Jocelynn found herself in the bridal chamber once again, glowing in the same soft candlelight with the scent of beeswax and rosewater in the air. She was wearing Ashlynn's white gown again, along with the pearls and the Lothians' antique ring, just as she'd been at the beginning of the trial.
"No," Jocelynn whispered. "No, not here, please, not here…"
The mark burned on her hip. The music drifted up through the floor. Her own voice floated through the window, slurred and spiteful. "…she's a vile witch, Owain…"
This time, she didn't sit on the bed and wait.
She ran for the door, desperate to escape.
It opened before she reached it. Owain filled the doorway, drunk and weeping and furious, and she skidded to a stop so hard that she nearly fell.
"So it's true," he said. "You're a witch."
