The Magic Knot

by Helen Scott Taylor

  All three men seemed interested in her stones, so they must be significant. Niall had advised her to keep them hidden. Her mother had given her the same warning years earlier, but men had never shown any interest in them before.

  Niall backed up and glanced at Michael over his shoulder. “You’ll keep your hands off her as well if you know what’s good for you.”

  Michael angled his head and scrutinized his brother. “If I didn’t know better—”

  “Shut it.”

  Michael shrugged. “Denial will not go changing the facts, boyo.” He pulled a leather thong bearing stones similar to Niall’s out of his shirt and then swung them in front of Rose. “Snap. Nightshade, show her yours.”

  Nightshade had risen and stood in the doorway, lip swollen, nostrils flared like an angry bull. He glared at Niall as he pulled a key chain from his pocket and un-clipped it from the loop on his jeans. Three earth-colored stones hung from the chain.

  “Nearly a complete showing,” Michael said. “Except Niall, of course, who dares not wear his in case someone should steal away his soul.”

  Niall kept a watchful eye on Nightshade, ignoring Michael’s taunt.

  Rose hid her stones beneath her top, and pressed her hand over them. Whoever these people were, she was one of them. She’d blamed the fact that she had never quite fit in at school on her mother’s weird influence, but maybe the reason went deeper. Maybe she really was different. “Who are you? Or maybe I should be asking, what are you?”

  Niall glanced over his shoulder at her. “Leave it. Best you forget we said anything, lass.”

  She passed her gaze over each man in turn. A revelation hovered at the edge of her awareness. Something so momentous there’ be no turning back. Should she walk away and forget or take a risk? “I need to know.”

  With a resigned sigh, Niall dropped into a chair and rubbed his face. “Your father’s human.”

  “And my mother?”

  Niall glanced at her, then looked at Michael, who shrugged.

  “Your mother was of another race.”

  “What race?”

  “Fairy.”

  “Fairy?” Rose stilled and waited for the burst of shock and disbelief that didn’t come. Had she always known? Had she spent her life running away from the truth?

  Rose took three deep breaths and grounded herself. She could handle this if she had facts to focus on. “Give me details.”

  Niall relaxed the fist clenched against his thigh. “There are many types of fairy.” He jerked a thumb toward Nightshade. “You’ll find everything from the nightstalker to tiny people no bigger than me hand.”

  Rose’s control wobbled as tiny picturebook fairies chased around inside her head on a repeating video loop.

  Niall gripped her hand with cool, strong fingers. “We’re the same species as humans; otherwise we couldn’t interbreed.”

  She sensed his presence surrounding her, protective, strong, calm. “You’re the same as me?” she whispered.

  “Similar, lass. You’re human and Cornish pisky. Michael and meself are Tuatha Dé Danaan and”—he cast a warning look at Nightshade—“leprechaun.”

  “Leprechaun!” The word burst out before she could stop it.

  He pulled his hand back, eyes flaring defensively.

  She missed the reassurance of his touch instantly. “I thought leprechauns were…well, small?” She scanned Niall’s lean body—obviously not.

  His fierce expression softened and he raised one eyebrow slightly. “They are small, but Tuatha Dé Danaan are tall, descended from the gods who traveled to Ireland in the mists of the past.”

  “And praise be to the ancient gods’ dominant genes,” Michael added with a wink.

  She tried to smile, but confusion swirled inside her head until she thought she’d drown in the feeling. What should she do? Pursue her father and face the truth, or take Niall’s advice, return to London, and continue as if nothing had changed?

  How could she live the rest of her life wondering about her father, about her heritage, about fairies? But if she explored this new world, how would she ever return to her normal life?

  Rose rubbed her temples and became aware of Niall’s gaze on her. His presence surrounded her, caressed the edges of her mind.

  How could she possibly return to London without exploring the mystical connection she had with this man?

  Chapter Five

  Nightshade crouched in the vee between two massive branches of an ancient oak tree overhanging the rear of the Elephant’s Nest.

  Raucous laughter rang out through the open bar windows, and the hypnotic timbre of Michael’s voice floated into the cool autumn evening as he recited another of his tall tales to the crowd.

  The smell of fried chicken issued from the spinning kitchen vent on a burst of warm air. Nightshade’s stomach rumbled, but he had more important matters on his mind than food.

  He fixed his gaze on the second-floor window where he’d seen Rosenwyn close the curtains half an hour earlier. As he imagined her peeling off her tight shorts and top, revealing her fragrant skin, his fangs ached and his body throbbed. Soon she would be his in every way.

  Shifting uncomfortably on his perch, he snatched a breath of chilly air. Hurry up and sleep, sweet one. In darkness, while the O’Connor brothers were occupied in the bar, Nightshade would swoop into Rose’s room, carry her to the manor, and hide her in the maze of tunnels and caves beneath.

  There had been a flash of heat and curiosity in her eyes when she looked at him. She might have lived with humans these past thirty years, but with his guidance, she would soon adjust to the life she had been born for.

  Nightshade jumped from the tree, touched ground briefly on silent feet, and with a powerful sweep of his wings rose into the air beside her window. Through the crack between the curtains, he saw the outline of her body beneath the bedcovers.

  There was no way into the room without breaking the glass, and he didn’t want to frighten her again. Moving to the hall window next to her room, he used fingernails strong as shards of steel to prize open the rotten window frame. A flap of his wings propelled him onto the windowsill and he climbed inside. One dim light illuminated the landing at the top of the stairs.

  He crept forward, turned into the short hallway that led to Rose’s room, and stilled. Conversation hummed in the pub below, punctuated now and then by the dissonant clamor of drunken laughter. A car door slammed outside. An engine roared to life. Placing the sole of his boot carefully against the wooden panel beside the lock on Rose’s door, he tensed, ready to deliver a sharp kick.

  “I would prefer you not wreck the door.” The softly spoken comment from the shadows beside the stairs jerked Nightshade around into a defensive crouch.

  He could still taste blood from his split lip where Niall had punched him, and he welcomed a chance for retribution. “Half-breed scut. Step out and face me if you dare.”

  “I thought I had,” Niall said flatly as he halted just out of reach. “Return home, stalker. This lass is not for you.”

  The hint of sympathy in Niall’s voice fired Nightshade’s indignation. “How dare you pity me. You’re nothing. Even your own queen hates you.”

  Niall didn’t respond, his perfect face cold as a mask of stone. As always, lust for the Irish fairy’s blood beat hot in Nightshade’s veins. He ached to crack Niall’s shell, make the proud Tuatha Dé Danaan swoon as he bit into the warm, musky skin of his neck.

  Nightshade growled in frustration. “I’ll relinquish my right to her, if you give yourself to me.”

  Niall’s eyes scraped him. “You’re wasting your breath, stalker. ’Tis never going to happen.”

  “Then I’ll take Rosenwyn. She and I are the last of pisky blood. We belong together.”

  “What about the piskies who went to America?”

  Nightshade hesitated. Lies and deception had become his truth. In his eagerness, he’d forgotten to watch what he said. “The others are lost to me. I want Rose
.”

  “No. The lass returns whence she came,” Niall said, shaking his head. “She’s more human than pisky. ’Tis not fair to wrench her from her career and home because you’re bored with Tristan.”

  The animal inside Nightshade rattled its cage, and he took a step forward. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You want her as well, but you know she won’t want you.”

  Darkness swam within the vibrant blue of Niall’s eyes. Nightshade tensed, ready to fight; then with surprise, he sensed Niall relax.

  “Nay, stalker. I do not want her.” Niall looked at Rosenwyn’s door and released a lingering breath. “Me cup of worry overflows with Ana.”

  At Niall’s mention of his leprechaun sister, Nightshade had an idea. Niall would not let him take Rosenwyn from her bed that night, but maybe with the right inducement…“Agree to bring Rosenwyn to Trevelion Manor tomorrow, and I’ll leave now.”

  With a snort of disbelief, Niall said, “No way.”

  Nightshade knew what the Irish’s weak spot was. “Bring her, or I’ll tell Tristan you had the pisky and let her go. He’ll never renew the spell protecting your sister then.”

  “The druid’s greedy. He’ll be willing to play things my way when his money runs out.”

  “Maybe. But how long will it take him to spend that latest installment? Longer than you have before the spell dissipates, I bet.”

  Niall’s gaze remained fixed on him, eyes cold and fierce. A muscle in his cheek jumped. “I’ll not go exposing Rose to harm.”

  “Tristan doesn’t want to hurt her; he’s her father.”

  “I trust neither of you.” Niall flexed his hands.

  Nightshade stepped back. He didn’t want Niall drawing weapons. The balance was delicate. Push him far enough to achieve the purpose, but not far enough to start a fight. “If I promise I won’t let Tristan harm her, will you bring her to Trevelion Manor?”

  Niall clenched his jaws, shifting his feet slightly.

  Sensing victory, Nightshade leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Come on now, Irish. She wants to meet her dad. Give the girl her heart’s desire.” Nightshade looked down and scraped some rotten wood from beneath his fingernails. “I’ll make sure Tristan casts the spell of protection over Ana.”

  The flicker of interest in Niall’s eyes told Nightshade he’d gotten him.

  “I take Rose away with me when I leave,” Niall said.

  Nightshade inclined his head. No lie would pass his lips, but once he had the pisky in Trevelion Manor, he did not intend to let her go.

  “’Tis not clear to me what you hope to gain from this visit, stalker.”

  Happiness. The pleasure of a woman’s company. The chance to rid himself of Tristan forever. “If she decides to stay of her own free will, you will honor her wish?”

  Niall gave a sharp nod.

  Nightshade had Niall where he wanted him: caught between the rock of his independence and the hard place of his honor. Nightshade would enjoy watching him squirm.

  Niall stood in the dim corridor outside Rose’s bedroom door. The bass beat of music in the bar thumped beneath his feet. Michael must have finished telling tales and was probably now dancing between the tables, making a fool of himself prior to cajoling an entranced female up to his bed.

  When he was certain Nightshade had gone, Niall slipped the key from his pocket and quietly unlocked the door.

  Nightshade had assumed Niall was keeping watch over Rose. In reality, he’d been on his way to her room. Unlike the stalker, he was there only to check that Rose was safely asleep, and not too disturbed by the strange events of the evening.

  Pushing the door open, he slipped through and closed it softly behind him. He held still until he heard the gentle rhythm of her breathing and was certain she slept.

  He walked silently to the side of the bed. Her mask of humanity had slipped away with her consciousness. His breath caught as, in the cool light of the moon, he looked upon her inner fairy beauty for the first time.

  She rolled onto her side. Her Magic Knot slipped from beneath her yellow nightdress and lay against the exposed curve of her breast. Niall froze. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t wanted to see her Magic Knot, but his mind refused the lie. Hunkering down, he gazed at the three linked circles of stone.

  Her warm floral fragrance enticed him as he stared at the top of her breast gleaming in the moonlight like the surface of a pearl. Niall licked his lips, battling the almost irresistible urge to touch her Magic Knot—and her skin.

  She moaned in her sleep. The sound flared inside him. He fought to keep control. After his reaction to her that morning on his bed, he should have known to stay away.

  Small creases furrowed her forehead. She mumbled and struggled with the sheet. “Shh,” he whispered, and touched her cheek. Need to complete their bond pulsed through him. His fingertips drifted featherlight across her skin and brushed the corner of her mouth. He leaned down, drugging himself with her scent. Knots of lust tightened in his belly. Sighing, he pressed his lips gently against the soft fullness of hers. Even as he kissed her, his fingers itched to feel the weight of her Magic Knot.

  All his life he had hidden his stones, guarded them from people who wanted to control him. Now a half-human pisky had stumbled upon them and would forever own a part of him, and she didn’t even realize it. He remembered the way she had looked at him that morning in his room, and his gaze turned inward.

  Bitter memories cracked the moment, and his pleasure faded away. She wouldn’t want him even if she knew of their bond. Nobody had ever wanted him. He raised himself slowly to his feet and stared at her face. It was too late to stop her from becoming involved in his problems. If he were to keep Ana safe, he had no choice but to take Rose to Tristan in the morning.

  Nightshade expected to persuade Rose to stay with him, but Niall was certain the stalker underestimated her. As long as Nightshade didn’t bite her, Niall was sure she would be strong willed enough to leave Trevelion Manor.

  The curtains to his right fluttered. Whispered words rose and fell as if carried from a distance on the wind. Nagging compulsion drew his gaze toward the dressing table. A sharp chill of warning raced up his spine. Magic. Palming both blades, he moved silently across the room and watched his shadowy reflection approach the mirror.

  An ethereal figure flowed into the glass, surrounded by glowing smoke. Long black hair cloaked her shoulders, a circlet of gold around her head. She held out a massive black book and pulsing crystal ball. His blades slipped forgotten from his hands as he clutched uselessly at the shadowy gifts.

  “Niall O’Connor, son of the ancient gods. Know your past and your future. Trust your inner voice, my king. Follow your destiny.”

  The woman smiled, then dispersed like mist in the wind.

  Gradually, he became aware of air expanding his lungs. He blinked, tensing his muscles. Shocked at how easily he’d lost his instinct for self-preservation, he snatched up his knives from the carpet and turned three hundred sixty degrees, checking the dark corners of the room. When he was sure nothing lurked there, he stared in disgust at his reflection and secured his blades to his wrists.

  What ancient magic was strong enough to overcome his instincts, strong enough to lead him like a hornless goat to the slaughter? Had the woman in the mirror been one of the ancient goddesses? He concentrated on the shadow of feeling she’d left in him. Not fear, but a restless disquiet.

  A discordant murmur of many voices rose in his mind. He glanced down and saw a pack of tarot cards stacked neatly on the dressing table. The voice of the woman from the mirror rose from the cacophony and he heard her clearly inside his head. Choose a card. Niall never used divination tools, preferring to seek guidance from nature spirits. And he knew the unwritten rule: never touch another practitioner’s tools.

  Despite this, the compulsion to obey made him reach out, cut the deck, and place his choice faceup on the polished wood. The same woman who had appeared in the mirror stared up at him fro
m the card. The High Priestess.

  Niall was not easily led by portent and prediction, but none of the Good People could ignore such an obvious prophecy. He just wasn’t sure what to make of it. He knew enough to recognize that the book the woman held represented his past and the crystal ball his future, but her reference to him as “my king” must have symbolic significance that eluded him.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Rose’s sleeping form and frowned. An accountant who carried a pack of enchanted tarot cards to assignments? The lass was not as ignorant of her nonhuman heritage as she pretended.