Page 35 of Unforgotten
Next to him, Gavin smiled. “Ye rogue, Ceard … what a charming tongue ye have.”
To Ella’s increased surprise, Ceard’s whiskery cheeks reddened a little as some of the other men around the fire chuckled. However, his gaze remained on Ella. “Will ye not sing for us tonight, Sister Ella?”
Ella stiffened, feeling the weight of many male gazes—Gavin’s included—settle upon her. “I only sing hymns these days,” she murmured, shifting her attention back to the firepit.
“What of ‘These are my mountains?’” Ceard asked. “Do ye remember the words?”
Ella drew in a deep breath. She did. The song—a patriotic ballad—was also one of her father’s favorites. At least he didn’t want her to sing of love and loss. Finally, she nodded.
Ceard’s mouth curved. “Will ye sing it?”
Ella glanced up to see all those gathered around the fire still watching her, their gazes hopeful.
“Go on, Sister Ella,” Gavin prompted gently. “Just one song won’t hurt.”
“Very well,” Ella murmured. Drawing herself up, she recalled the tune, wishing that Innis was sitting at her side with her harp to accompany her. Time drew out, and then she began to sing, her voice carrying through the chill night air.
“For fame and for fortune I wandered the earth
And now I've come back to the land of my birth
I've brought back my treasures but only to find
They're less than the pleasures I first left behind
For these are my mountains and this is my glen
The braes of my childhood will know me again
No land's ever claimed me tho' far I did roam
For these are my mountains and I'm going home.”
Warmth filtered through Ella as she finished the last verse of the song. All her companions were smiling now, their eyes gleaming with love for their land. The men of Skye were often called away to fight for king and country—but most returned home to this rocky isle where the mountains met the sky.
“That was bonny,” Ceard said, his face glowing. “Thank ye, lass.”
Across the fire, Ella’s gaze fused with Gavin MacNichol’s. His clan had inhabited their corner of the isle for a long while, had dug their roots deep into its peaty soil. This land would always be his home—as it would be hers.
16
Duncan MacKinnon
A SMILE SPREAD across Duncan MacKinnon’s face as he read the letter.
“Ye look pleased with yerself, brother.” His sister’s acerbic voice intruded. “Why are ye so smug?”
Duncan glanced up, his gaze meeting Drew’s across the table. “That was a letter from Niall MacDonald,” he replied. “He will be attending the meeting.”
Drew raised finely shaped eyebrows. “That makes all seven of ye?”
“Aye.” Duncan’s smile grew. “And there was ye telling me not one of them would attend.” He favored her with a wolfish grin. “Ye will pleased to see Gavin MacNichol again.”
His sister’s answering smile was sly. “I will.” She observed him, her expression turning thoughtful. “So this is how ye will finally rid yerself of Craeg, is it?”
Duncan held his sister’s eye as he put the missive he’d just received from the chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat to one side. “Aye … if all goes to plan.”
“How exactly?”
