Page 19 of Unforgotten
Ella cast her father a surprised glance. Her mother wasn’t the only one to have changed it seemed.” She couldn’t believe it—her father’s tone seemed almost … critical.
Stewart Fraser let out a heavy sigh, his mouth curving into a tired smile. “I must carry part of the blame too, lass … for not speaking up when she used to harangue ye. All the same, we are both glad ye have visited her.”
Silence fell between them, and when Ella broke it, her voice was heavy with regret. “I should have come earlier, Da. I’m sorry I did not.”
“Innis wrote to ye,” he replied, his tone guarded now. “We all thought that ye would return when ye heard how ill she was … but ye never did.”
Ella swallowed, guilt thrumming through her. She wished she could tell her father why she’d stayed away. But neither of her parents knew the reason for her taking the veil—and it was too late now to reveal the truth.
It wouldn’t change anything even if she was to tell him. It wouldn’t erase his disappointment that she hadn’t visited her dying sister.
“I regret that, Da,” she said softly, a rasp to her voice betraying her churning emotions.
Stewart Fraser halted then and turned to her. Their gazes fused.
“Why didn’t ye come?” he asked.
The directness of his question made Ella’s breathing hitch. It felt as if someone had grasped her around the throat and was slowly squeezing. Now was her chance to be honest with him. Her father wanted her to speak frankly—and yet she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
“We were busy with the harvest at Kilbride,” Ella replied, forcing herself not to drop her gaze. “I couldn’t get away … I hadn’t realized that Innis was so ill.” Her voice trailed off, and when she saw her father’s eyes shadow, her chest constricted and a sickly heat washed over her.
He knew she was lying.
9
Lady MacNichol
ELLA HAD HOPED her father would join her for supper in the Great Hall. However, he begged off with the excuse that he took all his meals at his wife’s side these days. Ella couldn’t criticize him for such devotion; she only wished she could use the same excuse.
She didn’t want to dine with the MacNichols.
Entering Scorrybreac’s Great Hall, Ella was taken aback by its vast size. Had it always been this big, or was she just used to Kilbride’s modest refectory? The hall was long and rectangular-shaped, with a high dais at one end. A stag’s head had been mounted over a large stone hearth, and before it sat an oaken table where the MacNichol family took their meals. Pennants made of the clan’s plaid—red crossed with lines of blue and green—and a banner of the clan’s seal hung above the hearth. The MacNichol seal was a hawk’s head, with the clan’s motto written in Latin beneath.
Meminisse sed providere: remember but look ahead.
Despite her nervousness, a wry smile tugged at Ella’s lips. That motto had meant little to her when she’d lived here as a maid. But at thirty-six winters, those words now struck her.
Indeed, one had to keep focused on the future rather than dwelling on the past—yet the wise never forgot. The events almost two decades earlier had nearly broken her, but she would always keep them in her memory. They would inform her decisions and shape the years to come; they would ensure she never walked the same foolish path ever again.
Rows of MacNichol retainers—the clansmen and women who inhabited the keep—sat at the tables beneath the dais. The roar of voices quietened as she passed. Curious gazes followed Ella, tracking her progress down the aisle between the tables.
Spine straight, Ella passed through them and stepped up onto the dais. She’d come here as soon as she could after spending time with her mother, but it seemed she was late. She inhaled the aroma of rich boar stew and saw that servants had already started serving.
Ella reached the table and looked for somewhere to sit. Her belly clenched when she saw that the only free space was to Gavin MacNichol’s left—for he sat at the head of the table—next to his mother.
All conversation at the table stopped when Ella took her seat.
Ella’s gaze swept over those seated there. Gavin was favoring her with a soft smile, an expression that made her breathing quicken, while Maggie MacNichol was watching their guest with a narrow-eyed stare. Ella knew many others at the table. Gordana was there, sitting to her mother’s left; while Blair, his wife Forbia, and their strapping sons sat farther down the table.
“Ye deigned to join us after all.” Maggie MacNichol’s first words made Ella start to sweat. If her own mother had been remarkable in her change, this woman was the complete opposite. As a younger woman, the clan-chief’s lady had been a striking beauty with straw-gold hair, piercing grey eyes, and a regal presence. Time had not withered her, even though her hair had faded and the years had traced fine lines upon her skin. Maggie still sat as straight as ever, the force of her personality radiating out across the table.
“Apologies, Lady MacNichol,” Ella replied, holding her eye. “I spent more time with my mother than expected.”
Maggie sniffed at this. “And how is she faring today?”
“She is weak … I imagine her time draws near.”
Lady MacNichol’s mouth pursed. “Ye should have come sooner.” The woman didn’t bother to dilute the accusatory tone to her voice. When Ella didn’t reply, Maggie frowned. “Instead, my son had to take time away from the running of Scorrybreac to fetch ye.”
