Powerful Magic (7 page)

          
"Roger owns his own--"
 
she almost said "company".
 
Instead she tried to find a word that Kenric could understand.
 
           
"Keep?"
 
Finishing for her, again Kenric looked furious.

          
Strange word, that.
 
"Yes."
 
Megan licked her lips.
 
"He owns his own castle, er keep."
 
Roger was nearly as wealthy as she was.
 
The huge skyscraper on Stemmons Freeway could be considered a castle of sorts.
 

          
"Land?"
 
He said it as if it were the most important thing in the world.
 

          
Since all of Roger's buildings sat on some very valuable, North Dallas land, she nodded.

          
"All my life I have wanted my own land."
 
Kenric spoke quietly, almost under his breath.
 
"I am bastard born, with no hope of inheriting.
 
Even before my family was killed, I wanted my own land."

          
Then Megan knew what she would have to offer him, even if she couldn't quite deliver it.
 
It was this land he wanted, acres and acres of rolling green pasture most likely, not some lake lot on Cedar Creek Lake, or industrial park in downtown Dallas.
 
Something neither she nor Roger had any way of giving him. Still, she had no choice.
 

          
"Perhaps," her voice broke as she gagged on the lie, "Roger may reward you with some."
 

          
"His surname?"

          
She nearly choked.
 
Luckily for her Roger was of English descent, though she had no idea if his name meant anything in this time.
 

          
"Spencer."
 
She told him.
 
"His name is Roger Spencer."

          
"
Lord
Roger Spencer?"

          
Swallowing again, she nodded.
  
Roger, at least, thought he was some sort of royalty, judging from the way he expected everyone to jump to do his bidding.

          
Folding his muscular arms across his massive chest, Kenric's stare still seemed suspicious.
 
"What proof have you?"

          
Proof.
 
Great.
 
She cast her mind back to every Medieval movie she'd ever seen or book she'd ever read.
 
A token.
 
He'd need some token from her as a pledge that she was indebted to him.

          
She stared at her hands, left hand, third finger, to be exact.
 
Her engagement ring, the gaudily sparkling, pear shaped diamond that she hated winked up at her.
 
In its elaborate setting of golden knots, flanked by oval sapphires, she'd always thought it a bit pretentious.
 
Roger had chosen it, of course.
 
He liked things flashy.
 
Now though, it looked positively medieval, perfect for what she had to do.

          
Without further hesitation she slid the ring from her

finger and held it out.
 
"I can give you this."

          
Slowly, he took it from her, causing her to notice how long and elegant his fingers were.
 
Odd in such a big man.
 
           
Turning it around in his hand, he examined it with the bored expression of a man used to fine things.

          
"Did he give this to you?"
 

          
She nodded, trying to remember the wording she should use.
 
Not that she completely bought into this traveling back in time thing, but better safe than sorry.
 

          
"By this token he will know that I am indebted to you."
 
Holding her breath, she prayed she'd said the right thing.

          
Evidently she had, for his thunderous expression lightened.
 
He inclined his shaggy head regally and accepted her ring.
 

          
"When the storm clears, I will take you to this Roger.
 
Until he is found, I will protect you."

CHAPTER THREE

          
Her heart stuttered at the brief contact of his fingers on her palm.
 
Ah, if he only knew what he promised.
 
"Thank you."

          
"Now."
 
Kenric indicated the fire. "We must rest."

          
Megan swallowed.
 
"Where?"
 
Wrapping the thin blanket around her more securely, she shivered.
 

          
"You may sleep closest to the fire."
 
He spoke in the tone of one granting a huge favor.
 

          
She scuffed her foot along the hard, rocky ground and thought of her fluffy, soft bed at home.
 

          
"I don't think I can."
 
She told him, her voice small and miserable.
 

          
Instantly he seemed to understand the problem.
 
With a wry smile, he brought her his saddle blanket.
 

          
"This will give you some comfort.
 
Tis what I use to sleep upon."

          
"But--"
 
She stared up at this giant of a man, unable to read his expression.
 
"If I take it, what will you sleep on?"

          
"There is straw that I can spread.
 
The horse can spare it.
 
I am well used to the floor of my cave."
 
He told her, his tone brooking no argument.
 
"Now go to sleep."

          
Her innate sense of fairness wouldn't let her, though even the coarse saddle blanket looked more inviting than standing and shivering.
 
"I can't let you do that."
 
She told him quietly.
 
"We can share this blanket."

          
His head came up at her words, his dark gaze pinning her. "Be careful what you say, woman.
 
For all you know, I might take you up on your offer.
 
What then would your Roger think?"

          
Color flooded her face as she realized what Kenric had thought.
 
"No, I didn't mean like that."
 
To her dismay, tears pricked at her eyes.
 
"I thought we could share the blanket for warmth.
 
Only
for warmth."

          
He muttered something under his breath, something fierce and guttural.
 
Whatever it was, it did not sound complimentary.

          
"Forget it."
 
She told him, her throat aching.
 
It had all been too much for her and she could be strong no longer.
 
She dropped down on the saddle blanket and rolled in to a ball.
 
She would rather die before she let him see her cry.
 
Covering herself with the flimsy blanket, she swallowed convulsively and let the tears come in silence.

          
Megan felt it when he moved towards her.
 
Ignoring him, he surruptuously swiped at her eyes and kept her face covered.
 
Unfortunately, her nose clogged and her attempt at a discreet sniffle sounded watery and loud.

          
"What is this?"
 
Compassion mingled with annoyance in his deep voice.
 
"Why do you weep?
 
Do you hurt?"

          
He thought she was injured.
 
Fiercely, she rubbed her eyes, glad.
 
She'd rather he thought that than believe she'd given in to a spell of irrational female weeping, as Roger would have said.
 

          
"Go away."
 
Though muffled with the blanket, she thought she sounded rather brave.
 
Ok, quivery maybe, but brave nonetheless.

          
Instead of moving away, or making cruel comments like Roger would have, he crouched down next to her.
 
"Is there anything I can do?"

          
She shook her head, still keeping the blanket over her face.

          
With a loud sigh he scooped her up in his muscular arms.
 
Rocking on his heels, he settled on the saddle blanket and pulled her on to his lap.

          
Megan went instantly, frozenly, still.

          
Kenric said nothing, just holding her close.
 
She peeked up at him from under her soggy eyelashes.
 
Instead of looking down at her as she'd half expected, he stared into the fire.
 
The dancing amber glow of the flames made him look both ruggedly beautiful and dangerous.
 

          
But he was warm and it felt oh so good to be held by him.
 
Gradually, Megan relaxed into sleep.
 

#

          
Kenric knew the exact instant the woman went to sleep.
 
Her slim body became boneless and her head drooped against his chest.

          
She weighed nothing, this tiny woman.
 
She was not large breasted nor curvy like most of the tavern wenches he had known.
 
Yet something about her lit a fire in his blood.
 
Perhaps it was her very defenselessness, or her exotically fascinating face.
 
Though she was not conventionally beautiful, she was lovely nonetheless.
 
And her eyes - those amber eyes of hers hinted at secrets, tempting him beyond belief.

          
Because he'd given his word, something he hadn't done in years, to help her find her Roger, he was now bound by honor to protect her.
 
Even from himself.
 

          
Outside the blizzard continued to rage.
 

          
Inside Kenric fought his own battle.
 
How easy it would be to plunder those sweet lips, already parted, while she slept.
 
He knew just how to awaken a woman, with slow, sensual finger strokes and deep, drugging kisses until she arched against him and begged for more.

          
His body thickened and hardened as he thought of it.
 
Asleep in his arms, the woman lay slumbering, unaware.

          
Resolutely he forced himself to think of other things.
 
Her Roger would not appreciate a bastard born, hired sword deflowering his intended.
 
Kenric could not blame him.