Page 58 of Unforgotten
“If MacKinnon asks whether ye have seen her, or if ye know where she is, ye are to answer ‘nay’.” The abbess’s voice hardened now. “Is that clear?”
“Aye, Mother Shona.” A chorus of cowed female voices answered her.
Guilt had tightened into a hard knot in the base of Mother Shona’s belly when she emerged from the kirk. God would punish her for the sins she’d committed today, she was sure of it. Earlier in the day, she’d been so firm in her decision, so sure she was doing the right thing. Yet, seeing the alarm, fear, and wariness on the faces of the women she’d sworn to protect, she realized she’d failed.
Had she done the right thing throwing Ella into Gavin MacNichol’s arms?
They’d been lovers once, and judging from the way they still looked at each other, that sentiment hadn’t disappeared. Gavin gazed upon Ella in a way that made sadness quicken in the abbess’s breast.
Many years earlier, in another life, a man had once looked at her like that.
The moment she’d seen Ella and Gavin together in the chapter house when he’d come to take her back to her dying mother, all the missing pieces in the puzzle that was Sister Ella had fallen into place.
She’d known then that MacNichol was the father of Ella’s child.
The sadness that had cloaked Ella during her first months at Kilbride had been painful to see. Each morning the young woman appeared with a face swollen from weeping, while she moved through the day, through prayers and chores, as if she were sleep-walking. And when she’d discovered she was with bairn, she’d been inconsolable.
Mother Shona had asked Ella to tell her the name of the child’s father—perhaps he could have helped. But Ella had been vehement in her refusal. The abbess had known then that the young woman bore a secret she would never share with her or the other sisters.
I’ve given her another chance, the abbess told herself as she stepped outside into the soft evening light.But a price had to be paid in order to do so.
The nuns went to wash up for supper, while Mother Shona took a walk in the gardens. She needed to be alone with her thoughts for a short while, to form a plan for the days that lay ahead. It would be a trying time for them all.
Deep in her own cares, the abbess circuited the neatly tended rows of kale and onions. It was only when a voice hailed her that she emerged from the fog of her thoughts.
Sister Firtha was hurrying toward her. The tall, lanky young woman, who was still a novice at the abbey, wore a strained expression, her eyes huge on a lean face.
The abbess stopped walking, turning to meet her.
“Abbess!” Sister Firtha called out once more. “We have visitors … MacKinnon has just entered the abbey and is demanding to see ye.”
Mother Shona walked toward the chapter house, where the visitors had been ushered in. Dread writhed in her belly at the thought of facing Duncan MacKinnon. The few encounters she’d had with the man over the years had troubled her for days afterward.
The clan-chief had a way about him that made all her instincts scream danger.
She’d had trouble with MacKinnon for the last few years. He disliked the influence the abbey wielded over the western edge of his lands. He especially hated how well-loved the Sisters of Kilbride were by the local folk.
It was a love he’d never been able to garner from his own people.
Dragging in a deep breath, and telling herself that a man such as MacKinnon didn’t deserve her anxiety, Mother Shona pushed open the chapter door and entered the lofty space.
The clan-chief stood in the center of the flagstone floor, the stained-glass windows behind him. MacKinnon didn’t look pleased. His gaze was bloodshot, his expression mutinous, and he held himself gingerly. No doubt, under that mail shirt he wore, the clan-chief’s wounded ribs were bound. Two men flanked the clan-chief: one tall and raven haired with piercing blue eyes, the other heavily muscled with short blond hair and a forbidding expression. Ross Campbell and Carr Broderick—MacKinnon never went anywhere without his two henchmen.
“Where is she?” MacKinnon barked out as she entered. He didn’t bother with greetings or preliminaries.
Having expected this, the abbess kept her expression neutral. “Please lower yer tone, MacKinnon … this is a place of worship.”
“Don’t obstruct me, woman,” MacKinnon growled. “Sister Annella. Bring her to me.”
“Sister Ella … what do ye want with her?”
“I ask the questions here, Mother Shona. Tell me where the nun is.”
The abbess held his gaze, her own never wavering. “Ye have made a wasted trip here, I’m afraid. Sister Ella is currently at Scorrybreac Castle, visiting her ill mother. We have been praying for a miracle and that Lady Fraser might live.”
“No, she isn’t,” MacKinnon barked, his dark brows knitting together. He was staring at the abbess with an intensity that made misgiving slither down her spine. “She accompanied MacNichol to Dunan and tried to kill me last night. She then fled … west.”
Mother Shona widened her gaze as she feigned surprise. “Well, she never arrived here,” she replied, deliberately keeping her voice low and respectful. “Perhaps, she changed course during her journey?”
