Page 5 of Unforgotten
“Sister Ella,” Mother Shona greeted the newcomer, waving her forward. The nun drew close to the abbess and dropped to one knee in front of her. Mother Shona quickly made the sign of the cross and waited till the newcomer had risen to her feet, before she spoke once more. “MacNichol has a message for ye.” The abbess’s gaze flicked between the two of them. “Are ye happy to speak with him alone, or would ye like me to remain?”
“Thank ye, Mother Shona. Ye may leave us,” the nun murmured. Gavin caught his breath. That voice, low and gentle, was exactly as he remembered it.
“Very well … peace be upon ye both.” With a probing glance, first at Gavin, and then at Sister Ella, Mother Shona left the chapter house.
Gavin stared at the figure before him and tried to find a trace of the lass he had once known.
The habit completely obliterated her character. A black veil covered her head, and a snow-white wimple framed a winsome face, while a black habit fell to dusty sandals. A narrow leather belt girded the habit at the waist, where a wooden crucifix hung.
Gavin continued to stare at her. After so many years apart, he drank her in.
It frustrated him that he couldn’t see her hair, which he remembered as a soft coppery color. He studied her delicate features. The years had left very little of a mark upon her. The woman’s face was perhaps a trifle leaner than he remembered, but she still had the same Cupid’s bow mouth, with that sensual upper lip that had once driven him mad with longing. He remembered too her loch-blue eyes, which held a penetrating, intelligent look. Finely drawn eyebrows framed them.
Aye, it was her—and yet it was not.
Once again, Gavin regretted the impulse that had driven him here. He looked into the face of the woman he’d once loved—the woman he had forsaken in order to wed her sister and do his duty.
He realized then that there was a reason why the past was often better left alone.
2
Unchanged
ELLA WAS UNPREPARED for the actual shock of seeing him.
It seemed a lifetime ago—someone else’s life—since she’d last set eyes on Gavin MacNichol. She’d told herself that he would look vastly different to how she remembered him. She’d assured herself that he’d have grown old and fat, as his father had as he’d aged.
But he hadn’t.
The man who awaited her in the chapter house wasn’t so different to the one she’d left behind at Scorrybreac. The years had tempered his boyish good looks, but he still wore his hair long, tied back this afternoon at the nape of his neck. And it was the face of a mature man who looked back at her. Even so, those warm blue eyes were unchanged.
Had he always been this tall and broad? The warrior loomed before her, making Ella painfully aware of her own short stature.
The MacNichol clan-chief was dressed in travel stained braies and a léine, although to enter the abbey he’d donned a sash of his clan plaid: red lined with green. Dust coated his long leather hunting boots, revealing that despite the humidity in the air this afternoon, it hadn’t rained in days.
As if sensing her scrutiny, the man’s mouth curved into a smile.
Ella went still. His smile hadn’t changed one bit. Gavin’s face had roughened with the years, but she’d never forgotten the lazy way his mouth curved when he was amused or the deep dimple that appeared upon his left cheek when he smiled.
“I hope I haven’t altered too much,” he greeted her, his voice soft and slightly hesitant. “Ye haven’t changed at all, Ella.”
Her spine stiffened. “Sister Ella,” she replied. “Why are ye here, MacNichol?”
Gavin’s eyes clouded. Her cool welcome displeased him, but she didn’t care about his hurt feelings. She’d ridden from Scorrybreac Castle many years earlier and never looked back. Seeing him again here in the flesh brought up memories that she’d long since buried.
She wanted them kept buried.
“Yer mother is dying,” he replied after a pause, all business now. His expression had shuttered. He’d been pleased to see her; she’d seen it in his eyes. But that had been before she’d been offhand with him. Now he wore an aloof mask. “She wishes ye to come to see her at Scorrybreac,” he continued. “Before it’s too late.”
Ella stared back at him. She’d had no contact with either of her parents all these years, although her sister, Innis, had written to her. The last correspondence she’d received had been before her sister’s death nearly two years earlier. That letter had been a plea for Ella to visit her. She’d been gravely ill and knew she was dying.
But Ella hadn’t gone—she had deliberately stayed away from Scorrybreac. Returning there would have brought back too many memories. She’d grieved for her sister, but she hadn’t wanted to face her. Guilt still needled her over cutting contact with Innis, although she didn’t want Gavin to see it.
“Ye didn’t need to deliver the message in person,” Ella replied, folding her arms across her breasts in a protective gesture. “A letter would have sufficed.”
His brow furrowed, showing that he’d indeed changed over the years. Once, frowns hadn’t come readily to Gavin MacNichol. But she could see the fine lines of care upon his brow now.
“I sent word to ye of yer sister’s death,” he said after a pause. “Yer parents wished ye to attend her burial, but ye never responded.” He then folded his own arms across his broad chest, mirroring her action. “I thought that this time, I would come in person.” The challenge in his voice was unmistakable.
