For a moment, Jocelynn was frozen, like a deer startled by hunters, as she looked at Owain's furious gaze and the knife gripped firmly in his right fist. Looking at him, her mind flashed back to a time several months ago, at the Summer Villa, when she asked if her sister suffered before she died.
"Of course she didn't suffer," Owain had told her, as he stroked Jocelynn's hair. "She may have been a witch, but for a few hours, she was my wife. I gave her a clean death. A single stroke of my sword. Swift, merciful. She was your sister after all," he said gently. "She deserved that much."
"...a single stroke of my sword…"
The knife in Owain's hand filled her vision, and she wondered if he could kill her with a single stroke of his blade.
"Did she use witchcraft on you?" Jocelynn had asked that night, so many months ago. "If she hurt you in any way…"
