Page 1 of Unforgotten
Prologue
I have No Choice
MacNichol territory,
Isle of Skye, Scotland
Late summer, 1330 AD
HE WAS LATE.
Annella Fraser should have taken that as a sign, for Gavin MacNichol never kept her waiting. In the three months they had been seeing each other—a long, hot summer that Ella would never forget—Gavin hadn’t arrived late once.
Alone in the clearing, Ella started to pace. She couldn’t keep still. Butterflies danced in the pit of her belly, and her pulse skittered. She needed to remember to breathe, to calm her excitement.
As she circled the clearing, Ella pulled her linen léine away from her back. She wore only a light woolen kirtle over it, yet the day was humid and she was starting to sweat. The air was heavy, charged. The sky overhead was darkening, and in the distance she heard the unmistakable rumble of thunder.
Ella’s mouth curved in anticipation. She wondered what it would be like to make love to Gavin while the storm raged around them. Her chest tightened, and her lower belly turned molten at the thought.
She stopped pacing and peered through the trees—north-east in the direction of Scorrybreac Castle.
Where is he?
Worry crept in, dimming Ella’s nervous anticipation. Their time together, illicit and stolen, was so precious that neither of them could afford to be late. She wondered what had delayed him. Matters at Scorrybreac perhaps? His father had poor health these days and relied upon his eldest son increasingly.
Ella’s breathing hitched. Maybe he wasn’t coming this afternoon.
And then she heard it: the snap of twigs and the rustle of undergrowth accompanied by the ‘thud’ of approaching hoof beats. A smile flowered across Ella’s face, and she loosed the breath she’d been holding, the tension flooding from her. She needn’t have worried. Gavin had said he would meet her this afternoon, and he’d always been a man of his word.
An instant later a warrior rode into the clearing.
Even now, months after they had started meeting here, Ella’s pulse quickened at the sight of him. Tall, broad shouldered, and strong, the MacNichol chieftain’s eldest son had a mane of long dark-blond hair that rippled over his shoulders, and warm blue eyes. His face was ruggedly handsome, and whenever he smiled, a deep dimple appeared upon his left cheek.
However, Gavin wasn’t smiling now.
Dressed in plaid braies and a loose white léine that was open at the neck, the young man carried an aura of tension about him. His handsome face was strained, and a groove had furrowed between his eyebrows.
Swinging down from the saddle, he deftly tied his stallion up next to where Ella’s courser nipped at grass in the clearing. Around them grew a copse of shady birch trees. A burn trickled through the center of the clearing, its banks mossy. This was a secluded place, known only by hunters who ventured into this densely wooded valley that lay a short ride south-west of the MacNichol stronghold of Scorrybreac.
“I was beginning to worry ye weren’t coming.” The words rushed out of Ella, before she had the chance to stem them. She didn’t want to appear needy, the kind of anxious lass who clawed at her lover. But his tardiness had concerned her nevertheless.
“I’m sorry, mo leannan.” Gavin strode to Ella and pulled her into his arms for a bruising kiss.
My sweetheart.The hunger of his embrace surprised Ella. He wasn’t usually so forceful. Though young and eager, Gavin MacNichol had proved to be a gentle lover, something Ella adored. She’d always felt so safe with him.
Even so, the hunger of his kiss excited her. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and going up on tiptoe, pressing her body against his.
When they pulled away, the pair of them were both breathless.
Ella tilted her chin, staring up at him, devouring Gavin’s strong jaw, kind eyes, and sensual mouth. Lord, how she’d missed their trysts over the past two weeks. Every moment apart from him had been torture. But at Scorrybreac Castle they had to be wary; Gavin’s mother always seemed to be watching. Ella sometimes wondered if the woman suspected something.
Now that she was standing this close, there was no denying the change in Gavin’s face. Those blue eyes, the color of a summer’s sky, were shadowed.
Ella stiffened. “What is it, love?”
Gavin released a long breath before stepping back and dragging a hand through his unbound hair. “Something’s happened, Ella … we need to talk.”
Ella went still. He hadn’t given any details away, but she instinctively knew that he brought ill news. Even though he had only just entered his twentieth summer, Gavin MacNichol was a steadying influence, a man of even temper and a ready smile. To see him so on edge, and so obviously upset, made a chill slither down her spine.
