"Did you want to hurt me that night?"
The words were like a knife to Jocelynn's heart. The expression on her sister's face, the frightened, wounded look that shouldn't belong on the face of a woman who had just returned from the dead to conquer Lothian March in what felt like a single evening, was even worse.
There was a fragile sound to Ashlynn's voice when she asked the question, as though she was certain she knew the answer and she was terrified to hear it spoken aloud, which left Jocelynn feeling as though she'd just plunged into the icy, turbulent, winter seas in the dark of night and she was desperate for a rope, a rock, or anything she could cling to.
"No," Jocelynn said firmly as she reached out to hold on to the hands that her sister had balled up into fists. "No, I never, never wanted to hurt you," she said as tears rolled down her cheeks. "But I did hate you…"
