Powerful Magic (23 page)

          
Never in all of her life had a man kissed her like that. She'd felt cherished, cosseted, desired.

          
She wanted him to do it again.

          
He pushed her away, making a sound between a groan and a moan.
 
He sounded like an animal in pain.

          
Megan opened her eyes.
 
"Kenric--"

          
"Nay."
 
Turning away, he shook his head.
 
"I regret I have touched you in such a manner."
 

          
Shoulders stiff, he would not look at her.
 
Instead, he made a mocking bow.
 
"Finish your feast, then make ready to leave with all haste.
 
After all," He flashed a twisted smile that seemed more of a grimace, "Your Roger awaits."
 
With those mocking words he was gone.

          
"Good Lord."
 
Megan sank slowly into her chair, weak at the knees.
 
She picked up her half eaten apple, but the fruit had lost its appeal.
 

          
Roger.
 
Soon she would have to tell Kenric that she meant to break off her engagement.
 
And also that Roger existed somewhere in the far off future.
 
The fact of the matter was that, no matter how hard Kenric searched, he would never find Roger.
 
Not in this place nor this time.
 
And, more importantly, there was no land, at least not in any place that he might want land.
 

          
Yes, someday soon she would have to tell Kenric that the entire foundation of their relationship was based on a lie.
 
What a mess this was turning out to be.
 

          
She hadn't expected to want him so badly.
 
Sure, he was gorgeous, tall and muscular with thick hair the color of her new mink coat.
 
But she wasn't like other women of her time, she wasn't the type who could indulge in random sexual affairs without risking her heart.
 

          
Even with someone as magnificent as Kenric.

          
Ah, but that kiss...
 
Like the first time he'd kissed her, it had been, well, different.
 
No,
 
not merely that, it had been earth shattering, enough to curl her toes and straighten her hair.

          
And, though she certainly wasn't experienced enough to be any authority on the subject, she was willing to bet sparks like that didn't come around all too often.
 
It had been more than a melding of mouths.
 
It had been like coming home to a place she hadn't even known existed until now.
 
Kissing Kenric of Blackstone was like joining souls.
 

          
Great
.
 
Next she would be buying into Rhiannon's strange pronouncement that they were soul mates.
 
Even if such a bizarre thing were true, there was the simple matter of time that lay between them.
 
In her world, Kenric had been dead for more than nine hundred years.
 

          
She kept trying to tell herself it was a fantasy, a dream.
 
But this life, this time, this man had become all too real to her. If this kept up, she was in very real danger of becoming hurt.

          
And once she told him the truth, no doubt Kenric would hate her, for she'd promised him the very thing he wanted above all others.
 

          
Land.

          
Panic filled her, the kind of urgent, powerful panic that clouds the thoughts and makes one only think of escape.

          
Leaping to her feet, Megan pushed back her chair, sprinting down the hall to her room.
 
Kenric was right.
 
The sooner they got out of this enchanted place and he helped her return home (or find Roger, as he thought she wanted him to do), the better.

          
Rhiannon appeared in her doorway just as she'd finished changing out of the borrowed dress and into Kenric's shabby old tunic.
 

          
"Kenric says we must go."
 
Megan dared to take the Faerie Queen's hand, clasping it and hoping Rhiannon would listen.
 
           
"But before I do, I need to know the truth.
 
I’ll ask you one more time.
 
Do you have the ability to help me get home?"

          
Infinite patience shown from the other woman's serene eyes.
 
"This is your home.
 
You belong here, Megan Potter of Dallas.
 
You, like your soulhalf, have a task to complete."

          
Great.
 
More riddles.
 
Megan tried to hide her impatience. "What kind of task?"
 

          
Some of the serenity left Rhiannon's face.
 
"Kenric faces great danger.
 
Beware the one called Myrddin."

          
"Myrddin?
 
The Black Faerie leader?"

          
Rhiannon nodded.
 
"Tis not only Kenric he seeks to destroy.
 
Tis me, and all of Rune with me.
 
Warn my brother against him.
 
He will hear your words better than he will hear mine."

          
"But I haven't even told him--"
 

          
Rhiannon pulled her hand free, the aristocratic expressionback on her face.
 
"There will be time enough for that later. But this is vital.
 
Guard my brother, Lady Megan. Please.
 
Guard him well."

          
Kenric said not a word as he helped her mount his war horse, ignoring the sadness in her lovely eyes.
 
He saw her glance around the deserted bailey and knew what she would ask before her lush mouth even framed the words.

          
"Where is everyone?"

          
"They do not believe in leave-takings."

          
Climbing on the horse in front of her was no easy task with the heavy chain mail he wore.
 
He'd been surprised to find it, lying on the floor in his sleeping chamber all polished and shiny.
 

          
At first he'd been afraid to touch it, believing it might be a thing of magic.
 
But upon closer search, he'd discovered it to be his very own chain mail, brought to him my magic but yet untainted by it.
 

          
His instincts dictated that he wear it.
 
Danger lurked in the very air.
 

          
And Megan had no idea.
 
Even now she regarded him with that steady gaze that would, if he let it, reduce him to a puddle at her feet.
 

          
Ignoring the roiling emotions inside of him, he swung on the war horse's broad back.
 
Luckily, the animal was sturdy and well used to carrying a lot of weight.
 
He bore it all patiently, only the forward perk of his ears telling of his own eagerness to be off.

          
At last Kenric gathered the reins in one hand and urged the war horse forward.
 
Lancelot
.
 
He snorted.
 
To think the woman thought she could tack such a name on his noble steed.
 
He did not name his possessions, and that was all the horse was to him.
 
A valued possession.
 
Nothing more.

          
"Kenric."
 
With a tug on the back of his hair,
 
Megan commanded his attention.
 
"Why didn't your sister come to see you off?"

          
"She despises good-byes."
 
He told her tersely, not wanting to let her know that even now his sister glided along silently beside them, cloaked in her faerie magic.
 

          
When they came to the edge of the meadow, he raised one gloved hand in silent farewell.
 
He saw the answering twinkle of lights and turned to look over his shoulder at the woman sitting so silently behind him.

          
"Be prepared for the cold.
 
We leave this place when I ride into those trees."

          
Megan said naught, simply nodding.
 
He found himself admiring her courage.
 
The snow and frigid air had been daunting even to him, and he was a man well used to harsh conditions.

          
The war horse seemed to understand, needing no further urging to pick his way carefully into the mist shrouded forest.

          
They rode through the last group of trees and Kenric

braced himself, wishing he had more than an old, tattered cloak to protect the woman.
 
He had decided, after that foolish, foolish kiss, to think of her that way, the same as his horse.
 
She was only a woman after all, an employer who had charged him with a task.
 
It was the payment, the land that mattered, not the lustful thoughts that even now heated his blood.

          
He must remember that he was Kenric of Blackstone, mercenary warrior.
 
He had no human family, no land, nothing.
 
Emotions and foolish dreams he could ill afford.
 
Therefore, he would take control of his body and of his destiny.
 

          
He felt her stiffen behind him as they broke through the last bit of mist.
 
The war horse tossed his head, moving them into bright, warm sunlight much like the weather they'd just left.

          
Kenric cursed.
 
The sun shone straight overhead in the azure sky and the air felt warm with a hint of jasmine blowing in the breeze.

          
"Springtime."
 
Megan breathed, awe in her voice.
 
"How can that be?"

          
"I told you, time passes differently in the realm of faerie."
 
He made no effort to hide the bitterness in his words.
 
"What seemed but a day and a night to us was an entire season here."

          
She tensed, her hands digging into his shoulders like claws.
 
"Months?"

          
"Aye."
 
He thought of what this might mean to her, to them, and cursed again.
 
"Think you that your Roger has taken another woman to wife in the time you have been gone?"

          
She was silent, finally relaxing her hands enough to drop them from him.
 
"I... I don't know."
 

          
Kenric cursed a third time.
 
He had the strangest urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.
 
To kiss the tip of that downcast head, the sweet smelling, sable hair.
 
He scowled.
 
Maybe it was because she sounded so forlorn, like a lost, abandoned child.
   

          
Whatever the reason, he would not do it.
 

          
"We will find your Roger."
 
He vowed, hoping his sister listened from whatever place she hid herself.
 
"I promise you, we will find him.
 
If the man cares for you any, he will not have wed so soon."

          
The sound she made was a choking one, a cross between a laugh and a sob.
 
Because there was naught else he could do, except that which he would not allow, Kenric urged the war horse into a brisk trot.
 
They had a lot of ground to cover before nightfall if they were to reach the next town.