Page 56 of Unforgotten
With a jolt, Ella realized that the abbess was putting herself, and her position, at great risk by helping her.
She was going against the rules of the Cluniac order. A nun who had taken her final vows couldn’t leave the order without a long and lengthy process—one that required seeking permission from the Holy See. And since the Pope resided in faraway Rome, that could potentially take years.
They didn’t have years.
The abbess was also about to go against MacKinnon—in order to protect her.
Ella’s vision misted.
She would never forget Mother Shona’s kindness.
The priest cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to the present. Father Gawen wore a censorious look as he gazed down upon the couple he was to wed. They had given him no details on why the union was to take place today. Nor did they tell the priest that until a few hours ago, Ella had been a Sister of Kilbride.
Even so, Father Gawen’s gaze sharpened when it fastened upon Ella. “I recognize yer face,” he murmured. “Have we met before?”
Of course, they had, albeit briefly. Ella had seen the priest at spring and harvest fairs in the village over the years, although they had never spoken.
“I think not, Father,” she replied, dropping her gaze to the dusty stone pavers that lined the kirk floor.
“Can we start the ceremony now please, Father?” Gavin’s voice held a note of impatience. “We have a long road to travel this afternoon.”
Father Gawen’s mouth thinned at this, although he minded his tongue. Mother Shona had already introduced them as Clan-chief MacNichol and Lady Annella Fraser. As such, the priest was wary of offending Gavin.
“Very well,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Join hands, and we shall begin.”
Ella walked out of the kirk with a new identity. No longer was she Sister Ella of Kilbride, or even Lady Annella Fraser. Now, she held the title of Lady Ella MacNichol of Scorrybreac.
Blinking as the bright sunlight assaulted her eyes, Ella glanced around her. There was a magnificent view from the cliff top. To the north the charcoal peaks of the Black Cuillins stood out against a soft blue sky, whereas a craggy coastline stretched south. The waters of the sea were flat and glassy this afternoon. Out of the sun, the air was cool and the breeze had a nip to it; yet staring out at the view, Ella could have been fooled into thinking that they were still in the midst of summer.
“Ready to go … Lady MacNichol?”
Ella turned to find Gavin standing behind her. Even tired, anxious, and travel-stained, the sight of him made excitement flicker low in her belly.
Her husband.
As Father Gawen had wound the length of plaid around their joined hands and murmured the words that bound them in wedlock, the reality of the situation had finally sunk in.
She once dreamed of becoming Gavin MacNichol’s wife. When she’d been young and foolish, she’d lain in her bed at night imagining the day of their wedding. There would be music—a harpist would play all day—and they would wed in spring when the first of the roses bloomed. She would weave meadow-flowers through her unbound hair and wear a wedding gown of shimmering emerald green with matching slippers upon her feet. Their wedding banquet would be a meal that folk would talk about for years to come, with a roasted and stuffed swan as the centerpiece. And that night she and Gavin would make love upon a bed strewn with scented rose petals.
All those dreams seemed to belong to a goose-witted lass now.
None of it mattered one bit.
She was sad that this was how it had turned out. Life wasn’t like the songs the traveling minstrels sang. Gavin was a widower, and his late wife had been her sister. No minstrel would sing such a song.
“Aye,” Ella replied. “But I would like to say farewell to the abbess first, if I may?”
Gavin nodded, stepping aside to let Mother Shona approach. “I will go and ready the horses.”
He walked away, leaving the two women to speak in private.
Mother Shona’s eyes gleamed as she moved close to Ella. Wordlessly, she reached out and took hold of Ella’s hands, squeezing them tight.
“I’m sorry, lass,” she whispered. “I know ye must think I am casting ye out without a thought.” Her voice caught then. “But I can think of no other way to save ye. May the Lord watch over ye in the days to come.”
“And may God keep ye and the Sisters of Kilbride safe, Mother Shona,” Ella replied. “I know why ye must do this … and it is I who must beg forgiveness. I have brought MacKinnon’s wrath to Kilbride. Maybe I should have killed him while I had the chance.”
Mother Shona shook her head. “No … ye aren’t a killer, Ella. Ye hurt him in self-defense, but if ye had taken a knife to his throat while he lay insensible upon the floor, that would make ye a murderer. The other clan-chiefs and chieftains of this isle would put a price upon yer head for such an act.”
