Powerful Magic (21 page)

          
As if in answer to some unspoken prayer, the music ended.
 
He released her, reluctant to do so, yet glad he would be tortured no longer.
 

          
A male faerie, one of his sister's high court, tall and comely, stepped up next to Megan and bowed.
           

          
"Might I have the honor of the next dance?"
 

          
Now Megan colored prettily, her gaze flying to Kenric like she sought his permission.
 
God's blood
, did she now think he was her Lord?
 

          
With a curt nod, he gave her that which she seemed to seek and strode away, cursing her Lord Roger for a fool. How could the man let a woman like her slip away?
 
Were she his, Kenric knew he would never be so careless.

          
Were she his
...
 
He snorted, keeping himself focused on the crowd ahead of him, rather than looking back to where Megan danced.
 
He found he had no desire to see her in another man's arms, especially one so golden and fair of face and form.

          
"You look thunderous, my brother."
 
Rhiannon materialized at his side.
 
"Is something wrong?"
 

          
Her pointed gaze made Kenric realize he carried himself stiffly, his hands clenched into fists, his jaw set and tight.
 
Forcing himself to relax, he shook his head, still keeping his back turned from the dancers.
 

          
"Naught is wrong, sister.
 
I am but eager to be on my way."

          
Rhiannon frowned.
 
"You've only just arrived."

          
With difficulty, he bit back his impatience.
 
"One night is all I promised.
 
Megan must be returned to her future husband."

          
"Bah."
 
Smiling prettily, Rhiannon laid a hand on his arm. "What is one day or two?
 
The man must not value her highly or he'd have found her by now."

          
Since these words so closely echoed his own thoughts, Kenric said nothing.

          
"One more day?"
 
His sister voiced the request in the most pleasant of tones, unlike the commanding way she usually spoke to him.
 
This alone told Kenric she wanted it badly.
 

          
"How much time will pass in the real world?"
 
He asked, keeping his own voice carefully neutral.

          
Her shrug was a calculated thing, warning him that she would not speak the entire truth.
 
"I don't know.
 
What does it matter?"

          
Though Kenric knew she knew exactly how much it mattered, he only shook his head.
 
"I think not, sister.
 
I have a task to complete and some land to see about collecting."

          
"Always this."
 
She sighed.
 
"Land, land, land.
 
Such a base, human desire.
 
Why must you act so much like
them
?"

          
"Because, my half-sister," he explained with what he thought was great patience, "I
am
one of them.
 
Do you forget that I am half human?"

          
Her laugh sounded like crystalline bells.
 
"Nay, Kenric.
 
I do not forget.
 
How can I, when you remind me of it at every turn?"

          
Since he had no ready answer, Kenric did not reply.
 
Instead, he found his attention drawn to the dancers, even though he only glanced over his shoulder but once.
 

          
"She is lovely, is she not?"
 
Rhiannon asked softly.

          
He did not have to ask of whom his sister spoke.
 
           
"Perhaps."
 
His answer came equally soft, though he edged his voice with steel.
 
"Though she belongs to another man."

          
"Does she?"
 

          
"It is this man that I help her seek."

          
"I do not see it in her."
 
Rhiannon watched him closely as she spoke.
 

          
Knowing his sister wanted him to ask, Kenric sighed with resignation.
 
"See what, sister?"

          
"She does not pine for this man."

          
He shrugged.
 
"There needs not always be affection for there to be a betrothal.
 
You know this."

          
She made a sad sound.
 
"I forgot the foolishness of

humans.
 
You so seldom marry for love."

          
"We marry for wealth, for land."
 

          
"Land.
 
One cannot own the land.
 
It is all there, for anyone to use or roam freely."

          
"In the realm of Faerie, perhaps."
 
Kenric found himself watching for another glimpse of Megan.
 
"But you know tis not the same in the land of man."

          
"So you tell me."
 

          
"So it is."

          
The music ended, the players bowing before they left the dance floor to partake of refreshment.
 
Kenric turned, watching Megan come to him, her hips swaying gently, and for a moment allowed himself to pretend that she was his.
 
If she were, when she reached him, he would capture her in his arms, lift her and swirl her around until she was dizzy and laughing.
 
Then he would kiss her until she grew senseless.
 
Until they both grew senseless.

          
He became conscious of his sister's regard.
 
Rhiannon eyed him with a faint smile.
 
He had not time to reply however, because Megan came to stand before him.

          
"That was fun."
 
She huffed, sliding her small hand into his and beaming up at him.
 

          
Kenric told himself to ignore the jolt he felt by merely touching her.
 
"We leave on the morrow."
 
He growled.

          
Her smile faded, her clear eyed gaze searching his, missing nothing.
 
"What's wrong?"
 

          
"He fears but one thing," Rhiannon answered, forestalling him, her own expression disappointed,
 
"And that is endangering that frozen lump inside him that he calls a heart."
 
With that, she turned and stalked off, leaving them alone.

          
At Megan's puzzled frown, Kenric found himself smiling. He shrugged. "She is my sister, and a faerie queen besides.
 
Who knows of what she speaks."

          
"I see."

          
Despite Megan's hesitant smile, Kenric somehow doubted she was fooled.

          
They walked back to their table, Megan's downcast head telling him she wished to stay.
 
It was usually this way with humans; once they visited the magical realm of Faerie, they wanted to remain always.
 
He himself still fought the powerful tug of attraction this place held for him.
 

          
"Do you love this Roger?"
 
Kenric heard himself ask, his brusque tone sounding like it had been dragged from him.

          
Megan appeared shocked as well, her mouth dropping open as she gaped up at him.
 
Color stained her pale cheeks.
 
"Roger?"

          
Such a simple thing to make him furious, the sound of another man's name on her lips.
 
He had to force himself to go on, knowing that the answer was somehow vitally important.
           
"Yes, Roger.
 
Your intended."
 

          
"I..."
 
She seemed incapable of speech, her lovely eyes wide and full of panic.
 

          
"Perhaps," he interjected smoothly, "you do not know him that well?"

          
At this she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze dead on.
 
"No, that’s not it.
 
I’ve known Roger for nearly four years."

          
"What will he gain from your union?"

          
It as a reasonable question, albeit an inquisitive one. But Megan of Dallas did not appear to find it so, if the glitter of anger in her eyes was anything to go by.
 

          
"What will he gain?"
 
She smiled coldly, though there was a tinge of pain there as well.
 

          
But her next words confounded him.
 

          
"You know, I’ve never thought of it that way.
 
What
will
Roger gain?"
 
She asked, low-voiced, almost to herself.
 
"He has it all - the huge, multi-million dollar company, the properties, the land.
 
But capital, that's another story."

          
Half of what she said made no sense to him, except the gist of her words, that Roger was a wealthy man.
 

          
"Capital?"

          
"Money."
 
Her mouth pursed tight, Megan did not seem to like her newfound conclusion.
 
"Gold, if you will.
 
There's the simple matter of my trust fund.
 
I'm not sure exactly how much is in it, but last time I checked it was in the millions."

          
Though he knew she spoke of money, the numbers she used made no sense.
 
Perhaps the currency was different in this land of Dallas, Texas from whence she came.
 
But the concept, now that was as old as time.
 
Now he understood.
 
It was as it should be.
 
    

          
"Ah, he needs your bride price."
  
It had always been so.
 
Titled Lords marrying wealthy heiresses to bring needed money to their aging estates.

          
"My bride price?"
 
She spoke the words with distaste, as though they were foreign.
 
"No."
 
She shook her head, eyes still flashing golden sparks, "He just needs my money."

          
It seemed plain that the bump she had taken on the head still addled her wits.
 

          
Patiently, he explained.
 
"A bride price is what every bride must bring to the marriage, especially when joining with a wealthy nobleman such as your Roger."

          
Before she could say any more, he took her elbow and guided her to towards her room.
 
His heart heavy, he could no longer allow doubt to interfere with the task he faced.
 
He must return her to this Roger.
 

          
As for this powerful attraction he felt to her, he must ignore it.
 
With Megan of Dallas, it was obvious he was far out of his league.
 
A bastard son, he had no land, no title, nothing to give a noblewoman such as she.
 
It should have come as no surprise to him that she would be wealthy in her own right.