Powerful Magic by Karen Whiddon

imagination or a valid truth.   She wondered if he knew it, recognized it, exploited it.
               For the first time she wondered.   Iff she told him the truth, would Kenric know how to send her back home?
               The sky darkened, the wind picked up and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.   Snow swirled about them, stinging her face.   Megan shivered.   Something was wrong.   Was it another storm on the way?   Or something more, something that was as weird and off-kilter as a stranded woman from years in the future.
               Stop.   Her foolish imagination would lead to nothing but trouble.   Still, she did not like the strange expectancy that seemed to hover in the chilled air.   Even the war horse felt it, stamping his huge feet and shaking his head restlessly.
               The war horse .   She couldn't understand why Kenric hadn't named the beast.   Leaning forward, she gathered a clump of the white colored mane between her numb fingers.   The horse turned to look at her, ears cocked forward.  
               "I'll name you."   She told it, trying to think of a suitable name.   Though it was obviously male, like Kenric, the horse did not look like an ordinary horse, at least like any horse Megan had ever seen.   For one thing, he was huge.   As large as one of the Budweiser horses, and then some.   For another, he was beautiful.   Even his heavy winter coat shone with good health.   His large brown eyes seemed full of intelligence and, though she had to admit it sounded silly, good humor.
               For such a horse, no ordinary name would do.  
               If Kenric reminded her of Merlin, then this horse could be Arthur, or Gawain, or maybe Lancelot.   Lancelot.   Yes.   She liked that.
               "We can call you Lance for short."   She told the beast, watching for Kenric and wondering what he would say about her choice of name for his horse.   
               Kenric burst through the door to the tavern, his cloak flying around him.   Watching him in the few strides it took to reach her, Megan's mouth went dry.   She'd never known such heart-stopping male beauty existed, outside of movies and romance novels.  
               When he reached her, Kenric stopped, one hand on the saddle.   "No one there has heard of your Roger, nor of any search for a lost maiden."   His silver gaze narrowed in speculation.   "Are you certain this Roger truly searches for you?"
               Megan shook her head, wondering if he could see how she trembled and praying he would attribute it to the cold.   "What... what do you mean?"
               Under his breath he cursed, a low and melodic sound.   With an easy motion he swung himself up in front of her.   "We will ride on to the next village."
               He urged the horse forward, again with no discernable movement.   Later, Megan meant to ask him how he did that.   But for now, she thought it best to stay silent.   God help her if this proud warrior were to find out she lied.   Okay, not exactly lied – she’d told him the truth after all.   But she hadn’t told him everything.   Not by a long shot.
               Roger was not looking for her.   At least not in this time.   No matter how hard Kenric of Blackstone searched, he would not find Roger.   Heck, she didn't even want to find Roger, just a way home.   Though she detested liars, she had no choice.   If she was going to figure out a way home, she would need Kenric's help.  
               They rode for an hour without speaking.   The sun came out, weak but still warming.   It made the day almost bearable, and twice Megan caught herself dozing, drowsy until the stiffness of Kenric's chain mail against her chin woke her.   To his credit he said nothing, just stared straight ahead with that unrelenting profile of