The Magic Knot (7 page)

Rose jammed her hairbrush, makeup bag, and tarot cards into her case and snapped the clips shut. No way could she risk her colleagues from work discovering she was part fairy. She’d spent fourteen years developing a career that depended on integrity and trust. When she returned to London, she’d tell everyone she’d been unable to trace her dad and carry on as usual.

Eager to leave now that she’d made her decision, she left her case in her room and went in search of breakfast and her bill.

The kitchen was empty. The six-slice toaster sat on the counter, taunting her with its presence. She slipped through the door, found the bread, and set two slices to toast. No wonder Michael O’Connor was in financial difficulties if he made the guests cook their own breakfast. After switching the electric kettle on to boil, she stared out of the kitchen window across the backyard.

Niall stood at the far side of the lawn, his palms braced against the trunk of a huge gnarled oak. Rose’s breath caught as she took in his tall, lean body. She
wriggled, her clothes suddenly tight against sensitive places. The kettle boiled and switched off with a click, drawing her attention back to the room.

A few minutes later, with black coffee and buttered toast, she wandered back to the window. Niall stood perfectly still, long, sexy fingers splayed against the tree. He appeared to be meditating or praying.

Michael she could read like a book—a kid’s book, with large colored illustrations. Niall she couldn’t get straight in her mind. Last night he’d rescued her from Nightshade and almost seemed possessive, but he’d lied about knowing her father and made no secret of the fact that he thought she should leave. Although the connection between them fascinated her, she couldn’t get the Ten of Swords out of her mind.

Curiosity got the better of her. She brushed the toast crumbs from her hands, picked up her coffee, and headed across the grass.

She stopped a few yards behind him and gave herself a moment to admire the view. Niall’s green combat pants were awful, but they couldn’t disguise his gorgeous backside. “You’re up with the lark.”

Dropping his hands from the tree, he turned to face her. “Good morning to you.” He glanced at her bedroom window and frowned. “You weren’t disturbed, I hope?”

“No. I’m usually up early because I run before work. Why would you think I was disturbed?”

He shook his head and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “No matter.” He glanced at her cup. “Someone made you breakfast?”

Rose grinned. “Yeah, me. Hope you don’t mind?”

“I’ve been out here for a while. I could have helped you.”

“I know. I saw you from the window.” She sipped her coffee and debated whether to pry. “What were you doing?”

He looked at her thoughtfully, then reached out and patted the tree trunk. “Seeking counsel.”

“Ah.” She pursed her lips. “From God?” she asked tentatively, not sure what sort of god a fairy-leprechaun cross might pray to.

“’Tis something like that.” He met her eyes, a hint of challenge in his. “When some matter confuses me, I seek advice from the tree deva.”

“Right, I see.” She didn’t see at all. Did something live in the tree? This was getting weird again. The taunts of the school bullies echoed in her head. Then the voices transformed into those of her work colleagues. She turned away. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Stay…Rose.” He stepped forward and grasped her wrist.

Annoyance snapped through her at the impersonal touch. Why couldn’t he take her hand like a normal man?

“Let me show you.”

“No, thanks.” She pulled on her arm, but he didn’t release her.

“Wait, lass. Don’t you ever seek advice?”

Rose gave an irritated shrug. She did not intend to mention her tarot cards to him.

“I’ll wager you have a question in mind that’s confusing you.”

“No.” She had lots, but none she wanted to share.

“What about the problem of whether to visit your father?” he asked gently.

The question touched raw nerves. Rose fisted her
hand and yanked it out of his grip. “I’m going back to London and forgetting him.”

“Is it sure you are?”

She rounded on him. “Last night
you
told me I should go back to London.”

He raised his perfect dark brows. “’Tis only sense to check you’re doing the right thing. Ask the tree deva.”

Rose stared at the coarse bark.

“This tree has dwelled here for many hundreds of years. Its spirit holds the wisdom of ages.”

Her cards worked; why shouldn’t the tree? She’d come a long way to find her father. Maybe she should check whether she was right to abandon her search. “Oh, hell.” Rose deposited her coffee mug on a garden bench. “Okay, show me.”

He reached for her wrist again. “You must be relaxed.”

“Then don’t hang on to me as though I’m about to run off.”

His jaw tightened. He held up his hands palm out and stepped back.

She walked forward to the spot he indicated beside the tree and threw a questioning glance over her shoulder.

“Place your hands on the trunk.”

She smacked her palms flat against the tree. The slight sting where the coarse bark bit into her skin satisfied a part of her that wanted punishment for doing this stupid thing.

“Relax, lass.”

“Stop telling me”—she paused, then took her voice down a few decibels—“to relax. I’m relaxed.” She let her shoulders droop. “See? Floppy as a rag doll.”

He made a strange noise, and she glanced around. It took her a moment to realize he was chuckling at her. His eyes twinkled and, for the first time, she caught a glimpse of his softer side.

“Close your eyes, Rose,” he said, a smile still flirting with his mouth. “I’ll talk you through me own way of connecting.”

Rose let her eyelids fall. Immediately her other senses kicked in. A gentle breeze that she hadn’t noticed ruffled her hair. The fresh autumn air carried the tang of salt water from the estuary. The woodsy scent of the tree reminded her of Niall’s smell, causing little flutters of excitement in her stomach.

“Feel the tree beneath your hands.”

The bark prickled her skin.

“You feel it?”

“Hmm.”

“Feel the earth beneath your feet. You be one with the earth, Rose. Your element is earth. Like you, ’tis strong, dependable, solid.”

“Hmm.” She wasn’t sure about the solid bit. She filed away the element thing as a question for later.

“Breathe thrice, deep into your belly.”

“I know how to ground myself. I do it—” She snapped her mouth shut. She’d nearly given away that she used tarot cards.

“Take the breaths, lass,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone.

She grinned at the trunk and followed his instructions.

After her third breath he said, “On the next breath imagine yourself flowing out through your fingertips and palms into the tree. Let go of your senses.”

Rose concentrated on her hands, felt the rough trunk, then imagined herself flowing into the wood.

“Visualize the narrow passages running through the trunk, fetching water and nutrients from the roots up to feed the branches. Extend yourself, plunge down, down through the passages into the cool, moist earth. Let it cradle you in the darkness, lass. Soft and safe.”

Rose fell into dark nothingness. It was strangely peaceful in the cool oblivion beneath the ground. She had never visited this place before, but knew instinctively that she belonged.

“Let part of your essence remain in the darkness, while part flows with the sap into the branches. Spread out and fill every living cell that basks beneath the autumn sun, preparing for the cold winter. Each cell contains the tiny promise of life waiting to burst forth in the spring.” Niall’s voice was lower now, barely a whisper. His breath stirred the tiny hairs on her neck. His nearness sent tingles racing up her back.

Rose let her barriers fall with a sigh, opened herself, spread out to fill every cell of the tree.

Niall flowed with her like oil on water, mixing and separating. Together and apart. The solid presence of his body guarded her back. His warmth banished the chill of the autumn morning. His arms enclosed her. The gentle press of his hands covered hers on the tree.

“Feel the energy of the tree, boundless, eternal,” he whispered into her ear. “Dwell in this place older than time and wiser than the ages. Ask your question.”

Rose drifted in peace on the edge of the infinite, Niall’s presence anchoring her like soft, silky ribbons.
Ask your question
, he repeated inside her mind.

“Should I go and see my father?” Rose whispered.

Energy spewed out of the tree, singing through her limbs, tingling everywhere Niall touched her.

Be at peace, earth child
. The words whispered inside her head.
Stay with your king
.

For a moment the world spun. Rose grabbed a shuddering breath, suddenly conscious of how close Niall was. She pulled away and braced her forearm against the tree. Heat surged into her cheeks. She glanced at Niall over her shoulder.

Surprise crossed his face. “Does this word
king
have meaning for you?”

Rose shook her head. “Unless it’s something to do with the tarot cards.”
Damn.
She bit her lip and hoped he didn’t ask more about the tarot. She fiddled with the gold stud in her ear and stared into the woodland. “That didn’t help at all. Now I’m even more confused.”

“If it’s a trustworthy opinion you’re after, why not ask your tarot cards? Surely you trust them?”

Darn, he didn’t miss a thing. “Don’t think I’ll bother. I’m packed already. I’ll just go home.”

“Ask the cards, Rose. Be sure.”

He was right. She should check. She looked at his inscrutable blue eyes and wondered what went on in the mind behind them. She visualized the picture on the Justice card, the scales weighing up, balancing. Fair and evenhanded. If it weren’t for the Ten of Swords, she’d trust him, but that hint of doubt remained. “Okay. I’ll do a quick reading.”

“May I watch?”

“Watch?” She’d never done a reading in front of anyone but her mother. The thought made her heart race. “I don’t know if I can do it with an audience.”

“’Tis interesting. Would you read for me?”

Rose rubbed at the tension in her neck. “You can watch, but I don’t read for anyone else.”

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but when he turned toward the pub, she sensed determination in his stride. Why had Niall changed his mind about her leaving? The previous night he’d been adamant that she should return to London. Now he seemed to want her to stay. Could he be interested in exploring the psychic bond they’ developed? Taking it further? A strange feeling skittered through her. Maybe she should read the cards for him and discover whether his future included her.

Rose collected her tarot cards from her bedroom; then Niall led her up to the private rooms he shared with Michael.

As they reached the top of the stairs the frantic babbling of cartoon characters filled the hallway. Niall pushed open the door to the sitting room and stood aside for her to pass.

Michael slouched in a saggy chair, feet crossed on the coffee table. He held a cigarette in one hand and the television remote in the other. Rose tried not to stare, but it was impossible to avoid looking at him. He wore blue silk boxer shorts exactly the same color as his eyes and nothing else. Unless one counted the supersize bag of potato chips balanced on his hard, muscular belly.

He bellowed with laughter as the sound of an explosion boomed out of the television. The chip bag rocked dangerously, depositing flakes of potato over the front of his shorts. He grinned at Rose, plucked one up, and popped it into his mouth.

Niall made a strangled noise, brushed past her, and snatched the remote out of Michael’s hand. The television fell silent.

“Hey! Give me that.” Michael jumped up—leaving a trail of chips in his wake—and made a grab for the remote control.

Niall evaded him with ease and cast a critical look at his shorts. “Go get yourself some clothes on. We have company.”

“’Tis not the company I hear complaining.” Michael waggled his eyebrows at Rose, and she had to fight a laugh.

“Cut the blarney and do as I say.”

Michael sauntered forward, slanting her a seductive glance as he brushed past to reach the door. He hooked a thumb beneath the elastic of his boxers and snapped it against his belly. “Me room’s the third door, if you be wanting to see the rest.”

Niall grumbled something in a language she didn’t understand.

“Don’t go taking the old gods’ names in vain, Niall; otherwise you’ll get a thunderbolt up your arse.”

Rose couldn’t resist a quick look over her shoulder. Michael’s rear view was as perfect as the front. She turned back to face Niall’s thunderous expression. Although nothing much seemed to shake Niall’s cool, Michael obviously knew which buttons to press.

“Sorry, he’s full o’ the devil.” Niall turned and gathered the remnants of food, fetched a cloth from the small kitchen area, and wiped the coffee table. As Rose watched him fold his lean body to complete the menial task, she wondered what he wore beneath the combat pants. Now that she’d seen Michael nearly naked, she had a fair idea what Niall looked like without clothes.

She remembered the feel of his body pressed intimately to hers when he’d caught her on the bed, and
imagined him in the same position wearing nothing but silk boxers. Heat spiraled through her.

Snatching a breath, she pushed the feeling away. “That’s clean enough. I always lay the cards out on this fabric to protect them anyway.”

She sat on the sofa, shook out her square of purple silk, and let the material float down onto the coffee table.

Niall took the chair Michael had vacated opposite and watched quietly as she tipped the cards into her hand, breathed to ground herself, and started to shuffle. He obviously understood that she needed silence to prepare.

“I’ll read for myself first. I usually choose three cards. Sometimes I draw them; sometimes I cut the deck.” Rose finished shuffling, placed the deck on the table, and squared off the corners. “I’ll cut today.”

“What makes you vary the way you select the cards?”

Rose paused and chewed her lip. “I don’t know. Sometimes one way just feels right. Mother taught me to go with my intuition.” For the first time in many years, she felt a small flash of gratitude for the insights her mother had passed on. Fairy insights.

She gazed down at her pack, took a breath to focus her thoughts, and concentrated on her father’s name. “The first cut will be what my father means to me, the second, my relationship with him, and the third, what I mean to him.” Rose made the cuts and stared down at the three stacks, suddenly hesitant to reveal the cards to Niall.

Looking up, she searched his face for any hint of censure. There was nothing but curiosity in his eyes. The tension in her neck eased. Of course he would
accept the tarot. He’d just taught her to consult the spirit of a tree, for heaven’s sake. She was so used to hiding this aspect of herself, she couldn’t adjust to the fact that he thought it acceptable.

Rose turned over the first card that showed what her father meant to her, the Eight of Cups. A slender man with a cloud of ash blond hair walked alone down a track into a forest, leaving eight cups lying on the path behind him.

“What does this mean?” Niall asked softly.

Rose glanced up. For a moment she’d forgotten he was watching. “My mother said this means severing emotional ties. But I can’t sever ties with my father because I haven’t got any. Although I did have expectations for the future.” Rose chewed the side of her finger.

“Perhaps ’tis telling you to look for a new relationship to replace the one that never really existed?”

Rose glanced at him, surprised. “It could indicate that.” He seemed to understand the cards instinctively. Maybe divination came naturally to all fairies.

Turning over the top card from the second stack, she stared at the Moon. A little chip of her self-image, carefully shaped and crafted to present an acceptable face to the world, snapped away.

Everything she’d imagined about her father had been false. This card representing her relationship with him spoke of deception, trickery, and lies. The fantasy that had kept her going most of her life dissolved before her.

“’Tis a bad card, Rose?”

“There are no bad cards.”

“But the meaning for you is not good?”

She swallowed the knot in her throat before she
could answer. “I’ve definitely been deceiving myself about my father. I don’t think he’ll want to meet me.”

A flash of concern crossed Niall’s face. “Is it possible you’re wrong? You said the cards could be interpreted in different ways.”

“Possible, but I’ve got a really bad feeling about him. This final card represents what I am to my father. Let’s see what it says.” Foreboding crawled through her as she turned the top card on the third pile and revealed the Five of Swords. To win by deceit.

Rose closed her eyes and tried to banish the image of the taunting face on the card. For some reason her father held something against her. At best, he would be indifferent. At worst, he’d blame her for some old hurt.

“I can’t go and visit my father.” Rose shook her head slowly. “This is a terrible reading.”

Niall rubbed his mouth and glanced up at her from beneath his lashes. “Were I you, lass, I’d want to face this before I moved on with me life.”

“I can’t.”

“’Tis up to you, but if you bury a problem, it spreads rot through your mind.” He spoke with conviction, as though he knew from experience.

She couldn’t deny that it made sense to meet her father and get closure on the issue. Rose gathered the cards together and thanked them inside her head. Before she made any decisions on her own future, she was curious to see what her cards told Niall.

“Let’s do the reading for you; then I’ll decide what I’m going to do.” Banishing all thoughts of her own reading, she concentrated on Niall as she shuffled. The sparkle of interest in his eyes made her feel the reading was something worthy, rather than a silly habit. “I al-
ways work with three cards.” For the first time in her life, she wished she’d taken the trouble to learn some more complex spreads than the simple three cards her mother had taught her.

“I’ll cut the pack into three again. They represent body, mind, and spirit.”

Once he nodded his agreement, Rose cut the pack and revealed the top card on the first pile. “You’ve got the Four of Swords for body. This suggests you need to rest and recover from something. Or it could represent the calm before the storm.” She glanced up and caught him frowning. “You’re fairly isolated here; have you come to escape from something?”

He laced his fingers and then pressed them to his mouth.

“Does this mean anything to you?” she prompted, trying not to sound too eager.

“Aye.”

Obviously he wasn’t going to satisfy her curiosity, so she moved on to the next card.

“For mind you have the Three of Wands. This one suggests a new project or opportunity.”

He looked doubtful.

“Setting new goals?”

He shook his head.

The only way to help him discover the card’s meaning was to connect with the character. She touched her fingertips to the picture of a man standing on a rocky crag, staring out to sea. Words flowed into her mind and she repeated them for Niall. “You’re on the right path. Allow yourself to see the goal. Destiny awaits.” Withdrawing her hand, she watched for his reaction.

After a sharp shake of his head he said, “Naw. Not going anywhere. No goals. No destiny.”

“I’ll pull the card from the bottom. This shows what’s hidden or unconscious.”

She turned the bottom card faceup. “Ten of Pentacles.” The family card. This one was a surprise. “You want a family to bring you happiness. Maybe to pass on your experience and wealth?”

He laughed, the sound short and sharp in the silence of the room. “So you’re telling me I have a subconscious desire to play happy families?” He cringed. “You’re wrong entirely.” He jumped up from the chair, went to the small kitchen, and poured himself a glass of apple juice. Holding it up he asked, “Want one?”

“Yes.” She watched him fill another glass. What had happened to make Niall so antifamily? His reaction seemed strange, considering he lived with his brother.

“Either the cards are wrong,” he said as he dropped back into his seat, “or you’ve misinterpreted them. Families are nothing but trouble.”

Rose thought it sensible not to pursue the matter. But before she moved on to the next card, she brushed her fingertips across the jovial old man and child on the Ten of Pentacles and one word whispered into her mind.

Dynasty.

Niall wanted to be head of a dynasty? If he did, he was doing a damn good job of hiding his aspirations.

She turned her attention to the final pile and flipped over the top card. The Magician. This had always been her favorite card. The fact hadn’t occurred to her before, but the man depicted in the woodland glade resembled Niall. His hair was a little longer, but the eyes were the right color, and he had the same intense expression on his face that said both so much and so little. “Your spirit card says you are in de pen dent, master
of your own fate. You have everything you need to achieve your goals. You’re adaptable, skillful, and in touch with nature.”

When he bent closer to examine the card, the autumn sun picked up chestnut highlights in his hair. His thick, dark lashes accentuated the blueness of his eyes. Need for him tightened around her heart, stole her breath. The feeling expanded and ran through her like a shock wave. For a moment, she wondered if he was using glamour on her.

He looked up, a smile on his face. “This card I like. It feels right.”

She fell into the endless blue of his eyes—not sea, but a cloudless sky where she could fly free. “Yes, right…Niall.” His name hung between them. It no longer felt sharp, but rolled off her tongue. Full of Irish mystery—like him.

“Will you show me the rest of the cards?”

Rose nodded, a burst of pleasure bringing a smile to her lips. “They’re my mother’s design. Reproduced from portraits she painted.”

She hadn’t known how good she’d feel, sharing this part of herself with someone else. She leafed through the cards, giving him a few seconds to examine each one.

“Hold your horses.” He leaned forward when she laid the High Priestess on the table. “What’s the meaning of this one?”

“Spiritual enlightenment. When I draw this card, I interpret it to mean I should trust my feelings, look inside myself for guidance. Maybe dig deep to find the talents I need to succeed.”

Niall tapped his hand against his thigh and stared at the card, apparently lost in thought.

“Why are you interested in this one?”

He shook his head. “Just a feeling.”

Rose pointed to the card. “The book she’s holding represents past life and the crystal ball the future. The gray cat curled on her lap represents wisdom and curiosity.”

“Hmm.” Niall drew in a deep breath and sat back. “Have you made a decision about visiting your father?”

Rose gathered up her cards and cradled them in her palm. She stared at the bare branches of a tree outside the window. The thought of visiting her father dragged through her like a spike through mud. Niall was right. She must clear away the dross of her illusions about her father if she were to move on. “Yes. Can you give me directions to where he lives?”

“I can do better than that.” He brushed a fingertip across the back of her hand. “I shall take you to Trevelion Manor meself.”

Rose blinked, amazed that the line of fire he’d traced on her skin wasn’t visible. If she must face the death of her dreams, it would help to have Niall there to give her moral support.

Nightshade stood in the doorway of the summer kitchen at Trevelion Manor. With his back to the sweeping lawn that ran down to the cliffs, he watched Tristan prepare to slice open the belly of a dead rabbit.

It was vital he discover what Tristan’s plans for Rosenwyn were before Niall brought her to the manor.

Sunlight glinted off the scalpel blade as the druid drew a scarlet line through the gray fur. The metallic tang of warm blood filled the room, making Nightshade’s gums sting.

With the methodical strokes of a skilled surgeon,
Tristan widened the incision. The intense scarlet of fresh blood coated the druid’s yellow rubber gloves as he pulled the wound apart and eased the animal’s entrails out onto a plastic tray.

“What ever happened to traditional divination tools? Don’t the rubber gloves destroy the message in the entrails?”

“Shh, I’m concentrating.” Tristan held up a hand, and blood trickled down the glove and dripped onto the cracked brown linoleum. Humming tunelessly, he started to poke about in the guts.

Nightshade folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the door frame, content to be patient, because he already knew what Tristan would discover from the reading.