Page 11 of Unforgotten
Rolling hills spread out around Kilbride Abbey. As they crested one, Gavin twisted in the saddle and glanced back at the way they’d come. The spire of the kirk pierced the pale sky, a swathe of blue sea behind it. Woodland nestled in the shallow valleys around Kilbride, and to the north-west Gavin spied delicate wreaths of smoke drifting up into the heavens. He hadn’t realized that the village of Torrin lay so close to the abbey.
He had to admit that Kilbride’s location—perched just a few furlongs back from a rocky shore, and surrounded by hills and woodland—made it an idyllic spot.
Turning away from the abbey, Gavin focused his attention now on the rutted road before them. They had many furlongs to travel, through the mountainous heart of the isle. In the distance, the shadows of great peaks rose before them—a brutal and sculpted beauty. His lands lay far to the north-eastern side of those mountains.
Finally, he shifted his gaze back to the silent figure riding beside him. It was no good—he couldn’t ride all the way to Scorrybreac without speaking to this woman.
“It must feel strange,” he said, feigning casualness, “to be leaving the abbey after so many years.”
Ella did glance his way, briefly. She studied him coldly for an instant, before she deliberately shifted her gaze back to her pony’s ears. “It does,” she replied, her tone as frosty as her expression. “A nun should remain in quiet contemplation. I will not be at ease again until I return to Kilbride.”
5
Blades
ELLA WELCOMED THE silence.
After a few attempts at engaging her in conversation, none of which had been welcomed, Gavin had duly given up. The morning stretched before them, and as they traveled north-east, the day gradually grew warmer.
In her heavy habit and undergarments, Ella started to sweat.
The sun beat down on her head, and for the first time in many years, she longed to rip off her stifling wimple and veil for a few moments, and let the gentle breeze cool her sweat-soaked scalp. And if she’d been alone, she might have. But with Gavin present, it was the last thing she would do. She’d just have to sweat and bear the heat in stoic silence.
They stopped briefly at noon, on the banks of a glittering burn that flowed over mossy rocks. Ella was glad to take a break. Unused to riding, her backside was already starting to ache.
They were at the feet of the great mountains now. One of them reared directly overhead, tawny red-gold grass rippling in the breeze. This was Beinn na Caillich, the Red Hill, or the Hill of Hag as many local folk knew it.
“Did ye know that a Norwegian Princess was supposed to have been buried at the summit of this mountain?” Gavin said, breaking the silence between them. They sat on two lichen-covered rocks on the edge of the burn, the horse and pony grazing nearby. “Folk say she died of longing for her homeland.”
“Aye, I’ve heard the story,” Ella murmured as she helped herself to a slice of cheese. She knew Gavin was only trying to make conversation, but she still felt uncomfortable in his presence. She wished he would leave her to her thoughts.
“There’s a cairn of stones up there,” Gavin continued. He unstoppered a bladder of water and took a gulp before passing it to her. “I saw it years ago, when I went deer hunting in this area with my brother.” He twisted, motioning due north, to where the jagged edges of mountains reared into the sky. They were black and red, as if fire had scorched them. “I remember the herds of red deer roaming in the narrow vales between these mountains.” Gavin’s expression turned wistful. “That was a good hunting trip.”
Listening to him, Ella felt an odd pang.
How she’d once loved hunting. It wasn’t a suitable pastime for a lady, her mother had told her that often enough.Why can’t ye be more like yer sister? Innis behaves as a lady should. It had been true enough. Ella’s elder sister had never spent much time outdoors, except for warm afternoons when she would prune the roses in her mother’s garden or collect herbs to dry.
When they were younger, Innis’s fair skin had remained milky and unblemished, while every summer Ella’s face, neck, and forearms burned dark gold.
Very unladylike, her mother had once scolded.
Thinking back on her sister and mother, Ella stopped chewing. She swallowed her mouthful and took a delicate sip of water, attempting to push back memories of the past into the recesses of her mind where they belonged.
Memories of her mother’s shrewish words, and of her gentle sister, made her belly clench. She wondered if Cait Fraser’s character had softened with the years.
Stoppering the bladder of water, Ella glanced Gavin’s way. “What exactly ails my mother?” she asked.
“She has complained of belly pains for a while now,” he replied. “The healer initially thought she had digestion troubles, but over the last year, the pains have grown. They eventually got so bad that yer mother became bedridden. She is very frail and spends her days in agony. The healer has done what he can for her, but I’m afraid she has little time left.”
Ella listened quietly. Although she didn’t like to hear that her mother suffered, she wasn’t afraid of illness or death. Life at the abbey had cured her of such fears. For the last few years, she’d worked alongside Sister Coira. The nun was the healer, not just of the abbey but for all the neighboring villages. Ella had assisted Sister Coira with many patients. The nun dealt with everything, from broken limbs, festering cuts, and fevers, to childbirth and wasting sicknesses that no herb or tincture could heal.
“She will be pleased to see ye,” Gavin said when a silence stretched between them. Perhaps seeing Ella’s features tighten, he shook his head. “I know that relations between ye were never good in the past.” He paused there. “Neither of us have had easy mothers to deal with.”
“And how is Lady Maggie?”
Gavin pulled a face. “As outspoken and irascible as always, I’m afraid.”
Ella’s mouth compressed. Cait Fraser was snobbish and narrow-minded, but Maggie MacNichol was a different type of woman altogether. Strong, proud, with a blade-like intelligence, she was the sort of woman who should have been born a man. She would have made a formidable clan-chief, if women had been allowed to gain such positions. Instead, Maggie had always sat in her husband’s shadow. However, that had never stopped her from meddling in his affairs, and the affairs of everyone living in Scorrybreac Castle.
