She did as he asked, wishing she had a knitted cap, some thermal underwear, and a good pair of waterproof, fully-lined, boots.
Soon they could not see. It seemed another full-fledged blizzard was in progress. Still, Kenric urged Lancelot on. Megan wondered how the horse found his way, because it was near impossible to see more than five feet in front of them. Unable to tell if it was day or night, she lost track of time. The cold snaked into her bones and consumed her, until even her teeth chattered and her jaw ached from trying to hold in her shivering.
But even if she begged Kenric to stop, Megan could see no place to take shelter. How she longed now for the small cave and the warmth of the smoky, sputtering fire.
"Tis dangerous." Kenric muttered, his voice muffled by his heavy cloak. "I know not where we ride. I have to trust the horse to find a safe place to walk."
"Lancelot." She blurted without thinking, her voice trembling with her shivering.
Kenric turned to look at her while Lancelot kept plodding forward, head down. "What?"
"The horse." She wondered if the poor animal was as frozen as she. "His name is Lancelot."
Obviously thinking her deranged, Kenric shook his head. "My war horse has no name."
Glad of at least one coherent thought to cling to, to push away the cold, Megan snorted. "He does now. I've named him Lancelot."
"Why?"
She wondered if the Arthurian legend was known in 1072. "Lancelot was a brave knight."
"Nay. He betrayed a king."
Ah, so he did know the story. And while yes, it was technically true that Lancelot had stolen the king's wife, all she could think of was Richard Gere, handsome and charming, in that role in the movie First Knight.
Kenric watched her, his eyes glittering shards of ice. Like her hands and feet and, heck the rest of her body was
beginning to feel.
"He's a horse, for God's sake." Frustration and cold made her want to weep. "You don't have to take the name so literally."
He shook his head, the movement sending some of the snow that coated his dark mane flying.
"Are you all right?" He asked, the concern in his voice warring with the steely expression on his face.
She didn't know what to make of him. Right now she didn't much care. All she wanted was to find a place where she could get warm.
"No." She slid a frozen hand from under her cloak, daring to reach up and slip it under his, to the back of his neck.
He jumped. "God's blood, you are like ice."
Withdrawing her hand, she said nothing.
"There is no place to take shelter." He told her, while Lancelot continued to push bravely forward. "If we stop now, we will die. I do not know from whence this storm came - there was no sign of it when we left the cave."
Despite the truth she sensed in his words, stopping was beginning to sound lovely. An incredible lassitude seemed to have taken over, taking her past the bone wrenching chills, the icy numbness and the cold. She could barely hold her head up.
She, who had lived her entire life in the Southern part of the United States, knew nothing of blowing snow, gale force winds, or sub-zero temperatures. Of freezing to death she knew only what she had read or seen in the movies. It appeared she was about to experience it, first hand. Megan knew enough to know she should fight it, that she should not let her eyes drift closed. But she hadn't known until now how overpowering the urge would be; such a simple thing really, to drift off to sleep for eternity, to finally escape the miserable stab of the frigid cold.
"Megan." The deep voice seemed to come from a long way off.
Bone weary, she forced herself to lift her head. "Cold." She mumbled. "So cold."
With fumbling fingers, Kenric reached beside him and withdrew his sword. Even the sound of leather releasing steel seemed muffled in this dizzying world of white.
Curiosity warred with the need to sleep. This time she fought the urge to close her eyes. The sword reminded her that she needed to live. Surely she had not survived a lightening strike and traversed so many years to die a frozen death. There had to be some reason for her arrival here, something to do perhaps with Kenric and his magical sword.
Thunder.
Opening her eyes wider, Megan peered around. She was so cold she no longer shivered, her teeth no longer chattered. She seemed to have almost transcended the world of mere mortals, feeling nothing now, not even the overwhelming need for sleep.
Again she heard it... had she imagined it, the deep rumble in the sky that precedes a thunderstorm? Surely she had, for though she didn't know much about blizzards, she didn't think snow clouds thundered. Or that lightening occurred, like the marauding Welsh riders had said.
Kenric continued to hold his sword up, his arm and the metal a straight line pointing to the sky. Again the weapon seemed to glow, a soft light that grew brighter as she watched, pointing a path through the swirling mist and snow.
Again she thought of King Arthur and Merlin and the powerful sword in the stone. For the first time she wondered if the legend had some basis in fact.
"That way lies safety." Though the words came from her throat, slurred, Megan knew she had not meant to say them. But Kenric, his dark shaggy head covered in white, nodded and turned the great horse towards the glowing beam of light.
They left the path and rode into the dense trees, Lancelot picking his way carefully. The snow did not seem to fall as heavily here; the close knit branches formed a canopy of sorts. The light did not waver; as long as Kenric held the sword in front of them it lit the way.
The trees grew closer together, the going more difficult for the large war horse. Until finally he had to stop. They had reached a place where the trees grew so intertwined that they formed an unbroken wall.
"I like not the looks of this." Lowering the sword, Kenric once again sheathed it. The light glimmered and slowly faded, the snow and the otherworldly mist coming up once more to swirl around them.
Megan shook her head. For some reason her lethargy seemed to have vanished. So had her chills. Blood rushed back into her limbs, making them tingle and ache so that she shifted uneasily behind Kenric. Something about this place...
"It's magical." Kenric said flatly, letting her know that she had spoken out loud. "I like it not."
"The mist?"
"This place. I sense magic here. Somehow the sword has brought us to a place of magic."
She couldn't see what the problem was. After all, he had said his sword was a magical sword. It only made sense. "Do you think it will be warm?"
His face might have been carved from ice itself. "It does not matter. We will not go there."
The trees seemed closer, impossible to get through, either forward or back. Even if it was her imagination, she didn't see how he meant to turn Lancelot around.
"What are you going to do?"
"Go back." His voice sounded more frozen than the wind that howled outside the protection of their corpse of trees.
"How?" She leaned in close to him, her breath making a plume of frosty smoke on his cheek. "Back the horse out?"
His expression now left no doubt that was exactly what he meant to do.
"I will think of a way." He told her.
Megan cast one final longing look at the wall of trees, from behind which she imagined she could see a soft glow of warm light. Somehow she had no doubt the wall would somehow part for them, allowing them to enter the magical and safe - and warm! - place. Where this notion came from, she had no idea. But too much had happened to her recently for her to doubt her instincts now.
"I want to go there." Her hand held remarkably steady as she pointed. "I'm cold, I'm tired, and I want to get warm. I don’t want to freeze to death in that blizzard."
After a moment of silence, Kenric laughed, a humorless bark of sound that seemed to echo in the still forest. "You speak with the tone of a queen."
She raised a brow the way she imagined a real queen, might raise it. "Maybe I am."
; He did pause at that, cocking his head to study her.
"A queen?" He growled, looking annoyed and grim and maddeningly arrogant all at once. "Of what place, my lady? Perchance do you come from a place not of this world?"
Stunned at first that he believed her, it took a second
for it to dawn on Megan that Kenric thought she came from the realm of magic, the realm of what - faeries and elves? To her this seemed even more improbable and fantastic than the truth, at least the truth as she knew it - that she'd traveled through time. But this man carried an enchanted sword. To him, she had no doubt that faeries and elves were real, even if he seemed to loathe them. More real than the year 2010 could ever be.
"It all fits." Kenric breathed, fury filling his face. "Your odd attire, the strange words you use. You are not Welsh. You are from the land behind the veil, the place where some say my sword was forged. And you say you are a queen? Or maybe only a princess who aspires to become a queen?"
"No. I was just kidding." She refused to allow herself to panic. If this man, who seemed to abhor magic, truly believed she was some sort of elfin royalty, what would he do? Dump her to freeze to death alone in these woods?
She couldn't believe they were having this conversation, only minutes after nearly dying of frostbite. Then again, there was much about what had happened to her lately that she found difficult to believe.
His eyes narrowed in speculation. "A princess of Faerie."
"No." Megan said again, beseeching him with her gaze to believe her. "I’m human, as human as you are. I don't know anything about magic or faeries or any of that. And I was only teasing, er jesting, about being a queen."
"As human as I?" Kenric's voice dripped ice.
She swallowed as another thought occurred to her. "You are human, aren't you?"
Though he gave a slow nod, his frozen expression told her something was terribly wrong.
Again, the chill of the air began to seep once more into her bones. Megan shivered and cast a look of longing towards the place that had, moments earlier, seemed so welcoming and safe.
Magical, he'd said. She really wanted to see this magic stuff for herself, especially if it would get her warm. After all, maybe someone with a little bit of magic power could help her to get home. Maybe even help her with the problem of Roger once she got there.
She wanted to go to this Faerie, this place behind the veil. But how to convince Kenric to take her there without him thinking she was some sort of faerie herself?
Lancelot solved that problem neatly. The huge war horse, snorted once, then took the bit in his teeth and began lumbering toward the wall of trees.
Kenric cursed, pulling back on the reins. It made no difference - the horse ignored all of Kenric's efforts to make him stop.
"You." Turning to pin Megan with a furious gaze, Kenric put one hand on the hilt of his sword. "You had something to do with this, did you not?"
If looks could kill...
"No, I swear to you, I didn't. How could I?" she pleaded with him to understand, "I've never been on a horse in my life. I wouldn't even know how to make Lancelot move."
Again he shot her that icy glare. "My war horse carries no name. Cease calling him Lancelot."
Lancelot came to the wall of trees. Instead of stopping, he plowed right into them. To Megan, it came as no surprise that the trees seemed to part, as if a powerful hand guided them, allowing them entrance.
Grim faced, Kenric fell silent and Lancelot, no longer plodding, seemed to prance as they entered the magical place.
Where, Megan saw immediately with no small measure of relief, it was summer, bright blazing sunshine, blue skies, and all.
Kenric, uttering a muffled oath, crossed himself. Behind them, the wall of trees seemed to straighten and reform, blocking out the snowstorm.
"You'd best pray, my lady." His voice sounded bitter.
Trying to restrain her delight, Megan loosened the heavy cloak and held her hands up to the brilliant sun. "For what?"
The look he gave her was angry, mingled with pity and disbelief. "Have you not heard the tales of mortals who wandered in to the land of Faerie? `Tis said years pass whilst they, unknowing, are bound by enchantment."
He lowered his voice, his eyes sharp, taking note of all around them. "Some never make it back."
Since what he said was too close to her present situation for comfort, Megan trembled. For the first time she wondered what she would do if it was not possible for her to go back home, back to Dallas in 2010. Where she had electricity, a snazzy new red BMW convertible, and Roger.
The thought of her fiance made her shudder. No doubt Roger was furious at her disappearance. Unable to believe that she'd simply vanished when the lightening hit, he probably had employed a team of private investigators to search for her whereabouts. After all, she hadn't changed her will to make him beneficiary as he'd ordered her to do.
Lancelot came to a halt, lifting his head to scent the breeze. Stretching his thick neck forward, he whinnied, cocking his ears as if he expected an answer.
Dragging her gaze away from Kenric's hard face, Megan looked around her with wonderment. Stretching as far as the eye could see was a summer meadow of verdant green and gold. The long grass waved in the light breeze, and brightly colored birds flitted from the limbs of the leafy trees, their songs joyful and sweet. The scent of wildflowers and hay filled the air. For the first time since the lightening bolt had hit her, Megan felt warm.
"It's beautiful!" Unable to help herself, she laughed with delight. "Look." She touched Kenric's shoulder, leaning close so that she might whisper in his ear, "Over there. A doe and her fawn."
"Beware, Megan of Dallas Texas." Kenric turned to glare at her, his eyes hard and cold as the land they'd just left. "This is a place of danger. Not all is at it appears."
She found it hard to believe. "All I know is that I'd much rather have awakened here than in that snowstorm." She sighed, wiggling slightly. "Can I get down?"
The big man in front of her stiffened. "No." He barked, his hand going once more to his sword. "You must stay on the horse. Trouble comes."
Peering around his shoulder, Megan stared in astonishment. A woman, her long golden hair floating gently around her shoulders, strolled towards them. She wore a long, white robe of some sort of gossamer material, edged with golden thread. Though she was still on the other side of the meadow, by her very presence she seemed to make the place that much more wonderful.
"She's gorgeous." Megan breathed as the woman grew closer. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman Megan had ever seen.
"Aye, that she is." Kenric said glumly. He held himself the way a warrior does who's about to meet an enemy in battle. "It has been a long time since I've seen her."
He knew her? That vision of loveliness who approached them? Suddenly, Megan felt positively dowdy in Kenric's faded, baggy clothes. "Who is she?"
His intent stare never wavered from the woman as she drew near. His mouth twisted bitterly. "Her name is Rhiannon. We shared the same mother. She is my half-sister."
"Your..." Megan swallowed, hardly able to believe it, "your half-sister?" The idea that this rugged giant had a sister seemed, well, shocking. She shook her head. Everyone had family, even arrogant warriors. But he'd said before that he had no family, that they were all dead. And, wait a minute, if this Faerie woman were his sister, then what did that make him?
About to ask, she closed her mouth as the woman drew near.
"Greetings, my brother." With a soft smile, the woman hailed him. Her voice was lilting and musical.
Kenric slid from the horse, leaving Megan still up on Lancelot's broad back. Tamping back surprise - that she was no longer afraid - and fury - that he should treat her as if she were not even here - Megan copied his movements exactly. She managed to land on her feet, looking almost dignified. That is, until her legs refused to support her and she had to clutch at Kenric's arm to stay upright.
He barely spared Megan a
glance, his gaze never wavering from the woman who hailed them.
"Rhiannon, my sister." Kenric inclined his head, looking every inch the arrogant warrior. "How fares it with you?"
Astonished, Megan stared. This was it? This was the way he greeted his sister, who by his own admission he hadn't seen in a long time. Before she had time to think of it, she prodded him with her elbow. "Give her a hug." She hissed, close to his ear so that his sister would not hear it.
One corner of Kenric's mouth lifted. Imperceptibly, he gave a shake of his dark head.
Megan sighed, giving up. There was no way she could force him to be nice, not without making a scene. She supposed it was none of her business anyway. After all, she barely knew the man.
But she'd drawn his sister's attention. Long lashed eyes the color of periwinkles glanced curiously at Megan.
"Who is your woman?"
The way Kenric's sister said the word woman endowed the simple word with another layer of meaning. As in girlfriend, wife, lover... Megan could feel her face coloring, especially under the other's curious gaze.
Kenric showed no surprise that his sister had seen through Megan's disguise. "She is a displaced lady, searching for her betrothed. I am merely helping her." He clamped his mouth shut, his lips a hard line in a face that might have been chiseled from stone.
"And you?" His sister asked softly, her gentle smile never wavering. "What do you get in return?"
That seemed odd. Megan frowned, watching the interplay between siblings. Why did Kenric's sister automatically assume he would get something out of helping her?
Like he knew her thoughts, Kenric shot Megan a quelling look. Straightening his shoulders, he inclined his head. "In return she has promised me a grant of land. In the world of mankind."
"Ahhh." The woman's silver eyes, so like Kenric's, softened. "Human land. `Tis what you have always wanted, is it not?"
He gave a curt nod, still ignoring Megan. It seemed he had no intention of introducing her by name. Very well, she could take care of that. She was a woman of modern times, after all. "I’m Megan Potter." Stepping forward, Megan held out her hand for Rhiannon to shake.
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