Powerful Magic (11 page)

          
When she returned, he kept his back turned, checking the supplies once final time.
 
With his white coat gleaming despite the shaggy winter coat, the war horse snorted, antsy, ready to go.
 
He knew how the animal felt.

          
"What's the horse's name?"
 
Her soft voice came from right behind him, nearly making him jump.
 
He cursed under his breath. Until late, no one had been able to sneak up on him unawares. More proof that it was time to retire his sword.
 

          
"He has no name."
 
Kenric sounded more harsh than he intended; even his horse shifted sideways.
 
He glanced at her - a mistake, he knew instantly.
 
Though she'd finger combed her dark hair, her cat's eyes still looked heavy with sleep.
 
She blew a short gust of air from her lips, drawing his attention to her mouth.
  
Her lush, full, kissable mouth.
 
Heat flashed through him, making him remember the raw, sensual taste of her.
 
   

          
"No name?"
 
She laughed, reaching out one slender hand to touch the animal's thick neck.
 
"Did you just get him?"

          
Setting his jaw, Kenric tore his gaze away.
 
"I've had him for years."
 
Since the day he'd found his family slaughtered, most dead, his father dying in the bloody, deserted keep, and the war horse starving in his stall.

          
She fell silent, perhaps astounded by the fact that this animal that he so obviously valued had no name.
 
When she spoke again,it was to ask a question that he should have anticipated.

          
"Why haven't you named him?"

          
Because he wasn't sure he could articulate the reason and because the less she knew of him and his life the better, he chose not to answer.
 

          
"The sun rises."
 
He told her instead, pointing to the

gradually lightening cave entrance.
 
"It is time we ride."

          
"Do I have duties?"

          
Kenric blinked, wondering what she meant, knowing she had not meant anything like the erotic thoughts that immediately came to mind.
 
"Duties?"

          
"Yes,"
 
Megan drawled, her tone the exaggerated drawl all women used when they believed they spoke with limitless patience for the slowness of men.
 
"What, exactly, does a squire do?"

          
Despite himself, he had to smile.
 
"A squire serves a

knight.
 
Takes care of his armor and other things.
 
Usually, you would have your own horse, though a palfrey, not a beast of war."

          
She bit her lip, looking small and defenseless and less like a squire than anyone he'd ever seen.
 
Protectiveness welled up in him, horrifying him.
 
This desire to protect was what he sought to escape.
 
Especially since he knew he would ultimately fail, just as he'd failed to save his family.

          
Her tentative touch on his arm brought him out of his reverie.
 
"Are you all right?"

          
"Fine."
 
With a brusque nod he clasped her around the waist, lifting her to the broad back of his horse.
 
To her credit, she made no sound, though her entire body might have become wood, so stiff did she hold herself.
 
His hands seemed impossibly large, spanning her tiny waist.
 
Suddenly he, a man fast on his feet, known as lightening with a sword, felt unbelievably clumsy, oafish even.
 
To her he must seem a veritable giant.
 

          
And she only a small female alone, weak and defenseless.
 

          
He wondered if she realized how lucky she had been, that he and not some Marcher Lord had found her.
 
Or another hired sword, one with no honor.
 
There were many men like that.
 
In these parts, honor was in short supply.

          
With a start he realized he still held her and jerked his hands away.
 
She watched him from beneath her lashes, her face pale and drawn.
 
In the depths of her gaze he saw something, he knew not what.
 

          
Then recognizing it, chastised himself for not realizing it sooner.
 
Fear lurked there, barely masked.
 
Of him?
 
Nay, for in the next second she glanced at the horse's massive head, biting her lip.
 
She would have to conquer her fear, for they had many miles to cover before they reached the nearest village.

          
Shaking his head, he mounted his steed, careful not to touch Megan.
 
The war horse, eager to be off, tossed his head and nickered.

          
"Ready?"
 
Scarcely waiting for her answer, Kenric tightened his calves, the signal to the beast to move.
 
The

horse, sure footed and wise, picked his way among the rocks, increasing his stride when they reached the flat land, still covered in deep, powdery snow.
 

          
"Where are we going?"

          
He pointed to the east, hoping she would not remember from what direction they'd come.
 
"The nearest village is that way.
 
It is to there we go, to see if your Roger has left any men to search for you."

          
They moved at a brisk walk, the horse's sturdy legs churning up the unbroken snowy whiteness.
 
The cold air, though still, hung heavy with the promise of more snow.
 
The leaden sky held no promise of sun.

          
And behind him, Megan sat so stiff, so frozen, that if it weren't for her carefully controlled shivering, he wouldn't have known she was alive.

          
He fell into his own thoughts, letting himself dream of the land that would soon be his.

#

          
More and more Megan felt guilty for lying to Kenric. Part of her wanted to tell him the truth, but she knew if she did he'd think her insane.
 
She wasn't even sure she wanted to go home, to wake up from this crazy, technicolor dream and find herself in modern day Dallas.

          
But then she knew she didn't want to stay here, in this cold, barren land, for too long.
 
She'd have to go home.

          
Without this Kenric of Blackstone's help, she knew she'd never make it.
 
Yet she, who prided herself on being up front and honest, had to secure his help with a lie.
 
Not just any lie either, but apparently his heart's desire.
 
Land.
 
Now how on earth would she pay him off?
 
She didn't know.
 
She only knew that if she found a way, any way, to get this man some land, she would do it.
 
Once he'd helped her find her way home, of course.
 
And maybe she could get him to make sure Roger left her alone as well.
 

          
They crested a slight hill and he reigned the horse in.
 
Wondering why they'd stopped, Megan craned her neck, trying to see around his broad back.

          
"There."
 
He pointed, turning the horse sideways so she could see.
 
"Perhaps someone there can help us."

          
In the valley below she could make out buildings, smoke rising from most of them.
 
And people, she thought she could make out the tiny forms of people bustling around in the cold morning air below.
 
But she saw no automobiles, no traffic lights, nothing to let her know they had returned to the world she knew.

          
It was as Kenric had said.
 
Exactly like a medieval movie, a bustling village waited below.
 

          
She tried not to let her spirits sink.
           
If she had somehow been transported back in time, there had to be a way out.
 
Maybe in the village, somehow there would be someone who knew how she could get home.

          
Apparently eager to be off, the horse shied sideways.
 
Megan tightened her grip around Kenric's waist.
 
          
"If you would not hold yourself so stiffly, you would be in less danger of losing your seat."
 
He told her.

          
She could have sworn he sounded amused.
 
No doubt he would find it highly amusing were she to land on her behind in the snow.
 
"I'll keep that in mind."
 

          
"When we reach the village, you must remember that you are a squire."

          
A boy.
 
In other words, she needed to lose all trace of her femininity.
 
Not, she glanced ruefully down at her baggy pants and too-large tunic, that she had much left.
 
At least her hair was short.
 
Though with Kenric's long hair, maybe that was another oddity in this time and place.

          
"I will remember."
 
She told him, lifting her chin, determined to make this work.
 
It
had
to work, if she had any chance at all of going home.

          
"Good."
 
With an invisible command, he urged the horse forward and they plunged down the hill toward the village.

          
The villagers seemed to recognize Kenric.
 
Several lifted their hands in greeting, their lined faces wreathed in smiles. Megan knew she shouldn't be surprised, obviously the man lived in the area, but part of her sort of expected the people to act as if he were some lunatic barbarian with a fondness for medieval clothes. This was the same part of her that steadfastly refused to believe she had somehow traveled back in time to the past.
 
Of course everyone else was dressed similar to Kenric - the women in long, archaic dresses, their hair bound or flowing freely down their backs.
 
The men looked the same too; long haired barbarians, though none seemed as big or as brawny as Kenric.

          
No one seemed to mind the bone-numbing cold.
 

          
Kenric slowed the horse, pausing in front of a weathered stone building with a crudely lettered sign out front.
 
A tavern.
 

          
Ok.
 
Megan rubbed her frozen hands together.
 
Now they were getting somewhere.
 
A hot rum toddy sounded wonderful.

          
"If your Roger has men searching for you, they will know it here."
 
Chiseled features grim, Kenric dismounted, his cloak swirling around his broad shoulders.
 

          
When Megan made a move to follow him, he held up his hand.
           
"Wait for me."
 

          
With a resigned sigh, she nodded.
 
For now she thought it would be best if she didn't speak, in case her voice gave away her identity.
 
She knew she could deepen it if she had to, but wasn't sure it would pass muster.
 

          
Watching him stroll away, she marveled at his unconscious arrogance.
 
If Hollywood were to get a hold of him, he'd be a natural to play a King.
 
Someone like King Arthur, perhaps.

          
No, Merlin
, an inner voice whispered.