Chapters (56)
- Cover
- RITA BRADSHAW
- Acknowledgements
- Prologue
- PART ONE
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- PART TWO
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- PART THREE
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- PART FOUR
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- PART FIVE
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- PART SIX
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Epilogue
- Dancing in the Moonlight
- Beyond the Veil of Tears
- The Colours of Love
- Snowflakes in the Wind
- A Winter Love Song
- Beneath a Frosty Moon
- One Snowy Night
- The Storm Child
- The People’s Friend
- The Winter Rose
- By Rita Bradshaw
It wasn’t the first time she had spoken in this way and he was aware of the veiled threat behind the words. It didn’t bother him. If he left and she did away with herself that was up to her. He had known for weeks that the allure of her body was waning and he was tired of her demands. If she did but know it she had lasted longer than any of his other women, mainly because living at the inn with all the benefits it afforded had appealed to him for a while. He’d found he liked the freedom of a life on the road but it wasn’t always easy or comfortable.
Mind you, he thought, as he grew hard beneath her ministrations, he might as well make the most of tonight, for who knew how soon he’d next find such an obliging companion between the sheets. Maria allowed him to do anything to her. He’d take advantage of that one last time. She was nothing but a whore at heart, they all were, these women who fell into his lap like ripe plums. Only Rose was different.
Once he’d had time to think rationally after he had disposed of the youth at the mill, he’d come to the conclusion that the lad had been talking rubbish, probably because of sexual frustration. He didn’t believe his Rose had been the miller’s mistress. She was pure, clean. All right, she’d been married, but that was because Davey had rushed her into it before she’d had time to think. She’d been little more than a child and Davey had taken advantage of that. It had all become clear the more he had thought about it. Rose had done her duty as a wife, Betsy was living proof of that, but she was still unawakened sexually and in that sense virginal, even chaste. It would be him who brought her to life, who taught her about the delights of the flesh. They were meant to be together and Rose knew that deep down. But for Vera O’Leary frightening her by threatening to take Betsy, she would have been his years ago. Somewhere she was waiting for him, expecting him to find her. He even heard her calling him at times. He didn’t know what had gone on at the mill but Rose wouldn’t have let another man handle her and he felt the miller’s supposed accident was tied up with that.