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Powerful Magic

Page 16

by Karen Whiddon


  The thought ripped at her soul.

  "My God." Shaking fist to her mouth, she yanked down her dress, covering her shoulder, and turned away. She would not cry, could not cry; hell, there was no reason to cry over something so beautiful, so wonderful, so damn wrong. Tears filled her eyes as she struggled to get herself under control. She couldn't imagine never seeing Kenric again.

  Horrified, Megan spun on her heel to go to her room.

  Muttering an oath, he grabbed her arm, stopping her. She didn't dare look up at him. If she did, she would be lost.

  He said her name, his rough voice making the two simple syllables into a caress as he pulled her closer, one hand clumsily smoothing down her hair.

  She felt herself melting. Even more than passion, this gentleness from such a fierce man unnerved her. His kindness would be her undoing. She could feel herself weakening, knowing that if he led her away to a private room, she would go willingly. Eagerly even.

  Unless... it were pity he felt for her. Wanting to know, needing to know, she sneaked a peek from under her lashes. To find him watching her, narrow-eyed, a look of perplexed wonder on his ruggedly gorgeous face.

  Confused, was he? Ok, she could identify with that. Her feelings for this man perplexed the hell out of her. And, even worse, she had no idea what to do about it.

  As he watched her, his gaze hooded, all rational thought fled. How could she resist this man, when every fiber of her being cried out for him? It was she who reached out for him, she who rose up on tip-toe to touch her lips to his.

  But this time, his kiss was gentle. This time, he wrapped her in his arms like she was infinitely precious to him. She knew he must have thought she'd been frightened and he only meant to soothe her, but the way he made her feel cosseted, cherished, was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Dangerous.

  Despite that, despite the fact that Lord Brighton could turn at any moment and see them, she found herself wanting more. Pressing her body up against him, she moved suggestively against the rigid flesh she felt there. Never had she felt this helpless sort of power, and it thrilled her.

  Kenric's arms tightened around her and he groaned, deep in his throat.

  The sound excited her. This time though, she remembered where they were. Taking his hand, she pulled him along with her towards her room. Edmyg watched them go, never pausing in his argument with Lord Brighton, who never noticed as Megan led Kenric out of the hall.

  Silent, he wore a shuttered expression as he allowed her to pull him along. It was only when they reached the heavy oak door of her room that she paused, weighing the risk against her aching desire. She could get pregnant since they had no protection. What did people do for protection in this time? Condoms hadn't even been invented yet. In her other life, in the normal world, she'd been on the pill, though naturally she hadn't been able to take any since the lightening strike had sent her here.

  If this were only a dream, she wouldn't have to worry about such mundane facts as birth control.

  Her entire body throbbed, protesting the direction her thoughts had taken. Kenric released her hand, waiting,

  watching, leaving it up to her to make the choice. Absurdly, this touched her. A medieval warrior such as he must be used to simply taking what he wanted.

  Damn. She made a sound, a small cry of protest, a no that wasn't quite a no.

  That apparently was enough for Kenric. With a slight nod of his head, he spun on his heel and vanished down the hall.

  Stunned, Megan could only gape after him. He'd wanted her, she knew. She'd felt the force of his arousal, seen it in the darkening of his eyes, the harshness of his quickened breathing.

  He'd wanted her yet he'd walked away. Why? Was it possible he felt something for her, something more than just lust, something like she was beginning to feel for him?

  He'd touched her with more than his body.

  She'd never known a man like him. And she was very much afraid she never would again.

  #

  By the time he reached his room, Kenric's entire body hurt. With the scent of Megan still on him, he could barely walk. He felt as hard and randy as a lad of six and ten.

  Megan's body fit his as though she were made for him.

  Yet, despite the consuming desire he felt for her, he wanted more. More than he had a right to want, more than he could ever have, with her promised to another.

  For the first time since he'd agreed to help her, he almost wished that this Roger would never be found. Almost, if it weren't for the promise of land, his reward.

  All that he had ever wanted was within his grasp, yet now it no longer seemed enough. He felt hollow, confused. When he closed his eyes, instead of visions of verdant fields and rolling hills, he could only see Megan's amber eyes, dark with passionate promise.

  By all that was holy, how had this happened?

  Stalking to the window, he wanted to punch something, anything. If Lord Brighton had lists, Kenric would have been first in line to fight. As it was, he stared out into the moonlit night, over the oddly barren fields, and tried to make himself remember his dream, his plans. Doing so had always calmed him in the past, he would force it to be that way now.

  Somehow, he would have to banish these foolish desires and stick to the task at hand. Somehow he had to put thoughts of Megan, and the conflicting feelings she evoked in him, far from his mind.

  That night he slept not a wink.

  At first light Kenric paced the confines of his room. He had been dressed for hours, dressed and spoiling for a fight. Sleep had eluded him, instead of a respite from the day's demands, he had been tormented by erotic thoughts and a rebellious, needy body.

  He needed to fight in the lists. He would see Lord Brighton and have something organized. Maybe once he'd trounced a few dozen men, he would be able to regain his normal calm demeanor.

  As long as he avoided Megan, that is. Though how on earth he could manage to do that, he didn't know.

  He headed down toward the great hall in search of something with which to break his fast. Lord Brighton was there before him. Thankfully, he saw no sign of Megan.

  Standing before Lord Brighton, Kenric outlined his needs in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Still, Lord Brighton had no desire to cooperate. "Lists?" he repeated, his scornful tone mirroring the disbelief on his florid features. "What need have we of lists? No one can leave. There will never be a reason to fight."

  Gods teeth, was the man so blind to what went on in the world around him? Even now, Baron Aldridge to the West used armies to amass land. Who was to say when he may decide to turn his attention to Lord Brighton's unoccupied and unused estates?

  Then Lord Brighton's words hit home. Though he had mentioned this "spell" before, Kenric had thought it mere nonsense.

  "You truly believe this, that no one can leave?"

  The other man laughed, a guffaw so hearty his belly shook. "Edmyg told you. That's part of the spell. Anyone who enters this keep can never leave it."

  Kenric didn't want to believe him, but something in Lord Brighton's voice bespoke the truth.

  "Edmyg believes you can help us."

  Narrowing his eyes, Kenric shook his head. "A spell such as this must be a powerful one. I have little practice with such things. I am a warrior, a fighter. Not a mage. I don't think that I--"

  All traces of humor vanished from Lord Brighton's face. Uncaring that Kenric's hand still rested on the hilt of his sword, the older man gripped Kenric's arm.

  "You have to." His stark expression reflected his desperation. "For if you don't, we shall never be free from this place."

  The import of the other man's words sunk in. Kenric refused to believe them.

  "Go ahead and try." Releasing Kenric's arm, Lord Brighton waved a hand towards the window. "It is always thus, at first. My daughter's new husband thought to take her back to his own keep, until he found he could not leave. Mayhap you should go and talk to him."

  "Talk?" Kenric spat the wo
rd, "I am tired of talk. I will have Lady Megan make ready and we will leave this morn."

  Shrugging, the other man flashed him a wan smile. "Go ahead. Try. Seek me out when you have finished." Shaking his shaggy red head, Lord Brighton moved away.

  Kenric stared after him. The certainty of the other man's convictions bothered him. Yet it made no sense. Why would anyone want to cast a spell to imprison people in a keep? Even a keep as large and prosperous as this one? With no crops from outlying fields, and no cattle nor sheep, he wondered how they managed to eat and clothe themselves.

  Grimacing, Kenric cursed. For a moment he'd almost fallen into the trap of believing in this spell nonsense. He snagged a hunk of cheese and a piece of bread and went in search of Megan.

  #

  After an exhausting night of tossing and turning, it was nearly dawn before Megan finally fell into an fitful sleep. Even then, she dreamed; dreams of Kenric, dreams that made her moan and writhe in the narrow, lumpy bead.

  When she could stand it no more, she rose and splashed some water on her face. Running her hand through her tangled hair, she supposed she should be glad there was no mirror. If she looked as bad as she felt, then she must appear a hag. No wonder Kenric didn't want her.

  She couldn't believe how badly it had hurt when he walked away after kissing her. Kissing her? Hah! It had been more of a possession than a kiss, as if he'd reached into her very soul with his touch and his lips. She'd been more aroused, more enchanted, than ever before in her life.

  And then he'd strode away without a backward glance. As if he hadn't wanted her at all.

  His body, at least, wanted her. She knew she hadn't imagined his arousal. Sadly she realized that would not be

  enough where he was concerned. She wanted more. She wanted... but then she had no right to want anything when she fully intended returning home to her own time, her own people. To a life without Kenric.

  Stunned, she froze. In desperation she tried to conjure up pictures of her trendy North Dallas condo, of the cute red BMW she drove. Of the clubs she frequented, the charity organizations where she volunteered, and the friends she hung out with, even the hair salon where she had her hair routinely highlighted and her nails done.

  But it all seemed distant, like someone else's history. How meaningless, how trivial, it all seemed now. Her unpainted nails were ragged and uneven and the highlights had no doubt faded from her hair. But she felt alive, carefree. And happier than she could ever remember being. This place, this time with its unlimited possibilities, gave her peace and joy.

  This man, Kenric of Blackstone, gave her all she'd ever wanted in a mate. Did she really want to give this all up to return to her former existence? To her bank statements and stock dividends, to the charities where she sat on the board, to the meaningless social functions and faithless friends among Dallas's social elite? To traffic and nine-to-five and pollution and all the other harem-scarum things that made up life in the modern world? To Roger, with his thousand cruelties and his burning desire to be made beneficiary in her will?

  Suddenly, having Kenric help her get home no longer seemed as urgent nor as imperative as it did before.

  A sharp rapping on her door startled her out of her reverie.

  "Megan." Kenric's deep voice sounded angry.

  Hurriedly, she smoothed down her hair and opened the door, glad she'd taken the time to step into one of the less ornate dresses.

  He stood clad in what she'd come to think of as his mercenary warrior clothes. Form fitting, soft leather pants outlined his muscular legs. His white tunic with the billowing sleeves made him, with his rugged, dark features, look like a pirate of sorts. And then there were his smokey eyes. Bedroom eyes, she'd heard eyes like his called once before.

  Kenric of Blackstone was the sexiest man she'd ever seen. While she drank in the sight of him, Kenric seemed to be doing the same. Of their own accord her nipples pebbled, remembering the kiss they'd shared and her own erotic dreams.

  Though she had never been bold, she found herself wondering what he would do if she were to pull him inside her room and throw herself at him.

  "It is time to leave." Kenric sounded oddly strained. Puzzled, Megan stared up at him. "Leave? What about the spell?"

  His jaw tightened. "The spell is nonsense. Do you not wish to hasten back to your Roger?"

  She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but couldn't seem to force the words out. The best she could do was sort of stammer her former fiance's name. "Rrr.. Roger?" She needed to tell him the truth, but couldn’t force the words past her throat.

  With narrowed eyes, his gaze swept her room. "Gather your things. We ride out within the hour."

  "Ride out? But where is Lancelot? I haven't seen him?"

  "The war horse waits for me outside the castle. He is trained to come to me at my command." Pushing past her, he entered her room. "It shouldn't take long to--"

  Megan was swept by a wave of desire so strong she swayed. All her life she had wondered what it would feel like to be a femme fatale, a seductive temptress who had the ability to make men desire her so much that they would risk anything, everything, for her favor.

  She had never been bold enough, brave enough, beautiful enough to experience such a thing. But now, just once, she desperately longed to have such power - over one man only.

  Kenric.

  She took a deep breath. Insecurities be damned! She had traveled through time and space to be with this man. What the hell? She had nothing to lose. Kicking the door closed behind her, she loosened the stays on her gown.

  He spun at the sound of the door slamming shut. "Megan..." he warned, then seemed to lose the capacity for speech as she slid the dress slowly off one shoulder, then the other.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Heart pounding, Megan pretended a nonchalance she didn't feel as she took a deep breath and dropped the dress, letting it fall into a pool of material at her feet. Then she slowly removed her shift, keeping her gaze on Kenric.

  Totally bare and fighting the urge to cover herself with her hands, she tried to think of a Victoria's Secret catalog, unsure how to stand so that she looked more sexy, unsure of what to do, how to make herself more appealing to him.

  If the harsh intake of his breath and the dilation of his silver eyes was any indication, she wouldn't have to do much. So she simply stood before him, naked and exposed, while he stared at her in silence.

  Finally, he swallowed. "Megan..."

  At the raw need in his voice, she smiled a hesitant smile, letting her eyes travel to the conspicuous bulge in the front of his braes.

  "This may be our last chance." She moved closer, stopping a scant two feet away from him. Her nipples were hard, her breasts ached; indeed her entire body seemed to ache for this man's touch. She could feel her blood thrumming in her veins, moist heat pooling inside of her.

  Again he swallowed. He looked like a man tortured. "I don't think--"

  She let her shoulders sag. Just when she'd decided it was no use, he grabbed her, pulling her close so that her breasts crushed up against the rough material of his shirt. Trembling, she clung to him.

  His hand slid across her bare back, caressing. With an expression both savage and tender, he gazed down at her.

  "Megan..." he growled.

  The smoldering heat she saw in his gunmetal eyes gave her courage. She began to slip her hands up his arms, reveling in the feel of the hard muscles, in the heat of his skin.

  "Kenric." When she spoke his name, it was a wordless plea. "I want you to love me."

  Startlement warred with desire; need with restraint as he expelled a harsh breath. Holding himself rigid, he shook his head.

  "We cannot--"

  Then, using an instinct that came from deep within her femininity, she moved against him. "Please." She whispered through parted lips. "One kiss."

  With a harsh sound he took her lips, his mouth moving over hers hungrily. Joy exploded in her. Joy and a desire so hot she felt as if her
entire body was on fire.

  One hand slid down the curve of her naked hip, searing a path. She nearly swooned. With trembling fingers, she loosened the ties of his shirt, tearing the material in her haste to have it off him. She wanted skin to skin, heat to heat, chest to chest, his hardness to her softness.

  Squirming, she fit herself against him, mindlessly needing, wanting.

  He lifted his mouth from hers, his hands lingering on her shoulders. Now molten silver, his gaze was full of heat. "Megan..."

  "No, no questions, no doubts." She whispered, standing on tiptoe and pulling his dark head back down to hers. "I want you."

  He made a sound then, guttural and full of need.

  Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the bed.

  With a few easy motions he divested himself of his boots and braes until he stood proudly naked and erect before her.

  She gasped, her breasts tingling. She held her arms up to him, wet and ready, aching and hot. He was magnificent, her warrior, and she wanted to feel him full inside of her.

  The bed shifted as he lay down beside her. Tentatively, she reached out and closed her hand around him, thrilling to the sheer massive strength of him.

  "Hold." He groaned, capturing her hand and holding her still. "Before I shame myself like a boy of ten and seven."

  Then she knew that the desire he felt for her equaled her own for him. Her body clenched at this knowledge, more than ready for him to take her.

  She moaned softly, an invitation, and arched her back.

  "Ah, woman." It was a quiet curse, the sound of a man at the edge of control who knows he is lost. "If we do this, it will change things between us."

  It was both a statement and a question.

  "Yes." She told him, nearly whimpering now. "Yes, of course..."

  He reached for her then, his calloused hands searing heat down the curve of her stomach, the length of her thigh. The sound he made was a sound of surrender, even as his mouth closed over one taut nipple and she nearly sobbed with relief.

  With his hand he sought entrance first, and willingly she parted her legs for him, whimpering against his mouth as he claimed her lips again. He touched her, explored her; she was ready, long past ready, and still he stroked and probed and lingered, making her mindless in her need.

 

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