A tingle of familiarity ran along her nerves. She stared at the nymph’s face, imagined it clean, imagined water spraying jewel-like drops from the shell in its hand. Had she ever lived here? Her mother had been so secretive about her father, she’d never mentioned where they lived.
Niall came over to her as the front door opened. “Good luck,” he said softly, and they walked toward the house.
Nightshade stood in the doorway grinning. “Good afternoon, Rosenwyn. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep away from me.”
“Hello, Nightshade.” Arrogant, conceited, and proud, she thought as she took in his silky hair trailing over rock-hard pecs. But, boy, could he carry it off.
“Half-breed.” Nightshade acknowledged Niall with a grin that verged on a leer.
Face blank, Niall made no response to the insult. “The lass’s here to see her father.”
“And her father is delighted to see her.” A slender, almost frail man stepped out and smiled at her.
Rose tried to smile back but her lips wouldn’t cooperate. With his waxy skin and obviously dyed black hair, he resembled a walking corpse who’d been prepared by the undertaker and then risen from the slab. She hadn’t taken after her mother, but God help her if she looked like her father.
“Hello, Mr. Jago.” Now that the time of the meeting was here, she had no idea what to say. She didn’t even know what to call him.
He stepped closer and extended his hand. “Welcome, my dear. Do come in out of the cold wind. November has brought winter at last.”
Up close, he smelled of musty fabric and chemicals. When she grasped his hand, a ripple of cold shot up her arm. Retrieving her hand, she rubbed life back into her fingers. Every instinct she possessed told her not to venture inside.
He inclined his head and indicated that she should precede him through the door. “Please do come in.”
Rose glanced at Niall for encouragement and met the blank wall of his unreadable gaze.
Damn. She’d come this far….
With a quiver of trepidation, she stepped over the threshold into the dark hallway. The decorative wooden paneling and plasterwork inside had obviously once been grand but, like the outside of the house, had fallen into disrepair. Her father led her along the corridor to a large drawing room dominated by eerie stuffed animals. A bay window looked out over a large garden toward the sea. Although the house was in poor condition, the place must be worth a fortune.
Nightshade wandered across to the massive granite fireplace and spread his wings toward the heat. Niall entered last and positioned himself by the doorway. Reaching out mentally, Rose sensed Niall as if he were an anchor for her sanity. She released her breath, glad of the support.
“A drink, my dear.” Tristan held up a decanter of golden liquid.
“I don’t drink.”
“A cup of tea, perhaps.”
“No, thank you.” She looked around at the yellowing teeth and glassy eyes of the dead animals. The idea of consuming anything in this place made her nauseated.
“I hope you don’t mind if I do.” He poured for himself and indicated a seat by the window. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ll talk. Catch up on the years we’ve missed.”
Rose sat stiffly facing her father, and noticed Nightshade and Niall eyeing each other like pit bulls.
“If you two boys are going to fight, please take it outside so I can talk to my daughter in peace. Otherwise sit down and behave,” Tristan said, his casual tone at odds with his words.
Niall dropped into a straight-backed chair by the door. Nightshade flopped across an easy chair, legs over one arm, wings over the other. Furniture was not designed for people with wings.
Tristan placed his glass on a side table and steepled his fingers. “Now, Rosenwyn, tell me about your mother.”
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind: Never go to Cornwall. Never search for your father. A flash of guilt stung her and lingered, a burning pain in her chest. Rose had always assumed her mother was just bitter and paranoid, but if she’d been a fairy, something terrible must have happened to drive her out alone into the human world.
“There isn’t much to tell. She died eleven months ago.”
“Was she happy?”
Rose stared out the window toward the sea. Had her mother been happy? For as long as she remembered, her mother had frantically tried to enjoy herself. The men. The drink and drugs. But her behavior had been a search for oblivion more than happiness.
If Rose had felt out of place, her mother must have been desperate—only she’d used a different method of escape.
Rose clenched her hands. She had always judged her mother harshly. Maybe she should have tried to understand. “In her own way, I’m sure she was happy.”
“But it wasn’t your way?”
Even if he were her biological father, discussing her mother with this stranger felt like a betrayal. He was nothing like the father she’d pictured in her dreams. She had no wish to reveal her hopes and worries to him.
“Mother was an artist. I’m an accountant.” Rose forced a smile. “And never the twain shall meet.”
Tristan Jago smiled back. “I have a knack for figures. You must get that from me.” His eyes lost focus. “Your mother was a free spirit. She and I didn’t see eye to eye on many things. It sounds to me as though you two had the same problem.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Rose noticed Nightshade watching her. She glanced over, expecting his arrogant grin, but he averted his gaze. Unease fluttered in her chest.
“Ailla painted much of the time when I knew her,” Tristan continued. “During the years we lived together here she painted the Magic Knot tarot paintings.” He smiled sadly. “Such wonderful paintings. I have a strong emotional attachment to those works. My dear Ailla left me when they were finished and took you with her.”
“How old was I when we left?”
“It’s so long ago, I’m not quite sure. Believe me when I tell you I searched for you and your mother. But it was not to be.”
Rose stared at Tristan and fished the depths of her mind. A memory skittered back. Nightshade bending over her, tall and dark. She was frightened, screaming. He lifted her, cradled her in his arms. In her mind, she heard the echo of his deep voice, repeating her name, soothing her.
Rose gasped, clutched the arms of her chair, and jerked her head around to meet the nightstalker’s silver gaze. “You’re the only one I remember. You were…” She shook her head in frustration as the recollection faded.
Tristan cleared his throat. “That’s not surprising. He’s lived here for years. At one time, I think, he was even a little in love with your mother.”
Nightshade must be older than he looked, but that didn’t seem strange. Something else she already knew?
“Tell me, Rosenwyn,” Tristan said, “what ever happened to the Magic Knot collection? I would love to view the paintings again. They hold so many cherished memories for me.”
Rose glanced at Niall’s taut expression, tried to sense him, found nothing. She dragged her gaze back to Tristan. Why was he so interested in the wretched paintings? Blinking, Rose gathered her thoughts. “Mother had them put in storage.” Tristan’s eyes widened with alarm, and she added quickly, “It’s a specialized facility for fine art, with humidity and temperature controls. Mother left instructions in her will that the paintings were to be cared for.”
“Perhaps…if you have no use for them, you could return them to their original home. I’d love to hang them here.”
In the crowded drawing room, every spare patch of wall was decorated with a glass case containing a dead animal. “Are you planning to redecorate then?”
“This is a large house, my dear. I have many bare walls, and it would give me much pleasure to see them back where they belong.”
Tristan’s attempt to appear sentimental didn’t convince her for a moment. He had an ulterior motive for wanting the paintings. Considering the state of the decrepit manor house, his motive wasn’t hard to fi
gure out. It was her stock-in-trade—money.
Rose shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jago; my hands are tied. Mother left instructions in her will that I mustn’t part with them.”
Tristan’s face tightened until his head resembled a polished skull. “Your hands are tied, are they?” He stood, faced the window, and knocked back the last of his drink. “I was hoping you’ make this easy, my dear. Now we’re going to have to do it the hard way.”
Alarmed by Tristan’s clipped tone, Rose glanced at Niall, who’d risen from his chair and taken a step forward. His flinty gaze flicked between Tristan and Nightshade.
“Nightshade,” Tristan said without looking around. “It’s time for you to earn your keep.”
Nightshade pushed out of his seat with a sigh, stood before the fire, and snapped his wings closed.
Rose stood cautiously, watching Nightshade. He avoided her gaze. The first chill of fear quivered inside her.
Niall strode forward. “Come, Rose,” he said, taking her arm. “I think your cards spoke true. ’Tis time to leave.”
“I advise you not to get involved, Niall.” Tristan turned to face him. “Remember what you’ve got to lose, my friend.”
“I’ve paid generously for your service, druid. This is not part of the deal.”
“What service?” Rose cut Niall a wary sideways glance as he released her arm.
Stepping in front of her, he raised one of his blades. “Me and the lass are walking out of here now.”
Tristan sighed theatrically. “How disappointingly predictable you are, Niall.” In a quick movement, Tristan placed a wooden tube between his lips and blew.
“What in the Furies?” Even as Niall slapped a hand to his throat and plucked out a small black-feathered dart, he stumbled forward. He moved his lips, but no sound came out.
Horror surged through her. As she grasped for Niall’s arm, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the floor.
She knelt by him and felt his pulse still beating strongly. “You madman,” she shouted at Tristan. “What the hell are you playing at?”
“I assure you, I’m deadly serious. I will have those paintings.”
Heart thumping in her ears, Rose jumped up and put a chair between them. “Hurting Niall isn’t going to make me cooperate.” She pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket. “Let’s see what the police have to say, shall we?” Taking her eyes off Tristan for a second, she checked the display. No signal. “Shit!”
Tristan’s thin lips peeled back in a parody of a smile. She backed toward the door. Nightshade circled behind her. Cut off her escape. Icy claws of fear raked her belly. Glancing around wildly, she realized she was stranded in the middle of the room with no escape.
“Admit defeat, girl. You can’t evade the stalker. If you did escape, he’d follow you and bring you home.” Tristan took a step closer. “This is your home, you know. The property passed to your mother on the king’s death, so technically it belongs to you.”
Rose glanced at Niall’s knife, which had dropped beneath a table when he fell, but the weapon was out of reach. “You can’t keep me here. I have a job. People will miss me.”
He shrugged. “Does anyone really care? You’ll become another statistic.” He nudged Niall’s arm with the toe of his leather carpet slipper. “When our handsome Irish fairy wakes up, he’ll fetch me the Magic Knot paintings to protect his sister. And I’ll finally be able to finish what I started thirty years ago.”
Rose had no idea what he was talking about, and at the moment, she didn’t care. He took another step toward her. She backed into the solid bulk of Nightshade. He clamped her arms at her sides as Tristan approached. The blood drained from her head, leaving her dizzy.
“I won’t tell you where the paintings are. You don’t scare me,” she said with more conviction than she felt.
Her father smiled, a vicious anticipation gleaming in his eyes.
“I assure you, I will when you see the tools I keep in my workroom.”
Chapter Seven
Niall’s head throbbed as though a banshee had wailed in his ear. He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and tried to raise a hand to his eyes. He couldn’t.
With effort, he forced open his eyelids and stared down at his lap. His wrists were tied to the arms of a chair. He yanked on his legs and discovered his ankles were bound as well.
The events that had occurred before he’d lost consciousness flashed back. Pain spiked in his temples as he jerked his head up. Tristan faced him at the far end of a yellow Formica table in a faded 1950s kitchen.
Where was Rose? Niall couldn’t feel her. He twisted his aching neck and scanned the room. Nightshade leaned against the wall by the door, but Rose was nowhere in sight.
“What have you done with the lass?”
Tristan placed his bone-china cup into its saucer with a barely audible clink. “Always so direct, Niall. Didn’t it occur to you to introduce your inquiry in a more delicate manner? To work up to it? You could possibly have tricked me into telling you.”
Niall’s head pounded harder. “What was on that bloody dart?”
Tristan smiled with pride. “Ah, now, that is my own little concoction. A combination of plant toxins quite deadly to the animals I trap. But for you, I used only a trace. It shouldn’t cause any lasting damage.”
Tristan lifted one of Niall’s smoky quartz daggers off the table in front of him. The druid turned the blade toward the sun slanting through the kitchen window. “A perfect edge. Did you fashion these yourself?”
Niall fought to keep his expression neutral while outrage at having another person handle his sacred blades boiled in his gut. But he would die before he gave Tristan the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort.
Tristan sighed and laid the knife carefully beside the other. “You’re going to do a little something for me, my friend. I apologize for your present indisposition, but I had to make sure you’ listen to me.”
“Where’s Rose?”
Tristan flicked him an irritated glance. “Forget the girl.”
Niall’s neck stung, and he hoped the only piercing was from the dart. He glanced warily at Nightshade, who grinned, flashing the tips of his canines.
“Wondering if I had a taste of you, half-breed?”
“The stalker didn’t bite you,” Tristan snapped. He gave Nightshade a warning look. “I’ve forbidden it.”
Nightshade rattled his thumbnail along his teeth in a derisive gesture, turned away, and stared out the window.
The tension in Niall’s body eased a bit. “What are you planning to do with me?”
Tristan leaned back in his seat and sipped his tea. “Release you. When you’ve heard my terms and agreed.”
“Then speak.”
“Very well. You’ll go to London and fetch me the Magic Knot tarot paintings—”
“What about Rose?”
Tristan cursed under his breath. “Hear me out, damn you. Rose will be my guest for a few days. When you deliver the paintings, I’ll release her.”
Niall studied the shadow of insincerity in the man’s pale brown eyes, the forced casualness of his pose, the white knuckles through the teacup handle. Tristan Jago was lying through his teeth.
“As an added incentive, Nightshade will keep an eye on your little sister until you return.”
Niall’s belly filled with ice. Those with power always resorted to threatening the most vulnerable. Tristan was no better than Ciar. Instead of facing the strong and fighting a fair fight, both used the weak as pawns to get their way. Any respect he’d ever had for the druid disappeared. Somehow he had to rescue Rose and still protect Ana.
“Rose will have to accompany me. I’ve no idea where these paintings are stored.”
Tristan ran his hand along the edge of the table and smiled. “My daughter and I are about to have a little chat about that. Nightshade will come to the Elephant’s Nest to night and give you the address.”
The chill in Niall’s belly spread
. Rose was unlikely to give the location willingly. Ten minutes alone, and he’d slip his binding and find her, but with two sets of eyes on him, he didn’t stand a chance.
“If you choose to take your sister and run, Ana will, of course, be safe for the moment…until Ciar finds her, but Rose’s fate will be on your head.”
Niall raged behind his rigid expression. The bastard had him either way. He should never have encouraged Rose to visit her father when the cards had so obviously warned her off. He’d been a fool to trust Nightshade and a fool for believing Tristan would deal fairly.
His own selfish pride lay at the root of all the problems. How many would he make suffer because he’d rejected Ciar? He was no better than his father, betraying those who trusted him.
The Magic Knot Page 10
