Powerful Magic (32 page)

          
With another look at the still furious Lord Brighton, Kenric nodded.
 
"No magic."
 
He ordered.

          
Graciously, Edmyg inclined his head. "Agreed. Come then."
 
           
Seeing no choice, Kenric took Megan's arm and followed, leaving Lord Brighton tailing silently after them.
 

          
The still silent crowd parted.

          
He waited until the door closed behind them to sheath his sword.
 

          
"Tell me what goes on here."

          
Lord Brighton made a sound of impatience.
 
Edmyg waved him to silence.
 
"Lord Brighton is a good man, a just man.
 
His tenants like him, though they have been forced to live in the keep for nearly a decade while the land goes untilled."

          
That explained the fallow fields.
 
"Forced?"

          
"Tis the matter of a simple spell."

          
"Yours?"

          
Edmyg laughed, a raspy sound.
 
"Nay.
 
If I could remove it, I would."
 
He peered intently at Kenric, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.
 
"That is why I need you."

          
Kenric kept his face impassive.
 
"Of what use can I, a simple warrior, be to you?
 
You have dozens like me out there."
 
      

          
"It is not your brawn that we need, but your magic."

          
His heart sank.
 
"I don't--"

          
Megan stepped forward, interrupting him.
 
"He has a job."
 
She said, her voice ringing with challenge.
 
"Until he does it, he cannot help you."

          
Disbelief, that she dared to think she could speak for him, momentarily rendered Kenric speechless.
 
Gradually though, the wisdom of her words sank in.
 

          
"She is right." He conceded reluctantly.
 
"I have given my word to help her return to this Roger."

          
At this both Lord Brighton and Edmyg exchanged a long look.

          
Finally, Lord Brighton spoke, his tone resigned.
 
"Be that as it may, in this neither of you has a choice.
 
You cannot leave."
 
He held up a hand when Kenric would have spoken.
 
"That is the nature of the spell.
 
No one, once managing to arrive at Brighton Keep can leave.
 
Ever.
 
The spell will not let them."

#

          
Later, when all had eaten and drank their fill and Lord Brighton had become occupied in a spirited discussion with Edmyg over the merits of sending for another mage, Megan finally had a chance to talk to Kenric alone.
 
She stood and quietly made her way to the end of the table where he, having pushed his way through the sated crowd, stood waiting.

          
If she'd hoped he would pull her to him and kiss her, she was doomed to be disappointed.

          
"Kenric."
 
She said, soft-voiced.
 
"I'm glad to see you."

          
"Are you well?"
 
He asked, his expression fierce and tender, loving and stern, all at once.
 
For such an expression alone, Megan would risk her life.

 
         
She told herself it was her imagination.
 
"Fine."
 
She

told him, clenching her hands into fists to keep from giving in to the urge to reach out and touch him.
 

          
"Lord Brighton."
 
Not touching her either, his jaw set in grim lines, Kenric searched her face, "Did he lay hands on you?"

          
"No."
 
She hastened to assure him, not wanting any more trouble than they already had.
 

          
"He wants you."
 

          
She heard anger in the blunt tone, anger and something more. Because of this, she strove to sound lighthearted.
 

          
"Maybe he thinks he does, a little.
 
But it's nothing."

          
"Nothing?"
 
He swore under his breath, turning away from her.

          
"Nothing.
 
You're here now."
 
Glancing at him, she noticed he held himself rigid, his hands too clenched in fists at his side.
 
Did that mean he fought the need to touch her, the way she struggled against the urge to touch him?
 

          
She wouldn't think on it.
 
That way of thought was too dangerous.
 
It would be best to concentrate on the problem at hand.
 

          
"How are we going to get out of here?"

          
He expelled a breath, a gust of air that spoke volumes of his frustration.
 
Megan nearly smiled, but when he looked down at her, the smile died on her lips.
 

          
Kenric looked... intense.
 
And beautiful - too beautiful for a mere warrior.
 
His grey eyes blazed silver, his chiseled features were fierce in anger.
 
Was it anger?
 
Or some other powerful emotion?
 
Whatever it was, it set her heart to pounding and made her breath catch in her throat.
 

          
His eyes darkened, became molten.
 
One hand on the hilt of his sword, he took a step towards her.
 
Suddenly he seemed as dangerous as a lion on a hunt.

          
Unable to help herself, Megan took a step back.
 
God help her, he looked magnificent.
  
With that dark, shoulder length hair, his broad shoulders and muscular body, he could have stepped from the pages of some fairytale romance.
 

          
Again she caught herself wishing that this was some sort of dream, for in dreams she would be free to cast away her doubts and fears and do what she truly wanted.
 

          
Ah, and what she wanted.
 
She wanted to run to him, let those corded arms wrap around her, let him crush her mouth with his.
 
Her entire body heated as passionate images ran through her mind.
 
Kenric naked, hard and all man, his body covering hers.
 
She wanted him, God she wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything, ever.

          
Something must have shown in her face.
 

          
He narrowed his eyes.
 
He took a step closer.
 
Then, as if he'd read her mind, he took another, reaching out to her, crushing her to him as she'd hoped in her heart of hearts he would.
 

          
When his mouth took hers, she gave a glad cry and wrapped her arms around his neck.
 
Her body sang, her soul rejoiced.
 
She welcomed him, needed him, wanted him and more.

          
With a searing kiss, he possessed her.
 
She opened her mouth to him, her tongue meeting his with a sense of giddy joy.
 
Desire, until now carefully banked, broke free.
 
His hand came up, cupping her breast, caressing, stroking, until she thought she would die.

          
She moaned.
 
He answered with a growl that spoke of possession and raw need.
 
The dress slipped, baring one shoulder as she fumbled with the laces on his shirt.
 

          
Then, just as she spread her hands on his broad chest, exulting in the feel of the perfect, hard muscles she felt there, he pulled away.
 

          
"Megan."
 
Harsh voiced, he said her name.
 
A plea, a command, she knew not which.
 

          
But it brought her to her senses.

          
Horrified, Megan realized that in another second she would willingly have let him take her on the stone floor of the great hall, in full view of the assembled crowd.
 

          
One glance reassured her that, as of yet, no one paid them any attention.
 
Most of the men lay, heads pillowed on rough wooden tables, drunkenly asleep.

          
Only Lord Brighton, his back luckily to them, and Edmyg, who winked at her when her gaze caught his, still stood.

          
Idiot!
 
How could she have done this?
 
Not knowing who watched, not caring that they had no protection, that once she found her way home, she would never see this man again.

          
The thought ripped at her soul.

          
"My God."
 
Shaking fist to her mouth, she yanked down her dress, covering her shoulder, and turned away.
 
She would not cry, could not cry; hell, there was no reason to cry over something so beautiful, so wonderful, so damn
wrong
.
 
Tears filled her eyes as she struggled to get herself under control.
She couldn't imagine never seeing Kenric again
.

          
Horrified, Megan spun on her heel to go to her room.
 

          
Muttering an oath, he grabbed her arm, stopping her.
     
She didn't dare look up at him.
 
If she did, she would be lost.
 

          
He said her name, his rough voice making the two simple syllables into a caress as he pulled her closer, one hand clumsily smoothing down her hair.

          
She felt herself melting.
 
Even more than passion, this gentleness from such a fierce man unnerved her.
 
His kindness would be her undoing.
 
She could feel herself weakening, knowing that if he led her away to a private room, she would go willingly.
 
Eagerly even.
 

          
Unless... it were pity he felt for her.
 
Wanting to know, needing to know, she sneaked a peek from under her lashes.
 
To find him watching her, narrow-eyed, a look of perplexed wonder on his ruggedly gorgeous face.

          
Confused, was he?
 
Ok, she could identify with that.
 
Her feelings for this man perplexed the hell out of her.
 
And, even worse, she had no idea what to do about it.

          
As he watched her, his gaze hooded, all rational thought fled.
 
How could she resist this man, when every fiber of her being cried out for him?
 
It was she who reached out for him, she who rose up on tip-toe to touch her lips to his.
 

          
But this time, his kiss was gentle.
 
This time, he wrapped her in his arms like she was infinitely precious to him.
 
She knew he must have thought she'd been frightened and he only meant to soothe her, but the way he made her feel cosseted, cherished, was a powerful aphrodisiac.
 

          
Dangerous
.
 

          
Despite that, despite the fact that Lord Brighton could turn at any moment and see them, she found herself wanting more.
 
Pressing her body up against him, she moved suggestively against the rigid flesh she felt there.
 
Never had she felt this helpless sort of power, and it thrilled her.