Powerful Magic (24 page)

          
Wrapping her arms tight around his waist, Megan did not speak again.
 
Her soft breasts bounced against his back in way that, were it not for the protection of his chain mail, would have been a torment.
 

          
All around them were the scents of spring; the heady aroma of flowers, the scent of heather and of hay.
 
The sun felt warm, and under his chain mail he grew hot.
 
But he dared not remove it, not knowing where danger might come from.
 
In these uncertain times, danger was everywhere.

          
The jog of his war horse was smooth and would soon lull them into an unguarded state.
 
For this reason, Kenric urged the horse into a canter.
 
He had but one goal - to reach the next town safely and see if Megan's Lord Roger had ever inquired of her there.

          
The rocking motions of the canter were even more soothing and, from the way Megan sagged against him, Kenric thought she might have dozed off.
 
He smiled, remembering the stark fear in her face when he'd first informed her she would have to ride his huge horse.
 
She struggled to hide it from him, never once complaining.
 

          
Now she and the beast had even become friends of a sort.
  
           
Ahead of him he could see rolling fields of green.
 
Behind him were the thick forests.
 
Aside from a few boulders, there was no place for an enemy to hide.
 

          
He allowed the war horse to slow to a jog.
 
Barely winded, the sturdy animal could go on for hours.
 

          
Imperceptibly, Kenric allowed himself to relax.
 
At best, the next village was an hour's ride away.
 
They would reach it long before dusk.

          
It was then, as he daydreamed in the warm sunlight, that the hair on the back of his neck rose.
 
This was his only warning before the riders thundered around an outcropping of rock to circle him.

          
Cursing his unreadiness, Kenric yanked his sword free from the scabbard.
 
This woke Megan, who came to with a startled, totally feminine-sounding cry.
 
Kenric prayed the other men would see her only as a callow lad.
 

          
There were four of them, large, unwashed men dressed entirely in black.
 
Not Welsh this time, they had the look of mercenaries; being one himself, Kenric thought he might have fought beside them or against them in one skirmish or another.
 
           
Behind him, Megan sat stiffly, wary and ready for whatever might happen.
 

          
Kenric sat motionless while he calculated the odds.
 
He would go down fighting before he would willingly let them take his lady.

          
His lady
.
 
The thought gave him pause then, because he had no time to dwell on it, he pushed it away.
 
To all appearances, Megan was a lad, nothing more.
 
As long as she did not give herself away, she would be safe.

          
He hoped.

          
"What do you want?"
 

          
The leader cocked his head, considering him.
 
"That depends."

          
There was something familiar about the man, devil take him.
 
Kenric stared hard at him, trying to remember.
 
He would not ask again.
 
Right now the key was to appear unafraid.
 
They might respect that.
 
   

          
Then again, he knew not how much honor these men had.
 
They might respect nothing but their right to take what they wanted. He thanked God he did not carry much gold.
 

          
The leader urged his horse forward.
 
"What do you have that we might want?"
 

          
He was a big man, dark of hair and eyes.
 
His face wore the weary, jaded expression of a man who has fought one too many battles, uncaring of the outcome.
 
The face that Kenric hoped and prayed he would not wake one morning and see staring back at him from a mirror.

          
Still the hair at the back of his neck rose, warning him of great danger.

          
"I am a hired sword, like you."
 
Hand still clenched around his sword, Kenric gave a casual shrug.
 
"I have nothing of value."

          
"That is a fine horse for a man with nothing."

          
Kenric set his jaw and swallowed.
 
He would fight to the death before he would allow any man to take his horse.

          
"He is a horse, that is all."
 
To any listening, it would appear he did not care.
 
"But necessary for me to earn my living."
 
With these words he told them he would not give up Lancelot - the war horse - easily.

          
Several of the other men nodded, murmuring among themselves.
 
To a man, they understood the need for solid horseflesh.

          
Still, Kenric saw the way the leader looked at his war horse.

          
Behind Kenric, Megan squirmed uncomfortably.
 
He prayed she would stay still and quiet, at least until the danger was past.

          
Kenric kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.

          
"I am Kern."
 
The leader finally said, his avid gaze sliding past Kenric to Megan.

          
"Kenric."

          
One of the others, a tall, dark man with dead eyes, leaned forward, his gaze intent and sharp.

          
Kern's eyes narrowed, letting Kenric know that he had heard the name.
 
"What of the boy?"

          
Kenric forced a smile, though he knew it to be little more than a baring of teeth.
 
"He is my brother's son.
 
I take him with me to teach him the trade."
 
He felt a pang of sorrow as he spoke the lie.
 
His brothers - and their sons - were all dead.

          
The leader threw back his shaggy head and laughed.
 
"Then you go the wrong way, Kenric.
 
We ride west, to join the English Baron Aldridge.
 
He amasses an army and, rumor has it, pays well."

          
They were late.
 
Kenric himself had collected his payment from the very same Baron after successfully helping him wage war on a neighboring keep.
 
But he could not tell the other mercenaries this; they would know he had gold and would try to relieve him of it.
 
No matter that he had very little on him.
 
They would merely torture him - and Megan - until they located the whereabouts of it.

          
"This I know.
 
I merely ride into the village for supplies before joining him."
 
He forced himself to chuckle, a harsh sound utterly without humor.
 
"And it has been a long time since I have had a woman."

          
This brought guffaws from all four of them.
 
Kenric took a guess that they had just left the same village after partaking in similar fleshy pleasures.

          
"We will meet up later then."
 
Kern seemed to be taking his falsehoods for truth.
 
Behind him, Kenric heard Megan expel a sigh of relief.
   
He would not let down his guard until the men had ridden off.
 

          
Kenric's war horse stamped his hooves, shaking his head and making the bridle jingle.
 
The other's mounts appeared restless too, one horse sidestepped nervously, another pawed the earth.

          
The mercenaries muttered among themselves, something that surely did not bode well for Kenric and Megan.

          
"I would have your horse."
 
Kern announced in a loud voice.

          
Kenric lifted his sword.
 
"I would rather keep him." He kept his tone polite.
 
He still hoped, somehow, that a real confrontation could be avoided.
 
Were it to come to a battle, with he against four, he would surely lose.

          
One of the other men, a huge shaggy haired fellow,

laughed.
 
"Methinks he spoils for a fight."

          
"Aye."
 
One of the others, the man who had taken notice of Kenric's name, spurred his horse forward.
 
With his narrow face and cold, empty eyes, he was the sort who fought only because he had nothing else to do.
 
Who cared not if he lived to see another sunset and took little pleasure in life, or war, or anything for that matter.
 
This utter lack of caring would make him deadly as a warrior.
 

          
Kenric was uncomfortably familiar with his kind; he himself had come too close to becoming one of the same.
 
But there was something else about this man, something that hinted of great evil, of a dark rot festering in the soul.
 
Kenric did not like this, not one bit.
 
He had fought many men, some of them truly evil, but none wore the darkness about him like a cloak as this man did.

          
"Oh, leave us alone."
 
Megan's cross voice, sounding childishly shrill, rang out.
 

          
Kenric winced.
 
God's blood, did she not realize how utterly feminine she sounded?

          
Kern narrowed his gaze.
 
"Does your insolent whelp of a nephew issue a challenge?"

          
Behind him, Kenric felt Megan stiffen as she realized the full import of her words.

          
"Nay."
 
He answered for her, cuffing her lightly on the arm in warning.
 
"He is but a rash, impatient lad.
 
He is

unschooled in battle and useless in a fight."

          
This caused another roar of laughter, though Kenric noticed the man with the blank eyes simply stared, expressionless.

          
"Show yourself, lad."
 
Kern called, false joviality

in his voice.
 
"I would see what manner of boy dares challenge such seasoned warriors."

          
Kenric could feel Megan tremble as she peeped out from behind him.
 
Most likely she was terrified.
 
He longed to comfort her, but he dared not.
 
As long as she held silent, he might yet be able to figure a way out of this.

          
Instead, to his utter disbelief, Megan began talking. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

          
Kern cocked his head.
 
"What's that?"
 
He grinned, a wolfish evil smirk.
 
"Does the little pup yap?"

          
"You're damn right I do."
 
She growled, her voice shaking with anger.
 
"Why don't you bullies go pick on somebody your own size?"