Despite the relative warmth surrounding the Ancient Oak, Jocelynn shivered uncontrollably as the phantom wind swirled around her. The sounds of rustling leaves filled the air, but for Jocelynn, that wind carried Owain's voice back to her.
Not Owain's cruelty, or his condescension towards those he thought lesser than himself. Neither did it carry the naked ambition he'd revealed when he took Jocelynn as his co-conspirator. Instead, it brought the sweet words of affection and gentle reassurances that had once moved her heart…
"...A Lady like you belongs with the greatest of lords…"
"...She may have been a witch, but for a few hours, she was my wife. I gave her a clean death…"
"...You belong to me, my sweet temptation… No one is allowed to touch you but me…"
But worse than Owain's words of affection were the words he'd spoken to her when he pressed a knife into her hands in the depths of the Lothian Manor's dungeons while Percivus lay bound at her feet.
