The Magic Knot (11 page)

Michael started the Porsche and gunned the engine, its muted roar buzzing in her ear drums.

“Thanks for playing the knight in shining armor,” Rose said.

Niall cupped his hand around his ear and bent down.

She grabbed the collar of his flight jacket, pulled him close, breathed in the smell of his hair, floated for a second. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Nodding, he gave her a perfunctory smile. “No problem.”

He tried to pull away. Rose’s fingers clenched in his sheepskin collar. His eyes met hers, held for a beat, then dropped to her mouth.

A heavy neediness filled her belly. She did have hopes in that direction, as her father had put it— unattainable, ridiculous hopes, but what the hell? She was about to leave and never see him again.

Before common sense could kick in, she slid her fingers over the soft hair on his nape and pressed her lips to his.

Warm and smooth, his lips slid her into another world. Heat rolled through her body, singed the edges of her mind. When he pulled away, she released him, shocked by the intensity of such a chaste kiss.

Niall stepped back and looked down. He held the side of his fist to his lips as Michael gunned the engine and shot out of the parking lot. Rose grabbed a shuddering breath, swiveled, and peered through the car’s small rear window. Niall still had his hand against his
mouth. Was he rubbing away the touch of her lips? Her heart thumped hollowly as she remembered her father’s words.
Our beautiful Tuatha Dé Danaan is so proud, he even turned down his own queen. He wouldn’t be interested in you…you’ve missed out on the fairy beauty.

Niall was choosy. He wouldn’t be likely to choose her.

“I’m hoping you have one of those for me when we get to Plymouth,” Michael said, grinning at her.

How different Niall was from his brother, who obviously fancied anything that moved. But there was a certain refreshing honesty about Michael. You knew where you stood with him.

Rose sank into her seat with a sigh as the car bumped along beside the estuary.
Life goes on.
The new pain ran along familiar tracks laid many years earlier. Her mother never valued her academic achievements because she thought all that counted was beauty. Then she proved her point by seducing Tom, the boy Rose loved. The lesson still hurt. But she’d recovered, pursued her career. She looked down at her fingers. They dissolved into a pale blur through her tears. She had picked herself up before. She would do it again.

As she wiped her eyes, Michael stamped on his brakes. Rose gasped as the seat belt snapped tight across her chest. The car stopped and, through the windshield, she saw the dark figure of Nightshade illuminated in the headlights.

“Aw, crap!” Michael glanced in his rearview mirror and slammed the car into reverse. “Where’s me knife-wielding brother when I want him?” The gearbox whined as Michael careened backward. Rose hung on to her seat and prayed as the car jolted along the
track, the estuary bank dangerously close. Nightshade pursued them about six feet off the ground, staying just within the arc of the headlights.

When Michael pulled to a halt by the pub, Niall ran out the front door.

“Don’t move.” Michael jumped out, locking the doors behind him.

The two brothers approached Nightshade and words were exchanged. Flutters of hot and cold raced across her skin as Niall came to her side of the car and the door locks popped open.

She hadn’t expected to see him again after her rash kiss. Her pain and tiredness morphed into embarrassment, then irritation. She stared at her hands when he opened the door and cleared his throat. “Rose.”

“I can’t seem to get away, can I?”

“Nightshade wants to talk to you before you leave. He won’t take no for an answer.”

She stared warily through the windshield at the night-stalker. He might have been reluctant to help Tristan capture her, but he was the one who’d carried her down to the horrible underground room. On the other hand, if anyone could tell her why Tristan wanted the Magic Knot paintings, it would be Nightshade. “Okay. I’d better speak to him. But don’t leave me alone with him.”

Niall nodded curtly and stepped aside for her to climb out of the car.

“’Tis best we get out of sight,” Niall said. “Follow me.” He led them inside to the small office where Rose had struggled to make sense of Michael’s accounts.

Niall indicated the wobbly office chair. She sat and swiveled around to face the room. When all four of them crowded inside, Niall closed the door, leaned back against it, and crossed his arms. Michael slouched
against the filing cabinet and Nightshade paced back and forth. She felt as though she were drowning in testosterone.

A strained silence filled the room. Rose steeled herself and leaned forward. “Okay, Nightshade, you’ve got ten minutes, and then I’m leaving.”

He halted, glanced at her, and ran a hand across his face. “Rosenwyn, you must forgive me.”

“You’ve got a nerve. You held me down while Tristan tied me onto that bloody table.”

“I knew he wouldn’t really hurt you.”

“Well, thanks for telling me. I was scared out of my wits.”

“Stay with me, please. I promise I’ll look after you.”

Rose shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’ll be a lot safer in London.” And she’d do her best to forget about Tristan and Nightshade. And eventually even Niall.

“My queen, I beseech you, stay.” Nightshade dropped to his knees. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” He grasped her hands and kissed them.

“My queen”?
Was that an endearment? Nonplussed, she looked to Niall for assistance, but he stared down at his feet. She turned to Michael, but even he evaded her eyes and shifted uncomfortably. A prescient calm settled around her, heralding a storm she couldn’t yet see.

She pulled her hands out of Nightshade’s grip and tried to ease her chair away from him. “What do you mean by
queen
?”

He leaned closer, his expression earnest, his long hair brushing her knees. “Your grandfather was my king and your mother a princess. They’re both gone, so you’re now the pisky queen.”

Time stopped. Her head felt light. Suddenly the irrational
way her mother always behaved made horrible sense. When her mother sold a painting, she and Rose would feast on chocolate and champagne until the money was gone. Rose had to steal money from her mother and hide it to buy food when art sales were poor.

She jumped up, illogically angry with all three men for her years of suffering and confusion. “If you expect me to stay here after what’s happened, you’re mad. I don’t trust you, Nightshade.” She looked at the other two and added, “I don’t trust any of you. Niall handed me over to Tristan.”

Niall glanced up, accusation in his eyes.

“I know, I know. You rescued me. But you got me in that mess in the first place. And Michael…”

He raised mournful blue eyes like a child being reprimanded, and her anger faded. How could she be cross with Michael when all he’d done was flirt outrageously? “If you hadn’t made such a mess of your business, I’d never have come here in the first place.”

His expression morphed into a grin, brightening the room. Rose shook her head. She had a soft spot for him despite everything.

She stared at the desk she’d tidied and polished three days earlier. Only three days ago. What had happened to her? She must get back to London before the life she’d worked so carefully to build became just a memory.

She raked her fingers through her hair. “I wanted to find my father to discover who I am. But I wish I hadn’t. I just want to go back to London.”

Nightshade’s shoulders dropped. “You’re my only hope. I can’t go on as I am.”

“Why me?” What was she supposed to do with a
depressed winged man? She could hardly tell him to go out and make new friends. She glanced at Niall for help, but he stared at a spot on the wall and didn’t acknowledge her. Heat fluttered into her cheeks. That was the second time he’d ignored her. Maybe he was embarrassed about the kiss. She turned to Michael. An unlit cigarette hung between his lips. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged at her questioning look.

“You’ve got Michael and Niall,” she said tentatively.

Nightshade sprang to his feet. “They don’t want anything to do with me.”

So Niall thought he was too good for Nightshade as well. He seemed to think he was better than everyone, by the sound of it.

“I’m more than happy to be friendly,” Michael said. Everyone in the room stared at him.

Nightshade stilled. “I’m looking for a close friend, bard. A very close friend.”

Tension thrummed against Rose’s skin as Nightshade and Michael eyed each other.

Michael pulled the cigarette from his mouth and looked at it. “Truth be told, I’ve always wondered what a nightstalker’s bite feels like.” He glanced up from beneath his thick, dark lashes. “Ciar once told me ’tis better than an orgasm.”

Nightshade took a step toward Michael. “It’ll be my pleasure to demonstrate.”

Niall jumped between them. “Great Danu. Control yourselves.”

The air reverberated with Nightshade’s growl.

With a look of disgust, Niall glanced over his shoulder at his brother. “If you must go doing this, take your tryst somewhere private.”

Only Rose’s grip on the back of her chair kept her
steady. The thought of watching Nightshade bite Michael set her pulse racing with a churning mixture of emotions she didn’t want to examine too closely.

Nightshade backed off. “Another time, bard.”

“Aye.” Michael grinned. “’Tis looking forward to it I am.”

Nightshade pivoted elegantly, once more the proud warrior, and faced Rose. “Isn’t there anything I can do to persuade you to stay?”

“What you can do is tell me why Tristan wants the Magic Knot paintings so badly. Does he want to sell them?”

“Of all the questions you could ask, you have to choose that. I don’t want to lie to you—”

“Then don’t.”

Nightshade hung his head for a moment. “You’ better sit down.”

She widened her stance and crossed her arms. She was fed up with sitting while the men looked down on her. “I can hear just fine as I am.”

“The people depicted in your mother’s paintings are our people, Rosenwyn. The Cornish troop. You and I are the last.” He raised his gaze, and pain glittered razor sharp in his eyes.

“The last…meaning—”

“They’re not alive.”

“I remember them,” she whispered to herself. No wonder she felt so closely linked to the characters on the cards. Was it their spirits that spoke to her when she touched the pictures?

“How could they all have died? What happened?”

Nightshade looked away, frowned, and looked back. “They’re not exactly dead. Each of your mother’s pictures binds the physical form of a pisky.”

Rose heard his words, but they made no sense. “Say that again.”

“The piskies’ bodies are imprisoned in the paintings.”

“The piskies’ bodies are…what?” Rose shook her head. “Mom wouldn’t have done such a thing.” Weak-kneed, she reached back for the arm of the chair and eased down into the seat. What had her mother told her about the paintings and the tarot cards? She’d loved the cards, used them every day of her life. Talked to them, and yes, with a crawling sense of dread, Rose remembered hearing her mom ask them over and over for forgiveness.

“It was not your mother’s doing.” Nightshade touched her arm, and she shook him off impatiently.

“How the hell? I don’t understand. People can’t be imprisoned in pictures. How can bodies be made flat…?” Her protests trailed off as she realized how stupid it was to argue the logistics of trapping people in paintings when it must be magic. Her heart beat hollowly as she faced the possibility that Nightshade’s words were true.

“Blame Tristan.” Nightshade crouched beside her, flicking out his wings for balance. “Your mother was as much a victim as her subjects. Tristan separated their minds, bodies, and spirits and then bound their bodies in the paintings. Their minds and spirits are held in globes of enchanted glass.”

Rose’s eyes glazed. Memories of the tarot people fluttered through her head like butterflies, beautiful and difficult to pin down. “Why? Why would anyone want to hurt them?” She turned to Nightshade and saw tears swimming in his eyes.

“He was bitter, Rosenwyn. I gather he was a sickly
child, and he blamed the piskies for cursing him with ill health. His father didn’t help. As chief druid and mentor to the Cornish troop, he spent most of his time with them. Tristan felt neglected.”

“Then why does he want the paintings returned to Cornwall?”

Nightshade shrugged helplessly. “He’s obsessed with revenge. Although their bodies are separated from their minds and spirits and trapped in the pictures, the body has its own awareness. To a limited extent they can still see and hear what happens around them.”

“God, no!” Rose slapped a hand over her mouth and pictured the dark, airless vault where the paintings were stored. Terror fluttered at the edge of her mind. “I must get them out of that place. Mom can’t have known, surely…. It’s horrible.”

Nightshade slid his arms around her. She allowed him to pull her against the comforting warmth of his chest. The fragrance of sweet almond oil tickled her nose. When she looked to Niall for his reaction, his disapproving gaze bored into her. He certainly wouldn’t be interested in her now that he knew what her parents had done.

More memories of Nightshade filtered back. He’d been her friend when she was a child. Someone she could rely on. She gazed into his eyes. “What did I call you when I was a little girl?”

“Jacca. Few used that name. Only you and your mother and one or two others who saw me as a friend rather than the nightstalker.”

“Jacca.” The name triggered a rush of remembered affection. “I must bring the paintings out of storage and try to free the piskies.”

“It’s more complicated than just freeing their bodies
from the paintings. You also need to free their minds and spirits and bind all three parts back together.”

New determination hardened inside her. She had a responsibility to the people depicted on the tarot cards who had guided her and been there for her when she had no one else to turn to. She couldn’t leave them trapped in the portraits. “Do you know how to reunite those three parts?”