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give anything for a couple of aspirin and a battery powered space heater.
               "I thought not."   He rummaged in a leather pouch and pulled out a small loaf of crusty bread and a shriveled meat of some sort, wrapped in cloth.   "Do you wish to eat?"
               Miserable, Megan nodded.   
               Tearing off some bread and cutting the cheese with a wicked looking dagger, he passed her a portion.  
               To her surprise, the bread tasted like the french bread she made in her bread maker and the meat, while chewy, had a smoky bite to it.  
               After she'd finished, she was relieved to feel the pressure in her head easing.   Her shivering too seemed to have abated. With the fire to warm her, she felt almost comfortable.               So she sat silent, watching Kenric eat.   He ate with a savage dignity, though she would have imagined a man of his time would eat with less finesse.
               Of his time .   She nearly snorted out loud.   She almost had herself believing that she'd somehow traveled back in time.
               "Why are you here?"   She blurted the question, still hoping he could somehow help her make sense of this crazy
    situation.  
               He raised one eyebrow.   "Here?"
               "In this cave.   Surely you have someplace else you could be. Someplace warm?"
               His expression turned to ice.   Too late, she remembered what he'd said about his family, about being alone.
               "I have no home."
               Odd, she remembered from her studies that most men, even peasants, belonged to some village, some castle, some Lord.   Judging from the way this man acted, he was no peasant.   She would have expected him to rule over some small kingdom or, at the very least, his own castle with his own army.
               Though the harshness of his tone warned her against asking further questions, Megan persisted.  
               "This cave."   She waved a hand around. "Is it your home full time,   all year?"
               He went still, looking for all the world like a ferocious lion about to pounce on unsuspecting prey.   Which would be her.
               Outside, the storm quieted.   Even with the crackle of the fire, she thought she could hear his harsh intake of breath.
               "Who sent you?"   He stood, towering menacingly over her.   "I would have truth from you now."
               She refused to let him know how intimidating he appeared.   He wasn't Roger.   He wouldn't hit her.   This was a dream.   Only a dream.  
               "Calm down.   Please.   No one sent me.   I don't even know how I wound up here."
               "Speak English!"   He growled, his eyes the color of slate.   "What of this Roger?   Where is his holding?"
               Something told her she'd better play along.   "He comes from a place far from here."   There, that was a safe answer.   And, she thought proudly, she hadn't lied.  
               "You call England far?"   Disbelief warred with anger in his aristocratic features.   "It but borders us here."
               Since Megan didn't have a response for that, she said nothing.   Suddenly she longed for her comfortable home in North Dallas, for central heat and air and electricity and telephones.   For normal people.
                 There had to be some way out of this.   There had to be.  
               "You've got to help me."   She knew she sounded desperate, but didn't care.   Even Roger, with his myriad cruelties, would almost be welcome.   At least he was familiar.  
               "Help me find Roger.   I'm sure he'll make certain you're rewarded."
               She watched as the muscle-bound giant flashed a cynical look at her.