Powerful Magic (3 page)

          
Gently, he placed her on a recent acquisition, a thick and heavy bear skin.
 
Wrapping it around her, he rocked back on his heels, wondering what he would do with her when she woke.
 
After that thought came another; he found himself strangely curious as to the color of her eyes.

          
Fool
.
 
Chiding himself, Kenric added more wood to his fire, pleased as it crackled and danced in the modest stone hearth he'd created years ago in the cave wall.
 
It was close enough to the front of the cave that most of the smoke would flow out, yet near enough to the back to warm the entire small enclosure.

          
Feeling the warmth, the woman stirred.
 
Her eyes fluttered open as she stared at the fire, then at the dim interior of the cave, and finally at him.
 

          
They were brown, he noted numbly, though a brown unlike any he'd ever seen.
 
Gold flecks danced in them, and the upward tilt of her eyes made her look mysterious and very, very beautiful.

          
"Hell." She muttered, a foreign inflection to the familiar English.
 
"I'm in hell. It figures."

          
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 with snow.
 
His war horse shifted, snorting with unease.
 
With a few quiet words, Kenric soothed the beast.