Page 21 of Unforgotten
“Ye were being rude,” he growled back. Gavin leaned forward then, his face hard. “And ye will apologize.”
“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?”
Ella paused, raising her eyes from the psalm she was reading, to find her mother watching her with an intent expression.
“What is it, Ma … I thought this was one of yer favorites?”
“It is,” Cait Fraser replied, her voice whispery. “Ye read it so beautifully to me earlier, but yer heart isn’t in it, tonight. Is something amiss, daughter?”
Ella stiffened. She hadn’t been aware that her mood had shown so clearly upon her face. “I’m just a little on edge,” she admitted, lowering the book of psalms to her lap. “Lady MacNichol was particularly sharp-tongued at supper.”
Her mother loosed a sigh, sinking back into the mountain of pillows that propped her up. “That’s the only good thing about being laid up here,” she murmured. “Avoiding that shrew.”
“She appears to have gotten nastier with age,” Ella observed, before guilt flickered up within her. It wasn’t seemly for a nun to gossip about others; nonetheless, she dreaded her next mealtime with Gavin’s mother.
“It’s bitterness,” Cait replied. “Gavin isn’t as easy to manipulate as his father was … she feels powerless.”
“I will pray for her soul then,” Ella replied, flicking through the psalm book. “Perhaps I can find something to combat her ill humor.” She paused then, glancing up at her mother. “What about this: Deliver me from mine enemies, Lord. Defend me from them that rise up against me.”
Cait gave a weak laugh. “A little harsh I think, Sister Ella.”
Ella continued to leaf through the book. “Ah,” she said finally, her mouth quirking. “I have just the thing … from Psalm Ninety-One.”
“Go on, read it then.” Cait Fraser’s eyes flickered shut. Even short conversations appeared to weary her terribly. “I am listening.”
“He will cover ye with his wings,” Ella began softly, her voice carrying through the silent chamber. “A thousand may fall dead beside you, ten thousand all around you, but ye will not be harmed. Ye will look and see how the wicked are punished.”
10
Regrets
CLIMBING THE WORN stone steps, Ella pushed open the heavy oaken door and stepped into a cool, dimly-lit space. Scorrybreac Chapel huddled against the northern wall of the keep, with the curtain wall rearing above it.
The chapel was much smaller than Kilbride kirk, yet she had fond memories of this place. Indeed, it was her refuge now. She’d left her mother sleeping but made the mistake of going to the women’s solar afterward. Gavin’s mother had been there, surrounded by her ladies, and Ella had soon felt like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. She’d had to get away from the pointed looks and whispered comments.
Inhaling the odor of tallow from the banks of guttering candles lining the walls, and the scent of burning incense, Ella made her way across the polished stone floor. She didn’t head toward the altar, but to the small shrine located against the left wall. This chapel was a special place, for it had an alcove dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
Kneeling before it, Ella gazed up at the serene face of the statue before her. A woman cloaked in blue gazed down at the swaddled infant in her arms: Mother Mary. The sight of the statue made peace settle over Ella in a comforting blanket. Even before she’d fled to Kilbride, this chapel had been her safe place. Here, it felt as if nothing could touch her.
Innis had loved this chapel too, and Ella’s breathing quickened at the memory of her sister kneeling beside her in front of this shrine. Being at Scorrybreac brought back too many memories.
The ones that included her sister were the most painful.
How she’d wanted to hate Innis for wedding the man she’d loved.
She’d barely spoken to her sister after Gavin broke the news to her. In the days while she’d awaited news from Kilbride, Ella had avoided all of her kin for fear that the disappointment and grief that boiled within her would explode if any of them provoked her.
Innis had written to her often at Kilbride, yet she’d never responded to her letters—not once. But her sister hadn’t seemed to mind. The messages had continued to arrive, one each month, until the letter that had revealed she was gravely ill. In that missive her sister had asked something of Ella for the first time since their parting.
She’d requested a visit, so that they might see each other one last time before the end.
Ella hadn’t replied—and nor had she visited her dying sister.
At the time she’d buried those feelings deep, busied herself in her life at Kilbride. But now, surrounded by so many memories, they resurfaced once more.
Regret twisted in Ella’s breast.
“I’m so sorry, Innis,” she whispered. “Ye deserved better.”
