Page 39 of Unforgotten
How could MacKinnon sit there drinking mead when his wife was in so much agony?
A chill slithered down Ella’s spine when she dared a glance back at the clan-chief—and immediately regretted it. MacKinnon was watching her under hooded lids: a sensual, brooding look. Maybe the stories about this man had some truth to them.
She’d only spent a few moments in MacKinnon’s company, and already she had the urge to bathe in a tub of scalding water and scrub her skin with a hog-bristle brush. Lowering her eyes once more, Ella resolutely ignored his stare.
Around her the rumble of men’s voices filled the hall. Warriors were filtering in after finishing work for the day, and as they settled at long tables, calling out to the serving wenches to bring them drink, Ella realized that she couldn’t hear Lady MacKinnon’s cries at all now.
She glanced up, her gaze shifting to the stairwell. Perhaps the woman had finally given birth?
Meanwhile, she could hear Gavin making an attempt at conversation with MacKinnon. Gavin’s ability to get on with anyone had always impressed her; he was easy company and although strong-willed, didn’t have that competitive streak that many other warriors possessed.
Seated beside the MacKinnon clan-chief, the difference between the two men was striking. Ella chanced a surreptitious look, noting that apart from the fact that they were both tall, muscular, and of a similar age—the similarities ended there.
MacKinnon had a hungry, intense look to him, a restless coiled energy like a trap primed to spring. In contrast, MacNichol was watchful, calm, his blue eyes veiled.
Ella glanced away and raised her cup of mead to her lips.
It was no good denying it—Gavin MacNichol still captivated her.
She’d wanted to hate him all those years ago, she really had, although becoming a nun had made that difficult. Mother Shona had told her that letting hate into her heart was allowing herself to be consumed by darkness. She couldn’t serve God while dwelling in the shadows.
The events of the year after their parting had tested her, brought her to breaking point. She had lain upon her pallet at night, weeping herself to sleep. She had railed at him, blamed him for her fate, and missed him with an ache in her breast that felt as if it would make her heart stop.
But it didn’t. Time had helped ease her loss, her bitterness, her shame.
Yet despite it all, Ella knew that she could never really hate Gavin. Being back in his company confirmed it. Even when she was sore at him, even when his behavior troubled her, all it took was one look, one smile, and her heart melted.
Mother Mary give me strength. Ella took a gulp of mead, her fingers tightening around the earthen cup.For just a couple more days.
18
Reacquainted
A TALL, DARK-HAIRED man walked into the Great Hall, his expression grim. A brown-haired woman dressed in a pine-green kirtle followed him. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed.
Ella didn’t know either of the newcomers, yet one look at both their faces and she grew still.
Around her the Great Hall quietened, men and women swiveling around to watch the pair who made their way across the paved floor toward the dais. No one spoke a word. Silence settled like an indrawn breath.
Slowly, Ella shifted her attention to MacKinnon. She’d been making a point of ignoring him while the mead flowed and he’d started regaling Gavin with tales of his hunting exploits. But she looked at him now.
His face was impassive, his grey eyes hooded. When the man and woman neared the dais, he broke the heavy silence. “What news? Has my son entered the world yet?”
The man halted. He was one of the handsomest men Ella had ever set eyes on, with chiseled features and penetrating midnight-blue eyes. He didn’t look like the sort of man given to displays of emotion, for there was pride upon his face, and arrogance. Yet his eyes glistened and his throat bobbed before he answered, and when he spoke, there was a rasp to his voice.
“My cousin gave birth to a boy, Duncan,” he said softly, “but the bairn was still-born.” He broke off there, his gaze fusing with the clan-chief’s. “Siusan is dead.”
The words fell like an axe-blade in the hall.
Duncan gaped, his fingers clenching around the horn of mead he’d been drinking. “What?”
“The birth was too long.” The woman spoke then. She was pretty with sharp grey eyes. Her voice was low and surprisingly strong, despite the haunted look on her face. “She bled out … there was nothing any of us could do.”
Another silence fell. This one crackled with tension, like the air before a summer thunder storm.
Ella’s chest constricted, and a wave of dizziness swept over her.
Still-born.
