Isolde.
A stint of silence swept between them as she gauged Roga to know if she was making this up. Yet all Isolde could see was the sincerity in the woman’s face.
Now, her eyes have turned red. Roga flapped her lashes as if willing whatever tears gathering away.
“How?” Isolde finally summoned the courage to ask. She watched Roga’s throat bobbing. The paleness of the older female’s skin told Isolde how afraid Roga was.
“He’s the master. The lord’s male. Sire Edrand has the power to do whatever he wants. Power to bend others to his will a lot of times,” Roga said, but her voice was thick with emotions.
Isolde willed herself to move closer. She held Roga’s hand and asked in a whisper, “Has this ever happened before?”
“A lot of times in the past. Before he left for the Abbey of Thorns…
