The Magic Knot (10 page)

Her mother. Guilt flooded through her, spilling tears into her eyes. She’d thought her mother was ridiculous with her silly fantasies and hang-ups. Now she realized they weren’t fantasies. Her father was deranged.

“An address?” Tristan enunciated.

A flash of anger burst through Rose. “No way. Whatever you did to Mom, she suffered for it her whole life. I won’t give you her paintings.”

He sighed and stubbed his cigar on a plate. “You’re like her, you know. Bloody minded.”

Tears trickled down Rose’s face for herself and her mother as she watched Tristan unfold a roll of cloth
and extract a thin metal implement from the fabric. He held it up. The candlelight flickered across the short blade of a scalpel. Terror screamed in her head. She grabbed a breath, her chest trembled, and the air sobbed out.

He took a step closer. Rose jerked at the straps anchoring her wrists and ankles. “Mr. Jago, I’m your daughter. Your own flesh and blood.”

Tristan shuffled closer. She fought to slide her body away from him, but she was pinned like an animal for dissection.

“You most certainly are flesh…and blood,” he said, looking down at her.

Gluing her eyes on the blade in his hand, Rose twisted her head to keep it in view.

“If you’re so keen to be my daughter, tell me where the paintings are. For goodness’ sake, girl. They mean nothing to you.”

The slight edge of desperation in his voice made her drag her eyes from the blade and glance at his face. What was so special about the paintings? Flashing images of the characters from the Magic Knot tarot flitted across her memory. She couldn’t make sense of his desire for them.

Rose gulped air, struggling to control her breath well enough to speak. “Let me go. I’ll fetch them for you.”

He laughed, a light sound filled with genuine amusement. “Rosenwyn, my dear. Do you take me for a fool? If I let you go, I’ll never see you again.”

“Come to London with me.” She’d make sure the police were waiting for him.

His amusement died. He stared toward a golden glow in the corner of the room. “That would be impossible.”

Returning his attention to her, he tapped the scalpel on his palm. “I’ve enlisted Niall’s services to collect my paintings. Nightshade is useful, but he does, unfortunately, have his drawbacks when it comes to mixing with humans.”

“Niall won’t help you after you poisoned him.”

“On the contrary, my dear, Niall’s only too happy to help me. He has his own dark secrets, you know. Ones he’d rather keep hidden.”

The image of the Ten of Swords flashed into her mind. Was this the betrayal the card spoke of? She couldn’t believe Niall would do this to her.

“You don’t think he was here by accident, do you? Niall’s been in my pocket all along. I asked him to bring you to me.”

Her stomach clenched in mortification. Niall had made a fool of her. Built her trust with the tree deva thing, then made her think he was interested in her with the tarot reading. Even though the cards warned her off visiting her father, Niall had persuaded her to come.

Rose squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed the burn of bile. How could she have been so stupid?

“Don’t tell me you had hopes in that direction? I think you’ be wasting your time. Our beautiful Tuatha Dé Danaan is so proud, he even turned down his own queen. He wouldn’t be interested in you.” Tristan flicked a finger through Rose’s hair and she cringed away. “I’d expected you to have your mother’s looks, but you’ve missed out on the fairy beauty. I suspect that’s my fault. Inferior human genes polluting the bloodlines of the Good People.”

“Shut up!” She’d had enough of Tristan, enough of Niall. Why hadn’t she just gone back to London? She
yanked on her bindings. “Let me go. I don’t want anything to do with fairies. I’ve got a good job. I’m in line for a partnership.”

Tristan tutted and traced the flat of the scalpel blade across the back of her hand. It burned as though it were hot.

Fear locked her muscles. She lay rigid, breathless, waiting for pain.

“I’m sure you’re an excellent accountant. If you tell me where the paintings are, Niall will fetch them for me and you can return to your human life and forget all about us.”

Why should she suffer for a bunch of paintings her mother had kept locked away in a vault? Her mother would never have wanted her to risk her life for them. “Cobe Denton in Bexley Heath.”

Tristan exhaled slowly, walked across to his workbench, and scratched pen on paper.

Rose melted against the hard wooden surface, quivering with relief.

When he’d finished writing, he looked back at her. “That was easy, now, wasn’t it?” He glanced toward the door and frowned. “When Nightshade deigns to grace us with his company, I’ll have him take you to your room. He can bring your bag back from the Elephant’s Nest later. I’m not heartless. I’ll make your few days with me comfortable.”

“When Niall brings the paintings, you’ll let me go?”

He stared at her for a moment, as though debating with himself what to say. Finally, he shook his head. “No, Rosenwyn. I lied. This is your home. I’m afraid you won’t be leaving again.”

After Tristan left, Rose kept a silent vigil, staring at the door of the workroom, waiting for Nightshade. She was certain she could persuade him to help her get away. If only he’d come back.

When her neck muscles cramped, she rolled her head into a more comfortable position and stared at the dancing shadows cast on the granite ceiling by the candles. Physically and mentally exhausted, she allowed her eyelids to droop, and she drifted. Images of the tarot people filled her head. She sat at her mother’s feet as the familiar characters passed before her, smiling and bowing.

“Who are you?” she mumbled.

“’Tis me,” a voice whispered, and someone touched her hand.

Rose jolted back to consciousness.

Niall stood beside the table, scanning her critically from head to foot. “Are you hurt?”

The wild thumping of her heart eased, and a heady cocktail of anger and relief sharpened her senses. “Shit, Niall. You scared me half to death.”

He ignored her comment and tugged experimentally
at the strap holding her right wrist. “Are you hurt, lass?”

“That depends on your definition of
hurt.
”

He paced around the room, searching for something.

Outrage simmered. He’d made a fool of her with the tree deva and the tarot reading. No doubt he’d picked up on the signs that she was attracted to him and manipulated her to get his way.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” she snapped. “Tristan told me you work for him.”

“And you believe that?” He raised an eyebrow as he hefted a claw hammer from the workbench. “No man owns me, lass, nor woman neither. And none ever will.”

Niall returned to her and started pulling out the nails securing her bindings.

With a frustrated breath, Rose pushed her confusion over Niall aside. Now wasn’t the time to argue with him, not when he was about to get her out of this hellhole. “Did you see Tristan?”

He shook his head as he worked the nails loose carefully without bruising her wrists. “Nightshade’s keeping him busy for a while.”

“You’re working with Nightshade?”

He glanced up, his eyes glittering slits of blue in the candlelight. “Something along those lines.”

After he released her second hand, he moved down to free her ankles. She sat and rubbed her wrists to return the feeling to them as he worked the nails out of the other straps.

When he’d finished, he threw the hammer back on the bench. “Feeling all right to walk?”

“I don’t know.” Rose stared at his face, tried to sense him, and teetered on the edge of an endless void. She wanted to trust him, but it was impossible to
gauge his thoughts. Maybe Tristan had lied about his relationship with Niall, but there was no denying the fact that Niall had persuaded her to come here against the advice of her cards.

With a hand on her elbow, he helped her off the table, supporting her as a rush of pins and needles prickled her legs. She bent and rubbed them vigorously, trying to get the muscles to work.

“We must be off.” Niall glanced at the door. “I’m thinking Nightshade will not be able to keep Tristan busy much longer.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “If walking’s difficult, I’ll carry you.”

Sparks flashed along her nerves at the thought of being carried in his arms. Although knowing Niall, he’d probably throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Rose shook his hand away and braced her legs. “I wouldn’t want to slow you down.” She would rather crawl than have him think she was a helpless female.

Niall led her to the door and checked both ways. “Follow me. Quiet now in case we’re overheard.”

After pointing to the right, he melted silently into the darkness of the musty corridor.

Rose hesitated. Panic fluttered in her throat as the narrow, dark space closed in around her.
Not now, please.
She concentrated on the pulsing ache in her legs to keep her focus. Placing one foot in front of the other, she moved hand over hand along the cold, damp wall.

A tiny flashlight burst to life a short distance away in Niall’s hand, illuminating him as if he were the only thing that existed in the darkness. Rose grabbed the back of his jacket and curled her fingers into the leather. He glanced over his shoulder and arched a brow. She blinked up at him and willed him on. Willed herself outside in the open air. He nodded and led her
along a maze of dark corridors carved out of the granite bedrock beneath the house. After what seemed like an eternity, the distant roar of waves echoed and she smelled fresh air.

Halting, Niall pushed her against the wall and placed a finger to his lips. He crept forward and peered around a bend in the corridor. She stared at him, at the tiny light in his hand, heart pounding, fighting back her nightmare of being left alone in the dark, small space. When he beckoned, she dashed forward and gulped the cool, salty air.

Niall raised an arm to stop her at the lip of the cave. Sixty feet below, waves pounded the rock face. The heady rush of freedom burned through her veins, and she turned her face up. She’d never been so relieved to see stars before in her life.

“We should be safe now. ’Tis this way.” He pointed up a flight of narrow steps carved in the cliff face, placed his hand on her back, and nudged her forward. “We must keep moving, lass.”

Acutely aware of the sheer drop to her right, Rose trailed her hand up the rock face for support. Her heart thumped in time with her footsteps as she mounted the stairs. The stairway emerged from behind a boulder on the grassy clifftop among drifts of gorse bushes. Niall hurried her forward under cover of the stunted woodland to where his motorbike was parked among the trees.

“Here.” He held out his helmet to her.

“My car’s still out in front of the manor.”

“Don’t go worrying yourself about that. Leave me the keys. I’ll fetch it back.”

Light-headed with the sense of freedom, she found her car suddenly wasn’t important.

Rose took the helmet and turned it in her hands. She didn’t want to enclose her head, not when she’d just escaped from the tunnel into fresh air. “What are you going to wear?”

“I’ll be fine without, lass. I’d rather you were protected.”

As he was trying to be noble, she could hardly argue with him. Awkwardly, she pulled the helmet on. For a moment, Niall’s woodsy fragrance filled her senses and distracted her from the suffocating darkness. Then a bubble of panic rose in her chest. She fumbled to push up the visor. Firm fingers pushed hers aside and the visor lifted. Rose gulped the fresh air like a drowning woman breaking the water’s surface.

“I hate this.” She struggled to pull it off.

“Hey, lass. Hey, now.” Niall moved before her, gently gripped her hands, and pushed them down. “You’ be daft to escape your father only to put yourself at risk now.”

“I’m claustrophobic.”

“Look at me, Rose Tremain,” he whispered.

She stared into his eyes, which were glittering between thick, dark lashes like starlight on sapphires.

“Now, isn’t that better?” His presence surrounded her, a warm blanket of reassurance. For a moment she ceased to exist alone. She reached out with her mind, and the thread of her consciousness wove with his to form something new and separate. His thumbs brushed her wrists, the touch returning her to her body. She blinked slowly. Was he using fairy magic on her like Michael used glamour?

“Come now. We must be on our way.” Niall released her hands and mounted his bike. “Before you lower the visor, climb up behind me and hold on.”

Rose stared at the small patch of seat behind him and swallowed. They were going to be squeezed together. She swung her leg over, found the footrests, and gripped the side of his jacket with one hand while she flipped down the visor.

The little spurt of panic she felt was lost in the roar of the engine. She dug her fingers into Niall’s jacket and tried to maintain a space between them.

Before she was prepared, the bike surged forward. For a horrible instant she thought she would be left on her butt in the grass. Grabbing Niall, she glued herself to his back and tried to ignore the sensual tingle as her body vibrated against his.

She held on to the solid security of him, leaned the side of her head against his back, and, for the first time in her life, totally gave up control to someone else. Through the mirrored visor, Rose watched the shadows of hedges, banks, and trees flash past as Niall maneuvered through the Cornish lanes.

By the time they reached the Elephant’s Nest, her arms ached from holding him so tightly, and intimate parts of her ached for other reasons. She dismounted unsteadily and pulled off the helmet as he shut down the engine. She had no idea whether she should trust him, no idea whether he was attracted to her, or if Tristan had been right and Niall thought he was too good for her. But after rubbing her breasts against his back for fifteen minutes, she was ready to find out.

“Niall, thank you. I don’t know what I’d have—”

“Take yourself upstairs and grab your case.” He kicked down the stand on his bike. “’Tis best you leave Cornwall immediately. There’s no telling what Tristan will do when he discovers you’re gone.”

His cold, practical tone doused her tingling warmth.
Had the kind words and the connection she’d felt been nothing more than his way of calming her?

Facing the estuary, she took a slow breath of the salty air whispering in with the tide. Tristan was right: Niall couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
Stupid, stupid.
How many times did she have to learn the same lesson? Okay, she wouldn’t embarrass herself by telling him how she felt, but she wasn’t leaving without finding out more about Tristan.

She swiveled back to face him and jammed her hands in her jacket pockets. “Do you know why Tristan wants the Magic Knot paintings?”

Niall shook his head as he balanced the helmet on the bike seat. “Forget about the paintings, Rose. We must get you out of harm’s way.”

“If he’s willing to hurt us both to get his hands on those paintings, I’m not just going to forget about them.” She followed Niall as he strode toward the pub. “I’ve had strange visions of the tarot people. I’m sure there’s something I’m missing here.”

He paused at the door and, for a second, she thought he was about to tell her something. Then his expression blanked. “One thing’s for sure, lass. If the druid wants the paintings, he’ll not give up easily. Take yourself back to London and move the portraits before Tristan can send someone to steal them. Go get your bag. Me brother will take you to the station.”

Disappointment flashed through her. “Why Michael and not you?”

“I have other business to attend to.”

He fetched her room key, tossed it to her, then disappeared into the kitchen.

She stood in reception and stared at the old-fashioned key in her hand, so different from the usual
plastic hotel key cards. The shiny metal key with its curly top symbolized the world she’d discovered here, old-fashioned, but fascinating. Did she want the plastic key-card life, or the other kind? If she lost a key card, someone would just program another for her. If she lost the metal key, she’d be locked out forever.

Rose scrubbed her hand over her face. If Niall had wanted her, she’d be willing to take the risk, but…for now, she’d return to London and have a good look at the paintings. Maybe they’ give her a clue to Tristan’s motives. She ran up the stairs, fetched her bag, and dumped it in the hallway.

A few moments later Michael strolled out of the kitchen wearing black leather pants, a gold silk shirt, and a gigolo’s smile. “Darlin’ Rose. ’Tis me honor to chauffeur you to the station.” He dangled a key ring in the shape of a leprechaun and shook his car keys. “Now tell me, lass, will you be giving me the chance to park on the way so I can demonstrate the art of the perfect kiss?” He winked as Niall pushed through the door behind him. “Just so you’ll be knowing what the best is like, for comparison’s sake, of course.”

Niall shoved him in the back, and Michael’s smile sparkled with mischief. “Cut the blarney, Mick, and take the lass out to your car.” Niall gave his brother a fierce look. “You’ll not be stopping until you reach Plymouth or I’ll skin you alive, so help me.” Niall opened the front door, glanced around warily, then strode over to the Porsche and put her case in the trunk. An owl hooted in the woods, and he spun around into a crouch.

Michael took Rose’s elbow, strolled past Niall with a sideways glance, and opened the passenger door for her. “Trust me brother to make a drama out of a
crisis.” He patted the car lovingly. “Hop in, darlin’ and I’ll show you what me baby can do.”

Rose rested a hand on the car door, her chest tight with conflicting emotions, and watched Niall flex his long, sexy fingers, ready to draw his knives. His hands were the first thing that had attracted her to him. She swallowed and dropped into the cold leather car seat.

Michael slammed her door, circled the car, and hopped in beside her. “Belt up,” he said with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. “Prepare for the sweetest ride of your life.”

Why couldn’t Niall be more like Michael? No, what was she thinking? She didn’t want Niall to behave like his brother—well, maybe a little bit. The bit where he flirted with her—as long as he meant it.
Oh, darn!
Rose squeezed her eyes closed for a second, then lowered her window. Her heart raced, stumbled, then nearly stopped as Niall came up beside the car.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked in a strangled voice.

“Pay a visit.” He fiddled with his cuffs. “Does Michael have your address in the visitors’ book?”

She nodded, hope quickening inside her. He did want to see her again.

“I’ll collect your car when I can and send it up to London on a low loader.”

The hope died stillborn, her nerves stripped raw.

Niall’s lips twitched. Nearly a smile. “Farewell, Rose Tremain.”

He turned to walk away. Panic clenched inside her. She’d never see him again. She searched for their connection and sensed it, faint and distant, like an echo.

“Niall.”

He paused, then turned slowly. “Aye, lass.”

She needed to touch him one more time. She beckoned him. He glanced down, hesitating. The moment of reluctance before he moved toward the car crushed her heart. But this was her last chance to touch him, even if she made a fool of herself.