Free Powerful Magic by Karen Whiddon Page B

air below.   But she saw no automobiles, no traffic lights, nothing to let her know they had returned to the world she knew.
               It was as Kenric had said.   Exactly like a medieval movie, a bustling village waited below.  
               She tried not to let her spirits sink.             If she had somehow been transported back in time, there had to be a way out.   Maybe in the village, somehow there would be someone who knew how she could get home.
               Apparently eager to be off, the horse shied sideways.   Megan tightened her grip around Kenric's waist.              "If you would not hold yourself so stiffly, you would be in less danger of losing your seat."   He told her.
               She could have sworn he sounded amused.   No doubt he would find it highly amusing were she to land on her behind in the snow.   "I'll keep that in mind."  
               "When we reach the village, you must remember that you are a squire."
               A boy.   In other words, she needed to lose all trace of her femininity.   Not, she glanced ruefully down at her baggy pants and too-large tunic, that she had much left.   At least her hair was short.   Though with Kenric's long hair, maybe that was another oddity in this time and place.
               "I will remember."   She told him, lifting her chin, determined to make this work.   It had to work, if she had any chance at all of going home.
               "Good."   With an invisible command, he urged the horse forward and they plunged down the hill toward the village.
               The villagers seemed to recognize Kenric.   Several lifted their hands in greeting, their lined faces wreathed in smiles. Megan knew she shouldn't be surprised, obviously the man lived in the area, but part of her sort of expected the people to act as if he were some lunatic barbarian with a fondness for medieval clothes. This was the same part of her that steadfastly refused to believe she had somehow traveled back in time to the past.   Of course everyone else was dressed similar to Kenric - the women in long, archaic dresses, their hair bound or flowing freely down their backs.   The men looked the same too; long haired barbarians, though none seemed as big or as brawny as Kenric.
               No one seemed to mind the bone-numbing cold.  
               Kenric slowed the horse, pausing in front of a weathered stone building with a crudely lettered sign out front.   A tavern.  
               Ok.   Megan rubbed her frozen hands together.   Now they were getting somewhere.   A hot rum toddy sounded wonderful.
               "If your Roger has men searching for you, they will know it here."   Chiseled features grim, Kenric dismounted, his cloak swirling around his broad shoulders.  
               When Megan made a move to follow him, he held up his hand.             "Wait for me."  
               With a resigned sigh, she nodded.   For now she thought it would be best if she didn't speak, in case her voice gave away her identity.   She knew she could deepen it if she had to, but wasn't sure it would pass muster.  
               Watching him stroll away, she marveled at his unconscious arrogance.   If Hollywood were to get a hold of him, he'd be a natural to play a King.   Someone like King Arthur, perhaps.
               No, Merlin , an inner voice whispered.  
               Stunned, Megan looked down at her hands.   Magic?   Now that she thought about it, there was something mystical about Kenric of Blackstone.   Something magical.   Something that gave him a look of authority far more powerful than brute strength alone could convey.   Something that hinted of untold secrets that only the right key would unlock.
               She wondered what it was, if it was only her