Page 20 of Unforgotten
“Mother.” The warning tone in Gavin’s voice caused those seated at the table to go still. Even the circling servants, who were ladling out stew, dishing up dumplings, and pouring goblets of sloe wine, paused in their work. “Sister Ella is our guest. Ye are not to interrogate her.”
His mother stiffened, drawing herself up like an enraged cat. At the head of the table, Gavin didn’t move. He sat, his posture relaxed, in a high-backed chair. Made out of polished oak, the chair had eagle heads carved into the armrests. Ella remembered the chair well, and how his father’s corpulent form had spilled into it. There was nothing corpulent about Gavin though. His long body was hard and muscled, even in repose. He held a bronze goblet in one hand, his gaze hooded as he met his mother’s eye.
Ella drew in a breath, waiting for Lady MacNichol to explode. And yet she didn’t tear into her son as Ella had expected.
There had been many changes at Scorrybreac over the years it seemed.
Nonetheless, Maggie’s mutinous expression warned that the woman had not yet finished saying her piece. She would merely bide her time.
The servants continued to serve supper, many of them not bothering to hide their curiosity at Ella’s presence. One or two openly stared. It wasn’t every day that a nun sat in Scorrybreac’s Great Hall.
Behind the chieftain’s table, a young woman, seated upon a stool by the hearth, began playing a harp. The lilting music drifted over the hall, filling Ella with memories.
She had not heard music like this since leaving Scorrybreac. The nuns didn’t play musical instruments in the evenings. Innis had played the instrument well. Ella remembered her sister’s soft smile then, the look of joy upon her face as her slender fingers danced over the harp strings.
Guilt lanced through Ella at another memory of her sister, causing a warm, sickly sensation to creep over her. Ella’s conversation earlier that evening with her father needled at her. Innis had never deliberately done Ella wrong—she’d been hurt and confused by Ella’s silence over the years.
If there was one thing she would change, it would be her treatment of her sister.
“It’s good to see ye.” Gordana leaned forward, catching Ella’s eye. “Although I hardly recognize ye in that habit.”
Ella smiled back. “Ye look no different to the last time we met.”
It was true. Gordana MacNichol was around ten years Ella’s senior, but age had not dimmed the pretty lines of her face. Gavin’s elder sister wore her white-blonde hair braided down her back, and this eve she had donned a dark-blue kirtle that matched her eyes.
Gordana gave a soft laugh. “If only that were true.”
Ella held her gaze for a long moment. In her letters from Innis, Ella had learned that Gordana had lost her husband, Rory, ten winters earlier. He’d fallen in the ice just after Yuletide and cracked his skull. It seemed that his widow had never remarried. Their son had been around four winter’s old when Ella had left Scorrybreac. “How is Darron faring these days?” she asked.
Gordana smiled. “As tall as Gavin, if ye can believe it.” Pride shone in her eyes as she spoke. “He serves the MacDonalds of Duntulm now … and is captain of the guard.” Gordana paused here, her mouth curving. “And he has just wed … a lass named Sorcha MacQueen.”
Next to her Lady MacNichol made a choking sound. “The MacQueen chieftain’s bastard … hardly a match to brag about, Gordana.”
In an instant Gordana’s face hardened. Her attention snapped to her mother. “My son’s happiness means more to me than the parentage of the woman he loves,” she said coldly.
Respect filtered through Ella as she glanced from Maggie’s haughty face to Gordana’s proud one. In the past, neither Gavin nor Gordana had dared to question their mother. Their mother had become even harsher with the years—but it appeared that her offspring had become less tolerant of her sharp tongue.
A servant dished up Ella’s supper, and she inhaled the aroma. Mouth filling with saliva, Ella dug her wooden spoon into the stew. She had just taken her first spoonful, when Lady MacNichol spoke once more.
However, this time her words were not directed at her daughter.
“I must say … that habit does nothing for ye, Ella.”
“It’sSisterElla, mother,” Gavin corrected her wearily. “And please, leave our guest be. Her mother is gravely ill, and she has just crossed the isle to see her.”
Maggie shrugged, as if her son had said something of very little consequence, those grey eyes never leaving Ella.
“As I said … that attire is very unflattering,” she continued. “The wimple makes yer face look like a moon. Ye could grow as fat as a sow under all that fabric and no one would be any the wiser.”
The urge to laugh bubbled up within Ella. Smothering it, she grabbed her goblet of wine, raised it to her lips, and took a large gulp. “It is lucky then,” she replied, her tone deliberately bland, “that the Lord does not judge us on our appearances.”
Lady MacNichol’s mouth pursed. “Aye … but the rest of us do. Ye resemble a crow in that garb.”
Ella didn’t reply. Maggie hadn’t changed at all. Always a woman to fixate on the appearance and weight of other ladies, she’d never been without a vicious comment for both Ella and Innis in the past. But even Ella’s status as a nun didn’t stop her.
“Mother.” Gavin’s voice was rough with anger now. “Enough.”
“What?” His mother favored him with a look of mock-innocence. “I was merely making an observation.”
