he'd insist she tell him, then he simply nodded and waved one large hand. "Go on then."
Roger. She'd been talking about Roger.
"He's tall." She tried to think. Yes, Roger was tall, though not nearly the size of this giant. "Slender. And he has blonde hair."
At Kenric's blank look she elaborated. "Hair the color of wheat. He is an important man. Others listen when he speaks."
"I care not what he looks like. Tell me of his holdings."
Holdings? Oh, he meant land. Of course. But how did she explain the concept of twentieth century Dallas to this man? "The land he holds is important."
"To whom? The King?"
She noted the sudden sharpness in his gaze. Uneasy, she shifted her weight on the blanket. "I don't know the English King."
Kenric's handsome mouth twisted. "But you know of him."
Wondering what he would say if she told him in her time that a Queen, rather than a King, sat on the throne in England, she shook her head.
"Not really." Heck, she had no idea even what monarch had ruled England in 1072. King William, he'd said.
Roger. She needed to get back to familiar ground, back to talking about Roger. What else could she say?
"Roger employs many people." Thousands, at last count.
"Employs?"
She did a rapid translation in her head. "I mean rules."
This time he looked more than skeptical, he looked disbelieving. "Then these people of his must all be out looking for you. Combing the countryside, especially if this Roger of yours commands it."
"He doesn't have an army." Megan shot back, pleased with her quick thinking. "These people are mostly workers."
"Serfs?"
Calling Roger's employees serfs might be pushing it a bit far. But, when in Rome... "Yes, serfs."
"Surely he commands his own men."
Though she knew Kenric meant warriors, she couldn't help but think of Roger's Board of Directors. Instead of dressed in custom made suits, she tried to picture them dressed like this Kenric of Blackstone, in tunic and leggings. The thought seemed ludicrous.
"Do you find something amusing?" Kenric's deep voice broke into her thoughts, making her realize she'd been staring off into space, a small smile on her face.
"Er, no." She schooled her face in a more somber expression. "Roger has twelve men who are his personal, er, force."
"Twelve." Kenric nodded, apparently approving of the number. "How many of them would he dispatch to search for you?'
Great. Now she'd gotten herself in hot water again. "I think they'd all travel together?" She ventured.
It was her luck that woman were not supposed to understand the ways of men and warfare.
Kenric chuckled, making him look approachable-handsome instead of forbidding-handsome. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like women , proving that no matter what the time period, men didn't really ever change.
"What?" Megan couldn't keep from asking.
"Your Roger would not take all of his men with him to search for you. He would split them up, have them travel in different directions."
So much for that. Standing, Megan breathed the frigid air deep into her lungs, wishing she could get rid of the ever present sooty reek of the smoke from their fire.
"All we have to do,"
Roger. She'd been talking about Roger.
"He's tall." She tried to think. Yes, Roger was tall, though not nearly the size of this giant. "Slender. And he has blonde hair."
At Kenric's blank look she elaborated. "Hair the color of wheat. He is an important man. Others listen when he speaks."
"I care not what he looks like. Tell me of his holdings."
Holdings? Oh, he meant land. Of course. But how did she explain the concept of twentieth century Dallas to this man? "The land he holds is important."
"To whom? The King?"
She noted the sudden sharpness in his gaze. Uneasy, she shifted her weight on the blanket. "I don't know the English King."
Kenric's handsome mouth twisted. "But you know of him."
Wondering what he would say if she told him in her time that a Queen, rather than a King, sat on the throne in England, she shook her head.
"Not really." Heck, she had no idea even what monarch had ruled England in 1072. King William, he'd said.
Roger. She needed to get back to familiar ground, back to talking about Roger. What else could she say?
"Roger employs many people." Thousands, at last count.
"Employs?"
She did a rapid translation in her head. "I mean rules."
This time he looked more than skeptical, he looked disbelieving. "Then these people of his must all be out looking for you. Combing the countryside, especially if this Roger of yours commands it."
"He doesn't have an army." Megan shot back, pleased with her quick thinking. "These people are mostly workers."
"Serfs?"
Calling Roger's employees serfs might be pushing it a bit far. But, when in Rome... "Yes, serfs."
"Surely he commands his own men."
Though she knew Kenric meant warriors, she couldn't help but think of Roger's Board of Directors. Instead of dressed in custom made suits, she tried to picture them dressed like this Kenric of Blackstone, in tunic and leggings. The thought seemed ludicrous.
"Do you find something amusing?" Kenric's deep voice broke into her thoughts, making her realize she'd been staring off into space, a small smile on her face.
"Er, no." She schooled her face in a more somber expression. "Roger has twelve men who are his personal, er, force."
"Twelve." Kenric nodded, apparently approving of the number. "How many of them would he dispatch to search for you?'
Great. Now she'd gotten herself in hot water again. "I think they'd all travel together?" She ventured.
It was her luck that woman were not supposed to understand the ways of men and warfare.
Kenric chuckled, making him look approachable-handsome instead of forbidding-handsome. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like women , proving that no matter what the time period, men didn't really ever change.
"What?" Megan couldn't keep from asking.
"Your Roger would not take all of his men with him to search for you. He would split them up, have them travel in different directions."
So much for that. Standing, Megan breathed the frigid air deep into her lungs, wishing she could get rid of the ever present sooty reek of the smoke from their fire.
"All we have to do,"
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