The Magic Knot

by Helen Scott Taylor

  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 p
rotests 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?”

  Jacca shook his head. “That’s druid magic.” He glanced over his shoulder at Niall. “What about you, Irish? You have experience of earth magic, which is similar.”

  “I understand how the bond between body, mind, and spirit was broken, but nothing more.”

  “How?” Rose looked from Niall to Jacca and back.

  “The Magic Knot, Rosenwyn.” Jacca pulled the three linked stone rings from his pocket and unhooked the clip from his belt. “The tarot cards your mother had printed from the paintings were named after the stones.”

  So the stones were called a Magic Knot. How could she have gone thirty-two years without knowing?

  “Surely you realized?”

  Ashamed of her ignorance, she didn’t reply. Would her mother have told her if she’d shown more interest in the paintings and the tarot cards? She’d eschewed all her mother’s odd habits to try to fit in with the children at school. What else had she missed?

  Nightshade cradled his earthy brown stones in his hand and brushed a thumb across them. “One represents body, one mind, and the other spirit. Tristan broke apart each pisky’s Magic Knot to trap the parts separately.”

  Rose grasped her own stones through her shirt, the shock of how vulnerable they were stealing her breath.

  “Just by touching another’s stones, you forge a bond with that person that can never be broken. Lovers exchange Magic Knots. It’s the greatest form of trust. You literally give your body, mind, and spirit into the safekeeping of the one you love.” He held his stones toward her. “Touch mine if you wish, Rosenwyn. I offer myself to you.”

  Rose stared at Jacca’s stones, but in her mind, she saw another set cradled in a wooden box on a bed of black velvet. She’d touched Niall’s Magic Knot and forged a connection with him that could never be broken. No wonder she could sense him. And he must be able to sense her.

  Automatically, she raised her eyes and met Niall’s. No reaction showed on his face. Not even an acknowledgment that he’d heard what Nightshade had told her. What ever type of link she had forged with Niall, there was no doubt he didn’t want it. She remembered the kiss she’d given him and curled her toes with embarrassment.

  “Rosenwyn,” Jacca prompted softly.

  She glanced down at the stones on his palm and smiled apologetically. “I’m not ready for this yet.”

  He closed his hand. “Of course. I’m sorry to rush you.”

  Michael ambled forward and leaned his hip against the desk. “If the piskies’ knots are broken, how is it possible to reunite body, mind, and spirit? Surely they’ll be trapped in between forever.”

  Rose looked up at him, heartened by his interest. “If there’s a way, I’ll find it.”

  Michael flicked a glance at Niall and lit his cigarette. “Surely me brother, the font of all knowledge, has an answer to this one. He usually thinks he knows everything.”

  Rose, Jacca, and Michael all looked expectantly at Niall. He frowned and straightened his cuffs. “I’ve no wish to get involved. I’ve decided to return to Ireland.”

  “Grand,” Michael crowed, clapping his hands and jigging around the room. “Life is sweet, to be sure.”

  “I’ll be going alone,” Niall said, deadpan.

  “Oh, no, my fine fellow, you won’t.” Michael pranced over and hung an arm around Niall’s shoulders. “You’ll not be leaving me behind. No way.” Michael sucked on his cigarette and blew a smoke ring. “Hey, lass, that’ll be the answer to your problem. Come with us. I’ll wager Ciar knows how to reunite your people.”

  “I’m thinking ’tis best Rose not meet Ciar,” Niall said.

  “Who’s Ciar?” Rose asked.

  “The most powerful fairy queen in Ireland.” Michael grinned.

  Tristan had told Rose that Niall had turned down his queen’s advances. So why was he going back? Curiosity mingled with jealousy. “Sounds like I should meet her then.”

  “I’ll be your bodyguard.” Jacca puffed out his chest.

  “No,” Niall said emphatically. “Ciar is not to be trusted.”

  “Why not?” Michael said. “Rose is a queen. Even Ciar will honor the protocols for visiting royalty if Rose goes prepared. I’m thinking if we follow the rules, it will be safe.”

  “It sounds like our best bet.” Rose eyed Niall, even more determined to go, since Niall obviously didn’t want her to meet Ciar. “In the morning I’ll give instructions for the paintings to be moved so they’re safe until I get back. Then I’m free. I’d planned to stay in Cornwall for a week, and I’ve had only three days so far.”

  Niall stepped forward and pinned Rose with a look. “You don’t know her, lass. You cannot just turn up and ask advice. ’Tis not that simple. There will be conditions. She’ll play games.”

  Grinning mischievously, Michael waggled his eyebrows. “I love court games.”

  Niall gave him a withering look.

  Jacca stepped up beside Rose and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be safe. I’ll protect you.”

  With a grim look, Niall glanced from Rose to Jacca and back again. “Don’t go being so sure, nightstalker. Ciar is capable of horrors Tristan has not even dreamed of.”

  Chapter Nine

  None of them would listen to h
im. Niall gritted his teeth as he felt control of the situation slip from his grip. He grabbed Michael’s arm, pulled open the office door, and shoved his brother into the hall. “I be wanting a private word.”

  Niall made sure the office door closed firmly behind him. Michael lounged against the reception desk and fiddled with his cigarette.

  “Tristan threatened to hurt Ana. I need you to keep an eye on her.”

  Michael pouted. “You look after the wee one then. I’ll take Rose to Ireland.”

  “Pull in your lip, and for once think about someone but yourself. ’Tis only one reason I have for going back. To offer meself to Ciar and put an end to this vendetta. Once she’s appeased, Ana should be safe. But the wee lass must be protected from Tristan until I return.”