Powerful Magic (28 page)

          
And insignificant might be putting it mildly.
 
As Lord Brighton dragged her through the crowded hall, no one even seemed to notice her.

          
But from the way people greeted him, Megan surmised he was well liked here in his castle - er, keep.
 
Another good thing, she told herself.
 
Such a man would be less likely to do something rash or evil.

          
Not once did he release his firm grip on her shoulder.

          
After what seemed an endless march, they finally reached the other end of the hall.
 
There, Lord Brighton paused before an ornately decorated door.
 
Fascinated despite herself, Megan studied the intricate woodwork.
 
Made of hardwood, the highly polished design seemed mystical, almost holy.

          
Before she had time to wonder what it all meant, Lord Brighton pulled the door open and pushed her through.

CHAPTER TEN

          
Kenric vaguely remembered a keep situated to the east.
 
He had never been there, though he'd heard tales about the place ever since he'd been a boy.
 
What he hadn't remembered was how far away the place actually was.
 

          
He'd ridden hard all day and still saw no signs of the outlying village that surely would surround such a place.
 
He saw an occasional crofter's hut, a shepherd and his dog guarding sheep, and still the winding road ahead showed him nothing but dust.
 

          
The sky remained cloudless and a vibrant blue, and the light breeze was warm.
 
A perfect spring day, if he were not in desperate pursuit of his vanished lady.
 

          
He would find her; he had to.
 
Only once in his life had Kenric failed, and that failure was more the result of his not being there than anything else.
 
He'd been absent when his father and his family were butchered, and for that he could never forgive himself.
 

          
For this reason, he would not fail again.

          
He would not fail to find Megan and save her.
 
He would return her to her Roger, collect the reward, and live the rest of his days in peace.

          
For some reason, on the seemingly endless ride in the middle of nowhere, he found himself wondering for the first time what this Roger was like?
 
What kind of man let his intended bride get lost and then made, for all attempts and purposes, no real effort to find her?

          
Perhaps this Roger did not want to marry Megan.
 
Mayhap it suited his purposes better if she were to remain lost.

          
This thought angered him.
 
Surprisingly, not because he would not be rewarded with land as Megan had promised, but because he did not want Megan hurt.
 
She had exhibited a strength of character and courage he had never seen in a woman, yet she was feminine and lovely.
 

          
If
he
were her betrothed - Kenric stopped the thought before it could take root.
 
He had no room in his life for emotion, not now.
 
Perhaps later, when he'd established his land and gotten his wife with child.
 
All that mattered was the continuance of the line; he was merely the vessel by which it would continue.

          
Megan belonged to another.
 
He would find her Lord Roger and claim his reward even if he had to wring the neck of the other man to do it.
 
And, in the process, he would ensure that beautiful, sweet Megan was not hurt.

          
As he rode, the sun sank lower in the sky.
 
Soon it would be difficult to see and he would have to find a place to stop.
 
But the thought of Megan trapped in some dank and moldering dungeon haunted him.

          
He decided to press on, trusting his war horse to find the way.
 
After all, they but followed a road.
 

          
The moon hung high in the sky when Kenric, exhausted, brought the horse to a halt.
 
He would have to sleep and the animal needed a rest and something to eat.
 

          
By the light of the full moon he could make out a silvery sliver of water on the other side of a field.
 
There he went, letting his faithful mount drink his fill.
 
The lush grass served as ample feed and, while the animal was munching contentedly, Kenric made him a pallet and drifted off to sleep, his dreams haunted by the face of a woman who belonged to another.

#

          
It took a moment for Megan's eyes to adjust to the dim light in the small room.
 
Candles flickered all around it, some sort of incense too.
 
The overpowering, exotic smell made her head swim.
 

          
In the back corner, reclining on a long couch, was an ancient man, judging from his deeply lined face and white hair and beard.
 
He appeared to be asleep, though one knarled hand rested on the head of an oversized grey cat.

          
Lord Brighton pushed her forward, clearing his throat loudly at the same time.

          
The ancient's eyes slowly opened.
 

          
Megan gasped.
 
Totally unexpected in such a wizened face, his eyes were silver, a purple of such brilliance and vibrancy that it humbled her.
 
She had never seen eyes like his.
 
After second thought, she realized she had.
 
Kenric's sister Rhiannon had eyes of the same color.

          
"Come closer, child."
 
He whispered.
 

          
Because his expression was not unkind and because Lord Brighton would surely push her again if she did not, Megan moved reluctantly forward.
 

          
"She has news of the one you seek."
 
Lord Brighton muttered.

          
Megan wondered why this one would seek Kenric.
 
Her knees trembled, though not from fear.
 
Not exactly.
 
Somehow the world that she had always taken for granted had changed.
 
Not only had she traveled to the past, but the past didn't even match the history her own world recited as truth.

          
Magic existed here.
 
Magic and faeries and no doubt other things that were assumed to be only myths in her time.
 
It challenged her concept of reality and absolutely terrified her.

          
Yet at the same time she felt more alive than she'd ever felt in her life.

          
As if sensing her unease, the old man smiled.
 
He lifted his hand from the cat's head and beckoned her closer.
 
"I will not hurt you, child."

          
She believed him.
 
And when a wooden footstool suddenly appeared next to his couch, she sat down upon it gratefully.

          
"I am Ed."
 

          
Gaping, surprised that one such as he should have such an ordinary name, Megan nodded.
 

          
"For Edmyg."
 
He continued, grinning.
 
"It means
honor
."

          
"I am," her attempt at keeping her voice low failed.
 
She cleared her throat and tried again, this time in her normal voice, "Megan of Dallas."

          
Behind her Lord Brighton stiffened.
 
"A female." he growled.
 
"That explains many things."

          
Megan cursed herself.
 
She had been so awestruck by the power she sensed in this ancient one that she'd completely forgotten her disguise.

          
Edmyg waved Lord Brighton to silence.
 
"Megan.
 
Your name means strong and capable.
 
Are you?"

          
Though her Irish mother had always assured her that the name meant
Pearl
, Megan supposed it meant different things in different languages.
 
In these times, perhaps it did mean what this man said.
 

          
"I suppose I must be."
 
She answered reluctantly.
 

          
Edmyg smiled at that, his sharp eyes at odds with his jovial expression.
 
"Where is he?"

          
Megan stared blankly at the man.
 
"Who?"
 

          
"Your mate."

          
Immediately she thought of Roger, waiting beneath the old oak tree.
 
He had wanted to be her mate, though she'd been zapped by lightening before she'd been able to tell him no.
 
Then she remembered Rhiannon's words, telling her Kenric was her soul mate.

          
She sighed.
 
"I have no mate."

          
Lord Brighton growled again, low in his throat.
 
"She lies.
 
When I asked her the name of her Lord, she told me--"

          
"Enough."
 
Sounding surprisingly authoritative for one so ancient, Ed pointed to the door.
 
"You may leave now.
 
I would speak with this one alone."

          
Despite herself, Megan shivered.
 
Though she had no sense of immediate danger, she hadn't yet been able to ascertain if this man were friend or foe.

          
Lord Brighton bowed stiffly and left.

          
Was it her imagination, or did the shadows seem to grow deeper?
 
The candles flickered and the cloying scent of the incense seemed suddenly overpowering.
 
Megan had an urge to run, to flee, to try and escape this weird place, this strange man, and most of all this time in which nothing was as it should be.

          
Like he knew her thoughts, the old man smiled.
 
"Do not be afraid.
 
I dreamt of Rhiannon late last night.
 
In the dream she told me to expect you."

          
Rhiannon?
 
This man knew Kenric's sister?
 
And, knew her well, if the naked longing that resonated through his powerful voice was any indication.
 
Yet he was ancient, surely too old to care for her in the way his voice indicated.