Iona was asleep on the mattress beside her daughter. Rose wondered if she should wake her, for the end was surely near. Rose watched helplessly as Ailis’s small body strained to take in each breath, the fever burning her alive. Wallace had come a short time ago, peered in the door, then left with Lucas before Rose could give him a tongue lashing to take back to his master. How could Strathwick allow this child to suffer? Heartless, he was. Either that or a charlatan even more useless than she was. Even so, Rose was grateful the boy was gone. He should not have to witness his sister’s painful death.
Rose was for all purposes alone. Reluctantly, she took the bottle of laudanum in her hands. Enough of the dark poppy juice would give Ailis a painless death, a deep dark sleep from which she would never wake. Rose should have given it to her earlier, not made her and her mother suffer. A wave of hopelessness washed over Rose.Useless.She was useless to everyone. She wanted to help people live, not help them to an easier death, but what else could she do for the child?
She rarely gave in to self-indulgent bouts of despair,instead choosing to channel her frustration into working harder to heal the next person. But this…after all that had gone on before, her disappointment in Strathwick, the hopelessness of her father’s illness…it was too much. Her useless hands clutched the small bottle, pressing it hard into her stomach, trying to alleviate the hollow ache, shutting her eyes against the burning, clenching her teeth against the scream that threatened to rip from her throat.
She was leaning forward, making a keening sound, tears squeezing from her tightly closed eyes, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away, tumbling from her stool beside the bed. She looked up from where she sprawled on the packed dirt floor.
Dumhnull stood above her, his face grim and taut, as if facing a terrible foe alone and unarmed but resigned to the necessity of it. Rose put a hand to her chest and let out the breath he’d startled out of her.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. She started to get to her feet, but he squatted beside her.
He didn’t speak, studying her with grave eyes. He reached his hand out and took hers, pulling her fingers open and staring down at the vial of laudanum she held. He met her gaze again.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she heard herself saying. “I tried. I feel as if I should be able to do more, but I’m useless when it matters.”
He frowned slightly and made a soft sound to hush her. She quieted immediately, staring up at him, confused by his presence and yet comforted by it.
“It’s clear,” someone said at the door.
Dumhnull sat back on his heels and looked over his shoulder. Rose followed his gaze. Wallace peered out the door, and Strathwick stood at the window across the room, peeking out a crack in the shutters, dag drawn.
“He came,” Rose breathed, clutching Dumhnull’s arm. “He came.”
The groom turned back to her, his face dark, withdrawn. “Aye, he came.”
A strange feeling overcame Rose as 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. Hishead 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 seemedto rise in it, her vision blurring. “Dear Lord,” she whispered. Her gaze went to Iona. “That man…thatwas 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.
