Powerful Magic (18 page)

          
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?
 
Sinking 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.