megan's Lord Roger had ever inquired of her there.

  The rocking motions of the canter were even more soothing and, from the way Megan sagged against him, Kenric thought she might have dozed off. He smiled, remembering the stark fear in her face when he'd first informed her she would have to ride his huge horse. She struggled to hide it from him, never once complaining.

  Now she and the beast had even become friends of a sort. Ahead of him he could see rolling fields of green. Behind him were the thick forests. Aside from a few boulders, there was no place for an enemy to hide.

  He allowed the war horse to slow to a jog. Barely winded, the sturdy animal could go on for hours.

  Imperceptibly, Kenric allowed himself to relax. At best, the next village was an hour's ride away. They would reach it long before dusk.

  It was then, as he daydreamed in the warm sunlight, that the hair on the back of his neck rose. This was his only warning before the riders thundered around an outcropping of rock to circle him.

  Cursing his unreadiness, Kenric yanked his sword free from the scabbard. This woke Megan, who came to with a startled, totally feminine-sounding cry. Kenric prayed the other men would see her only as a callow lad.