The Magic Knot

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Close by, Tristan grunted, his limp body bouncing on the ground like a broken doll as Jacca’s shade pummeled him. Pain etched his face into a white mask of death as he caught her in his malicious gaze. “You’ll…pay….”

  Rose ignored him and touched the knife to Jacca’s stones, then waited. Flickers of light jumped from the box, and the contents started to hum and sizzle. Rose dragged herself backward, worried the magic might be dangerous. A hand gripped her leg and she screamed.

  Niall had pushed himself up onto all fours and crawled across to her.

  “You’re all right.” Relief clogged her throat with tears. “God, I was scared.” Rose put her good arm around his neck and pressed their cheeks together. For a second she drew strength from the solidity of him, the familiar scent of his skin.

  “Globes,” he forced out in a dry voice.

  She pulled back, and her heart contracted as she examined his damaged face.

  Gingerly she traced his cheekbone and forehead, both bruised purple and spotted with bloody pocks where grit was embedded in his skin. Licking his lips, he tried twice to get his words out. “Smash…the globes.”

  Rose followed his gaze toward a dark bundle by the wall.

  On shaking legs, she walked around the wooden box, which was shooting out sparks like fireworks. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, a strange tingle of excitement and trepidation racing along her nerves. The piskies would soon be flesh and blood.

  Rose eased down to her knees beside the bundle and pulled the brown animal-skin covering away. Blinding golden light pierced her retinas before she could throw an arm over her eyes.

  “Smash them, Rose,” Niall shouted. She peeped at him from behind her arm as he fell back to the ground, chest heaving with the effort of shouting.

  Her father writhed on the floor close to Niall. As she watched, the shadowy form pinning him took on Jacca’s shape and grew solid. Her blood on the broken Magic Knots must be working. A heady burst of relief gave her renewed strength.

  Rose balled the animal skin over her fist and, closing her eyes, smashed the first globe. She’d expected it to be tough, but it shattered like eggshell. Squinting to check her aim, she brought her fist down on the second globe. Careful of the glittering splinters of glass, she pulled the animal skin off her hand and collapsed back against the wall. She’d done all she could. Now it was up to the piskies to do the rest.

  Two clouds of scintillating golden light rose from the shattered globes and swirled together. Instinctively she grabbed a breath and shielded her face as the light engulfed her. Images flashed in her mind of the people she’d known all her life from the tarot cards: smiling, laughing, dancing in this very place wearing bright, extravagant clothing. She saw their memories of her mother, young and beautiful, seated on a throne of twining branches beside a dark-haired man who must have been Rose’s grandfather. Snippets of conversation drifted through her mind. My queen, my queen, repeated like a mantra in her head. After what could have been a few seconds or an hour, the cloud drifted away. A sense of peace and stillness filled her.

  The twinkling light floated around Niall, and his body relaxed. Was he, too, seeing images of the troop? Once the cloud drifted away, he sat up and rubbed a hand across his mouth. Rose struggled up, made her way to him, and leaned into his welcoming embrace. With her cheek against his chest, she watched eddies of light brush across Jacca while he struggled with Tristan.

  The cloud sharpened into a golden spear, plunged down, and arrowed in through her father’s eyes.

  Jacca jerked back as a strangled sound gargled from Tristan’s throat. Niall’s hand cradled her head and pulled her face against his chest. She concentrated on the steady thud of Niall’s heart and the feel of his lips brushing her temple. “’Tis over now, love. ’Tis over.”

  When she looked around, Jacca was sitting, ramrod stiff, eyes fixed on the glowing trails of light that issued from her father’s body. The light fractured into points, making Jacca duck as the sparks zoomed past him, then shot off around the room toward the paintings.

  Niall cupped her chin and turned her face up, his eyes warm and gentle. “I’m sorry, lass. I should have told you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears at the sudden release of tension. “Tristan’s dead,” she whispered.

  “Aye. That he is.”

  She wasn’t going to die. Niall wasn’t going to die. His arms were around her, his heart beating strongly against her ear. The huge strength of his spirit surrounded her and filled her with love. They were together and would stay together.

  “I’ll forgive you this time.” She clasped his hand and summoned a little lopsided smile. “Just don’t do it again.”

  “Look!” Jacca called.

  She peered out from the safety of Niall’s embrace and watched, stupefied, as the figures on the paintings moved, filled out, then stepped from the pictures. Nearest to her, the young man in the Seven of Cups jumped down from his painting, shook out his red cloak, and flicked back long golden hair. He turned emerald eyes on her, and his mouth tilted into a wickedly sensual grin. The seductive pull of his glamour tightened deep in her belly.

  She shook her head and gave him a reprimanding look. He pouted, then stepped forward and bowed with a flourish. “I am Thorn, beautiful Queen. I am completely at your service.” It looked like Michael would have some competition.

  Niall turned his head one way, then the other, gazing around the room. “We have some live ones.” He dropped a kiss on her hair and helped her up. “Before we get caught up, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you, lass.” He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I love you.”

  She reached up and touched his face. “Then trust me. Don’t shut me out again.”

  He lowered his head and stroked his lips across hers. “Never.”

  Jacca approached, went down on one knee, and offered them their Magic Knots. “My queen.” He gave Rose hers. “My king.” He handed Niall his.

  Rose frowned at his subservience. “What’s gotten into you? Get up. We’re still the same people.” The flash of fear in Nightshade’s eyes shocked her. “What’s wrong?”

  Jacca looked over his shoulder, and Rose followed his gaze toward the multitude of brightly colored figures emerging from paintings around the room. “Will you speak for me? I worked with Tristan and…” He dropped his gaze and curled his fist against his thigh. “They’ll banish me.”

  “Not if I’ve got anything to say about it.” She surveyed the curious expressions turned her way. Her only experience of fairies en masse was at the Irish court, and no way would she allow her people to be that heartless. She looked at Niall. “You’ll speak up for him, won’t you?”

  Niall cut her a sideways glance. “Don’t suppose I’ve got a choice.” When she glared at him, he huffed a breath. “We’ll both speak for you, stalker. Now get off your knees, boyo, before I have to drag you up.”

  Jacca stood and tilted his chin with a return of his familiar arrogance. “You couldn’t drag me anywhere, Irish.”

  Niall’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “Aye, I could, and if you ever go telling anyone what happened in Wales, I will. You’re a bloodsucking opportunist, but you carried Rose out of Ireland, and for that I’ll tolerate you.”

  Jacca’s nostrils flared; then his lips twitched and a mischievous sparkle lit his eyes. “Thank you, most noble King.” He inclined his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go and find Michael.” He glanced back over his shoulder as he melted into the crowd and added, “I’m feeling like a bite to eat.”

  Rose grabbed Niall’s arm as he tensed. “Leave it,” she whispered. They had more immediate matters to handle. With a soft rustle of fabric, the piskies collected around them on silent feet. Niall relaxed and surveyed the gathered troop. Rose followed his gaze.

  A beautiful woman wearing a sumptuous blue velvet gown, her flowing dark hair restrained by a circlet of gold, stepped forward. All her life, Rose had known this woman as th
e Magic Knot tarot High Priestess. Suddenly the reality of what had happened knocked the breath from her lungs. She grasped Niall’s arm as the woman came forward and knelt before them.

  “My queen.” The woman inclined her head to Rose in a courtly nod. “I am Cordelia, wise woman of the troop. On behalf of all, I welcome you and offer you thanks for restoring us. We have always trusted you’ find your way back to us.” She turned to Niall, a small secret smile on her face that made Rose’s hackles rise. “My king. You are most welcome. The noble blood of the Tuatha Dé Danaan will strengthen our royal line.” She tilted her head and glanced up at Rose. “I first saw our king when he entered your chamber at night to steal a kiss.”

  “When was this?” Rose stared at Niall, her mouth open in surprise.

  Niall frowned and fiddled with his cuffs. “I was only checking up on your welfare after the incident with Nightshade.”

  That was when she’d first arrived. “You kissed me while I was asleep?”

  He shifted his feet and gave the wise woman a narrow look. She gathered a gray cat into her arms with a murmur of delight and smiled back innocently. Someone in the crowd giggled. Niall flexed his shoulders. “I can see I’ll be having to watch me step with you lot.”

  “Did you kiss me?” Rose repeated. If he had, he’d been interested in her right from the start.

  Niall tightened his lips. “Aye, but I did not take liberties.”

  Absolutely typical of Niall’s warped male logic. He’d kissed her for the first time when she was unconscious and couldn’t enjoy it. She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring his surprised look, and planted a kiss on his lips, right there in front of everyone.

  She released a satisfied sigh and stared around at her people. Faces she’d known all her life nodded and smiled back at her. For the first time she felt complete. No doubt there would be trials ahead, but she loved Niall, and together they’ overcome the challenges.

  Although she’d come to search for her father, she’d found something far better. She’d discovered who she really was.

  All she had to do now was achieve the near-impossible task for which she’d originally come to Cornwall: help Michael sort out the financial muddle he’d made at the Elephant’s Nest.

  A few months later Rose sat in the office at the Elephant’s Nest facing the new computer she’d given Michael at the piskies’ December Yule celebrations. With a sense of satisfaction, she entered the details of another invoice into the accounting program and dropped the document onto the heap for filing.

  Thinking about the state of his accounts had given her heartburn after the large New Year’s meal they’ just finished. There was no better time than the first day of the year to start sorting the finances out.

  The back of her neck tickled, and the familiar touch of Niall’s presence brushed her senses. Licking her lips in anticipation, she swung the chair around to face him. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, mouth twitching as he fought his grin.

  “What might you be doing closeted in here, lass, while everyone else is making merry in the bar?” As if to emphasize his question, she heard Michael shout the punch line of one of his bawdy stories, and a bellow of raucous laughter followed.

  “Didn’t you know? I’m waiting for you, Mr. O’Connor.”

  “Me?” he said in mock surprise. “And why would you be waiting for me?”

  When Rose surveyed the way his smart black slacks hugged his hips, desire tightened low in her belly. Provocatively, she crossed her legs.

  Blue fire flared in Niall’s eyes as her skirt crept up her thighs.

  “Because”—Rose waggled her eyebrows—“you’re the computer expert.”

  Niall grinned as he pushed away from the door frame, closed the door behind him, and turned the key.

  “Are you going to help me?” she teased in a husky voice.

  He sauntered forward and slid his palm up her leg. “Now, that depends on what you be wanting help with.”

  He leaned a hand on the chair back and tipped her into a reclining position. Rose squeaked in surprise, then giggled when he pressed his face against the red silk covering her belly and nibbled.

  When he raised his head, she framed his smiling face between her hands and examined the fading scars speckling his cheekbone and forehead. Ironically, the imperfection accentuated his beauty. She pulled his head down and pressed her mouth to his, kissing lightly. As he sank to his knees beside her chair, she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Time stopped. Rose forgot where she was. Her brain dissolved into warm mush, so she couldn’t think clearly enough to remember her name, let alone process Michael’s accounts.

  Niall raised his head and snatched a ragged breath. “You’re an expert when it comes to distracting me from me task.”

  He dug in his trouser pocket and pulled out a red velvet bag tied with a tasseled gold cord. “I’ve a New Year’s present for you, love.” He took her hand and pressed the gift into her palm. “’Twas passed down through the generations.”

  Rose weighed the bag in her hand. The velvet held something solid and surprisingly heavy. “You’ve already given me the bracelet and earrings and my favorite present.” Rose turned her left hand into the light, and green fire flickered within the huge emerald adorning the ring he’d given her at their handfasting ceremony.

  He closed his eyes and kissed her finger beside the ring. “This ring is more than a present. ’Tis a symbol of my love and commitment to you.”

  Rose stroked the glowing chestnut highlights in his hair, and love overwhelmed her. Ana had been right: Niall was soft as thistledown on the inside. The fact he trusted her enough to let her touch that part of him undid her.

  “Check the bag, love. ’Tis a magical gift Troy sent over. If me father had loved a woman and bonded, it would have been passed to her, but Ciar never allowed him a wife. He wants us to have it.”

  Rose loosened the gold cord and tipped the bag’s contents onto her palm. A single smooth stone the color of honey gleamed in the artificial light.

  “’Tis a cat’s-eye. Sees into the heart, so they say.”

  Rose turned the stone in her hands, watching the light ripple through the crystalline layers. “Should I see things in it, like a crystal ball?”

  Niall laughed and lifted the stone from her fingers. “No, lass. ’Tis not a tool of divination. Let me show you.”

  He stood and placed the warm stone against the skin between her eyebrows. The familiar thread of connection between them suddenly became as focused and strong as a torch shining in her eyes.

  “Cripes!” Rose blinked and gently pushed his hand and the stone away.

  He grinned at her. “You’ll get used to the feel. Wherever I am, you’ll always be able to sense me and know me thoughts. Just wanted you to be sure you can always trust me.”

  “No more trying to protect me from the truth, then?”

  He shook his head seriously, and love bubbled up, filling Rose. She’d forgiven him long ago, yet he still beat himself up over what went wrong the day they’ released the piskies.

  “Does it work the other way around? Let you see into my mind?”

  “Aye.”

  Rose gave him a mock grimace of horror. “I’ll have to stop fantasizing about a threesome with Michael then.”

  Niall went deadly still, and Rose chuckled. “You’re so easy to get a rise out of, Niall O’Connor.” She patted his cheek. “I’m joking, darling. Check me out with the cat’s-eye if you don’t believe me.”

  He shook his head and dropped the stone into its bag. “’Tis for you, lass. I never thought I’d say this to anyone except Ana, but I love you and I trust you.” Turning her hand, he brushed his lips over her palm and, with a smoldering glance, kissed his way up her arm to the sensitive skin inside her elbow.

  Rose sank lower in her seat with a sigh as he raised himself over her and pushed the chair back flat. She stroked her hands over the front of his silky blue shirt, savoring the hard
muscles beneath. “I’m so glad you came to rescue me from the accounts.”

  He nuzzled her neck, and a delicious quiver rippled through her body. “Aye, I know a far better way to celebrate the start of our New Year as pisky king and queen.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank all the people in many corners of the world who voted for this book in the American Title IV contest. I will be forever grateful for the enthusiastic support of so many kind people who’ve never met me, yet who found the time to vote to make my dream come true. A big thank-you must go to Romantic Times, who cosponsored the contest with Dorchester, and my editor Alicia Condon for selecting The Magic Knot for the final.