Powerful Magic by Karen Whiddon

cave it felt warm; the small fire crackled merrily. His war horse turned his huge head and nickered.   No doubt the beast was hungry.   Hay was in short supply, though thankfully he'd thought to pilfer some grain from the keep's stores.   He fed the animal, melting some snow in his helmet for water.
               With a flurry of movement, the woman returned.   She rushed to the fire, holding out her pale hands and shivering so loudly he could hear her teeth chatter.  
               "You will have to wear my clothing."   He told her in a tone that brooked no argument.   "Unless you have a gown hidden somewhere."   He regarded her hopefully.
               "No."   Still shivering, she shook her head and flashed a miserable smile.   "I have nothing."
               Resigned, he went to the back of the cave where he kept a wooden chest.   Rummaging inside of it, he found her a heavy tunic and a pair of wool breeches.   Watching carefully for her reaction, since it was common knowledge only men of noble birth had such fine garments, he handed them to her.
               She did not appear to notice.  
               "Thanks."   Flashing him a wan smile, she pulled the tunic on over her own clothing, then stepped into his breeches.   Of course, they were too large, so he handed her a length of rope to use for a belt.  
               When she'd finished rolling up the cuffs, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and faced him.   "What now?"  
               For a moment Kenric could not find his voice.   Though the tunic was several sizes too big, fitting her more like a gown than a shirt, the way she wore it made him think of sleeping chambers and tousled covers.   He forced his gaze away, looking instead at the fire as if he might find all of life's mysteries in the dancing flames.  
               "Now…"   Choosing his words carefully, Kenric kept his voice level and emotionless. "You must tell me of this Roger.   If I am to take you to him I need to know where he lives."
               "Far away."   She answered quickly.
               Much too quickly, he thought, searching her face.   "What is the name of the place?"  
               This time he meant to catch her in the falsehood.   Well he remembered the name she'd given him, speaking as if the place was some country rather than town.   I'm American , she'd said, though he knew of no such place.
               Before she even opened her mouth, he knew she meant to lie. Like a small child caught stealing sweets, she couldn't even meet his gaze.   Then she mumbled something so low under her breath that he couldn't hear it.
               "Where?"  
               She raised her head.   He felt a jolt when her huge amber eyes met his.   He could swear he saw defiance in the set of her small chin, the flash of her gaze.   "Dallas, Texas."              She'd told him that before.   The first word sounded vaguely Roman.   The second, he knew not what to make of it.   The woman lied, of this he felt certain.   But why?   She wanted to find this Roger, did she not?  
               He, Kenric of Blackstone, meant to find this Roger too.   Quickly, so that he might claim his promised reward.   He would have the truth, even if he had to force it from her.
               Intending merely to threaten her, he moved towards her.   At his sudden movement, she flinched, as though she expected him to beat her.
               "You think I'm lying."   The fearful misery in her expression stopped him as effectively as a sharp sword. What kind of man did she think him?   Did she truly believe that he, a warrior, would actually strike her?
               He forced himself to remain still, so as not to frighten her further."Aren't you?"
               She made a restless movement with her