The Magic Knot (9 page)

“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.”

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.

Niall closed his eyes and spiraled down toward the dark pit of defeat. He must give up his freedom, return to Ireland, and submit to the Irish fairy queen. Then the threat to Ana would be lifted, and Tristan would no longer have any hold over him. But first, Rose needed rescuing.

“Very well, druid. Release me and I shall leave for London when Nightshade brings the address.”

Tristan gave a tight smile of victory. “Eminently sensible, my friend. When you return, I’ll free Rose and cast the spell to protect Ana. Nightshade.” He beckoned. “Untie our guest.” Tristan stood and carried his cup to the sink.

Nightshade stalked closer. He blocked Tristan’s view with his body and bent to unfasten the ropes.

“Wait for me by the stream,” Nightshade whispered. “I must speak with you.”

As the ropes dropped from Niall’s wrists, he met the stalker’s silver gaze. Was this a trick? There was only one way to find out.

With a slight tilt of his head, Niall agreed to the
meeting. One way or another he would discover where Rose was being held, even if he had to beat it out of Nightshade.

Niall twisted his hand on his motorcycle’s throttle, making the machine roar between his legs. He looked at the front door of Trevelion Manor and gave Tristan a final derisive glance. Then he snapped down his visor, gunned the engine, and took off, spraying dirty gravel in his wake.

As the road dipped, he glanced in his mirror and saw Tristan go inside. He rode on for a few hundred yards. When he reached the bridge over the river in the valley he pulled up and cut his engine.

Niall kicked down the bike stand and pulled off his helmet, all his senses sharp, ready to face the night-stalker.

He waited beside the bridge, listening to the trickle of water over rocks as the light faded and darkness crept up on him. After a while, the branches rustled and Nightshade dropped from the canopy, landing silently ten feet away.

“What’s this about? Changing sides, are you?”

Nightshade shook his wings and snapped them closed. “You mustn’t bring the paintings to Cornwall.”

Cutting his hand through the air in frustration, Niall said, “Forget the paintings. Tell me where Tristan’s holding Rose.”

“If she escapes, Tristan will know I helped. Leave her to me. I’ll look after her.”

Niall barked a derisive laugh that was swallowed by the damp woodland. “I’ll not fall for that one again. No, I’ll not be leaving the lass with you. Tell me where she is, or do I have to beat it out of you?” He advanced
on the stalker, instinctively flexed his fingers, and then remembered he had no blades.

“Wait. Let me explain.”

“Cut the blarney.” he’d been poisoned, tied up, and something was hammering inside his head. Niall prided himself on his control, but it had limits. He slammed the side of his hand beneath Nightshade’s ribs. With a grunt, the nightstalker retreated against the side of the bridge.

“Rosenwyn’s mine. I won’t…let Tristan…hurt her,” Nightshade spluttered as Niall jumped on him and squeezed a pressure point in the stalker’s neck.

It took Niall a moment to register that Nightshade wasn’t defending himself. Niall stared into the stalker’s eyes. Desperation stared back at him.

Easing away, Niall raised his palms. “Talk.”

Nightshade sat, flexed his shoulders, and shook his wings. He touched his ribs and winced. “Rosenwyn and I are the last of the Cornish troop. She belongs with me.”

“If you’re so desperate for company, take yourself off to America and find the others.”

Nightshade shook his head and stared at the ground. “They didn’t go to America.”

“Then what? They’re all dead? The whole troop?” Niall said, half joking.

Nightshade nodded. “As good as.”

Shock left Niall cold, empty. “How?”

“Tristan—”

“Not possible. The druid doesn’t have the power to kill them all. ’Tis the truth I want.”

Nightshade curled his lip, revealing a hint of his usual attitude. “Be quiet, Irish, and listen. Tristan broke their Magic Knots and used Ailla Tremain’s paintings
of them to trap their bodies. She could render a portrait in such detail…” He gazed into the distance, a look of longing on his face.

“And?”

“When the link between body, mind, and spirit was broken, Tristan cast a spell to bind each in his or her portrait. Then he trapped their minds and spirits in glass globes.”

“Great Danu.” The horror of existing in the endless oblivion of in-between, neither dead nor alive, swamped Niall’s mind. The stalker flicked his gaze at Niall, then squeezed his eyes closed. Realization dawned. “What part of this betrayal was yours?”

“I was young.” Nightshade rubbed a hand over his face. “The piskies ordered me out. They didn’t want me.”

“They only followed tradition. Stalkers are solitary wanderers.”

Anger flashed silver fire in Nightshade’s eyes. “Why should I be bound by tradition?”

Such a terrible crime could not be easily forgiven, but a reluctant trace of sympathy flitted through Niall. He knew exactly how it felt to be isolated and unwanted. He’d dealt with his feelings in a different way, but he had also hurt those he loved.

“Tristan spun such tales,” Nightshade said. “He seduced me with magic and the lure of his blood, freely offered. Now he sickens me.”

Niall’s sympathy died when he remembered the danger Rose faced because of Nightshade and Tristan’s schemes. “Would you punish the lass as well? Keep her imprisoned here because you’ve grown tired of your blood bond?”

Nightshade jumped up. “Tristan’s a walking
corpse. Feeding on the piskies’ spiritual energy has burned him out. It’s like sucking blood from a dead body.”

“Then surely ’tis a good thing if the paintings are brought back. You have a chance to make amends. Retie body, mind, and spirit and bring your troop back to life.”

“How could I ever face them?” Nightshade paced across the bridge. “Tristan plans to stand the portraits around the great hall. They’ll be able to look out from the paintings and see me. You mustn’t bring them.”

Anger bubbled inside Niall. “You deserve to be isolated with Tristan if you’ sacrifice the chance of restoring life to the piskies for your own feelings. Rose will not be suffering their fate. Tell me where she is.”

Nightshade braced his arms on the wall and hung his head. “What’ll you tell her about me?”

“I’ve not the remotest idea.”

“Don’t tell her I was involved in the fall of our people. I’ll kneel before my queen and reveal all when she’s safe.”

“Your what?” Niall blinked. His brain swam in his skull as if he’d been whacked on the head.

Nightshade raised his eyes. “My queen. Didn’t you know? Rosenwyn’s mother was the king’s daughter.”

The vision of the High Priestess in the mirror filled Niall’s mind. She was one of the piskies in the portraits, and she’d called him her king. Did that mean he and Rose…?

Niall shook his head to dislodge the thought. He was in no position to take on responsibility for the Cornish piskies. He had to return to Ireland and placate his queen, Ciar, before she took revenge on Ana.

“Where’s Tristan holding Rose?”

“There’s a maze of rooms beneath the manor that used to be home to the troop. He has her in his workroom down there. But he may be with her.”

Niall clenched his fists and felt the absence of his blades like the loss of a limb. “Where are me knives?”

“I don’t know. Probably still in the kitchen.”

“I’ll retrieve me blades, and then you’ll show me the room.”

“Let me distract Tristan, give you some time.”

Was Nightshade trustworthy? He didn’t have a good track record, but it would be easier if Niall didn’t have to face Tristan when he rescued Rose. “Very well then. You draw Tristan away, and I’ll get Rose out of the place.”

Niall would send her back to the safety of London. Then he’d return to the Wicklow Mountains and give himself up to his queen. But what ever Ciar subjected him to, she’d never break his spirit.

Rose lay on a hard wooden table, her wrists and ankles pinched beneath thick leather straps, which Tristan had nailed down to restrain her. Her chest ached, full to bursting with her pounding heart and heaving breath as though she’d run a marathon. Every muscle in her body quivered after the strain of fighting Nightshade when he carried her down into the dark tunnels beneath the manor house.

The nightstalker had gone, but Tristan remained, leaning against a workbench smoking a small, foul-smelling cigar. Even that smell was better than the fetid stink of gore that filled the dark underground room.

Rose watched Tristan, waiting for him to make his move, terrified of what it would be. He tapped the cigar and a blob of ash tumbled from the glowing end.

“It’s only a matter of time before you tell me what I want to know.”

“Get lost,” Rose retorted automatically, and glared at him, amazed at her bravado when her whole body trembled with fear.

“Where do you store the paintings? It’s such a simple question, my dear. All I want is an address. Even the company name will do. I can look it up.”

The flickering light from black candles danced across animal skins. Terrible flashes of what he might do to her stabbed through her mind. Clenching her teeth, she forced the images away. She must concentrate on the present moment. Keep her wits about her. How could she persuade him to release her? Maybe Nightshade was her best chance. Although he’d carried her down, she’d sensed his reluctance. “Where’s Nightshade?”

Irritation flashed across Tristan’s face. “Don’t pin your hopes on our winged friend.” He picked up a pen and tapped the point on a note pad. “Give me an address. Come on, Rosenwyn. Don’t be a foolish girl like your mother.”