Powerful Magic

by Karen Whiddon

  Though he knew not what she meant by the last, Kenric moved closer.

  She gasped and tried to move backwards, the hard rock wall preventing her. "Who... who are you?"

  It appeared she spoke English, though she spoke strangely. Perhaps the fear, so evident in the wide-eyed look of terror she wore, made her lose her capacity for normal speech.

  "I am Kenric of Blackstone." Resigned, he waited for her to recognize the name.

  When she did not show any outward reaction, he was startled to realize he felt relief. This meant then, that she was not one of those who, by the grace of King William, lived in his family's former castle and feasted on food that should have belonged to him, but never would simply because he was bastard.

  The silence grew while she stared at him, still trembling. When she finally spoke, her tone was flat and lifeless.

  "Are you some sort of devil, or..." her voice faltered, "a demon?"

  Shocked, Kenric narrowed his eyes, his hand going automatically to his sword. He would challenge a man over such an insult. Forcing himself to relax his hand, he inclined his head. Since she was only a tiny female, and obviously fought off some sort of madness, he would allay her fears.

  "Nay, lady." His gruff voice vibrated with the anger he suppressed. "I am no devil, only a man."

  To his amazement, she smiled then, transforming her heart shaped face. Kenric stared, spellbound by her shocking beauty. He had not realized she was so comely. The fire made her dark hair dance with golden lights, and her long lashed eyes seemed to glow like precious gemstones. Color had returned to her face, enough to show him she had skin the color of new poured cream. And those lips, those lush, ripe lips... they parted to speak again.

  "I guess this means I'm not in hell then."

  Cocking his shaggy head, he ran a hand over his rough beard and sighed. Either she was mad or she had injured her head while stumbling around in the snow in her ridiculous costume. That would explain her whimsical words.

  He found himself hoping for the latter.

  "You are not in hell." He assured her, though sometimes he too had his doubts. His life had become a sort of hell, ever since those from which half of his blood came had taken everything that had ever mattered to him.

  And could it be possible that she was one of them, here on another of Rhiannon's misguided missions? How else to explain her strange use of English, the foreign inflection in her voice. If Rhiannon thought to lure him with this one's sensual beauty, she was more of a fool than he had thought.

  "How came you here?" He asked her, still standing in his fighting stance, though he kept his hand away from the hilt of his sword.

  "Here?" Blinking rapidly, she waved a milky hand around the dim interior of his cave. "I... I'm not sure. I think I was hit by lightening and when I woke up it began to snow."

  She frowned, biting her full bottom lip. The look she gave him was one of fearful entreaty, the look of a damsel in distress expecting rescue, hoping and praying that her rescuer did not turn out to be the very thing she needed rescue from.

  When she continued, it was in a low voice, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "Have you seen Roger? He was coming towards me when the lightening struck."

  Kenric shook his head, though obviously she did not require an answer. Such nonsensical speech was what he would expect from one who'd suffered some sort of blow to the head. Or a madwoman. Whichever it was, it was clear her mind was addled. That well explained the strange garb.

  As to the talk of lightening, since a blizzard howled outside the cave, the woman would soon realize the foolishness of her words.

  But this man, this Roger, now this interested him. If she'd been meeting a lover, it was highly likely this man would be roaming around here somewhere, storm or no storm, looking for her. He himself would, he concluded ruefully, were she of sound mind. A comely woman such as this one would be welcomed by any man, especially on such a cold night.

  His body stirred at the thought, surprising him. He had forsworn such things. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to enjoy the attentions of a willing maid. Not since he'd lived in his father's keep had he done so. Nor would he again, until the goal he devoted his life towards had been reached.

  Crouching on one knee before her, he lifted her chin with one hand. She shrank away from his touch, eyes huge in her heart-shaped face.

  "What are you called?" With narrowed eyes, he waited for her answer. Fear he was used to, though he found he intensely disliked seeing it in her.

  "Megan." She told him, swallowing. Her guileless expression told him she spoke the truth. "Megan Potter."

  Megan was a Welsh name, Potter was not.

  She made a mew of sound, trying to move away from his touch. He found himself moving his rough hand to her cheek, caressing the soft skin there. This so shocked him that he yanked his hand away.

  "From whence do you come?"

  "I’m… Dallas, Texas."

  He had not heard of the place, whether within the mysterious mountains of Wales or in Great Britain itself. Perhaps it was in another country, like Italy or Spain.

  "How came you here?" If she mentioned lightening again, he would know she needed some time to recover from whatever ailed her, and he would leave her alone.

  Instead of answering, she only shook her head. "I must find Roger."

  Still shivering and chewing the nail on her index finger, the woman regarded him hopefully. "There’s something important I need to tell him."

  "You will not tell him of this place." It was not a request, but a command. Kenric knew he did not want to kill this slip of a woman, but he had to protect his sanctuary.

  Megan Potter straightened her shoulders, fear still evident in the trembling of her rosebud mouth. "I don’t even know where this place is. It’s some sort of cave, that I can tell. But the only caves I know about are near Austin."

  She tilted her head, seeming to dredge up enough courage from somewhere to let her gaze travel boldly over him.

  It felt like her small hand touched him in those places where her gaze went. Oddly uncomfortable with her intense scrutiny, he looked away.

  "You are very beautiful." She told him, her voice dreamy and husky-soft. "I didn't know a man could be so beautiful."

  Women did not say such things! Again his body stirred, again he ruthlessly forced himself to think of other things. He refused to comment on her own beauty; it had been his experience that women who looked like this one were well aware of their charms and the power it gave them.

  "I must be dreaming." She ventured another smile, the innocent sensuality of it making his heart begin to pound.

  "I've never seen a man as big as you, at least in real life." She sighed. "Maybe one of those pro-wrestlers, though I wouldn't know from personal experience. And your hair, it's so long and thick."

  She fingered her own short, sable hair. "It's longer than mine. You know, actually you look more like a dark Viking than an angel. Pretty good, even for a dream."

  Now he knew she was mad. What kind of woman would say such things, alone with a man in a cave? He remembered the lack of clothing and his earlier thought, that she was a harlot. Perhaps he had been correct.

  Still, she aroused him beyond all reason.

  He did not like his choices. She was either mad, or had been sent to entrap him. His jaw tightened. He could easily believe she had been sent to lure him with honeyed words and soft skin. That would explain her lack of clothing, and the appalling way she spoke to him, tempting him.

  He would not give in. He could not. Yet, despite his vow, his blood thickened.

  "I am not Viking." He clung to the insult, however unintentional, she gave him. "My family was English, though I was born here in these Welsh hills."

  Slowly, she nodded, never taking her gaze from his face.

  Outside, the storm increased in intensity, the wind

  shrieking and moaning. The entrance to the cave, small though it was, began to fill wit
h snow. His war horse shifted, snorting with unease. With a few quiet words, Kenric soothed the beast.

  "A horse." The woman sounded surprised, like she had just noticed the animal. "He's huge. And so gorgeous too. I didn't know angels rode horses."

  She frowned, her gaze traveling over him again, heating his blood despite his intentions. "And fur. You're wearing fur. Aren't you guys supposed to be vegetarians and anti-fur or something? Man, what a messed up dream."

  Angels. From Demon to Viking to this, a messenger of God. And she kept talking about dreams.

  Though she made no sense, and her accent made the strange English she used difficult to understand, until he knew more Kenric decided to act as if he took her words seriously.

  "I am no angel." He laughed, a bitter sound, even to his own ears. "Far from it, in fact."

  Then, to his disbelief, she crawled towards him, still shivering, but with fierce resolve plain in her small face.

  "I want to touch you." She said, kneeling before him knee to knee. "This is my dream and I want to enjoy it before I have to go back to the real world. Except for in the movies, I've never seen a man as beautiful as you."

  Tilting her head, she laid her hand on his arm, stroking the hard muscles there, knitting her brow in concentration.

  Kenric found himself holding his breath, trembling - yes, trembling! as he allowed her touch.

  When she moved her hand to his chest, parting the laces of his tunic and touching him with an untrained sensuality that drove him wild, he felt the last of his control slipping despite his earlier resolve.

  "Roger is nothing like this..." she breathed.

  Roger. With an oath he put her from him, cursing his own unruly body.

  "Know this, woman," he snarled, "the storm outside is a mighty one. If your man is out in it, unless he has found some sort of shelter, he will not survive."

  She gasped at this, her full lip trembling. "But it was warm when I went to meet him, and I didn't get a chance to tell him--"

  So she had been having a tryst with her lover. Ah, still Kenric found her alluring, with the fresh color that bloomed in her cheeks, and the way her exotic eyes glowed.

  "You really think that Roger is out in this?" she asked.

  Roger. To regain a measure of steadiness, he fixed on the name. It was a good English name.

  "Who is this Roger to you?" Folding his arms across his chest, he waited to hear her answer.

  "My, uh..." she fumbled with the words, telling him again that this odd sort of English she spoke was not her original tongue. "I was supposed to marry him." She muttered, turning her magnificent gaze away to stare at the fire.

  "Your betrothed?" His voice sharp, Kenric cursed under his breath. With her graceful, long fingered hands and pampered skin, she was no serf. A noblewoman? That meant her Lord would be trying like hell to find her.

  Kenric narrowed his eyes and studied her again, trying to determine if she lied.

  As if to mock him, a gust of snow blew into the cave, making the fire sputter. They were trapped here together. There would be no leaving until the storm abated.

  One thought cheered him slightly. He doubted anyone could find them either. His secret was safe, at least for now.

  Moving closer to the fire, she held out her hands towards the warmth. Raising her gaze again, her golden eyes were wide with the uncertain fear of a cornered doe.

  "I am dreaming, aren't I?"

  He ignored the question. In the space of seconds, she had gone from sensual temptress to frightened girl. It made no sense. Few knew of his goal. It would take more than a beautiful woman to turn him from his path.

  Then she stood, the threadbare blanket falling from her slender shoulders and his mouth went dry. He couldn't move.

  Firelight reflected off her satiny skin, making it golden and warm. With her chest heaving and her head tilted up at him, her full, parted lips were more than even he, no angel at all, could resist.

  So he bent his head and kissed her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In her glittering castle, Rhiannon, Queen of Rune and all the lands that encompassed Faerie, paced. Though she tried to hide it, she knew her agitation was plain to those who loved her well, for she could no longer keep her impatience and pain hidden inside.

  The pain was old, though usually she kept it locked away. The impatience, now this was a new thing, and it brought great hope to her inner circle of advisors and friends. It seemed an eternity since their beloved Queen had allowed any hint of emotion to cross the frozen perfection of her face.

  "She is here." Rhiannon said, bitterness warring with hope in her bell-like voice. "And he is with her."

  The three others assembled in her private chamber murmured among themselves; words of joy, of anticipation. Words that had not been spoken in the long, grey years since their Queen had lost her one true love, her own soul-mate.

  Arwydd, a wizened faerie who was perhaps the oldest of them all, spoke. "So what has been foretold, will come to pass."

  Rhiannon smiled fondly on her former nursemaid. "Yes." She knew the simple answer would be enough. No one in the Faerie Kingdom of Rune was unschooled in the prophecy.

  "And your half-brother, the changeling who is human-raised, will be the instrument all of our hopes are pinned on?" The bitter tone came from Vychan, who had been most against any kind of relations with mankind. He did not believe the words of prophecy which said that the land of Faerie would die unless it came to terms with the land of Humankind. But he was alone in this, for Rhiannon and the others believed. It was for this reason that Rhiannon, like her mother before her, had gone many years ago into the land of man and mated with a human male, the soul mate she had loved and lost.

  Now, her half-brother was heir to all she ruled, though he claimed not to want it.

  Rhiannon had hoped it would be a woman of Faerie who would win her brother's heart. But in a vision she had seen that this was not to be so. For it was a very human woman she had brought to him, a beautiful human female from another time and place.

  "What of Myrddin?" This from Drystan, whose very name echoed his sorrowful nature.

  At the name of their dreaded nemesis, the faeries fell silent. Unutterably weary, Rhiannon made circles in the air in front of her in much the same manner as a Christian might make the sign of the cross. "He watches also."

  None of them liked hearing this, indeed it damped the very spirit of festivity that had been present a mere moment ago.

  "And his power?" Vychan asked glumly.

  She could tell them nothing but the truth. "Daily it increases."

  "As ours weakens."

  "Yes, but perhaps my half-brother will be able to change that." Rhiannon had to interject a bit of optimism into the group. After all, this long awaited event was the hope of all Faerie.

  "Can you hasten it?"

  Rhiannon shook her head. "You know better. Kenric and his woman both have free will. The choice must be freely made or it will have no power."

  "And the love."

  Her heart ached. "My brother does not believe in love. Not yet."

  "Love must flow between them for the magic to begin. Can you hasten that?"

  Sadly, Rhiannon shook her head. "It must come to both of them naturally. Or not at all."

  Vychan and Drystan exchanged glances. Each of them wore expressions of uncharacteristic gloom. "Then all would be lost."

  A murmur of sorrow, laced with the faint hint of tears, swept through those assembled.

  Choking up, Rhiannon could not speak. To do so would betray her unseemly emotion. She was Queen. They looked to her for answers. So it was doubly important that she show no doubt, that she believe. There was no need for her to answer that bleak statement. Every faerie in Rune knew that it was the truth.

  #

  It wasn't a gentle kiss, not by any means. Stunned at first, Megan froze as his lips covered hers. But, as his mouth claimed hers, plundered actually, she began to respond, not totally against he
r will.

  Though a large man, this Kenric didn't hurt her or crush her small body to his massive chest. Rather he kissed her with a desperate sort of possession, the heat of which she could not fail to answer.

  She had never felt such passion from a man. Certainly not from Roger, whose kisses were more the chaste, brotherly sort.

  Her knees went weak and, of their own accord, her arms wound up around Kenric's neck, her hands tangling in his thick mane of chestnut hair.

  He was beautiful, she had to admit, and so totally male. And she, after all, was female, dreaming or otherwise. It felt good to let her body melt in to his rock hard chest, good to feel the restraint in his huge, muscled arms as he held her.

  Though they were alone, she wasn’t afraid, even as he deepened the kiss and his breathing quickened. Even as she felt his arousal, swollen hard against her belly.

  It was he who pulled away, wearing a stunned look on his handsome face. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he glared at her. Equally stunned, Megan stared back.

  With deliberate care, he reached down for the blanket and handed it back to her.

  "Cover yourself, woman." His voice sounded gruff, strained. "I will not lie with you, despite your brazen display."

  Startled, she flashed him a look. Did he really think she meant to seduce him?

  "Take it." He ordered, thrusting it at her.

  With clumsy haste she did as he bid her, her fingers colliding with his big hand as she snatched the blanket from his grip.

  Outside, the wind hissed and moaned. Save for a few feet at the top, the entire entrance to the cave was blocked with snow. Their small fire still burned, though it sputtered and sparked.

  But she wasn’t cold, not at all, not now. From one kiss, one earth shattering, wonderful kiss, her entire body felt on fire.

  Who was this man? Why did he affect her this way?

  "You are betrothed." His deep voice, harsh and emotionless, broke the silence.

  Because technically this was true; she hadn't had time to break things off with Roger before the lightening had hit her, Megan did not contradict him. Instead, she looked away, recognizing the condemnation in his statement and wishing she knew what the hell was going on. Was she dreaming or not?