Chapter 155

For two days Rosalind slept on the cold, hard ground. Even the sacks of grain had been better than this. Shivers racked her body beneath the thin blankets her brothers had packed. Mostly she just lay there, aching for someone she no longer had. Or, if she was brutally honest with herself, had never had. And every moment she despised herself for that weakness.

I shouldn't long for a man who viewed me as nothing more than a pawn.

When she closed her eyes and curled up in her blankets close by her brothers and listened to the wind whistle through the trees, she could feel the phantom press of Ashton's lips on hers. The memories, too vivid not to be real, made her body tremble with longing and her heart bleed all over again.

Damn that bloody Lennox to hell for making her long for him, for her body and soul to ache to be with him, even when he didn't care about her at all.

I'm a puppet to him, nothing more. So why does it hurt to leave him behind?

"Sleep, Rosalind." Brock's voice came