Free My Shadow Warrior by Jen Holling

she gazed up at him, a swelling in her chest, a mixture of fear and confusion and wonder.
    The bed trembled, and Rose jumped to her feet. Ailis convulsed, her tiny body rigid. Iona woke immediately in hysterics, trying to grab her daughter, as if her arms could absorb the child’s pain.
    “Hush,” Dumhnull said. He put a hand out, urging the mother to move back.
    “My lord,” Iona said, her voice soft and awed, her eyes wide. She moved away from her daughter.
    Rose looked to the window. Strathwick still stood there, peering outward, glancing quickly back at the groom but keeping his attention on whatever was outside the window.
    She turned slowly back to the bed, her heart beating hard and fast with slow understanding. Dumhnull—or the man she’d known as Dumhnull—sat on the bed beside Ailis. She was rooted in place, unable to speak or move, only stare. His hands passed over Ailis’s head, just as Rose’s had earlier. They came to rest on the throat. Then, instead of hovering over it, his hands closed around her throat, as if he meant to strangle her. His head bent. The convulsions stilled. A moment later, he released the child with one hand. It moved down to her chest and stayed there.
    The man she’d thought was Strathwick came away from the window to stand behind the “groom.” When Dumhnull finally released Ailis, he bent over the bed, his breathing labored.
    The fake Strathwick took his arm. “Come on,” he said softly, his voice gentle but insistent.
    Wallace turned from the door, eyes hard. “They’re coming.”
    Dumhnull stood and walked slowly toward the door, wheezing and struggling for air. He stopped at the door to the cottage and leaned heavily against the frame, coughing violently. It was a horrible cough, a metallic rattle deep in his chest.
    “We must go now,” the fake Strathwick urged.
    Heart-wrenching sobs distracted Rose. She turned to find Ailis awake, her skin pale and clear, large brown eyes blinking dazedly. Her mother held her in her arms, weeping.
    Rose sat on the bed beside the child. “Open your mouth, sweetheart.”
    The child complied. Her throat was pink and healthy. No signs of swelling or a membrane, or even the bleeding from Rose’s attempts to open the passageway. Dumb-founded, Rose stared at the child for a long moment. She summoned her magic again, passing her hands over the child, seeing nothing but the child’s pale yellow color, pulsing with health.
    Rose’s hands went to her mouth as her heart seemed to rise in it, her vision blurring. “Dear Lord,” she whispered. Her gaze went to Iona. “That man… that was Lord Strathwick.” It was a statement, but still the mother nodded.
    Her Dumhnull was really the Wizard of the North. Of course. She should have known. There had been a compassion in him, lacking in the imposter. And his presence was like no other; he filled a room with authority even when told to fetch mulled ale. But why had he still refused her? Her mind instantly turned to his condition after healing Ailis. He was unwell. What had he said to her in the stable? It’s fatiguing for him to heal. One does not ask him to do it for such minor complaints. She saw it all with such clarity that it brought her to her feet, propelled her toward the door.
    Before she reached it, the door burst open and men poured in, bearing weapons of their trade. Hoes, hammers, scythes, pitchforks, axes, butchering and tanning knives. The leader was a huge man with a blond beard like a tangled bush.
    “Where is he?” he bellowed.
    When Rose just stared up at him, he grabbed her arm and shook her. “You saw him! Where did he go?”
    “Who?” Rose heard herself ask. She seemed numb, as if she watched everything from outside her body.
    The blond man bared his teeth at her and thrust her away, turning on Ailis and her mother.
    “He was here—Strathwick was here!”
    Iona shook her head, her face defiant. “You’re wrong, Allister! Only this healer and my family.”
    The