Page 45 of Unforgotten
“Are ye enjoying yer stay at Dunan?” Gavin asked lightly. He had just helped himself to a slice of venison pie, after serving Ella first—something which had raised a few eyebrows around the table.
Drew MacKinnon was sitting directly opposite, watching Gavin like a she-wolf stalking her prey.
She’s after him. The realization hit Ella then. A strange sensation filtered through her: hot and prickly.
Jealousy.
Mother Mary … please get me through this.Jealousy was an ugly emotion, one that a Sister of Kilbride didn’t entertain. The last time Ella had felt like this, she’d been preparing to leave Scorrybreac while Gavin and Innis’s wedding loomed.
Ella swallowed hard and focused on answering Gavin. “Aye,” she said softly. “I spent some time in Dunan kirk today … and Father Athol showed me the crypt where the MacKinnon clan-chiefs are all buried.”
Gavin inclined his head, his gaze meeting hers. Ella’s breathing quickened. She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that, not with so many eyes upon them. He watched her as if she were the only woman alive.
He watched her as if she weren’t sitting there shrouded in yards of black cloth.
A memory resurfaced then, one that she had deliberately put away into the deepest vaults of her mind: the pair of them lying under a spreading birch, the dappled sunlight bathing their naked skin. Gavin was propped up on one elbow, his fingertips gently tracing shapes across Ella’s breasts and belly. “Ye are so bonny, Ella,” he’d whispered. “I shall never tire of gazing upon ye.”
Ella blinked. There were many more memories that she kept under lock and key, ones that heated her blood and made her pulse race.
And when Gavin looked at her as he did then, he risked freeing them all.
“How did the meeting go?” she asked, suddenly breathless.
The moment shattered, and Gavin’s gaze clouded. “Badly,” he murmured. “I was hoping we’d come to some resolution this afternoon, but MacKinnon has insisted we continue discussions tomorrow.”
Disappointment lanced through Ella at this news. She’d been hoping to leave Dunan the following day. The atmosphere within the broch smothered her, made her uneasy. She didn’t belong here. She needed to return to Kilbride.
“None of ye could agree on things?” Ella asked. She too deliberately kept her voice low. Around them most folk were deep in conversation. Nonetheless, it was best to avoid being overheard. Especially since they sat near the head of the table, where their host lounged in his oaken chair.
Ella had noticed that MacKinnon appeared in a sour mood this evening. A scowl twisted his handsome face, and he was drinking heavily.
“MacKinnon wants us all to take a harder line with outlaws,” Gavin replied, bending closer to her so that he wasn’t overheard. That was a mistake, for the heat and scent of him enveloped her, and his breath feathered against the shell of Ella’s ear. “He wants them strung up and left to rot at crossroads. But there are also bandits who only target MacKinnon himself, and those men are led by the clan-chief’s bastard brother. MacKinnon wants our help to hunt him down.”
Ella drew back, eyes widening. “Bastard brother?”
“Aye.” Gavin’s mouth quirked. “Things are more complex than we all realized—well, most of us anyway.”
Ella became aware then of a hard stare boring into her. She glanced across the table to see Drew MacKinnon glaring at her.
“Lady MacKinnon hasn’t taken her eyes off us since we sat down,” Ella murmured, shifting her attention back to Gavin. “Ye especially.”
Gavin’s face tightened. “She’s a widow … and looking for a husband.”
Ella raised her eyebrows, feigning nonchalance, even as her heart thundered against her breast bone. “And ye are in need of a wife, are ye not?”
Gavin held her gaze. “I was,” he said softly. He paused then, silence drawing out between them. “But not anymore.”
Heart racing, Ella dragged her attention from Gavin to the slice of venison pie she’d not yet touched. Truthfully, her belly was now in knots. This was a hazardous conversation, although it was her fault for asking him about Lady MacKinnon.
And as she struggled with everything that was forbidden to her, everything she dared not want, she became aware of another gaze upon her.
It wasn’t that of Lady Drew, who was now attempting to flirt with her cousin, Taran MacKinnon. The big scarred warrior sat with his wife, Rhona, at the table. The widow wasn’t having much luck engaging Taran in conversation, for he answered her in short, curt sentences.
No, the person staring openly at Ella wasn’t a woman.
Duncan MacKinnon reclined in his chair, goblet of wine in hand, and stripped her naked with his gaze.
Kneeling by the bed, Ella clasped her hands together and began her evening prayers. It had been a long, exhausting day. She wasn’t used to having contact with so many new people, or to making idle conversation. Some of the folk she’d met—like Lady Rhona, Lady Caitrin, and their husbands—had been good company. But others had worn upon her. Lady Drew especially.
