The Magic Knot

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Rose stood on tiptoe and followed his gaze. Niall sat alone in the far corner twirling one of his crystal knives recklessly between his fingers like a cheerleader with a baton. Thank God he was around. Her heart lurched with relief.

  “Niall,” Troy called across the room, and everyone fell silent. Niall ignored him, his eyes never straying from his knife.

  “Niall,” Rose called, hating the crack of desperation in her voice. You can’t do this to me, Niall, Rose screamed in her mind, reaching for him, finding nothing. Pain clenched in her chest. Surely, after what they’ felt earlier, he wouldn’t let another man sleep with her?

  Ciar gave Rose a self-satisfied little smile that made her clench her fists and want to scream.

  A few males in the surrounding crowd pushed forward, and she noted their eager expressions with alarm. If she was going to sleep with someone, it would at least be a man she knew. If not Niall, that left Jacca or Michael. Much as she liked Jacca, the thought that he might bite freaked her out. And she hated being prejudiced, but sex with a man with wings was just a little too much for her to get her head around.

  Michael waggled his eyebrows at her, and she gave him a tentative smile. He might not be Niall, but she liked him, despite…no, because of his glaring faults. With Michael, what you saw was what you got. “Congratulations, Michael,” she said in a croaky voice. “Looks like I’m to night’s second conquest.”

  Troy frowned and walked toward them. “The gold guest suite on the upper floor,” he said, then whispered something to Michael.

  “Understood.” Michael nodded to Troy, then curled his arm around her waist. He squeezed gently and eased her against his naked side. “Don’t go worrying, darlin’. You’re in the hands of an expert.”

  Rose avoided everyone’s eyes, especially the flash of hurt she saw in Jacca’s. Her hand fluttered to her throat, her lips. She had to do this, if it was the only way to make Ciar tell her how to free the piskies.

  What would it feel like to have her fairy half activated? God, she should have thought about that before she agreed.

  The crowd parted before them as Michael guided her toward the door. Rose willed herself not to look for Niall. If he didn’t want her, she wouldn’t beg.

  When they reached the door, she jerked to a halt. “Shit!” She craned her neck around, searching the back of the room. She didn’t want to sleep with Michael. She wanted Niall. Where the hell was he? Damn him! She wouldn’t do this without speaking to him. She reached for him mentally—nothing—then scanned the far corner of the room.

  The chair he’d been sitting in lay on its side. Niall had gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Niall escaped along the hidden service corridor he’d crept through many times when he’d spied on court activities as a boy. Instead of taking the narrow stairs down to the caves where the leprechauns who served Ciar lived, he pushed open the secret exit behind a picture into the hallway.

  Hand gripping the worn oak handle of his blade, he strode toward the east door. Why had he thought returning to the Irish court would solve his problems? he’d achieved nothing. Rose had forced her will on him, used their link to hijack his mind, and ruined his chance of appeasing Ciar. Who knew what the Queen of Nightmares would do now that she couldn’t take her wrath out on him? When Ciar forgot the distraction of Nightshade and Michael’s tawdry little show, Ana could be in increased danger.

  The last sight he’d had of Rose flashed into his mind. He blinked away the image of her cuddled against his brother’s side. He spun around, kicked out, shattered a small ebony table, and sent a Waterford crystal vase crashing. Breath heaving, he stared at the splinters of dark wood and shards of glass. Rose was better off without him. If she ran the light with Michael, Ciar was far more likely to reveal the fairy lore to free the piskies.

  By remaining in Ireland, Niall would only put his friends at risk. He must return to Cornwall and make sure Ana was safe.

  He hated to admit he’d hoped his father might be pleased to see him. After all these years, Niall should have learned to stop banging his head against the wall, hoping to be accepted. He flipped his knife and snatched it from the air, anger tight in his chest. Michael could have Troy—and Rose. Niall didn’t need any of them. Ana was the only person who’d never let him down. He wouldn’t let her down.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall behind him. He increased his pace. Whoever was following could go to the Furies.

  When he wrenched open the east door, cool mountain air bathed him like balm on a sore. Snatching a breath, he headed toward the topiary. He flipped his blade with relish. Just let something try to attack him on the way through this time.

  “Niall.” Troy’s voice sliced the damp air.

  A subtle coercion to halt tugged at Niall’s mind. He shook off the effect and increased his pace. He needed to get as far away from this place—as far away from Rose and Michael—as possible. The harder he tried not to think of them together, the more lurid the images became.

  Troy’s steps flew lightly up behind him. To most, they would have been silent. Niall knew what to listen for: not the touch of feet to the ground, but the movement of air. At the last moment Niall spun, crouched low and ready, knife in hand. Troy pulled up a mere thrust from the tip of Niall’s blade and raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Abandoning your friends so quickly?”

  “’Tis not your place to question my morals.” Niall backed up a pace, giving himself room to maneuver. “Look to your own.” He longed to fight his father, but would prove himself the better man by resisting the desire for revenge.

  “The pisky queen wants you. Why let Michael have her?”

  “’Tis bad enough I’ve put me sister in danger from the nameless one. I’ll not condemn Rose to suffer because of me.”

  Troy raised a hand. Light spun from his fingers, forming a glowing web-dome of privacy around them. He glanced back toward the house, snapped his fingers, and the cocoon sealed, popping Niall’s ears.

  “I would never let Ciar harm Ana.” Troy shook his head sadly. “Surely you knew that.”

  Anger twisted inside Niall like barbed wire. “How? Not once have you given me reason to believe you’ protect me, or anyone dear to me.”

  “You surely don’t believe I’m that heartless? I promise you, lad, I’ll do all I can to keep Ana and Rose safe from Ciar.”

  “I saw no evidence of this protection when Ciar played her childish games in the topiary. Rose could have been hurt.”

  Troy dismissed Niall’s complaint with a flick of his shoulders. “I had no doubt you’ handle the shade and the topiary with ease.” Niall thought he heard a hint of pride in his father’s voice, but he couldn’t believe it.

  “I’ve no interest in your games.” The anger drained from Niall, leaving him weary. “I’ve a duty to Ana. I look after me own.” He turned to go.

  “Then look after Rose.” Troy’s voice punched through Niall. “I sensed the bond between you. She’s yours by right, not your brother’s.”

  Niall’s heart ached at his father’s words. He wanted so much, but he dared not take it. “You were me father by right. Rights mean nothing. Let Michael have Rose. I’m sure you’ll help him protect her. Me…” Niall turned his back on his father. “I don’t need anyone.”

  “Wait, lad.”

  The soft entreaty in his father’s voice was so unusual, Niall halted. He looked over his shoulder. “Haven’t you said enough?”

  “My duty to the queen has always prevented me from speaking my mind.” Troy reached for Niall, but let his hand fall. “Ciar was much stronger when you were a lad. I wanted you with me, but she forbade it. Bade me leave you with your mother.”

  Pain glazed his father’s eyes. Hope and distrust knotted in Niall’s chest. “Why did you accept her dictates? You could have bargained—”

  “I tried.” Troy shook his head. “Believe me, lad, I tried.”

  Troy glanced over his shoulder at the shimmering outline of the house and raised hi
s hand, whispering a few ancient words to strengthen the protective cocoon.

  “Our bloodline has served Ciar for generations. We’re directly descended from the ancient ones who stepped onto these shores with her and established the Daoine Sidhe. When you and Michael were born, Ciar looked into the dark mirror to determine which one of you would succeed me as her protector. The image showed you crowned as king. Ciar was convinced you’ destroy her and take her throne. I pleaded for your life. Had I not promised I’d never bring you to court, she’d have slaughtered you as a babe.”

  Troy reached for Niall again. Numb with shock, Niall let his father lay a cautious hand on his arm. “Even Ciar’s will could not keep you down. I’m proud of you, lad.”

  Each breath burned into and burst painfully out of Niall’s lungs. He pushed away Troy’s hand, a maelstrom of emotion swirling through him. How could he believe this now, after de cades of soul searching to uncover what he’d done wrong? He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. It was too painful to think his life might have been different, if only…

  He allowed anger to burn away his uncertainty. “Too little, too late. You were always the queen’s man.”

  “I still am. I have a duty to her.”

  “You had a duty to me. Why even make me—a scut, half-blood, never quite good enough? Why lay with Ma at all?”

  Troy stared at the ground, his golden hair obscuring his face. “Ciar read the match between your mother and me in the dark mirror. It was ordained.”

  “It was your choice! Great Danu, Troy. How could you go letting that little hag rule your life?”

  Troy shrugged. “Maybe I made mistakes, but I made no mistake in fathering you.”

  He looked up at Niall, searching his face for response. Shattered inside, Niall reacted the only way he knew how: he locked down his emotions.

  “For years the vision of you as king puzzled me. Now I understand. It never had anything to do with the Irish troop. You’re destined to rule the piskies with Rose. She is truly yours, Niall. It’s ordained.”

  Niall grated his fingernails through his hair, wishing he could scratch the ache in his brain. “I struggled for acceptance on the periphery of this court, held on by dint of me skill with the blades. Leadership is not for me.”

  “The very challenges you’ve faced have molded you into the man for the job. You’ve the passion and determination, and the bloody-minded contrariness to face the impossible task and not give up. Rose is the hand of reason. She has a foot in both the human and fairy worlds. She’ll guide her troop into the twenty-first century. You’re the hand of power. You’ll fight for their right to exist.” Troy cut his hand through the air. “Don’t you see? You’ve fought for the right to exist all your life.”

  Niall turned away and stared toward the jagged silhouette of the distant mountains. Tiny lit farmstead windows glowed like bright spots of hope in the darkness. The seed of a new identity took root in the depths of his being, fed on his father’s words. Could he really be this man his father imagined?

  What would it mean if he followed his heart and accepted the bond with Rose? he’d hold the fate of the piskies in his power. It would take strength and dedication to defeat Tristan and bring the piskies back to life. His father sounded confident in him. But could he trust a man who’d never shown any interest in him before?

  Troy raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and the shiny cocoon of privacy dissolved. “Go to Rose.” The wind flipped Troy’s hair over his face and he flicked it away. “Go now before Michael is tempted beyond endurance by the proximity of a bed and a beautiful lass. Self-control has never been his forte.”

  Niall thought of Rose’s slender body, imagined Michael peeling away her green dress, but it was his own hands he saw against her pale skin. “Very well.” To night he would take the first step toward a new future and claim his woman. Niall jammed his knife into his wrist sheath. For the first time since he was a boy, he nicked the skin and drew blood in his haste. Striding toward the house, his heart pounded against his ribs. His breath jumped. His belly tightened.

  “Niall,” Troy called.

  Pausing at the doorway, Niall glanced back impatiently.

  “To run the light you must be upright. Energy from the earth enters the base of the spine and runs up the backbone. Energy from the higher realms enters the top of the head and runs down.”

  “We need to stand?”

  “No. Sit her up on your lap. Running the light takes time.” Troy grinned, a wholly masculine smile, man to man. “Her legs won’t hold her standing.”

  Rose halted just inside the tall double doors and listened to the decisive click as Michael closed them behind her. He touched her back gently as she gaped at the gold-encrusted king-size bed and silk sheets. There were mirrors everywhere, reflecting the gold-and-white furniture like the set of a high-class porn film. She felt as nervous as a novice actress about to take her clothes off for the first time.

  Wringing her hands, she paced across to the window and stared into the darkness. Her own ghostly reflection stared back at her. Was Niall out there somewhere? She must stop thinking about Niall and face facts. He’d abandoned her when she needed him most.

  Michael could be trusted to treat her well. Probably better than well. But every time she looked at Michael’s face she saw Niall. This would be a lot easier if they weren’t identical twins.

  “Getting cold feet?” Michael took her arm and turned her to face him. He cradled her clenched hands and eased them apart, stroking her fingers. “You don’t have to go doing this with me.”

  Rose looked into his Mediterranean blue eyes, remembering the first time she’d seen him and fallen under his spell. She was fond of him now. If not for Niall, running the light with Michael would be a pleasure. The facade of inebriation Michael had worn all evening melted away. His eyes softened with compassion and a hint of melancholy. Niall hid behind a scowl; maybe Michael hid behind his smile.

  He brushed the tips of his fingers over her hair. “It would give me great pleasure to make love to you, Rose, that it would.” A quick flash of his usual grin lit his face. “There’s this fantasy in me mind: you in your dark blue suit and stockings, lying across the desk in me office at the Nest.” The grin faded and he cupped her shoulders in his hands. “But I’m not blind. ’Tis not me you want, lass.”

  “Michael, it’s not—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t go worrying. I’m not offended.” He flicked his eyebrows up. “You have to be the only woman who’s ever preferred Niall to meself. There had to be one around somewhere. Maybe if me brother gets laid, he’ll stop stalking around like he’s got a stick up his arse and have some fun. But then again, pigs might fly.” He laughed, wandered across to the dresser, and poured himself a drink from a decanter. He slanted her a knowing sideways glance. “Although I have to say, around here ’tis not beyond the bounds of possibility to see a pig with wings. So maybe there’s hope for me brother yet.”

  Rose watched Michael, hope surfacing through her churning emotions. “But Niall’s gone.”

  “Maybe.” Michael reached for the cigarettes in his back pocket. When his hand touched bare buttock he grinned sheepishly and glanced down at himself. “Oops, no pockets.”

  Rose paced to the bed and back to the window. “Look, Michael, I know you’re loyal to Niall, but I’ve got to do this or Ciar isn’t going to help me.”

  “Don’t go worrying yourself. Troy’s gone after Niall. The stupid arse will be along soon, although in my opinion he doesn’t deserve you.”

  Rose’s heart ceased beating altogether. She dragged in a breath and her heart scampered to catch up. “How do you know?”

  “Fairies can sense each other, twins more so. Sometimes I feel his emotions. Sometimes I think he feels mine, but he never says.”

  Rose stumbled to the bed, grasped one of the bedposts, and dropped to the mattress. Her head swam with relief. She looked at Michael and blinked. “He’s really
coming? You’re sure?”

  “Would I lie to you, darlin’?” Michael poured a second drink and brought the glass to her. “Have a little laughing juice to loosen up.” He stroked her arm as she took the drink. His eyes flicked over her face and settled on her lips as she pressed the glass to them.

  The Irish whiskey burned down her throat. Her blood caught fire, scorching through her body. She pressed her hand to her mouth and gasped.

  “Hot stuff, isn’t it?” He traced her cheekbone with his knuckle. “I’m wishing I weren’t such a good brother. I must be daft to hand a willing lass over to Niall. Maybe I’ll just steal one kiss.”

  “Only if you have a death wish.” Niall loomed in the doorway like a soldier storming the building.