Page 44 of Unforgotten
MacKinnon’s fist slammed down upon the oaken table with such force that wine sloshed over the brim of some of the goblets. His grey eyes glittered as he stared Niall MacDonald down. “So ye say, MacDonald. But I’ve not heard such tales. How do I know ye are not in league with the bastard? Ye have obstructed me at every turn of late.”
Niall MacDonald’s face turned thunderous. “Yer brother doesn’t need my help,” he replied coldly. He leaned forward then, his expression deliberately goading. “Ye are making a mess of things all on yer own. Yer father wasn’t much of a clan-chief … but at least he realized that folk need to eat. He knew that if ye oppress yer own people, eventually they’ll rise up against ye … only now we’reallpaying the price.”
Ella studied the rose she was embroidering upon the pillow case, a pang of homesickness flowering within her. But it wasn’t longing for Kilbride this time. Instead, nostalgia for the years of her childhood returned. There were many things about her youth she’d have preferred not to dwell upon, but her love of roses, and the afternoons she’d spent with her mother and sister tending the garden, would always remain among her fondest memories.
“It’s a lot of trouble to go to, Sister Annella.” Drew MacKinnon’s voice made her glance up from the delicate pink rose she’d been embroidering. “For MacNichol to escort ye to Kilbride in person. Why would he do that?”
Ella glanced up, meeting Lady MacKinnon’s eye. The woman, who was of a similar age to her, sat opposite, a wooden spindle in one hand, a basket of wool upon her lap.
“He was wed to my sister,” she replied. “God rest her soul.”
Drew inclined her head. “Ye are a Fraser?”
“Aye.”
“I take it that yer hair is flame red under that veil.”
Ella smiled. “Not really … it’s more like tarnished copper.”
A low laugh answered her. “I’ve never heard red hair described that way before.” Rhona MacKinnon had glanced up from the child’s woolen tunic she was knitting.
Ella and Drew weren’t alone in the women’s solar—a spacious chamber that looked out over the mountains to the west of the broch—for two other women had joined them: Rhona MacKinnon and Caitrin MacDonald. Ella had learned that the women were sisters, both daughters of Malcolm MacLeod.
Ella dropped her gaze, embarrassed at being made the center of attention. “My hair isn’t as fiery as yers, I’m afraid, Lady Rhona.”
“Ye should see my son, Cailean’s, locks,” Rhona replied with a chuckle. “Barely a year old and red curls so bright I’ll never have to worry about losing him in a crowd when he starts to walk.”
Drew MacKinnon’s mouth curved at his, although there was little mirth in her gaze. Ella wasn’t sure that MacKinnon’s sister liked her two companions much. Every comment she’d issued toward them thus far had carried a barb.
Observing her companions, Ella had never seen three women who contrasted each other more. All of them were beauties, although Drew’s sharp grey eyes and knowing expression detracted from her loveliness. Caitrin was the only one of them with child. Under her blue kirtle, her belly was noticeably swollen.
The sight of a pregnant woman unnerved Ella slightly, especially after the events of the past day. Caitrin would know of Lady MacKinnon’s death; they had buried Siusan in the kirk yard just outside the walls of Dunan shortly after dawn. But Caitrin didn’t seem unnerved by the tragic birth; instead, she wore a serene expression as she embroidered a coverlet.
In contrast, Ella was still on edge after the incident. She’d joined the mourners; she’d done so out of respect for she’d never met MacKinnon’s wife. The clan-chief had stood, his face stone-hewn, while the priest murmured prayers for the dead woman and her still-born child.
As soon as the priest was done, MacKinnon had turned on his heel and stalked away, his wolf-hound loping along behind him.
Ella had watched him leave, wondering if he grieved for his wife at all.
“Still,” Drew MacKinnon shifted her attention back to Ella. “Gavin must be fond of ye, if he’d accompany ye to Kilbride himself. After all, he could have just asked one of his men to do it. I have to say … it all appears a bit unseemly … a nun traveling alone with a band of men.”
The woman was fishing. The intelligence in those grey eyes made Ella wary. Not only that, but the familiar way she said Gavin’s name made Ella tense. She seemed to be showing a particular interest in him.
Ella favored her with a demure smile. “Haven’t ye heard, Lady MacKinnon? Outlaws infest these lands … MacNichol is merely concerned for my welfare.”
20
Mine
SUPPER THAT EVENING was an awkward affair.
Ella would have preferred to have begged off. She’d spent the afternoon in the small kirk outside the walls of Dunan. It was a tranquil spot, where she’d been able to pray in peace. The priest had then given her a tour of the grounds, before she’d retired to her chamber later.
However, a servant had knocked upon her door as the day drew out, advising her that as one of MacKinnon’s guests, she was expected to attend supper.
Being seated next to Gavin just made the meal even more awkward. She’d managed to avoid him for most of the day, but sitting between him and Alastair MacDonald, she felt anxiety flutter up under her ribcage.
Gavin was too close. She could feel the heat of his body and smell the spicy scent of his skin. It made her flustered and on edge.
