Page 64 of Unforgotten
As if sensing her shift in mood, Gavin’s arm tightened around Ella’s shoulders. “Ye worry about the reception we’ll receive, don’t ye?”
Ella swallowed before nodding. “Aye … doesn’t it concern ye?”
Not caring that his men now surrounded them and were looking on with interest, Gavin reached out and stroked Ella’s face. “We’ll weather it, Ella,” he said softly. “Just remember, this is nothing compared to what ye have been through.”
“But yer mother—”
“Will attempt to slay us with her tongue,” he interrupted, his brow furrowing. “But they’re just words … surely ye aren’t scared of Maggie MacNichol. Not after facing the likes of Duncan MacKinnon.”
Ella snorted. “Lady MacNichol is terrifying, Gavin.”
“Yeare Lady MacNichol now,” he reminded her, a stubborn light gleaming in his eyes. “And my mother will have to accept that.”
Ella pondered Gavin’s words at dusk that evening as Scorrybreac’s bulk hove into view. He was clan-chief, and set in his resolve, but she knew what folk could be like. His marriage would scandalize everyone at Scorrybreac—from the high to the low. News of their union would ripple out from the castle, reaching all corners of Skye within days.
Sooner or later, MacKinnon would hear of it too.
Ella drew in a deep breath, squeezing Gavin’s hand. She sat, perched before him, while he held the reins with his right hand, the other arm wrapped around her waist. “Home,” she said softly.
“Aye,” he replied, his breath feathering against her ear. “Remember what I said … we’ll weather this.”
Outlined against a pale pink sky, the castle looked magnificent, as if it would endure forever. Not a breath of wind stirred the MacNichol pennant that hung from one of the keep’s towers.
The road leading through Scorrybreac village was empty, for folk had all retired to their cottages for the evening. Smoke rose from the sod roofs, and the smell of overcooked vegetable stew—most likely pottage—wafted across the highway.
Up ahead the men upon the watch towers had spied them, and the heavy oaken and iron gates opened to receive the clan-chief and his men. They clattered into the outer bailey, which was empty at this hour, and continued on to the inner bailey.
Blair came out to meet them.
As Ella had expected, Gavin’s younger brother’s eyes widened at the sight of Ella riding with Gavin, dressed in a kirtle and léine instead of a nun’s habit. As she was a wedded woman now, Ella had not left her hair unbound. Instead, she’d tamed her pale copper tresses into a long braid and wrapped it around the crown of her head.
“Gavin?” Blair finally spoke. “What’s this?”
Turning from helping Ella from the saddle, Gavin met his brother’s eye. “I’ll save my explanations for when we’re all gathered,” he replied. His face was enigmatic, his tone even. Yet Ella detected the note of steel beneath; he was already preparing himself for the tempest. “Can ye tell everyone to meet us in the Great Hall?”
A heavy hush settled over the hall when Gavin finished his explanation.
He’d kept the details to a minimum, although Ella had been surprised about his candor relating to MacKinnon. He’d spoken frankly about the clan-chief’s behavior, and detailed their escape to Kilbride, before explaining how he and Ella had come to be wed.
He did not speak of their still-born child. There were some details that were too private to be shared.
When no one broke the silence, Gavin spoke once more.
“Few of ye realize this, but I was in love with Ella years ago … and wished to break my betrothal to Innis for her,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the long table where his kin sat. Many of them stared at him as if he’d just sprouted two heads. Stewart Fraser was in attendance. Ella’s father wore a stunned look, as if he was having difficulty grasping the clan-chief’s explanation. “She fled to Kilbride and took her vows because I broke her heart,” Gavin continued. “We now have the chance to start again.”
A harsh laugh followed these words. Maggie MacNichol had drawn herself up, her features sharp, her grey eyes flint-hard. “Do ye think yer sordid wee affair was a secret?” Her voice lashed across the table, causing some present to flinch. “We all knew … that was why yer father insisted ye honor the betrothal. It had nothing to do with his ill health and everything to do with saving yer honor.”
Gavin’s face went taut. He then shifted his attention to Blair, his gaze questioning.
“It’s true,” his brother murmured. “We all knew.” Across the table Gordana dropped her gaze to her lap. Watching her, Ella realized that she too had known the full extent of Ella’s relationship with Gavin—and yet she’d pretended otherwise.
Ella exhaled slowly. She stood at Gavin’s side, yet her legs felt wobbly under her. She wished they were seated. Suddenly, it felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Had they all conspired to keep her and Gavin apart?
“Ye were a headstrong, foolish young man,” Maggie MacNichol continued. “Ye had to be reined in. I wouldn’t let ye humiliate us and risk our relationship with the Frasers of Skye.”
Stewart Fraser’s face grew taut at these words, while tension coiled within Ella, tightening with each passing moment. As she’d always known, Maggie MacNichol had dominated her husband’s decision-making. She’d never let on, but she’d been set upon keeping the lovers apart.
She was a clever woman too—she understood that if she’d directly opposed Gavin and Ella, they’d have fought her. Instead, she’d used the clan-chief’s ill-health and Gavin’s sense of duty as her weapons of choice to manipulate him into doing her bidding.
