Read Online The Magic Knot by Helen Scott Taylor - Free Book Online
Authors: Helen Scott Taylor
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Nightshade knew her
real
name. No one had ever called her Rosenwyn except her mother. Rose’s carefully cultivated normal world fractured, and flashes of childhood memory escaped.
Mother singing and dancing with strange people. The drowsy scent of fragrant candles. Alone in the dark. So alone…until…Nightshade came for her.
She pressed her hands over her face and shook her head to clear the images.
I’m a senior manager with Francis Marchant.
Fear was making her imagine things—that was all.
Niall stood watching intently as Nightshade approached her. She groped among the fallen leaves for something to use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a broken branch. Pushing herself up on shaky legs, she held it out, but strangely, her heart wasn’t in the threat. “Keep away. I…I’m sure I don’t know you.”
She expected him to react angrily or, if she was lucky, fall back at her threat. She wasn’t prepared for the flash of hurt in his eyes before he dropped his head and hid his face behind the veil of dark hair. With his wings folded and invisible from the front, Nightshade resembled an ordinary man. An extraordinarily beautiful man, his ebony skin sculpted into perfect curves and hollows by the moonlight.
Slouching off, Nightshade beckoned Niall, then halted a short distance away beside the river. She could just make out the shadowy outline of Nightshade’s wings folded against his back as the two men spoke.
His wings are soft.
She remembered the feel of running her hand over them. Tickling him?
Oh, God.
She stared into the shadows beneath the trees, and the branch dropped from her fingers. Nightshade had said he wanted to take her home. The only home she could ever have had in Cornwall was with her father.
All her life she’d believed her mother was the weird one—her father was supposed to be her anchor to normality. Rubbing her arms against the cold, she summoned her self-control. It didn’t matter. If she didn’t like the truth about her father, she had her career, her life in London.
Rose ignored the creeping chill of disillusionment and channeled it into annoyance. What were the men talking about? She reached out her senses to Niall as she did to her tarot people, but felt nothing. Had she imagined the connection with him earlier? Well, she’d learned one thing from doing her job: the best way to get answers was to ask.
With a determined stride, she walked toward the men. They glanced up and fell silent as she approached. “Nightshade.” His name felt awkward in her mouth, like a foreign word. “I’ve come to Cornwall to find my father.” She paused and swallowed. “Do you know a man called Tristan Jago?”
Nightshade grimaced, and the two men shared a meaningful glance. Denial whirled inside Rose’s head as Nightshade flicked back his hair and tilted his chin defiantly. “I do.”
Shock jolted her body. His terse reply left no room for doubt, no room for hope. She had to face facts. If her father was involved with Nightshade, he wasn’t the normal dad she’d built her childhood fantasies around.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Niall slip hisknives inside the cuffs of his shirt. He’d been mighty quick to come to her rescue, almost as though he’d expected trouble. He knew Nightshade, and he’d obviously lied to her about not knowing Tristan Jago. Add that to his deceit over the pub accounts and she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
In the moonlight, she glanced from one man’s evasive expression to the other and anger fired her determination. This was no different from an insolvency investigation. If she wanted to root out the truth, she’d have to be firm. “I’d like to talk to you both back at the pub. I’m freezing my butt off out here, and I’ve got questions about my father. After putting me through this”—she plucked at her ripped, dirty shorts—“I think you both owe me some answers.”
The look of surprise the two men exchanged before
real
name. No one had ever called her Rosenwyn except her mother. Rose’s carefully cultivated normal world fractured, and flashes of childhood memory escaped.
Mother singing and dancing with strange people. The drowsy scent of fragrant candles. Alone in the dark. So alone…until…Nightshade came for her.
She pressed her hands over her face and shook her head to clear the images.
I’m a senior manager with Francis Marchant.
Fear was making her imagine things—that was all.
Niall stood watching intently as Nightshade approached her. She groped among the fallen leaves for something to use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a broken branch. Pushing herself up on shaky legs, she held it out, but strangely, her heart wasn’t in the threat. “Keep away. I…I’m sure I don’t know you.”
She expected him to react angrily or, if she was lucky, fall back at her threat. She wasn’t prepared for the flash of hurt in his eyes before he dropped his head and hid his face behind the veil of dark hair. With his wings folded and invisible from the front, Nightshade resembled an ordinary man. An extraordinarily beautiful man, his ebony skin sculpted into perfect curves and hollows by the moonlight.
Slouching off, Nightshade beckoned Niall, then halted a short distance away beside the river. She could just make out the shadowy outline of Nightshade’s wings folded against his back as the two men spoke.
His wings are soft.
She remembered the feel of running her hand over them. Tickling him?
Oh, God.
She stared into the shadows beneath the trees, and the branch dropped from her fingers. Nightshade had said he wanted to take her home. The only home she could ever have had in Cornwall was with her father.
All her life she’d believed her mother was the weird one—her father was supposed to be her anchor to normality. Rubbing her arms against the cold, she summoned her self-control. It didn’t matter. If she didn’t like the truth about her father, she had her career, her life in London.
Rose ignored the creeping chill of disillusionment and channeled it into annoyance. What were the men talking about? She reached out her senses to Niall as she did to her tarot people, but felt nothing. Had she imagined the connection with him earlier? Well, she’d learned one thing from doing her job: the best way to get answers was to ask.
With a determined stride, she walked toward the men. They glanced up and fell silent as she approached. “Nightshade.” His name felt awkward in her mouth, like a foreign word. “I’ve come to Cornwall to find my father.” She paused and swallowed. “Do you know a man called Tristan Jago?”
Nightshade grimaced, and the two men shared a meaningful glance. Denial whirled inside Rose’s head as Nightshade flicked back his hair and tilted his chin defiantly. “I do.”
Shock jolted her body. His terse reply left no room for doubt, no room for hope. She had to face facts. If her father was involved with Nightshade, he wasn’t the normal dad she’d built her childhood fantasies around.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Niall slip hisknives inside the cuffs of his shirt. He’d been mighty quick to come to her rescue, almost as though he’d expected trouble. He knew Nightshade, and he’d obviously lied to her about not knowing Tristan Jago. Add that to his deceit over the pub accounts and she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
In the moonlight, she glanced from one man’s evasive expression to the other and anger fired her determination. This was no different from an insolvency investigation. If she wanted to root out the truth, she’d have to be firm. “I’d like to talk to you both back at the pub. I’m freezing my butt off out here, and I’ve got questions about my father. After putting me through this”—she plucked at her ripped, dirty shorts—“I think you both owe me some answers.”
The look of surprise the two men exchanged before
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