"We go to eat." He announced, the silky undertones of his voice letting her know that he had plans for her. He furthered this by squeezing her arm and hauling her up against his side so tightly that she might have been plastered there.
Megan swallowed and nodded, wishing with all her heart that she chosen one of the other dresses, or perhaps remained in her drab and overlarge disguise. This could make things more difficult when Kenric arrived, which she prayed would be soon.
They descended into the same great hall that Lord Brighton had dragged Megan across earlier. Now great long tables had been placed at intervals throughout the room, reminded her of a company banquet in some hotel room. She'd attended several of those with Roger, dressed in glittering designer dresses. Though none of those dresses, she thought with a sigh, were even a tenth as fine as the one she now wore. Which, judging from the gleam of lust she saw in Lord Brighton's gaze, wasn't a good thing.
One table had been elevated above the others. As Lord Brighton pulled her along with him up the dias, she realized it was his table and he expected her to sit up there with him. Though she knew it would be considered a position of honor to these people, his also meant she would be on display. Everyone in the room would be able to study every move she made while she tried to eat.
Lord Brighton pulled out a chair and courteously helped her sit, all the while trying to look down the front of her dress. When he lowered his bulk into the chair next to her, he made a point out of moving his leg so that his massive thigh rested against hers.
Megan scooted her chair a little to the right.
Smirking, Lord Brighton did the same. Then, as she
prepared to try and move her chair again, he put his arm around her shoulders, effectively trapping her.
"You are my honored guest." He growled, his expression stern. "All of my keep will see this as we sup tonight."
Megan began to pray that Kenric would hurry.
The hall began to fill. Fascinated, despite her uncomfortable position next to Lord Brighton, Megan watched as people of every sort filed into the room. Closest to the dias were large groups of men. Huge men, some in sweat stained, bloodied tunics, others in some rough material that looked uncomfortable, even though it was clean. Something about the way they carried themselves reminded her of Kern and the mercenaries she'd met. And of Kenric, though none of them was nearly as good to look at as he.
They looked like what they were, warriors. No doubt these men made up Lord Brighton's fighting force, knights or something. Fervently she hoped Kenric would not have to fight them all at once.
Servants began bringing the food. Since she sat at the high table, they were served first. The aroma of spices and roasted meat filled the air. She noticed that most of the
people below shared odd shaped, long bowls. The bowls were made of wood and more than once she heard them referred to as trenchers.
Through it all, Megan barely ate. Instead, she watched the door for Kenric. Surely he would show up soon.
Lord Brighton squeezed her shoulders in a vise-like grip. "Expecting someone?" He asked, still grinning. She saw from the expression in his eyes that he believed himself besotted by her. Realizing she would have to say something, do something to discourage him, she racked her brain for an idea. She had to simply turn him off, not make him hate her, because she certainly didn't want to end up in the dungeon.
Slowly, Megan nodded, still thinking. "I am."
"Kenric of Blackstone?"
"Yes." Tight lipped now, the overpowering odor of the meat made her feel ill. "He will come for me."
"Ah." Lord Brighton breathed, his expression intent, his breath hot on her skin. He ran the palm up his hand down her arm. "Are you his leman then?"
Megan had only the faintest idea what leman meant, but she knew it wasn't complimentary. She had to fight to keep from recoiling at his touch.
"No." She wished she had the nerve - and the strength - to push his huge body away from her.
"Really." He drawled. "Then why would he bother to come for you? You are pretty, `tis true, but the world is full of pretty women. You are not his sister, nor his cousin, as I know for a fact all of his family is dead."
"He has sworn to help me." She blurted, then immediately regretted it as a look of glee flashed onto Lord Brighton's face. Doggedly, she continued. "He will come because of that, nothing more."
"I would speak to him about you." He said, dropping his tone so low that she had to strain to hear it. "If it is as you say, and you are nothing to him, then I may be able to help you."
"Help me?" Had the canny old wizard told Lord Brighton about her situation? How could he know, when she hadn't been able to discuss it?
"We are well guarded." Lord Brighton's voice rang with certainty. "He will not gain entrance unnoticed."
"Really," Megan couldn't resist a small taunt of her own, "maybe he will gain entrance the same way I did."
His smug smile faded. "Ah, yes. We will have to discuss that later, you and I. But for now, I think--" A commotion at the entrance to the hall interrupted him.
Heart pounding, Megan could only watch as three of the burly guardsman dragged a non-resisting Kenric into the hall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The instant he entered the crowded hall, Kenric spotted her. Dressed like royalty and seated in a place of honor up on the dais next to a man who must be the Lord of this place. Lord Brighton, according to the men who thought they held him.
Megan. When their eyes connected, he felt a shock of awareness, along with an overwhelming sense of relief. She was all right. Now that he knew that, knew that he had not failed in his duty to her, he could deal with this oaf of a Lord and his foolish guards.
Relaxing his muscles, he felt their hands on him slacken. They thought he had given up, simply because they outnumbered him three to one. If perhaps, one of them had heard stories of him and his legendary prowess in battle, they would think if merely an over-rated battle tale, one of those that increases with each telling. They would not expect him to fight them. Especially since they had taken his sword and one of them now wore Thunder strapped to his hip, like it was his right.
Rage filled him. No one messed with his sword. Or, for that matter, his war horse, who even now remained hidden in the wood.
The room became utterly silent, all eyes upon them as he allowed himself to be dragged into the room. He kept his face impassive, hoping Megan would know that he entered this way because he had no choice, not if he wished to gain entrance.
He let them take him to the very base of the dais, practically at Megan's feet. She averted her gaze, causing his heart to sink. Surely she knew he would save her, surely she realized that he was stronger and more powerful than ten of these loutish idiots.
"Welcome to my keep, Kenric of Blackstone. I am Lord Brighton,” the florid faced man boomed. “Lady Megan and I have been waiting for you."
The first thing he would do after he got free, Kenric decided instantly, would be to wipe the smug smirk off this
Lord's florid face. He noticed the meaty hand stroking Megan's arm and saw red.
With a roar, Kenric shook off his guards. One he dispatched with a swift blow to the neck. The next, a kick to take his feet out from him, then a blow under the chin. The third Kenric punched in the stomach then, when he was doubled over with pain, Kenric relieved him of his sword.
As if it recognized his touch, Thunder seemed to vibrate in his hand.
Satisfied, he roared. Now he would show them what it meant to fight Kenric of Blackstone. But first, he had to get to Megan.
It proved to be a simple thing. A step, a pivot, then he had her arm and pulled her from the dais before Lord Brighton had time to react.
Two tables of men scrambled to their feet, going for their weapons.
"Hold." A voice rang out.
Kenric blinked. It was not the Lord of the keep who gave the order. Yet every single man, including the Lord, froze in his tracks.
S
lowly, he pivoted, seeking the source of the voice. An elderly man, hunched and bent nearly halfway, crossed the room in the ringing silence. He wore the heavy robes of a priest, though not the collar, and his eyes were sharp and wise. Yet his voice had been young, one of power and command.
A mage. Kenric nearly groaned out loud. It seemed he could not escape magic, no matter how hard he tried.
Keeping his eyes on the mage, Kenric motioned for Megan to stay close to his side. She obeyed instantly, her luminous eyes glowing with pride. He had the insane urge to gather her in his arms and kiss her senseless. Instead, he shot the disgruntled Lord a look that promised retribution, and waited for the mage to approach.
"Long I have waited for this day." The old man spoke, his voice surprisingly strong. "It has been many years since the name Kenric of Blackstone was spoken by these lips."
"You know my name." Casually, Kenric moved Megan to his side, ready to fight whatever threat this mage might tender. Magic or metal, it was all the same to him. The sooner the battle was fought and won, the sooner he and Megan could be on their way. He could return her to her Roger and collect his reward.
Though the thought of another man's hands on her creamy skin soured his stomach.
The mage came closer, peering up at Kenric with a direct look that made him instantly wary.
"Years ago Rhiannon and I talked much of you. The events you and your mate will put into place will greatly change this world."
More prophetic nonsense. It figured this mage would know Rhiannon. Kenric couldn't seem to escape his half-sister no matter where he went.
"Tell me what you want." Deliberately, Kenric made his voice carry to every corner of the still silent hall. "So that I may take my lady and be on my way."
Lord Brighton took a step towards them then, a great lumbering bear of a man. Rage mottled his face. "Your lady?" He shook his head, pointing. "She tells me she is nothing to you."
Behind him he felt Megan stiffen. "Keep him away from me." She whispered fiercely.
With an effort, Kenric tamped down his own fury. "She belongs to another man. I but return her to him so that they might marry." His voice caught on the final word.
"Who is this faceless man?" Lord Brighton's gaze raked the hall, coming finally to rest on Kenric. "Tell me so that I might challenge him."
"Challenge him?"
The huge man nodded. "I want her."
Next to him, Megan clutched at his arm. "No."
Kenric tamped down the instinctive fury that rose in him at this man's words. "She belongs to another." He repeated.
"Who is he?" Lord Brighton roared. "I want his name."
Megan gasped. "Roger." She muttered, low enough that only Kenric could hear. "Roger Spencer. I don't believe this."
Kenric felt a blaze of hatred for her betrothed. In a
way, he could understand Lord Brighton's words. Where was her Roger, that he let another man defend her honor and made no effort to reclaim her?
Still, telling this Lord Brighton his name could do no harm. Indeed, it might help in the search for the elusive Lord. "His name is Lord Roger Spencer."
Lord Brighton frowned, his anger fading. "I have heard the name." He conceded reluctantly. "Isn't he an Earl?"
Megan opened her mouth to answer. Edmyg forestalled her.
"I would speak with you two." The elderly mage pointed across the crowded room to the ornate door that led to his chambers. "Alone."
Megan's grip on his arm tightened. Kenric imagined she must be terrified. Then again, so far she had been exhibited more bravery than any other woman he knew.
With another look at the still furious Lord Brighton, Kenric nodded. "No magic." He ordered.
Graciously, Edmyg inclined his head. "Agreed. Come then." Seeing no choice, Kenric took Megan's arm and followed, leaving Lord Brighton tailing silently after them.
The still silent crowd parted.
He waited until the door closed behind them to sheath his sword.
"Tell me what goes on here."
Lord Brighton made a sound of impatience. Edmyg waved him to silence. "Lord Brighton is a good man, a just man. His tenants like him, though they have been forced to live in the keep for nearly a decade while the land goes untilled."
That explained the fallow fields. "Forced?"
"Tis the matter of a simple spell."
"Yours?"
Edmyg laughed, a raspy sound. "Nay. If I could remove it, I would." He peered intently at Kenric, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. "That is why I need you."
Kenric kept his face impassive. "Of what use can I, a simple warrior, be to you? You have dozens like me out there."
"It is not your brawn that we need, but your magic."
His heart sank. "I don't--"
Megan stepped forward, interrupting him. "He has a job." She said, her voice ringing with challenge. "Until he does it, he cannot help you."
Disbelief, that she dared to think she could speak for him, momentarily rendered Kenric speechless. Gradually though, the wisdom of her words sank in.
"She is right." He conceded reluctantly. "I have given my word to help her return to this Roger."
At this both Lord Brighton and Edmyg exchanged a long look.
Finally, Lord Brighton spoke, his tone resigned. "Be that as it may, in this neither of you has a choice. You cannot leave." He held up a hand when Kenric would have spoken. "That is the nature of the spell. No one, once managing to arrive at Brighton Keep can leave. Ever. The spell will not let them."
#
Later, when all had eaten and drank their fill and Lord Brighton had become occupied in a spirited discussion with Edmyg over the merits of sending for another mage, Megan finally had a chance to talk to Kenric alone. She stood and quietly made her way to the end of the table where he, having pushed his way through the sated crowd, stood waiting.
If she'd hoped he would pull her to him and kiss her, she was doomed to be disappointed.
"Kenric." She said, soft-voiced. "I'm glad to see you."
"Are you well?" He asked, his expression fierce and tender, loving and stern, all at once. For such an expression alone, Megan would risk her life.
She told herself it was her imagination. "Fine." She
told him, clenching her hands into fists to keep from giving in to the urge to reach out and touch him.
"Lord Brighton." Not touching her either, his jaw set in grim lines, Kenric searched her face, "Did he lay hands on you?"
"No." She hastened to assure him, not wanting any more trouble than they already had.
"He wants you."
She heard anger in the blunt tone, anger and something more. Because of this, she strove to sound lighthearted.
"Maybe he thinks he does, a little. But it's nothing."
"Nothing?" He swore under his breath, turning away from her.
"Nothing. You're here now." Glancing at him, she noticed he held himself rigid, his hands too clenched in fists at his side. Did that mean he fought the need to touch her, the way she struggled against the urge to touch him?
She wouldn't think on it. That way of thought was too dangerous. It would be best to concentrate on the problem at hand.
"How are we going to get out of here?"
He expelled a breath, a gust of air that spoke volumes of his frustration. Megan nearly smiled, but when he looked down at her, the smile died on her lips.
Kenric looked... intense. And beautiful - too beautiful for a mere warrior. His grey eyes blazed silver, his chiseled features were fierce in anger. Was it anger? Or some other powerful emotion? Whatever it was, it set her heart to pounding and made her breath catch in her throat.
His eyes darkened, became molten. One hand on the hilt of his sword, he took a step towards her. Suddenly he seemed as dangerous as a lion on a hunt.
Unable to help herself, Megan took a step back. God help her, he looked magnificent. With that dark, shoulder length hair, his broad shoulders and muscular body, he cou
ld have stepped from the pages of some fairytale romance.
Again she caught herself wishing that this was some sort of dream, for in dreams she would be free to cast away her doubts and fears and do what she truly wanted.
Ah, and what she wanted. She wanted to run to him, let those corded arms wrap around her, let him crush her mouth with his. Her entire body heated as passionate images ran through her mind. Kenric naked, hard and all man, his body covering hers. She wanted him, God she wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything, ever.
Something must have shown in her face.
He narrowed his eyes. He took a step closer. Then, as if he'd read her mind, he took another, reaching out to her, crushing her to him as she'd hoped in her heart of hearts he would.
When his mouth took hers, she gave a glad cry and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body sang, her soul rejoiced. She welcomed him, needed him, wanted him and more.
With a searing kiss, he possessed her. She opened her mouth to him, her tongue meeting his with a sense of giddy joy. Desire, until now carefully banked, broke free. His hand came up, cupping her breast, caressing, stroking, until she thought she would die.
She moaned. He answered with a growl that spoke of possession and raw need. The dress slipped, baring one shoulder as she fumbled with the laces on his shirt.
Then, just as she spread her hands on his broad chest, exulting in the feel of the perfect, hard muscles she felt there, he pulled away.
"Megan." Harsh voiced, he said her name. A plea, a command, she knew not which.
But it brought her to her senses.
Horrified, Megan realized that in another second she would willingly have let him take her on the stone floor of the great hall, in full view of the assembled crowd.
One glance reassured her that, as of yet, no one paid them any attention. Most of the men lay, heads pillowed on rough wooden tables, drunkenly asleep.
Only Lord Brighton, his back luckily to them, and Edmyg, who winked at her when her gaze caught his, still stood.
Idiot! How could she have done this? Not knowing who watched, not caring that they had no protection, that once she found her way home, she would never see this man again.
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