Powerful Magic (20 page)

          
His brothers had ever been unsure what to make of him.
 
He was taller then they, more fair of face and form, and the women flocked around him even though it was well known he was but a bastard, with no claim to any land rights.
 
Though his brothers had appreciated it as he'd shared this abundance of feminine attention.
  

          
Kenric believed they'd formed a bond of affection in the end which, if not brotherly, was at least based on loyalty and their shared blood.
 
This was all he could hope for, now that they lay dead and buried deep beneath the earth's fertile soil.

          
Like his father.
 
When he thought of the man who'd sired him, Kenric had cause for regret.
 
He'd always believed he'd have time, time to ask the endless questions that had plagued him since he'd become old enough to know the truth of his parentage.

          
His father had a wife who, while a good woman, certainly could not compare to Rhiannon in beauty.
 
His faerie mother must have been beautiful.
 
He'd never met her, since she'd chosen to vanish into the mists soon after his birth.
 
He'd been told it was because his father would not marry her.
 
Why he did not know.
 
He'd never asked his father and his father had never spoken of the Faerie woman who had born him a son out of wedlock.
 

          
In this he would never know the answers, for any questions he might have for his father would forever remain unanswered now.

          
If Rhiannon knew the answers, he doubted she would ever tell.
 
Nay, he would never ask.
 
He truly did not want to know.
 
He wanted nothing whatsoever to do with Faeries.

          
And now somehow, he'd gotten the Lady Megan of Dallas involved in this.
 
And she seemed to love it here.
 
This was not acceptable, not at all.
 
For she had charged him with a task, that of returning her to her betrothed.
 
He would not let her become so beguiled of the land of faerie that she forsook her journey.
 
This he would have to impress upon her.

          
He pulled her jeweled ring from his pocket, turning it, examining it in the perfect light.
 
Though it glittered and sparkled, he found the effect of the huge stone cold.
 
The diamond reminded him of Rune, all flash and show and little warmth.
 
For the first time he found himself wondering what kind of man this Roger was, though the size of the bauble left no doubt he was a wealthy man.

          
Wealthy meant he would have no problem granting Kenric the land that Megan had promised.

          
He would have to prevail upon her to leave this place, and soon.
 
Even one night seemed too long to wait, especially knowing that one night here might be thirty in the mortal world.

          
So it was with great reluctance he found himself waiting for his charge to escort her to the banquet.
 
Idly, he found himself wondering how Megan would look properly dressed.

          
In a moment he had his answer.
 
She rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, a vision in sapphire.
 
His breath caught, his chest felt tight.
 
Her beauty was ethereal, transcending even that of the faeries that surrounded them.

          
She was beyond beautiful.
 
Now he might almost believe her teasing claim of being a princess, and he told her so.
 
Her reaction had taken his breath away.

          
Raw desire mingled with need as a strange ache settled in his breastbone.
 
He'd been around beautiful women all his life, but none had affected him the way this tiny woman betrothed to another did.
 
Twas not a good thing.
 
Not a good thing at all.
 
     

          
The ring, all but forgotten, cut into his palm, reminding him.
 
She belonged to some man named Roger.
 
A fellow Englishman, a wealthy Lord.
 
The sooner he helped her find this man, the sooner he could claim his land, and the better off he'd be.

          
With this in mind, he led her to the banquet table.
 

          
After they'd eaten - Kenric had watched in mild shock as dainty little Megan finished off a heaping plate of food - the music started.
 

          
Seeing his sister heading their way with a purposeful glint in her eye, Kenric shook his head.
 
Next to him, Megan listened to the seductive thrum of the harps and mandolins, tapping one foot in time to the beat.
 

          
"Are you two enjoying yourselves?"
 
Rhiannon beamed at them, her purposely innocent expression telling Kenric she was up to no good.
 
Some things, it seemed, never changed.

          
Megan flashed a sleepy smile, the guileless radiance of it going straight to Kenric's mid-section.
 
He shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.
 

          
For the first time he found himself wondering if he'd made a mistake in agreeing to help her.
 
But then, there was the land.
 
Always the land.

          
Raising his chin, Kenric met his sister's gaze dead on, saluting her with his cup.
 
"I am fine."

          
"Will you not ask Megan to dance with you?"
 
Rhiannon asked softly.

          
He made the mistake of looking at Megan again.
 
Her expression had gone dreamy, those wonderful eyes of hers soft, like warmed honey.
 
With her chin resting on her hand, she listened to the music wholeheartedly, allowing herself to be drawn in to the ancient rhythm, the timeless melody.
 

          
A dangerous woman indeed.

          
Kenric became conscious of his heartbeat, steady and slow. Of the blood that thrummed in his head, making him want much more than he had any business wanting.

 
        
"Well?"
 
Amusement threaded Rhiannon's voice, telling him that his sister had seen.
 

          
"I think not."
 
Lifting his cup of mead, Kenric drained it.
 
He did not elaborate.
  

          
But Rhiannon was devious.
 
"Tis a shame brother, that a woman as beautiful as Megan cannot truly enjoy the banquet. One dance will not hurt you."

          
As if the sound of her name pulled her away from her dreamy contemplation, Megan turned to look at him.
 

          
"A dance?"
 
Her voice sounded husky and breathless, totally unlike the way she normally spoke to him.

          
Enchantment, no doubt.
 
Still, knowing this did not keep his heart from leaping at the raw sensuality he heard there.

          
About to answer her, he found himself forestalled by Rhiannon.
 
           
"My brother does not like to dance."

          
The bright expectation in Megan's face faded.
 
"Oh, I see."
 
She swallowed, nodded, flashed a wan smile.
 
"Well, I suppose that is good.
 
I'm not sure I could do those dance steps anyway."
 

          
Without giving Kenric a chance to answer, she turned away to fix her attention on the musicians.

          
Oddly, he felt like a cloud had obscured the sun.

          
"One dance."
 
Rhiannon whispered, her expression carefully blank.
 
"It would bring her such pleasure."

          
"Indeed." He drawled, wondering why he felt so apprehensive.
 
He had, after all, danced numerous other times with women far more beautiful than Megan.
 
One dance, if it pleased her, surely could not hurt.

          
"Megan."
 
Rising, Kenric went to stand in front of her.
 
When she lifted her lovely face to look at him, he was struck by the sudden, irrational urge to kiss her.
 
Here.
 
Now.
 
No matter who might be watching.
 
It was only by sheer willpower that he was able to push those thoughts away.

          
He held out his hand, praying she did not notice how it trembled.
 
Without the slightest hesitation, she took it, slipping her small fingers in his. It felt like it belonged there.

          
"Will you dance with me?"

          
Another woman might have simpered and flirted, or blushed and giggled. But not Megan of Dallas.
 
Instead, she gave a regal nod and rose, leading the way to the dancing area.
 
           
Bemused, he let her, wondering at the way touching her quieted the sense of urgency, of danger he'd felt earlier.

          
Still, the instant he put his arms around her, he knew he was in trouble.
 
Big trouble.

          
It could have been the way she wrapped her arms around him, as if she thought they were in the privacy of her bed chamber.
 
Or the way she allowed her body to sway so close to him, touching in places she should not have allowed them to touch.
 

          
But, he swallowed, if he were honest he would admit that it was more than the sum of these things.
 
It was more than her admittedly lush body.
 
Yes, he wanted her, desired her, but something inside of her called out to him.
 
Something in her soul.
 
He was a deeply mystical man - how could he not be, considering his heritage - and he knew in the place where certain truths resided unshakable, that Megan could mean more to him than anyone ever had before.
 
Or ever would be again.
 

          
If he but allowed it.

 
         
She belonged to another.
 
Such thoughts were beyond dangerous; they threatened the very foundation of his goal.
 
     

          
Deliberately, Kenric loosened his grip on Megan and tried to think of something else.
 
He prided himself on his honor, and honor dictated that he return this woman to her betrothed.
 
Where even she herself wanted to be.
 
He held no claim to her, nor she to him.
 
And as long as he did not touch her...

          
Letting the thought trail off incomplete, he reminded himself again of the boon she had promised.
 
Land of his own.
 
Though he had saved a fair bit of gold, he knew he did not have enough for his purposes.
 
If her Roger did as she had promised and granted him some land, Kenric could use the gold to build the estate of his dreams.

          
He would never have to fight someone else's battles, nor kill without just cause, again.
 
He'd best remember that.

          
Megan sighed loudly, her face resting on his chest.
 

          
His body stirred, warning him.
 
Glancing down at her dark hair, he was struck again by the odd sense of yearning, of wanting something more from her, or maybe from himself.
 

          
Another foolish feeling and he shook it off, wishing himself anywhere else.
 
Dancing with Megan of Dallas was too unsettling for his peace of mind.