Page 63 of Unforgotten
But amongst it all, Gavin had always been there. In her heart he’d lived on, unforgotten.
Gavin sank down upon Ella, his body shaking as he found his release. Her skin against his was sweat-slicked, and he could feel her pulse pounding against the palm of his hand when he laid it upon her breast.
“Mo ghràdh,” he murmured, leaning forward and kissing her once more. Ella’s full lips were slightly swollen, her cheek bones were flushed, and her eyes gleamed in the lambent glow of the hearth that cast its light across the room.
Gavin wanted to say more, to pour out everything that lay within his heart, but their lovemaking had left him speechless. He could merely lie there, Ella curled in his arms, as they both recovered.
Rolling off Ella, Gavin drew her against his chest. She was a small woman, and he was afraid he might crush her under his weight if he fell asleep on top of her. Nestled against him, Ella lazily stroked the planes of his chest and belly, as if committing his body to memory.
A smile curved Gavin’s lips, and he bent his head, inhaling the scent of rosewater in her hair. Never had anything felt more right than having her curled up in his arms. Their lovemaking had surprised him, for it had been very different to the past.
During that long, sultry summer, they had both been new to the pleasures of the flesh. They had explored each other’s bodies eagerly, yet despite that he’d fallen in love with Ella then, there was always a part of him he kept back when they lay together. He never let go completely.
Tonight, Ella had stripped him bare.
He’d whispered words of love while he’d taken her, worshipped her body with his own. He’d given himself to her without keeping anything back.
As a young man, he hadn’t had the courage to do so. That was why he’d been able to give her up all those years ago. That day in the clearing, he’d stepped into the role that had been expected of him: the clan-chief’s dutiful first-born son. He’d deliberately shut Ella out.
It had hurt him to upset Ella, but he’d kept telling himself that he was doing the right thing—that his parents and clansmen would appreciate his sacrifice.
Strangely, none of them had seemed to care. Of course, few knew what he’d given up in order to wed his betrothed.
Gavin stroked Ella’s thick hair, his vision misting. “I was a fool to let ye go, Ella,” he whispered. “I will never do so again.”
In response, she gave a gentle sigh, her small hand splaying over his heart. “I know ye won’t,” she murmured. “Sometimes life’s lessons take us a while to learn … but I think ye and I understand now.”
Gavin’s throat thickened. “Ye have always understood,” he replied huskily. “It was me with a head as thick as an oak trunk.”
Ella huffed a laugh against his chest, one slender leg curling over his hip as she drew him closer to her. “It matters not, love,” she whispered. “The past can’t be unwritten … and maybe the Lord had this in store for us all along.”
Gavin smiled. “So ye still have yer faith … despite everything that’s happened?”
Ella pulled away slightly, tipping her head back so that their gazes met. Like his, her eyes shone with tears. “I have itbecauseof everything that’s happened,” she replied. “Ye and I were meant to be together, Gavin MacNichol … and maybe God realizes that too.”
28
Weathering the Storm
ELLA STEPPED OUT into the morning and raised her face to the gentle sun that was rising over the mountains to the east. Despite that she and Gavin had managed to sleep later in the night, fatigue pressed down upon her this morning. Her eyes were gritty, her limbs heavy—and yet she’d never felt better.
Last night had been the gateway to a better life, she could feel it in her bones.
“Tired?” Gavin stepped up next to Ella, placing an arm around her shoulders; it was a protective gesture that made warmth filter through her.
Leaning into him, Ella glanced up at her husband’s face. “Aye … but happy.”
He smiled, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “As am I.”
They had shared a breakfast of fresh bannock, butter, and honey in the common room, before Gavin’s men had gone out to ready the horses. It was now time to continue their journey.
“If we ride hard, we can make it to Scorrybreac by dusk, I reckon,” Ceard announced. The older man approached, leading his bay and the clan-chief’s grey.
Gavin nodded. “The inn-keep’s wife has given us food for the journey … so there shouldn’t be any need to stop at Kiltaraglen on the way.”
A tendril of nervousness wafted through Ella at hearing they would reach their destination by day’s end. She’d hoped they’d spend the night at Kiltaraglen—a chance for her and Gavin to reacquaint themselves some more, as well as putting off the inevitable.
She didn’t want to see the looks of shock, anger, and censure on his kin’s faces—or suffer the condemnation that would swiftly follow.
