Powerful Magic (6 page)

          
Though she was beginning to doubt that this actually was a dream.
 
What else could have happened, she couldn't hazard a guess.
 
One thing for sure, she was nowhere near Dallas, Texas. Nowhere near the good ole U.S. of A either.

          
The fire felt good, warming her still-frozen hands, though the heavy smoke that soon filled the small cave made her eyes water.
 
Near the cave opening Kenric chipped away at the pile of snow.
 
Hollowing out a tunnel, tamping and bracing it with rocks and sticks, she saw he'd created a chimney of sorts.
 
At least until it filled with snow.
 
It did alleviate some of the smoke, letting her breathe easier.

          
Megan watched as Kenric, muscles working, hefted blocks of stone into his makeshift chimney.
  
With his leather clothing he looked like something out of a fantasy novel.
 
She thought of Mel Gibson in the movie
Braveheart
and smiled.
 
With looks like that, this Kenric had to be an actor or a model.
 
Maybe one of her friends had hired him as a joke.
 
Like Sarah Frazier, who nagged her every chance she got that Megan's life was too staid, too predictable.
 

          
This
was not predictable.
 
Her grin widened.
 
Sarah's husband had plenty of money.
 
Enough to create a blizzard in June.
 
Maybe that was it.
 

          
But the chill in the air spoke more of a harsh northern winter than a snow machine in Texas.
 
And Kenric could win an academy award for his performance, if that's what it was.

          
So, she continued to stare blindly at the man while he worked.
 
She had to figure out what was going on.
 
So far she'd eliminated a dream, eliminated a practical joke.
 
Then what, exactly, had happened to her after she'd been hit by lightening?
 
Had
she even been hit by lightening?

          
First, she needed to ascertain the facts.
 
Where this cave was located, the month, the year, the day.
 

          
"What year is it?"
 
She blurted.

          
Kenric paused in his work to look at her, his piercing dark eyes inscrutable.
 
"Did you hit your head?"

          
"No.
 
Yes."
 
Clasping the blanket around her, she drew nearer to the fire.
 
"I can't remember the year, or the month."

          
"I see."
 
His smile, when it came, was gorgeous.
 
A movie star smile, turning her insides to mush.
 
"It is December."

          
It had been June.
 
"December?
 
What year?"

          
"The year of our Lord 1072."

          
It took a moment for his words to register.
 
When they did, Megan's knees went weak.
 
"You're kidding, right?"

          
He stared blankly at her.
 
"I do not understand your words."

          
"I... never mind."
  
Now she did allow herself to sink to the ground, knowing her legs wouldn't support her another moment. No dream this, then what could it be?
 
Medieval role-playing?
 
In the middle of a blizzard, in some godforsaken cave?
 
Somehow she doubted it.
 

          
Licking lips suddenly gone dry, she peered up at him, shivers still racking her body.
 
"And where are we?
 
Where is this place?"

          
His eyes narrowed, making him look dangerous.
 
"The whereabouts of this cave need not concern you, milady.
 
Suffice to say you are still on English land, once belonging to my family, granted by King William.
 
Now it is occupied by another noble family.
 
Before that,"
 
he paused, his mouth twisted, "it was Welsh."

          
Place.
 
She pounced on the word.
 
"Welsh, as in Wales?"

          
Obviously thinking she'd lost her mind, he gave a slow nod.

          
"King William?"
 
She squeaked, still trying to digest his former statement.

          
His lip curled.
 
"The English King.
 
We won this land fairly from the Welsh.
 
Despite their murderous attacks, the English still hold it, and will continue to do so.
 
Where have you been, that you do not know this?"

          
"I told you.
 
I'm American, from--" she stopped, remembering the country of America had not existed in 1072.
 
Hell, Columbus hadn't even discovered the new world and wouldn't for another four hundred and twenty years.
 
           
She wouldn't even be born for another nine hundred years.

          
Odd then, but Megan felt suddenly old, even for a twenty-eight year old North Dallas socialite.
 
Elderly, even. Still, she had to take one last stab at a rational explanation.
 

          
"Are you with an escort service?"

          
He shook his head before she even finished.
 
"Again, you use words which sound strange to me, even though I make allowances since it is plain from the way you speak that this is not your normal tongue."

          
He thought
she
spoke funny?
 
She wished she could mimic his speech, but one thing she'd never taken the time to study was language.
 
Any
language, never mind some obscure and ancient form of old English like he seemed bent on using.

          
Though, if it really was 1072, Old English wasn't ancient.
 
It wasn't even old.
 

          
"No."
 
She whispered, rubbing her temples in hope of warding off the particularly violent headache she felt coming on.
 
Right now she'd give anything for a couple of aspirin and a battery powered space heater.

          
"I thought not."
 
He rummaged in a leather pouch and pulled out a small loaf of crusty bread and a shriveled meat of some sort, wrapped in cloth.
 
"Do you wish to eat?"

          
Miserable, Megan nodded.
  

          
Tearing off some bread and cutting the cheese with a wicked looking dagger, he passed her a portion.
 

          
To her surprise, the bread tasted like the french bread she made in her bread maker and the meat, while chewy, had a smoky bite to it.
 

          
After she'd finished, she was relieved to feel the pressure in her head easing.
 
Her shivering too seemed to have abated. With the fire to warm her, she felt almost comfortable.
 
           
So she sat silent, watching Kenric eat.
 
He ate with a savage dignity, though she would have imagined a man of his time would eat with less finesse.

          
Of his time
.
 
She nearly snorted out loud.
 
She almost had herself believing that she'd somehow traveled back in time.

          
"Why are you here?"
 
She blurted the question, still hoping he could somehow help her make sense of this crazy

situation.
 

          
He raised one eyebrow.
 
"Here?"

          
"In this cave.
 
Surely you have someplace else you could be. Someplace warm?"

          
His expression turned to ice.
 
Too late, she remembered what he'd said about his family, about being alone.

          
"I have no home."

          
Odd, she remembered from her studies that most men, even peasants, belonged to some village, some castle, some Lord.
 
Judging from the way this man acted, he was no peasant.
 
She would have expected him to rule over some small kingdom or, at the very least, his own castle with his own army.

          
Though the harshness of his tone warned her against asking further questions, Megan persisted.
 

          
"This cave."
 
She waved a hand around. "Is it your home full time,
 
all year?"

          
He went still, looking for all the world like a ferocious lion about to pounce on unsuspecting prey.
 
Which would be her.

          
Outside, the storm quieted.
 
Even with the crackle of the fire, she thought she could hear his harsh intake of breath.

          
"Who sent you?"
 
He stood, towering menacingly over her.
 
"I would have truth from you now."

          
She refused to let him know how intimidating he appeared.
 
He wasn't Roger.
 
He wouldn't hit her.
 
This was a dream.
 
Only a dream.
 

          
"Calm down.
 
Please.
 
No one sent me.
 
I don't even know how I wound up here."

          
"Speak English!"
 
He growled, his eyes the color of slate.
 
"What of this Roger?
 
Where is his holding?"

          
Something told her she'd better play along.
 
"He comes from a place far from here."
 
There, that was a safe answer.
 
And, she thought proudly, she hadn't lied.
 

          
"You call England far?"
 
Disbelief warred with anger in his aristocratic features.
 
"It but borders us here."

          
Since Megan didn't have a response for that, she said nothing.
 
Suddenly she longed for her comfortable home in North Dallas, for central heat and air and electricity and telephones.
 
For
normal
people.

          
 
There had to be some way out of this.
 
There had to be.
 

          
"You've got to help me."
 
She knew she sounded desperate, but didn't care.
 
Even Roger, with his myriad cruelties, would almost be welcome.
 
At least he was familiar.
 

          
"Help me find Roger.
 
I'm sure he'll make certain you're rewarded."

          
She watched as the muscle-bound giant flashed a cynical look at her.
 

          
"What kind of trick is this?"

          
"No trick, I swear it."
 
Even if Roger wasn't willing to pay this man once she got safely home, she had funds of her own.
 
She could, and would pay, well.

          
His dark brows lowered.
 
"This Roger, he is wealthy?"

          
She nearly laughed out loud with relief.
 
Money.
 
Even in the supposed year of 1072 it all came down to that. Things hadn't changed that much in nine hundred years.