The Magic Knot (5 page)

Tomorrow he’d ride over to visit Tristan and explain that Rose thought she was human and knew nothing of the Good People. Niall sat back, opened his Internet stockbroking service, and watched the share values scroll across the screen. Tristan Jago was a greedy man. Surely he wouldn’t jeopardize the regular checks Niall paid him by refusing to cast the protection spell?

As evening approached, Rose ran down the stairs from her room at the Elephant’s Nest humming. Just when she’d been ready to tear out her hair with frustration at trying to make sense of the business records, the senior partner from her firm had rung. Michael’s loan had been cleared and the investigation called off. The King of Pentacles had spoken true. What ever Niall was involved in, he had money and connections.

But she didn’t want to think about him. One more night at the pub, and she’d be on her way to find her father.

When she jumped off the last stair into the hallway, Michael stepped out from behind the reception desk. He slid his eyes down her body as though he were imagining sliding her into his bed. Typical. Michael had been conspicuously absent when she wanted to question him. As soon as she changed into Lycra shorts and a sports bra, he miraculously appeared.

“Well, well.” He ambled up and waggled his eyebrows. “What a grand little body you were hiding beneath that sober suit.”

His attraction dragged at her. Rose stilled, clinging to her common sense. As he stepped closer and the smell of his aftershave wafted around, she noted the thud of her heart. Interesting: he affected her physically, but mentally she remained detached.

He moved closer, lips tilted into an appealingly wicked grin, and brushed his fingertips down her arm. “How about you and me celebrate my reprieve after I close up, darlin’? Me room’s on the top floor.”

“I know,” she said innocently, trying for a straight face and nearly making it. “The black-and-gold one, right? I saw it earlier when I was up there with Niall.”

“Niall?” Michael’s perfect, dark, winged eyebrows scrunched together. “What were you doing up in the flat with me brother?”

“Nothing you need to know about.” She patted him on the cheek. “I promise you,
darlin’
, I’m not your type.”

“Aye, that’s as may be. But are you me brother’s is what I’m asking meself.”

Rose turned away from the sudden flash of curiosity in Michael’s eyes. She attempted a casual shrug, but it came out as a nervous jerk.

The memory of Niall’s body pressed against hers
had plagued her all afternoon. Rose halted and rubbed her temples. She could feel him close by.
Darn.
Why was she so sensitive to him?

She stomped out the door, halted beside the low wall that divided the parking lot from the riverbank, and started stretching out her muscles. Forget Niall. Forget Michael. She stared into the dark water swirling against the reeds and planned the first steps she’d take to locate her father. She had five days to find him. Five days to make sense of her life.

Bending forward, she grabbed her ankles and stretched the backs of her thighs. As she stared at the pub between her legs, Niall strolled around the corner and stopped beside his bike, staring at her backside.

Rose straightened so fast the blood rushed out of her head, leaving it spinning. “Heck. You gave me a scare creeping up like that.”

He gazed at her for a moment, then pulled an oily rag from his pocket and turned to his bike. “If that’s what you call creeping, lass, you’re deaf.”

Rose finished her stretches, watching him out of the corner of her eye to check whether he looked at her. He didn’t.
Damn Niall O’Connor
. She jogged toward him, slapping her arms to warm up. He knelt in the dirt next to his bike, unscrewed a metal ring from the engine, and rested it on a rock.

“I wanted to ask you about your stone rings.” However hard she tried, Rose couldn’t stop thinking about how weird she’d felt when she touched them. And it was too much of a coincidence that they both had them. “What are they?”

He gave her a shuttered glance and shrugged. “A knickknack. Nothing more.”

She didn’t believe that for a moment. How could she
make him open up? On inspiration, she hooked her finger in the chain around her neck, pulled her three linked stones out, and cradled them in her palm. “I don’t like anyone touching mine, either.” Normally she kept them hidden. But with Niall it was different, as though they shared a secret.

Niall glanced up from his task, his eyes wary. He dropped the rag and slowly rose to his feet. When he stared down at her stones, his eyes flashed with heat, then blanked.

“Don’t be foolish, lass,” he said, his voice strained. “Keep them hidden.”

The tang of engine oil blended with the woodsy scent of him. She tried to ignore the flush of her skin as she remembered the weight of his body on top of her. “Mother advised me to wear them. Weren’t you told the same?”

He turned, crunching the gravel beneath his boots, and went back to his bike. “Mine live in their box.” His curt tone suggested the discussion was over.

Rose fluffed her hair in frustration. Maybe she should just forget the stones and concentrate on what she’d come for. “Listen, you seem to know all the right people; maybe you can help me. I want to track down my father. I don’t have an address, but I’ve got a name….” She faltered, suddenly uneasy. After all the years of planning, she finally had a chance to find her father. Why was she hesitating? She shook away the feeling of foreboding. “He’s called Tristan Jago. Ever heard the name?”

Niall’s hands stilled their fiddling for a moment; then he shook his head without looking up. “Doesn’t ring any bells.” He hunched closer to the engine, and
she got the message loud and clear. As far as he was concerned, their conversation was over.

“Fine. Never mind. I’m going to Truro tomorrow to check the electoral roll. Hopefully…” She stared at the back of his head. What was the point in wasting her breath? He wasn’t interested. “Well…I’m off for my run.”

Rose jogged away along the riverside path and didn’t let herself look back. After she left tomorrow, she would never see Niall again. What did it matter if he wasn’t interested in her? The only thing they had in common was the wretched stones. And that was probably a coincidence.

She found her rhythm, enjoying the satisfying slap of her feet and the building tension of muscle. The chill eve ning air invigorated her body, and the gentle swish of the river calmed her mind. When she returned to the pub, she’d read the tarot cards and ask questions about her father. She’d put off the reading for long enough. Rose had never been like her mother; she’d always felt her father must be the key to her identity.

Rose glanced around. Dusk spread dark, misty fingers beneath the overhanging branches of the woodland. The river glowed, a ribbon of moonbeams beside the path. Deep peace filled a hollow place inside her that she hadn’t noticed was empty.

After a couple of miles, Rose stopped where the path climbed away from the river into the trees. Night came faster in the country, and she didn’t want to be running beside water in the pitch-black. Retracing her steps, she rehearsed what to say when she introduced herself to her father.

Would he look like her? Rose hadn’t resembled her
mother, who was extraordinarily beautiful until drugs and alcohol ravaged her looks.

With a startled squawk, a bird shot out of the woods before her. Shock stabbed her chest. Silly. It was nothing. No doubt she was far safer h ere than pounding the streets in London, and yet…

The fragrance of almonds drifted incongruously on the cool autumn air, raising the tiny hairs on her body. Rose increased her pace. She forgot about finding her father. With every scrap of awareness focused on the path, she watched for the welcoming lights of the pub.

Beside the path, a whip crack of sound reverberated through the thick darkness beneath the trees. Deep, primeval fear shot through her. She slowed, scanned the blackness wildly. Looking for something. Hoping for nothing. A patch of shadow detached itself from a tree trunk and moved toward her. Dragging her gaze away, she sprinted forward, muscles burning. The pub must be close. Would Niall still be outside? Would he hear if she shouted?

Sticky warmth brushed her shoulder. Rose screamed, ducked her head, spun around, flailed her arms. The track behind her stretched away quiet and empty.
I’m going mad.

Gulping three deep breaths, she struggled to ground herself. “Calm down, woman.
Calm down.
” This was her mother’s fault, spooking her about Cornwall, making her imagine things. Rose flexed her shoulders, forcing herself to stand still and face the murky woodland to prove she wasn’t scared. She counted to three in her head, then moved forward, recovered her rhythm, and ran on toward the pub. “There’s nothing there, nothing there,” she chanted under her breath.

A sudden blast of air made her duck and throw her
arms over her head. A monstrous black beast hung in the sky, blotting out the pale hook of the moon. Cold air sliced her throat as she gasped. Gagging on the cloying fragrance of almonds, she staggered back. Her shoe sank in wet mud. Arms wheeling, she scrambled to catch her balance.

The beast swooped down. Strong arms pulled her against a warm, oil-slicked chest. Rose screamed and battered the taut muscular arms circling her.

His long hair fluttered against her face in the draft from his wing beats. Rose gulped and tried to shout for help. Nothing came out but a terrified whimper.

He pressed his cheek to hers. Lips brushed her ear. “Welcome back, Rosenwyn,” a deep, gravelly voice whispered. “Remember me, sweet one? I remember you.”

The madness of fear gave Rose strength. As the devil man lifted her from the ground, she pounded with her fists, jabbed with her elbows.

“Shh, my love, don’t panic,” the dark voice crooned hot against her ear as he caught her arms to her sides. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve come to take you home.”

Home! Where was home—hell? Through the black, mind-numbing wash of terror one word of hope burned:
Niall.
She wasn’t sure if she screamed his name out loud or only in her thoughts, but somehow she sensed Niall’s startled response—his catch of breath and jolt of heart—as if they were her own.

Niall was her only chance.

How could Rose be Tristan’s daughter?

Niall sat on the low wall beside the pub and stared at his bike as he pondered what he’d learned.

Now she planned to stay until she found her father. So much for his hope that if he paid off Michael’s loan she’d leave. How could Niall maintain his calm when every cell in his body was attuned to her? The only way to weaken the bond was physical distance. And the quickest way to achieve that was to introduce her to Tristan. One look at the decrepit druid and Rose would hightail it back to London.

Unable to resist the draw of an intimacy he’d never expected to experience, he closed his eyes and opened his senses to Rose. She twanged the invisible thread joining them with little flashes of emotion that tingled around the periphery of his awareness. A yearning for physical contact burned in his belly, the intimate spiritual bond more addictive than a drug and just as deadly. However much he wanted Rose, he must not give in to the desire. If Ciar discovered their relationship, she’d harm Rose to punish him.

He smiled as he sensed the emotions flowing from
her thoughts: pleasure, satisfaction, curiosity, anticipation, then a jolt—a burn of fear. Niall snapped his eyes open and stared sightlessly as he concentrated on Rose. The fear subsided; the heat faded. Niall relaxed a notch. Then her terror flared so hotly, he clutched his head in pain as her voice reverberated inside his skull, screaming his name.

“Rose,” he hissed in an agonized whisper as he struggled to regain control.

He surged to his feet and sprinted away from the pub on the path she’d taken. Maybe Ciar had already discovered his bond with Rose and sent shade warriors to frighten her. Shades he could handle. With their bodies left so far away in Ireland, the shadows would be weak.

He might not be able to acknowledge his bond with Rose, but he would give her his strength and his protection.

Rose peered over her abductor’s arm to the rapidly retreating safety of solid ground below. Hope flashed as she saw Niall sprinting toward them along the path, limned by moonlight, his face inhumanly perfect and determined.

She tried to shout his name. But the devil man tightened his grip around her chest and beat his wings. They were too high. Niall would never reach her.

He leaped with the grace of a stag, long, lean muscles extended to the limit, defying gravity. His fingers locked around her ankle. Her body ached, bone and muscle stretched to the breaking point as both men hung onto her. Then the arm around her chest slipped.

A scream ripped from her throat as she plummeted down. Rose tensed, ready for a jarring impact, but
Niall swung around and caught her against his body. While her head was still spinning, he gently deposited her in a heap of musty leaf litter.

As soon as she gathered her wits, Rose scrambled backward until her head hit a tree. She huddled against the rough bark, clutching her knees.

Niall positioned himself between her and the winged man, his stance wide, combative. Although common sense screamed at her to run, the tremors of shock in her muscles robbed her of the strength to do so. She couldn’t take her eyes off Niall, his lithe body tense, ready to defend her. With a flick of his wrists a gleaming blade appeared in each of his hands. The edges of reality blurred.

Her would-be abductor beat large black wings and lowered himself to the ground, head bowed, arms crossed over his chest like a fallen angel. He touched down on the toes of one foot with the grace of a ballet dancer and raised glowing silver eyes.

“She belongs with me,” the dark angel said. His voice was deep, resonant…frighteningly familiar.

Rose pressed her forehead against her knees and rubbed her temples. A door to the past cracked open in her mind. Memories of childhood stirred like dust in a tomb. She remembered sobbing against the winged man’s chest as he rocked her in his arms.

“No way!” Niall’s firm reply pierced her thoughts. “Leave her be, Nightshade. She has no knowledge of the Good People.”

Niall was acquainted with this devil man…Nightshade? And who were
these good people
?

Nightshade faced her, eyes narrowed to glittering silver slits. His wings snapped closed against his back;
then he took a step forward. “Rosenwyn,” he demanded, “you remember nothing about me?”

Rose shook her head in denial. Nightshade knew her
real
name. No one had ever called her Rosenwyn except her mother. Rose’s carefully cultivated normal world fractured, and flashes of childhood memory escaped.
Mother singing and dancing with strange people. The drowsy scent of fragrant candles. Alone in the dark. So alone…until…Nightshade came for her.

She pressed her hands over her face and shook her head to clear the images.
I’m a senior manager with Francis Marchant.
Fear was making her imagine things—that was all.

Niall stood watching intently as Nightshade approached her. She groped among the fallen leaves for something to use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a broken branch. Pushing herself up on shaky legs, she held it out, but strangely, her heart wasn’t in the threat. “Keep away. I…I’m sure I don’t know you.”

She expected him to react angrily or, if she was lucky, fall back at her threat. She wasn’t prepared for the flash of hurt in his eyes before he dropped his head and hid his face behind the veil of dark hair. With his wings folded and invisible from the front, Nightshade resembled an ordinary man. An extraordinarily beautiful man, his ebony skin sculpted into perfect curves and hollows by the moonlight.

Slouching off, Nightshade beckoned Niall, then halted a short distance away beside the river. She could just make out the shadowy outline of Nightshade’s wings folded against his back as the two men spoke.
His wings are soft.
She remembered the feel of running her hand over them. Tickling him?

Oh, God.
She stared into the shadows beneath the trees, and the branch dropped from her fingers. Nightshade had said he wanted to take her home. The only home she could ever have had in Cornwall was with her father.

All her life she’d believed her mother was the weird one—her father was supposed to be her anchor to normality. Rubbing her arms against the cold, she summoned her self-control. It didn’t matter. If she didn’t like the truth about her father, she had her career, her life in London.

Rose ignored the creeping chill of disillusionment and channeled it into annoyance. What were the men talking about? She reached out her senses to Niall as she did to her tarot people, but felt nothing. Had she imagined the connection with him earlier? Well, she’d learned one thing from doing her job: the best way to get answers was to ask.

With a determined stride, she walked toward the men. They glanced up and fell silent as she approached. “Nightshade.” His name felt awkward in her mouth, like a foreign word. “I’ve come to Cornwall to find my father.” She paused and swallowed. “Do you know a man called Tristan Jago?”

Nightshade grimaced, and the two men shared a meaningful glance. Denial whirled inside Rose’s head as Nightshade flicked back his hair and tilted his chin defiantly. “I do.”

Shock jolted her body. His terse reply left no room for doubt, no room for hope. She had to face facts. If her father was involved with Nightshade, he wasn’t the normal dad she’d built her childhood fantasies around.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Niall slip his
knives inside the cuffs of his shirt. He’d been mighty quick to come to her rescue, almost as though he’d expected trouble. He knew Nightshade, and he’d obviously lied to her about not knowing Tristan Jago. Add that to his deceit over the pub accounts and she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

In the moonlight, she glanced from one man’s evasive expression to the other and anger fired her determination. This was no different from an insolvency investigation. If she wanted to root out the truth, she’d have to be firm. “I’d like to talk to you both back at the pub. I’m freezing my butt off out here, and I’ve got questions about my father. After putting me through this”—she plucked at her ripped, dirty shorts—“I think you both owe me some answers.”

The look of surprise the two men exchanged before they pasted on emotionless expressions gave her a shot of satisfaction that boosted her resolve.

On weary legs, she made her way back toward the pub, acutely aware of the two men at her back. Niall carried knives up his sleeves, and Nightshade had wings and silver eyes.
Shit!
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she fought the overwhelming urge to look around.

Now that she’d gotten their mea sure, she wouldn’t let them intimidate her again. Difficult situations had never beaten her before. She would get one of these two men to answer her questions about her father. Rose just prayed they were answers she wanted to hear.

Feeling more composed after a ten-minute walk, Rose went through the back door into the Elephant’s Nest kitchen. Michael was leaning against the counter
dressed in skintight scarlet silk pants, a multicolored shirt, and a pixie hat with a tassel and bell on the end. He held a cigarette in one hand and a glass of amber liquid in the other.

He looked like an X-rated Santa’s elf.

Rose smiled and some of her tension fell away. Winking, he held up his glass. “Want one, darlin’?” He glanced at Nightshade hovering in the doorway behind Niall. “You’ve had a shock, I’ll wager.”

She nodded. “I usually steer clear of alcohol, but tonight you can make mine a double and stick a little parasol in it.”

Michael filled a tumbler, strolled over, and pressed it into her hand. He clinked his glass against hers.
“Sláinte.”
This time the look in his eyes only warmed her. Odd that she had become immune to his attraction just when she was starting to like him.

Niall walked up and raked his gaze over Michael, and a muscle jerked in his cheek. “Who you got working to night?”

Michael grinned, mischief bright in his vivid blue eyes. “The lovely Marie. She’s out front now stocking the bar. Me fans will soon be arriving to hear more tall tales.”

Niall sighed as though the worries of the world weighed on his shoulders. He crossed to the door into the hall and locked it. “The nightstalker cannot stay long,” he said, glancing toward Rose. “Marie will need to use the kitchen.”

At Niall’s signal, the extraordinary dark angel sauntered into the brightly lit kitchen. Rose tried not to stare. She didn’t know whether to think of him as man or beast. Niall had called him a nightstalker, what ever that was. He was over six feet of well-packed muscle,
with everything above the waistband of his jeans on display. Her gaze trailed up and down his body; then she cleared her throat and looked away.
Definitely all man.

In her peripheral vision she caught Niall watching her, eyes narrowed, mouth tight. She sensed him like heat, warming the edges of her mind. He averted his gaze, straightened his cuffs, and the heat faded, leaving her cold.

So, she hadn’t imagined the link with Niall. After years sensing only her tarot people, why the sudden connection with Niall?

Michael tilted his glass at Nightshade and gave him a cheeky grin. “Come join us in the bar. To night I’ll reveal one of the secrets of the fairies.” He sucked on his cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring. “’Tis a tale about a nightstalker who creeps around watching lasses in their underdrawers. I’m thinking you’ll add some spice to the telling.”

Nightshade raised his chin. “Don’t mock me, bard, or I’ll crush your scrawny neck.”

Michael shrugged innocently. “What’s biting him?”

“For Dagda’s sake.” Niall stared at Michael, frustration shimmering in his eyes. “Don’t tread on his toes. We have little enough time as it is.”

Nightshade folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. “I believe Rosenwyn wished to ask
me
some questions.”

Under the fluorescent light, his silver eyes gleamed, and his black hair slid over his shoulders like ebony water. Rose tried to suppress the little frisson of excitement that buzzed through her every time she looked at him. Any normal person would be running in the opposite direction screaming.

Gradually she became aware of the heavy silence
and glanced at Niall and Michael. They were both watching her: Niall with his mouth set in a tight line of disapproval, Michael with an indignant pout. Michael clicked his tongue. “Now, why does she not look at me that way? I have the glamour.”

Niall rounded on Michael. “Button your lip. We’re not here to stroke your ego.” Niall turned back to Rose, eyes veiled. “If you have questions about your father, lass, now’s your chance.”

Rose had lots of questions about her father, but first she wanted to discover what Niall was so eager to hide from her.

“Michael, what do you mean, that you have the glamour?”

Niall gave Michael a dirty look. “You could not keep your mouth shut.”

Michael shrugged. “Makes no difference.” He pointed his cigarette at Nightshade. “Exhibit one in the freak show. Meself, I’m just small fry.”

Nightshade growled low in his throat, raising the hairs on Rose’s body.

Niall smacked his palm on the kitchen counter. “Show her, Michael, if you must. But make it snappy.”

After depositing his glass on the counter, Michael held his hands before his face and wiggled his fingers. “Abracadabra.”

Niall rolled his eyes, drawing Rose’s gaze for an instant. When she looked back, Michael was different. It took a moment for her to work out what had changed. His face was the same, but the gloss had gone. His hair was no longer as thick and luxuriant, his complexion less glowing. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot. He was still good-looking, but in a more normal way, and he was clearly a little worse for wear.

Rose hadn’t thought of it for years, but whenever her mother looked awful after a drinking binge, she’d go to her room to refresh herself and return looking perfect. “I could use some of that. What is it? Some kind of illusion?”

Michael opened his mouth, but Niall beat him to it. “Something like that.”